After the rapture

God was all like, I’m outta here and took the true believers with him.

They fit in the palm of his hand.

And that was that.

The world was as quiet as the post Eyjafjallajökull sky over Europe.

For a little while.

Then, ding, someone came into the shop and had to be waited on.

A kid was hungry.

Cats meowed.

All that.

The streets were lined with people who had thought they were true believers, all moping around.

We stepped over them on our way to work.

And this was our work: peeling back the world, little by little, and letting heaven out.

Hiding from people

Nightmare this morning: Someone was after me. They wanted to kill me and the earth was soft and crumbly so I dug down and hid under the dirt. I made a hole in the bottom of a soda pop can and breathed through that, ninja-style. But they found me anyway and were digging me out when I woke up.

They were female, I think. Whoever the scary person was. They may have been my wife, or a cat, or something more monstrous, all I remember clearly is the dirt and the aluminum can.

Amidst the seeds

He goes into the cellar and the light is already on. Either someone left it on all night, or he left it on for 24 hours, or there was a burglar who turned on the light and thought, nothing worth stealing here, just a bunch of seeds and papers and a broken accordion, or the light turned itself on, as lights sometimes do, especially around the Day of the Dead.

The moon was full last night. He lights candles. He lights every candle he can find and sits amids the seeds and tries to position the candles so that they don’t set anything on fire. He sits amidst the seeds and writes something. First he finds some pens, he has to look all over the room because he can’t recall what box they were in or where he put the  box.

For future reference: the box is under the desk.

Looking for pens, he finds his aunt’s obituary in a drawer full of knives.

Also the box his field recorder came in. Now all he has to find is the field recorder itself. Maybe it’s in the box, he didn’t look inside because he was 1) looking for pens and 2) thinks he looked in the box once already and no field recorder.

The moon was full last night so it should be fairly full tonight, when the spirits are out. He resolves to light extra candles.

It’s foggy, a little foggy. Cold and the world is still. Still and waiting.

He thinks about playing dice.

That guy

Mr. Cordyceps’ eyes are burning. It’s not chili pepper residue, that was too long ago. He had an eye infection recently, maybe that’s back. Or maybe he got some toiletry product in his eyes this morning, he was in a great hurry and that contributes to accidents, as we all know.

He  has been trying to be fair to people lately, and to listen to them and pay attention to them because he had sort of painted himself into a corner there, socially. Perhaps as a result of that, people don’t seem like such idiots to him lately. At the same time, he remains convinced that there is always at least one idiot in the room; likewise, that projection plays a big role in how he sees the world.

So he has this growing fear that he’s  the idiot.

Well, ‘fear’. Who knows? You know that guy, the guy who leaves inappropriate comments on facebook walls and comment threads here and there, which are supposed to be funny but fail to hit the sense of humor in the group of people who frequent that wall or blog or whatever?

On the other hand, shit, you have to talk to people and risk a few jokes not working, Mr. Cordyceps thinks.

He struck up a conversation with someone recently. Mr. Cordyceps almost never does that. Strike up a conversation. But he was somewhere and instead of leaving, as he usually does, when the regular business was over and it would theoretically not seem too weird to leave, he stayed because everyone else was, in little groups, talking. His conversational gambit was to say to a woman, apropos of nothing, ‘so do you think we only dream at night, or do we dream all the time and just not realize it during the day because we are too busy thinking and perceiving and so on?’ because that was what had been on his mind, how our brain functions, and how there seemed to him to be subconscious routines running at all times to remind him that he was forgetting something by raising his anxiety levels and so on.

Like, the feeling that you are forgetting something important? Where does that come from? And ideas that pop into your head, and metaphors – what produces them?

They had a great conversation, sort of. It lasted a long time but didn’t feel like a long time. Mr. Cordyceps didn’t have to say much. Once, the woman actually had her hands around Mr. Cordyceps’ throat, throttling him, to illustrate a point.

So, pretty great, all in all.

Learning by doing, Mr. Cordyceps tells himself.

Fake it till you make it, he says.

Practice makes perfect.


More on Tuvan throat singing

Mongolians probably watch non-Mongolians ‘throat-singing’ on youtube and laugh and laugh.

On the other hand, a Mongolian barbershop quartet would be awesome.

Oh well. That’s the way the ball bounces.

I have reached the point where I can usually get a throat-singing-type sound whenever I want. It took forever, but I can do it now, especially when I am alone. I have always been inhibited about singing in front of other people, except Christmas carols.

This morning, in my bathroom, I determined that I cannot throat sing and pee at the same time.

Later this morning, driving my car and throat singing, it occurred to me that this is a blessing. Still later, in the men’s room at the UN, I had the same thought again. Everyone was peeing, no one was throat singing. In the long run, it would be stressful if you went into the bathroom and everyone was peeing and throat singing.

Same with driving on the freeway.


Alpha and I watched Metropolis at the Konzerthaus in Vienna last night, while a 66-piece orchestra played the music. It was neat. I didn’t fall asleep once. Metropolis was shortened rather drastically after release, and the original version was lost, I guess. The film was (IIRC) restored in 2001. Then a longer version was discovered in Argentina, so it was restored again. The Argentine version was, however, only 16mm so there are quality and cropping issues. The discovery of the longer version also made it possible to restore the score, pretty much, which had also been incomplete.

Or something.

I should be a journalist, shouldn’t I.

We will be seeing a few more silent films with live music at the Konzerthaus, we bought a subscription. I really like the idea of composing film music, so I am looking forward to seeing them.

Tuvan throat singing progress report

Surprised myself the day before yesterday by actually getting it right while driving home from work. It only lasted a few seconds, though, and I sort of scared myself. It’s an awesome sound. Haven’t been able to repeat it since, but am still trying. It was very encouraging. All the different tutorials on youtube have helped, but only to a somewhat limited degree. All they seem to have in common are they can sort of get you started, but you have to take the leap to actually figuring it out all by yourself. That, and they are filmed in absolutely filthy bedrooms.

This is definitely the most irritating thing I have tried to do yet, and that’s saying a lot. I can only try it while  driving alone, and that’s sort of dangerous because besides giving me a sore throat, it also makes me dizzy because I forget to breathe, and requiring a lot of concentration my driving suffers. Also I thought I was going to give myself a heart attack yesterday so I stopped for a while.