Having finished my last big book project & not wanting to start another, I've been experimenting with posting a whole lot of nonsense on the Telex network (that's what I call Twitter, which name I hate because it is infantile). But I'm so unpopular over there, I fear that most of my stuff doesn't even get seen; so that's why I'm rounding it up here, on my plain blog. Now it'll have TWO places to nonexist.
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Take it from me: NEVER use sunscreen for deodorant, or deodorant for sunscreen.
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I wonder why cicadas haven't yet figured out that if they tweak the noise of their droning so that it resembles ocean waves, humans will finally relax and learn to like them.
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Take my advice: Get married & go on a honeymoon. Don't forget to perform sexual intercourse: this shall leave you & your spouse impregnated. Now give birth to several children. I guarantee that you will love all these offspring equally, & each of them will reciprocate your love.
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GIRAFFE POLL:
Which of the following statements do you more strongly agree with?
- God made trees tall so as to accommodate my long neck.
- God elongated my neck to help me access taller trees.
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If I were to walk into a room at the moment when a suspicious-looking stranger was dumping an enormous box of metal polyhedrons onto the floor, I would quickly go retrieve the polyhedrons, set them back into the box, and then smile warmly at that person who just dumped them out.
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I copied an excerpt onto my WP blog from a text I was reading tonight. It's a quote from an essay on Beckett which contains a quote from SB contrasting himself with Joyce. I love both geniuses equally, but as a writer I side w/Beckett's stance over Joyce's.
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Just realized I've never properly given the credits for all my tweets, so here they are:
Director: Mr. Bryan
Producer: Mr. Bryan
Music: Mr. Bryan
Dialogue & Lyrics: Mr. Bryan
Story Ideas: Mr. Bryan
Editor: Mr. Bryan
Photography: Mr. Bryan
Dances: Mr. Bryan
Ad Campaign: Mr. Bryan
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When someone tells me "Never give up!" I immediately give up.
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On Saturday, I took part in Minnesota's 2021 firearm deer hunting season opener. After the hunt, I paid a visit to one wild deer herd that I'd been trying to kill, & we enjoyed ice-cream sundaes together. The herd forgave me for hunting them earlier, cuz all my shots missed their mark.
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Have you ever read, in old history books, how a whole multitude of people died when a volcano exploded? — It's because they all got covered in lava.
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Once you learn how easy it is to rip up carpet, you can go to a dinner party at the house of your boss, and, when nobody's looking, rip up the carpet.
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The best type of boots for climbing trees are the ones that have a comfortable, well-insulated interior, very sturdy soles, and... [I honestly know nothing about this]
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My favorite U.S. President was Mr. Peterson, because he had a friendly voice & smoked a pipe filled with cherry-scented tobacco. Few U.S. Presidents are less than figureheads for transnational corporations, but Mr. Peterson was a good egg.
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All newborn infants resemble very old men. This is because, when old men die, they shrink & become reincarnated in somebody's uterus.
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I met a farmer who said he can barely make ends meet, even tho his farm produces robustly. It confused me to hear that he doesn't even eat the food that he grows: it all must be sold, to cover the costs of production. He feeds his family by buying groceries from the supermarket.
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I'm tweeting too much on Twitter because I'm trying to figure out whether I want to keep using this network or abandon it. If I give up, I won't delete my account (I still regret deleting my Tumblr account, so I'll never do that again; tho I've never regretted leaving Facebook.)
I'm not working on any big text projects right now—I'm actually trying to avoid getting into anything demanding—so it's sorta my aim to waste time. But it seems like someday I'll have to face the hard truth that the Internet will never be a good place for experimental literature.
Try reading a nuanced poem near a congested intersection in the middle of a city, with cars honking all around you. —It's absurd, so that's a plus; but the only audience attending are the Angels of God; & I dislike the Angels of God. (They'll blind you, to heighten your singing.)
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The real reason that I've ramped up my Twitter activity is that I just heard the news (I'm late, I know) that Donald Trump got ousted from this network; so I'm attempting to fill the void left by his absence.
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Let me know whether you approve of my performance here, by filling out an evaluation form & then placing it where the sun don't shine.
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- Hot Fudge
- Caramel
- Peanut Butter
- Strawberry
- Pineapple
Tho my franchise shall eventually grow so successful that it'll have locations all around the world, here are the cities where I'll build the first palaces to sell my sundaes:
- Stillwater
- Crookston
- Hutchinson
- Moorhead
- Wadena
(Also I might put one in Hibbing.)
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I like when salespeople refer to a sex-bot's phallus as "the business end of the product".
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Fact-Checkers officially change their tune! — The latest data indicate that one can indeed remove a disease from one's body after one has been infected: All one must do is chant thrice the phrase "I divorce thee" while gazing into the disease's glistening eyes.
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I've noticed that I'm not the only one who, in casual conversation, constantly mixes up the words "company" & "country".
I wonder now: What's the difference between a country & a company?
We're all trapt on this planet. Borderlines are like the walls of our bedrooms, & we siblings cannot stop fighting with each other.
(The above sounds trite, now that I read it over; I disavow it.)
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I hope that someday my house collapses sideways. Or that it burns down. (I've always wanted to die in a fire.)
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I see that nowadays they've invented all sorts of soft mattresses that conform to your shape, and beds which can be adjusted mechanically to elevate your legs or your head. Still, nothing beats sleeping on the grass with a rock for a pillow.
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I'd like to mend nets for a living. I'd also like to be a tentmaker.
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I'm glad that several humans in the past wrote books of philosophy. I haven't met many modern folks who've penned their own philosophy. Some have read the philosophies of others, but only 2 or 3 of my friends have written philosophical tomes that changed the world for the better.
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I hope it does not frighten you to learn that although I am firmly against all depth of field, I can cover an amazing amount of distance by riding my bike.
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Was there really a time before Rock & Roll music was invented? It's hard for me to imagine such an age; I remain skeptical.
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CONFESSION:
I can't tell if aesthetics and morality are opposites or identical.
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Summer, spring, fall, & winter are the peak seasons to renovate your home. Go buy a renovation kit this instant! Then phone me when you're done, & we can play a game of checkers.
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A tidbit about yester's High Holy Day... "VD post"
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Middle-age is no different from childhood to me: I'm still clueless about what to do with my life. I wept in school when I couldn't grasp grammar. Now I feel the same urge to weep while trying to fit into the economy: it's confusing... I only feel at home when I'm reading poetry.
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In my dream last night, a hacker-angel blest me with a keyboard, & she showed me how everything that was typed into it would be sent as a message directly to the personal devices of all the engineers who created the social networks. So all the programmers who devised these sites like Twitter became annoyed, because all their phones would not stop beeping at them with notifications for every new message that arrived, as I kept posting nonstop nonsense.
Examples of stuff I posted in the above dream:
- Whenever folks claim that a switch doesn't work, try flipping it.
- I refuse to let my hair down cuz I hate the feel of it brushing against my ankles.
- What you thought was a maple leaf turned out to be a pool of almond butter.
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My brother's wife gave birth to a girl today...
My mom texted me at 7am:
"B! We are at the hospital right now! I will keep you posted when the baby comes!"
I texted her back:
"Thanks! I'll put some stars in the sky so that the magi can know which child to deliver the myrrh to."
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Finding oneself born here—on Earth in the age of humans—means that one committed a crime in an alternate realm: Life here is a punishment; birth is the 1st day of imprisonment. (If one acts compassionately, one might be granted an early release. And the door to freedom is death.)
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I wish that logicians would consider it sound reasoning to conclude that because both of the following place-names end with the same syllables while the former word is longer, Carolina is in Edina.
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I fear that our local foster-care administrator might be a murderer, because, while we were waiting for the bus, she confessed that her goal in life is "to find safe, nurturing, permanent homes for kids". (We all know that the only "safe, nurturing, permanent home" is the grave.)
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A rich man asked me "What must I do to be saved?"
I said "Describe your ideal afternoon."
He said "Um…chilling with friends, I guess?"
I frowned: "What do you mean by 'chilling'?"
He said "Um…chatting & barbecuing?"
At this point I smiled: "Go in peace — you are already saved."
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Yesterday my neighbor Bruce helped me chop down a dead tree & remove it from my lawn. We put the remains in his truck & dropt them in Bay 1 of our local Yard Waste Recycling Service (its other bays are for soil, concrete, etc). The charge was $5. Now I have $21 left in my wallet.
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My only regret about choosing to remove that ugly tree from my front yard is that the local wildlife was accustomed to getting drunk on its fermented berries. So I have inflicted a cruel sobriety on our neighborhood's crows, thus I do not blame them for pecking my eyes out.
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I thought I had abolished my fear of death, until I remarked to myself involuntarily just now: "Sheesh! I really AM still afraid of death."
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I'd like to say something about THE POWERFUL in relation to THE POWERLESS; also I'd add something about the relation of MIGHT to FREEDOM; then maybe assert a point about the relation of these ideas to FORGIVENESS. So now is when I truly regret never learning how to COMMUNICATE.
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How can you be sure that your chickens are enjoying their Coop Life? — It's simple! You can provide proof of their feelings by teaching them to write personal essays.
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If you feel freezing cold within your spirit, just remember that this wintry state leaves some great opportunities for focusing on ways you can improve your... [thought left unfinished due to insufficient optimism]
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I imagine an overworked schoolteacher saying this to children:
"The current pandemic is not a tragedy; it's a fun game to play!"
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We like having a picnic in a gorgeous landscape whose native animals, while playing, occasionally brush against our leg or even hop on our head (of course, we mean small animals like marmosets; not huge ones like bulls—it would be better if bulls refrained from pouncing upon us).
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In Minnesota, "daylight saving time" ends Nov 21:
Say that you forgot to wake up on that day. Having neglected to test your carbon monoxide detectors, you slept too soundly.
With death now out of the way, are you dreaming of a new body? — Perhaps it’s time to start your search!
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(The above is a manipulation of an email that I received from a real estate agent.)
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Fact:
The MOST POPULAR new baby name is [fill in the blank]; but the BEST new baby name is Una.
Proof:
Una is the damsel from Book 1 of THE FAERIE QUEENE by Edmund Spenser.
Action:
Consensually impregnate yourself, & then allow Edmund Spenser to christen your newborn daughter.
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Thinking about the 1960 film THE APARTMENT...
I like it when Baxter is hefting a large container of empty booze bottles out of his front door, and his neighbor Dr. Dreyfuss sees him & sez:
"The way you're belting that stuff, you must have a pair of cast-iron kidneys."
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[RE the above movie quote]
The joke is that it's actually the bosses from the company where Baxter works who keep consuming all his liquor (their habit is to borrow his apartment for their trysts & private parties)...
But I think it would be neat if one single man really could drink that much alcohol.
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Today I play hockey until noon & then conduct a job interview. After lunch is my hair-dye appointment. While that's underway, I shall be sculpting an angel in bronze. Finally, I'll give several speeches at a financial seminar, plant some trees, repair your bulldozer, & go to bed.
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I will program my adding machine to pray that the relevant aspects of string theory pull the strings in your favor. Just so you know.
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Last night was Halloween. A pair of children rang my doorbell and said "Trick or treat," so I gave them candy; then they said "Thank you" and left. While they walked away, I waved to their adult guardian, who was standing at the curb of my driveway, and the person waved back.
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Yet again, I deleted my last post, because I wrote "Everything is going really well; I have no complaints"; but then I realized that a few things AREN'T going well, in the larger world (beyond my personal garden), so I do have some minor complaints, but I'll keep them to myself.
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Not everything dies in winter. I know people who have survived numerous winters. I've also heard that certain creatures sleep thru the snowy season. Imagine sleeping that long!
I'd wager that, if I slept all the way thru the winter, I'd be able to have some pretty nice dreams.
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Here's my impression, after browsing around on this network's newsfeed this morning:
Not all people feel exactly the same way about everything.
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If you look at an individual cornstalk, it is unique; but if you fly past many rows at breakneck speed, all the stalks blend together & seem to become the same stalk: You suspect that you're trapped in a repeating background loop from an animated cartoon. This is heaven on earth.
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If you could survey every single being in the world, I wonder if more would say they're satisfied or dissatisfied with life.
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I find it hard to buy gifts for people. Especially for anyone who I don't know well. I second-guess every possible choice, and I worry about causing offence.
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It's pheasant hunting season in Minnesota. Hours are from 9am to sunset—that's because roosters are on roads picking at loose gravel to stuff their gizzards from sunrise till 8:30. (It's illegal to road-hunt unless you're shooting from outside the right-of-way & not trespassing.)
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Today I'm thinking about how interesting it is to dig in the grass with a shovel, so that you can view the soil beneath. Sometimes you find a worm down there, and sometimes rocks of different sizes, or other elements.
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I just tried to type up a quote from THE BOOK OF DISQUIET by Fernando Pessoa, so that I could tweet it out here; but it was too long. Then I tried to copy a different quote from the same volume, but it was too long also. Finally I attempted a 3rd excerpt but it hit the same wall.
I know that when the text that one is trying to publish is too long, one can break it up into a thread of separate tweets, but I didn't want to do that.
Also I considered posting the quotations on a regular blog (as opposed to Twitter, which I understand is not a blog but a microblog), & then sharing a hyperlink to the source URL accompanied by a snippet of the quoted texts as a lure, but I didn't want to do that either.
The conclusion that I draw from this experience is that Twitter is tedious. It makes me feel cramped, annoyed, claustrophobic...But I love the thought of there being so many other minds out there, using this network: it makes me dream that one might actually read what I say here.
If someone were to look at these tweets that I'm tweeting, it would be an outcome different than the results that I might expect if I were to write down some words on a physical postcard & then file this note away, in the drawer of a desk.
Even if the drawer belonged to a type of desk resembling one that a distinguished writer might use, there's hardly a chance that one of the respected Institutions of Higher Learning would open it up & read what is written on the postcard that it contains. (Where's the incentive?)
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I imagine Emily Dickinson gazing down upon the future that she wrote for, which is our present, and I wonder if she is happy with our reception of her.
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I don't believe that we will come back to spacetime as other living things, after we die; but I like to imagine what forms my human friends might prefer to be reborn as, if they could care. For instance, I am sure that my colleague Cheri would choose to be a spider.
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Nice day today. Everything is exactly the way it should be.
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