Sunday, February 27, 2011
I turn back to my coffee. "Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true."
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Questions to which gesturing with a recently sharpened 270mm sashimi knife is a sufficient if not customer appropriate response:
Do you have a men's room?
Do you still do cold cuts?
How much is the soup?
Wait, did you stop making sandwiches?
Where're the spoons?
Do you have lids for the soup?
How much is this falafel?
Where's the egg/chicken/tuna salad?
Is the soup charged by weight or what?
Do you have anywhere that we can sit down and eat?
Do you have spoons?
Where do you keep the soups?
Where do I pay?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
It's my first day.
I imagine it to be a cramped little room with a hunched old man, unshaven & with coke bottle glasses, watching. Just watching. Like the Pearl Station. Reports flying off to nowhere, still watching:
The cameras pan the store. Checking customer bank accounts. Sufficient funds. That woman is not wearing a brassier. Nice. That man is stealing from the salad bar. Investigate. Only 3 outstanding warrants. The police need not be notified. They return to their regular hobby: watching the staff.
It's my first day.⚉⚉⚉
Wrinkled decrepit man, staring with lidless eyes, gesticulating frantically, teeth crumbling to dust and falling from his gaping maw, drool pooling at his feet. Watching as I toil. Why is he watching?I blinked. “Excuse me?” “I said, ‘is there anywhere we can sit down and eat this?’” “Yeah. Café’s right over there.”
Friday, February 18, 2011
“Antarctica is not and has never been the home base to Predators or any other Alien Master Races. It is not Atlantis and there are no secrets buried in the ice…”
- Official Press Release from Antarctic Preservation Commission, LLC
The ice could not harm us.
The claimed it was a preservation issue. The hut was a historic site and they didn’t want to damage it or the booze buried in the ice. They claimed they were testing the scotch and the brandy to see if it was still good, if it was a marketable brand. Brand management is all the rage. The public, as much as the paid any attention, lapped it up. Smokey aftertaste. Plenty of peat. They joked: could this qualify as aged 100 years. Ha. No. But brand management and a lost recipe didn’t explain the circus. Didn’t explain the gathering of great and diverse minds, occult resonance. Didn’t explain the complete lack of media inquiry.
“Mankind knows no limits or bounds. We shall prevail over the cold, over Gaia’s frozen cunt.”
- Overheard at APC press conference.
The ritual was simple
In 1908, Ernest Shackleton set off on an expedition in a ship Christened "Rebellion." The goal, never fully disclosed to the public, was to destroy evidence of a previous (clandestine and failed) expedition. To unlearn everything they had learned on the ice, and to keep any and all others from returning, for the risk was too great. Aleister Crowley had been slated to join him. Everyone who knew what he was doing knew what he was going was wrong. It was said that the sailors heard ghosts howling in the frozen desert.
"Day 23: Digging continues apace and we seem to have found something today. If it is what we have been looking for, then Reginald truly deserves the £100 reward."
- last entry from the ship's log of Thomas Magog, Captain of the HMS Moria
A candle. Blood. Focus. And Shackleton's demonic Scotch.
I sip icy gin in the late afternoon. The news has come to me from several sources, is there any truth they ask, they worry so. Yes. It has been found. But they don’t know what it is.
“And the pit shall thawed [and the] beast[s] shall pour forth […] like devouring insects, like serpents […] and they will know no limits or [b]ounds and the [whole of] creation shall be […] razed.”
- The Apocalypse of Judas 12:22, fragment
This wasn’t about booze.
The permafrost was not an ideal location to perform a summoning, but one makes do. The bottles wouldn't unearth themselves. And the 12 nations would never resolve would retain ownership of the elixirs. This wasn't about a recipe, this was about power.
“When hell freezes over.”
- Jessica McDougal, response to when she would like to go on a date with me, c. 1992
You could almost see the gates straining to open as the seals fell away.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
I move the blade in circles. Ellipses, really. Ellipsis.
The stone is dirty. BossMan soaked it in oil and basically turned it into a fancy colored rock. Told me that was how it was done. He has five years of experience. Clearly this manner of juvenile fuckup is not par for the course. Surely. Why would I have been replaced otherwise? Why indeed? I've managed to mostly clean it. They weren't going to give me a new one. Not when BossMan and BossWife prefer to sharpen their $20 blades with a ten cent scissor sharper.
I move the blade in circles. Two minutes. Flip. Two minutes. Test the sharpness on my thumbnail.
I don't really know how to sharpen a knife on a stone. No one ever told me/ever showed me me. I hope this is right. At least it works. A lot better than...
I move the blade in circles. My back tightens up. It's harder work than you think, the repetitive motion, over and over, I roll my neck, crack my back, stretch, keep moving the blade:
It can score my fingernail and cut through the dishtowel. It's sharp enough for the fish. Tomorrow I need I to sharpen up a knife for sushi.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Working hours like this I could have been an ibanker. I could have been they smirking guy, caustically indifferent to my role in having caused the breakdown of the global economy. "If it ain't broke, break it." I mean, I haven't seen Finn all week. The first years are so formative. Whiskey. Bed. No time to think about it. Back to the fridge in the morning.
Monday, February 7, 2011
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of speculative memoir. Which probably means it is mostly fiction. The thoughts, ideas, stories, reflections, & recollections are solely my own or my own adaptations of hearsay/heresy. They do not necessarily reflect the opinions or policies of any employer, associate, colleague, subordinate, student, teacher, friend, or relative. Past or future. Thus it is written, thus shall it be so.I. In the beginning...