- I am an elite British Commando.
- I don’t use the special powder, but if I wanted to use the special powder I could.
- There is nothing missing from me – I am complete.
- Nothing bad has ever happened to me that would cause ongoing thought disturbances.
- If there were a point system for being a normal person, I would set the record.
- My greetings are friendly and charming.
- I give gifts appropriate for the occasion and the recipient’s place in my life.
- I can disappear and reappear at will.
- I control my own atmosphere.
- If I touch a home, it is protected from future storms.
- My breath is clear and free from flying insects.
- I can use a farm tractor appropriately and for the right reasons.
- My body is my spaceship and my spaceship cannot be defeated in a fight.
- There’s nothing incongruous about me.
- There are not a host of strangers living inside of me – there is only me.
- There are no unnecessary wires or chemicals in my body.
- All of my body’s chemicals are secreted in the appropriate amounts.
- All of my wires are free from rust and securely connected.
- I can immediately determine the difference between an actual person and a replica.
- I am one of those amazing people who can do anything.
- No one forces me to move my limbs in an awkward manner.
- When my limbs move, it is because I have chosen to move them.
- I can affect the outcome of a roulette wheel through imperceptible vibrations in my sinus cavities.
- I could find my real parents if I wanted to.
- The perfection I have achieved in my physical form is not temporary – it is eternal.
- I do not need a second chance to make a first impression.
- If I wanted to I could win every lottery.
- I am an elite skater.
- I am an expert marksman.
- I can lift heavy bags of groceries and walk up stairs without difficulty.
- I have no difficulty lifting objects over 20 lbs.
- I have no difficulty breathing.
- My bicycle is well-oiled and the gears shift smoothly.
- No one will ever find my secret place.
- Many famous people are eager to play cameos in my life.
- Wherever I sit, there is ample legroom.
- There is no phallic significance to me eating a banana as if it were an ice cream cone.
- I have achieved a significant place in history of my time and all historical epochs.
- I can enter a room and tell if the wrong people are in it.
- I am not wracked by guilt.
- I am not paralyzed in any way.
- I am not an unnecessary byproduct of misspent passion.
- I decide what will be redacted from the contemporary narrative.
- I decide what will be inserted into my mouth and when.
- I am the final element, without overtones.
- My eyes reflect the true depictions of the surrounding world.
- I am both part of the story and the writer of the story.
- I can appraise horses from all periods of the Americas.
- There is no reason to keep me behind bars.
- I know every moment is a chance to do the right thing or change what the right thing is.
- I am the driver and the car and the passenger and the road, the red light and the green light; there is no yellow light.
- When I want to fly, I fly; when I want to sit, a chair appears.
- My attention to personal affairs can never be described as “grossly inadequate”.
- My perspiration functions as a pleasantly scented, deep-pore cleanser.
- I can improve my blood flow without swallowing a capsule.
- My body maximizes the use of all nutrients and effortlessly flushes itself of toxins.
- I achieve optimum brain and body health without reliance on the whims of corrupt natural food elites.
- I am immune to the effects of electricity, no matter how high the voltage.
- I am able to draw the borders of all regions accurately and with precision.
- I am never at the mercy of unseen forces.
- There are no mice in my car’s heating system.
- I am a master of exotic martial arts.
- I can read the psychic aura of dangerous criminals and swiftly serve them justice.
- I do not need to see someone’s face to know who is talking.
- I never get the feeling I have fallen into a black hole and cannot get out.
- All four of my eyes are always open.
- My palette of readily available emotions is rich and deep.
- I am not made of plastic.
- I do not require road flares to become aware of roadside breakdowns.
- There is no flaking off of masonry inside of me.
- I am immune from the consequences of water absorption and freezing.
- I am not afraid of being trapped inside a confined space with a dwindling amount of oxygen – this is the type of situation in which I thrive.
- I can climb inside the rain and become its essence or allow it to simply bead off my skin.
- I have no valley; I have no plateaus; I only have peaks.
- I am capable of crafting untanned, irregular pieces of bloody cowhide into pleasing shapes.
- If a food item contains peanuts or was manufactured on equipment also used to process peanuts, I will know it.
- I am not allergic to peanuts.
- I give no useful answers under interrogation.
- I am not duped by camouflage.
- I have created a second brain, a duplicate brain within my real brain, and it is this second brain that the thought invaders enter.
- When I choose to walk through life as if through a one-way observation window, I cannot be seen.
- I do not need to strike while the iron is hot – I control metal in all its states.
- I am not susceptible to disempowering messages from a broken toaster.
- I have silenced all negative internal dialogues.
- I transform disempowering feelings or behaviors into winter jackets that can be given to those in need of winter jackets.
- I can operate in subliminal, semi-subliminal and overt mode.
- I am what all is about.
- There is no “good way” or “bad way” – there is only my way.
- I can sleep away from home comfortably on my right side, on my left side, on my back, or on my stomach – however it needs to be.
- My body’s internal thermostat regulates temperature and, therefore, I do not overheat.
- I excel at carnival games involving feats of strength or ionizing water.
- I will not die sitting down or laying on my back; like King Richard III, I will die standing on my own two feet, cut down by various medieval weapons.
- If I were a deep ocean trench, I would be the deepest ocean trench there ever was.
- Foreign daredevils repeat routine aspects of my daily life and call them “stunts.”
- I have the ability to gather and mobilize yaks in an emergency situation.
- The constant sensation I am riding upwards on a slow-moving elevator is merely me getting smarter.
- My lactose intolerance is not a weakness; it is an asset that allows me insight into the suffering of lesser mortals.
- The people who are always looking at me and thinking, “He must have a direct path to God” are 100% correct.
- If God has chosen to make our clandestine means of communication known to others as Revealed Truth, then I must accept it as His Will.
- When they think they have found me, I will already be gone.
All posts in category Prose
100 Affirmations for Positive, Powerful, Proven Self-Improvement (That in Some Cases Will Also Help You Shred Fat, Become Absolutely Ripped, And Attract Wealth As If You Were a Wealth Magnet)
Posted by Tom Busillo on January 27, 2013
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IF YOU DO NOT ACCEPT THESE TERMS (“TERMS”), DO NOT expect plastic extrusion, compression, transfer, and other molding techniques to consistently produce high-quality parts that are used in polybutadiene, styrene butadiene, thermoplastic elastomers and impact modifiers.
Any misstatements of fact found in the above should be ground cryogenically using a thermoplastic, thermoset and lowered into the mouth of an active volcano until corrected.
Posted by Tom Busillo on September 8, 2012
Get Fit Lifting Levers™ is The Total Total-Fit System™ for The Total Tailor™ expected to create Tuxedos From Whole Cloth™ that will not rip at the sleeves when the wearer, in emergencies running the gamut from extreme to minor, must lift one or Both Arms™ over his or her head to lift a lever, or multiple levers in precise combinations of positions and/or sequences, in order to save panicking innocents from possible, likely, or certain doom.
Get Fit Lifting Levers™ is a trademark of The Total Tailor™, LLP, a Limited Liability Partnership doing business as Total Tailor Enterprises™ in the state of Nevada and Tiny Mormon Tailor Enterprises™ in some parts of Utah.
Get Fit Lifting Levers™ is not associated with Get-Fit Liftin’ Levers™, a series of quality, durable and reliable replacement levers coming in a variety of colors, textures, grip sizes, and lever lengths for use in the Get-Fit Liftin’ Levers™ Fitness System® – a wall-mounted isometric weight-loss and muscle-building system utilizing the revolutionary Dual-Directional Push-and/or-Pull™ Lever-Lifting Lifting System® originated in the Republic of Vietnam and marketed in the United States by DynoDyneD Enterprises (3DE).
Get Fit Lifting Levers™ is not affiliated with Get-Fit Lofting Loaves™, a series of adjustable-weight loaves of stale organic white, whole wheat, rye, and multigrain bread for use in the Super-Strong Baker’s Apprentice™ series of shot-putt training DVDs in any manner except their 50/50 partnership in Get-Fit Leaving Lifts™ an overseas British joint venture which owns a non-voting minority stake in Fit Lifts, UK® a London-based network of elevator-based membership fitness clubs.
Posted by Tom Busillo on August 31, 2012
A horse is placed in a field between two pails of oats. He stands there reviewing and contemplating his options, is paralyzed by indecision, and starves rather than eats.
The horse’s owner comes upon the horse. He stands there reviewing and contemplating whether the horse is sleeping, in a coma, or dead, is paralyzed by indecision, and eventually starves to death.
The son of the horse’s owner finds his father and the horse in the field. He stands there reviewing and contemplating his options, is paralyzed by indecision over whether he should use his left or right hand to nudge his father’s shoulder to tell if he is sleeping, drunk or dead, and dies from insulin shock.
A vulture flying overhead spies the two dead man and their horse and flies down to the field. He stands there reviewing and contemplating which carcass he should eat first, becomes paralyzed with indecision, and also starves rather than eats.
Another vulture flies down into the field. He stands there knowing he will eat the horse first, but when reviewing and contemplating which eyeball to start with, he is paralyzed with indecision and also starves to death.
A third vulture flies into the field. He stands there reviewing and contemplating where exactly the basis for moral action comes from in the absence of a belief in a god or higher power, is paralyzed by indecision, and also starves to death.
A wild dog comes upon the field. He stands there convinced that he will eat one of the vultures first, but, when reviewing and contemplating which vulture to start with, he is paralyzed by indecision, and starves rather than eats.
A man passing by on the nearby road stops his motorcycle. As he stands their reviewing and contemplating this scene of carnage, he becomes paralyzed with indecision trying to decide whether there has been some kind of toxic gas release or if it was some variant of bubonic plague, and he also starves to death.
Another man on the road, also riding a motorcycle, comes upon the dead man and his motorcycle. He becomes paralyzed with indecision while reviewing and contemplating who has the nicer motorcycle. Before he can starve to death, he is hit by a garbage truck.
The driver of the garbage truck gets out and becomes paralyzed with indecision when reviewing and contemplating his options: a) bury the corpse of the motorcyclist he has just killed in the woods, b) bury both the corpse and the motorcycle of the motorcyclist he has just killed in the woods, but leave the other dead motorcyclist and his motorcycle on the road, because he really had nothing to do with that, c) bury both corpses and both motorcycles in the woods; d) attempt to crush both the corpses and the motorcycles in his trash truck; e) finally act on his secret “necrophilia-curious” nature and bugger the corpses of both motorcyclists before disposing of them via some method to be determined. He also starves to death.
In a very similar field, roughly 600 miles away, a minister begins to set up tents for a Church revival. He stands there looking in his toolbox reviewing and contemplating his options, becomes paralyzed with indecision over which hammer to use, and starves to death.
His wife, while bringing pies to the tent from the car, suddenly realizes she is thirsty. She stands there reviewing and contemplating whether she should drink water straight from the bottle she is holding or go back to the car and pour it into a cup, is paralyzed with indecision, and dies of thirst.
And in a nearby prison, an inmate is given only a small, stale piece of bread for dinner and savors every bite.
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 26, 2012
Transcript of William Carlos Williams Reading “The Red Wheelbarrow” on American Idol and Judges Comments
WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
[Audience cheers wildly. Ryan Seacrest meets William Carlos Williams at center stage]
Very nice, Dr. Williams. [pats his shoulder] Let’s see what the judges have to say. Randy?
[shaking head] Dog. Dog. Dog. Okay. Okay. Okay. Check it out. Check it out. Now at the start when you come out with “so much depends,” I’m thinking, I don’t know about this – it’s sounding a little preachy. Right, right? [audience boos] Let me finish. Let me finish. [holds up hand] But. BUT – then you just kicked it. [audience cheers] You totally kicked it with the red wheelbarrow, the rain water, the chickens – and I got it. I saw exactly where you were going with it. Got it. Got it. Got it. Big fan, dog. Big fan.
[enthusiastic cheers and applause]
Oh. Oh. Oh. What can I say? You truly are a poet. You really are. You moved me. You really did. You moved me. [audience cheers] And it is so, so true – so much does depend upon the red wheelbarrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens. It really does. It really, really does.
[enthusiastic cheers and applause]
You nailed it, dude. You nailed it. [audience cheers] The red wheelbarrow. The rain water. The chickens. It was all right there. Like Jennifer said, you’re a poet, dude. You’re a poet.
[enthusiastic cheers and applause]
[places hand on William Carlos Williams’ shoulder] If you want to vote for William Carlos Williams, the phone number is 1-866-IDOLS-03, that’s 866-436-5703 [William Carlos Williams holds up three fingers to camera] or Text “Vote” to 5703 when the voting lines open immediately after the show. When we come back, Gregory Corso drives a car.
[wild cheering and applause. shot of Gregory Corso gently rocking an imaginary steering wheel back and forth with hands in 10-2 position. American Idol theme music with fade to commercial]
Posted by Tom Busillo on April 4, 2012
Our primitive ancestors knew the value of soil and respected the soil.
Yet, as the story of humanity has left its footprints upon history, soil has been trampled underfoot, becoming a mere footnote in the long march when it is fact its very foundation.
Here are the facts on the ground: We may not be made of the soil, but soil has made us.
It is safe to say that we would not be standing (or sitting or lying or crouching) here today without soil; we would be still be some type of fish, as without soil there is no shore upon which our super-primitive ancestors (i.e. those even more primitive than our primitive ancestors who knew the value of soil and respected it) could have place a tentative tentacle, fin, antennae, etc. and quickly perished, somehow beginning the great evolutionary process that has resulted in proposals of exactly this kind.
No. Soil has become a dirty word. Your good name has been soiled. Your reputation has been soiled. You’ve soiled your pants, your diapers, your dress, your futon, your rug, the reputations of those previously believed to be virgins, etc.
Even when taken as a signifier (“soil”) of a material object (“[soil]“), “soil” immediately takes us to one of two bad places – either we are worms endlessly burrowing through the soil only to have the soil pass through us (please see T.F. Burns, “The Soil Traveler”) or we bodies that are entombed within the soil (please see “The Obituaries”). In rare cases, we can imagine ourselves as both (please see K.F. von Braunstein’s, “On The Dead Worm Which Eats Through Its Own Corpse”).
Farmers appreciate the soil, but many have bought the farm – driven off their land by foreclosures and the rapaciousness of multinational agribusiness conglomerates, which despite their vast amounts of capital have yet to produce a self-cleaning head of lettuce or a self-dicing tomato. And besides, farmers are not our intended audience – as they are far too busy doing the hard work of farming to frequent the Tate in meaningful numbers.
”Soil Room” is an interactive installation which attempts to start both a discursive and recursive dialogue (ideal mix: 3 parts discursivity for every 2 parts of recursivity, with a bitter lemon rubbed in sweet bitters) on our concepts of the “soil” by boldly challenging visitors to re-envision “soilness” by navigating (in this case, physically navigating) a recontextualization of the soil into a decontextualized environment itself contextualized by its surroundings.
Proposal for Installation – The Basics
The Tate will give over to me a gallery room approximately 100′x100′ with a ceiling height no less than 25 hands or 25 feet (whichever is larger).
I, with the help of a team of experienced landscapers, will cover the entire surface of the room – floor, walls and ceiling – with a 6″ coating of soil.
Visitors will enter the installation via a 50′ long rounded stone chamber resembling the sides of a stone well. The Tate will be responsible for furnishing this entrance, as I do not do stonework.
The installation will be unlit, so visitors can experience the soil in complete darkness.
Prohibition Against the Sale or Rental of or Provision of Illumination Devices Including Torches and Flashlights
The Tate is hereby prohibited from selling, renting or providing its visitors any illumination devices for use in “Soil Room.” However, if visitors choose to hold aloft any lighters or flashlights they are carrying, this is fine, although in theory, if there were no legal matters to consider, those using illumination devices would be eaten by predators.
Maximum Number of Visitors at Any One Time
There will be no limit on the number of persons allowed to enter the exhibit at any one time (Fire codes are for bureaucrats and Cassandras!).
Duration of Installation Exhibit
The exhibit will run for one year, allowing “Soil Room” to experience all four seasons. If the show would naturally end in a winter, but the Groundhog has seen his shadow, the exhibit will be extended another 6 weeks.
Temperature of “Soil Room”
During the summer season the room is to be cooled to 50 degrees Fahrenheit (I’m an American. I don’t do the Celsius thing. I’m sure you can figure it out.) and during the winter season heated to 70 degrees. During the Fall and Spring the temperature will be whatever the midpoint is between 50 degrees Fahrenheit and 70 degrees Fahrenheit (I’m an installation artist. Simple math is beneath me.)
Synergistic Possibilities for Future Exhibitions Based on “Soil Room”
Future Video Installation – “Humans Moving Through Soil”
For a 3-hour period during a random Saturday of each of the four seasons, every visitor entering “Soil Room” will be required to wear a special jumpsuit, along with shoes, a helmet and special gloves (4 fingers mandatory – no mittens!) the effect of which is to cover all surface skin. Video cameras inserted into various places will recorded the motions of visitors wearing their special suits (whether the film will pick up body heat, infrared waves or radiation waves is still TBD). Edited portions of these videos will form a new video installation entitled “Humans Moving Through Soil.” Unedited video will form the 12-hour long “exclusive director’s cut” version.
[Ammendment to the preceding paragraph: I have consulted with several experts and now understand that filming the video in infrared will not require special suits, therefore...no, on second thought, have them wear the suits anyway.]
[Ammendment to the preceding ammendment: Please ignore the preceding ammendment].
Future Found Sculpture Exhibit – “Things Left on the Soil”
At the end of each day, Tate Museum curatorial personnel – with the assistance of janitorial personnel – will curate the room of any objects left by visitors. These will be further curated into an exhibit showcasing items left behind. Vsitors who identify objects lost while in “Soil Room” will have the option of recovering them by paying the ransom.
Synergistic and Crassly Commercial Possibilities
The Tate gift museum is encouraged to exploit all available profitable synergistic product off-shoots as the artist believes this will help to further raise “soil consciousness.” The following are merely examples of the possibilities:
The “Soil Room” Dollhouse – a cube with one open face and the rest of all surfaces covered in soil. Sold in the following sizes: Starter, First Promotion, McMansion, Empty Nest, Empty NestEgg (alternatively titled the “Bernie Did What?”).
Soil – Soil will be sold in the following sizes: Large bucket, Grande Bucket, Tall bucket. Also sold in 20lb., 50lb. and 100lb. bags.
Soil Room T-shirt (standard) – This will be a mass reproduction of a t-shirt worn by the artist as he rolled around in freshly landscaped flower bed.
Soil Room T-shirt (worn by artist) – This will be a t-shirt worn by the artist as he rolled around in freshly landscaped flower bed. Authenticated with artist’s initials hand-cleaned using an instant stain-remover pen.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I want to start by saying thank you – thank you for your time. I appreciate it tremendously and I will therefore keep my closing statement mercifully short. Two simple words – not guilty. Why? Two simple words and an acronym – the DNA test. Thank you. That’s all your honor.
Artist’s Closing Statement
I really can’t say it any better than what you just heard from my attorney, Mr. Hobson. But, here’s hoping to see you hopping and bopping in “Soil Room” soon!
Posted by Tom Busillo on March 17, 2012
All morning, a man pulls a cart containing his mule up a mountain then breaks for lunch.
He gives the mule his sandwich and apple and hitches himself to the oat bag.
After lunch he hops into the cart next to the mule and steers them both down the mountain into the valley with a wooden rudder.
They stop just outside of town where he hitches the mule up to the cart.
He arrives at the warehouse where he meets Mr. Jacobs.
While they’re loading the cart, Mr. Jacobs pats the mule on the nose, grabs a carrot out of one of the sacks and feeds it to her.
He turns to the man and says, “God, if she just ain’t the most beautiful mule I ever seen.”
When they’re outside of town, the man unhitches the mule, ties him behind the cart and proceeds to pull the cart himself up the mountain.
After stopping briefly for light dinner at the top of the mountain, they both follow the cart down the hill – the man guiding it with a special tether.
About a mile from home, the man then hitches up the mule to the cart
On his deathbed, the man tells his grandson “I once had a beautiful mule. When I’d go over the mountain and take her into the valley town, Mr. Jacobs would always say, ‘God, if she’s not the most beautiful mule in the world.’”
Posted by Tom Busillo on January 23, 2012
Her husband’s face floods with water and empties itself into a bowl.
The wife places the bowl in her freezer.
Once the body starts to turn, she files the proper papers and has it disposed of, but keeps the bowl.
Each morning she takes the bowl out, lets it melt, and then stares into it, hoping to see her husbands face – but she only sees her own reflection.
One day she takes the bowl out with her into the garden.
Halfway through her weeding, she hears the phone ringing indoors and leaves to answer it.
A stray dog comes into the garden and laps up all the water in the bowl.
She returns to find that the dog’s face is now her husband’s face and screams with delight, “Truly! Why if this just isn’t the best of all possible worlds!”
But the dog runs away and she spends the rest of her life searching for this unique animal.
Posted by Tom Busillo on January 11, 2012
Dear Ms. Kataraski,
I write in response to your letter of protest dated 10/29/11.
In Article IV, Section III, Paragraph 2a of “The Rules of Feline Dressage” it is clearly stipulated that the rider must remain AT ALL TIMES IN THE SADDLE during the course of a run. Failure to adhere to this rule will result in immediate disqualification.
That a wild rabbit from the nearby woods entered the dressage area during Mr. Max’s run is an unfortunate, unforeseen event; however, this in no way supersedes the aforementioned rule. Your rider left the saddle and his mount in order to give chase.
In short, the sport of feline dressage is not about who can produce a cat dressed in miniature equestrian garb that can for a brief moment look debonair on horseback.
Anyone can do that.
The sport of feline dressage is about who can train that same cat to remain mounted in the saddle atop his horse throughout ALL of the required movements and jumps.
The Board has considered the matter carefully and hereby rejects your protest.
New York State Association of Feline Dressage
Entry for a Painted Bride Quarterly Facebook contest requiring the use of the words “debonair”, “saddle” and “stipulate.”
This was based on an actual protest letter, though not in the sport of feline dressage (which has been on the decline – did you even know it existed?), but rather open-sea canine dolphin riding, a sport which has long been my passion.
Posted by Tom Busillo on November 6, 2011
A student asked the famous poet, “How many words should a poem have?”
“Size.” Pause. “36.”
The student thanked him, went home, and that evening began the first of the 36-word poems which would become his trademark, sparking a tremendously successful career culminating in the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Soon after receiving his Nobel, he saw the famous poet standing in line at a bakery wearing only his boxers.
“How can I ever thank you for your counsel so many years ago?” he asked.
“You can start by finally bringing me my pants!”
And they laughed and they laughed and they laughed until each swallowed his own tongue and died on the spot.
Posted by Tom Busillo on November 3, 2011