• How “The Power” Literally Rocked the House
  

  On July 5, 2011, the 39-story “Techno-Mart” mall in Seoul, South Korea shook for ten minutes, causing a two-day evacuation and an investigation. The cause of the tremors? Seismic experts concluded that “The Power,” a dance hit by the band Snap!, simply rocked too hard.

• Mitt Romney to Announce VP Pick Via Smartphone App
• Sad: Pianos are increasingly more likely to end up at the dump
• NY Times profiles the life of a drone pilot, the guy that waits for a kill shot 7,000 miles away
• A black momma with a white baby’s open letter to Louis C.K.
• How Being Wired to the ‘Net Poses an Existential Threat
• An Editorial on: Being too ‘plugged-in’ and tools to help get your life back.
• Advice from 1821 on How Imagination Can Save Us From Information Overload
• Nielsen Sued For Billions For Allegedly Manipulating TV Ratings Data (also, fuck Nielsen)
• On: What Does a Killer Think? and the latest research on mass murderers
• Haha, oh you (America): Man Charged With Illegally Feeding Alligator (That Bit Off His Hand)
• 13 People Who Don’t Know What ‘Literally’ Means
• Twitter account: @JamesHolmesDies

So immediately upon starting the last post, I realised I had just boxed myself into a corner in terms of both subject and tonal matter for what I really wanted to post: a (what I assume is) fake note from Werner Herzog to his cleaning lady, Rosalina.

While I wouldn’t put it past him to actually pen something like this, reading it certainly screams out that it’s a fake, but no matter, that is insignificant to just how funny and on the mark it is…

Rosalina. Woman.

You constantly revile me with your singular lack of vision. Be aware, there is an essential truth and beauty in all things. From the death throes of a speared gazelle to the damaged smile of a freeway homeless. But that does not mean that the invisibility of something implies its lack of being. Though simpleton babies foolishly believe the person before them vanishes when they cover their eyes during a hateful game of peek-a-boo, this is a fallacy. And so it is that the unseen dusty build up that accumulates behind the DVD shelves in the rumpus room exists also. This is unacceptable.

I will tell you this Rosalina, not as a taunt or a threat but as an evocation of joy. The joy of nothingness, the joy of the real. I want you to be real in everything you do. If you cannot be real, then a semblance of reality must be maintained. A real semblance of the fake real, or “real”. I have conquered volcanoes and visited the bitter depths of the earth’s oceans. Nothing I have witnessed, from lava to crustacean, assailed me liked the caked debris haunting that small plastic soap hammock in the smaller of the bathrooms. Nausea is not a sufficient word. In this regard, you are not being real.

Now we must turn to the horrors of nature. I am afraid this is inevitable. Nature is not something to be coddled and accepted and held to your bosom like a wounded snake. Tell me, what was there before you were born? What do you remember? That is nature. Nature is a void. An emptiness. A vacuum. And speaking of vacuum, I am not sure you’re using the retractable nozzle correctly or applying the ‘full weft’ setting when attending to the lush carpets of the den. I found some dander there.

I have only listened to two songs in my entire life. One was an aria by Wagner that I played compulsively from the ages of 19 to 27 at least 60 times a day until the local townsfolk drove me from my dwelling using rudimentary pitchforks and blazing torches. The other was Dido. Both appalled me to the point of paralysis. Every quaver was like a brickbat against my soul. Music is futile and malicious. So please, if you require entertainment while organizing the recycling, refrain from the ‘pop radio’ I was affronted by recently. May I recommend the recitation of some sharp verse. Perhaps by Goethe. Or Schiller. Or Shel Silverstein at a push.

The situation regarding spoons remains unchanged. If I see one, I will kill it.

That is all. Do not fail to think that you are not the finest woman I have ever met. You are. And I am including on this list my mother and the wife of Brad Dourif (the second wife, not the one with the lip thing). Thank you for listening and sorry if parts of this note were smudged. I have been weeping.

Your money is under the guillotine.

Herzog.

[ Source: sabotage times ]