i, uh, read my horoscope last week, and even though i don't really buy into astrology-for what some would consider a good reason-i am thoroughly entertained by it. to hear rob tell it i have been unimaginative lately, and to look at my page you would probably agree. since everything else i've felt like posting is really lame (e.g. did you hear the one about the dyslexic, agnostic, insomniac that wandered the halls at night wondering when people would stop ridiculing his condition?), i decided to go ahead and take part in the little exercise that the stars have suggested. it actually turned out to be fun, and i hope you would agree.
question the first: visualize yourself as a superhero. what are your powers? your costume and name?
answer: i see no reason for restraint in this daydream, so let's go ahead and give me the powers of flight, super-human strength, and, for an enhanced, fictive approach to my usual fashion of 'dealing', instant disappearability. gradual disappearability just will not suffice. another skill of mine will be uncanny pensiveness. my pensiveness will be so consuming that distracting my train of thought will send me into a blind rage of mindless destruction. in fact, tales of this pensiveness and its subsequent rage will precede me far before any word of heroic deeds will, which will be rare and curiously vague. my superhero identity will be "the erksome" (get it? cause it's like 'irksome', but like with an 'e'? pretty clever, huh? real hip-hop), and my costume will be my gun-metal blue cargo pants and a black, lycra longsleeve t to show off my bird-chested physique. on my chest will be an emblem of an upside-down, lowercase 'e', known in pronounciation guides and phonology cults everywhere as a schwa. if some villain/authority figure/ne'er do well ever says to me, "hey. .what's with that upside-down, little 'e'?" i'll thrash their ass on the spot. however, if the same person was to say to me, "hey. .cool schwa," then i'll take them out and buy 'em a drink. justice will be done.
question the 2nd: if you could summon a brilliant ally from history, who would it be? what would you want to discuss?
answer: i couldn't really tell if he was asking for a superhero sidekick or simply a kind ear. due to this ambiguity i will give two answers, one addressing my former impression, and one for the latter. the name of my superhero sidekick will be "the orator", also known as the greek, 4th century b.c.e. public speaker Demosthenes. he and i will discuss the role of the citizen in a democracy, the pros and cons of plato's republic, and the villainy of macedonian imperialism in the hands of philip the II and his son, alexander. when it comes time to ass-thrash, though, i will shout my catchphrase (hopefully to become as reknowned as the holmesian platitude,"elementary, watson"), "shut the fuck up, Demosthenes!", and we will explode onto the streets to think, talk, and, above all, thrash asses. another 'ally' (he must've meant sidekick) that i'd like to talk up would be catherine the great, the powerful, enlightment-era russian leader. i'd love to discuss the state of her nation, their customs, and her interests in equestrianism (also, from what i understand, she was something of a slut. bong).
q3: (not really a question, so much as an imperative) dream up three stories you'd love to read in the newspaper.
a3: natch. dick cheney chokes on weather balloon-the perpetually elusive vice president died yesterday afternoon during his 10 country trip to the mideast. as a guest of the qatar government, he was splashing playfully in the surf of one of qatar's gold-paved beach resorts when he choked to death on a weather balloon that became lodged in his windpipe during an imitation of a whale, witnesses said. after being dragged to shore by the sheik's slave children the balloon was discovered. however, it was too late to resuscitate mr. cheney. the balloon in question seems to have originated from an elementary school project in tallahassee, fl in 1987. the nametag, still miraculously attached to the balloon, bears the name of Sealey elementary school, however, the name of the student seems to have faded and the blank cryptically reads "e-i- -ry--". upon having the incident very carefully explained, several times, slowly, to the president, george ''double u" bush made a speech formally indicting all weather balloons as potential nuclear targets and members of the ever-expanding, "axis of evil." "we will not rest, tonight, or any other night, until we can all forget that this ever happened," president bush said, adding,"the iron of our resolve is steely tungsten."
zydeco kills-in a study published by the national institute of health, the rollicking, flamboyant, cajun music form known as zydeco has been linked with numerous serious neurological dysfunctions ranging from instant death to getting really fucking annoyed.
and last, simply, photographer ann gedes mauled by humiliated toddlers
question the last: a skilled tapestry weaver offers to create a masterpiece featuring scenes from the great turning points in your life. which events will you choose?
ansa: 1) my mother gives me a self-help picturebook on my third birthday called "God Doesn't Want You to Play with Yourself". "That's not why He gave you that, erik."
2) age 6~9: i eventually realize that there are worse things, thankfully, to call someone other than "stupid", "jerk", or "you stupid jerk". this powerful gift of logos has strings attached, i discover, when i try to use these new words on friends, teachers, and family members. those donkey-hustling fuck smokers.
3) in the 6th grade i enter into a game called truth-or-dare. what i first thought to be a blessing, turns sour when the girl that has just been dared to kiss me says,"this is sooo gross!" the word bubble coming out of my mouth on the tapestry shall read,"you're no prize pig yourself, bitch!"
4) my parents are murdered by a young hood named jack napier, and i begin my life anew in the shadowy corridors of ruthless vigilantiism.
5) they were talking about breakfast cereal and you're hiding under the bed.
6) i play Bust-A-Move 2 for fifteen consecutive hours. things will never be the same.
7) late last year, as i lay restlessly in bed, a blinding light burned through the windows, and in a vividly lucid vision, God descends, surrounded by the heavenly host, and says to me, "That's not why I gave you that, erik."

this concludes the exercise. it felt good to get all that off my chest. hopefully i won't need astrology as a crutch for such a shitty post in the future. i hope i can post just as shitty all by myself.