July 16, 2004
A Thousand Words
Response to the contest so far has been quite
good, though a few people have remarked that it
might be difficult to make interpretive artwork
based on the graphic killing of a cow with a handgrenade
in Cambodia. As such, my publisher and I may be
having a long conversation this weekend about
replacing the Nunto for the the official launch
of the contest on July 19.
So, for the first of many times in the next few
months, I need yer help. What's the general opinion
on making artwork for Nunto
35? Should we choose a different poem? For
the love of all that's unholy, let me know.
And.
Not so long ago, my publisher decided I needed
new author photos, cause he'd like to see some
crazy posters hanging in book stores or something.
As such, he sent me out with a great local photographer
named John Ternan, and I broke some weapons laws.
I think this one's going to end up being the official
head shot, but what do I know?
July 15, 2004
oestrus
last night
between the two bit peep show
and the house of D
hired a pregnant woman
to let me
drink the milk
from her besotted breasts
in order to feel
like a child again
to feel life flow in
instead of flow out
as it does
night after night
July 14, 2004
The Big Announcement: Tourette's Summer Tournament
of MegaEvil
What better way to celebrate Bastille Day than
to extol the spirit of revolution by announcing
one of the most insubordinate contests to ever
grace this fine nation?
Mingus Tourette, in conjunction with Zygote
Publishing, is proud to announce to his loyal
readers that Tourette's Summer Tournament of MegaEvil
begins next Monday, July 19th. So dust off your
photoshop, your paints, your pencils and your
cameras, girls, cause this time, the prize is
worth battling for.
Oh yes. This time it's personal.
In the tradition of the great Original Spring
Tournament of Evil, the rules of the game are
unchanged. Competitors read a poem from the forthcoming
book, Nunt. They
create a piece of interpretive digital artwork
based on that poem. The artwork is submitted.
A jury decides on the finalists, and the great
vote begins. The winner is the artwork with the
most votes.
But this time, the prize is substantial. It is
obscene. It is mindboggling. Oh yes. This time,
you can win Mingus Tourette's Official American
Blitzkrieg Survival Kit. And it is grand. But
don't take my word for it. Read the official press
release and give me them motherfucking comments.
Go now, for Tourette's
Summer Tournament of MegaEvil awaits.
July 13, 2004
the Gobi
The greatness of a man like Genghis Khan is bewildering.
Genghis, when asked to described what in all the
world could bring the most happiness, said that,
"to crush your enemies, to see them fall
at your feet - to take their horses and goods
and hear the lamentation of their women.
That is best."
He did not make war for religion, but for his
sons. What he did not understand, he destroyed.
It was all he knew. He had twenty-two laws, that
is all. His men were not allowed to bathe during
thunderstorms. The simplicity is the essential
genius.
Simplicity, yes.
The old man, his empire dispersed, headed south
on his horse for one last battle, and was buried
unknown in the hills.
When I am old and I have only months to live,
what will I have to disperse to my sons? What
wisdom will I be able to pass on to them. And
where will I ride, and for what purpose?
I think.
I think I will go north, to sleep on the ground
again, to wander the streams by day, and read
old books by night, and write, and drink whiskey
by the fire and lie with my woman as the strength
leaves me. What else would I do, really. What
would you do?
July 12, 2004
Shopping Trip
I was rifling through a rack full of used porn,
and considering the selection of bibles at the
used book store, when the storm hit. There was
a roaring, and atmospheric pressure pushing everything
downwards, and people pressing their noses up
against the glass to see the street below. I shrugged
and kept up my search for a Koran, but had to
settle for a copy of Albert Camus' The Plague.
In truth, I would much rather reread Camus.
When I found the copy of 'Soldier of Fortune'
that I was searching for, I walked downstairs
and carefully placed my selections on the counter,
so that the porn would be revealed at the proper
time and I could grin lasciviously at the counter
girl at the precise moment. It was nothing like
shopping for a double-headed dildo.
But when I looked outside, even I was taken aback.
The ground was covered in hail, and I was confused
and had to ask the girl if it was snow, which
it wasn't, and she said that it all came down
in about five minutes. There were inches of it
in some places, and rising water careened down
the street, dangerously close to flooding the
sidewalks. It threw off my savoir-faire, and when
she revealed the porn, I was unprepared, and she
didn't say anything. Typical eye-avoidance that
drug-store clerks use when a customer is purchasing
a dozen condoms, Vaseline and an economy-sized
tube of KY Jelly. I much prefer the interest that
sex-shop workers provide, offering handy products
like 'Toy Cleanser' to go with your purchases,
and they always have an opinion on which massage
oil smells the best. I don't much care for the
Sutra-oiled wood brand, cause it overrides the
natural smell of sweat and pheremones that I love
so much. And the smell of rain, if the window
is open.
People have been complaining about the rain recently,
'cause we haven't
had this much for years, and it floods the
streets all week. But I like it. It feels good
on my clipped pate and it is good for the farmers,
and the aquifers need it, and I am probably clinically
depressed whether it is raining or not, so it
doesn't bother me. In fact, the smell, at night
after it has rained, reminds me of a time when
I was thirteen and I would sneak out of the house
and walk with friends and drink beer and climb
up on schools and piss on graffitii'd playgrounds.
Reminds me of being a kid, of being free, and
sometimes, it reminds me of Nat and I, soaked
to the skin, hiding under pine trees and waiting
for the rain to end and it wouldn't and we didn't
really mind, because we were both wearing shorts
and loose t-shirts and when we pushed together
we could feel the heat of each others' skin through
the wet cloth and it was sort of like a warm rain,
a sun shower in the middle of a thunderstorm.
And I'm saying all that, in order to say this.
Get ready for a big announcement later on this
week that will blow your freaking mind. I'm fucking
serious. Consider this post a prophecy.
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