These Days

These are the days when the trees will sing their windy caterwauls,
And imprism the light in ravenous bloom.

Young men will cock their heads akimbo, prowling like drunken wolves,
Ravenous, yet languidly falling to a feast.

Young women will sway brightly as their steps approximate a dance,
A reel, hurdy-gurdy tuned, like the rise and fall of some giant cylinder,
Pulling you deeper into its core,
A bingo wheel, a threshing stone.

The old will roll their eyes and pucker their mouths inward,
As if trying to taste the memories inside themselves,
Gone too far in space and time to even speak:
"Yes. Yes. You know me well."

Children will scream, if only to hear themselves scream,
Proving conclusively the existence of their vocal chords and the air they vibrate,
A prelude to the future,
The endless task of asserting:
"Yes, I am. Yes, I exist."

The streetbeds will clamor with the sounds of more feet,
The roar of eager cars,
The swish of seasoned bicycles.

The skies will creak and clatter.
They'll moan and wail,
Swirling at a pace tempting wild speculation,
Charts littering the walls,
Machines wracking with hums,
Men who speak in half-truth percentages
And eyes in space.

And though these things all speak their own words,
Their own signs and gasps in the firmament,
Together they call:

"The time is here and now and short,
So love these days in their passing.
The heat will come; the cold will frost,
And bake these days to memory,
To harken their return again."

The Best Use of Technology

I had a dream last night,
About half past three
A goddess spoke:
Sweet Technology.

Her skin was like crystal
In liquid displays,
Fibers for eyes
pulsing cathode rays.

Her lips were both pouted
At binary best
And silicon folds
Arose from her chest.

Her voice started too harsh
All gravel at first,
But smoothed like waters
Intended to burst:

"Darling, will you hold me?
And give me your heart?
I'll give you the keys
To worlds that you'll part.

You'll see into atoms
Make ad-men's lures,
Stealth and wealth weapons,
Lowly cripple's cures.

You'll rise in newfound days,
Learn to beat the sun,
Grow the world white hot,
Cool it down for fun.

And when you're alone and tired,
Visions that you'll see
Will cloud your clocked mind
From mediocrities.

Visions of great houses
And monster truck boobs
Will awe your mind to sleep
With LCD tubes.

So boy give me your answer
I promise you'll have fun
The time to act is now
The race has just begun."

Epigram #2

A girl poses for a picture,
Flushing Chinesely,
Her shoulders of her shirt
Falling by her friend's help
Showing more of her body
Standing in front of a fountain
Thinking herself a Botticelli.
(For a moment, I made her one.)

Thoughts on an Airplane Ride

When I boarded my plane yesterday from Shenzhen to Shanghai, I noticed that when I boarded all the seats up front were occupied quickly, but none of the ones in the back (were I was) were at all. This got me to thinking...

I assume that the tickets were sold from the front to the rear of the plane, and seeing as how I bought my ticket online only days ago, this would make sense. But how come everyone in this first wave of boarding was sitting in front? Perhaps it is indicative of the personalities/preferences of those boarding the plane. The ones who booked their ticket long in advance are adverse to rushing, or to put it another way, play it safe and plan ahead. It would make sense for people of this nature to be present right when the plane opened for boarding. Those who booked later, it would seem , tend to plan less and act more spontaneously. Hence the great rush to the back which ensued. Everyone who was prone to rush ended up with their seat in the back.

A COROLLARY

This reminds me: I've noticed that Southwest Airlines has actually taken this approach in boarding, allowing you to print out your boarding pass at home a certain time before. Those who print their boarding pass at the beginning of this time window are allowed to board first, while those who print it out later, or get it at the terminal have to wait longer to board. I find this strategy ingenious not only because it saves resources for Southwest (i.e. fewer staff to monitor the provision of boarding passes), but it is also relatively painless to their customers. (This is, of course, dependent on the fact that my observations aren't just anecdotal.) Given the connection between preferences and the way in which passengers board, this arrangement would occur anyway. Southwest, by harnessing this insight, has enabled itself to increase efficiency without compromising the all-important specter of service.

Cilantro: The Weed that Divides Us

Bu-Ran-Don
Did you guys know that Ferret doesn't like cilantro?


I was recently confronted by my friends for the fact that I don't like cilantro. My friend Bu-Ran-Don was cooking some chorizo-cod, and adding cilantro to the mix. I commented that I don't like cilantro. Silence in the room. I don't think I've ever felt so persecuted for my taste in food. (Yes, not even the fact that I like durian has brought me such honest disdain.)

But yes -- cilantro -- I've never found it that appealing; it tastes a little like trash. However, as I think is well documented, I have a little bit of a masochistic streak when it comes to trash. Therefore, I'm willing to tolerate a bit of it in my food. Interestingly enough, there is a burgeoning portion of the population (1,777 at most recent count) that has been so infuriated by this weed that they have taken to the streets -- well, the virtual ones anyway.

I Hate Cilantro is such a community of cilantro haters. I think their vehemence is poignantly expressed by this picture from their website:



I was also pretty taken by their haiku section. My favorites:

This one by member Fairygreen:

Fondue so lovely
Wait, a bitter blow to tongue
A great meal ruined

Or this one (of many) by Popmusicguy:

Lucrezia Borgia
World famous for poisoning
Favored cilantro

Oh yeah, there's an anti-cilantro store as well, t-shirts, hats, the whole bit. Markets in everything. Care to vent your hatred, anyone? (Coriander is also available.)

Epigram #1

our lives are heartbeats
of a hummingbird
seeking its dew

The Greatest Coffee Table Book You'll Never Read

I've been prompted to engage in yet another Quixotic, wasteful project - to produce the greatest book that no one will ever read. (Some of you cynics out there may already be thinking the Bible or some other religious text. Think of this as a new Bible if you like, but I wouldn't consider anything about this project divine.) Everyone would buy it, but nobody would read it -- the most popular coffee table book known to man. (For those of you who are partial to coffee books, perversely taking pleasure in attempting to read books that weigh as much as a small child, feel free to get your hooting, huffing and puffing out at your computer screen out here.) For this project to succeed, it would require two things: first, a uncannily striking, yet utterly innocuous cover, capable of blending into the background in a distinctive way (My vote is for an impressionist painting. As to which one, I will return to shortly.); second, a plethora of prose that proves too daunting, informative, or otherwise uninteresting to warrant being published in a book that people will actually intend to read.

Readers of scruta, I am asking you for your submissions for this coffee table book. I am also asking you for ideas, or posts as to what would me a good cover. To get things rolling, I have submitted my own vote for the cover, and have provided a provisional introduction to the book. Feel free to comment on this also.

COVER FOR THE COFFEE TABLE BOOK NOBODY WILL READ:



This still life of sunflowers by Van Gogh (I don't know the actual title) blends into any room with an air of familiar, completely innocuous sophistication. The cover immediately puts most people off from the book because either

1) They are an art snob, and think that Van Gogh is now just kitsch.

or

2) They think that it's an art book that only art snobs would like.

At this point, only several groups come to mind who would still wish to check out the book. I'll list them below and describe how I would put them off the book if they actually picked it up.

PEOPLE WHO REALLY LIKE VAN GOGH
These are the people who utterly adore Van Gogh. Their bathrooms are filled with his works. They have adorned the ceilings of their bedrooms with his posters, finding them stimulating their dreams, overcoming their moments of depression, heightening their orgasms. They have an extensive collection of Van Gogh books and movies both serious and frivolous. (They not only own, but were the ones that funded the Van Gogh themed adult movie.) They have named their children Vincent, regardless of their sex. And yes, they have considered mutilating their ears on more than one occasion...writing extensive journals about it, in the style of Vincent Van Gogh.

MY REBUTTAL

On the inside cover, I think that another picture by Monet should be placed to ruin the purity of Van Gogh's vision. One of Monet's waterlillies would work splendidly. This has the secondary effect of keeping more persistant art snobs (and those who despise them) out, perpetuating the idea that his is one more impressionist coffee table book. Here's what I mean:



PEOPLE WHO ARE BORED WITH THEIR PRESENT COMPANY
These are the people dealing with the boredom of waiting for something to happen (someone to say something interesting) or stop happening (someone to stop saying something uninteresting).

MY REBUTTAL

I recommend after the Monet picture to put in an essay by Heidegger in the original German. If the fact that the language is foreign doesn't put the reader off, then the fact that it's philosophy written in abstruse prose will. Now assuming that our reader is well versed in both German and Continental philosophy, and finds themselves riveted by the essay, never fear because my Prologue, in shining English will come to the rescue. The inexplicable disorderliness of the entire book at this point would also be enough to put anybody out.



PROLOGUE

This book is not intended to be read by anybody. If that fact excites you, then I should like to mention that it was also intended to be read by corporate lawyers and accountants. If your panties are still in a bunch, I have a question for you:

If you have two trains heading towards each other, 35 miles apart, one is traveling 85 mph, the other is traveling 75 mph. It is now 5:15 pm. At what time will these two trains meet each other?

(NOTE: The answer to this question is of vital importance to understanding anything further in this book. If you hate these types of problems, or find that deciphering them proves too difficult a task for you, then I would suggest that you put the book down now.)

The answer to this question reveals several things. I would like to start with a more oblique approach, in the style of the sophists of old.

In answering something, one generally intends to imply the truth. However, the truth is often generally intended in questioning somebody. So if we are assuming truth before we know the truth, do we ever know the truth?

If a woodchuck really does chuck wood, does it matter how much wood the woodchuck would chuck? I suppose that this all really depends on context. That in some cases, yes, it would matter that the trains would meet at 5:28 (and 7.5 seconds) PM because the woodchuck would not finish chucking wood until at least 5:30, and therefore could not be responsible for the flipping of the switch which would cause these trains to collide, derail, and cause innumerable family tragedies.

The point is that there is no point, unless of course there is a point. This concept is very difficult to grasp since it is rather pointed. This book will address such points.



(Here my prologue ends. If this hasn't gotten you to stop reading by now, please submit something that would. Biblical begatting for several pages, perhaps?)