Archive for March, 2009

Sweet Nothings

Posted in useless excuses on March 31, 2009 by klogtheblog

The nonexistents swim without swimming in the nothing. They move nowhere, but things that are move around and, though the nonexistents have no fixed place, their lack of position, as constant as the North Star, is unadjusted accordingly.

Their unplaceable nature makes them the ultimate quantum uncertainty. They will be nowhere. They create an utterly permeable shell around everything. We are totally unprotected by nothing.

They would be invisible if there was anything to hide. You can see nothing behind them because they are not in front of anything; they aren’t beside, behind, atop or below. They leave a lot of room for other things.

Surely at least once a nonexistent came into existence. What does the universe expand into? Where was it before? Doesn’t the possibility of some nothing unnothinging, somethinging, charge the nothing with possibility? If that possibility had anything to attach to, it would certainly explode. Of course, nothing is certain.

I once knew nothing, now I grasp to understand it. I’ve believed in nonexistent things almost all my life. One day they will be all I have left. When I am nonexistent, the only possibility will be to exist again, for there no other possibilities. There will only be the possible and the impossible, and I am willing to bet on either. Otherwise I will be nonexistent and I shall swim without swimming in the nothing.

–Dan Kilian

More Oblivion

Going Nowhere

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The Future of Cars

Posted in All things political, Comedy on March 30, 2009 by klogtheblog
With the White House questioning their viability, Chrysler and GM have thirty and sixty days to roll out new plans to reverse their losses, or face bankruptcy. Now is the time for far-reaching, imaginative, desperate plans. What can we expect from these embattled car manufacturers?

New Leadership
 

In a nearly unprecedented imposition of Government control, GM’s CEO, Rick Wagoner has been asked to resign. Who will replace him? Surely it will have to be someone with an automobile sounding name, as Wagoner had. Bob Automan? Van Morrison? Otto McCarr? Vehicle Driverwagon? If anyone has those names, they should be in contention.

New Healthcare Plans

Heretofore unheard of compromises by the unions allow for greater flexibility in healthcare plans. Instead of spending $1,635 in healthcare costs for every car made, now for every car a worker’s life will be sacrificed, and his or her crucial organs will be sold to the highest bidder. The remaining body parts will be liquefied and used as lubricant.

New Models

Sleeker, more modern gas-mileage conscious automobiles shall be the order of the day. Chrysler has just leaked plans for its Chrysler 600, a one to two passenger vehicle with two wheels and no combustion engine. It comes with a basket and a bell, standard. GM is looking to collaborate with potential buyer Thom McAn on an experimental vehicle, though details are sketchy. Also in the works: virtual cars, imaginary cars, and a device that makes the “vroom” sound.

Stealing Cars From Toyota

Those union-free Japanese companies seem to doing less horribly. Perhaps we could steal all their cars. Ever see that movie Gone In Sixty Seconds? Horrible, wasn’t it? Why did Nicholas Cage start making nothing but horrible movies? Does it have something to do with the failure of the American auto industry?

A Return to the Days of Henry Ford

If you could build a time-machine and take it back to the dawn of the American automobile industry, such an invention would probably sell for a lot of money. If anyone has time-traveling technology they’ve been sitting on, now’s the time to break it out. You could make a time traveling car like in Back To The Future. People would buy that.

–Dan Kilian

AIG of Unreason

Advice for Obama

Sunday 11:17 P.M.

Posted in Fiction on March 30, 2009 by klogtheblog

Why does the writer need to drink? To slow his chattering mind enough so he can listen? So he could get past shyness and interact with enough people so he could know characters? To live a life of plot? Something like that. Whatever the reason, he was determined to be a great writer.

“Scotch on the rocks, and keep them coming.”

The bartender smirked. He saw that. Observation! Screw you pal. Keep it up and I’ll destroy you in a great portrayal of a superior bartender. I’ll write you a come-uppance for the ages. Better yet, I’ll ignore you, and consign you to oblivion.

Wow. Scotch is expensive, and nasty!

Beer. He was a novelist. Not short stories. He shot pool.

“That shot is illegal! You forfeit the game!”

The argument got very shouty. Conflict. Characters. Assholes.

“Assholes!”

“You’ve got to leave.”

“I’ve got to leave?”

“Yes. Please leave. I don’t care. You’ve got to go.”

“I’m going to consign you to oblivion!”

He found a party. Had a great talk with a great old character who liked to drink. Found a woman. The pure heart or the femme fetale? She didn’t seem to want to talk. He talked. He followed her around the room. They made him leave.

Another party! College boys! What would he learn about learning? He threw up into a funnel. He fled them, covered in puke, pelted with beer cans. Jeered at like Christ. What a story! What symbolism!

He would write about drunks in a bar.

He would write about the homeless. He would write about Larry, who got them the bottle.

He conquered his aversion to scotch.

He was a writer.

–Dan Kilian

Another Wasted Tale

Adventures in Solitaire

 

Violent Dream

Posted in useless excuses on March 28, 2009 by klogtheblog
I’m sexually exposed at a party or the mansion that we’re staying in. I take meager efforts to conceal it but I can’t control myself.Then a Hispanic man is on the roof, attempting to write a message with an orange (gold?) marker on the screen doors. I attempt to reason with him in English and Spanish while telling our people to call 911. There is already a police car on the ground.I know he has an accomplice, a woman, down on the ground. My view follows down on the ground, looking for her. She is already locked up in the police car and I realize my mistake.Up in the mansion the man has gotten in and done something bad to my girlfriend, though she won’t say what. I start beating him mercilessly, without satisfaction, as he seems somehow impervious to death and pain. He ends up in a mini-fridge of bizarre proportions until the cops can clear things up. I pelt him with bottles and splash him with cold beverages so he’ll be miserable.

His brother shows up, and soon members of his extended family. They are not all Hispanic. Even in the dream I’m aware of a racist element to this story. But I attack them all, even the little Irish looking red head kid. They’re all a little too benign to keep attacking, so we (The party and many family members are onlookers to everything.) escort the lot of them to the end of the property.

I realize too late that this was the intention all along, that a hit on me has been set up by The Mob, that this family was a ruse to get me to the street. I jump into a mini-van full of our people and tell the driver to drive fast. Let’s get the hell out of here.

–Dan Kilian
Sandwich Dream
More Violence

Top Trek: A Pan Fiction!

Posted in Comedy, Kuisine on March 27, 2009 by klogtheblog
Kirk gazed in amazement at the rock being, its lumpy limbs smoking and glowing red hot as it gesticulated. He saw the disbelief in Lincoln and Surak’s faces. Kirk turned back to Spock who stared down at his tricorder.

What is it?

Just moments ago, it was simple rock. Now it is essentially the same. A being of living silica.

Greetings Captain Kirk, First Officer Spock. I see you have met your Earth President Lincoln and Surrack, the founder of modern Vulcan society.

But that’s impossible…

You are the best representations we could find in our sampling of what you would call ‘good’. Over here you see Genghis Khan, Zora of Tiburon, Kahless, father of the Klingon Empire, and Chef Stefan Richter. They are to represent what you would call “evil”.

But why?

My people are trying to conclude: Which, good or evil, is the better cook? Our first elimination is simple. Gather the meager ingredients that this barren planet has to offer, and prepare a four course meal for myself, Padma and our guest judges, Donatella Arpaia and Balok.

But we’re used to a computer that makes our food from pure energy. We know nothing of cooking!

It does not seem logical. And my records indicate that Chef Richter is a season five finalist from the Twenty-first century version of this show, before Bravo became a federation in its own right. It hardly seems fair.

You have twelve hours. And there is no Whole Foods on this Planet.

Captain Kirk, Spock, I don’t understand this any better than you. I was enjoying a perfectly good play, and now I’m here. But if this is how the game goes, I’m willing to lend my slender culinary skills to the cause. I can cut wood, start a fire, and I reckon I still remember how to skin a possum!

And I Surack, can prepare some of these bamboo tubers.

All right, we’ll play their game. Spock, break that tricorder open. I’m going to need its parts. I’ll harvest some coal from the mountain rocks and try to sleep with that rock thing’s exotic female co-host.

She is indeed a lovely Negress. I’d emancipate her if I had the chance…

That night, Kirk and Kahless stood before the judge’s table. Zora was already celebrating her win, for Surak Stew, served Jamaican style.
Kahless, how did you feel your gagh worked as a dish?

I wanted to show you my version of Klingon cuisine. I thought it good.

Did you taste it?

No, there was no time.

It was under-seasoned. It was bland! Kirk, was it your idea to serve broken pieces of a tricorder as the second course?

I take full responsibility for the decision, and I stand by it.

It was inedible. If I were in a restaurant I’d send it back. I can’t believe you’re defending that dish!

I’m sorry you didn’t like it. I didn’t want to play it safe.

I appreciate that, but there’s bold and there’s bad food. However, the ghag was traditional Klingon food. Kahless, this should have been your comfort zone. If you can’t prepare serpent worms, there’s no way you could be Top Chef. Kahless, pack your D’k tahg and go home.
*
Hours later Kirk and Spock reminisced about their adventure with McCoy on the bridge of the Enterprise. McCoy arched his eyebrow.
So do you really think evil makes better food?

It seems the logical conclusion. Cooking involves a degree of cruelty to sentient and non-sentient life forms, and the Restaurant industry is inherently vicious.

You ever wait tables Spock? Or work in a kitchen?

No, but I can surmise that it would suck.

As laughter filled the bridge, amused flute music played.

–Dan Kilian
Sci-fi Convention

Little Known Facts about Lincoln

Taking Down The Taj

Posted in Poetry on March 26, 2009 by klogtheblog
“Resort’s on Strike. Take it to the Taj.”
A desert paradise and it’s no mirage
Such a beautiful sight. Those white and gold domes
Dingdingding and I’m feeling like home.
*
Taking down the Taj ten at a time
Doubling down got our money on the line
Getting up and falling behind
Taking down the Taj ten at a time

Taking hits on sixteen. Splitting sevens.
Got to make a killing. Got to break even
Got to dig my way out, get out of this hole
Hit the ATM for a little bit more

Taking down the Taj ten at a time
Doubling down got our money on the line
Getting up and falling behind
Taking down the Taj ten at a time

At the Super 8 where the boys are men
Gonna lose my virginity again
Smoking and drinking, breaking into vaults
Then it’s back to the Taj, give ‘em all we’ve got

Taking down the Taj ten at a time
Doubling down got our money on the line
Getting up and falling behind
Taking down the Taj ten at a time

–Dan Kilian

Fire and Ice 2009 Remix

Adventures in Solitaire

Pupa

Posted in Fiction on March 25, 2009 by klogtheblog

He would get butterflies in his stomach before every show. The butterflies wove endless silk handkerchiefs, which he pulled out of his mouth in succession. Everyone thought he was a magician. He was too ashamed to tell anyone of his strange biology.

He tried to learn tricks, but his sleight of hand wasn’t sleight enough, so he kept on pulling handkerchiefs (and the odd stocking) out of his mouth. The crowds soon lost interest in his limited act.

One day, only loose threads of a very sticky consistency came out of his mouth. He would grab handfuls of the stuff, and wipe them on his shirt, hoping something more coherent would issue next. Only the loose fibers. Soon he was covered in the stuff, a pillar of fine threads, which hardened into a thick gold-green luminescent shell.

He stood there for days. Other acts would play around him. Some would drape their cables and props on the lumpy being. Sometimes rustling sounds would issue from inside, but never any words.

People assumed he was attempting some extreme feat of magical escapism and endurance, and let him be.

Finally, the club owners could take no more. They took a crowbar to the shell, and cracked it open. Inside, they found no sign of the “magician,” only a pile of caterpillars.

–Dan Kilian

Ventriloquist

Magic Related Nonsense