Several weeks ago I was tasked with organizing and superintending the annual neighborhood weenie roast. Everyone was well aware of my unfitness for the job, but they assigned it to me anyways, thinking that some sort of amusing tragi-comedy would ensue as a result of my mismanagement.
The first thing I did was look the term up in the dictionary: "1. a cookout where roasted frankfurters are the main course. 2. an informal meal cooked and eaten outdoors. 3. a social event at which weiners are cooked, typically on a barbecue or sticks over a campfire."
I then summoned an inner circle of close friends and allies who had experienced weenie roasts before, and would be able to provide me with the mythos, ethos, pathos and logos of such primordial events.
One by one, the basics fell into place. We made a sand mandala representing the relationships between all possible factors, with different colors and textures representing such core elements as fire, people, weenies, and sticks.
When the big day finally arrived, it was raining, and the forecast revealed that it would continue unabated for over 24 hours. Moreover, there were a number of troubling stories being reported by the media which would certainly dampen the spirit of of such a simple and hopefully festive event. My advisors made it clear to me that melancholy would carry the day, and that the cooking and eating of weenies would be regarded as a sick and tasteless joke.
I drew up a memorandum and had copies hand-delivered to every house in the neighborhood talking about the grand traditions of humankind and how the dictionary defines event as "1. a thing that happens, especially one of importance and 2. a planned public or social occasion" I had no objections to offer, none to demand, how it drags on, all the confusion surrounding the weenie roast, whether it should happen or not, whether or not it is possible, with the rain, with the media, with the beautiful sand mandala washing away down the gutter, maybe we could put a tarp over the fire somehow, I’ve no objection, they could never get me to understand that, the things that stir, depart, return, a light changing, we wanted the weenie roast to be festive, I was told by my advisors that people would not be feeling light-hearted, it’s because of the rain melancholy on top of the media melancholy on top of the sub-atomic principles, that makes three possibilities, yes, far, or near, distances, you know, measurements, enough said, gleams, as at dawn, in the silence, full of murmurs, distant cries, the usual silence, spent listening, spent waiting, waiting for the voice, the cries abate, like all cries, that is to say they stop, the murmurs cease, they give up, the voice begins again, it begins trying again, quick now before there is no neighborhood left, no voice left, nothing left but the core of murmurs, distant cries, I don’t know, I’ve forgotten, it doesn’t matter, I never knew, to have them carry me into my story, the words that remain, my old story, which I’ve forgotten, far from here, through the noise, through the door, into the silence, that must be it, it’s too late, perhaps it’s too late, perhaps they have, how would I know, in the silence you don’t know, perhaps it’s the campfire, offering light and warmth to the universe, that would surprise me, all this time I’ve journeyed without even knowing it, you must say words, rumor has it, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange questions, posed by the annual weenie roast, you must go on, perhaps it has happened already, the weenies cooked on whittled sticks over a roaring fire under the rain, perhaps we have carried this memory to the threshold of the media, before the door that opens on the media, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be silence, where I am, I don’t know, I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, the weenie roast begins to take on a life of its own, I should never have been the person to organize it, such a hallowed tradition, people of all ages and sizes and backgrounds putting aside a few hours to gather in a backyard somewhere, hunkered down, telling stories, feeling a sense of community, wondering if the sand mandala was really so neccessary, given the straightforward nature of a neighborhood cookout, and yet there are people present with confused and vacant looks on their faces, they need guidance, this event poses a labyrinth of terrors, echoes, murmurs, chuckles, excitement no longer capable of being contained, I should have sent the memorandum via email instead of hand delivery, people wonder about that, wonder if it is all really so urgent, I have no explanation, smoke is blowing into my eyes, I was thrust into this supervisory role against my will...
Wednesday, August 18, 2021
Sunday, January 20, 2013
indra?
billy stopped by again last night (static noise occurring) (why not?) (the historic great snows) wanting to spend a little time with the "visualizer" (deep darkness, deep canyons, bolts and shackles, trade winds, etc.) some of you may be confused or unaware of this bizarre digital-speak, but for others it is old hat by now- a veritable old and cherished friend, in some cases.
(yes, it's the itunes visualizer I'm referring to here.)
as mentally suspect as it might sound, (and he knew this) billy wanted nothing other than to hunker down in front of my laptop again and listen to music accompanied by the itunes visualizer effects.
"no problem" I told him. "that's what the visualizer is there for, old buddy."
(deep down in the silence, deep darkness, deep mercy, deep hiddenness)
some of you have been pestering me to describe billy's appearance and I'll get around to that eventually- it's something I'm deliberately putting off until the appropriate moment.
several years ago I burned him copies of 3 particular motion picture soundtracks that I thought he might enjoy. I didn't hear anything about them until about maybe 5 or 6 days ago, when he showed up, somewhat bedraggled, to report that he "finally understood what those rascally fellows were up to...the tracks bleed into each other in mystical ways that the composers- completely unknown to one another as far as I'm aware- could never have explicitly planned for..."
my response was: "ok, billy- delighted to hear that you're enjoying the music."
I haven't even seen the films for which the music was written, and neither has billy (people in this era are a little convoluted sometimes) but I have, at his gentle insistence, settled down with him a couple of times in front of said visualization apparatus to try and understand what all the fuss is about.
(admittedly, there are some pretty cool effects)
I can hear you wondering to yourself at whatever great distance you happen to be: "does that rogue billy mix and mingle/scramble the various tracks into a sequence of his own choosing that speaks more personally to his subjective experience of living alone in a small log cabin outside the small town of mt. zion?"
well, f.y.i- that's what he told the UPS man as he was leaving my house the other morning-
you will obviously want to know which soundtracks he has become so enthusiastic about and I'll get around to that eventually- I want to be like that sort of generous/anonymous narrator, so beloved in the world's various storytelling-based cultures, who provides his or her patient listeners with the deep and dark satisfactions they hunger for.
billy stopped by again last night (sorry- still no word from siberia) wait- didn't I already go over that? hmm....well, he just wanted to spend a little time alone with the visualizer! he doesn't own his own computer and considers that to be a pretty unfortunate thing- always having to barge in on friends and associates at inopportune moments just so he can listen to music or record random musings and observations for strangers.
(you'll also probably want to know what version of itunes I'm referring to here and whether we're using standard or "classic"- well, sort of like billy's physical appearance, these are all sensitive matters that I intend to carefully sort thru in due course)
(deep snow, deep forests, deep ethers, deep bodies)
(dig in deep snow) (winter echoes) (hidden chambers and ventricles)
the one thing I can share presently is that my poorly groomed friend keeps mumbling something about "indra's meshwork or web." w.t.f.? I hear you mumbling- yeah, well, I mumbled it too- we're all mumbling something or other these days! it's the holiday season!...the holiday season...so whoop-de-doo...and dickory-dock...and don't forget...to hang up your sock...cause just exactly at 12 o'clock he'll be coming down the chimney down...
so like any responsible citizen of the digital era, I logged onto wikipedia to find out just what this meshwork or web could possibly be, or was it just another strange coinage direct from billy's bizarre private mint-
well, whaddya know! it exists.
(here's a few excerpts from the wiki entry- the page was last modified on march 11, 2010 but that doesn't mean that someone hasn't swooped in in just the last couple of minutes and rearranged or even sabotaged it completely- in any case, there's no need, no need at all, to physically go to wikipedia yourself so as to confirm that I'm not just making all of this crazy shit up-)
"...also called indra's jewels or indra's pearls) is a metaphor used to illustrate the concepts of emptiness, dependent origination, and interpenetration in mainstream buddhist philosophy...holds that all phenomena are intimately/infinitely repeated mutual relations existent...imagine, if you will, a spider's frail web in the early morning covered with dew- and now imagine niagra falls- well, they have a subtle agreement apparently...far far away in the tin shack of the mid-level god indra there is a wonderful net which has been hung by some cunning artificer in such a weird manner that it stretches out quite far in all conceivable directions- and in accordance with the extravagant taste of all self-respecting tin shack enthusiasts, the artificer has hung a single glittering jewel in each "eye" or "ear" or "nose" or even "mouth" of the net, and since the net itself seems to be damn near infinite in dimension, the jewels are infinite in number as well- that's a lot of friggin' jewels, you guys! ..............................
Saturday, January 12, 2013
the casino
Call me K. I know it’s weird. Everything is weird nowadays! Jack and Maria took away my identity and now there doesn’t appear to be any more of this precious thing called “identity.” I knew some people once who dumped their possessions into the river. We’re supposed to take care of our possessions. We’re supposed to like our possessions. People subtly move towards the exits, and if they’re in motor vehicles, they move toward the off ramps. They’re not so sure that they want to commence on this journey. I can’t say that I blame them. I’ve been through alot recently and it’s taken what might be referred to as a psychological toll. I won’t go so far as to call it the “road to perdition,” although that’s not necessarily the worst cliche I could apply to the overall damage. Any other letter of the alphabet would probably do just as well, but for certain obscure reasons, several years back, I arbitrarily settled on K. This is the gist of what happened:
It was late in the evening when I arrived. The village lay deep and silent in fresh-fallen snow. The casino plaza was hidden, veiled in fog and darkness, nor was there the faintest glimmer of light to show that a casino was even there in the first place. Some of the people around here must have serious psychological problems, I thought. Gonna eventually have to do something regarding all these psychological problems. On the wooden bridge leading from the main road to the village, I stood for a long time gazing out into what I think could only be called a vast seeming emptiness.
I sighed deeply, and proceeded on to find lodgings for the rest of the night. Luckily there were still people up and about at the inn, and although the receptionist could not provide a room and was somewhat upset by such a late and unexpected arrival, she was willing to let me sleep on a bag of straw in the lobby. Strange and unpleasant offer, no doubt, but I was already so dejected and tired that I accepted politely. Some locals were still enjoying their peanuts and beer in the adjoining restaurant/lounge, but I didn’t feel like being social, and after fetching the bag of straw down from the attic myself, I quietly bedded down next to the fireplace. It was a warm corner, the locals didn’t appear to be very intrusive, and, after letting my weary eyes stray over them briefly, I soon fell asleep, wondering how many of these people had serious psychological problems.
Well, surprise surprise, it wasn’t long before I was awakened. A young fellow in a beat up but stylish leather jacket was standing right there along with the receptionist, both of them staring down at me sternly. Turns out I wasn’t mistaken about the psychological problems! I noticed that some of the locals had turned turned their chairs in our direction, almost as if in expectation of some kind of amusing performance. The young fellow apologized for having wakened me, and introduced himself as the son of the casino manager. “You may not be aware of it, sir, but this village belongs to the casino, and whoever lives here or even passes one single night here does so, effectively, in the casino itself. Nobody is allowed to do that without the casino manager’s express authorization. As far as I can tell, sir, you lack such authorization. Unless I am mistaken, I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to immediately vacate the premises and proceed on your journey, at least until you are well beyond the village borders.”
I had half-risen in bed at this point, smoothing down my hair and squinting up at these charmers. “What village is this, anyways? And what’s all this talk about a casino?”
Several of the locals shook their heads in astonishment.
“Sir, have you never heard of Count Dracula? Have you never heard of his world-famous casino?”
“And I really need authorization just to sleep here?” This was almost starting to seem like something straight out of Franz Kafka!
“One must indeed have received authorization” the young fellow replied. There was a certain sarcastic contempt for my ignorance as he then appealed to the locals with a dramatic wave and tone of voice: “Who knows? Maybe express authorization is just a thing of the past! Maybe I, the manager’s son, wasn’t even informed of it! Maybe I’m just wandering around here totally clueless as to how things are run here!”
Not surprisingly, the locals laughed heartily at this clever sally of his.
“Well then,” I mumbled, pushing the blanket away and getting up- “If it’s so important, I’ll go get authorization.”
“And just where might you get that, sir?”
“From Count Dracula, I suppose- do you have any better suggestions?”
The entire room completely erupted in laughter, and it lasted unabated for about 20 or 25 minutes. I had never witnessed such a sudden loss of control! The locals were pounding on the table, themselves, and each other, tears streaming down their faces- the two charmers standing over me were doubled over and heaving, barely able to stand, and leaning on one another and the walls for support. Turns out I wasn’t mistaken about the psychological problems! I laid back down, closed my eyes, and waited semi-patiently for these unusual people to “get it out of their systems.”
Finally, after the young fellow had regained a little composure, he cried, tears in his eyes, and a voice hoarse from uncontrollable laughter, “Authorization from Count Dracula at this hour of night!” which, of course, just set the whole group off again. I continued lying there, wondering for a moment if this wasn’t all just a dream.
I waited until the laughter had almost completely subsided before sitting up again and trying to get a straight answer.
“If it’s impossible to get authorization at this hour of night, why did you wake me up? Why did you even let me bed down in the first place?”
The young fellow seemed deeply offended, and started gesticulating and shouting. “You hooligan! You wandering, anonymous, good-for-nothing, bizarre excuse for a human! You are vagueness incarnate, sir! I will not be addressed in that fashion!” He turned to the receptionist. “Susan, let’s get this guy hauled away!”
Before Susan could say anything, I cut them short. “People- chill out, please. OK? Take a couple deep breaths. All of this drama is completely unnecessary. I am the landscaper K whom the Count is expecting. I’ve been hired on to reconfigure the grounds of one of his rental properties. My assistants will be arriving tomorrow in a truck with all our equipment. I decided to come one night ahead of schedule, to get a better look at the place, but unfortunately lost my way several times because of the snow. That it was too late to report in to the Count was apparent to me without the benefit of your kind instruction. That is also why I have accepted this substandard sleeping arrangement which you have had the further discourtesy to interrupt with these trifles about authorization. That is all I have to say, ladies and gentlemen. Good night.”
And with that, I pulled the blanket back over me and turned on my side toward the fireplace.
“Landscaper? What the f? All of the Count’s rental properties are just dandy the way that they are! What an idea! What an outlandish idea! Why, I was just marvelling yesterday what a good job Groundskeeper Evans was doing!” I heard a number of remarks like this being muttered here and there around the lobby/lounge. Eventually the young fellow suggested calling the casino main office to check. It turned out that the phone was situated right next to the fireplace. I had completely overlooked it in my drowsy condition. Would I allow this continued disturbance of my much-needed night’s rest? What other choice did I have? I sat up in bed again and gazed wearily out into the room. The receptionist was back behind the desk gazing stonily into her computer. The telephone call was underway. It turned out that the casino manager had gone home for the night, but one of the assistant managers, a certain Mr. Fritz, was available. The young fellow in the leather jacket, identifying himself as Jack Schwartz, went on to report that he had come across a suspicious-looking man in his thirties sleeping calmly on a bag of straw off to the side of the lobby with a shoulder bag for a pillow and a telescoping aluminum walking stick within reach. He had naturally suspected the fellow of vagrancy or perhaps even worse, and as Susan had obviously failed to properly look into the matter, he, Jack Schwarz, felt duty bound to take on the responsibility himself. He reported to have roused and questioned the vagrant, asked for authorization, and having received none, ordered him to promptly and speedily continue on his way out of town, all of which the ingrate had rudely rebuffed, offering by way of excuse that he had been hired by the Count to do a “landscaping” job on one of his rental prperties. Jack went on to ask Mr. Fritz to inquire with human resources if a landscaper was really expected- yes, he would be happy to hold. There was a brief pause. The lobby/lounge remained utterly silent. After a few moments, Mr. Fritz was back on the line- his report was very brief. Jack hung up the phone, shouting menacingly “Indeed! Just as I thought! Not a trace of a landscaper! Just a clever, lying tramp who thought we would be taken in with such a transparently ridiculous story!”
For a moment I thought the whole assembly was going to tear me to pieces, and not knowing what else to do, I crawled under the blanket and readied myself for the assault. But the telephone rang again. Jack answered it hastily. He stood there for awhile listening to a relatively long statement, his face growing despondent by degrees, until he said in a low, dispirited voice: “Really? Are you sure? He has been officially hired? The head of the department confirmed it? Wow. That’s strange, really strange. Yes. OK, yes. Thanks for checking. Good-bye.”
I immediately pricked up my ears. So the casino had recognized me as a hired landscaper after all. Not that I was surprised, but after all of this bizarre “authorization” rigmarole I have to admit that I was a little concerned. I’d been through some permit/licensing issues a handful of times in my career, and I knew that sometimes they could take weeks to resolve. I had been led to believe that this job was shovel-ready!
the animal kingdom
Godzilla's appearance has changed quite a bit over the years; however, most of his core characteristics have remained fairly consistent.
For example, his terrible roar- changing only slightly in pitch and timbre when he made the transition from film to cartoon. Godzilla's basic physiology retains the same general properties, which are, of course, instantly recognizable: a giant, lime-green, bipedal, mutant iguana or dinosaur with rough, bumpy scales, a long powerful tail, fierce teeth, and jagged dorsal fins often blue or dark purple in color.
Although the legend of his origins varies somewhat from film to film, it is generally understood that he is a prehistoric reptile-amphibian hybrid who mutated into his present form thru massive radiation exposure, most likely from an atomic weapons test gone awry. Non-canonical sources (such as the Universal Studios version of King Kong vs. Godzilla) suggest that Japan is the home of Godzilla's ancestors. However, this has never been confirmed by a credible source.
The most notable of Godzilla's many abilities is his nuclear breath: a powerful heat-ray of atomic fire or lava which shoots out at mach-speed from his terrible mouth. Godzilla is also depicted as being resistant to most kinds of injury thanks to a tough, leathery hide and sophisticated self-healing properties. He is portrayed as being quick, strong, and dexterous, sometimes utilizing arcane martial arts techniques in combat.
The famous “Godzilla roar” is the copyrighted sound that the creature most often uses to communicate his displeasure. It is a very mechanical sounding roar and does not resemble any other known animal noise one might actually encounter out in the wild.
This terrifying noise, debuted in the original Godzilla film, was created by acclaimed Japanese composer Akira, who produced the sound by rubbing a resin-covered leather glove along the loosened strings of a double bass and then slowed down the playback.
Over the years the roar has become a trademark feature of the Godzilla franchise and is now instantly recognizable all over the globe. Its fame is on a par with the iconic Tarzan yell. It is often pirated by other directors for satirical purposes when monsters or animal villains are featured onscreen or when a human character becomes exceedingly angry and wishes for this anger to become generally known.
Godzilla usually lets his mighty roar be heard when he makes his initial appearance in a production, even if there is no discernible reason for doing so. During destruction and fighting sequences he usually roars multiple times. Directors tend to re-use Akira’s original recording, but in more recent years variations of the roar have been crafted to express some of Godzilla’s different emotions.
All of these looped decibels are a kind of “under wraps” flagellation, a lunar entity into which being and sickness both enter, by way of ear lust, pulling a soiled uniform over one’s skeleton, and heading down to the racetrack to personally “weigh in” on the issues. I need only mention in passing the reappearance of the “catfish” tradition in the popular cycle of zen instructional videos, which proliferated in the wake of japan’s initial encounter with buddhism.
Pioneers drove by instinct; this gave way to steering by instrument; and then to fully automated GPS monitors stretched way beyond the lustre of older stock phrase equivalents, traded freely, off market, to the very end of the crocodile’s snout.
crocodile: member species of the family Croco-dy-la-dae are large aquatic reptiles that live throughout the tropics worldwide. They tend to congregate in freshwater habitats such as rivers, lakes, wetlands, and feed mostly on earthworms, giant pythons, cheetahs, crayfish, and, of course, one another. They first appeared during the Eocene epoch, about 55 million years ago.
Godzilla's signature weapon is his distinctive nuclear breath. His dorsal fins glow ominously, and then he lets loose with a concentrated blast of radiation direct from his gullet. This power is often mistaken for mere fire or smoke by his enemies, much to their unpleasant surprise and undoing. In Godzilla’s Challenge his breath was depicted as having incendiary properties strong enough to destroy a small belt of black holes, while in Godzilla Grills out with Neighbors it possessed incredible range, power and accuracy, able to hit microscopic targets in deep outer space and pick off invading goblins one by one while Godzilla casually floated on his back thru the Straits of Gibraltar.
In a memorable (and somewhat infamous) scene in Godzilla Comes to his Senses, he ingeniously uses his breath to fly by aiming it down at our earth and using the properties of inverse gravity to lift off like a rocket. His breath can also power electrodes, melt steel and rock, germinate plants, cook raw meat, and instantly evaporate water.
In donning the data-suit an individual slips into a catastrophically pure information environment, a body suddenly endowed with a muscle-nerve interface that slips over one’s own subcutaneous longing. Mark Twain’s cave might apply here. There are several desirable openings. Lengthening, widening arches. Cardboard cities, literally woven out of electronic impulses, no longer satisfied merely to synthesize pressure and noises, but planets, office desks, and old-fashioned steam radiators.
Nonetheless, I recall the Vice President of Panasonic’s AV research and development laboratory inquiring if the storm-fiend was planning to kick up another ruckus this evening. I had better be getting back to the tent now to make sure everything is shipshape, weigh down the canvas with a few extra boulders, bank the fire, and prepare myself a little hardtack and gingersnap tea. In another reality my avatar lives in a dingy one bedroom apartment, nothing like the brisk desert islands I am always reading about in the newspaper. “Excuse me, man or woman, may I please have the sugar?” “Why certainly, man or woman- pardon me for not having it passed it already.”
Crocodiles are very fast over short distances, in and out of the water. Because they hunt by lunging out and holding onto their prey, they have evolved extremely sharp teeth and massive jaws for tearing into and clamping down onto the flesh of their food source. They have the most powerful bite of any known animal, clocking in at 5,000 pounds per square inch, compared to just 335 for a Rottweiler, 400 for a large great white shark, 900 for a hyena, or 2,000 for a giant sea tortoise.
Godzilla has displayed an uncanny ability to resist long term injury. Not even the pressure and cold of deep sea trenches can phase him. Starting in the first Godzilla film, he displayed an immunity to all conventional weaponry, impervious to even full-on military assault. It was also implied that he might be resistant to technology still to come in the future!!! On several occasions he has demonstrated the ability to survive complete submersion in boiling hot magma for periods of time up to 5 or 6 centuries. He has even survived being at ground zero of asteroid impacts and being buried under tons of ice for decades at a time, seemingly cut off from all oxygen sources.
As noted earlier, Godzilla possesses an extremely advanced and highly efficient regenerative ability. This power was a crucial plot point in Godzilla vs. the Bio-Mass and Godzilla’s Progeny. In Godzilla’s Progeny it was implied that Godzilla's regenerative abilities may have something to do with his radioactive substratum. Organizer G1 is the name given to a rare oil in his DNA interface that is responsible for his swift, efficient healing. Even complex neural tissue can be completely regenerated!!! At the very end of Godzilla Reconsiders his Overall Strategy, after he has been completely obliterated (or so they all think), his heart is shown beating quietly on the dark ocean floor, suggesting Godzilla's Organizer G1 would allow him to completely regenerate himself from just this one single organ!!! (Admittedly, his healing abilities have not been entirely consistent from one film to another.)
The jade goddess has taken metropolitan logic to its natural conclusion by proposing to replace the old interstate system with an underground railway that will run at approximately 1500 kilometers an hour linking central-southern Wisconsin’s 9 or 10 biggest cities. To get out of these dust-buggies once and for all has been the dream of humankind since approximately the mid 1920’s.
Chuang-tzu, on the other hand, not only has no metaphysics, he actually condemns and derides that particular science. The supernatural and the material are equally laughable. His only cosmogonic principle appears to be “stillness.” Oddly enough, the only philosophical tool he uses is logic, but with one minor qualification- it’s the logic of dreams. He makes no mention of divinity, or the purpose of being, or the indestructibility of the self, or the abuses of conceptual language. This a terrible thing to say out loud, but he even makes fun of yoga.
Inside the deep cavern avoiding the dusk-charged abandonment: “Excuse me, man or woman, may I please have the sugar?” “Why certainly, man or woman- pardon me for not having it passed it already.” A lot of bunk, none of them really care if you get any sugar or not. Just try asking for something more complicated and see how far that gets you.
Bear in mind once again improvements in data-capture or “keyboarding” in the airline meta-pilot’s graded perceptual system. This branch of ergonomic research has recently led to new dromo-matrixes for replacing the entire instrument panel with a digi-linked helmet and full-body data-suit, a sort of “virtual cockpit” whose semi or selectively transparent visor would display flight parameters at the precise moment they become indispensable.
Ophthalmology thus no longer restricts itself to practices necessitated by disease or deficiency; it has broadened its range to include an intensive exploitation of the actual gaze in which the depth of field of human vision is being progressively confiscated by opto-electronic programming that has the modest aim of organizing the most subconscious visual reflexes in order to simultaneously improve the witnesses’ reception of signals, response times, and stereo-grapha-nomic relationships.
A kind of mirror image, more or less, based on the open marriage concept one often reads about in upper-paleolithic societies.
Crocodile embryos do not have sex chromosomes, and unlike humans, sex is not determined genetically. Sex is determined by temperature, with males produced at around 89 °F, and females produced at slightly lower and higher temperatures. The average incubation period is around 80 days, and also is dependent on temperature. Crocodiles are protected in many parts of the world, but they also are farmed commercially. Their hides are tanned and used to make leather goods such as shoes, wallets, belts, handbags, bracelets, headbands, and briefcases; crocodile meat is also considered a delicacy. The saltwater crocodile and Nile crocodile are by far the most dangerous, killing between 5 and 7 hundred people each year.
Godzilla's body constantly emits its own radiation, similar to the process of nuclear fission. It has been shown to contaminate water sources, raise ocean temperatures, destroy crops, and create mutations, such as the giant sea louse in Godzilla Loses All Will to Live. His massive footprints as well as objects and people he has been in close contact with hold traces that register on a geiger counter, while Godzilla himself will register at a distance of approximately 300 miles.
His radiation, however, doesn't appear to be destructive at all times and places. For example, In Godzilla Goes to Hawaii, in a panoramic underwater scene, a smiling Godzilla swims in close proximity with several schools of colorful fish and not only are the fish not visibly harmed, but they even appear to increase in strength and over-all confidence at having such a powerful ally and neighbor.
“Chaos never died,” the films seem to be telling us. The avant-garde eats its own shit and apparently likes it! If the artist has in fact perished, and if the audience has in fact withered away, then we find ourselves free of even more useless freight, and may commence slapping high-fives in the traditional manner. Provided we can escape from the museums floating around in our skulls; provided we can stop selling raffle tickets to the guillotines inside our computers; we can begin to contemplate an exchange which re-creates the dynamic of the old taoist masters, who were often described as not rushing into anything, ever, as if fording icy streams in early winter; retiring and hesitant, as if shy or even afraid of other people; reverent in demeanor to total strangers, as if encountering visiting royalty;
how do I know that the love of life is not just a massive delusion? or that the fear of death is not like an adolescent running away from a difficult home and refusing to ever go back? Come the morning, those who dream of drunken orgies and feasts may weep and moan terribly- those who dream of weeping and moaning may go fuck-crazy, pig out, and get hammered out of their gourds! When they dream, they don’t know it’s a dream! Indeed, in their dreams they may think they’re interpreting dreams- only when they wake up do they realize it was all just a dream!
Despite his incredible power, Godzilla has displayed a few weaknesses over the years. In King Kong vs. Godzilla and Godzilla Contemplates Suicide he is shown to be vulnerable to strong voltages of coal powered electricity. And yet, as the series progressed, natural lightning has been shown to have the opposite property, serving to revitalize him from his paralyzing guilt-trips and depressions.
In Godzilla Interrogates God it was revealed that he had a back-up, miniature brain in his spine, which came in handy when Aquaman ordered a small brood of poisonous eels to suck out his original brain thru his nostrils while he was collapsed in a drunken stupor on one of the island chain’s crystalline beaches.
This is my thirteenth year as president of the united states of america. I was little more than a lad when I first came to this village. my ideas were all very simple then; there’s no use going into them. my hobbies were stickball, writing articles for the neighborhood newsletter, fishing, rooting for the Yankees, and woodworking. Now I am an old man but scarcely any smarter, I fear. So little are white hair and a wrinkled forehead an indication of wisdom!
The screen door bangs in the wind, one of the hinges is loose. together, hand in hand, we look back at the rickety house. It sure could use a coat of paint! Except that I am too lazy to do it myself and too poor to hire professionals! Just keeping body and soul together takes up 99% of my energy! And soon, even that relatively simple task may prove to be far beyond my meager powers.
(by the way, that was a good joke you played on your co-worker Martin last week. That should teach him to shoot video of he and his girlfriend having sexual intercourse with expensive company property.)
still, it is rather fun to linger outside in the rain, letting one’s clothes get soaked and one’s electronic devices be compromised by the moisture. what difference does it make? They’ll all dry out eventually. No one will scold us for dying, or look askance at our principles. Supposing I catch cold? Or ruin my devices completely? There are no doctors or tech advisors around here to make a fool of me. I’ve already been essentially laughed out of polite or proper society! A really serious case of pneumonia would suit me right down to the ground. Ker-choo! Gesundheit!
Aw, what’s the use of being president anyways? I’m going back to the wilderness. Good-bye, people. Good-bye, storm fiend. Good-bye, all you ravenous vultures.
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