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Sunday, 29 August 2010

California Gurls - The Sacred Feminine

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In the rich esoteric tradition of Paracelsus, Aleister Crowley and Dan Brown, the much-feted white witch Katy Perry publishes her latest tract on alchemical feminism this month. Haiku Panzer Force considers the revolutionary message and impact of "California Gurls - A Treatise In Dialectic And Symbology".

Fecund
Ever-controversial, Mistress Perry engages, in this latest work, the dichotomy between the sacred feminine and the mundane representation of "woman" in popular culture. Unlike previous tracts that have dealt exclusively with the internal relationship between the "Hot" and "Cold" aspects of the psyche, or with the female perception of herself as a physical being "I Kissed A Girl", this work looks outward, exploring and contesting the role of woman in society.

The Modern Woman
Of particular interest is Perry's treatment of representations of "man" in the form of the pimp-wizard. The wizard is depicted as an impotent God, a titanic male with externalised phallus, in the form of a pimp-stick, that is nonetheless thwarted in his attempts to dominate, that is to say "creep a little sneak peak", the figure of woman.

Throughout her allegorical journey, The Woman is faced by iconic representations of herself, each figuring a challenge that must be overcome. These labours are ostensibly random, but the subtext is plain; the rules behind the "game" are devised by the dominating male. Archetypes, imprisioned by the pimp-wizard, are by this mechanism revealed to The Woman, her task being to free them, and in doing so, freeing an aspect of herself. These archetypes each conform to a sub-element of the titular "California Gurl", as follows:

i) The Bubblegum BJ Pro
ii) The Absinthe Jello Whore
iii)The Cellophane Slut

Prologued by The Man's display of impotent rage at The Woman's progress, an erotically-charged, triumphal dance begins, with much emphasis place on the thrusting, gyrating hips. This display marks the entry, or "penetration" of the Pimp-Wizard into The Woman's sphere. His is no longer a dictatorial, distant deity - he engages directly, though not as an equal, but as an advocate. By first gathering aspects of oneself, and then submitting them as "evidence", Mistress Perry conciously echoes an earlier form of esoteric virtue/vice allegory (cf. Robert A. Potter, The English Morality Play: Origins, History, and Influence of a Dramatic Tradition).

The conventional mode is turned rectoverso now, as the God/Pimp Wizard becomes an actor in the drama, we, the passive audience, must sit in judgement. Battle lines are drawn, as The Woman's collected "attributes" arm her for the final confrontation. The release is codified as an ecstacy, a victory of ladyjuice over the Manseed, as represented by Jelly Bears.

Reverse Insemination as Castration
Fully impotent now, his seed extingushed, the Pimp-Wizard symbolically removes his phallus in submission, a voluntary castration. Reduced to a head, a double metaphor for the only male part(s) a female desires, the victory of Woman is complete, and total.

No doubt Mistress Perry's magnum opus, "California Gurls" is an epochal work, an inescapable locus for esoteric feminist literature for the foreseeable future. Unlike some commentators, Perry captures not only the philosophical aspect of this debate "All the boys; Bangin' out; All that ass; Hangin' out", but also, and crucially, its human heart. A fitting coda, the warmth and depth of her prose is best illustrated with these following lines:

Westcoast represent
Now put your hands up
Oooooh oh oooooh

Wednesday, 25 August 2010

Your Letters but not YOUR letters

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Dear Haiku Panzer Force,

As a high flying solicitor who drinks a great deal of water as well as a variety of other fluids, I tend to break up my working day with brief excursions to the gentlemen's toilet room or thunderbox if you will, (be sure to note however that I never pass thunder during work hours.) On a recent visit to the kidderminster I stepped barefoot into a moral quagmire that could endanger my career and bring disrepute to the profession as a whole. I shall recount it to you now.

Steven Segal is in a band called Thunderbox.

Slipping out of a meeting with a client (Mrs X) regarding her upcoming divorce, I made one of my usual visits to pass hot liquid lightning into my favoured stall (like an increasing number of men in the 21st Century, I prefer the rectilinear peace of mind provided by a cubicle to the tear drop vulgarity of a urinal)  Adopting my usual stance; legs apart, eyes to the heavens I awaited the rush of what had, mere hours earlier, been a decanter of icy highland-spring water. Everything was in place for what seemed to be some textbook micturition when I became aware of the presence of a fellow user inside the cubicle! I had neglected to secure the fortifications of the cubicle with the provided slide lock! I longed to cry "Occupato!" but my larynx had seized up along with Aretha, my urethra.


I froze, head down me eyes darting to my left to take in the man beside me. He swiftly unzipped and nudged me in the arm. "Cross the streams!" He enthused.

I remained rooted to the spot, member in hand (he too had frozen and shrivelled slightly in the presence of a rival pipe.) "I..."

Mine was the expression of the Stay Puff'd Marshmallow Man... to begin with.

"Cross the streams!" He said again, but this time I sensed a hint of almost brotherly tenderness. With one hand, he squeezed my elbow and playfully swayed his midriff from side to side, chuckling softly.

I was swept up in the moment. I let myself go... to the man's great pleasure and eventually we were both hooting and howling over the rush of our combined effluence crashing 'gainst the pristine porcelain of the solicitor-class bowel basin.


"Yeaaaaahhhhhaaaaaahhhh!" He howled. Then with no thought of hygiene or even replacing my modesty in its cotton pouch, we turned to face each other in the cramped stall, locked eyes and high fived repeatedly and vigorously.(High fived is not a euphemism for a sex act, just to be clear... I know your Haiku Panzer force habit of using bold, italics and tiny text to accentuate certain phrases and I am wise to it.)


But then before I had the chance to offer to wash this gentleman's hands, secretly hoping that he in turn would wash mine, he bolted out of the cubicle leaving me to activate the flush and thoroughly sterilise my paws after the encounter. Who was this man? Why had he chosen me? On looking into the other cubicles I noticed they were empty so it was not for want of space that he chose to cross the streams with this particular solicitor.

No scarcity of cubicles... then why?


I left the men's room exhilarated but I could already feel the adrenaline rush subsiding before I had returned to my office. Back to th trivialities of Mrs X's divorce from Mr X! No doubt a momentous passage in the lives of the X's but a process I can now go through with my eyes screwed shut and my fingers thrust far into the canals of my ears.


When I reached my office, my assistant hissed a warning before I crossed the threshold into the office proper "Mrs X's husband is here with his solicitor", they were a little early but I was more than prepared to wring this hapless fool for every shilling in his grimy pockets. I entered the room with a hearty greeting but stopped in horror when I saw the man who awaited me...


It was the man from the cubicle... the man I had crossed swords with just moments before!


"This is my husband, Mr X" sighed Mrs X flatly. "Not for long I hope", said Mr X, a cruel grin shooting across his face, reaching out a hand that may well have been drenched in my own bladder brandy.

It can't be!


Rats! How do I proceed when dealing with a man with whom I've intersected golden arcs? Is this a conflict of interests? What was I to do... what am I to do? I'm still here now... I'm pretending I'm picking a suitable album from Spotify as background music when I'm fully aware that nothing kicks off divorce proceedings like Chet Baker. They're starting to get suspicious. Help me Haiku Panzer Force!


Kind Regards,


Alan Cliffe



Dear Alan,


Fuck you for not knowing anything about the Law. Of course this is a conflict of interest, in fact if you'd done a little research you might know that this is a common technique amongst men going through divorces. In fact it was one of the fun facts recently omitted from our Paul McCartney Factstravaganza a few days ago - that whilst going through his divorce, Sir Paul crossed the streams with all the finest lawyers in the UK so that none of them could represent Heather Mills and she was forced to resort to using an entirely stop motion animated legal team when the big day arrived.


Sadly for Sir Paul the claymation litigators performed pretty spectacularly, if painfully slowly, and Mills is now something something something. Point is, you better find a window to climb out of before shit gets real. And Chet Baker is no way to divorce anyone, try some Sammy D.

Warm best wishes,

Haiku Panzer Force

Saturday, 21 August 2010

Get More Twitter Followers - 5 Easy Tips

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Who loves ya baby?

NO ONE.

No one loves you, because no one loves you. No one follows you, because no one follows you. Yet some people have followers, so why not you? It's not fair, is it?

But don't cry into you soup! Today's edition of 5 EASY TIPS will solve all of you Twitter-twoes.

Why don't you have followers? Surely it can't be because you're ugly, or short, or one chromosome short of a full set. Of course, you are all of those things, but your profile pic is Adam West's Batman, so these can't be the reasons. Why else? These 5 EASY TIPS will help cure the hideous disease that is unpopularity:

1. FIAT LUX

Twitter, like "RL", is a popularity contest, and just like "RL", you need popularity to get more. Where do you start then? How can something come from nothing? It's a paradox built in to the fabric of the universe. And the solution, the missing ingredient, is God.

EASY TIP: Become a fundamentalist Christian. Regularly tweet the beneficent effects of Jesus's love, and they'll come a flockin'.

2. SEXY SEXY TIME

The only thing more e-liberating than being an anonymous 20-something male is being an anonymous 20-something male being an anonymous teenage girl, on the cusp of womanhood. Anonymously. The erotic frisson created by the brief, tentative steps of a fey innocent into the brusque tworld of men will guarantee an instant, slobbering following.

EASY TIP: Big eyes, barest hint of decolletage, perhaps a photoshopped blue tint. Name yourself "LittleMinx93" or similar.

3. RAW, UNBRIDLED API ABUSE

You know that app you should be using for Twitter? TweetDeck, Seesmic etc? Don't just use it occassionally, as you would twitter.com; abuse it. Ruin it. Bash out those tweets, skullfu*REDACTED* those #FF lists, follow like a bitch, and be DMn' like you be BMn' after a curry. Create opportunities for the twitterverse to ignore you, but in more invasive, irritating ways. You will break their will eventually and they'll follow out of exhaustion.

EASY TIP: Don't stop tweeting until you either a) get an "API limit reached" message or b) the ends of your fingers are bloody and raw.

4. STARLIGHT, STARBRIGHT!

@StephenFry has more followers than their are people on Earth. How? Is it because he's a raconteur par excellence? Because he has a big, gay wit? No. @StephenFry has more followers than there are atoms in the sun, because he is a celebrity. But isn't celebritying hard? Nope!

EASY TIP: Publish a series of epochal memoirs, each in turn winning you a Nobel prize, and collectively becoming the definitve literary and cultural contribution of our age.

5. BE A LOVER, NOT A HATER

Reciprocity: the Golden Rule, the fundamental foundation of ethical philosophy, human rights, and civilisation. Before you can expect your fellow man to follow, you must love your fellow man. Smother him with LOL's and RT's, <3's and LMFAO's. Sing his praises to others, at random. #FF him constantly, all week long. Tweet unto others as you would have them tweet to you.

EASY TIP: Pick a target. RT their every message. @ them photoshopped images of your profile pics holding hands, and making love. Repeat ad infinitum.

It's all so EASY (TIPS) now, isn't it? Go forth and become the King of Twitter!

That's all for this week. We'll see you next time, for another 5 EASY TIPS!

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

Y'all Don't Know Shit bout Paul McCartney: 3 Fun Facts about the man with the golden thumbs

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I feel I must reiterate the sentiments of the title, y'all really don't know shit about Paul McCartney. Now the problem with that is y'all think you know about Paul McCartney, but y'all don't know shit about Paul McCartney. Read on for more.

Fact Number 1: Paul McCartney's Biggest Regret

Paul McCartney is kept awake at night with the knowledge that he could have won any argument with Heather Mills by calling her a "unicycle." Said Sir Paul; "It implies she is a lady of easy virtue whilst also making fun of her for having one of something there is normally two of, I never said it because I thought it would make her feel bad... it's really not that clever but I think it would have worked in a crude sort of way."

Fact Number 2: Paul McCartney's Wall of Shame

Approximately twice a month, Sir Paul McCartney slips out under the cover of darkness bringing with him a paint roller and a tub of egg shell Dulux paint, and makes his way on his bicycle (with two wheels) to Abbey Road Studios to paint over the graffiti on the wall where Beatles fans compose asinine tributes to a band that everybody likes at least one song of. "Why don't we assume that everybody likes the Beatles and we can stop defacing this lovely knee-high wall?" quoth Sir Paul, " They always pick the worst lyrics to write up there too, you know, the really mawkish ones that don't really mean anything. Then they draw a peace sign because they're German or Spanish and they think that's cool because it's still 1991 over there" Racist.

Fact Number 3: Paul McCartney's Christmas Wonderful Time

Few people know this but Sir Paul McCartney wrote the greatest Christmas song ever composed, recorded it and then destroyed the tape using a high powered magnet. Having completely forgotten everything he had done the night before, Sir Paul attempted to re-write the song by asking his neighbors what it sounded like and forcing them to nervously sing into a dictophone any parts they were able to remember. The result was the second greatest Christmas song ever composed.

Until next time...