Self-Cleaning Miss Forwheal

Opera house on the beach

Fri, 06 Aug 2004 22:46:42 GMT

he didn't shave today
he hates shaving on Fridays
he wore fake eyelashes
and fake chest hair
while i was riding in a wheelchair
and singing "Pirate Jenny" acapella
but Tuvan throat-singing style
(you know?)
and then I discovered an Island of Rum
and got drunk
but what I thought was rum
turned out to be caffeinated molten lava
so I felt vulcanary (vulgar,
boilinghot and hyper)
and my shoes were exchanged
for two tickets to the midget opera
(one to one)
but I don't know if I can go
because it's on Thursday
and on Thursdays
I swim with the dolphins
in a local Turkish sauna
did I say dolphins?
I meant the Finns, yes,
it's a finnish sauna
and we swim in finnish vodka,
it's good for their prostates and my hearing.
Can you you hear two prostates beating in unison?
Neither can I.

Sound of Grizzbly

Tue, 03 Aug 2004 22:49:07 GMT

air-conditioned accordion players will play at my funeral, cordially

hurray to bombay of feelings in my chest cave

Today I've been mostly screaming really loudly in the car, at no-one and nothing in particular, but lost my voice quickly and turned on the radio. I usually only listen to 2 radiostations- one playing experimental music and the other one playing grizzbly music. The grizzbly DJs are all septagenerians, have creaky voices and a habit of cheerfully announcing:

" this... waS.. a.. h..It.. song in 1942, ooooh boy, the best radio station ever... celestial (name of the city), have you had your prostate exam? ... if you can't chew steak, call doctor so and so, he will give you a gift certificate to a steakhouse of your choice for your new jaw, ...write to your congressman to install elevators instead of moving out of the home you love, now that you are in a wheelchair"...

Often, after having played a song, they announce, with a mixture of glee and resignment - " sometimes... we just cannot BELIEVE that so and so is already dead". They always come up with creative euphemisms for death - last Wednesday it was "time to take a dirt nap"

Aerophobia

Tue, 03 Aug 2004 10:46:08 GMT

yes, my friend Chari acquired a proper bootleg copy of "It's All About Love", Thomas Vinterberg's (the auteur behind the Dogme95 manifesto and the first Dogma, Cannes-honored "Festen") attempt to make a diametrical opposite to Dogma, hi-sci-fi Hollywood production with cloned figure-skaters (blood on ice) and expensive location shots of snow in July. We watched it yesterday afternoon, it was raining and humid. Horrid, horrid waste of celluloid. Or digital camera baterries.

in this movie, a character (played by Sean Penn with bad Polish accent) who was afraid to fly had been given an injection of some special vaccine but accidentally overdosed, and now couldn't do anything BUT fly, is afraid to land, doomed to spend his life on board of the planes.

which I thought was equal to death (or immortality) -

being permanently in the ground or permanently above the ground, suspended.

People get buried in their best dresses, and most people I see at the airports seem to dress neatly, to please the clouds perhaps;

tiny old ladies in dusty frocks look out of place in the airport designer lounges, so they get confined to the smoking rooms in the domestic flight quarters

sometimes they die right there, ticket to heaven clutched in a veiny hand

Sun, 01 Aug 2004 19:24:53 GMT

i had a great dream last night -
i was a red-sweatered hussy with a bullet bra
and a long tweed skirt

in the dream there was a hospital,
where I had an affair with the Professor of Brains
he lectured on adultery (Mondays and Thursdays, 16.00 - 17.30)
and dug out the bodies of gorgeous dead women for his experiments
using a trombone (its sliding part)
instead of a shovel

JYPE

Fri, 30 Jul 2004 10:04:24 GMT

just saw "Last Life in the Universe"

turns out i've seen it already, as part of the marathon sequence of 3-4 Asian, mostly Japanese, films viewed one after another: "bright future" and that film about the whale that washes up on the shore... damn i got to start remembering names

I see some kind of a trend in the Japanese cinema (i guess "Last Life" may be considered a Japanese film, as the main character is from Japan and Takeshi Miike has a cameo at the end, - the film is actually Taiwanese but, regardless, the sentiment remains the same)

the trend is this quiet-and-thoughtful-young-japanese-person-with-empty-life- film, brinkfull of many slow shots (almost stills) and umbilical gazing (which i mean in a negative way here, but just as soon could use the phrase in a positive way), compelete with either a minimalistic soundtrack or no soundtrack at all... the result is a deep tragedy -- brought about, perhaps, by the conflict, clash, brutal miscoordination between the inborn -genetic - unchangeable obsessive-compulsiveness of the young Japanese - the way they were raised - and the currently pervading - slacker-Westernized - value system

this conflict - this existentialism - has something in common with, e.g., wong kar-wai's city films (chunking, happy, angels) -

but the difference is the japanese compulsion

I think it is because I myself am so compulsive that I don't want to see this in so many films

i've been entertaining this theory that i am actually a computer and not a person

a computer experiment (LAIN-like), where my memory has been erased and i was fitted with an ersatz family and a cyborg body indistiguishable from a 'real' one

but my circuitry is sophisticated enough to figure out that my brain does not work the same way as those of other people - it is much faster at certain types of operations and cannot perform some of the other ones at all

emotions remain a mystery (at best they can be faked)

how long does it take to figure this out? probably someone can make a film with this plot that fits into this series (lets call it JYPE: japanese young person existentialism) -- long slow shots, minimalistic music and backdrops, the computer looks out the window at the red autumn leaves of the trees in the park, or at a river, or at buildings, he feels lonely and different and what happens in the end? is he really just another JYP with classic teenage complexes? or is he the delicious scifi computer outlined above? it doesn't matter, and the viewer is left picking whichever one they prefer (there are enough clues to support either).

PS. Looked it up - the whale film was called "A Day on the Planet" (compare: "Last Life in the Universe", "Bright Future"... the concepts are all floating in the same aquarium)

interestingly enough, for some reason I remembered this film as "Go", which turns out to be another film by the same director (Isao Yukisada) which i haven't seen

The Moof Job

Thu, 29 Jul 2004 21:23:55 GMT

a new word - a word to be said when you hug someone taller than yourself, and your nose gets buried in the opponent's chest --

-- "moof".

when people of (roughly) the same height engage in hugging, the "moof" is declared only if
a) the moofee wears high heel-/platform- shoes
b) the moofer drops down to his or her knees

some may argue (and some _do_ argue) that by performing the act of kneeling, the hugger would end up facing NOT the hugee's chest BUT the groin (some say "crotch") area, and thus would be disqualified from saying "moof", from being the moofer, from moofing in general

unless the hugee's anatomy is rearranged in the following manner:
head
neck
groin (crotch)
chest
legs
feet

(the absence of the abdomen is duly noted)

however, this argument is based on the false premise, wrong electricity

the human brain is salaciously pre-wired to think that dropping on/to one's knees in front of another person would necessary bring one's face in close proximity with the groin/crotch of the opponent,
thus the act of dropping to one's knees or a mere thought of it immediately incites a
knee-jerk
image of oral sex

while, if you consider the basic geometry of human body, by standing on one's knees the person reduces his/her height only by the sheer length of one's shins, which is - normally - far shorter than the distance from the top of one's head to the groin/crotch;

reducing one's body length by the extent of the shins, and, again, provided that the potential moof-candidates measure ~ equally in height, the moofer's face would actually face (no pun intended) the moofee's chest, or - at most - the upper belly;

to face the groin, one needs to slightly bend the knees and maybe even sit down on one's heels.