Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Couch Control Jews Waiting For This

Towards the Eritrean border of Sint-Niklaas’ wedding ceremony.


Yevgeney Otsuki (exasperated):   It’s a look, I guess, as catastrophe of cell. Why, in Pale Fire, do you call parody the "last resort of wit"?

Prasenjit Essig (blunt):   i don't know. how do you fuck but i do it right? maybe u want to learn me better?

Yevgeney Otsuki (ignoring Prasenjit, to Adam):   Coming to the big city this weekend? Prepare yourself for this: I am 79 years young.

Adam Sanjuanita (surprised and amused):   Congratulations, you’re lucky! I am 65 years old. I had to tell somebody I found the jackpot!

Yevgeney Otsuki (with levity):   Phenomenal! We are ready to give you a loan on Russian wife... the REAL stuff! Reminder. Love comes in all sizes.

Adam Sanjuanita (responsive):    Yes, warfare occurs. Basically, I can’t live without it. Can’t believe it? Is it true? Interested in it?

Yevgeney Otsuki (impatiently):   Don’t waste your time. Start fucking and never stop!

Prasenjit Essig (flatly):   we need to talk about it

Cleveland Lopez (stage left with excitement to Maryellen):   It works for 36 hours. It really improves erection! I wish I could have done it all myself.

Maryellen Shoemaker (remorsefully):   My boyfriend's prick is too big for my mouth. (stopping, then matter of fact) Let me show you.

Yevgeney Otsuki (matter of fact, butting in):   Eat smaller interesting stuff

Maryellen Shoemaker (without missing a beat):   I didn’t believe it the first time either.

Cleveland Lopez (with worry):   Hope they are all okay now.

Yevgeney Otsuki (reflecting):   Funny, isn’t it...

Adam Sanjuanita (curiously):   What?

Yevgeney Otsuki (pause, gaze at audience, and then to Adam):   What are your plans for the 11'th of September?

Adam Sanjuanita (quickly pulled by Cleveland):   No time left!

Yevgeney Otsuki (alone on stage, quietly to self):   Fine, I won’t tell them.
       - Jeremiah Horrocks

Today’s entry was written by Jeremiah Horrocks (~ 1618 – January 3, 1641) who scored a bitching new telescope in 1638 and died three years later. Horrocks’ hero of science & poetry, Omar Khayyam, never bought a telescope. As a result, Mr. Khayyam became famous and lived a very long, happy life. Prior to his enthusiasm on the observations of celestial beings, Horrocks lived in considerable poverty as an orphan among the Arminian abbeys in Lancashire. Horrocks was a restless but brilliant student. By the age of thirteen he had won many favors with the Court of King Charles I of England. However, he frequently ran away from the church and briefly lived in total depravity among the Calvinists in Wales. At this point, the facts of Horrocks’ life become clouded. He may have been raped by drunken monks, as his Welsh poem “Hen Wlad Fy Y Ddraig Goch” perhaps suggests (scholars noting the irony of the language and subject). Horrocks may have lived in the basement of the Llangollen Library, which would explain his fascination with science and astronomy. Truly, the young author hit his stride while living in Wales as he wrote several short stories and plays about random conversations among Welsh people. He moved to Liverpool 1632 as a completely changed and focused man. After studying at the University of Cambridge for a few years, Horrocks left academia to pursue his observations on the delta of Venus. His observation methods, outlined as a thousand lights in a darkened room, revealed his first big breakthrough on the Morning Star a year after 1638 (later named 1639). Astronomers at the Royal Society praised Horrocks’ anti-Ptolemaic verses dedicated to the transit of vinalia rustica as humorously accurate while retaining enthusiastic verve. All of Jeremiah Horrocks’ works were collected by his astronomer friends under the title, What an Incalculable Loss! and published several times over the course of the centuries. Our post today has never been published outside of Horrock’s official anthology and was used by permission from the British Astronomy Society.



0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home

SPAM IS POETRY