November 16, 2003
Funeralis Fatigue

Out of the Black Hawk Crash, QE2 gangplank collapse and the synagogue bombing in Turkey, one has to be most concerned about news of the bombing of Jews in Turkey. Why? In all likelihood, it's not the Turks who did it, as the Jews and the Muslims in Turkey seem to be a model of co-existence. Rather, it seems like a continuation of the Bali bombing, but better targetted. Whoever it is, perhaps al Qaeda, is hitting Jews in Turkey, possibly in an attempt to get Israel's interest. Which is disconcerting, because nobody wants the Turks and the Israelis to get into it, cause that would be a real motherfucker. Hrrrrmmm... and the soup keeps simmering.

Had to postpone the coffee with Colette, obviously, after the trip out to Saskatchewan for another funeral. An uncle of mine who helped to raise my dad died a couple of days ago, at the age of 90. My pa gave the eulogy, and did a great fucking job of it. He made people laugh and cry and he held it together till just about the end of the speech, when he broke up a bit, but that was good too, cause it showed that this man's passing hurt him, and people like to know that. And I learned quite a bit about the man.

My grand-uncle was born and raised on the same farm he tended for almost ninety years, and he was a god-fearing man and worked hard and loved his wife and kids and the church and the community. He was known and respected by everyone in town for being a funny, industrious, creative, straight-talking, music-playing fellow. It made me think: Perhaps I should just find me one bitch, knock her up, marry her, worship the lord and enjoy the casual life. Wouldn't write, wouldn't drink, wouldn't freak out on a regular fucking basis because I thought that dying was the end-all and be-all. I could just enjoy the natural life, as handed down by god, cause it would be so fucking easy to believe that everything had a plan and a purpose and I could relax and watch movies and read and spend time with my wife and my kids. It worked so well for my uncle, and everyone loved him and respected him and mourned him when he died. I wept openly, and I didn't give a fuck who saw me. I mean, what else do people want?

But then I thought a little more about that, and I realized something.

I already tried that whole song and dance, and it ended in one long soul-tearing divorce that just about killed me and her and definitely put a bullet in God's head, as far as I was concerned. So what the fuck am I thinking? I'm glad it worked for my grand-uncle, and it's nice that it works for others, but I just can't live that way. At least not yet. This motherfucker needs to write and fuck and drink and talk hard and engage in heated affairs with soon-to-be married women. No simple life for me.

And that's what I'm saying till Colette proves herself to be the most interesting, hard-fucking, god-fearing woman I've ever met. Or Chloe sanes up a little bit and starts reading. And then maybe I'll sell out, so I don't have to weep openly at funerals of people I haven't seen for five years. Cause I'll have god and eternal life and a wife and security and happiness and a mortgage and all the things that comfort.

Sometimes, it just sounds so tempting.

November 15, 2003
On the Wings of Night, A Hero Arises

My Dear Colette, I am afraid that I will have to put off our meeting for a day or two. You see, I have to unexpectedly head off to Funeralis Part IV today in the far western wastelands of Saskatchewan. This is a royal tragedy, not only because I will be burying yet another part of my past, but because I would like some time to perform some very intriguing dream analysis.

Apparently, there is a young Brooklynite who has been having some strange dreams about a rather heroic, though possibly satyric, Mingus Tourette. In her dream, she is trying to escape from a Nike sweatshop and she is being chased by beefy Russian guys. And then (and I am entirely sincere about this one)...

"suddenly out of nowhere, appears Mingus."

At this point, I would like to report that Mingus rides out of the night on the back of a pitch-black stallion swinging a six foot Scottish Claymore, slaughters an entire cabal of mafioso, saves the poor girl from certain death, frees her compatriots, burns the warehouse to the ground, holds his sword to the heavens and curses God out for ignoring their pleas, roaring "Yoe Hay Vav Hae - AS THE FIFTH HORSEMAN OF THE APOCALYPSE, I SWEAR BY ALL THAT'S HOLY THAT YOU ARE THE NEXT TO DIE!!!'

But that's not quite the way she dreamed it.

Apparently, I tell her everything will be just fine, as long as she gets naked and gets down on all fours. She suspects I just want to take incriminating photos, but never finds out for sure, because she wakes up. And I do it all in a Billy Idol voice.

At this point, I'm not quite sure what this all means. Perhaps I have become a symbol of dangerous virility on a subconcious Jungian level for webbettes across the world. Perhaps this woman finds Mingus to be a fellow who seems nice on the surface, but who probably has more lecherous interests at heart. Or maybe she thinks I'm interested in
photography. Or that Mingus has the rebel persona that Billy Idol used to have. Or perhaps she struggles with her own demons; enslavement, Russian civil war, Celine Dion, naked photos on the internet, and has simply manifested Mingus as a guide, much like Dante manifested the great poet Virgil before traversing the nine levels of the Inferno. So many possibilities to consider.

Now you might think I am completely fucking with you. But I'm not.

Check it out. Afrochic.net.

And check back in a couple of days when I'm done planting another old and broken farmer in the field. Maybe I'll have some more insight on this dream. There's certainly something strange about that Billy Idol voice. All I know at this point is that showing up in a fine New York writer's evening thoughts is an honour I never expected. I am very proud of this. Thank you, girl, and sweet dreams. Let me know if I manifest again.

November 14, 2003
Mo Milestone$, Mo Problem$

More American combat casualties in this Gulf war than the last one. Tick tock.

More American casualties in Gulf War II than in the first three years of Vietnam. Tick tock.

A higher ratio of wounded soldiers than any previous war. Tick tock.

And Chretien retires. He brought gay marriage, better drug laws and kept us out of Iraq. What will the new government bring? Tick tock.

I have to say, I'm getting fucking tired of this whole cocksucking thing in Iraq. I think it's causing me a serious problem. I can't stop checking news sites fifteen or twenty times a day. I can name nearly every American involved in the conflict. I know the difference between what Paul Bremer and General Abizaid do for a living these days. News has become a need. I mean, it's 10.44 pm, I should have eaten by now, but I have been reading stats for the last two hours that compare this war to past wars. Cause I can't stop until I figure out exactly what the real story is. Jesus, and I thought my drinking was bad. In any case...

It's sort of official, I'm going to meet Colette this weekend for coffee and we're going to read each other poetry. Or discuss poetry. Maybe she has some pressing questions. I have some. Do you like athiests? Do you like poets? Do you like to drink? Do you fuck, and do you fuck like crazy? And when you're done, do you like to read poetry until you feel like fucking again?

I say, it is certainly high time for a drink.


November 13, 2003
Bushica Rules the Waves

Georgica soon hits the shores of Britain like the southern tsunami he is. Unfortunately, the majority of the Brits aren't all that excited, and neither are the former Yanks living there, as reported by Reuters.

Christine Swanson, back home after taking the kids on the morning run to school, said: "I am frustrated. As horrible as September 11 was, it was a real opportunity to move forward in a positive way.

"There was a lot of goodwill to tap into and it took the incredible talent of George Bush to piss it all away in two years."

"Right now there is strong anti-Americanism and I compare it to the Vietnam War. Bush has been targeted as the villain in all of this. I think he is even more unpopular than Nixon was."

What can you do in Bushica's shoes? Try to hand power back to the Iraqis and hope like hell the propaganda machine keeps a majority of people happy enough to vote for him in 2004? And hope that no more Italians get roasted in the process? I'm glad Jean Chretien had the balls to say, fuck it, we ain't sending no Canadians over there. Cause that could've been us. And then I'd have to break out the gas mask and start protesting in snow storms again. Which is what I hope to see happening in Rome sometime soon.

Instead, I'll spend some time protesting Chloe's need to visit her 'friend', the Accountant, sometime this weekend. This is getting ridiculous. She says it's all perfectly platonic, but Mingus knows that story. The first time I smell another man's sperm leaking out of her, she's getting the ass-kick out the door. At least, that's what I'm saying now.

It's time to set up my own meeting with my own 'platonic friend'. Time for some poetic coffee with this new word consumer. I'm going to suggest Rimbaud for discussion. Or something similarly heated. Any suggestions? I need some poetry with some heat. Maybe Cohen. Maybe Anne Michaels. Maybe I'll bring along one of my spectacular works and see what Colette thinks of that.

November 12, 2003
Google Oddities and other Web Head Fucks

Try this: go to Google. Type in 'kiera knightly naked' or better yet, 'kiera knightly photo shoot'. Check the results. Enjoy the fact that Mingus Tourette's Nunt is somehow number two on the list. Kiera Knightly, for the uninitiated, is the lead female in the Pirates of the Caribbean. She's the next big thing in Hollywood. Yet somehow, Mingus Tourette knows more about her photo shoots than just about anyone on the web. Mingus Tourette is now lord of the internet, because most of my traffic is coming from this phenomenon. How fucked is that?

Almost as fucked as this: In my drunken stupor last night, I went to wilweaton.net. I have be meaning to check it out for some time, because the thought of Wesley Crusher from Star Trek the Next Generation having a reknowned web site tickled my fancy. I found it quite interesting that this guy has such a good grip on life despite having to live with one million nerds asking him daily questions about his favourite Tribble episodes. So I sent him an email telling him I liked his site. And the funny thing is, he got back to me today, and it was a couple of lines and it was funny and nice but it was sort of a head fuck, because it always seems bizarre when famous people read their own email and reply to cyber rods like Mingus Tourette.

Of course, it's not as bizarre as the fact that one of the things that Mingus does when he is shit faced and there are no women around and it is late at night; he goes to child star Wil Weaton's web site and sends him fawning emails.

Sometimes one has to write these things down to see how truly fucked one really is.



November 10, 2003
Gore and 1984

Recovering politician Al Gore tore a livid strip off the Patriot Act, George Bush and the White House's Big Brother clock workings. Very nicely done, Al. Timely, too, considering the Supreme Court agreed to hear something about the rather Orwellian Guantanamo Bay incarcerations, and considering the Newsweek article that laid out Dick Cheney's near-psychotic obsession with waging war on Iraq. Nice work, Gore. Now why the fuck didn't ya put your name in for 2004? How hard could it be to beat an incumbent president who lives by the old lie, and refuses to attend soldier's funerals? Your absence is a royal shame, but at least you're speaking up and doing what you want to do. It's easy to respect a man who doesn't want to get into politics.

Last night I shipped an email back to Colette. Mingus agreed that it would be fun to meet and talk poetry. And French writers. There were no sexual overtones, no dreamy poetics. It was all straight, hard, lean, thrusting prose. Cause that's how I swing it.

I keep thinking about her mouth.

Click For Previous Week's Daily Mingii

Copyright © 2006 Mingus Tourette