Democratic License by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Ship Accoutrements
Monday, October 21, Semi-National Popeye’s Louisiana Bonafide Chicken Wings Combo Day, the Second Year of the DOJ/FBI Disenfranchisement of the American People, the Decade of the Largely Peaceful Fires, in the Century of the Bot Takeover Dear diary; As far as I’m concerned the most important thing I have here is my own personal 3-D photocopy machine. Everything else here derives from that. Yes, a 3-D photocopy machine, not a 3-D printer. Adamo invented the device and I have one of the few. Though it has been patented, the details like Nikola Tesla’s; no not Musk’s rip-off, the real Nikola Tesla genius, are sealed, and there seems to be some sort of brouhaha over whether a bot can patent anything, ostensibly because the purchased politicians, the monopoly corporate publishers, and their supportive legal professionals have claimed serious doubts as to whether a bot can do anything which is not regurgitative.
Fuck ‘em. I got mine, and I know damn well that the powers that be don’t want anyone to have this thing, rightfully fearing that if they did have it, they’d just use it to get all the stuff they want and never work and pay taxes.
This is how the desk sized beauty works. I go on the web and obtain a picture; any picture. I input this picture to the 3-D
photocopier, and voila; it produces a usable facsimile of the photo. You know those misleading pictures the restaurants, especially the national fast food chains, put on the web, to illegally, though rarely enforced unless the owners go anti-woke, get you to purchase an item dried out, smaller, and bearing little relationship to their advertising photo? Well, I get the real, bigger, juicy deal; and for free.
You got the picture, I get the scrumptious meal. Haha. Whatever I want, any time I want it; a Burger King double whopper from 1970, The Palm’s 12 oz. center cut filet mignon, an Arby’s roast beef sandwich with the special Arby’s sauce, Captain D’s fifteen piece butterfly shrimp meal, Prime Foods hard boiled and peeled eggs in a 12 x 12 ct. container for breakfast, The French Laundry’s Chef’s Tasting Menu’s anything including Oysters and Pearls with sabayon of pearl tapioca with Island Creek oysters and Regiis Ova caviar; Yellow Taxi Tomato Gazpacho with buratta
“panna cotta,” toasted pine nuts, cutting celery, and stirred tomato water gelee, or their Applewood Smoked Wolfe Ranch White Quail, with creamed garden chard, young turnips, and whole grain mustard sauce, Pizza Hut’s original The Big New Yorker, with six extra large, foldable slices, .....
You’ll have to excuse me for a while. I got hungry.
Hi again, dear diary. That’s better. I had a Wendy’s square hamburger patty served on a circular bun, sea salt fries, and the Frosty, a soft-serve ice cream. I can’t help but sometimes wonder if Chris Christie hasn’t been given one of these 3-D
photocopy machines in return for his support of Exxon to the detriment of his New Jersey constituents when he was Governor.
Beware what you want; you might get it (in the ass). Hehehe.
Admittedly, furniture poses some degree of problem. You might have noted that it is desk sized. That was a bit of an exaggeration common in the industry parlance. In this case it’s not that big a deal, but worthy of note anyway. It’s actually about 18 inches by 18 inches by 18 inches, and since it can’t make anything larger than itself, it therefore cannot produce anything larger than 3.375 cubic feet. It’s okay for a small table, a low-backed chair, a small chest of drawers, and storage boxes; but fails miserably when shown highboys or secretaries.
It produces a small portion of them before conking out.
Sigh. So far I have only been able to make an adaptation which leaves me an assembly job worse than you get on those cheap furniture kits. For example, if I’m careful where I cut and paste the picture I can get the entirety of a reasonably sized Queen Anne highboy in five parts. Despite it being pushed as a
moulinyan hair product, I’ve found some success with using Gorilla Glue to fasten the pieces together.
Paintings work well. What was here originally was a very unimaginative nautical theme. I can see a nautical theme by looking out the portals. Also, I’ve always felt that any painter who needs to “express themselves” larger than 18 X 18, missed their calling, and should have painted walls. I’m fortunate in that the painting images which come up on my laptop generally don’t over-run the screen, so all I “lose” is texture. Between you and me, I can live quite well without the bumps, thank you very much.
In a painting every detail reflects. There isn’t any single perspective. Unlike the camera’s depth of field eye “acceptably”
sharp, the one we all look through we call realism. We take five or six or ten, while the anonymous painter took twenty or more perspectives if he had so chosen, and even in a small painting you can’t include it all in your single vision. Your one pair of eyes, with which you can scan a photograph, does not allow you to scan a painting after its texture has degenerated and becomes conscious of being looked at.
It is like a fragile castle. It contains so many perspectives that trying to separate one would dismantle the edifice. Stop
trying to analyze how it is constructed and why it worked; how to reduce it to a scheme and explain it. Keep it alive in your memory.
It is a specific depiction of a general attribute which the haredi jews teach to the secular jews who are paying any attention called the stepping down of power. It is for this reason that jews are more concerned with lineage than other groups.
A Faustian fable is contained. However incomplete it is, it is also unclear regarding the implied bargain at the end unlike in literary bookish Faust tales. The main character, if he can be called that, is missing quite often. Somewhere in the process he stopped being called by his name, or any name. He becomes just a nameless presence until very late when he was “named” by a crook. And I wondered why. Maybe it is because the talent he possesses goes far beyond and cannot be simply defined. Maybe it is a reference to Odyssesus and Polyphemus’s story. There could be a dozen other potential answers to this question. But it is striking how it works; how it defies all preconceptions one might have about how a main character should be. Or maybe this is the answer. He began looking wildly round the room where shapes refused to identify themselves, and endured only in terms of the others, each a presence made possible only by what
everything else was not, each suffering the space it filled to bear it only as a part of a whole which, with a part standing forth to identify itself, would perish.
The preceding is like a dance. I could read it again and again without being tired of the repetition. Maybe that is how you can define the objects and the characters without naming them.
I want to talk about the female heroine, Lilith. She is an absolutely ethereal unique creation. She is a poetess who struggles to write her poems. It was through this imposed accumulation of chaos that she struggled to move now. Beyond it lay simplicity, unmeasurable, residence of perfection, where nothing was created, where originality did not exist, because it was origin; where once she was there in work and thought in causal and stumbling sequence did not exist, but only transcription; where the poem she knew but could not write existed, ready formed, awaiting recovery in that moment when the writing down of it was impossible; because she was the “poem.”
The poem she knew, but could not write is the most tragic matter any gifted person faces one day; the limitations imposed on a gift. It reminded me the famous short story by Julio Cortazar,
“The Pursuer,” when the main character, another gifted person improvises on a sax not even remembering about the time and
space, and later not being able to come back to that music and suffering because of this. Lilith as well feels this constant incompleteness. And then she sits downs and copies poems of someone else. It was Rilke’s “Ellegies.”
Only occasional groupings of words held her, and she entered to inhabit them a little while, until they became submerged, finding sanctuary in that part of herself which she looked upon distal and afraid, a residence as separate and alien, real or unreal, as those which shocked her with such deep remorse when the features of others betrayed them. An infinite regret, simply that she had seen, might rise in her then, having seen too much unseen; and it brought her eyes down quick. She is like a mirror, so natural and not at all self-cautious. And she is crazy and she uses drugs. But her life is like a dream. She just feels.
There is this aura of eternity in her character. And she seems to feel that she is only a guest here though she has been here many times before.