In the House of the Hangman 1116

I am not technically bright enough to figure out how to get them not to get me to say ask me anything anything things. Freud in his death leaps about in the wings wearing a red chicken-print leotard. The real battles are staged now down dotted grey lines of territory that finger the buildings nefariously, like the lines of el Web, delineating anaesthetised fucking and personal space. On the table-track of streets, cracked lines find fault with the person that pushes past. I have love in me. That’s not how I fuck. I say “I despise every magazine written for women” — “would it be better if women’s magazines were written by starfish?” — “yes, I would subscribe to every magazine written by starfish.” We think maybe we will get “people in espanol” because then we could at least learn better Spanish — she says “let’s get boy’s life” and then she says “only if it were written by girls” — She is allergic to duck feathers. Is this who you are? Is this what you do? I can sum up this film by telling you that it features Tom Waits as a psychopath who’s always cuddling a white rabbit, and that in the tale of serial killing psychopathology Waits tells, white rabbits multiply and appear everywhere in fluffier and cuter herds among the blood-letting. By the fifteenth appearance of a white bunny, hopping and sniffing and twitching adorably, you want to curse God and die, like Job’s wife advised Job to do. I mean God knows why I thought reading the comments on the Gawker article about Michael Brutsch was a good idea but Christ there’s so much whining about ethics and privacy and “what does ruining this man’s life accomplish??” and “you are just too fragile for REAL LIFE” and “nothing you can do on the internet will keep men from preying on teenage girls” — which, that last one always has a HA HA HA CAN’T STOP ME vibe and you know, WE KNOW. We fucking know that predatory men always win. Which is exactly why ruining Michael Brutsch’s life is some fucking Direct Action. Because nope, we can’t stop you from being worthless scum, but maybe we can make you too scared to act on it. Like if there are dudes currently not posting creepshots because they’re frightened for their job or their physical safety? I AM DELIGHTED BY THAT. SCORE ONE FOR TEAM ME AND THE PEOPLE I CARE ABOUT. And I still don’t give a shit about privacy and I never will.

“hey guys anybody mind if I zoom in”

 

“let you have it   Said / the paperclip. /

aloha.   if a Certain 530 things are uh supplied … & if not that’s ok too cuz we

Do The Revolution Now & as you supply them one by one the situation

 

How many we got I say

Eighty six it says

Do it      (Jow Lindsay, “DOG PUKE”)

Engage as many potential offenders as possible. The unwary: push them. Emanate a volunteer. Split in two. This is still the case if you use something to hand as a weapon. Repeat this to anyone. Try shoving a metal shutter into the folds of their final lung. There is a mouthpiece for further inflation and deflation, and a light for getting your wage slaves to think you are behind them. Do not inflate from within the cabin, otherwise your exit from the cabin will be impeded. Go from “Cameron deboarding an abandoned Falcon HTV-2 en route from his holiday island in χάος [footnote: aka Chaos Isle] reboarding it.” You’re getting hourly updates about these vile acts? Our dead amphisbaena’s more au fait than that. One evening, over the fumes of some exceptional wine, you’ll comprehend the full force of a Molotov cocktail. “Parents! Do the right thing! Join your children! Stay outdoors! Never go home!” But you, on the other hand, wandered lonely as a Dracula, jiggling every doorknob every doorknob along the estate just in case. Shatter. Quick psa: “All of your birthrights are inflammable!” Now say that from the piercing clarity of a London high street. Lock on spirit chopper, saved across fire and blood. Corrupted by suffering, by liberty humiliated. A tinderbox, by definition, must ignite. Do it justly.

(From TRIGGER WARNING by J. Katko & A. Gilmore INFINITE EDITIONS, 2012)

The fascist nun is still ranting away. She looks unnervingly like my own grandmother who, among many noble qualities, was also a small, round, racist Mediterranean religious fanatic whose favourite thing in the whole world was to shake pictures of Jesus at anyone arguing for gay rights. Of course, my Nanna didn’t have a thug army backing her up, although she probably would have liked one. The nun tells the anti-fascist guys who are attempting to reason with her that native Greeks and Christians are “victims, victims,” and the Golden Dawn are the “real patriots” keeping Greek society from falling apart. Which is an interesting argument, given that unemployment in Greece is over 25 percent – it's 54 percent among young people – there are General Strikes every couple of weeks and there’s rarely a day right now when significant parts of Athens aren’t on fire. Seriously. Last night I couldn’t get my translator to come with me to watch a burning bank in the north of the city because it was late and there would probably be another bank on fire tomorrow. This Thursday, Oct. 11, 2012 photo made available by the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission shows a giant eyeball from a mysterious sea creature that washed ashore and was found by a man walking the beach. No one knows what species the huge blue eyeball came from.

[Note: Sources: Marianne Morris, “Anything Things”, at marianne morris, “SEABASS SKIN ON GLASS”, in Tutu Muse, at Bad Press; The Exiled, 14 Oct 012; “I mean God knows why I thought reading the comments on the Gawker article about Michael Brutsch was …”, at The Bookbat, 14 Oct 012 (Brutsch is “The internet troll behind a an online message board where users post sexual photographs of unsuspecting teenage girls has been revealed as a cat-loving grandfather from Texas” – see “Michael Brutsch exposed as the Reddit’s Violentacrez, the world’s worst internet troll”, at The Telegraph, 14 Oct 012); Jow Lindsay, “DOG PUKE”, at DPHAX; J. Katko & A. Gilmore, “From TRIGGER WARNING”, at Google Docs; Laurie Penny, “Greece’s Fascist Homophobes Have God And Police On Their Side”, at Vice, 14 Oct 012 (concerning the opening of Terrence McNally’s Corpus Christi in Athens); Freida Frisaro, “Biology prof says eyeball may belong to big squid”, at PHYSORG, 12 Oct 012, via Graham Harman, “giant eyeball washes up on Florida beach”, at Object-Oriented Philosophy, 14 Oct 012 (“Lovecraftian enough for you?”)]

Comments

[tom beckett]

NB: the latest I've heard is that the giant eyeball came from a swordfish.

[Ed Baker]

we used to sell especially around x-mas and New Years
pigs eye balls in the store... this giant eyeball would feed 6 people

it could also be The Giant Eye that Ate the Giant Tomato that Ate Los Angel-ease
then went over to the Beach and oogled Annette Funichello and burst into that famous version of:

I Got My Eye on You

[Ed Baker]

heck I found that tune:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-nkEGCnv7g

[john]

Thanks, Tom. And Ed, I've never had an eyeball Holiday feast. To think what I've missed. My life is incomplete now ...

[Ed Baker]

usually you roast the entire pig and pluck out the eyeballs to eat
along with chitterlings, ho maws and corn-on-the-cob

http://mylifeontheline.com/2011/11/01/pig-eye-balls/

the neat way to "do a pig" is in a pit cook for about 12 hours..

of course you know this eyeball tastes just like chicken chicken gizzards...

[john]

Yeah, Ed, of course I knew the eye tasted like chicken gizzards. I do now. And this and your name, goes into my poem.

[Ed Baker]

yeah everything tastes like chicken or is that taste the
nitrites, nitrates and antibiotics that all our (meat) foods are
pumped up with.
a REAL chicken tastes just like lamb sometimes chicken tastes just like chiwahwah ... the dog-meat being marinated for three days in a
pig-urine brine
a little too salty for my taste
but, what the hell... cheap !

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