Marktic Chill: Transmissions from a One-Man Ice Age.

A theory on working girls....

2005-05-12T14:44:00.000-05:00

And what kind of name is Carly anyway?

A theory on underwater saloon brawls...

2005-05-01T13:07:00.000-05:00

At the bottom of a murky lake, a diver will find a mason jar half full with fool's gold, an old timey piano that can play by itself, and a broken monacle. I will meet the diver at the banks of the river and, out of breath, explain the entire situation and then follow him to safety. A sheriff with a curly moustache will interrogate me under a heat lamp. I will be made to dance for my freedom. Underneath all of my clothing, I always wear a unitard in case such occassions arise and for safety measures. Safety first.

A theory on botany and peristroyka...

2005-04-25T12:06:00.000-05:00

The blood bank is running low. The wolves are awake. Somewhere, an airport is empty and the trees are the only ones that know exactly what I'm talking about.

A theory on the bay of pigs...

2005-04-23T14:49:00.000-05:00

I am hollow and heavy. You are lithe and in traction. We are opaque and break easy. He and she are up late at night, every night. They are the ones who break into houses.

A theory on simian darkness...

2005-04-21T14:53:00.000-05:00

In the future, I will wear nothing more than a bolero vest and play the accordian for crowds of monkeys. In the future, this is how lovers are punished.

A theory on why I'm still angry...

2005-04-17T22:01:00.000-05:00

A person can still be angry under low lighting and dressed in silk pajamas. Anger is it's own brand of dimmness, it's own reminder to sleep.

A theory on nomadic peoples...

2005-03-31T15:55:00.000-06:00

An old gypsy woman once told me that, when she looked into my eyes, she saw the wearied eyes of a long dead civil war nurse. I told her that when I looked into her eyes, all I saw were eye boogers. Then I slapped her and called her rude; you see I was wearing a top that day and felt official. The palm reading went much smoother.

A theory on why the nation has much healing to do...

2005-03-13T11:55:00.000-06:00

Country singers are really robots sent to this dimension to commense a reign of sadness. Clowns are warriors sent here by sympathetic aliens to battle the evil country singers. In an undisclosed alleyway, I recently encountered one such clown killing a country singer. I screamed, "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh!". Then the clown ran away in really big warrior shoes. The country singer looked at me, sparks flying out of its robot wounds and said in a slowed down mechanical voice, "Don't let your babies grow up to be..". And then I screamed, "Cowboys. Cowboys!". I miss you Reba.

A theory on the modern age.

2005-03-08T21:57:00.000-06:00

We are, all of us, headed for gun violence. And diabetes.

A theory on my last breath...

2005-02-15T21:25:00.000-06:00

I want my last words to be the stuff of legend. Lit only by emergency vehicles, I'll look gorgeous and vacant and say something along the lines of "...and now I must make my return to the sea". Or maybe "...you haven't heard the last of me, Clytemnestra". Or even "...please freeze my head". The truth is, I know how I'm going to die, and my genius last words will be wasted on a precocious bear.

A theory on becoming ancient....

2005-02-09T18:32:00.000-06:00

Elves always look young when you first see them. They're so charming and they're such good dancers. It's only closer that they look aged: crows feet hidden by a fabulous elf hat, kidney spots on the back of their tiny elf hands. Elves have seen a lot, I bet. I wish they would kidnap me.

A theory on 4 years from today...

2005-02-02T20:27:00.000-06:00

In the future, rather than expressing our feelings, we will simply do "very bad things" to trees. Instead of saying, "Let go of my baby", I will nail a baby spruce to a police car. Instead of saying, "That baby's mine", you will rub two tiny pines together until they burn. You will end up with splinters. I will end up with a baby. All in all, I am inspired by the future and will name the child Harriet Tubman...

A theory on the gifted...

2005-01-25T23:14:00.000-06:00

Ever since the advent of live birth, it's been said of certain individuals that they are born with something special. It could be an abstraction, like talent or emotional availability. It could be something medical, like baldness or a contagious smile. Others, myself included, are born with nothing more than a ventriloquist's hand up their ass.

A theory on how I make shellfish weep...

2005-01-16T19:10:00.000-06:00

Recently, I confided in a psychic that I communicate with marine life by dunking my head underwater and screaming. He said, "I know".

A theory on Amelia Earhart.

2004-12-08T21:20:00.000-06:00

Men on dialysis are really hiding from birds of prey. Women who own black toilets are of low moral value. Birds of prey howl at black toilets. Men on dialysis think that the term "women of low moral value" is fancy talk for "I miss having gills".

A theory on the opacity of skin.

2004-12-04T10:57:00.000-06:00

Our skin was made opaque so that internal deformaties wouldn't deter us from the love reflex. Imagine the challenge of loving someone with visibly tiny lungs, or a yellow heart. And then imagine me standing at the foot of your bed I love you.

A theory on holidays.

2004-11-24T20:03:00.000-06:00

I am on holiday. But I am not European.

A theory on owls.

2004-11-17T20:13:00.000-06:00

It's said of owls that they attack their prey in the dark, feeding on smaller, weaker birds under the pitch-black cover of night. In response to certain, specific triggers, I'm known to lock myself in my closet with the lights off and eat indiscriminately. I have managed, over the course of several "episodes", to have injested a horse shoe and an entire karate uniform. I propose that I am part owl.

http://www.folkmanis.com/imagefilesA/owlsnowy.JPG

A theory on Sharon Stone.

2004-11-11T19:04:00.000-06:00

At last night's Mensa meeting, Sharon Stone and I exchanged "words" over who got to eat the last shrimp. Although I left the meeting without having had any shrimp, I still have my dignity. Which is more than I can say for some.

A theory on why it's hard being the smartest living boy in all of North America.

2004-11-07T20:42:00.000-06:00

It's not the whipsering. People always think it's the whispering. It's the pointing. And Stevie Nicks' constant advances. Mz. Nicks, if you're reading this, which you inevitably are, "no" means "no".

A theory on mermaids.

2004-11-05T19:13:00.000-06:00

It's not so much that I don't believe in mermaids. It's just that I don't see how they can help me.

A theory on how to approach a unicorn.

2004-11-02T11:58:00.000-06:00

When approaching a unicorn, if you find yourself without a lute, only dare communication through dance.

A theory on the heart.

2004-10-27T20:00:00.000-05:00

There isn't a lot of scientific evidence supporting the idea that the heart is the organ of love. I think it's the stomach. I would be more inclined to side with the heart if it were created in such a way as to accept cake.

A theory on travel.

2004-10-20T08:21:00.000-05:00

Travel by air is an abomination of nature. We were meant to travel by dolphin. It's our birth right.

A theory on pirates.

2004-10-18T13:01:00.000-05:00

We are all born with a tiny pirate inside us. My pirate is named Samantha. She has a suprisingly large vocabulary for someone her age and an appetite to match. Oh Samantha, what trouble you get me into!