s much as possible, the world situation turns on a dime. this dime laid
down by Fu Manchu, that ambitious, detail-oriented professional-scale
rapscallion who will stop at nothing to further his plans to rule the
world. crazy man, and you can see the sea from the top of this hill, and
clouds (below) from the top of Everest. and when Yeti, big as advantage,
stumbles into camp, all the merrie-making deathwatch types (I skied down
Everest with an anvil for a friend), on the mountain (looking) for a
reason, go so scared. I mean it's like, hey, what up with this sudden,
and I die too soon, and the winds suck me dry, even my compelling
legend. and so on, often with photos. the fierce importance, including
stopgap against Nepal becoming a footstool, or Tibet the background
music to the next to last movie, all this patently redeemable, like mica
once was, the glory days. Fu Manchu consults his mojo. only keen,
pipesmoking Nayland-Smith can cope with the exigencies, tho he at a loss
being normal and English. Yeti wears no clothes, which is scandalous,
and seems untrained in riding bicycles (look how he stagger walks!). so
it all comes together, briefly as the meeting of lips or, perhaps, that
agreeable moment when love. crisis fades into crisis, even while not
fading. Russians and gangsters and Yellow River polluted with pee, and
this Army of the Americans with its machine-quality global repositioning
act. tired, can't think, need water, oxygen would be nice...
