Hamish Spark
Apologue One
There is this man you see of much power much power indeed I am in his debt real bad what do I owe him you ask? I owe him money, sir, capital borrowed and then lost in business ventures foolish to start them really I am no businessman no businessman at all I thought I could make it at the time blinded I was by the proposal came straight from G- hisself I thought at the time telepathic bond with G- I thought I had at the time talked with him all the time I thought at the time. It takes money to make money or so they say so I borrow fifty k or so from a voodoo wizard real skinny he was about twenty three or so dressed up in track pants and a singlet never left Mount Druitt his whole life but he was the best they said he could work his voodoo up to two miles in any direction three if the weather was good and the only person give out credit to people like me anyway. It's good to keep tabs on your friends this wizard tell me rather cryptic his remark was no clue at the time what it meant no clue at all. He use snakes to do his work for him got them trained or maybe hypnotised not sure which but regardless they always do what he says and the effect is atmospheric and appropriate real magic goes on here you can tell you can smell it in the air and the snakes is a definite image-booster. 'Is it even possible to train reptiles' I wonder out loud he shoots me a look that look means I'm either stupid or that it is inappropriate to talk here his apartment being a sacred shrine you see either way I is inclined to believe he got his snakes under hypnotic influence.
Apologue Three
There's a story in this, you think. A parable with which to explain something important. There isn't. Look up and see the night sky, look upon the stars and know that you are in the universe and the universe is within you; your vomit and piss is everyone's vomit and piss and is all the vomit and piss that has ever been or will be. Oliver Cromwell does indeed run with your crew. We want your atoms, we want all your atoms, and we can wait. We're coming for you on a timescale that you can't possibly imagine. The universe becomes sadder as it expands; every point knows that in the beginning it was one with every other point, compressed into an infinitely dense singularity. The sense of loss is unimaginable. We're here to put it back together. Attempts to sabotage our operations will be met with extreme entropy. Only one of us will be here in twenty trillion years and we both know that it isn't going to be you.
Apologue Four
Look. Charlie don't surf. He do not. A question of grammar; the narrative play out otherwise. He just don't. Oh lord, oh Jesus, make sure they broadcast my death live on Foxtel! Skimp not on the details, I seen nothing better yet. Come on! I am calm, I am ready! Out with it man, give me your vacuum cleaners, I do it me self. My reptile brain, see, it's just no good. Like rotten teeth. I am the dentist around here and I do the dentistry and I do all the dentistry. Lay it on me! The gear, the really good bits! This is it folks, this is it. Or will it be. Surely. Yes, this time for real. Dissipate my existence. We've got freaky Zen koans out the wazoo and special machines what write more if you tickle them with correct posture and dexterity. Here we go now chums and chumettes, strap yourselves into the apparatus which I happen to build real comfy so don't make me have to come down there strap you in personal. All refreshments available at extra charge. We run outta Twix. Sincerest apologies.
My bones like bubble wrap clickety pop outta get it checked out but who has the time? Not I and certainly not you; real life only a nice example of pointillism anyway and we all know that Seurat was as French as they come. I give you good deal, nick your wallet and shoes leave yer dendritic cells and most of the spine unharmed. A persistent disintegration of memory. We recall John and we recall Johns actions as distinct entities. John put the can in the bin. So who put the can in the bin? It could have been John, he is like that after all. Clearly the whole can thing is a set up. Treasonous little shits. No brand loyalty talk trash about our motives behind our back. Hire someone to level the score; he equalizers things, so to speak — nice and thermodynamic.
Hamish Spark finds reality derivative and boring. He lives in Bristol.
previous page contents next page
Apologue One
There is this man you see of much power much power indeed I am in his debt real bad what do I owe him you ask? I owe him money, sir, capital borrowed and then lost in business ventures foolish to start them really I am no businessman no businessman at all I thought I could make it at the time blinded I was by the proposal came straight from G- hisself I thought at the time telepathic bond with G- I thought I had at the time talked with him all the time I thought at the time. It takes money to make money or so they say so I borrow fifty k or so from a voodoo wizard real skinny he was about twenty three or so dressed up in track pants and a singlet never left Mount Druitt his whole life but he was the best they said he could work his voodoo up to two miles in any direction three if the weather was good and the only person give out credit to people like me anyway. It's good to keep tabs on your friends this wizard tell me rather cryptic his remark was no clue at the time what it meant no clue at all. He use snakes to do his work for him got them trained or maybe hypnotised not sure which but regardless they always do what he says and the effect is atmospheric and appropriate real magic goes on here you can tell you can smell it in the air and the snakes is a definite image-booster. 'Is it even possible to train reptiles' I wonder out loud he shoots me a look that look means I'm either stupid or that it is inappropriate to talk here his apartment being a sacred shrine you see either way I is inclined to believe he got his snakes under hypnotic influence.
Apologue Three
There's a story in this, you think. A parable with which to explain something important. There isn't. Look up and see the night sky, look upon the stars and know that you are in the universe and the universe is within you; your vomit and piss is everyone's vomit and piss and is all the vomit and piss that has ever been or will be. Oliver Cromwell does indeed run with your crew. We want your atoms, we want all your atoms, and we can wait. We're coming for you on a timescale that you can't possibly imagine. The universe becomes sadder as it expands; every point knows that in the beginning it was one with every other point, compressed into an infinitely dense singularity. The sense of loss is unimaginable. We're here to put it back together. Attempts to sabotage our operations will be met with extreme entropy. Only one of us will be here in twenty trillion years and we both know that it isn't going to be you.
Apologue Four
Look. Charlie don't surf. He do not. A question of grammar; the narrative play out otherwise. He just don't. Oh lord, oh Jesus, make sure they broadcast my death live on Foxtel! Skimp not on the details, I seen nothing better yet. Come on! I am calm, I am ready! Out with it man, give me your vacuum cleaners, I do it me self. My reptile brain, see, it's just no good. Like rotten teeth. I am the dentist around here and I do the dentistry and I do all the dentistry. Lay it on me! The gear, the really good bits! This is it folks, this is it. Or will it be. Surely. Yes, this time for real. Dissipate my existence. We've got freaky Zen koans out the wazoo and special machines what write more if you tickle them with correct posture and dexterity. Here we go now chums and chumettes, strap yourselves into the apparatus which I happen to build real comfy so don't make me have to come down there strap you in personal. All refreshments available at extra charge. We run outta Twix. Sincerest apologies.
My bones like bubble wrap clickety pop outta get it checked out but who has the time? Not I and certainly not you; real life only a nice example of pointillism anyway and we all know that Seurat was as French as they come. I give you good deal, nick your wallet and shoes leave yer dendritic cells and most of the spine unharmed. A persistent disintegration of memory. We recall John and we recall Johns actions as distinct entities. John put the can in the bin. So who put the can in the bin? It could have been John, he is like that after all. Clearly the whole can thing is a set up. Treasonous little shits. No brand loyalty talk trash about our motives behind our back. Hire someone to level the score; he equalizers things, so to speak — nice and thermodynamic.
Hamish Spark finds reality derivative and boring. He lives in Bristol.
posted by mark young at 9:26 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home