Rules
1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will post the answers to the questions (and the questions themselves) on your LJ.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions. And thus the endless cycle of the meme goes on and on and on and on…..

Monde‘s Questions:

1. What is your favourite audio plug-in?

Sonitus Multiband.

2. Were there ever any books you’ve read more than once, and if so, what were they?

Two by Richard Wright: Native Son and The Outsider. I re-read them at least once a year. Huysman: La Bas and A Rebours. Such Satanic fin de siecle decadence is to be expected. Ayn Rand: Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead. She correctly stated that A is A, but ignored the rest of the alphabet. I disagree with much of what she said, but what she got right has not been touched by those who would benefit the most. Robert Anton Wilson: Everything. Hakim Bey: The Temporary Autonomous Zone. Essential!

3. If you could offer one piece of advice to what I am nowadays coming to call “the American resistance”, what would that be?

Stop believing in the world they’ve created. Stop believing they exist. They certainly do not live.



4. What did Michelle remember?

“If I don’t see my hands I’ll not be here”
Blood on the altar and a smile on her face
Evil permeates the Devil penetrates
And the statue moans and bleeds
Michelle dreams of infants:
Her childhoods slaughtered children

“Why are they laughing?
I feel so sick!
The game, oh, their game.
I’ll understand if you hate me”.

The goat-man came again last night
With a ritual knife and derisive laughter
Hazy vision through illicit ecstacy
Familiar voices start the chant
“Above myself I see myself writhe
Taking the dagger as the shadows dance”
She feels alive and comes apart
She’ll never again know such love

Ritual- Michelle Remembers

Poor Michelle was manipulated and exploited by her ruthless and twisted therapist. Her book kick-started the recovered memory epidemic, and added a new kink to the masturbatory fantasies of Christians. I laughed throughout this masterpiece of inadvertent black comedy.

5. Once upon a spot in space-time, you wander into a little back-alley second-hand shoppe. A pretty little incense burner catches your eye: cylindrical, with a bronzy-green patina, it is engraved with shapes: dashes, slashes, asterisks, little crosses, X’s and O’s…in repeating patterns, vexingly oblique. Intrigued, you buy the strangely compelling object, and take it home with you. Upon arrival, you find some incense, a coal disk and a lighter, but when you lift up the cylinder to place the coal inside, you are struck with an odd sense that you are not alone, that some entity is there inside the object. Being no stranger to magery, you are not frightened by this, nor do you immediately assume it to be illusory; you ask “Who are you? What are you? What is your name?”

To which a voice replies, not through your ears but that which lies between them: “My name has 256 syllables, so let’s not bother with it. I am a math djinn. Can’t you tell by looking at the cylinder, which is not an incense burner, but my very home?”

Now that you think of it, you recognise the connection in the various engraved symbols now…they are all symbols relating to arithmetic. “We are the reason the Arabic people came to be so good with numbers. Anyway, thanks for not filling my house with smoke. The last guy who had this thing assumed he was hallucinating when I tried to talk to him, so went and burned his incense in my house anyway. He had nightmares for a week about failing algebra over and over again. Not pretty…” The djinn clucked.

“I’m sorry,” you tell it, “This didn’t look like a genie lamp.”

“Damn. I must still be in America,” the djinn sighs. “Everyone here has us pegged as some stupid cross between a cartoonish green ghost and a lady called a “jeannie” or a barba-ra-eden. Idiots. ”

“Speaking of counting, you’re going to give me three wishes, right?”

“Oh, please. Normally the whole wish-granting business isn’t even my bailiwick, but since you were kind enough not to burn my ass and choke me in my own home, here’s what I will do. You can have one thing added from your life, one thing subtracted from it, a third thing doubled and a fourth made half what it is. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division. The basis of all motion. You have to do all of them, or none of them, or else in lieu of the whole business, you can instead opt to take me back to my homeland.”

“Which is…?”

“Baghdad.”

You shudder for a moment: the idea of running around Iraq being shot at by the Iraqi resistance for existing while American one moment, then attempting to find shelter in the Green Zone and getting shot at by the occupation forces for being seen within a hundred yards of known “insurgents” does not sit well with you. You tell the djinn you opt to let it do its math sorcery.

“Fine, then. What are your requests?”

5. Give me desire, that I may be enflamed thereof, remove its object, that I may delight in the path. Double its scope, that I may reel in its harrowing height and halve my conscious awareness of it, that it may have the freedom to grow in directions that surprise and amaze me.

And I’ll take you back to Baghdad. I need a laugh.

lnigomontoya‘s questions:
1. How many people are playing on the CD Magog Agog?
2. What is your favorite food or food genre?
3. What is your prefered instrument (of music or of destruction)
4. How bad is the worst injury you’ve ever had?
5. What is your dream person (relationship-wise) like?

1. Three: Me, Jake Stevens, Thee Daimon Choronzon.
2. This is something that’s always changing. I’ve been playing around with making curries in styles from around the world; Indian, Jamaican, Indonesian, Thai. Anything with garlic, fresh ginger, turmeric and cilantro.
3. Voice. (Blllllllluuuuuuuuurrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh! Wwwaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrggggh!)
4. I was once attacked by a crackhead in my old neighborhood in Dorchester, MA with a mahogany cane. He came up from behind me and got me across the knees as I turned. I freaked out and ground his face in the pavement. I didn’t really feel it until the next day when I tried to get out of bed and my knees buckled under me, shooting lightning bolts of of pain. I was limping for a couple of months after that.
5. Most important are intelligence, open-mindedness and playfulness. My wife understands what I’m talking about and doesn’t mind my incredible goofiness.

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