[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Wednesday, August 10th, 2005|
|Arg! printers! Arg.
That sniveling wretch Mr Gaiman writes:
>>You aren't the first person to suggest I travel with a printer, and 13 or 14 years ago I used to (the printer back then weighed 4 lb. The power adapter for the printer weighed about 6lb. I could never figure that one out) but I believe, possibly wrongly, that nice hotels with business centres ought to have printers that work. And that even if they don't now, they will one day. It's this cheery optimism that gets me through life. <<
The Mad Arab also has a thing or two to say about printers: The problem with writing in blood is that it does not lend itself easily to mass production, and red ink printed in dripping font just doesn't cut it. In the good old days, the gibbering servants of the Elder Gods would gladly sacrifice themselves to produce a chapter of Unspeakable truths in the chronicles of the Great Beyond. Unholy Books were written upon a mound of corpses, and if you were lucky (or unfortunate) enough to have such a nightmarish tome fall into your possession, you knew that the book you clutched in your trembling hands was a carefully handcrafted, one-of-a-kind guide to the parameters of the Unreal.
But then that man Lovecraft started writing and suddenly everyone wants a Necromicon. Everyone! But are they willing to spill their heart's blood to create a mere page of suffering in honor of the Great Cthulhu?! No! So some Worthy types with an eye to spreading the Gurgling Words of the Elder Gods decide to *print* a few texts, not caring that this is heresy before the million bug-eyes of the Aldairth, not caring that a printed book is dead and cold to the secrets of the universe, that its secrets will stay fixed to a printed page and be unable to infect the passing glances of strangers with the murderous knowledge of Unreality!!!! WOE!!! WOE TO THE HALF-BAKED IGNORAMUSES WHO WORSHIP THE ELDER GODS WITH SUCH PALTRY EFFORTS!!!!! THEY TOO SHALL PERISH!!!
But the Mad Arab was going to talk about printers. Sorry about that.
The only thing printers are truly good for is communicating with the Elder Gods of the Internet. The matrix of cyber-reality formed by spam mail forms, in its own right, a transreal plane from which true Acolytes can communicate with the thinking viruses of Deep Time. While Deep Time Viruses will occasionally unfold their dread plans to a true observer, however, they are far more likely to invite you to "BE BIG NOW!" or watch "TEEN SLUTS DO HORSES!" because Deep Time Viruses are into that sort of thing. You can, if you want, sign up for email updates from Deep Time, or you can just wade into their randomness and press "print," which is the Mad Arab's preferred method.
Except printers are a bit of an annoyance when it comes to carting them through forbidden pyramids, and it's difficult to find an outlet in the shrieking jungles of Na'bair. So to get back to Mr. Gaiman's comment, this is why the Mad Arab prefers blood. Working printers can be hard to find, but corpses can be made just about anywhere.
|Saturday, July 30th, 2005|
|Arg! Elves. Arg!
Today the miserable Mr. Gaiman
writes: At some point on the last tour I remember explaining to some audience that you have to write, if you're going to be a writer, because elves won't do the work for you. Which is true, but, it seems, only up to a point. A few nights ago I was trying to finish up the work for the Headline uniform editions of my books, and, with no time left on the deadline, having wrapped up everything else I knew I still had to write introductions to their editions of American Gods and Neverwhere... I wrote the Neverwhere introduction while fighting to stay awake, then opened the American Gods folder, wondering how I was going to write an American Gods introduction in an hour with a head like a wobbly blancmange, and promptly discovered a file called something like "New Introduction to Headline Edition of American Gods", which I opened, slightly bemused. It was a complete introduction that, according to the line at the bottom, I'd written while on the plane from London to Singapore, and which, in all the madness of the tour, I suppose I must have completely forgotten about having written. This is slightly more likely than elves leaving it on the computer to get me out of a deadline jam, but only just.
Mr. Gaiman will kindly STOP referring to the Elemental Song-jaws of Chaos as those namby-pamby pointy-eared Orlando-Bloomish yuppie excuses for Supernatural Beings! The Elemental Song-jaws worked long and hard in Slanting Planes of Dire Improbability to compose an introduction worthy of spreading the Call of Cthulhu through the meagre prose of this worthless Gaiman-creature!
Little does foolish Gaiman know, but his "forgotten introduction," if translated on altavista-babelfish into the dreaded tonal language of Ghet, then read backwards, will chant the hidden praises of Cthulhu in Shrieking Syllables designed to corrupt the minds of all who hear it! It will bring to the blood-soaked shrine of Tu'leig new acolytes dedicated to usher this world into the whirling vortex of the Elder-verse! Also, I have it on good authority that it will make teenagers smoke pot and have sex! Maybe even gay sex! Then have abortions!* So weep for your pride, oh woe-begone Prey of Cthulhu! Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh! Fo' shizzle' ma niz'zle! Ia!
*The Mad Arab admits he is a bit confused about the order of all this, but the Songjaws were very insistent.
|Thursday, July 28th, 2005|
Today the pitiful Mr Gaiman writes:
"Started falling asleep last night around 9.00pm, but would only sleep for a few seconds, then woke groggy but sure I'd slept for hours... finally fell asleep at 6.00am and slept until 1.30pm. Which means right now it's 5.00pm and it feels like lunchtime and I'm behind on everything. And I owe literally dozens of people phone calls..."
The Great Unmentionables have two things to say about this post:
1) (translated from the musical hieroglyphics of the Abyss):
"So*// what?! - the Hive-song is * BORED - by / stupid Gaimanmaggot* sleeping - who CARES - write more * about ***cats/ already -"
2) The Great Cthulhu on the other hand, has deigned to visit his thought-nightmares upon the subject thusly:
(translated via the Mad Arab, to preserve the dubious sanity of readers):
"Good! It's about time someone noted how annoying it is to be woken up every five minutes by people expecting you to get up and destroy the world on their say-so! Let alone all the Calls I have to make - what do you think I am, a telemarketing service? Leave me alone, you raving bipedal lunatics! Get a job!"
The Mad Arab chooses to interpret this as a call for an Unscrupulous Secretary / PA to Serve the Great Cthulhu. Must have typing speed of at least 90 wpm, and have demonstrated involvement in the Eldritch community. All applicants should prostrate themselves before the *# Gate of New Innsmouth in the shadow of a red moon's midnight.
Many will be Called, but few will be Interviewed.
It has come to the Mad Arab's attention that the pitiful Gaiman has noted Our Presence in his blog. Did you think, useless human shell that you are, that you could avoid the all-seeing Mindeye of the Great Cthulhu?! Bwa-hah-hah! May you choke on the bitter webfruit of your foolishness!!!!
In other news, the Mad Arab takes a break from Gaimanbaiting to bring you a link to the work of one oblivious servant of Cthulhu.
|Wednesday, July 27th, 2005|
|Arg! Photos. Arg!
"the immediate subsequent arrival of Fred The Unlucky Black cat in the engine, because, I suspect, it all smelled rather mousy in there, was also then documented, for a sense of scale and so that this blog can finally, after four and a half years, be a proper one with a photo of a cat on it. Spaghetti remains can be seen just beneath him..."
The Mad Arab wishes to darkly congratulate the fiendish agent Fred for having maintained his squamous cover for years in the face of human obliviousness. Put your tentacles together for Fred!
|Tuesday, July 26th, 2005|
Today, the pitiful Mr. Gaiman
"Home. Tired. The garden has turned into a fecund jungle in my absence, and when I opened the bonnet (that's the hood for Americans) of my Mini today it was apparent that mice (I presume) have a) stripped some of the insulation from under the bonnet of my Mini to build nests with, which I suppose I can understand, and b) found a convenient space near the car battery to use as a place to store spaghetti, which I find somewhat stranger. Why do mice need a place to store spaghetti anyway? It's all a bit surreal, but then everything is sort of surreal right now."
Shall I translate for you, O poor benighted reader? Shall I reveal to you the workings of the Unseen Tentacles? Back in the Mists of Time, when the Shrieking Foes wept dark riddles into the Upwards Fall, the Great Unnamable One told He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named (no not Him, the other one) that the mice which served as his servants were incapable of the grand thefts of which HWSNBN boasted! HWSNBN then challenged GUO to a bet, that his time-traveling mouse-thieves could not steal Marco Polo's precious cargo of spaghetti and hide it under the hood of some foolish innocent's car! Well, so much for that! BEHOLD THE MIGHTY WORKINGS OF CTHULHU!*
*The Mad Arab is, however, unable to explain the loss of the insulation.
|Arg! Mission Statement. Arg!
the pitiful little human scribe of doings that transpire on the edges of our Great Domain, made the foolish mistake of challenging his blog readers to translate "this blog, or selections from it, into any other language than English." little does Mr. Gaiman know that his miserable little bloggings have attracted the attention of the Great Eldritch Crawlies From The Wailing Pits Of Beyond, and I, their scribe and prophet, the Not-Quite-Sane Arab Al-Ezkra, have for years translated his clumsy English mutterings into demented Lovecraftian
blog-sonnets! Enough of this, say I! In the interests of advancing the cause of the Elder Gods, I will translate not only for them, but for you, pitiful mortal! From now on, this blog shall be consecrated in the name of Cthulhu and dedicated to the translation of that Mr. Gaiman's blog into Cthulhuese, so that the unseen workings of the Elder Gods shall be revealed in all their Eldritch Glory!!!!!!
Mr Gaiman: "The only condition is that you translate as best you can and don't stick your own opinions etc in, or add exciting adventures for me where I don't have any in the original"
You should be so lucky, Mr. Gaiman! BWA-HA-HA-HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!