The war against excitement

If modernity is the tireless battle against boredom, then chess is the unceasing battle against excitement. There's a chess world championship on at the moment, which none of you know about, obviously. Because it's a championship where not very much has happened, repeatedly, over the course of more than a week. Ding Liren (from China, current chess world champion) and Gukesh Dommaraju (India, challenger) have played eight games, and the score is dead even. Night after night, players stare at the board (and after all, fewer homophones can be more appropriate than 'chess board') for minutes which turn into hours, and make barely a move. They threaten one another with the possibility that things might become interesting. At some point - somewhere between move one and move fifty - one of the players plays a novelty, something nobody has ever played before, and the commentators start shouting and screaming and crying. Nothing exciting has happened, and they get excited anyway. 

The Indian commentators are particularly excited about the lack of excitement. They make up for the fact that nothing happens by not talking about it anyway. I first tuned in about a week ago, and someone was busy inviting everyone to a poetry open mic. (Most of you will know that this is obvious my kind of boring.) Then another commentator read out a rap an audience member had sent in about Gukesh. And this kept on happening. Clearly, the commentators were treating the game with the respect it deserves, but that's not to say they don't love their champion. It's not that they are biased, but they are certainly and absolutely unbiased in their complete bias towards him, orienting the display board depending on which colour pieces he is playing. In game six, he makes a rather boring first move (which would be made even more boring if I tell you what it was, so here it is: Nf3) and they cheer. Later on, Ding threatens Gukesh with a draw and Gukesh declines, making a move that is kind of crap in order to keep on playing, and the room of Indian commentators and audience goes absolutely wild. A few moves later, there is a draw anyway. Both players achieve the finest victory of all: of not losing. I love it. 

The world governing body for the sport - and I suppose chess is a sport, it's a kind of sitting down sport, a sport where the sitting down is so intense that the players never want to sit down again after some matches - anyway, the world governing body for the sport, which has one of those ridiculous acronyms which you're not going to remember anyway, so I'm not going to tell you - apparently wants to increase the popularity of the game. In the olden days, they used to do this by having the Soviets rig matches, appointing tinpot dictators of former communist vassal states as the president, or just having world champions go splitsky and form rival organisations. Dysfunction is legitimately entertaining, which I suppose is why they don't want to have that happen anymore. Instead, they want to do it by, like, streaming and stuff. It'll never catch on. It's adorable. Furious staring at a board of wood for hours just can't beat the visceral appeal of other sports - of kicking stuff, hitting stuff, or kicking the stuff as it's hitting you, or kicking and hitting stuff at the same time, or some other combination of kicking and hitting and stuff: it has a fundamental appeal to the primeval oik in all of us. 

Chess is a great game. I really recommend it. Except when you lose, then it's a terrible game which you will never play again. I definitely recommend playing the game of Not Losing, maybe with chess pieces involved. Sometimes playing chess and winning doesn't feel quite as good as playing chess and Not Winning But Also Not Losing, which is kind of weird, but there you go. I don't really have a point here, but neither does chess. Which is also great. Things that don't have a point are always interesting. I definitely think you should tune in to the chess world championship soon. 

Or, you know, not. But only if you have more boring things to do. You wouldn't want things to get too exciting. 

Mr T says

I pity the fool
Who don't wear no jewel.

UPDATE! - 

You da man, be a king, 
Put some bling on that thing. 

 

S E V E N

 Apparently haiku have to be about nature to be properly considered haiku. What about natural numbers? I’m pretty sure they count. Yeah - they totally count. 

The number Seven

Has no body     casts no shade

Is still natural 

It has no time for

One, four, five, three, six     fuck six

That low down has been

Not to mention you

You’re not even a number

Like     what the fuck dude

Seven is awesome

It totally doesn’t hold

A gun to my head

Hooray for seven

More natural than nature

Please    can I go home.

Refraining refrains

 'Please refrain' is a refrain that only those in certain professions are pleased to use. 'Please refrain from talking with your mouth open while you are eating' is a refrain that mother is likely to refrain from. 'Are you going to have another pot, or are you going to refrain?' is a refrain that a mate drinking with you at the pub will be refraining from. No, it is only those in the customer services who are pleased to ask you to 'please refrain', 'please refrain from smoking in the entrance'; 'children will please refrain from running at the shops': thus goes the refrain. 

Customers will please refrain 

From passing water on the train 

While the train is standing at the staaaaation. 

To quote the pleasing refrain. 

The question therefore is, would the framers of the 'please refrain' refrain like to reframe their refrain of 'refrain', in order to better reform the audience of the refrain, or do they, instead, wish to retrain the audience so that 'please refrain' becomes a pleasingly common refrain? The answer is clearly obvious to all: which is why I have no idea what it is. 

But I want to make this last point absolutely clear: whatever customer service you are in, please refrain from pleasing customers in the doorway, okay? This is not the sort of neighbourhood for that behaviour, not at all. 

Sounding a bum note

 Hello. Here is a poem about bottoms. 

BOTTOMS

O I like to have a bottom; 

A bottom’s not a flop; 

For a bottom always stands up 

 For what’s right (and not what’s not); 

 

O I like to have a bottom, 

 For a bottom really pops; 

 No, a bum is never ho-hum, 

 For your bottom runs the shop; 

 Yes, I like to have a bottom; 

 I like a bottom lots: 

 Let us sing and praise the bottom, 

 For the bottom’s really tops.

I like numbers. You can count on them.

"I like it when people get excited about numbers." - Crazy Elf

Let’s get excited about numbers. Let’s get excited about numbers, and everyone will pick a number to get especially excited about, and then we will all argue about whose number is greater. Let’s get so excited about numbers that we form clubs where everyone can be excited about the same number together, and argue together with other clubs about whose number is greater. And we will all get together in vast stadiums where two numbers have a contest about which number is greater, and one of the numbers will be five million three hundred and thirty seven thousand and twenty five, and the other number will be, like, seven, and the number five million three hundred and thirty seven thousand and twenty five will clearly be the greater and everyone there for number, like, seven will be sad and silent for a while, and then someone in the club will shout out, ‘our number is greater at being lesser’, and everyone will get excited again about the number which is, like, seven, and arguing with the club for five million three hundred and thirty seven thousand and twenty five about whether being greater at being lesser is a thing, and how precisely to quantify the score at greater than lessness, and someone will shout out randomly ‘what about Euclid’s elements then’, and everyone will cheer. 

 And then one day, someone will introduce minus numbers, which are even greater at being lesser than the greatest least numbers of all, and complex numbers, which are the greatest least greatest least numbers of all but only more so. And there will be an infinity of clubs for the infinity of numbers, and each of the clubs will have an infinity of members, and so there will be an infinity of infinities, infinitely infinite numbers of members of clubs about numbers, and then an infinity of non-members of the clubs also, an infinite infinity of non-members who like to say, I’m Not That Excited About Numbers, Actually, or, I Don’t Follow Numbers All That Closely But I Know Most Of The Teams, or, I Like Numbers A Lot, I Was Once In A Team At School That Counted To Five At School, But I Haven’t Followed The Code Much Lately. 

 And we will all have songs about our favourite numbers, like 

Nine! Nine! 

 You’re so fine! 

Or: 

 Two! Two! 

 You’re so prime! 

 You’re so prime you blow my mind! 

Or: 

Five million three hundred and thirty seven thousand and twenty five! 

Five million three hundred and thirty seven thousand and twenty five! 

You’re the best 

You’re the greatest 

Chuck out the rest! 

Or even: 

 O more is more than less 

(More or less, more or less) 

O more is more than less 

 (More or less) 

 For more is always more 

Except when more is less 

Of this I must confess 

(Yes I’m sure, yes I’m sure) 

Or: 

 A half of a half is a half and is not 

For a half of a half is a quarter 

 If that half is a whole, then that half is a half - 

In conclusion therefore kinda sorta. 

 Let’s get excited about numbers so much that we put together the funds to commission realistic sculptures of our favourite numbers, sculptures that are so realistic that they display the numbers in their eternal platonic forms, outside of time and space and the physical realm altogether, making them out of abstract concepts, like existence, faith, childhood, and customer satisfaction. Let’s get so excited about numbers that we end up scoring all our numbers by other numbers, and scoring all those other numbers by other other numbers, and so on and so on, in a never ending stream of numbers, because we’re so excited about numbers, and number season has only just started yet, and you should enter our office number tipping competition, and do you think your number has a chance of winning this year? Let’s get excited about numbers.

Shallot compare thee to a summer's day

 Since you haven't asked, let me tell you anyway. Let me tell you all about what I've been thinking. I've been thinking about shallots, that's what. You might think that's a lot to take in, but it's not: it's shallot. A crucial difference, that. 

Besides, that's the thing about shallots, that's the important point: they're not a lot, they're a little. They're a little tasty, a little sweet, and, most importantly, a little onion. Which they're not. (In other words, they are not what they are. (That's why they're called 'shallots', not 'onions': do you follow me?)) 

Okay. So, shallots have a rich and storied history, none of which I will go into today. Instead, let us quote from Wikipedia: 

The shallot is a cultivar group of the onion. Until 2010, the (French red) shallot was classified as a separate species, Allium ascalonicum.

Great! 

The taxon was synonymized with Allium cepa (the common onion) in 2010, as the difference was too small to justify a separate species.

So it seems that shallots are not only too small to be an onion, but they are too small to be not. 

(Pedants might object that it is not the shallot that is small in the last case, it is the difference. But what is the difference between a difference, anyway? It's very small, that's what it is.)

Here is a poem I wrote about shallots: 

There's a lot to shallots,
There's a lot but there's not - 
There's a lot to a little, you see: 
No, you mustn't belittle 
The littlest little - 
To be little is something to be. 

Readers will notice with what care and restraint I have avoided ending the poem with 'fiddle diddle diddle diddle dee'. It is important to finely tune one's poetic craft that way. Just as there is a lot to the little that is shallots, so there is a lot to the little that is poetry, in that you start with a lot, and you take out a little, and you take out a little more, and a little more, and a little more, and you end up taking out a lot with with a little left over, in order to say a lot with a little. Or sometimes, you try to say a little with a little, or sometimes, to those with a purer artistic temperament, you end up using a little and saying even less. Presumably the purest poem of all is one in which all meaning and words are taken out, with nothing left over, but that has already been written by someone or other so to write it out again would be plagiarism. I certainly had a lot to say about shallots in this poem, and avoided saying it altogether, so this is what you got. 

But I suppose there are some things a lot about shallots. You can grow a lot of them. You can like them a lot. And you can grow shallots in a lot, and an allotted lot withal, so you could, if you chose, grow a lot of shallots in a lot of allotted lots. That's not a lot, but it's something. That's not a lot, even if it literally is. It's a little lot, which is just about as much as anyone could ask for. 

In addition, here is a shallot that I found the other day. 

I cooked it and turned it into a tiny onion tart, and here is the recipe: 

Ingredients: 

1 teaspoon of olive oil 
1 shallot 
A splash of white wine 
Puff pastry 

Method: 
Cut the puff pastry to the side of a small pan. Turn the oven on to 180 degrees celsius. Cut the shallot into pieces and fry it over medium heat for a few minutes until it browns nicely on all sides. 
Add the white wine to the pan and let it reduce a bit. 
Pop the puff pastry over the top of the shallot, and fold it in under the edges. Put the whole pan in the oven and leave it in there until the puff pastry rises and turns golden brown, about 20 minutes. 
Invert the shallot tart over a board or plate and serve.

But enough talking about poetry and recipes and what not, we were talking about shallots. This is the end of my talk about shallots. 

Preconstructed recipe post

 Now I don't want to make you all jealous, but today I made some bread. Or, to put it in a more technically accurate way, today I measured out the ingredients that will have by tomorrow become bread definitely. 

Here is the bread which I will have certainly by tomorrow made without a shadow of a doubt. 

Drooling yet? 

Now admittedly I suppose it is possible that someone else will put the bread together tonight and tomorrow, but it really matters not. Please to admire the bread which will obviously by tomorrow absolutely have been definitely made by someone or other clearly. 

The Future really is Perfect, isn't it. 

That’s very romance

 A poem that is very romance

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Chocolate is brown

And also poo

I think we had better

Not mix up the two

Roses are red 

Violets are blue.

Culture corner

 Have some drama, you uncultured swine! 

THE INTROVERTS: a riveting one second drama 

 SCENE: INTROVERT 1 bumps into INTROVERT 2 on the street corner 

 INTROVERT 1: Hello! Well, it was lovely to have parted after all this time. 

 INTROVERT 2: Yes, we really must do it again sometime. 

 (Both walk very fast in opposite directions) 

END

THE INTROVERTS 2: the gripping epic five second sequel 

SCENE: INTROVERT 2 bumps into INTROVERT 1 at the next street corner. 

 INTROVERT 2: Back so soon? Well, can't be helped. 

 INTROVERT 1: Yes, I'm so terribly sorry. 

 INTROVERT 2: Anyway, cheer up! I'm sure you'll be off soon! 

 INTROVERT 1: You know me. 

 INTROVERT 2: I'm afraid so. 

 (Both walk quickly away from one another into oncoming traffic) 

 END

A magical mysterium tour

 Russian composer Alexander Scriabin was something else. Look at this description of his planned work, 'Mysterium':

"Mysterium is an unfinished musical work by composer Alexander Scriabin. He started working on the composition in 1903, but left it incomplete when he died in 1915. Scriabin planned that the work would be synesthetic, exploiting the senses of smell and touch as well as hearing. He wrote that

"There will not be a single spectator. All will be participants. The work requires special people, special artists and a completely new culture. The cast of performers includes an orchestra, a large mixed choir, an instrument with visual effects, dancers, a procession, incense, and rhythmic textural articulation. The cathedral in which it will take place will not be of one single type of stone but will continually change with the atmosphere and motion of the Mysterium. This will be done with the aid of mists and lights, which will modify the architectural contours."

Scriabin intended the performance to be in the foothills of the Himalayas in India, a week-long event that would be followed by the end of the world and the replacement of the human race with "nobler beings"."

And the more descriptions you read about Scriabin's plan, the crazier/better it sounds:

"Bells suspended from clouds would summon spectators. Sunrises would be preludes and sunsets codas. Flames would erupt in shafts of light and sheets of fire. Perfumes appropriate to the music would change and pervade the air. "

(Certain small-minded pedants might ask: just how do you suspend a bell from a cloud? These intellectual tardigrades should be treated with the contempt they deserve.)

And: "Thousands of participants, clad in white robes, would intone his melismatic mantras with the fervor of the dervishes, expending every bit of their available energy in the service of his artistic idealism."

And: "Scriabin thought... that he would die of ecstasy when it finished playing."

According to the books, Scriabin actually died of blood poisoning. But clearly that's nonsense. He obviously died from nothing more than the modesty of his ambitions, and the 'Mysterium', in all its glory, is waiting for a purer vessel to bring its terrifying awesomeness to earth.

You can hear Scriabin's 'Prefaratory Action' for the 'Mysterium' on YouTube, over 40 minutes long, in its full bonkers glory.

PS Please to admire Scriabin's majestic curled 19th century moustache. It's so admirable that, like, I admire it. 

Delightful gurgling

In case you haven't been paying attention (and I certainly haven't), did you read about stand-up comedian Arj Barker kicking out a mother and her newborn baby from one of his shows the other day? Finally, it seems, someone is doing something about the grave peril posed to stand-up comedians by babies. For, in their career, a stand-up comedian may have to deal with drunken audiences, bottles being thrown at them, fist fights, you name it: but babies? Come on! 

I'm not quite sure what those babies are up to, but there's certainly something shifty about them. Engaging, for the moment, in a brief scientific study, we find, on the one hand, we have: 

- Stand-up comedians

Pure beings, light workers, who are always right about everything; 

While on the other hand, we find: 

- Babies 

Basically Satan. 

That, ladies and gentlemen, is science. But life is not all science: there are many nuances to lived experience that crude scientific theorems and hypotheses cannot capture. Let us look at some of them now. What are the basic modes of the baby? 

1) Crying

2) Feeding

3) Pooing/weeing 

4) Delightful gurgling 

5) Sleeping peacefully. 

It seems Barker kicked the baby out in stages 1/2. Can you imagine what would have happened if the baby had got to stage 4? Or (worse) stage 5? That's right, neither can I. But it would have been dreadful, let me assure you. 

This post is now at an end. 

Unsound poetry

Found sound poem 

This is a found poem, 

It's very profound. 

This is a sound poem: 

It's very pro-sound. 

If you've found a sound

To go with my found poem, 

Please send me that sound, 

And I'll give it a sound home, 

For, I'll admit it, 

I haven't quite yet 

Found one for my found sound, 

And it makes me upset. 

Sign up to my marriage counselling service, everyone!

Get in early: sign a prenuptial disagreement before marriage so you don't have to worry about it after. 

Arrange for a divorce to be held before you get married. It is a far neater way of doing things. Hold a touching ceremony for the whole family you will be breaking up: nobody will be able to stop themselves from crying at the traditional ceremony of the Taking Back of the Engagement Rings - but who will be able to wake for the excitement that is the Cutting of the Financial Cake? 

(Oh yeah, and hold a wedding and stuff after too, I guess.)

If you prepare and do things right, it will only strengthen your marriage bonds. Although you might end up having make-up sex without having anything to make-up about, which is a bit too S and M for some... I guess.