I no longer wish to write a great novel…
Or even an entertaining book. I want to write something inflammatory–literally! My current goal is to write something so despicable and inherently evil it will cause people to buy it up by the millions in order to burn it. Hopefully, these huge book-burnings will take place in a responsible manner, and the burning books will generate power, thus eliminating the use of fossil fuels for a brief period. And, oh yeah, I’ll be filthy rich… which, I’ve heard, doesn’t suck.
Traveling the world isn’t so bad when you don’t need shots.
I have a great time with Google Earth, poking around places I’d never even heard of before. Every now and then, I come across a place that warrants detailed exploration. Peru, for example, I have scoured. I have analyzed just about every flat patch of that region because that is the home of the Nazca Lines.
You say tomato, I say aliens in flying saucers…
The Nazca Lines are those crazy-huge animal shapes aliens scraped onto the hillsides and plains of the Nazca region of Peru. I say aliens, but any legitimate1 archeologist will tell you they were created by hundreds of half naked slaves, using nothing but sticks and stones which, it turns out, may be useful for more than breaking bones. Names, on the other hand… Anyway, I’m going to say aliens made the lines ’cause the image of aliens in ships flying around using sparkly beams to move stuff around down here is way more fun than the thought of a bunch of sweaty, half-dressed slaves being pushed around by some priest sumbitch, and honestly, who really made the lines is not at all important to the point at hand.
Two Can Play At This!
I’ve put quite a bit of time into my Googly analysis of those lines, because they are a puzzle, a big damned mystery, and I loves me some mysteries. In at least one respect, I’m glad not to have had the opportunity, yet, to visit the lines in person. Being able to inspect them only through satellite imagery gives me the advantage of seeing the whole forest before getting lost amongst the trees, and because of that, I’ve made some observations concerning the lines I have yet to see anyone else mention in their writings. For one example, there are two very distinct types of lines present, leading me to believe they were not made by the same artist.
Whereas Artist 1 used relatively fine, curved lines to create recognizable images of real world creatures, Artist 2 has scraped a bunch of long, straight lines, which many have mistaken for aircraft runways. Having been a pilot, I can assure you no one wants to land on something that starts out 20 yards wide and ends up three feet wide!
Expression and Repression
The Nazca Lines date back to before some of the mountain build-up in that area; some of the lines have been wiped out by lava flows but, in addition some of the fine-lined pictures by Artist 1 have been wiped out by the massive, obliterating lines of Artist 2. What story was Artist 1 trying to tell us that Artist 2 didn’t like?
Censorship is Ancient and Universal3
Like the artists in Peru, in ancient Egypt, when the current pharaoh believed a previous pharaoh had screwed-up, he’d simply have that pharaoh’s symbol (name) chiseled off of every piece of stone bearing it, effectively erasing the dude from history… except, there always seemed to be one little piece that happened to survive with the symbol intact somewhere (written in stone). Censorship has never been an effective tactic, and yet, the word weenies never, ever tire in their attempts to groom, and trim language. In their efforts to quell free speech, the word weenies have burned mounds of books. Hell, they’ve burned people! For saying Hell!
Here in the land of the free and the home of the brave (unless you throw terrorists, or gays, or strong women, or strong gay women, or strong gay terrorist women at us) we used to fight for freedom of speech as insanely as we now fight for our right to carry guns (which we were guaranteed so we could protect free speech). Instead, now the board of education in one of the greatest “Give me liberty” states, Texass4, has begun an all-out war on progressive education, and now the New York City Bored5 of Education has decided there are exactly 50 evil words which should be left out of their Standard Tests. See how far we’ve come? Ignorance is not just for Red Necks any more! Quite honestly, I do not give even a half a shit which words NYC wants banned, or for what noble and profound reasons:
There are strong words and weak words, but THERE ARE NO EVIL WORDS!
The English language is magical. In the right hands, it can conjure images, tug at your heart, make you laugh even when you really don’t want to. I am madly, insanely in love with the English language. I specify English because it’s what I grew up with, and truly understand the nuances of. I can only hope to ever have such relationship with another person. And so, when someone tells me there are parts of my lover that are unsuitable and need to be amputated, I gets riled. Bien Sûr6, there are parts of my belle I would not parade around in front of the kids, but she was not born solely for the amusement of carpet rodents.
In truth, what nibbles at my inner ass the most is the way word weenies believe–and I mean know in their hearts–given two words with the exact same meaning, speaking one of them is perfectly acceptable, but the other – oh, that other, will put you on the rapid transit to Heck with no return fare. One of the most onerous examples I know of is the “Crispy Frickin’ Chicken” debacle wherein a Pennsylvania couple began a campaign against a billboard advertising – go ahead, guess… Because “Frickin'” is a euphemism… well, duh! It’s a euphemism, like frack, frig, and frag, so we can keep from burning your sensitive little ears by saying FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!
Does shit smell any worse than crap, when it’s stuck to your shoe?
“You don’t need to wipe that off, honey, it’s only doo-doo.”
Resistance is Futile
It’s the richness of the language that makes it the most magical among all the languages of this planet, and perhaps those of the planet those line-drawing motherfuckers came from. English has assimilated words from every other language available… sure, we may Anglicize them, but only if they’re cool enough to be English words. So don’t tell me some words are evil and not to be used… when I am painting a meadow, must I avoid the unsavory mauve of those flowers, or perhaps you object to my flagrant use of indigo toward the center of the pond… couldn’t I just as easily have used blue?
“Really, children should not be subjected to such darkness as indigo.”
I can already hear the word weenies’ counter volley, “You wouldn’t create a picture using only one color, would you?”
Well fuck you, you fucking fuck! Have you ever seen the glory of an Ansel Adams black and white image? That’s right, just black and white, but with all the nuances and shades between the two – just the same as a well-crafted novel, wherein a crusty old man will sometimes say, “shit” because he’s a crusty old man, or a matronly woman will say, “I believe I’m fucked,” because those words, right there, will break you out of the indigo funk of the preceding chapter–as the author intended.
Katie Couric is Queen of the Word Weenies
When Katie Couric took over the news desk at CBS Evening News, I watched in hopes of seeing her grow past her Good Morning America tripe. After several weeks of limp-wristed reportage, she finally let fly with her editorial comment on all the potty-mouths surrounding her. Seriously, Katie? Unemployment, famine, genocide, potty-mouths…
I never watched her broadcast again. Yes, Katie Couric had proven to me, beyond all doubt, that she is a feco-cephalic–and that’s not an insult, ’cause I didn’t use shit-head…
It’s Frickin’ Friday, people! Get out and use some banned, but creative language this weekend!
1 No-imagination, retentive weenie motherfucker.
2 Crazy alien motherfucker using a huge laser to scribble on the side of a damned mountain.
3 If, indeed, aliens really did create those lines.
4 If they can erase Thomas Jefferson from American History for promoting separation of Church and State, I can rewrite the name of their state.
5 I do not misspell.
6 Honest, baby, that fling with French meant nothing!