Chaos Monkey


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   Saturday, November 09, 2002  
DEAR CHAOS MONKEY...


Oh, I’ve been a neglectful little monkey…here I’ve gone all this time without posting anything for the multitudes to peruse. (I use the word “multitudes” quite loosely.) Yes, I’ve been neglectful, but it is not without reason.

For the past eight days, I’ve been engaged in what can only be labeled as an act of insanity, though since seven thousand other people are engaged in the very same activity, it could hardly be considered abnormal. Yes, I along with all of these aforementioned people have undertaken to write a novel in thirty days, so I have been quite busy. Certainly, this is no excuse, but it’s the only one I have so I’ll try to get away with it.

Because of this, I’m going to be cheap and use this time to post letters from readers. Sure, it’s a cop out, but I’m pressed for time and I’ve already written nearly ten thousand words today already—the digits are done dancing.

So, here they are…. I will endeavor to be less cheap in the future.

*********************8

------Original Message-------
From: Internet Literate in Tacoma
To: Chaos Monkey
Sent: October 30, 2002 9:21 a.m.
Subject: FYI

Dear Chaos Monkey,

I happened across your site while doing a search for “Billy Ray Cyrus + French Philosophy.” I really enjoyed your site, but I thought that someone more in touch with the internet should let you in on something—this isn’t fourth grade—it’s all right to curse. You can F*#k F*%k F*&%!#y F*&k F&$k (non-letters added by CM) to your heart’s content. I mean, have you looked around and seen the s*&t they put out there everyday? A little F*%k now and then isn’t going to get you in trouble.

Just thought you should know.

-----------------------------------

Dear Internet Literate,

Thanks for the heads up. Yes, it’s true that I’m not as technically savvy as the average modern monkey, though I’m quite adept at cursing. And while I haven’t really spent much time “surfing” as they call it, I am aware that the censorship police are probably not in hot pursuit of yours truly. Here’s the deal…

See, you are a good citizen, a respectable person. You were doing a very logical and well-meaning search on the internet. Alas, not all people are like you… See, there are those out there who would do searches on such topics as “Monkey + F*&#%$g” and frankly, I can do without those people. I don’t even want to KNOW what would come up on that search, but thankfully, this site would not. Therefore, I continue to use such works as F*&k and will hopefully avoid such folks in the future.

Thank you for your concern.

CM

*********8

------Original Message-------
From: Needs to Know
To: Chaos Monkey
Sent: October 29, 2002 11:54 p.m.
Subject: Is it true?

Dear Chaos Monkey:

My mom told me that there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. Is that true?

Sincerely,

Needs to Know.

-------------------------------------

Dear Needs to Know:

First, ask your mother to define “real.” Then ask her to define “Santa Claus.” Unless I’m mistaken, your mother will probably contradict herself between these two explanations. When she does, jump on her, man. With claws and teeth blazing. Argue her under the table until she’s not sure about anything. Then, when she’s about to really get angry with you and do something drastic like send you to your room, do something random but innocuous. I don’t know—grab the Reddi Whip and foam yourself up a beard. Flail your arms and sing the Canadian national anthem. Anything to keep her on her toes.

Don’t worry—she’ll talk eventually.

CM

******************8

------Original Message-------
From: Curious
To: Chaos Monkey
Sent: November 2, 2002 6:08 p.m.
Subject: Will it really get me high?

Dear Chaos Monkey:

My friend Dave told me that banana slugs are hallucinogenic and I don’t know whether or not to believe him. On one hand he’s a known trickster, but on the other hand he knows a lot about hallucinogenic substances. We’ve got a lot of slugs in our backyard, and if that’s true, I could probably make enough money selling them to travel to Guam. This has been a lifelong dream of mine—I’m a tractor salesman, you see.

So, is it true? I’ve thought about licking one to try it, but I just can’t make myself do it unless something really interesting will happen later. I didn’t know who else to ask…

Thanks.

---------------------------------------


Dear Curious,

Go ahead—lick that slug. Hell, who needs Guam? You’ve got slugs. Just remember—whatever you do, DON’T bite the mud vein—they’re highly poisonous. And, do not harm the slugs in any way or the Mighty God Sluggorath will visit your dreams for a hundred nights running, pouring salt on your psyche until you’re a pile of gibbering mush.

And remember—don’t operate any heavy machinery.

CM

*************8
------Original Message-------
From: Lost in the Language
To: Chaos Monkey
Sent: November 4, 2002 4:12 a.m.
Subject: Quantum confusion

Dear Chaos Monkey:

Ever since I read your last post, I’ve been looking at reality differently. I mean, you’re right—nouns and verbs have no meaning if matter and energy are the same thing. My sentences are falling apart—I can barely communicate at work anymore. I keep using words like “cat” as a verb. You know—to cat something—to sit with one’s back turned looking over one’s shoulder occasionally to make sure that the other person is adequately suffering. As in “Ha! I cat thee.”

How do I explain to others that I’m not crazy? That all language is subjective? How do I make them understand that when I say I want my salad chicled, that means I want it cut into very small pieces?

Please help.

-------------------------------

Dear Lost:

Wow. I mean wow. Have you met slug boy above? Maybe you two should shoe wax over coffee.

Sorry—don’t mean to dog you.

CM


****************8

------Original Message-------
From: Citizen McCarthy
To: Chaos Monkey
Sent: November 5, 2002 8:22 a.m.
Subject: Just what do you mean by red?

Dear Crackpot:

Don’t think I’m not onto you…I know your kind. Red socks, indeed. And I saw that picture of that rocket, too. Song writers, knitters, musicians, artists, pornographers—you’re all the same. You’re all a bunch of…

[message excerpted to retard monkey f*&#!%rs.]

…and you can tell ‘em I told you so.

----------------------------------

Dear Citizen:

Remain calm. Our professionally trained staff of sacred clowns is here to help you. There are several enjoyable therapies which can cure you of this dreadful affliction. Soon the men in the flowered smocks will assist you to a happier place…one with trees and flowers and chirping birds, etc. where you will learn to like others and eventually yourself.

Now I know this sounds outlandish right now, but later as you’re sitting under a weeping willow tree knitting your latest novel about musical artists who paint pornography, you’ll thank us. Really.

Did you hear a knock?

CM
   posted by fMom at 2:46 AM


   Monday, November 04, 2002  
MONKEY—NOUN AND/OR VERB

Language is a funny, funny animal… a matrix of signs which symbolize things, places, actions, ideas, people, etc., so that we can discuss them amongst ourselves regardless of their physical proximity. It is a system which allows for the communication of interior states otherwise unperceivable to others, a structure which represents a thing without being that thing, a way of making something “present” in reality without the hindrance of its physical form, if indeed it ever had one. It is not so much the language itself which delineates us from other lifeforms co-habitating on this planet—I mean, who knows what catfish actually discuss?—as much as it is the reality we have developed because of this abstract ability.

The world was a very different place before the monkeys started talking.

No one could say “hey what’s that” or “how are you today” or “do you think there is a god?” Nor could they say “I think that monkey over there is giving you a dirty look” or “behold my massive pointy stick” or “let’s blow up this mountain and see how much silver comes out.” Things were very, very different in that world without words.

Language does strange things to the monkey mind. It shapes and forms reality into nice neat categories of meaning…thing, action, form, formless, subject, object, noun, verb… until that is the only means of speaking, and thus thinking, about reality.

Which is not to say that thinking always requires language—oh contrire mon friar—but how often does the average consumer packaged television infused monkey really sit and think non-verbally these days? Go ahead—give it a try—I’ll wait.




So, what did you think about?




Yes—it’s a trick question. But if I ask and your thought cannot be put into words (at least with the words currently avaiable), then chances are that even the idea of this idea will not be socially reiforced, eventually leading to an inablility to think without the use of words as the medium in which the thoughts occur.

And which came first? Language or the great big brain to hold it? The preverbial jury is still out on that one, though I’ll keep you posted as my research continues…

Language makes people do funny things sometimes, behaving in ways which they would not normally consider. Take, for instance, yours truly. I have what they call a “word addiction” in the biz. Words. I’m a fanatic about them. Sometimes I feel like I have all the states of being ever experienced trapped somewhere inside of me, threatening to explode if I don’t give them form within words. The problem is that there are so many of them, and in order to be understood, I have to let each word out one at a time. Do you know how long that takes?

I love words—words can dance, play, attack your leg, cause every variety of emotional response, end wars, cross eons of times, infinities of distance, and make communication possible between those who are long dead with those who are yet to be born.

I try to surround this reality with words, but no matter how many of them I use, there are never enough. There are always those states of being which slip through the cracks, those experiences which leave an immutable footprint on the psyche which cannot be named, the completely comprehensible but incommunicable emotion felt as the universe leans down to kiss your soul.

Words, useful as they are, can not surround and encompass everything. That’s the thing about infinity—no matter how you slice it, there’s always more. In a sense, words are just numbers spelled backward and turned inside out. Does two plus two always equal four? Words representing numbers, numbers representing words…

And in this world of quantum realities, do nouns and verbs really mean anything anymore? I mean, if energy and matter are part of the same continuum, then how do we distinguish nouns from verbs? Or did those parts of speech develop when we still thought that space was flat? Do they mean anything now that we understand the bigger context of reality? If a noun is just a verb which isn’t moving quite as fast, then where do we draw the line between the two? Is monkey a noun or a verb?

Perhaps that depends on how fast you rub it.



   posted by fMom at 11:08 PM



Infinite Monkeys in a
post-Shakespearean
world.