Pink & Black

20 Years Ago on FITK



Pink & black, pink & black
Woman’s givin’ me a heart attack
Pink & black, pink & black
Boots on the street go clickity-clack

Black-heeled boots and hair dyed the same
Pink woolen coat settin’ me aflame
Into her car and out on the road
Sporty black coupe, I shoulda knowed

Eyes of black and lips of pink
She drives by and gives me a wink
Pink & black, pink & black
Woman givin’ me a heart attack


1 Comment:

Blogger Comica said…

Pink and black, I wonder who came up with that combination? It’s getting more and more popular on my campus lately. Also, Batty the Poet? Yes, yes I see it now! The Batty Chronicles! Keep them coming!

Re-posted with new video

stainless steel and drip coffee

Take a break with the Professor on this nutty little excursion into the uncanny valley:

oh! it’s so very trendy
stainless steel and drip coffee
baristas wearing black on black
window walls overlook the uptown day…

hipster wanna-be waits for some action
cheap merlot and funky cheese plate
saturday in a midwestern metropolis
nyc it aint!

Click through to YouTube for more information.

Video Update

A diligent follower of Flippism is the Key may have noticed some peculiar music videos posted here recently.

The ‘Professor’ has been experimenting with Suno, an AI music generating program.

The way it works is this: Input some lyrics (or even just some ‘seed’ words), specify a musical genre, and add a title. In about 10 seconds it spits out two fully-formed songs, some of which may actually be listenable. After a bit of lyric tweaking, couple the song with thematically related imagery (I use iMovie), post it to your YouTube channel, and voilà! Your ‘music video’ is now complete. Suno is controversial, it is currently being sued for intellectual property theft, although I think a greater issue is that the best of these ‘compositions’ are actually better than the dross that is current corporate-controlled pop music.

These videos will be featured on FITK throughout November. Please don’t hold it against me.

20 Years Ago on FITK

Great Expectations

   “Are you making it scary for Halloween?”

The speaker was a twelve-year-old girl, who saw me hanging a motorized bat from my porch eave.

   “Well a little I guess, are you going out for trick or treat?”

   “Well, maybe, if my sister will hand out candy, then I can go for a while.”

   “Will this be your last year?”

   “Oh I don't know, Maybe not—I’m pretty short.” She was smiling at her justification.

   “If the weather is nice there should be a lot of kids.”

   “Oh there aren't that many around here.”

   “A lot of kids have moved in, and kids come from other places to trick or treat here.”

   “Are you going to scare the kids again this year?”

   “Oh I scare the kids do I?”

   “I remember when I was small you scared me good!”

   “Well maybe I did scare a few… ”

   “That's OK, that’s what makes it fun.”

   “Some people don't like Halloween.”

   "Some people think its evil, people from churches and stuff. Its just for kids to have some scary fun."

   “Yes I guess it is. So should I scare the kids this year?”

   “Oh Yes! It's a lot better when it’s scary.”

   “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

   “Oh, there’s my sister, bye!”

   “Goodbye… ”

   I love Halloween!

Trilogy By Stefánsson

Heaven and Hell, The Sorrow of Angels, The Heart of Man


A trilogy by Jón Kalman Stefánsson

I’ve tangled with this Icelandic author before; I raved about Summer Night, and Then Comes the Night and had mixed feelings about Your Absence is Darkness.

This dense trilogy almost did me in. Its major theme is fatalism—death surrounds its protagonist, ‘The Boy’, as he blindly makes his way through ordeals in the unforgiving Icelandic sea, land and psyche. Not for the reader who is faint-of-heart. Stefanssón’s prose (and Philip Roughton’s translation) is always excellent, but where his other books were flights of imagination, these three are heavier, even turgid at times. I sensed a bit of dèjá vu (particularly in Sorrow) where I got the impression that this was recycled Halldór Laxness (without the humor.) If you are wondering where the authors who revel in elaborate language went, look no further.

One problem I had in reading these books is that I have burned out on Icelandic culture (I’ve been infatuated with it for nearly a quarter century) and, sometimes, enough is enough. If you are up for a challenge, and enjoy dense, grim books ruminating about death and despair, you might enjoy this journey. If not, beware!

Lonely Places/Quiet Spaces

From a recent Homewood Photo Collective assignment on this theme:

Members of the collective were enthralled by these projected image:

20 Years Ago on FITK

Saturday Night

In my show biz days, bands could still get a four or even a five night gig.

That is pretty much a thing of the past; the music scene is so fractured and competitive now that most bands are lucky to get a single night, much less a week-end at any one venue. “Pay to play” is the worst trend in modern music. Aside from the monetary benefits, when we did have a week booked there were real differences between each night.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays were the nights when you played to other musicians. Everybody was always checking every other act and venue. Those nights were used to try out new material, impress other bands and kind of establish your turf. Thursday the crowd changed to harder drinking types who liked to start the weekend early. Friday was TGIF, the wildest dancing and most unruly crowds. But Saturday night was altogether a different animal.

Saturday night was “date night” and the atmosphere had a different charge. There was serious interaction between the sexes, and the good bands knew that it was these couples/would-be-couplers that were the show. You played music that made people want to get together, get in the mood. The last set, if it went well, was a form of foreplay. When you could smell it, amidst the smoke and sweat and alcohol, those musky biological attractors, the mesmerizing scent of human desire—you knew that the gig was a success.

Old Sheds

Rural Southwestern Minnesota, 1970

What is the lifespan of an non-restored wooden structure in an intemperate climate?

When is the inexorable march of decay not ot be denied? With care, wooden buildings can last a long time, but there comes a time when they must return to the earth from whence they sprang, or to be consumed in fire, returning to the air they absorbed when the trees they were made from was growing.

But before that happens there is a time, perhaps only a few years, when the natural weathering process cloaks these humble constructs with a patina of beauty.

Mill Dam

Shingle Creek, Old Camden, North Minneapolis, 1974

Took my wheat down to get it ground
The man that runs the mill said the mill’s broke down
What’s the matter with the mill
(oh it’s done broke down)
What's the matter with the mill
(oh it's done broke down)
Can't get no grinding
Tell me what’s the matter with the mill

20 Years Ago on FITK

Flippist Industries, Inc.

Many of you may wonder what is required to produce such a top-notch blog day in and day out.

Some may think all you need is a gift of gab, a laptop and a modem. Au contraire, mon feré! I’ve prepared a little presentation so that you can understand all the effort that goes into every single high-quality Flippism Is The Key posting. First slide please!

(click)

Here you see an aerial view of the Flippism campus, located on 4000 acres of virgin prairie, in Minnesota's heartland—Anoka. Please notice the man-made lake, nature trails, and meditation huts located in the feral-cat preserve.

(click)

Entering the main reception area, you will notice the indoor waterfall, the pianist in the marble atrium, and the Versace-clad security guards (with color-coordinated Uzis!)

(click)

The first complex houses 244 wordsmiths (that English major IS good for something) toiling away on the proper structure, parsing and syntax for the upcoming post - ever wonder what the meaning of “is” is? They know!

(click)

Now we’re in the legal department. A phalanx of barristers (in wigs) is kept busy with the judical issues surrounding this blog, including an analysis of those intriguing Nigerian emails.

(click)

This is my favorite area: the theology department. One hundred monks and esteemed scholars ponder the Spiritual mysteries of Flippism. Their current project? Attempting to create a version of the Hanson Bible in ancient Aramaic.

(click)

And here, yes this is it, the inner sanctum, my fortress of solitude, the office where I work on this blog. Strewn about this knotty-pine garret are various volumes of forgotten lore, Icelandic phrase-books (most of the phrases are somewhat morbid), Björk videos and a copy of HTML for Dummies. Please note the stack of moist towelettes next to the keyboard!

(click and off)

There it is! A cast of thousands laboring day and night to bring you the finest in internet entertainment. Any Questions?

By Professor Batty

6 Comments:

Blogger Tykho said…

… wadda campus, wadda blog!

Blogger aafan said…

Bravo! Love your blog.

Blogger lab munkay said…

*clap-clap-clap-whistle* Bravo-Batty, Bravo! How do I win a special pass to be heliported in for a live tour? I promace not to vidio tape your compound. Much. I'll bring the Riga Black Balsam.

Blogger Comica said…

Standing Ovation!!!! Huzah! Marvelous production!

Does it really take that many monks to uncover the Hanson bible? I could produce the same results using only one Southwest Virginian teenager, but I digress! ;)

Blogger Professor Batty said…

… I'd love to have you all as my personal guests - all expenses paid! I'll contact the Minnesota State Lottery tomorrow and see what the hold-up is about my winning ticket…

Blogger Comica said…

Someday when my adventures are over and I need an area for reflection and to write my memoirs, I may require one of your meditation huts in the so-called feral cat preserve. Any chance of renting one of my very own?

I like how you arrived at 244 wordsmiths. No more, no less!

And I'll pay for YOU to come teach at my University once I get MY winning lottery ticket cashed in.