A Byte out of the Apple, Ch. 1

Hey look at this cool smart phone thing in my hand.   Its does so many things.   Its just plain awesome.   I wonder what its going to morph into next?  What the Samsung  Galaxy 10000 phone will be like in the future.   It would be rad if they used nanotechnology and had the thing embedded in my brain so that I could access it with a thought.  I wouldn't have to access the cloud.   I would be the cloud!   I would be the network.  Long live the network!

But whatever innovation occurs, it sure ain't going to come from here in the good olde Midwestern U.S..   That's fer dang sure.  Because we are not riding the wave of the future like our counterparts in Asia in so many ways.   And I'm not just talking about K-Pop.

South Korea has the highest per capita broadband penetration in the world.   Over half its homes have broadband access compared to only ten percent in the United States.  By 2015 South Korea will replace all of its paper textbooks with electronic tablets in public schools by 2015. 

Not only does South Korea have broadband in most homes but if you venture in its shopping malls, down its alleys, or up its office stairs there are almost 30,000 shops with online game rooms or PC baangs as they are called--and that's just Seoul alone.  These gaming rooms are the new internet mediated combination of pool hall, bar, or front porch of the entire culture.  Singles are video chatting in these game rooms all over the city.  More importantly, PC baangs support a massive online gaming community which is the national sport.    Five million people (the equivalent of 30 million in the United States) play "Starcraft" alone.   Three cable stations broadcast full time competitive gaming to the TV audience.  

And Steve Jobs is dead.  And don't get me wrong.  He created the smart phone.   And yes if I were on the jury in the patent infringement lawsuit in the Apple v. Samsung case, I prolly would have ruled in his favor.   Samsung copied the smart phone as surely as K-Pop would not exist without its historical antecedents in U.S. rock, funk, rap, dub, or whatever else its a hybrid of.  But i'm not talking about the past.  Who is going to come up with the next cool thing, someone sitting in an isolated cubicle in Cupertino or some kid in Korea whose had a network embedded in every aspect of his life since birth?   And don't even get started on China.  I wouldn't even know where to begin when they get fully plugged into the network. 

wow, nd 8-0 after oklahoma, the whirles cook cookes, and the brother in law reveals a surprise....

From Another Dimension, Ch. 7; Skinny Knees, Ch. 4

Being immortal cannot be understood by mortals.

Mortals are involved in planning a life.

Planning a life is an exercise in story making.   Living people are forever writing narratives of their own lives, deciding who to be and what to do, according to various aesthetic criteria.

For mortals, death is seen as an interruption in the business of life, cutting short life-stories before they are, in the eyes of their auto-biographical authors, complete.

Immortals have no such limitation.  We have the opportunity to plan whole lives, deciding exactly when and how our life stories should reach a climax and conclusion.

My two best friends were immortal.   Well sort of.  They killed themselves.  Which is not an easy thing to do for a Kushat.   But my friends were always contrarians.   Even more so than me.    Suicide among us involves a great deal of forgetting our own immortality.   Which is hard to forget, trust me.   However, there had always been a history of suicide among the emortal Kusat.   Indeed, suicide has been the commonest cause of death among the Kusat, outnumbering accidental deaths by a factor of three.  Which is crazy but it just goes to show you that even a race as advanced as we are still has our share of forgetfulness.      

Historically when a Kusat committed suicide,  they tended to choose a violent means of death, and usually issued invitations as well as choosing their moments so that large crowds can gather.  It was the polite thing to do.    Jumping from tall buildings and burning to death were the most favored means in the beginning, but these quickly ceased to be interesting.   A premium was then put on increasingly bizarre methods in the interests of capturing attention and outdoing their predecessors.

Not so my friends.   I received no invitation.   And the actual mechanism of their suicide will likely never be discovered.  I often fantasize that they are even today living in some dimension where the climate is warm, the fermented beverage is cold, and the ocean rhythms pulsate throughout space and time.  And they have not forgotten what they are.

In the year 2525
If man is still alive
If woman can survive
They may find

In the year 3535
Ain't gonna need to tell the truth, tell no lies
Everything you think, do, and say
Is in the pill you took today

In the year 4545
Ain't gonna need your teeth, won't need your eyes
You won't find a thing chew
Nobody's gonna look at you

Cole Potential, Ch. 4

In 8345 B.C., a meteorite landed in Carpathia, west of the Don river.   It was sought by an extra terrestrial entity called the Double Helix Entity (DHE), who wanted to use the special powers of the meteorite to rule the galaxy. To that end, it sent its agent, Dung Below Me, to capture the meteorite.  However, a local herdsman found the meteor.   The herdsman resisted Dung and a brief melee ensued.   Using advanced alien technology which in retrospect was unnecessary against the herdsman, a violent explosion occurred fracturing the meteor, and a large part of the meteor (called the Krofstone) became embedded in the herdsman's chest.  The explosion also killed the herdsman's family.    Because of the gem in his chest, the herdsman became immortal, and he later changed his name to Cockdilla.  Cockdilla vowed revenge on Deng Below Me for killing his family.

Using the power of the meteor fragment, Cockdilla became one of the most successful mercenaries in the world. His long life allowed him to assemble a vast fortune, which he used to set up a series of outposts, fully staffed and equipped, in various corners of the world. He gained mastery of most of the world's weaponry, and a large portion of the world's martial arts and languages.
Over the next 10,000 years, Cockdilla would travel all over the world, looking for Deng Below Me. As a result, by the 20th century he had become immensely wealthy, and could speak most of the world's languages. In his hunt for Deng Below Me, he became proficient with most of the world's weaponry. Because of Deng Below Me's ability to summon monsters with alien technology, Cockdilla gained a reputation as a monster hunter.

Sometime in the 1930s, Cockdilla battled Nosferatu and his clan of vampires. In 1933, he gained a sidekick: Fat Cobra, who later became one of the Immortal Weapons.  He embarked on a series of adventures with him that took them to the far corners of the globe, traveling to the Savage Land and Monster Island and fighting Mole People and Fin Fang Foom. In the 1950s, Cockdilla  battled the giant undersea humanoid monster Goram while seeking another Krofstone fragment.  Cockdilla  then met Deng Below Me on the astral plane.

Cockdilla's vendetta against Deng Below Me ended when the truth came out: the DHE had needed a host, and had chosen Bloodstone. As Bloodstone and Deng Below Me fought,  DHE assembled a group called "The Conspiracy" to reassemble the meteor and gain control of Cockdilla.  Cockdilla battled the Conspiracy, but they defeated him. The life-sustaining gem fragment was surgically removed from his chest by Conspiracy member Dr. Boltuc. The Conspiracy thought they would become immortal, but DHE killed them to reassemble the gem.  However, Cockdilla's reanimated body managed to kill Deng Below Me  and prevent the DHE from coming to Earth by vanquishing the Deng Below Me on the astral plane. Cockdilla's body then withered and died.
However, his skeleton was later revealed to be in the possession of the American Museum of Natural History.  Deng Below Me was later revealed to have survived, and possessed the corpse of the first Baron Zemo, which disappeared down an inactive volcano in Japan.

The namesake of Cockdilla later restored an obscure Bavarian town named Frankencastle.  Daily tours are available M-F, 9:00 am-4:00 pm.   Saturday by appointment only. 

Friend of the Devil, Ch. 5

I awoke back in the mall in front of the restaurant.

It appeared all the businesses had closed long ago.  Even the "For Lease" signs on the store fronts showed signs of age.

This was the same mall I visited when I was a child.   It seemed so immense back then.   I remember my Jewish friend telling me that something evil was in the boys restroom and that it would do  unimaginably bad things to the little boys who entered without their parents.  I never chanced it. 

I looked down at a faded newspaper on a bench which showed a photograph of Satan shaking hands with Alderman Abousse.  The headline read "Entrepreneur to Open Headquarters at Local Mall."   Satan was given the key to the City.  Something about tax breaks and bringing back jobs. 

Satan's office was in what used to be a Sears department store.  There was a reception going at the front of the office.   I could hear the laughter and see people mingling inside behind the tinted glass.    The sounds of a jazz quartet echoed down the length of the otherwise deserted mall. 

I walked to the entrance of the office and heard a phone ring.  The sound was coming from a public phone booth.   I stepped inside and answered the phone.  At first all I heard were rhythmic computer tones, ascending it pitch.   Then I heard the screams.  Thousands of screams all at once. I dropped the receiver.  My body flushed in a chill and I pissed myself.  I felt the warm dark stain on my crotch.

I was inside the office.  No one seemed to notice me even with the stain on my leg.   I was excited that I was crashing the party.   A nondescript person in a suit asked me what department I was with.   I replied "psychoneural engineering."  That seemed to satisfy her.  We talked about what schools we attended.  She was a sports fan.   Finally, she started looking past me at the other guests.  I asked her if I could get her a drink.   I looked for a bottle on the waiter's tray that was not opened yet.  I drank and I drank.   Nothing better than free wine.

I noticed a group standing around a television.   A baseball game was being televised.   I acted like I cared about the game.  I faked knowledge about the players stats.   I cheered when they did.  I don't remember which team won.

When the game ended, the crowd quieted for the evening presentation.   I saw a small podium being set up at the front of the room.   Next to the podium was a sign which stated that tonight's speaker would highlight advances in "mind control through tonal resonance in next generation social networking."

I was behind the podium.   I knew that it was my turn to speak.  I looked out over the audience.   They were waiting for me to speak.  I knew that I didn't know anything about the subject matter.  But I started speaking anyway.   The audience seemed to be satisfied even though I really wasn't saying anything.

The nondescript woman came up to me after I was finished.   I was in a hotel room with her.   We were sprawled out on the bed.   Her thigh was warm.  I was hard.

The phone rang on the side of the bed.  I answered it.   Once again, I could hear the computer tones.   I looked back and the woman was gone.   I looked outside the window.   Jupiter appeared large on the horizon and moved quickly across the sky like a huge comet.   It was all wrong.  This could not be happening. 

Mokabee's urban eats winston marsalis, running up grand street and not seeing someone I once had an acquantance with.  

Leave it to a Beaver, Ch. 1

Scene 1:  In the kitchen at 485 Maple Drive

Ward: Say, Wally about this trip tomorrow. Now, you mother’s not very sold on it to begin with, so no horsing around.   Here is some money for the train ride.   And take especially good care of the Beaver, huh?

Wally: Well sure, Dad. I’ll take good care of the Beaver. He’s not just my brother, he’s a pretty good kid, too.

Beaver:  Gee thanks Wally.  But I can take care of myself.   By the way, I was kinda wondering, are there any Indians where Aunt Martha lives?

Ward:  You don't have to worry about that son.   Wally will be on the train with you all the way there.  Aunt Martha and your cousin Florence will prevent you from being scalped by any Indians once you get there.

Beaver:  But Dad, we won't need any help from a girl. 

Wally:  Boy Beaver, wait till the guys find out you were hanging around with a girl. They’ll really give you the business. (canned laughter)

Commercial Break

Scene 2:  At the train station

Beaver:  Gee Wally, maybe we shouldna eaten all that candy.   I'm not feeling to good.

Wally:  When Dad finds out we spent all the money for train tickets on candy bars we are going to be in big trouble.

Beaver:  How we going to get to Aunt Martha's now?

Wally:  Don't worry Beaver, I've got a plan.  I've heard that at these train stations, there are some people who carry around bags of money.  We just need to find someone who can give us money for the train tickets.

(Enter Kind Man wearing fedora)

Kind Man wearing fedora:  Hey kids, I couldn't help overhearing about your problem.   I must tell you that you should limit your intake of sweets between meals.   Eating more than one candy bar at a time is definitely not good for your health.  Don't you feel all crummy now?

Wally:  You are right sir, we learned our lesson.  

Beaver:  Gee wally, that man is right.  I'm never eating candy again.

Kind Man wearing fedora:  Good.   Well, I hope this helps (handing Wally and Beaver money for the train tickets).   And don't forget, don't talk to strangers.

Wally:  We won't sir.

Commercial Break.

Scene 3:  At Aunt Martha's house.

(Enter Florence)

Beaver:  Florence, I'll be nice to you and all.  But please don't tell my friends that I was hanging around with a girl or they will give me the business.

Florence:  Don't worry Beaver.   It will be our little secret.    Let me tell you another secret.  None of this is real.

Beaver:  Gee Florence, what do you mean by that?

Florence:  You are living in a world that does not exist.   All of it is fake, your family, your house, your town.

Beaver:  Like its kinda like a fairly tale that you read in a book?

Florence:  Exactly.  Here let me show you.  (touches Beaver on the forehead).

Beaver:  (face lights up) Gee Whiz, I had no idea.

Commercial break. 

Friend of the Devil, Ch. 4

I was at a family dinner that never happened at my Aunt's house in Salt Lake City.

My aunt had advanced stage Alzheimer's.   She recently tried to kill herself and was now living in a round the clock assisted care facility.

But at the dinner she was running around, serving everyone, trying to keep everyone happy.

There were many more people at the dinner than usual.

All my cousins were there with all of their spouses and all of their children.   And probably all of their children's children.

This was Utah, of course

and I had long lost count of the number of remarriages involving my relatives.

There were so many people at the dinner that I didn't recognize or had never met that I don't remember seeing my cousins there. 

These people were all relatives of my mother.  

I told my father that it was good that the family was together.  

He looked at me uncomfortably--like a Catholic who had lived in Utah most of his life.

After dinner, Satan met me at the stairway leading to the basement.

We walked down and the basement opened up into an indoor shopping mall.

Satan pointed to a restaurant in the mall with a large glass facade.

"I heard the food there isn't too good," Satan remarked.

I've already eaten.

"In that case, follow me to the back of the restaurant, I have something to show you."

Satan led me to an elevator in the back next to a fountain.

The fountain was shooting water high into the air.

The noise was deafening.

Though Satan was trying to speak to me, I could not hear him until we were in the elevator.

"I think you'll find our next stop to be more to your liking.   For a man of your expanded sensibilities."

The elevator doors opened revealing a crowded hall with doors stretching left and right in both directions like a hotel floor.

There were multitudes of families congregating in the hall..  Many were seated in circles outside the room doors playing music with children playing all around them.  The air was fetid.   I had the impression they all were immigrants.  Like gypsies or some ethnic group of Eastern or Southern Europe. 

"Its such a close knit community," said Satan, "I'm sure you would like it here--better than your isolated life, to be sure.   But I want you to meet one of my friends."

He led me to a doorway at the end of the hall that opened into a balcony.

My friend L was out on the balcony with a group of people listening to music.   A man wearing a bear costume was handing out what looked like stamp books.

"Stanley," said Satan, speaking to the man in the bear suit, "There is someone here I want you to meet."

"Groovy, I'm always looking for fresh meat," exclaimed the bear man.

The bear had given L several of the stamp books and she was beginning to lick one of them.

"She's trying my new flavor called `Cuttlefish.'   Its way tubular.  Wanna try some?"

I was frantically trying to stop L from licking the stamps.  But it was too late.  My hand accidentally grabbed onto one of the stamps when I tried to wrestle them from L. 

Satan stepped in front of me blocking me from L.  

"Its too late for her, can't you tell? She likes the fish."

L's eyes went glassy and her smile became serene.

"Its also too late for you my friend."

I looked down at my hand that had touched the stamps and saw that a redness was starting to spread up my arm.

The balcony around me began to spin.

"Its much too late for you my friend."

Friend of the Devil, Ch. 3

"Here try this," said Satan, handing me a jar of salsa.   "Its one of my favorites."

It tastes like shit, I said.  

"That's because it is shit.   Look at the label,"  said Satan.  "Its Grateful Dead salsa.   Those old fucks would allow their name to be used by anyone to make a fast buck.  That's why I like them so much.   That and the fact that they encouraged drug use during the Reagan Era.  Otherwise, those were pretty lean times for the good of the order."

Fuck you.  I said. 

I had been lost in the mountains looking for a camping space in the caves.  I was with two other people.  We hadn't had any food for days.   Eventually we came to a row of condos that looked deserted.   One of the doors was empty.   I entered the condo.

"Come in," said Satan. "But tell you friends they will have to wait."

They aren't my friends, I exclaimed.

"I know," said Satan.  "But it makes no difference.  They are gone now.  Do you even remember their names?

No.

I drove to Oakland last night in my beatup car.  I parked for the night in front of a homeless shelter.  I went out to the car in the morning and the car window was broken and everything inside had been stolen.

Satan walks up to the car.

"Here try this," said Satan, handing me a book.

"The Puppet and the Dwarf, by Slavoj Zizek ."

What the hell is this?

"Exactly," said Satan,

"Its a dirty little secret, but this Slovenian Zizek almost gets it.   One must be an atheist to be a true Christian.  The death of Christ on the Cross is the death of God as God. "

Why are you telling me all this?

"Because I want you to see clearly what is really going on around you.   I need to invert your perspective to accomplish this.   You want to be enlightened, don't you?  Try not looking at me as the bad guy.   Actually, I'm at the center and foundation of Christian ethics.  My fall and punishment without any trial is the Christian myth that allows what Christians consider evil to exist in the world while absolving God of any wrongdoing.   More importantly, I am the secret hero of Christianity.  I am the role model who started everything.  I was the first to have the courage to stand up to God and stand falsely accused.   I was the first to make the bold claim of individual autonomy which is the bedrock of cherished Western values of freedom and democracy.  I am the original inspiration of every revolutionary who had the balls to speak up against tyranny and injustice and to make the ultimate sacrifice for it."

It doesn't look like you have sacrificed anything, asshole.

"More than you could ever know.   Consider this:

If then his Providence, Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labour must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil.

And should I at your harmless innocence Melt, as I do, yet public reason just Honour and empire with revenge enlarg’d, By conqu’ring this new world, compels me now To do, what else (though damn’d) I should abhor."
 

Fuck you.

"Its much to late for that."

 

 

Womb Envy

Man always up to something.

Always a story going on with man.

Woman different.

Unless woman in divorce.   Then woman in bad mood.  Then woman tell lots of stories.

Man constantly in divorce.

Whether man married or not.

Man never happy.

Not so woman.

Man listen to Army commercials:

"Be all that you can be"

Man enlist.  Man go off and do things.  Fix things.  Blow up things.

Not so woman. 

Woman happy where she is.

Unless there is some man.

Telling her that she can't do something.

Then woman enlist.

Then woman go off and do things. Blow up things.   But not as many civilian casualties with woman.

And when things get blown up, woman accept refugees.  After all they don't have a home.

Its only fair.

Man don't care if its fair. 

Unless man trying to impress woman.  Then man give appearance of being fair.

Man succumb to temptation.  

Man care about ego over responsibility.

Man never really happy.

Man never where he is.

Man always missing something.

And its not a rib.

Someday Man become obsolete.

Coda:  Merkel and Putin.   According to Der Spiegel, Angel Merkel, one divorced now remarried is horribly afraid of dogs.  "When Putin and Merkel meet, they sometimes speak in German (he’s better in her language than she is in his), and Putin corrects his own interpreter to let Merkel know that nothing is lost on him. Putin’s brand of macho elicits in Merkel a kind of scientific empathy. In 2007, during discussions about energy supplies at the Russian President’s residence in Sochi, Putin summoned his black Lab, Koni, into the room where he and Merkel were seated. As the dog approached and sniffed her, Merkel froze, visibly frightened. She’d been bitten once, in 1995, and her fear of dogs couldn’t have escaped Putin, who sat back and enjoyed the moment, legs spread wide. “I’m sure it will behave itself,” he said. Merkel had the presence of mind to reply, in Russian, “It doesn’t eat journalists, after all.” The German press corps was furious on her behalf—“ready to hit Putin,” according to a reporter who was present. Later, Merkel interpreted Putin’s behavior. “I understand why he has to do this—to prove he’s a man,” she told a group of reporters. “He’s afraid of his own weakness. Russia has nothing, no successful politics or economy. All they have is this.”"