White Port, Lemon Juice and Ayn Rand

Pound Your Own Metal


"Lagonda, 2nd State" - by Ken

There is only is.
The is that will be and the is that was, but is no longer.
Prepare yourself.
Prepare the is that may or may not follow.
Who are you to judge?
Prepare the is of the following moment.
Everything and nothing is left to chance.
You are only given one hammer to pound
the red hot metal that is your life,
thoughtful swings, thoughtful swings.
Never stop until the metal grows cold and your
grip is insufficient. Do not pound someone else's metal.
That is someone else's is.

The Man in the Hat says:
Sounds like metaphysical mumbo-jumbo to me!
Z-Zen says:
That is fine if it is your delight - loan me five bucks.
 

Rapid Sketch by TMITH

White Port, Lemon Juice and Ayn Rand

Deegan Speaks!

W-P-LJ really tastes good to me...makes a good good wine that
really makes you feel so fine... - from the Frank Zappa song "WPLJ"

The next time that guy on the street asks for a buck or two to buy some White Port and lemon juice
you should go all Ayn Rand* on his ass, telling him how he should master his own destiny and not wait for hand outs from the government or anybody else for that matter. Explain to him that if he feels he was unfairly taken advantage of or life dealt him a bad hand, he deserved it for not being bright enough to avoid it. Then tell him that if you were to give him a few bucks the next thing you know he would be asking you to fetch him fresh lemons to go with the fortified wine and and a crystal goblet to mix it in because he feels "entitled" to quality.
Now if he hasn't gotten up and beaten the shit out of you before you finish, I would figure he
deserved to listen to your 1850's style social consciousness - and had it coming.

*Ayn Rand per popular political demagoguery

"The hills are alive with the sound of music, and Nazi troop carriers..." excerpt from rejected first draft of Julie Andrews song from "The Sound of Music"

Interview Girl!



"Typical Early Evening Drive" by Ken

In order to make ends meet, we put our girl out on the street!
Our receptionist Sally was getting bored, so we sent her out to glean pieces of meat from the gristle on the streets.

(Sally) What is your name?
They call me H.G.
Why are you homeless?
I was getting stale. They told me I had to get out of my comfort zone.
This homeless thing seemed pretty damned uncomfortable, so I tried it.
I can tell you firsthand that I would rather be back where I was...well I'm not sure
I kind of like the abuse - sleeping on concrete and rags and the mental cases
I run into. It really is quite something.
Didn't you think they meant a job, or perhaps a relationship change?
I didn't think of that, I only thought "out of comfort", in that I have succeeded
especially.
Why don't you get another job?
Nobody wants to hire me because they think I'm nuts  - and I guess they are
right to a certain degree you know? Kind of like a galactic pancake.
Oh, I uh, see. What are you going to do next?
I'm training my fleas to attack people I don't like or who try to cheat me.
You got that five dollars? My fleas are very sensitive!
Here you go HG. You certainly aren't your average homeless guy. Good
luck in your future endeavors, however they may pan out.
God bless you interview lady. I feel your essence and I'll give it a squeeze.

Encounter with the imminent eminent street entertainer
"You can't be successful doing that shit!" I said to the man doing a little dance on the corner of State and Wabash. He said "Who are you to tell me the truth of my being, is it up to someone else to define my success? I said " You need to make real money by defining and refining your act, you are very good, yes you are, a sidewalk is not worthy of your talent." He replied directly "You kind sir do not really know how happy I am, nor do you know your own happiness". After he shared the wisdom of the ages I began to see. Then he asked me for fifty five dollars. I was taken aback. Then he explained that beyond all thoughts he still required sustenance on the material plane. I explained that I was a little short on cash, but there was a McDonalds across the street. He said "I don't eat that shit!" and departed from me.

The Man In The Hat says...
Less time has been spent
on a mind so bent
refocus yourself
and pay the rent

The remnant of KIR-ALON!

Welcome DEEGAN The short story salesman...
Deegan writes little stories and tells us how he feels about stuff. We grafted him into Cosmic so we wouldn't have to pay him for his writing. Look out for his column "How I'm feeling right NOW!" in future posts. We are delighted to include his story "Remnant... " in this weeks issue.


Study For Painting No. 6

The Remnant Of KIR-ALON
Those biscuit eating critters of  Kir-Alon are back, smoking fat cigars on the patio of the hotel Darmuth and annoying all the other guests with their late night revelries. With a never ending assortment of call girls and peacock-escorts going in and out of the six-suite floor seven along with an indecent amount of booze, champagne and beer - comparable to the amount the Shriners of Gath consume (even though the Shriners outnumber them four to one), at any rate they are here.
Beyond that and merely considering those facts among others, I ran into Weinbak-8 on the south staircase, he stumbling and blubbering, reeking of alcohol, insisting to talk to me about "The Comparative Analysis"! What? Comparative analysis? Of What?!! I said. "I must speak to you and no one else". With that Mr. Weinbak-8 pulled out a wad of cash that for me would be more than six months wages. He pushed it into my palm and said "Let us recline on the patio". I normally might have pushed him down the stairs but with the cash in my pocket I became much more tolerant of him and the odor of the alcohol became more reminiscent of a dear old over-drinking uncle or something.
     It was early morning and the two of us sat down on the lounge chairs all alone on the patio which smelled of beer spilled hours earlier. I became aware of a danger that far outstripped the tidy sum of money in my pocket. At that point I said "Here is your money, I'm out." He replied "It is far too late for that, no sense in even trying. Keep the cash in expectation of many many times more - and listen extremely carefully, unless you desire to forfeit your life." I then considered flinging him from the railing so he could analyze the impact speed of a body falling to the concrete from the eighth floor, but I held myself in check, because for the first time in many forgotten seasons I felt completely alive... He then began, "The comparative analysis of life as we know it and the laws of the universe"... Blah blah blah, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera... I then realized he was just talking excrement in huge quantities and wasting my very precious time. I said summarily; "I'm throwing your drunk ass off this patio - right now." As I approached him he pulled out a switchblade knife and gave me a fleshwound across the collarbone, if I had reacted any slower it would have been my neck and I'd be dead on the patio tiles in an egg shaped pool of blood. I said, "I was only trying to scare you!" He replied, "How was I to know?!!". During this short and lively conversation  I pulled out my Mac 10 and with what sounded like a short drum roll in a two bit bar, I sprayed Mr Weinbak-8, making a diagonal line across his torso. Hell, the only thing missing was a cymbal clash at the end of it. I didn't see a spirit depart from his body - but I knew his ass was dead. At that point I decided to remove myself from the vicinity and  become a very religious farmer of sorts, you know - the kind without electricity. Me and my seven wives have lived out here for the last fifteen years with no violence save an errant horses hoof. We've had peace and I'm sure we'll have a dozen more years of it. You can bet you desperate life on it.

Reynard Speaks...
Life is the way it is. The pack of wild dogs downs the zebra and in order to get food before the larger predators come, chews the guts out of him while he is still alive. Is the Zebra loved any less or has the lion come too late? Then again... on the other hand I say piles of money are not a salve for the rich and the poor's chances are slim indeed, but unlike a dog, you need salvation and money...
And for our part we will get Reynard the medication he deserves

Uh, RATS

Goddamn Elves!

"Bootmakers Dilemma" by Ken

 

ELVES!

Dear Cousin Slinygran,

Greetings from Fornmost! Please hear my complaint.
I try to cast a nice spell or two on some godforsaken pastry chef or shoe maker - putting them against unbreakable or unmakeable odds and these goddamn elves show up overnight and undo all my hard work.
Let me give you an example.
 Pietro, a stubborn thick-headed mule of a bootmaker had the unfortunate luck of being noticed by the local overlord (my spell) who, admiring Pietro's handiwork and skill (and also seeing how much boot licking he would do) ordered 30 pairs of boots in, get this - ONE WEEK. Pietro said he would do it because basically, he's an idiot! My buddy the Troll King said he would fix things up if Pietro would hand over the fair, fair Isadora, who was his only child. Pietro wept and wept because the Troll King is a goddamn troll for cryin' out loud! Refusing to give up his daughter, Pietro worked until his hands bled - but only had seven pairs of boots ready the night before the overlord would come to collect. Regardless of the insanity of his request the overlord will be furious if his demands are not met.
Now finally I'm getting close to fun I want to see. In the morning Pietro gets his head cut off, the overlord takes seven pairs of boots without paying and the Troll king swipes Isadora! What joy!

But wait, no, out of nowhere overnight these goddamn elves show up, sewing and stitching and singing - and make twenty three pairs of boots, twinklin all the way! In the morning the overlord is so pleased with Pietro he gives him a box of gold and has his handsome son marry Isadora, the Troll King goes back to his hollow log and I just get to be totally disappointed.

It's a hell of a life.
You've got to help me do something about these goddamn elves. Really.

Signed,
Indolena
Witch of Maygdal, Fornmost, Suynden & intermediate areas