The Grit of Survival, Deferred

The disappearance of Homo neanderthalensis from the world has long been pondered and analysed by paleo- and anthro-scholars. Numerous theories have been posited, trying to shed light on why man’s closest relative vanished by 35,000BC. Many are merely the same old ideas with new twists -- turf wars with cro-mags, the inability to adapt linguistic toolkits -- you’ve heard them all. But the real reason in fact seems like a very new idea -- the twist being that it’s older than we could have ever imagined.
So what is it? What seemingly new concept is in fact an ancient one, one that led to the demise of our prehistoric brethren?

Neanderthals should never have gone vegan.

They did this, you must understand, not due to scarce resources or varied horticultural techniques, but simply as a “lifestyle choice.”
It uplifted them. Gave them self-esteem. Made them feel better than those oh-so-superior cro-mags with their big words and their fancy tools and their lame cave “art.”

Scientists believe that this was mankind’s first “fad” -- albeit a spiteful one that may have been the undoing for these haughty hominids. You see, fads are nothing but exo-psychic transactions meant for sub-caste motility and day-to-day social lubrication. They are not carried through evolutionary memory by Mr. DNA, thus they make poor guarantors for species survival.

And so, Neanderthal numbers dwindled over the next several millennia.
Though long gone, one can see remnants of their thought and behaviour among today’s trendy vegetarians...

[INT. RESTAURANT LUNCH COUNTER -- DAY]

Half-asleep trudging around in the vegan establishment,
eyes that were once sharp enough to spot wily prey, now crooked, vacant...
hirsuteness no longer natural, but fey in its obeisance to local fashion dictums...
days of the hunter-gatherer past, his scrawny frame reflects the lack of red meat diet
And his mate we see is worse for the wear.
Bone-thin, she has lost the supple curves of Willendorf.
Staid and pallid, her new Emo SmartGlasses™ do not quite seem to mask the fact that she is still, as ever, slack-jawed and slow on the uptake...

[FADE TO BLACK]

Declining fertility and species vigour on the wane: whence does this come? Standard youth-phase nostalgie de la boue? Rousseau’s noble savage gone indie? Or perhaps a deeper, darker nihilistic streak? Should someone have the answer, please notify this author, as his order-up tofurkey sandwich grows cold in the kitchen while neander-waitrons shuffle about, struggling in their prattle about Sticking It to the Man, Mojo Showboating, Testimonies of the Dust and Other Beguilements.

Červnový Osmdesát-5: Konfusion in Karlovy Vary

Straggling out of the cave
past the canopy of slumbering bats
to pile in the Citation and venture onward

Pupils rapidly adjust from zero light to an apparent magnitude of -26.7.

A funk descends under the visage of Pete the Chef.

The eyes, gazing from sun-bleached plastic... focusing, boring down... must be saying something...

Blinded by the sunset, the realization settles in on six of the eight pupils.

“Ray, we’re supposed to be heading east... turn it around!”

Allumez au lac des cloches avec Lyons et l'entraîneur

Tales of giant turtles in the depths
eels creep under a floating dock

Under brush, a lone remnant of brick foundation
burnt mill reminder of days past
horseshoe volley in the grove

Powder jello scarfing before the next event
Twilight meet on the racing blocks
on the hill sits Rachel wearing Fonzie socks

Tiki torch kindles the victory banquet
an unexpected plaque gleams with words of Dr. Salk

In the glee the ‘slave driver’ is hoisted
toss him in the deep end topple in...


...invisible suspension, look around, look up
underwater blue surround, above, beyond the surface
black sky punctuated by streaming white lights
and the fizz of rising bubbles...

EBB: Mapping the Debris Field

UAP Communique 113099

Entebbe Territorial Boundary Relocation moved from 2 minutes, 23 seconds due to BubbaCabal proxies discovered within Ugandoid Autonomous Prefecture as recent as 27 Oct. Media efforts are being made to urge partnership with APF, the local elders, and whatever resources are available to a ‘pro-punge’ workforce with additional tactical training and strategic expansion. In a sense, local negotiation offices have become garrisons for trained operatives.

Pan-Dimensional Alert: Dinner’s Gettin’ Cold

The stress of hearing editor Jameson’s incessant barking about scooping media opportunities.
The creepy xenogalactic denouncements of despot Infinata from his hoity-toity throne in the Fifth Dementia.
The silent gaze of faded Fred and Barney pillows lingers while Deaf Kennedy peers from his windowsill perch.
These overlapping transmissions seem to make the youngster chafe.
Competing messages that seem to hammer home the weight of some deadline. ...Not yet knowing that down the street awaits a warm plate of fishsticks and cocktail sauce.

In the big picture: Present and alternate dimensions must be made to account. Pixels need to resolve, map and tone within a perceivable gamut. Vectors need direction, magnitude and destination to render a proper display. Columns of meaning with gutters in between, rising above the fold, reaching the mast; we see the universe as one eventual substrate.
Rasterizing the Master Spill Page would effectively pancake these simultaneous frustums and cull the portals down into one cogent strategic plan of action.

It is so clear now, the second hand ticks like thunder. It has become dark. Mom is fuming as the victuals grow cold. Better get home to supper.

Thanksgiving at the Taj

From behind the one-armed bandits slowly rise the silky turbans, little fish with big eyes on the moll óir, with no one around to tap on the aquarium glass.

Sikhs playing slots
Koreans playing keno
Punjabis playing pai gow poker
and blackjack for the gent from Bình Dương

Outside the parlor...
Mothers crouch upon faded sheets spread over ornate carpet
Miserable babies squeal under the sequined light of bristling chandeliers
Soiled diapers sit in sandy ashtrays, silently mocking the disneyfied grandeur

haiku sidebar:

Oh, how the Donald
would knit his red furrowed brow
in consternation

Refugee picnic
lobby is spoiled, but fear not,
cash trumps any mess

The Gamblers’ Den: the mise-en-scène of gentlemen on holiday from Asian quarters.
Parlaying their high hopes, they drag their families along from third world to first, only to leave their loved ones to linger outside the premises while the menfolk play grab-ass with Lady Luck on the gaming floor.

Hajj to the Taj

Urbem lateritiam invenit, ignes reliquit

Ave Aquapolis

Blur and ripple through the currents, sea flares shimmer.
Under the crystal dome, spires soar, cellophane veils sway and fountains burble sapphire springs for all the bathing beauties.
Mayor Nemo raises his glass, nods, and toasts Neptune’s benediction...

Won’t you join us?

Not So Correct Pungeon

Young practitioners being happy to infuse common sense into the chronically inficious nature of grown-ups’ fraught clutches of illogic. This is enhanced life-coping skills you may agree.

Yes, leave it to the young to mesh ancient standards of truth with modern rigor of discipline to proactively solve problems mano a braino.

Bloviation Module 63: Cuddly Endangered Beast

Bloviation Module 53: Aerobic Rhesus

Bloviation Module 27: P¡ss-Gorged Pet

¿Sanguijuelas contra Joaní? ¡Sanguijuelas iguala Joaní!

Kissing butt inevitably becomes a self-consuming task: Second Fiddle Frustration eats its host away, like Uroborus gulping away at its own existence.

Peripheral characters who suck the life essence off of Those Who Matter end up getting drained of their own fame-by-proxy, bystanderist gloat by the very public to whom they pander.

Injury is added to insult after Stage Door Joanie has dropped all the names... and is left holding none, with which no arms to hold...

Noi Pungeremo Sulle Teste

Mokazame — Embryo, Pup, Marauder

Such is the natural determinism of the varieties of squalus. But does the gene predict all? Fie upon thee who claim the real is a construct. And fie upon thee who project false dichotomy upon homo sapiens. The world is not black, nor white.

Copping Crumbs of Credibility on College Square

Every town square has a rich history of being the community’s stage, soapbox, showcase and sanctuary... a veritable spectrum of municipal mores and happenstance, played out for the public to peruse.

But what of our fair town? Yes, there’s the spiffy, the scruffy, the down-to-earth, and the nutty. But for any downtown fixture that simply doodles a squiggle, thumps a paint can in a drum circle, or spouts self-centered autistic verse, the local culturati reflexively laud as benedictive artistic do-goodery. In light of this, one must take pause, look around, and genuinely suss up this ‘magical artistry that graces our streets.’

And what do we see?

Nihilistic squirmers doodling squiggles, drum circle jerks, and verbal busybodies spouting verse.

Which is nothing new. Nothing ‘magical.’ Nothing that ‘graces’ anything. Thus forcing us to redefine people’s “social schtick” in a way that may conflate the concepts of ‘local color’ and ‘village idiot’ ...demanding us to ‘call a spade a spade.’

A reliance on outward displays often betrays an inner insecurity that whines, “I’m unique -- just like everyone else!” In this case, begging for acknowledgement is tantamount to a metaphysical handout -- an ignis fatuus foisted upon passers-by; gaudy façades are the empty vessels of parched egos.
Eye contact should be avoided.

El Camino Postizo: Engaño de sí

Via Olvido: The vehicle takes you from empty obscurity to empty accomplishment, paving the way of outdated rebellion.

Razing Hunan: Shū de zhēn tā mā căn!

The first swing of the wrecking ball shatters the fiberglass façade of red, green and gold
chipped mortar and pulverized sheetrock
rain gravel with a dusty fog
Another swing and as much more crumbles
dozers tamp down debris in the rusted blue landbarge.

For over three decades, a bastion of guo tieh, Happy Family, and (some would say) stale fortunes. A cavernous shrine with aromas analeptic... sizzling sounds of hustle and bustle, yet allaying in its accordant ambience. Dependable with dispatch, too, as one could rely on prompt deliveries of Kung Pao standbys, General Tso’s MRE’s, and the annual Chūnjíe faux-bamboo freebie calendar -- a decorative touch for any kitchen.
Most famously perhaps, was the B-52–inspiring Flaming Volcano, a convivial adult libation known to foster musical bonds.

Such was the prime pith of Baxter Street, actualized.

But today, under the hazy late summer sun,
beyond the overgrown weeds and cracked asphalt,
a lonely demolition
unceremonious,
subtle history passes
rubble without witness

Húnán fànguăn zŏule, wŏ hĕn nánguò...

Zaìjiàn...

Platinum Morning

1877 Refortification
1977 Platinum Morning
1997 Implemented Proxies
2007 Eminence Ascent

Awaken with a start, in the dark
and then the curtains part
You remember where you are

Light fills the room with the quiet fanfare of hushing surf on Pactolian Plage below.

Dawn — a smoldering crucible of platinum
bathes the sky a tacit mauve

The sea beyond the fort of St. Catherine, crimson velvet
crescive rippling beads of light

The music of Nightkill births the day
electronic chimes wirble and cascade
arpeggiated sevenths stride across the horizon

solisequious... steady, the ascent

silhouettes of minarets, turrets
ramparts guarding the moment

Glimmer and glint in the folds of satin
she slowly stirs under warm beams and a breath from the sea
blinks
and remembers where she is.
As she awakens, she, too, is the dawn.

“Come to the balcony...
Come to the balcony to see...”

Eos Erigeneia, rise from your rest
and come to the edge
between sky and sea

Orville™ 390 Vent Rib Reactor

HWR Armature
Incent Criticality
3 Plasma Trap — Mag • Toroid/Stellarator

Möbius Script: Actor, Dream, Epiphany

It seems to happen every time... a dozen fortnights down the line
emptiness where there was once exuberance...
How did the joy escape? asks the actor. Where is the drain through which it seeped?
A hollow wondering at bonds that fray and binds that fade
yet again again, a script repeated
Slow collapse in upon itself; spent vessel wheezes to a halt.

How does a dream paint this picture?
[FADE IN TO:]

the miserable matted cat
skulks along the wall
slips through cracked door
down descending silent
to the gray cellar
crawls into the shadows
under skewed stairs
curls up
and waits
for final minutes to pass
out of sight, unnoticed
nobody’s burden

This is the way it always ends, the ties that’d bound, unravel
A piece inside the actor dies, as does the dream’s animal
‘This must stand for something,’ the actor sweats, fretting over the Rules of Metaphor.
[beat]
Which part withers and why?
That part inside the actor
It is a part and it is the whole
It is the actor’s part and he

[V.O.: Synecdoche epiphany]

Like General Black finally sees himself
both bull and matador
the actor’s cat is just as much
his heart as much himself

“The dream...
”The dream...
“Me...
”The matador... ...”




[DISSOLVE TO BLACK]

Gréne Nunfæmne of Néahwudu

Soft steps patter down the path
Steady trudge with conviction
Watched from the brush by Titania
Eyed from the sky by María
Measured pace on through the wood
The scent of spruce, the song of wrens
A step, a step a day a year
Whither mote she rove tómorgen
Eala, Þæt wæs god gefæmne

Newborns love the sweltering noonday sun

Parenting Trends 2006

As the searing midsummer sun beats down upon Classic City denizens going about their daily routine, one may take notice of a growing trend among today’s new parents.
Whether being pushed along in a decked-out stroller or cradled tightly in guarded arms, infants are lovingly made to bear the brunt of maximum solar exposure. Just look around. They wouldn’t be sitting there baking like that if they didn’t like it.

“No covering, no hats, no sunblock,” points out Dr. Johnny Gutts, a research facilitator at PedePartners 2K, a life sciences think tank based in Heritageville. “Shade is definitely out for these littlest of tykes.”
Gutts notes that this trend has been growing steadily in recent summers, and that potential risks may outweigh dubious benefits.

“Sun protection is vital for babies six months and younger. These parents are acting irresponsibly.”

“Oh, sure, blame the parents again,” laments Heidi Feick-Craig, local cashier at Flea Bite’s Café. “A lil’ sun is good for my babies. That‘s what’s most important.”

[Video: Dr. Gutts silently shakes head.]

“Dakota really likes the attention,” beams Thad Cruzak, a stay-at-home dad who moonlights at Junque Novelties. “She likes it best when I take her ‘sunning’ around City Square at lunch hour, when lots of people are around. It‘s so hot out then, but at least people are noticing her. Plus, I heard the sun is a good source for vitamin C, so that’s okay.”

Dr. Gutts frowns at parents who seemingly put their own needs ahead of their loved ones. Is there a solution?

Of course there is. Leave it up to the masterminds at the Orville Corporation to come up with an answer that will make everyone happy.

The Orville™ Infant Tanning Bed ITB100

Tanning improves the baby’s level of health. Ultraviolet rays harden the bones, enrich the blood, prevent colds, improve the appetite, and add vigor to the baby’s body.

This compact, small-capacity portable tanning receptacle is specially designed for a baby’s sensitivity to radiation, while maximizing a gorgeous, healthy golden glow.

• Patented NapTimer™ self-monitors session length.
• Self-contained output monitor. A unique energy-saving feature of the unit’s performance status.
• Wide array of UVA/UVB options (100-3.8x10^3Å).
• Clinically proven safe and effective.

The versatility of choice, only from...

Monday Cortical Hotboxing

Stoking the furnace with Scoville units in the kilo range
Cortex housing temperature reaching 346 Kelvins
Condensation appears on the chassis
trickling to a crawl
as a blue breeze brushes by
cool air touching hot surface
a slight hiss on the brow
Pacing into the headwind
Fake Ross quips, “Heading back to the castle?”

Corporate Ugandoid and the Exploding Green Sun

サラリーマン•ダダ

Specimen 6 rises in ranks up the ladder to greener pastures
Still he chop-chops at the air
Martial gestures at BBACBL’s wispy, bygone ghosts

Witness the litany of managerial buffoons:

• Mac MacDoom — Paranoid alky vet who imagines hand-fashioned pungee sticks as legit business tools against competition.

• The Brown Don — Toady gladhandler consultant relies on divide-and-conquer techniques while buttkissing a la Larry King.

• Dragonryder — Oily, miserable micro-manager who re-enacts swordplay from Highlander during meetings while sporting Member’s Only jacket and fanny-pack.

• Andreu Puckerpants — Flaming stereotype with Rich Wife/Beard who nonetheless feels the need to disparage his uncloseted ilk, all while pandering to Bluehairs.



• The BBACBL Triarchy — The masterminds themselves... Fringe bankers of the Foreman Archetype whose reign of incompetence oversaw this succession’s takedown of a once-viable media organ.

...And let us not forget their lapdog, the vile Jethrine-esque Sleezi Tiki.

“Sarariman Dada, why do you swat at faded flies of yesteryear? They are powerless, shriveled shadows from the past. What threat could they possibly hold in your mind?”

Hmmm...

While “living well is the best revenge” is indeed a tasty dictum in which to take comfort, our executive’s concern is not that of a concrete threat. It is the radar’s detection of patterns themselves that may alert us to any Repeating of the Past.

May we introduce a new corporate tool:

The Orville™ Green Nova of Awareness

• 360° recon intelligence
• 4D contingencies map realtime outcomes
• Motive-exploding to shed light from the what-was to the could-be
• Deterministic schemes for assessing future management’s core competency
• Actionable chaos sets for countering management meta-ignorance and zerotasking

New Babylon 3

Psi-Дубинка: Loop Happiness to the Virgin Soil

Le Mensonge 5

Mars mille neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit
Korrigier die beleidigende Lüge

Utilizing the spillover:
Energy Into Posterity;
Optimizing Your Collateral Results

If you knew you had met the Beast... would you still arbitrate?

Along our path in life, we encounter advice, amity and allegiances with individuals based on what the naïve like to think are “best interests” and “a kind of rapport.”

It shouldn’t take a paranoid to question the concern of the “overly-invested” as hidden agendae of Energy Vampires, Culture Vultures and other False Coaches.

And yet the dewy-eyed idealists are lauded for stooping to reasonably entertain the unreasonable, thinking sanity and goodness would easily win over the consciously corrupt and dissolute.

Yet why are the questions of one who encounters the pall of Existential Doubt waved away with simplistic labels like “Pessimist” and “Captain Bringdown”?

LifeCoach™ by Orville can help you cut through the social brush like a street-smart machete with self-actualization programmes and UlteriorInquest™ hintage.

Syntax Punge 1a

This is the schema for the data model as described in the Psy-Punge Description Framework (PPDF) Model and Syntax Specification.- ->
•Bounday: Scammage. •Class: Punge. •Classß: Value.

идиóт: Thing Is You.

From the Allied Pungeoning Front Moscow Bureau 23 June 1999

Sharing the Needles of Success ‘99

Are your children prepared for “success?”

“Teenagers are expected to know how to deal with success with little or no education at home or in school,” says Ghetto Prescriptionary’s Johnny Gutts. “They must learn how to tell the difference between ‘wants’ and ‘needs’ in order to develop a dependency on success goals.”

Gutts offers these tips:

• Develop a summer habit.
• Look for expensive summer activities.
• Avoid Self-Administered Reality Checks (SARCs™).

Specimen 5 victim of combine accident

Specimen 6 reviews post-mortem:

While the Sidler Saucers hover on periphery of Prattle Zone, combine blades slash datahose; recoil of infostream conduit shattered the plexi-cab, thereby eliminating the Foister who meddled with Crops of Potential.

De-blurring...
De-gaussing...
The future dissolving to the present... to show what painted this Vomick Fever Dream:

...
The fields at Eagle Road slope toward the beckoning of yellow lanterns, wrought-iron, naked babes and 3-D wiggle fireplace pictures.
Post-repast laps through the house agitate the immature gut.
Thus, on the journey home warm mac’n’cheese erupts upon dank floormats. Without ZGoop™ on hand to aid in cleanup, Courier One ducks into G-Noid Orb Parlor to procure napkin relief.
Shotgun cleanup and back en route via M-Tug, while bobbing in and out of consciousness... ...

Advice of Specimen 6:

De-gauss the skull to repel magnetic dream mines. That, and don’t sprint from the dinner table with a full belly.