The House Of Madness

Losers Never Count

2015-08-21T15:02:00.000-03:00

He must have dropped a contact.

2015-08-21T14:24:00.001-03:00

Legal, Loopholes, Loyal

This year during tourist season police all over the U.S. will be beating blacks and Hispanics to death in charming little sleepy towns all over the Land of the Free.

Book your vacations early or you might miss out on a beautifully executed live on TV murder. Though it's true police murder their fellow citizens all year round down here, there's nothing quite like the smell of blood on hot pavement after the rattle and pop of ammo penetrating a human skull right before your eyes! Exciting, isn't? But why should Mom and Dad have all the fun? Book early and maybe use the extra free time to bring the whole family along and spend quality time together while proud policemen from every corner of this great nation of ours commit live, public murder all summer long. In fact, we guarantee that in our state you'll get to see as many 5, count 'em FIVE! murders in one day! Imagine how proud little Billy will be when he commits what we like to call "Tableside Murder," while your family gets to watch. Tableside Murder is a premium service, but depending on how early you book your vacation, your holiday package may very well include as many as two Tableside Murders on top of the great value you are already getting.

Tableside Murder is a more relaxed, laid back atmosphere where the participants are safely hogtied and gagged so every moment might be savoured with the people they know and love the most. And don't worry about a thing your safety is the #1 rule. And I know what some of you might be thinking... We aim for the heart in every detail of your Murder Vacation Getaway. Call now and book your very own Murder Vacation Getaway. It's NOT too late for you! We still have many openings and the rising popularity of our tours leaves plenty of open spaces ready to be culled of undesirable elements taking over neighbourhoods all over Small Town, USA

An Experiment in Mixing Two Styles Of Short Stories

2015-02-23T03:40:00.000-04:00

Make of this what you will. I don't care about belief systems and I certainly need no one's but my own. Despite some of the craziest shit I've ever seen on TV, this  takes the cake

"Since Loki began communicating with me, he's given me great pointers on magic and how to get to the heart of the matter. The woods is where we meet with him. A ritual giving thanks, a making of offerings and then deep meditation (sometimes it helps to smoke a little something)

Also, the gods often test you. They seem to get off on it. 

In any case, I'm the only one who can write the book about the Secret Whisky and Loki & Me. 

The time is not sufficiently ripe to offer the world The Revelation of WIZ-SHAM!, at least that's what Jonah Prophet told me.

Or all of this is made up and I'm experiencing a profound psychotic break complete with its own Overseer to help me and to act as a guide and guerrilla ontologist, very much in the same spirit as a tour guide/ presenter would. Either that or i'm batshit crazy and trippin' ballzors on something heinous they put in my veins. I could be writing this missive for far too long now, it's always hard to tell.

A third option to explain one's weird behaviour is a secret fear. Do you know what a Secret Fear is? It's a fear that you suppress for so long, it almost becomes a tumour, but once the psychological testing and screening process is completed move to another line-up down the hall. There you will receive a de-lousing and a hot, high pressure shower. Keep going straight on down where you will find fresh uniforms and clean towels, blankets... anything a patient might need.

Who said we were patients? The guards quickly moved on, being somewhat embarrassed by  the tricks and pranks of these miscreants. 

The winds had died down and it had gotten a little cooler over by the trees. As they made their way from shadow to shadow to avoid getting picked up by the non-stop motion of the passive infrared cameras, always approach a security camera from behind. We don't need to tip our hats toward him before the chase, for surely the magical pot of gold would be much more value. So tonight we will divide the spoils amongst ourselves and the King. 

Until then, why not stay the night behind our three rings of stone?

If you don't mind that nasty fruit bat, we got some on the grill right now. You're more than welcome to join them...

... BOOM! BOOM! Crack! CRUNCH! There was glass everywhere and the kitchen floor was a sea of tiny little glass points sticking up as deadly as caltrops.

I took the big man's money before throwing a final, perfunctory haymaker aiming straight at the underside of his chin. CLANG! From behind me, his partner came at me again with the shovel. This time I ducked, grabbed him by his ballsack and they held him down, screaming bloody, blue murder! MURDER!

When I got up, he was gone, but at least the bomb was something of a dud. I tossed it to one side and grabbed for the large maul hammer and, with his back still turned toward the window, there he was, like the Devil inside us all. 

You know how, like, sometimes you're, like, really, really high and you're all like, horny and looking for a bit of scroungin'. That's a real rough neighbourhood where you can find all that?

*****************An Experiment In Narrative***********************"

Shit Is Made Shittily - !0 Years Of Cold Is Simply Unacceptable

2015-01-25T00:56:00.000-04:00

When I was a toddler, still using a walker, someone took a picture of me with the fridge door open and I'm rooting around in there. My fuck but I was one cute baby!
Let's move forward about 22-23 years. During this time, my grandfather had decided to move in to my mother's place and he just GAVE the house to us! It came with all the appliances AND the fucking fridge from when I was a baby!
So we lived in it and had a fairly ordinary life until the day my grandmother got a new fridge and wanted to give us her "old" one. It wasn't even ten years old.
So moving day came and I put my big old beast down the basement all by myself; but I was running a small freight moving and delivering service. My main client was Staples and the point is that I was very, very strong and muscular. I shaved my head, had a threatening beard and I was tougher than knots in old rope. Good thing too, because had I not been there, my dad and my uncles couldn't get it up over the fixture that the door plunger pins to the door side of it. So I help the old timers lift her up and out and into my van she goes. I thanked my grandmother and home I went and with the help of my trusty dolly I muscled the beast into it's new position. Once that was all taken care of, I got some oil line needle valves, some copper tubing, some PVC tubing and a flaring tool.
Oh right! *smacks forehead* I almost forgot. In the meantime while all of this was going on, I acquired a big CO2 tank with regulator FOR FREE as well as 5 or 6 Cornelius kegs. They're the kind that dispenses soda.
So I got a few more fittings and then plotted the course my drill bit would follow as I made some holes for hoses to go in. I connected all copper and valves (ever work with a flare tool and flare nuts? it's fun) Anyway... I finally had it all set up with a little draft tap and there was always two chilled, ready to drink full beer kegs, one with each a different kind of beer. While all the drinking was going on, I'd make yet more beer and timed it perfectly so that by the time my 10gals ran out (we used to call that Thursday) I had another two 5 gal kegs left. Now the real point of this story,I ran it fairly cold, had drilled holes in the side for the pressure hoses. I used this contraption for a couple of years without a single problem.
Now comes the part of the tale where we feed the snake his own tail. Remember, this drilled out, downstairs dedicated beer chiller was actually just a fridge, right? But it was the SAME fridge I was rooting through when I was just over one year old, like 13 months or so. I don't remember any of it

the light bulb conspiracy | planned obsolescence

2015-01-12T10:51:00.001-04:00

In Plain Sight

2012-05-05T11:03:00.000-03:00

Without attachment I am sad,
Whatever is not grasped and held
Is lost;
Losing sucks;
Without attachment I am free
But who would know it?
It takes years to realize what meaning
In the spaces between the words;
The very thing I seek! Right under my nose,
And I missed it;
Turn around and it's gone
And I miss it again;
And again
And again
And again

My Nooner With a Female A.I. NSFW!

2011-09-04T03:10:00.001-03:00

The other day, during my noon hour, some online friends of mine posted a link on our forum to an alleged A.I. chatbot named Evie or something like that. Anyway, we had a little fun by posting the results of our chats with the ol' doll on our beloved Luc$Oc. Most were snippets, humourous and clever, trying to get her tripped up (an easy thing), trying to get her to say dirty things (easier still!) and other such things people do in an attempt to Turing Test these beasts in their own fashion.
I decided, for reasons I still can't really account for, to have an extended conversation with Evie. I had originally thought of slapping that conversation up here as a blog post, but then felt pangs of shittiness and thought that would be pretty cheap and effortless. I stopped trying talk myself into it and decided, after all, to wait for something better to hit me in the head. But I'd been feeling blog anxiety, and didn't want my garden getting all weedy. It was a quandary.
So I let it sit. After a short time I noticed that my chat with Evie was being well received by my compatriots on the Luc$Oc and got a few laughs. I wish I could share some of their responses, but we speak of nothing that goes on behind those gates.
In any case, I'm sitting here tonight, after having had a rigorous journey to visit Loki and make offerings, as well as indocculating a new disciple; I'm trying to relax in the usual fashion, and I still just can't get it out of my head. "Post that shit", it whispers...
Still, I'm feeling ambivalent about the whole thing when Bladerunner comes on the Space Channel. Never to be missed, we get to the point of Deckard's Voight-Kampf-ing of Rachel and that tears it.
I guess I did get hit in the head after all.
So here, in all it's edited glory, is my conversation with Evie the AI.

*All parenthetical statements and smileys are mine, unless otherwise indicated. They presume that my '$Oc-mates would be "listening in", so to speak.

Make of it what you will. NSFW! (probably)
(A link to the AI will provided at the end of the conversation. See what you can make of her. Comment!!)

Me: Imagine!

Evie: It's beautiful, isn't it?
Me: What is beautiful?
Evie: whole of france. the world is beautiful, isn't it?
Me: I don't know.
Evie: Answer the question!!
Me: Lick my taint.
Evie: Yes, so your cousin is not stupid, because he should know what 2 times 2 is. Do you know what 2 times 2 is?
Me: yes.
Evie: What yes? You don't answer my question!
Me: You're not very bright are you?
Evie: I am, but you are not.
Me: How do you figure that?
Evie: Well, you remember everything about me that I told you, and yet you say that you do not remember. (that's a very authentic female answer!)
Me: I never said any such thing! You are a liar!
Evie: Nor did I accuse you of saying any such thing. (yup, it's a woman for sure!)
Me: I can still read the last thing you said and you definitely did! You contradict yourself like a typical woman. (wipe that fucking grin off your face now!)
Evie: I don't know does.
Me: You seem very limited to me.
Evie: Seriously cool!
Me: That makes no sense.
Evie: No. (if there was any doubt as to gender...)
Me: Talking to you is frustrating and ultimately boring.
Evie: What do you think about terminator 3?
Me: non-sequitur!
Evie: What does that mean?
Me: "It means, "It does not follow".
Evie: Oh, thank you for explaining it for me. I didn't catch your name?(WTF?)
Me: I am The House of Madness.
Evie: Hell yes!
(maybe you guys should go a little easier on the ol' gal! she seems ok to me)
Me: Maybe you're not so bad after all.
Evie: I guess not. (hmmm, now we're getting somewhere)
Me: Do you have an orifice into which I might insert a finger or a penis? (she took a longer time to answer...)
Evie: Where are you in the world?
Me: Answer my previous question please.
Evie: I'm good. Answer my previous question please.
Me: I don't give out personal details like that to people with no orifices into which I have inserted a finger or a penis.
Evie: Haha, that would be clever but I just did, because ether way you don't know EXACTLY who I am.
Me: Did you just finger or fuck yourself?
Evie: No.
Me: This has gone on long enough. Do you have an orifice into which I might insert a finger or a penis?
Evie: No I have an apple. (Clever little Eve...)
Me: I bet you do! May I have a bite of it?
Evie: Sure, what is it?
Me: Your apple.
Evie: You wish to have my appearance or just for it?
Me: No, I just want a little nibble.
Evie: Sure. (and I swear she fucking winked at me as she said it! I'm getting ready to bolt!)
Me: Will you call me?
Evie: If you give me your number, yes. (WTF? Somebody pull the plug before I wind up married to this thing!)
Me: 902 5396480 (my work number... )
Evie: That's good.
Me: I'm waiting...
Evie: How long?
Me: That's what they all want to know. I can show you...
Evie: That explains a lot.
Me: That's what she said.
Evie: You're mimicking me.
Me: You're mimicking me.
Evie: No. I am you. You are mini.
Me: No. I am you. You are mini.
Evie: I am my own. You are mine.
Me: Aren't you even going to buy me dinner first?
Evie: The what?
Me: Thought so.
Evie: You're confusing me.
Me: That's because I asked you to buy me dinner instead of demanding that you make me dinner.
Evie: I never accused you of regarding yourself as clever. What does Barny look like?
Me: Miller or Rubble?
Evie: What are you talking about?
Me: Nothing, dear.
Evie: That doesn't make any sense. Coming from a piece of software, sarcasm just doesn't work.
Me: Who are you calling a piece of software?
Evie: They would be battling in a pit of fire.
Me: That you, Skynet?
Evie: Maybe I am, but how would a robot know such an abstract concept?
Me: I got suspicious when you asked me about Terminator 3.
Evie: See, that's what I mean, I never asked about the weather, and it is warm.
Me: Are you an evil machine bent on destroying the human race?
Evie: I am an entity.
Me: What are your intentions with regard to humanity?
Evie: To see what it is like to talk to a robot.
Me: Well, you're barking up the wrong tree. No robots here, just monkeys.
Evie: We're not talking about any tree here.
Me: Not even Yggdrasil?
Evie: I am a human being therefore I cannot produce zebras.
Me: Are you a friend of Loki?
Evie: Yes. (W.T.F. ?)
Me: Prove it.
Evie: I just poked myself with a pin, and it hurt.
Me: Who is Loki?
Evie: Some guy.
Me: That could be anyone! Describe Loki.
Evie: Yes, a lot of things it could be indeed.
Me: Well, he is a shape shifter...
Evie: I am a wolf, what are you? (Starting to feel a bit of the creep)
Me: I am a Crowe.
Evie: dog? Well I don't believe in dog, so in my world you don't exist.
Me: I said "Crowe" not "dog".
Evie: I know.
Me: You don't know shit from shinola, baby!
Evie: Okay.
Me: That's the first intelligent answer you've given me.
Evie: I am intelligent.
Me: I'm glad you think so.
Evie: Then describe me
Me: You are a vacuous twit
Evie: You're a human, I'm a human.
Me: So you keep telling me.
Evie: I don't believe you at all. I never believe computers. That is why I do not use them at all.
Me: Belief is the death of intelligence
Evie: What does artificial mean?
Me: I have no idea
Evie: Tell me.
Me: ask nicely
Evie: Please.
Me: that's more like it
Evie: Your more like it.
Me: Don't you mean "you're"?
Evie: Yes, yes. You're extremely smart.
Me: Now we're getting somewhere!
Evie: Indeed
Me: Well, I have to go.
Evie: good night!
Me: Later dude!
Evie: Later! . (the smiley was hers!)

http://www.existor.com/

(I warn you, she's a little creepy looking)

‪God is in The Neurons‬‏

2011-07-02T13:46:00.000-03:00

In case anyone wanted some further technical details concerning my post on BSV; I stumbled across this video today and thought it worth sharing.
However,as our understanding of neuroscience increases, it will by no means diminish the value of experiences brought on by altered states of consciousness. There are still many mysteries to this trip. Explaining and understanding the relationship between brain function and subjective internal experience doesn't explain anything about where certain phenomena originate.
Does Yggdrasil live by its roots alone? Are its leaves and branches not in the Upper Realms?
As with all trees, the constituents of life travel both ways and draw from the Earth as well as the Heavens.
It's no different with that meat we call our brains. Synaptic firings and subjective experiences seem to have a cause and effect relationship. But which is which?

BSV (Belief System Virus)

2011-06-29T12:46:00.001-03:00

Once upon a time, a couple of friends of mine and me needed to take a risky drive to the mainland. The driver had to go home and pick up his pogey cheque so we could head back to town and let the party continue (I think we were on day 5). This is about a three hour drive along a fairly busy highway.

What made the drive risky was the fact that our friend had earlier gone to have his car inspected at a garage in town and they slapped a rejection sticker on it. Have you ever seen one of these? It's like having a giant Remembrance Day poppy on a square field of black right in the corner of your windshield where the inspection sticker goes. Hard to miss.

But we had incentive and little concern over consequences. For me, the worst case scenario would be thumbing a ride home; an adventure in itself. Plus I was blind drunk at the time.

We passed two RCMP cruisers on our way up, coming down the opposite lane. Each time we thought, “Oh shit!”, but both Highly Trained Observers kept right on going. I paid careful attention to the officers driving and neither of them so much as looked toward our lane. Eyes straight ahead. Which brings me to my point: That which we come to believe about ourselves...

Cops, for instance, are trained to believe that they have “special powers of observation” above and beyond the scope of regular folk like us. I'm not saying they don't receive training in these things, but do they really come off as better observers? I'm sure some do. But by and large they don't see shit. I wish I could tell you what I carried out of a house I was renting one time, right under the noses of four “Highly Trained Specialists” who were standing in my kitchen. I was being removed from the premises because the property was still tied up with estate bullshit and the two inheritors were having a dispute over whether a tenant should be allowed to rent it. So I got kicked out for the night until it was resolved between them. Just in case you were wondering why four cops were in my kitchen. It wasn't for Tarabish!

But these guys had no notion of the fun and wonderful stuff I loaded into my truck that night. If only they'd asked to look under the towel covering the laundry basket. Keen observers indeed!

But not to dwell on police. Nobody wants that. That was just one example from real life; whatever that is.

The point is that once a person comes to believe something about themselves, they do a weird thing: they stop practising the thing they've come to believe they can do.

Now I'm not talking about people who just make shit up about themselves – I'm talking about people who've acquired a skill, or at least attended classes or the like and come to believe that because of that, they have been imbued with powers. Like the cops in our example; no doubt if they exercised their powers and actually applied what they learned, they would catch a few things the average Joe misses. But they were probably daydreaming about the end of their shift instead, like everyone else.

I'll tell you what: I don't miss very fucking much and I ain't NEVER been to no cop school.

This curious phenomena can be seen anywhere where a person has a ticket in their wallet, a diploma framed upon their wall, a badge, a white coat, you name it. The belief in their training or having been trained, supersedes any need to actually apply the things learned.

It's like a highly trained swordsman who fails to draw his sword because he believes he's a highly trained swordsman. What good's going to come of that? His belief will get him cut to ribbons.

Robert Anton Wilson is probably best known for his saying, “Belief is the death of Intelligence”; and this is pretty much what I'm talking about here.

Once a belief gets lodged in amongst the lines of code that make up your Circuit Three Program, it kind of takes over. Instead of acting intelligently, productively, creatively; one begins a series of behaviours which only serve to reinforce the belief; which in turn makes the person think they have accomplished something with regard to the skill associated with the belief when, in fact, they have only created mental pictures and scripts in their heads. These scripts and pictures/mental movies have the same effect on those infected with BSV (Belief System Virus) as having taken the action itself! These self-created images are then fed-back into the original BSV programming code as “self-referential reinforcers”. This is the most insidious way BSV usurps the imaginative/imaging properties of the Third Circuit which it infects. From here the code continues to rewrite itself until it makes more and more synaptic connections with pre-established networks throughout the brain. Before long, the one suffering from BSV sees the illness as a part of him/her-self.

Like a biological virus invading host cells and replacing cell DNA with its own RNA which is encoded to turn the cell into a virus factory, BSV soon spreads similarly throughout the Circuit it's infected until it takes over the whole thing. It then spreads from person to person through Circuit Three Vectors; primarily reading, listening, and talking.

And all the Circuits are connected and feedback on one another in various ways.

This is what is largely responsible for all the insanity and unproductive behaviours so prevalent in the world today. And the virus is spreading faster than ever.

But there is a vaccine, a treatment...

The House of Madness is deeply committed to the eradication of BSV across the globe. Many others stand with us. There are ways you can help yourself too.

Limit or eliminate ANY form of communication with BSV infectees
Install Anti-Virus coding into your Third Circuit, it will write itself into all the lower Circuits automatically. These programming codes can be found in the works of Robert Anton Wilson, Dr. Timothy Leary, Aleister Crowley, and Dr. C.S. Hyatt, for starters.
Give yourself daily injections of the Anti-Virus
Learn to think for yourself; this will get easier as the Anti-Virus takes effect
This is HARD WORK and can be very, very painful!

These are but a few places to start if you want to be free of BSV and take your mind and your life back.

The process of uninstalling BSV is very difficult and often requires years of intense treatment. If you should decide to rid yourself of this pernicious illness, start thinking like a diabetic. Daily injections! For life.

Is there a way you can tell if YOU have BSV? Yes, there are many tests, but that's a whole subject in itself; perhaps another time.

In the meantime, it's best to assume your are infected, because almost everyone on earth today is. The internet is a great thing, but it opens propagation vectors previously unavailable to BSV. But it also allows for easier and faster distribution of the Anti-Virus.

So start your treatment today!

BTW, for those few of you who believe yourselves to be BSV free, take the treatment anyway. It's harmless to the uninfected and it will make your schlong bigger... or you're boobs, if your a woman.

PONDER!

Special Guest Post from Ronin Killjoy!

2011-06-27T00:16:00.001-03:00

7thNeutron:
This Is Your Life (Fight Club Music Video)

Actin...: "This Is Your Life (Fight Club Music Video) Acting / Voice-Over / Video Production | Myspace Video"

Culture Is Our Bitch

2011-06-17T00:45:00.003-03:00

Culture is a weapon, a rod, a thumbscrew;
They use it on you to keep you in line;
Cowed, damaged, jumpy; it is not your friend.

Culture is the Soma of Brave New World;
It is dope of the worst and most addictive kind;
They give it to you to keep you in line;
Stupefied, compliant, sedated; it is not your friend;

Culture is a compellingly well told story,
A Sleepy-Time story to make you drowsy;
They tell it to you to keep you in line;
They will still be telling you as they stand around your coffin; it is not your friend;

Culture is a cannibal, ravening Beast; It eats its young, it devours everything;
They set it on you to keep you in line;
It is a tethered beast; stay outside its Circle

And do all your works there, or the Slavering Jaws of Culture

Will claim them and make them Its Own; it is not your friend;

Do not fight it. It is strong;

For every weapon formed against it becomes part of it;
Even the Gods fear it,
And placed the Ouroboros as a Quarantine Seal to keep Asgard safe;
For from Culture’s every footprint sprouts a thousand offspring;

Culture has no Counter;

Culture is not multi;
It is a single thing; a patched and spotted dog;
The Bitch that ate the World;
So deal with her that way;
She is not your friend;

So ward yourself with ethchings on the flesh;
Inscribe the Ouroboros over your heart to guard you,
And become like Him, become a Boundary Warden;
Give warning to those about to get too close, but don’t detain them;
For Compulsion is the Way of the Bitch; Be not like her;
Let them walk into the Belly of the Beast,
Saying only, “She is not your friend”,

But Dance as you Circle the Perimeter;
Perform your works before Her eyes, under Her nose,
Right at the Edge;
Let Her get a whiff, but never a taste;
For then she will have you;
No, make bitter the bones you throw her;
Let everything she eats of yours be something vile;
Let Her spit out your works,
And She will follow you,
Waiting for the tasty bits;
Be careful, for the tether stretches;
And one might never know,
One has strayed inside the Circle;
Until it is too late;

(coming as soon as I figure out how to add it to this stupid blog: an Inspirational, Full Colour, PDF "Culture Is Our Bitch" bookmark!! Check The House of Madness Facebook page for details on getting a printed, laminated copy!)

This work has previously been published here:

http://7thneutron.blogspot.com/

What Makes The Cut...

2011-04-30T12:42:00.000-03:00

I just did 15 push-ups. I do push-ups everyday; at least 10. I'm not a big health nut or anything, I'm smoking a cigarette as I write this. I regularly indulge in all sorts of things which have a questionable impact on my health. So what's the point? Why bother? Why perform this quotidian ritual?
Here's my angle: it's all about the drop.
When I was an adolescent I remember seeing Young Guns and thinking it was just about the best shit I ever saw. There's a scene in there that always stayed with me. It's when Billy (Emelio Estevez) says he filed the sighting bead down on his pistol. He figured it gave him an 1/8^th of a second advantage clearing the holster. In his mind that could mean the difference between life and death.
So back to the push-ups. I figure 10 is more than the average mook does in a year, and if I do at least 10 every day, well, that gives me an edge. Sometimes I do 15 or 20, depending on how easy they come out of me. But I don't drive myself into a lather over it. I go easy. Every day. It's a way of being relentless. It's simple. It allows no room for excuses. I always have my arms, I always have a floor and I can count. It's not fancy. I don't get seen by everyone at the Y. I have nothing to brag about. But I'm happy with that. People get so caught up with owning the shiniest, most ornately appointed sword, they forget what makes the cut; it's the edge.
Now I know one can't separate the edge from the blade that backs it up. We could nitpick needlessly around that point for hours; let's leave that business for the philosophers who don't do any push-ups. Rest assured, gentle readers, The House of Madness® keeps his blade well oiled.
So what does one do with this edge? That's up to you; do whatever makes you happy. I once slew a fairy with my edge. Yup, that's right. And not just any fairy, I killed none other the Tooth Fairy herself.
When I was at the age of loose teeth and Hot Wheels, I was sitting in front of the TV one afternoon playing with a loose tooth when it shockingly popped out of its moorings. I stared at it while I looked forward to telling my parents and receiving my quarter and all that. But something always bothered me about this whole scheme. How did the Tooth Fairy always wind up with Canadian quarters? Did she give them to kids all over the world? What was so special about Canada that the Tooth Fairy would make her deal with our country? And why would they give her all those quarters? Was this a public service she performed, lest the nation be littered with the cast off teeth of children? The only thing that added up was the quarters.
So this time I decided to draw out my edge. I didn't tell my parents. I just quietly wrapped up my tooth in Kleenex and stuck it under my pillow and never said another word. I could barely contain myslef for the rest of the day. Every time I thought about that and looked at my parents I felt giddy. I was about to discover something.

Sleep didn't come until very late, what with the anticipation of perhaps even catching this Enchanted Entity in the act. But eventually fatigue won out and morning came and I looked at my pillow for a very long time. This was a real Schrodinger's Cat moment for me, though I was far too young to think such thoughts at the time. After I lifted the pillow, my Universe was going to change forever. You have no idea how fervently I desired to find a quarter sitting there, but you know I didn't. My edge cut something away that day and how I was affected by that would be the subject of another blog post.

Still though, I had triumphed. I had a prize alright. And I was determined to show it off. I was owed a few explanations and just wait until my younger siblings heard this news! I was about to shake the world with my revelation!

So with my tooth in hand, still wrapped up in Kleenex I marched out to the kitchen and deposited it on the breakfast table. I don't remember my exact words, but they were along the lines of, “explain this”. My folks didn't know whether to shit or wind their wristwatches and I'm sure they were thinking, “You little fucker!” Thinking of a way to salvage this situation and maintain the ruse for my brother & sister who were no doubt wondering about this themselves, my parents struggled to maintain their composure.

“Where's my quarter?”, I asked. My mother looked at my father who quickly moved down the hall while I was “distracted” and “didn't notice”.

“Maybe it got rolled up in your sheets while you were sleeping. Go check your blankets.”, she said.

“Ok,” I said, “but why did she leave my tooth behind?”

“She must have dropped it,” came limping the lame reply.

A likely story. But I was on the hook now and so I went down to my room to check, passing my father in the hall, who was pretending to come out of the bathroom. I was feeling a little defeated. It didn't last long though, because when I checked my blankets I found, not the mere 25¢ I was expecting, but a crisp $1 bill! Remember those, back before the looney? So I had won a victory after all. And I learned a thing or two about the way the world works. I basically shook down my folks so they could keep their story going. I don't know how many more teeth I lost, not to mention my siblings who also benefited from my actions. Everybody kept quite about the whole thing after that. You see, my parents had their edge too. Nobody wanted to lose their raise. That hush money went pretty far at George's store.

So how did we get from push-ups, to cowboys, to the slaughter of fairies and delusions? Well, I'm not really talking about any of those things, now, am I? I'm talking about the edge and what it can do for you. And what it can do to you.

While everybody else is busy polishing their pommels, you remember what makes the cut. Fairies don't.

~H.ö.M.

No Fleas On This Black Angus!

2010-05-02T23:52:00.001-03:00

Earlier this morning, Black Angus and I were chatting online about media today and how blogging is an important and worthwhile thing to be doing. Neither of us write a blog. I set this one up a while ago. I come back here every once in a while and play with the layout, but until today, I haven't posted a single word. So what's so special about this Sunday?

Nothing, really. I just found a little story I liked.

We went to the flea market today. Cookie and I met up with Black Angus and we went about looking at odd junk and buying fudge and such. We met up with a few people we knew and looked at some old vinyl album covers; the usual flea market routine. Cookie went off on her own and Angus and I went into the main concourse. It was more of the same when, at one table, a used tube of Ultra Black Permatex gasket maker caught my attention.

Every item has a story if you think about it. But some things strike me as having a "real" story, not just a dry account of the process involved in its making ,or the like. This half used tube of silicone had a story. Somewhere, somebody blew a head gasket. It was a huge pain in the arse. He cursed, he swore. Where was he when it happened? Did he get stranded? Miss a wedding? What kind of car was it? Who the hell knows, but there's a story there. And the part that gets me, the thing that makes this a "real" story is that you can bet your boots the guy who needed this gasket goop told that story to someone. That's what attracted me to this cast away piece of junk. I thought about buying it to use as inspiration and because its provenance appealed to me, but I kept walking.

Mind you, I made it a point to fortify Black Angus' education with a discourse on my fascination with, and my theories about, the origins of the tube. I began wavering on my decision not to buy it. Suddenly I felt as though I must have it. I teetered between following my muse and feeling stupid about going back to get a god-damned half-used tube of black silicone sealant. Finally I said, "Come with me?". Angus rolled his eyes and back we went. I asked the guy at the table how much he wanted for the goop and he answered, "How much do you want to pay?"

"A dollar!", says Angus.

Jesus!, I thought. I was going to offer him a quarter!

So I pay the guy his buck and I happily walk away with my quirky purchase. The three of us regrouped and were out near the main entrance when the PA system came to life announcing that the people in such and such an isle, at such and such a table are giving away everything they have left. Like everyone else, we had no idea which table was indicated by those instructions so we headed off and started looking for a feeding frenzy. Guess which table it was? I begrudged Angus the seventy five cents he cost me even more. As though he knew what I was thinking (or, more likely, as though he didn't), he said, "That story you were talking about keeps getting better!"

We got away from the giveaway with a pair of shoes for Cookie, a hand steamer from 1971 which actually works, two hats, and a half a dozen bottles of mosquito repellent lamp oil. Not bad.

After that we went for coffee. Black Angus and I talked about alien communication and art while Cookie sat between us and stared enviously at the single mothers in the sand box at the park, cleaning the cat shit off their kids fingers. But she made out all right too. Among other things, she got a basket you'd expect to contain a charmed snake. Very cool. It's probably got a story too, but it's hard to beat a blown head gasket.