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Capital of Nasty Vol. 07 Issue 12
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume VII, Issue 12, AD MMII
Friday, August 30, 2002
ISSN 1482-0471
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You'd think if you're a newscaster for CNN you must have been saying
the word Al-Qa'ida at least 10 times a day for a year. That's more
than enough time to realize that it is pronounced al-qa-eeda and not
al-kayda. That apostrophe is not there just for fun.
- Konrad the Bold
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"We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense
and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is
beautiful and his children smart. " -H.L. Mencken
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1. Kid's Corner: Politicians
2. Music by Light
3. The Unknown Reader
4. The Poverty Game
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This week's Golden Testicle award:
http://www.planetprostate.com/
Help Sammy Sperm on his journey to PLANET PROSTATE!
Submitted by: Alan Lupsha
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1. Kid's Corner: Politicians
Bringing complicated issues down to a level even you can understand
By Konrad the Bold
Dear Kid's Corner,
My daddy days all politicians are liars and crooks. If they're so
bad why don't people just votes for new ones?
Jimmy, Grade 3
Well Jimmy, I see what you're saying. Everyone says politicians are
crooks, so why doesn't anyone do something about it? If all the
politicians are bad, it should be easy; just get rid of them all and
get new ones!
Here's why it's not that simple: Have you ever heard the saying
"There's no such thing as a bad kid, only bad parents"? Let me give
you an example. Let's say your mommy tells you and your siblings
that no one is allowed to eat cookies before dinner. You're a good
boy and you do what your mom tells you to, but your siblings don't
listen and they always eat all the cookies as soon as your mom buys
them. What would you do if that happened and your mom didn't do
anything to stop it? If you waited until dinner there'd be no
cookies left, so chances are you'd just ignore what your mom said
and eat them anyway.
Does that make you a bad kid? Of course not! You'd be crazy to
follow the rules, because you'd never get any cookies. The problem
in this case isn't with you, it's with your mom's rules. Now, let's
make the situation a bit different. Now your mom says that if anyone
opens the box of cookies before dinner, she'll never buy cookies
again. What do you think would happen then?
That's right! Nobody would eat the cookies before dinner, because if
they did they'd never get cookies again. Your mom changed the rules
and suddenly all the kids are behaving. Does that mean that you and
your siblings were bad kids before your mom changed the rules and
good kids afterwards? No, you're still the same kids as always.
What's changed is now you have good reasons to follow the rules.
In the first case, the best thing for you to do would be to eat all
the cookies as soon as your mom buys them. Then you'd get all the
cookies and nothing bad would happen to you. (Of course, your
siblings wouldn't get any for themselves.) After your mom changed
the rules, you wouldn't want to eat the cookies before dinner
because that would be bad for you since you wouldn't ever get
cookies again. So the best thing for you to do is to wait until
after dinner, when all your siblings are there, and eat the cookies
together. In other words, what has changed is that doing what's good
for yourself is also good for everyone else. That's why we say that
good parenting makes good children.
Sure, I know what you're thinking, this is all obvious, but what
does it have to do with politicians? Every kid knows that you've got
to have rules so doing what's good for them is also good for
everyone else. After all, parents never punish their kids for being
nice and helping others. See, the thing is, the adults don't know
this. They've got lots of books full of big words, fancy theories
and even special university degrees about what they call "political
science", but, as usual, adults can't see what every kid already
knows: there's no such thing as bad people, only bad rules. That's
why we can't just vote out all the "bad" politicians. The new ones
would just do the exact same thing unless we change the rules!
So what makes a good government? Obviously, a good government is a
government with good rules, but that doesn't really tell us anything
new. We could say that a good government is one that makes a country
better off. That sounds good at first, but you quickly see it's not
always true. What if you have a major natural disaster and half the
country is destroyed? Does that mean the government was bad? Of
course not. We could also have a bunch of politicians doing stupid
things but they get lucky and the country ends up better off for it.
That doesn't that country had a good government, it just means it
got lucky.
What's the answer to this important question that people have been
trying to answer for centuries? Well, I tell ya, it's so simple only
a kid could understand it. A good government is one that has rules
so that doing what's good for the politicians is also good for
everyone else. Adults like to use big words for these things, so
when they want to say what's good for you is also good for someone
else, they say that "your interests are aligned with the interests
of the other person". In other words, if we want to make a simple
definition, in only one sentence, that will tell us what makes a
good government we would say this:
The only measure of a good government is that the interests of the
politicians are aligned with the interests of the people they rule.
That's it! That's all there is to it! Adults will try to tell you a
good government has to have representative democracy and the
separation of powers and open trials and lots of other fancy ideas
but the next day they'll be complaining about all the crooked
politicians but won't be able to figure out why they can't just vote
them out.
Let's take democracy as an example. Everyone says democracy makes a
good government but if we look the world we'll see that there are
some democratic governments that are good and some that aren't very
good at all. On the other hand, we could go back in history and find
lots of dictatorships, like the Roman Empire, that were run very
well. Democracy doesn't make a government good or bad, it's just a
way of getting things done. Of course, in modern times, democracy is
very useful for making a good government but by itself it's not good
or bad. The same goes for all the other fancy ideas people believe
in. The only constant factor among all good governments throughout
the history of the world is that the interests of their leaders were
aligned with the interests of the people.
One way to look at it, is from the point of view of corruption.
Let's say you're in charge of a big government agency that handles
lots of money. If you can get away with it, the easiest way for you
to make money is to steal money from the agency. That's good for you
but bad for the people. In other words, to work in your best
interest you'd do something that's not in the interest of other
people. On the other hand, if you're in a government with proper
safeguards against theft then you'd probably go to jail if you stole
money. In that case, what's in your best interest is to do a good
job and maybe get a promotion for your work. Doing a good job at the
agency means you're not just helping yourself get a promotion but
you're helping everyone else that relies on that agency. What's
happened now is that your interests have become aligned with the
interests of the people.
I hope that's cleared everything up for you, Jimmy. Now you know
what makes a good government and why we can't just throw out all the
bad politicians. It's pretty simple after all, isn't it?
---
Konrad the Bold says you shouldn't trust anyone over 13.
k o n r a d t h e b o l d @ h o t p o p . c o m
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2. Music by Light
By REVSCRJ
Unlike most jobs I have had in my life, I enjoy this one. I use
present tense for a very odd reason: I still do it whenever I can.
You see, the owner of the lighting company, Mark Jones, has been a
friend and band mate of mine for years and has the qualities I look
for in Humans: intelligent, cynical, anti-authoritarian, artistic,
skilled and good at heart.
Radiant Atmospheres, Mark's company, began with a group of us folks
from the Cloud Factory Collective setting up lights for our raves.
Over time we acquired the skills to turn the ugliest, dingiest
cement box of a room into a swirling landscape of polychromatic,
multi-textured displays of light at its best. We'd take these truly
alien environments and then sync their movements to the music in a
way that would then make them seen either so much a part of the
scene that they become invisible. Or use quick changes in the
entirety of the dynamic to cause sudden jarring switches of mood and
feel. Playing music silently with light--truly beautiful.
If you have ever been to a really good rave and danced for hours
because the "vibe" was just "perfect" I will lay you odds on two
things: 1) the lighting played a huge part in it, and 2) you didn't
really notice it much. That's okay, we don't mind.
The lighting folks, no matter what industry they work in, are really
only ever noticed if they fuck up--otherwise everything is going
"right". It takes a lot more skill and hard work than you might
think.
I have climbed dangerously narrow rafters holding heavy lights, or
mirrorballs 20" and higher up in order to hang them in just the
right place. I have held power-strips in such a way that I could
on/off lights in sync with music for so long that my thumbs froze up
cramping and hurt for days. I've risked death for it, but hell we
risk death pretty often over simply needing to get to the other side
of the road. I figure doing it over a labor of love is as justified
as it gets. Lighting is temporary art installation, not a paycheck.
Now, allow me a moment of pride: I think I am pretty good at
lighting design. There are a couple of reasons for my pride in this
regard: I am a musician and have been most of my life, so
translating sound into motions comes very easy to me. Secondly,
having written poetry for years I can see how the metaphors for
color, intensity, rotation, speed, shape and movement translates
into mood within context. It's sandcastle building, drawing on a
desk, chalk on the sidewalk: a beauty that is only for this one
short span of time- very Zen.
I think the most hectic environment we ever set up lights in was at
Burning Man, on the Blackrock playa. Basically we set up a three
story scaffolding structure braced with six legs that extended out
from it. On this we set up a variety of high powered spotlight
pointed upward and away from the structure--this created a crown of
light during ebbs in the dust storms that one could see for miles,
and we had been given the "crown chakra" position on the man. On
the ground we projected textures (honey combs, vines, leaves etc.).
Up about four stories was a bar that held the mirrorball, at it we
projected more of the spotlights which created HUGE moving
reflections out over 100 yards from the structure that made one
dizzy if watched. The cracked mud plain of the playa was the
perfect canvas. It was lovely... however...
Ever try to do construction and carpentry in whiteout level dust
storms? Ever feel sand whip into your face so hard it hurt while
you were trying to move heavy equipment up a scaffolding structure?
Ever find yourself atop the largest metal structure for miles moving
at dangerous speeds bagging tens of thousands of dollars worth of
lights while a violent lightning storm is almost on top of you?
It's almost as difficult as trying to secure a mirror ball up four
stories balanced on rain slicked metal scaffold pipe while
negotiating against the 70 mph gusts. Nearly as disconcerting as
looking down to the base of that structure, on which are some of
your best friends, to see that the power distributor is in a puddle
of water, ready to blow. I put the monkey-me into overdrive on that
trip.
Now of course none of this was typical of the job; however, what did
end up being typical about doing lights at Burning Man was that I
ended up participating very little in any other endeavour aside from
the one I came there to do. Its odd: like my being so prefers
creation that if there is the opportunity to work doing it I would
rather that than simply enjoy the party. It ends up feeling like it
weren't my place to join in, like I am there to aid in making sure
that those who've come for the party enjoy themselves... but its not
out of some martyr complex, I just love art and people that much.
By the way, the Burning Man co-ordinators liked what we did so much
that they are funding us next year.
---
REVSCRJ is a writer/musician living in Monterey, California.
Constantly on the verge of homelessness, he hopes that you enjoy his
work or else his life has been in vain. Contact REVSCRJ at
revscrj@cloudfactory.org to lodge complaints, notify of lawsuits, or
receive spiritual advice.
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3. The Unknown Reader
By Jakob Straub
It was Ralph Collier who said, "Usually, the food that you get in
art museums is institutional revenge for the art that you get in
restaurants." Upon first reflection, food is something vital and art
something obsolete. But on second thought, one might arrive at the
conclusion that just like food can be so much more than stuff
devoured to keep from starving, art can also become integral in a
person's life. Since we no longer have to spend all day hunting down
food, we have time to consume art, as well as the time to create it
in the first place.
Most people come across that sensation at least once in their lives;
it's similar to an itch which needs scratching, when you have to
give in and pick up a brush or a chisel or a pen, and sometimes it's
accompanied by the wonder what is art.
As for writing, especially young people seem to be prone to yield to
compulsive scribbling away, recording every single thought circling
in their heads and rising to the surface of the mind. Institutions
like writing workshops, poetry slams, and literary cafes provide a
forum for such aspiring writers in an attempt to attract crowds with
a taste for youth literature or pastries and coffee, or ideally both
- even some internet mailing lists tend to associate writing with
caffeine-containing beverages, and newbies are handed a virtual
welcome cookie. But since the coffee already falls far short of my
expectations, what can I possibly expect from the writing that will
be presented here?
The people who come here to do a reading probably started out
writing diaries in their teenage years. Admittedly, this might be a
prejudice and a vast generalization on my side, but isn't it true
that the feelings and dreams of youth are best shut away between the
covers of a journal? After pages and pages of "Dear Diary", the
question might arise in some just for whom they are documenting
their everyday life so chronological and meticulously. This is the
moment where they stop seeing sense in their writing and pack it in
altogether, or they pronounce themselves a writer. The belief that
their work will no longer disappear forever in a drawer is
personified in the form of an unknown reader. Not one sentence,
however hastily spliced together, not a single word, however
carefully chosen, will elude the examination of this reader, who is
characterized by the fact that he knows exactly where to look. An
outside observer might call this personification quality.
The written pieces of teens all contain clues to the imagination or
hunch they have of the existence of the unknown reader, because they
are writing for him, whether intentionally or unconsciously. Each
piece of writing summons him in a different way, but the general
approach to describing him will remain the same, once it has been
chosen. The leitmotif of such an author's work is the style of his
writing, manifested in new variations of the same and characterizing
the writer.
It does not influence what he is writing about, but is a limitation
nonetheless. While some are contented with the attempt to reveal the
identity of the unknown reader by coincidence, applying ever new
names to him, others get lost in arguments whether a piece appeals
to him on itself by something inherent in the words chosen, or if
beauty lies just in the eye of this beholder. They are blind beggars
crying for alms, blind to the fact that naming a thing anew over and
over will not change it, and not seeing that the Unknown Reader is
neither subject nor object. Any attempt of an exact definition of
that reader is bound to fail; and yet, people stoically believe in
his existence. This belief is common to all writers, but the
argument about the Unknown Reader's appearance divides them.
Whoever is bold enough to climb onstage at an "open mic" occasion
and recite a piece of his writing will harvest an uncomfortable
silence. After a long moment, and bit by bit, comments will trickle
in. With extreme care people complement each other, avoiding
critical remarks. Everyone keeps their mental reservation that what
has just been read cannot possibly be equal to their own work. The
different ideas of quality are too diverse, and everyone falls for
the belief that only the own writing can satisfy the Unknown Reader.
Of course, there are rare occasions when you have to admit the
brilliance of a fellow writer, the beauty of his ably crafted piece;
but the rising doubt about the quality of one's own work is quickly
discarded by the assumption that the other writer does not share
`that intense feeling' upon writing, the intuitive understanding of
what is good, therefore being right, and ultimately defying
futility.
Just like a manic-depressive is self-centred, we concentrate solely
on our own writing and remain ignorant of those who also have a try
at it. Now and then, when a young writer has peered beyond his own
pages and is filled with admiration for another one's work, there
will be imitation and copying, repercussively influencing the
imitating person's idea of the Unknown Reader. He influences our
writing, and those who feel superior to him and question his
existence will tear apart each finished page, and will do so with
pleasure, because they cannot find any sense in their writing. It
seems impossible to us to find and take on, to acquire a certain
style of our own which would allow us to write just for the sake of
writing, for it would be a style that could save the finished piece
from the eyes of the Unknown Reader.
---
Jake says, don't try to bend the motorcycle. There is no motorcycle.
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4. The Poverty Game
By Asweepa
It's been ten years since I have seen sunshine. That is my choice,
and the decision came accidentally. After I made my pile, I knew I
could live exactly as I pleased. The difficulty with such freedom,
oddly enough, was to discover those things that do indeed please.
One gets so caught up in doing the 'normal everyday' stuff, it takes
some real effort to ditch that, and really re-define life on ones
own terms.
A book on Vampires gave me my first clue. Why not stay up in the
night, and ignore the daytime? No, I don't drink blood, although I
have certainly spilled some in various adventures along the way. But
staying up all night struck me as exactly the way I should live. And
so I began sleeping in the daytime, and setting out each dusk to
explore the world that few ever see.
That world is as large and as different as, well, a world should be!
Life at night contains many a delightful tale, such as, hopefully,
this one.
It was two in the morning, and I was out for a drive. The drunks
were staggering out of seedy bars, hookers were looking for
desperate business, and the streets were a feast of low life forms.
As I pulled up to a traffic light, a girl darted from the sidewalk,
towards my car. Instead of coming to my open window, she crouched
down in the empty lane beside me, and quickly began to pick up items
from the street. I, at first, thought she was picking up pieces of
yet another smashed bottle on the road. But I was wrong. Instead of
glass, she was picking up money. Coins! Somebody had dropped a
handful of change onto the roadway.
A car coming up behind me, switched over into that lane, and then
had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the girl. She gave a
blank stare into the bright headlights, wanting to continue picking
up the coins, but the driver moved slowly forward, forcing her to
get off the road.
When the light turned green I went ahead a short distance, and then
turned my car around, so that I could watch the event play itself
out.
Traffic was now heavy. All the drunks were in their cars. The coin
collector looked back and forth, first staring that the remaining
coins on the road, and then at the cars speeding along towards them.
She was struggling within herself. The money was right there! Yet
cars were speeding along, and she could very easily get hit, bent
down trying to pick up the coins.
I smiled at her dilemma. Was her life worth those pennies? She
didn't seem to know. And neither, honestly, did I.
The sight reminded me of 'The Poverty Game' TM that a group of us
played, many years ago. We made the game up, and to this day I don't
understand why it is not played in every seedy bar in existence. Or
maybe it is being played, and The Game continues as we speak.
The rules were simple. You get a group of friends together, for a
night out at a low class bar. Everyone comes with a pocket full of
quarters. The first from your table who goes to the washroom, throws
a quarter into the urinal, before using it. As the beer goes down,
each one visits the can, each adding a quarter to the growing amount
of money in the urinal. Given heavy beer consumption, and ten or
twelve guys, the money adds up fast.
During the evening, other customers in the bar will certainly notice
the money. They face the dilemma of how many quarters will overcome
their [hopeful] distaste at reaching in, and getting the money out.
Often you can see that question haunting the faces of those at the
bar!
The washroom has to be checked, after each one of the losers uses
it, to determine who finally takes the money. Eventually, and often
very quickly, the money is gone. By careful watch, you know who has
reached into the urinal.
The chap from your table, who threw in the last quarter before that
guy fished it all out, is the 'winner.' His job now is to go over to
the coin collector and shake his hand! And, perhaps, ask him how
much he got, or why his pocket is so wet?
Back in my car, the two o'clock lady now has the satisfied smile of
someone who has found money. Even though she has carefully looked
over, twice, every inch of pavement, she continues to look for more.
Hoping for another penny?
I wonder about those coins scattered, late night, on a busy road.
Has someone come up with a new version of our old game? A little
more of a life and death version?
Ah, those good old days! You know, it's been years since I played.
Hey, I've just thought of something! Why don't we get a group
together, and play!
Are you up for a Game?
---
Asweepa can be contacted at asweepa@yahoo.com. He will reply, if
you tell an interesting story.
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Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
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