Tuesday, September 29, 2009

a word on high from our sponsors

So. A little perspective is what's required.

Or merely what the doctor ordered. A little distance, certainly.

A respite from ill performed quackery, and the casting of runes;
the misdiagnosis of impertinent rubes. All manner of unsound
diviners. Pet rodents roiling on the stove. Scissors sixty-nining.
"Oh, you put a little picture there!" the anonymous voice crowed.
"You looked up a word. How clever."

On and on without pause. A harpy on my shoulder.

"Why can't you write about nice things," the voice continued.
Unquestioningly. Without dissent. A nagging reprobation,
a torn umbrella dripping from a branch, a diuretic toxin. On and
on, without pause. On and fucking on.

Woody Woodpecker sang with more variety. Even jabbing
his beak in where he had no call at all.

"You fuck. You sad fuck", the voice droned.

Not remotely antique, but creaking with menopausal infirmament.
An old testament notion of righteousness,
a chalk scraping on a blackboard made dark with skulking malice.

" Shut up!" it chanted.

A little unbelievably.

Well. I have been called a lot of things. I have been sad, it's true, and
known to fuck once in a while. In and out the sun. Without remorse.
But. Hear this, motherfucker.
If you don't like the banging - if the clanging of rusty metal implements
offends you - stay the fuck out of my kitchen.

My one regret, I might add - a little sadly - is tipping my glass;
a trifling prematurely.

Some of you may have already noticed, but unfortunately this blog no longer receives nor accepts anonymous comments. That, as politicians constantly remind us, is progress.

PERE UBU: FINAL SOLUTION from "Final Solution b/w Cloud 149" 45 (Hearthan) 1976 (US)


Your driver said...

Ib, yer a hell of a swell fella. I'm sure of it and I have a name.

Dan said...

Fuck the rubes. May they stay anonymous until they meet their doom. Some of us love words, un-nice ones at that. Love your kitchen and all its uncouth implements.

@eloh said...

I don't get "anonymous comments", quite by accident, not by design.

I swear there was nothing written here yesterday...

ib said...

Thanks, brothers and sisters.

That plague of anonymous twattering got me more agitated than was proper; not least because the sheer inanity of it all caught me quite off-guard in the course of enjoying a late afternoon tipple...

Persistent little bastard.

I've never felt the urge to delete anything before, but there is a first time for everything.

@euloh, your comment (much later on in the day) on the yard man jumping in your shower made me crack a wicked smile and restored my faith in humanity, Zyklon B or otherwise.

Hence the "I think I love you" response.

My stalker's "SHUT UP!" tantrum was actually fairly amusing too. Evidently he - or she - has well established masochistic tendencies.

And a very skewed line of reasoning.

@eloh said...

Are you trying to tell me you didn't really mean it...that it was just something you said in the heat of the moment?

Well, it's too late, I've already shaved my legs and bought a bus ticket!

ib said...

Nah, of course I meant it. Heat of the moment or not.

Your bus might need wings, though; at the very least a liner pass. There is a whole lot of water between us.

Löst Jimmy said...

ib, I must be getting old, dottled or just paranoid for I swear I had scribed a delightful comment here yesterday...bah!
I am sure I did but got distracted while watching the latest territorial dispute in the back close no doubt.
Well basically my, which now appears invisible, visit yesterday was to wish you very good weekend!

ib said...

Territorial disputes a go-go, Löst Jimmy; and one particularly nasty one I won't elaborate on involving rats.

Nothing came in on the e-mail alert, either. I can't see that it's applicable - given you are always logged in - but anonymous comments have been disabled ?

Löst Jimmy said...

Never an anon comment from me, my ego would never allow it.

I think I imagined replying yesterday, setting out a witty retort to the comments thread but failed in my multi-tasking to lay it down on the keyboard. Nothing to do, I hasten to add, with my post-work pints!

Not like the story up the road where one bitter character 'recruited' rates dead and alive and put them in this neighbour's garden, car, shed and through the mutual loft firewall?

I can't bear them, my last abode in Whimpering Heights as I called sat right on the river, it was a shambling edifice which was afflicted by vermin. The slum-lord who rented the property to me showed not interest in dealing with the horrible plague. With my nerves and belongings under threat I sought shelter elsewhere, ending up here in a similar (but rodent free) crumbling paradise but this time Slum-Lord has been replaced by Housing Association...any difference one ponders.