Cogitations from the Hibernacle

DAILY TO-DO AND BRAINDEW

24 May 2005

Greasing the Slobgob

Slobgobbery does not stem from any innate antiloquence. Doddering dopewords like “the tabled agenda item from last week which we’re not interested in re-investing bio-fuel for the QTX430 anyway was you know um the research of myself and Jane as far as my update shows which we can wrap it up this way since it’s best if we just go ahead and just go get ahead on tonight’s agenda on what’s on the table” stem NOT from oral training but from an aurally/vocally a-verbal, creak-jawed society. The above quote lacks the assertive force of orally and communally habituated language. It stems from disjointed specialists with slobgob mouths mumbling what their brains supposedly surpass their tongues in. The discursive isolationists stumble and grope with something which has became unnatural to them – SPOKEN LANGUAGE. Pseudo-educated, media-gawking, text-goggling, fadhead ninnies drown in the slime of aphasia as their synapses spark them to make smarter commericial transactions than living relationships. Our own President spins in his own elliptical fits of verbal epilepsy.

Nor do such words have the honey of the nimble tongued illiterate; one well-greased mouth from Alabama asserted: “We’re gonna be shittin in high cotton.”


Ere Christmas, 2006

Yeast Yammers

Bipolar metabolism: Metabolic lull, then diabolic surge. Sheepwalk by Day. Wolfsleep ere Evenhunt. Drake-ire at Dusk-fire. Glare-stare at Gloaming. Effect compounded by fungal imps, yammering yeasts. Cheeky chitlings in the bowels.
Intox
Ethenol Ethers
Sillyhead
Slumberskull
Yeast yammer
Jimjammer.
Skipped lecture. Must sleep. To work at 3pm. Supervisor CH on me like a fruitbat. Fruity fruit-muncher. Batty batty in dee head, bonkers in dee bitty brain. I was nogginnoddin at work inbetween. Noddin a heavy noggin. Captioning inbetween. Iffy unspiffy Voice Recognizance.

}}}OR{{{

Bipolar metabolism: Metabolic lull, then diabolic surge.
Sheepwalk by Day. Wolfsleep ere Evenhunt.
Drake-ire at Dusk-fire. Glare-stare at Gloaming.
Effect compounded by intestinal tykes,
Fungal imps, yammering yeasts,
Cheeky chitlings in the bowels.
Intox.
Ethenol Ethers.
Sillyhead
Slumberskull
Yeast yammer
Jimjammer.
Slothspeed and Slugspeed,
Snailswift and Grubslow.
My quickneed impeded.
My walking unipeded.
Skipped lecture for sleep,
Headslaking slumber.
Wended to work at Three.
Supervisor on me like a fruitbat. Fruity fruit-muncher.
Batty batty in duh head all teeny,
bonkers in duh bitty brain.
I was nogginnodding at work inbetween.
Nodding a heavy noggin,
Captioning inbetween.
Decapitating call-floor coppers.
Incompetent computators –
Iffy unspiffy Voice Recognizance.


1 January 2007

Feast of Foreskin-Flaying

I’m not making that up that bit about foreskins. A Holy Circumcision [of Christ] is/was commemorated by Catholics on this day. It concludes the Feast of Fools, so far I know. I’m glad I’m already missing mine and needn’t reenact the ceremony.


3 January 2007

LS’s Brave New Brain

I praise LS’s and YG’s reductioninst feminism, their tendency to dismiss femininity and masculinity as nonbiological categories; their proclivity for dismissing works of art purely on the basis of the sexual orientation of the authors, or a single character’s standpoint within authors’ works. LS and YG are not the first to have done so, but their arguments penetrate with new sting.

So C. S. Lewis is a racist, as are Lewis’ horses, his Horse’s Boy, and all Narnians! In fact, the people Narnians most hate are Ottoman Turks!

‘Turkish’ Tashkent, for the geo-illiterate, lies southeast of Narnia in an evil Orient. Tashshshshshkent! Rolls off Attila’s tongue! Strange, then, to report that Narnians follow a ‘Turkish’ god (Turk. aslan = ‘lion’). As all educated, brainsexed readers know, all Narnians and Tashkentians relate to one another *only* on the basis of gender, race and language! Quite so. Bravo LS. A Brave New Brain you have.

We also know that Narnians abhor African monkeys (esp deified apes), and extend this loathing to any degenerate human faintly formed in apelikeness.

By way of contrast, Centaurs bleed pure Greek blood and oppose local women in leadership. However, White English Planet-Earth females, divinely favoured, may rule over Narnia as queens. Susan, Clives Staples, African Lions, Turkish Monkeys – Fagh! Those ree ree ree ree ree ree ... RACISTS! Those s s s s s s s s ... SEXISTS!

LS and YG well advise you not to read any works by C. S. Lewis, lest the central vein of his plots and messages wangle you to possess a subconsciously prejudiced mind, and tempt you toward...eugenics?

Could it be that Lewis’ fondness for Jewish women created in him a conflicting and latent anti-semitism?? Such a query could unlock Narnia’s most profound subtext.

LS and YG, having dodged all hyper-focus on nonfundamentals, and placed Power Hierarchies at the manipulative core of all human belief, society, art, and behaviour, are, in the flower of their polysexual youth, best suited to provide you the best possible guidance in the literary lands of Lewis. They vow to steer the reader clear from interpretations based on biodeterminism, malicious stereotypes, and dysfunctional victimization, mapping out (for the first time) Narnia’s transcultural, metaphysical topography.


March marches away, 2007

A Devil's Day

Cloud and mist stick. A smothery smeeth hangs thick on the world. False Spring. Devil’s Dew. I went out in the brew, sickle cycling my swath to work. Sweet and short – pulled a one-hour shift. That shifty devil’s hour had the moil and mishap of an entire day. My headphone set turned up missing (I borrowed my locker mate’s), then I sat stuck to a forty-minute call (Big Apple bawling) under cataracts of blatherspitten neuro-blab. Bombastic blubbering. Within ten minutes to quit, Call Takeover duty beckoned; I’d the fortune to decline and wait on the luck of my own headwires. A call caught me within a minute to punch-out, later relieved by a fellow Call Takeover victim. After clearing up a schedule request’s cross-fired instructions, I fled the building under pelting rain inside a black garbage sack I’d pinched from a break-room can. S. drove me to the Co-op where a Matterhorn of dishes met my duty, skyhigh during a Co-op party. The culprits did their damndest to serve only cheapest hard liquors, mixed in mut-bowls beyond recognition. Not a drop of goodly ale, wine, mead, cidre, or brackitt! I balk at the sweet bile hungrily swilled by boys and girls. LMacDonald’s devilled eggs mended much – gave S. a needed snack. The devil’s a chef among lesser fiends. After scullery slavery and ovarious bites, S. and I nestled in for _Michael Collins_ and mutually gnawed a lamb shank. She’s the first woman I’ve sunk teeth into one bone with! Mouth-millers mutually munching mutton. Meet teeth tearing the meat.

2 April 2007

A Break from Debauchville

After workday waned and went, my cycle hit a silent downtown. I pedalled in glee, not knowing why my haunts had been evacuated. Ah hah! Vernal Recess, the supposed repose. Eh, if none for them, then some for me! The noisy brats had blown town – their dustcloud at long last settled. I threw a party for myself. Cooked sardines in pure coconut fat with pablanos, garlic, pepper, basil, salt and limejuice squeezed from pulp and rind. Kale and arugula lay laced in tomato, avocado, peppers, vidalias, flax, sunflower seed, kelp, sageleaf and heavy cream cayenne dressing. An entrancing Transylvanian wine, Vampire, volubly enveloped my throttle; I canted out with Irish crack _P Stands for Paddy_ and _Follow Me Up to Carlow_. Cinediscs of Gothic film had arrived post haste. A gem sat waiting my viewing – _Two Faces of Dr Jekyll_ with Paul Massie, Dawn Addams and Christopher Lee.

Outside whined the winter winds, sixty degrees fallen from the former high. A blight to the buds. Food production plummets by the year. Droughts and floods increase. Dearth and death are rife. Rich ones rifle the poor. The money piles buy less and less. Capital’s decapitated. Starving hands clutch to currency’s ashes. Dollars to squalor. Members to embers. Nickels to pickles. Quarters to Morte ore. Dimes dust of time. Bills paper pills.

Ineffectual symbols to dull the symptoms of counterfeit health.

Malefactured capital manufactures everything but sustenance.


On Sarapatra’s Birthday, 2007

Thoughts on Gender Discord

I managed to unravel (unleash) a drama of female rage (x 3 ) for several weeks after entering the House via a firedoor when my keys were lost and nobody was around to let me in. Had then to sledgehammer open me own door and fix it after. A few people later (two weeks later) mistook and misreported the incidence as that of an intruder! All is now well, but my faith in feminine ‘equanimity’ (read sanity) weakens by the year. I believe my boyhood belief that “all women are angels” has at last with test of time been mostly disproven. I’m no longer certain that primarily men drive the eccentric (hyperbolic) wars, violence and punishments of world history. A fellow female co-oper at Ambrosia explained to me that the greatest hindrance to Woman, to her tranquility, is not Man ... but Woman. The polemic polarity of the sexes exacerbated by feminists only exists when the sexes abandon the best attributes of Masculinity and Femininity (complete in the godhead). Thus, the Woman takes on the hitherto checked-and-balanced ‘negative’ attributes of the Masculine – aggression, self-containment, assertiveness, competitiveness – while the Man seeks to find his denied serenity or domestic bliss through his passive Feminine withdrawal and recluse quietude, mixed with male mysogeny and irresponsibility. Feminine tenderness, empathy, trust, domesticity, compassion are less regarded, even scorned, by the feminist, while the better of the Masculine attributes (loyalty, equanimity, magnanimity, generative ambition) are equally neglected by the new, sexually amorphic Woman. People’s diets (low in animal fats and raw nutrition) further confound the harmony, disturbing sexual development and proper hormonal balance. Modern humans are much more likely to be too masculine or too feminine, and that regardless of biological gender. Homosexuality and ambisexuality, sound when subject to relational accountability in a society of sexual balance, may disproportionately increase under myriad dys-sexual influences and imperatives, further blurring the beauty of distinctions, and weakening the gender balance obtained by single individuals. The best blends of Masculinity and Femininity, whether in a mutally beneficent relationship or within a well-balanced individual, go extinct in the present polarity! Gender discord serves to promote the fiction that Masculine-Feminine are invented categories, and that biological trends are infinite, controllable, prerogatival, and individual. In such a world, neither Sex nor Gender have any use or reality, either as Myth, or as Body. If a Man (like myself) can possess and enjoy within himself a dose of feminine attributes, that’s only because his Maleness lives without shame, without ambivalence, and without margerine.