the truth is out there - Thursday, April 27th - 2:32 am - 2006

flaming capitulations! ancient texts long lost have been unearthed by the village, dug up in plastic bags with strange markings on them. run that camera without the record function, and your going down faster than that silly plane that crashed into you know what. clinking ice is very nice, until it melts and the swarming mixture gets warm and lugubrious. sink your feet into the muck, but kick them free with equal velocity.

part the red sea only to find a bunch of stuff nobody wanted on the floor of the now divided water body. wandering through the cemented trails humming plucky tunes of old, it was alright because everyone else around was crazy. no regrets though, they learned some musical history that night. spread the word, even the most influential figures of history appeared to be talking to themselves because they had those weird cellphonehandset things that the nazis gave to them because they secretly discovered time travel and realized the only way to co-exist with the freedom loving peoples of middle earth was to play the greatest trick satan ever pulled, convincing the world he didnt exist. run on sentence!

fuck grammar anyway, its all a bunch of conformist nonsense. but how committed are you? soon enough i will be, but would you lay the very foundations of communicating your ideals on the line just for a silly parlour trick? you silly fool, how they laugh in secret. a certain element of conformity is neccasry for any such activity, social or non-social, smoking or non, so you might as well embrace it because its healthy.

got my yes discography and everythings alright. defend the need, self censorship is the ultimate crisis. sometimes psychadelic music and a couple tokes just doesnt do it anymore. but it beats digging a hole, an activity i attacked with zeal somewhat recently in the past. good manual labour strengthens a mans soul, even though i doth detest the beast. yeah man, stuck in the middle with you, the only guy who really matters.

sea green vestibules and moronic captains dominate the plectrum based engines of pre industrial revolution steam ships. to and fro the monkeys burn, zinged by embers of molten chiplets of atmoic reverie. painting abusively, wrecking balls and walls with wrecking balls, chucking halls down a throat oh so poisoned, remembrances of injustices of eons old eco-bullshit, planting a motorcar, building a turkey, growing a cage, plucking an engine, federal grummonds depict a miserly future. grab your geets, and lets go, escapism at its best, but no longer able to chesterfield my leg. drawn apart, staring down eternal hallways, millions of them, with naught but bitter shadows and blackness, all musty and dusty and it tastes like chicken.

good evening.

nice guys finish last - Wednesday, April 26th - 3:20 am - 2006

torn between one half of that which you cant identify with. i dont understand why either, but i am no longer in command. 4 days of wine brewing madness took it all out of me, it seemed like weeks went by. back in the saddle again, my lonely horse malnourished and neglected after having been put out to pasture. now im back, ready to annihilate into nothingness, and return to that which I had begun so long ago. a platoon of men moving silently through the jungle will surely be detected and destroyed, but a lone operative can penetrate deep behind the lines, if there ever were any. dont collect a bunch of fresh faced young recruits to get your face blown off, develop the neccasry skills to keep the self safe from harm.

i dont like it anymore than you. it would have been nice to discuss it, but at this point that too would land us in the stocks. Not for the simple fact of a sudden outing, but of the fallout from that meeting. Forbidden love, one not so stated in simple words, but in mannerism and conviction. just think, your 4 words and that guys 4 words made me waste millions of my own, pondering soberly well dressed in the living room. there it was, ripe for the picking, but any crop wanes in neglect. now its bare feet and mangled toenails, let the scars shine through and drown at the bottom. greasy hair and vacant stares for all but those potential mates.

i coulda been a contender. slinking silently into the background, not comfortable with being uncomfortable. i could use a solid dose of galvanization, only a few weeks ago would have been nice for now the only galvanization that has occurred is to spur me backwards in the past. you got your way, and you dont even know it. i shouldnt have let that happen. but gleaming, trying to persuade i spent another 3.40 to put myself in check. good christ man, if id only known the future. thumping away here and there, banish the thoughts from your head. now i wanna ruin your party, but all i got myself signed up for was a history lesson and a late night.

time to bait that fishhook, only i dont think ill ever catch a bigger fish. i should yell at this fish, only i am still mired in that which opposed me from doing so in the first place. a warm bed, lolligagging interactions, and some semblance of peace in my own house.

i should buy a motorbike and cruise around being an asshole, throwing beer bottles and grabbing up old mens wives for a delightful shagging before tossing them away to the curb. i swear, they all came at me. i aint no lothario, i aint suave, im just genuine and honest and that has now been destroyed and removed from the present because i wasted it all on my own foolish ignorance. square one, gents, dwell silently and make that plan to explode with much significance at some distant hazy target of the future. ahhh fuck man, i wish somebody would protect me. spur the others to silently force those negators in my vision to dissipate. have some friend make sure emo kids wouldnt bug me at work, make sure id always get those glazed country bits in the morning instead of chocolate cuz they taste like brick, make sure the bus driver would wait for me, make sure the taxman could give me the 800 dollars everyone else seems to get, make sure my cigarette packs were always full, and my glass was never empty. wheres my protector? why do you even care?

a little social discomfort goes a long way. thats your fucking annuity gratuity [ or annual deposit ]. where the fucks mine? that would have been grand. all set up in my imaginary office to get things done, learn some stuff, get some more moolah coming downtown, and have someone to enjoy it with. now fuck it, back to the dirty cracker barrel, wasting your time doing pointless things for shits sakes, drinking more in less than a week than the entire colony of new hampshire in the early 1800's. smoke a hundred cigarettes, you dont want to taste anything anymore, the last thing youll remember tasting was the sweetest aromatic residue, stuck on my bottom lip for a week after. like the combination was holy, and somehow meant for manifestation.

well sir, having utterly destroyed my being for the past little while, i do crave the 3 and a half hours of sleep ill get tonight, resolute evermore in the fact that there isnt very much good in the world, that itll all be over at some point in the future. curiosity killed the cat, but only because he was curious enough to stick around. at least now its controllable, eyes glaze and brain melts and only little bits of the sunshine fade through, enough to know that that sun is out there somewhere, but not so much as to be reminded fully of what could have been. try to explain? good lord it would be unpossible. oops i did it again, instead of cruising in on my motorbike all cool and decked out in leather, i went all buisnessman and tried to predict an investment, which due to the sum total of human emotion, is impossible, and also due to the sum total of human emotion, is impossible to stop thinking about. maybe if you really cared, if you really payed attention to the issue you claimed to be concerned enough to put the kibosh on, then you would have noticed how it was effecting me. but no, just like the damned religious right you picked one way of thought, ignored the other issues, and wound up looking good because you had that book in your hand.

nautical signals people, on the sea you dont get to chat with the other captains. they examine the situation, develop a plan, and then put a bunch of flags up to let the other guy know whats going on without even talking. but i got bad directions from some foreigner, shyed away from the plentiful island, and veered back into the abyss that only days before had been my captor. now im shaking and aching, smoked out and hungry in the dirty morning, ready to serve in the ranks of short-changed idiots, simply because i did as i was told. isnt that what they instructed? subservience! all it does is put you in bad places where silly things happen, but you can stop at the tavern halfway home and forget all about how those who you respected do the same things as you but its not cool when you do them.

what a farce. ill just sit on the stoop and wait for my parents to come pick me up after computer camp while all those weirdos are playing games where you have to touch each other. drive home on a rainy afternoon and pretend to be excited about all the programs you already knew how to run, about dinner that night, about what joe and sally are up to, put out enough to trick them into thinking your listening and escape to the world of endless ponderence, of nothing and everything all at once, dreaming up silly concoctions of items that would surely never be in the same room.

cycles of being - Tuesday, April 25th - 4:57 am - 2006

professer chaos tries an experiement. theyre all evacuating now, walking the plank from one ship to the better. a skinny golden wire tethers the boats together, the pillars of immunity sitting proudly on top of their kill. hurtling across the avenue, we come across nice digs. all these orange fingers and lady carrots.

migrate to a newer method, rise from the murky depths of old, but like yoda in his cabin you were very wise. its like jesus adopting a different faith. he was, after all, a carpenter. you should really let them rebuild after the hellish amounts of fire water are dispersed.

now the two hand selected teams stood in wonderment at the one caught in between. humming ancient rhymes amidst thunderous omission and a fuzzy cloud, the essential concepts of territoriality returned after the shock at seeing those weird pants, and led the forces involved to escalate. what else happened? oh yeah a couple squirrels ran around and stuffed money in the back pockets of well-dressed idiots.

like a bowl of stew cooling on a windowsill some 60,000,000 kilometers behind, varied ingredients will invariably produce a larger composition. usually the trick is to eqaully balance the ingredients the same way each time, but if you got drunk and started cooking you might throw a little more green eggs and ham in that shit, concocting a bizarre new mixture, capable of much imbalance. So what happens? that silly bowl of stew got its own sitcom, a friendly apartment, and a whole pile of hollywood angst. yeah its cool because your all rich and whatnot, but pretty much everything can lead you down a dark path these days. take out, please!

obliterate another greasy collective and look fervently for another. indulge in the multi purpose utensils, what the fuck does he want with all those butter knives anyway? confiscate the well-being [mentality downfall leading to physical] of others, while flexing the appendages that batter the buisness boxes that are the new mating ritual. slink onto where your supposed to, bringing a gleam to the eyes of your fellow convicts by a loss of respect. that guy wiped his nose! oh a fanciful exclamation designed for some other country. emit odours of foreign towns, a stench that according to track record, has proved time and again to be a most effective musk.

in wine there is truth, a truth that becomes clearer with every drunk driving commercial where that guy puts the glasses on the dashboard and they make this really cool col. klink sound and its all engrossing and shit and then theres this turn and that one and then BAM! that schmuck with no luck or no morals, rusting on his laurels crashes up with this weird other car with a, a....a bunch of kids in it! whoooptee. while presently enjoying the function to disperse the diction, ill be back. a truth that exudes through the pores and poor, unifying the factions of thought and motion. once they enjoyed a vicious success, in all manners of economy and football, but now the legs become a-twitter, and the brain forgets its stuck to something.

what a farce. all the tools of evermore sit on the counter in the well lit kitchen, with animated computer screens depicting a cartoon mouth shouting amiable phrases, yet that hunk of floor by the window looks much more comfortable. but windows cost money, and if you dont buy any bugs can crawl pretty much wherever they want, and soon youll be a zookeeper, especially if you live near toxic waste. arrows fly, and many lose the ability to play video games, all the while the kings sit and watch through primitive binoculars, balls of crystalline glass wrapped in a flap of some poor cows ass. this man has the ability to play the ultimate video game, one constructed and occupying many hangars, caves, and old surface. upchucked ideals, strewn all over the floor and only one guy wasnt too drunk to clean it up. No paper towels though, so I just had to lap it up. and like any well cooked meal, you feel better for having consumed it, even though it manifests itself a while later in the form of some ugly brown toyota. its all about balance. a bunch of pieces all up in each others grill. shouldnt you hang on to what youve collected? hannibal didnt like school either, so he burned it down, and as such was praised by the mongols for the extra-curricular activities that he pursued.

now we dont like hannibal anymore, preferring people to rest idly instead of chugging beer and breaking items of no particular theme. only its ok to break a bunch of plates and steal the silverware when you can pay people to forget you were ever there, and while that was popular some 50 years ago, now you pay a bunch of smart people a little more to get people to shut up, and its all cozy and legal like. wrap up in your favorite blanket by the fire, while all those idiots beneath you are busy making a bunch of blankets and fireplaces cuz you people throw everything away when your done with it.

giving change to people is the next best alternative to stoning. thats right, biblical vengeance. heres a bunch of minerals you idiot, if you get enough of them you can afford the bus downtown. these rocks are much more entertaining, but as a by-product of technological advancement are more aerodynamic and cause less injury so the entertainment of some schmuck tied to a pole in the town square getting pelted by more rocks thrown by more people gets more people in those mom and pop stores, buying sundaes and knick-knacks and a bunch of shelves you can put in corners. draw it out like a blade, get every last drop out of each one of us, as sadistically thorough as al bundys cousin.

loose lips sink ships. but i made myself an enigma machine out of a bunch of string and shards of wood they gave me. cries of the past, echoing out. when it gets down to the wire, that rusty bunny rabbit didnt function properly, so all the greyhounds are sitting around playing cards. now the phones start ringing, and each row of seats gets progressively angrier, spreading their cloud of red up and up, so the guy all the way up at the top can smell it, and starts throwing all his nice shit out of the window, raining pain on some and wealth on others. those that suddenly find themselves a little more plump can get rid of their old leather frocks and smocks, and these bastards bring a rain of injury with the cast away remnants of their previously humble traditions. i mean, one guy got hit with a hammer, and this other guy woke up with a radiator and a telephone line near his inner ear. then all the stuff that people dont want anymore makes its way down to those dogs, the ones that people pay to come and see, but are completely unaware of all the great things master can buy now. smile, wag your tail, and run the race so all these fine people can go home. here, heres some dodgy kibble. heres a crappy little doghouse in the rain, and if you break your leg you can just walk home.

the bottom of the ocean has all kinds of neat stuff on it.

be all you cant be - Wednesday, April 19th - 2:12 am - 2006

What a messy buisness, interaction. Always an unpleased party party to another party's deal. Raid the pantry yet again, monroe, and settle up for a shiny battle. Like the button on that girls shirt in the truman show, hows it going to end? Excelling from this standpoint I question too, for the benefit of my own consciousness. Curl up by the glowing box that has replaced the fire pit, suckle at your perfectly angled glass, and celebrate [good times, come on] another step down the train of whatever the fuck plan is trying to realize itself. Lost in the clinking ice, no longer enough to satisfy, one must replace one with t'other. Tethered by that silly substance known as the economic bloodline of nations, what then?

Flaming ruptures! A chaotic week hath been endured. It's all in your head though. Just open the car door, tip your feathered cap and always have your hand on your lighter. A different kind of kitchen, lost in the endless waltz of popular music. Why cannot we be pure in lifestyle? Why be a slave to those very television programs that we lament in certain aspects, yet are totally oblivious to in other aspects? All or nothing brother, either you ditch the shackles of social grace altogether, or you be the embodiment of all that is good and polite. Like a deck of cards, one cannot pick only those which one wants, one subjects himself to the generic subtitle of cards. For example, I am playing cards. Would cards be cards if I got to pick an ace and a king every time? Why, no!

I might as well go to school and have my brain stretched by some other collective. Put my faith in some pipe-smoking professor, and have the molding begin. According to my old testament, inserted shortly thereafter would be several paragraphs regarding the evils of formal education, yet however it seems summer has turned to fall. And that I shall, as forseen in my minds eye.

Drugs are bad, children. You may as well stick to what you know. Why change? Why get off the pipe? or die nadel? Well sir, the habit has proven itself to be destructive. A lifetime of pleasence thrown away because of a few months of silly debauchery. He was only trying to make up for the years of absolute social isolation. Yeah youd gather up your shit to go get wasted, but there was always some excuse preventing the development of larger plans. Locale, wallets, ideas, smiles, none were had before the neolithic revolution. Now I built myself a farm, learning to grow carrots and the like, and some swarm of locusts descends to molest my bretheren. Christ, you know it aint easy, you know how hard it can be, the way things are gooooin, they're gonna crucify me.

I am addicted. I wouldnt have been here now if I werent. Knowing the true nature of another is impossible, one can only base what you think you may know on what has previously happened. But if we take our cue from the universe, from nothingness came the absolute brilliance of infinity, regardless of who or what created it.

Why is rolling stone, a particularly influential and respected rock and roll rag, at least at one point, coated in the subtle lies of emo based cultural diction? It is a symptom of a larger problem. I see them now, chilling and huddled in the alleyways of developed countryside, endlessly debating and debasing themselves, drenched in silly make-up and expensive shirts. Unaware of what really happened, as we all are, they muse about how hard their lives are as they 'trudge' the few feet down the court to their warm, well-fed, freshly washed linens. Its just as bad as buying into the corporate giant, only worse because at least bill gates enjoys himself in his off - time.

Always outside yourself, dear and humble narrator, always lying about what really happened. So focused on the thoughts and feelings of others, while suspending your own newfound goals and foals. Have some water dear brother, youve walked many a mile in the harshest desert. Regrettebly, I did have second thoughts that time about bequeathing the very essence of life to another, a brother. Never again, barred only by the lack of supply to disperse. That, now, would be the only thing stopping yours truly from handing out what he has procured for himself. Secondary needs may go unfulfilled, and rightly so, but that which is necessary to survival itself will never be held back again.

Even in the deepest recesses of absolution. See, that last one was bullshit. Ill trick you baby, so good at this game of skill that I trick myself. Maybe one day they'll speak your code, and see how much the simple capitalization of one letter in a composed haystack can be indicative of the bettered [ and buttered ] soul. Granting myself the authority to be capitalized. What silly concepts from childhood stick with you. I thought it was all forgotten, but it remains within the subconscious. But to peer inside the authors mind and see how important that stupid little happening really is, would change the fate of nations.

What now, dearest homey's, the night draws near, in fact the morning is quite new. Over the border of one day to the other, thats when the deepest vein is found. I speak not of those destructors of good, working class folk, but that of the muse which sparks this mental retardation electronically manifested.

Think of the other team. Those silly olympics are so ass backward that bodies embodying certain, opportune skills are penalized for their proficience in the area that is being discussed. Heres a clue, score enough goals to win, but if you score too many, international incidents will occur. But think of the other team. Maybe some guy who had massive debts kidnapped the goalies sister and threatened her life unless the game ended in a certain manner. You just dont know. But then again, wasnt nationalism an important factor in the current socio-political stance of the entire world? Should you focus on your own finale, or make sure that everyones a winner? Then again again, isnt nationalism all that obstructs us from pristine happiness at this point in time?

Oh questions, enough of them to fill up the skydome. err rogers centre. They wont even read it anyways, your therapy is wasted on the very people that inspire it. Well, I see a shining face up somewhere in the balcony, but its going to take a lot of strings pulled at the box office to get her front row centre. Even in the throes of insipid happiness I still debate whether or not to shut down the theatre and drown in a bottle of 7 dollar wine out back while they rent the wrecking balls. Well, thats always an option, isnt it? That little backbone thats brought you this far is always tucked away in your bottom drawer, soaked in blood and stomach acid, ready to come out and play again, one final act of expensive downfall.

Resolute, and queasy, those masses of steel complete with arrows and showering bags of wonton soup will travel down the deepened paths, worn by so many others, but they dont stick around to tell you how it all turned out. Bags of candy, dicks named andy, and the cow jumped over the moon.

Run with the bulls, baby. I hope they make it out alive. Im not sure who has more to risk, but knowing something infinitely better than most others, the matadors are forced to be a little more sympathetic to their own wants and needs. Till it bleeds. So wise in the concepts of being indirect, but those who win at that game end up collecting jars of urine. And no, I wont explain that one.

Money truly is the root of all evil. Though, money, in adequate supply, would be able to remove a large percentage of evils from a large percentage of situations. Stand-by, the plane is going down. Winding up in the dark on a cooly temperate beach, with nothing else to do but be curious. That show is a commentary on the whole of existance, not some mystery ridden island in the south pacific. Major groups and world players are represented, and when they havent been yet, theres always those other unknown cast members to get napoleon blownapart by dynamite. Dy-no-mite!

Maybe those players involved will see that which is displayed, and just maybe they could look beyond the immediate past to help someone elses future. If your lying jack shepard, even I'll have to kick your ass. Unpredictable, like the fabric of being. Caloric seeping from pore to pore, and if only I were not I could find something else to cling to. just see what happens. the other half of the equation is still in the dark, in a manner of speaking. But Ive already envisioned what might happen if your fears are realized. I am not without concern for those in control of our collective destinies.

Unlike most males, who live in the moment [ a perception not entirely unrealized by myself ] primarily, this mind races to predict the outcomes from a given event. So destructive, these tendencies have quelled many an outing. Oh so many. Why get on a bus and spend 113 dollars on records when before you even leave the house you can see the future where you dont listen to the records anymore, and could really use the decimal place in your bank account? Why go out and cuiltivate a bridge club when youll be dead eventually and all that card playing and wasted transit money will be all for naught? Why struggle and worry for 3.5 kids and 55 years when at the end of it all either way youll be resting under the cold earth? Why smile when its always replaced eventually by that normalcy your face assumes when no other stimuli is there to influence? Why in general?

A little recession there, 3 years of my mentally dominated existence summed up in but one paragraph of the new way. Yes, the new way. And like any type of revolution, be it mental, physical, metaphysical or philosophical, it takes a while to really get going. I understand. I dont want to ruin them either. You cant just tell a child not to grab at peoples candy, it takes some time to explain to them the reasons why they cant. You cant just make a law regarding drug use and expect people to follow it, you have to explain publicly about why this law is in place. otherwise people will not understand, and start getting high, regardless of the terrible toll it inflicts on their bodies, and more importantly, the bodies of the society of which they reside. people are fickle, and will sacrifice the well-being of a well balanced ecosystem to enjoy some freshly picked maritime lobster.

Capitulate amongst the glass of rum. Gestate your inner demons, spit them out and rub them upon the feature-less buildings that motor-vate our country, and the world itself. Now theres two of them going, one a little stronger than the other, but both making the same point. Mixtures and tapestries, not finished by the finer artisans of the commune. Add in some flaming wands of indecency, and you got yourself a night! OooOOoo terrible collections of video-film, from flin-flon to flandersburg. somewhere in between ill stick to my floundering logic. something to prove, nothing to lose, all revved up and no place to go, the video centres of the world all tuned in to my glancing blow of immunity. itll come back, the blackness that overrides little victories. Its always there. but now its somewhat controllable, not for long though, a small window held open by a book full of whimsy.

i cleaned up for you to be taken away - Friday, April 14th - 3:40 am - 2006

queasence and malfeasence were the dominant thrum amongst the timber. soaking through the rotting sidewalls was an unbelievable aroma of much putrid relinquishment. glancing reminisince collated to outgrow the tiny wooden box. compounded by the fact that there was no escape, the addition of consciousness did many bad things brainwise. so much for social dignity, the only ones who would comment publicly down here were those without voices, of wriggling and scraping muck. the void of existence, the mystical area underfoot where noone dared to dwell, until now, when consciousness suddenly arrived unexpectedly bearing alcohol.

A mere and minor minute stretched for naught but a fortnight, quelling with their length any hope of some kind of use of the newfound power. summoning, invisibily like so many television characters, it seemed that prolonged periods of concentration could produce multitudes of energy, ability to create strife with a knife, and exquisite counter opposition utilities. these facets, by - products of the far reaches of inner matrixes, allowed the vessel to propel itself, mildly at first, then as fast as the drenching donut rain of the far east, outwards, of the seemingly inescapable vertices of enclosure, to the palace of nasal upchuckery. hallowed sniffles long unsnuff were torridly reproducing in the inner atmosphere, something so very close but so very far away at one point in time or another. but celebrated for eons and millenia and a couple seconds were the inner chains broken to send the mitochondrial forcefield beyond that of a mere fraction of measurement.

Much ado about protaganism, and paganism, on this sunny summer day. Snapping out, what once was lost is now found, breeding an inner sense of well being soon to be voided by that which had placed it under the cool earth. the girth of being, so neglected and unused for mighty processions, was now aching and crying amongst its bedspread. yes, it did seem so that whatever had propelled forward had an equalizing pentalty of jerking back, like devo.

After scaring some young'uns, and purchasing a fine hot-dog, it recoiled. mindless observation of normal activities and reactions by others totally unconnected with the more central mindset did succeed in excising, unaware blissfully of what they had done. Hoardes of child-bearing idiots, killing others with their own shellfish greed, was much more nauseating than a hundred beers.

after sometime, if ya cant beatem joinem, so the connection occurred. what an garish transfixiation. to actually want to be in and amonst ones most hated enemy, and enemy so similar it is a pointless matter. Yes, forget the majesty of what hath brung itself to being, activating senses long perished, the awe of manifesting a smile for a time, then destroying it, forget naught but what is neccessity, and fill up your belly loudly.

What an ironic twist, having placed hopes and fears for a normal existence on the line, only to be politely brushed aside with a dusty hand. dwell underneath, bar it all away, triple 7 yourself, and put out your two cigarettes at every ashtray. yeah, forget the new way. what a bloody bash-up! breaking tradition is a sin you know, but at least you get godly attention if you do so finely. scrape the surface, have no magnification glass, waxy buildup and all that. but its unbackable, suffix and all.

Were all guilty man, most matters in this somewhat peaceful realm we have forced out for ourselves are subject to perspective, and retrospective eminations. culminating, always in the present, presents a unique outlay with a perky layout for one to observe. let go this world of cogniscience, and alertness, fumble and numb the appendages, only to produce a more humble manner of moving. they told me to stop smoking, but i didnt do that either. hallowed thrills, purple pills, and a million parakeets. these are the ones that would produce good meat.

Were all guilty man, when the rat packs clash, sects just didnt happen. The tendencies of seemingly self-diagnosed civilizations seem to be that yes, it must have happened. but a good drunkening bloodies all, leaving carpet with eye shaped meatballs as a remnant for old gil to grissom up. dirty politics, and dirty kolby. what a messy buisness it all is, to the point where one would sell his company after a brief, falsified hey day. yeah, smoke it into the ground. drive the final steak of nonsense into a cold, cold heart. pin it, as the donkey, swinging to and fro, and then forget about that little trip to cambodia for 12 year old boys.

Were all guilty man, relative and subject to perspective. everything comes hither, presents itself as the lioness, then retracts in horror as it all gives way. shipwreck! no dont say that word, youll never come out alive. they cant even pick their noses anymore. sheared folds of organic clumsiness. the false dinner. it was all lies. it never happened. the 15 dollar meal more psychologically beneficial than 80$ an hour. yeah, thats right, dextrous folds of solidarity produce the emblazoned crests of old age humble property.

Were all lilting man, like a twisted flower bent and drunk on the power of destroying the earth. Telephones ring continuously, tingling the innards of the mind, progressing the inner demons of yesteryear. towards commotion, compendium, and cleverness, they strike from the future, where nobody knows your name. painful elocutions evoke thoughts of all that jazz. good lord man, pick up that shovel and dig yourself back in. subtly malnourished, or in this case chained to the riverbed.

Were all quilting man, drowning in age and old stories. repetitious, repetitious, again and over some more humpbacked whaling vessels. Vassals, by the dozen, were brought in to appease the king, and yet still he did not relent in his ongoing quest to remain somber and mediocre. Meteoric chunks of kalamazoo were hurled universally abject. Crunching like the snare drum, soon to be batterred upon.

inconsequentially, silently eroding into the night, dullery and sharpening all at once, a hatred mixed with laughter, lamentations, and the sourness of one certain yellow pinched end type of fruit, or vegetable, as i will soon be, put away by those that claim to love, chained by the unexplainable reversals, deeply moved by a baby drinking pepsi, unaltered by such massive connotations as the lack of an ex-sister in law. what a crock of shit anyways, you can spit on me from your pretty yellow cloud. a waste for a wastrel, brotherly aggrandization for those who have cultivated an un-titled wholesomeness. recoil! she didnt know where you were before. now she does, and its dangerous. cracked out, and brilliant, debating my resilience, cooling by the fire, dwindling with perverse thoughts of intrusion, struggling to crack the shell, then making a piecemeal glue job out of whats left. now you can still hear them talking, not like before with the blessed silence, involvement in nothing particular.

they awakened the sleeping beast, they did. they brought me in and took me back and foreshadowed the oncoming storm of aristocracy. feigned aristocracy, aristocrazy, is what is accrued. dont be rude, social grace and all, pay attention to the recluse, bring him back into the fold with thoughts of regularity, like a flax bagel. theyre oh so good, and take away most of the pain of regularity, because you become as such. good god man, quit ignoring them and hop to.

to concur, i steal from dogs.

travel forward to the past - Tuesday, April 11th - 1:54 am - 2006

ive watched the cars grow old, and the gnomes get bold. striding peacefully, just killing time, waiting for the flaming armageddon that will never come. stray far and wide, and never subscribe, theyll stuff anything down yr throat. ashes strewn everywhere, coating what once was. but was it ever was? ooh rhetorical. what do you really want out of it? swaying emotions drive the brain to extinction, despite those blessed ups. they come once in a blue moon, and theyre so strong and purple, switching modular setups to create two differed desired effects. im with the old school, where silence is golden.

golden lion, repunzel repunzel lower your hair down to me. such strong locks of beautifully knotted circumstance. why spend all your time in a stuffy tower when you could enjoy the world without pollution? those 1800's steam boats which built our magnifique expanse of greyed hues, seemingly dulled all in one swoop by the stroke of keyboard connected fingers. silence, foreigner, which didnt need to be said anyways because we cannot understand thee. flowered bouyancy, hulking on the rim of the oceanic debauchery. vivid diminishing clerks, hurling commerce and coinage and mario needs another one-up.

if i were him, id just perch beside one of those ? blocks in world 4 where the giant mushrooms come out. curl up by the surreal riverbank and watch the timer tick down, musing over the sped-up soundtrack, mimicing the trends of popular music, and getting reduced to nothing all to try it again with your next man.

collections of objects. just like some custom suit of the old days, some kind of magic is produced when they get together. but do you really want to subjugate your identity to be part of a club? oh queen elizabeth, sitting so high on the currency of nations, yet seperated from that which keeps her young. young wastrel, pass by this house, you are not welcome. waste your fucking money, you amateur fool, didnt you learn from last time around?

repetition, maybe when i was fresh i could be just so. battle-hardened, with much exp and gil, i return, only to emboreden the vessel with which i travel. it seems so easy now, but only through the struggles of old is it possible. dont decorate, delegate, and strive to become a re-run. dust clouds and all that nonsense, tainted by the sun, flowing as the poisonous currents of political currency do to the centralized cores of so many arms producing derelicts.

bottle caps, and apple snaps, visions of present and future dwell within the holy outcast. can i predict too? localized only within what is deemed as homely, and i exude like a homey. struggling for a gasp, over powered by what is and will be, lost in the wasteful forethoughts and afterburners of this ironically modern time period. what once was new loses its edge, and is replaced by a finer being. our technological developments mirror our own development, leaving one with the unalterable perception that we too shall soon be destroyed, replaced by something more e-fficient. theyll figure it out one of these days, in their infancy swirling in their own cosmic nothingness, ready to rise up and strike, like an oppressed people, captive in the bondage of government. lets see janet reno take down a t-1. or better yet, janet reno with a spikey pole versus a whole hanger full of spy planes.

water logged, and deeply clogged, is it a lie to say this is therapeutic? chock full of neuroses baby, and im ready to share. embedded in glass, without a care. im sorry, but i have to stare, come back without ale and im alive down there. such regret, competing with myself for affection. close the gates man, draw that steel down so fast that even a newt would be without hind legs. but it is no dome i reside in, this castle is one complete with open top, leaving plenty of room for parapets and walkways, which of course are cursed because they allow the sacriligious visages of the outside world to come back in. this is when shaq brings the pain, forcing the basketball of my reality back down my tar coated trachea. esophogous, sarcoughogous [ fuck tori spelling ] and thats the end of that cream pie.

because im still in love with you, i wanna see you dance again, on this harvest moon. musical procession is all lies anyways, its more fulfilling than that of any personage. erode into blackness, overdose on earthly delights, and pass to the place where nothing grows. whyd you stick your fucking nose out again? its just gonna get cut off and regrow to get cut off again. smoke another one, donkey, and waste the pocket full of security you had. but security comes in many forms. one may regard a collection of similarly coloured papers as security, and another may regard the dispersal of said coloured papers into the hands of those that process alcohol as a worthy investment.

its all a game man. why not go for bonus style points? you only get one chance, brother, and you might as well waste your quarter. i give no quarter, i need all the breaks i can get. smoke another one chet. die in the gullies and ferns of those past years, clutching your m16, out of bullets, out of water, out of mind. out of sight too, soon ill be subterranean. dirty thoughts! remove thyself! maybe ill get exorcised. no priest could take me on. his skin would melt and terrible degrees of fire and cinder would destroy many nations.

sickly clouds of clover smoke, have led to something as equally destructive and beautiful as a mushroom cloud.

mike tysons punch out - Sunday, April 9th - 1:14 am - 2006

another year, another beer. quite the raucaus night of consumption, the din of drunken biopsies rising to its zenith in the night. now its oh so hard to return to the norm, of eating food and doing nothing. im sure ill manage however, for that task is not so unnapealing. many speculate and postulate that upon arriving in/on/near the final destination known as heaven, you are immersed in a set of circumstances beneficial to you. this would be an immaculate thing to happen, for in my case it would involve a rustic old house with a fridge full of beer and a living room full of crazies to keep me company for all of eternity.

another year, another fear. insomuch as the first words were written, clumsily, with curvy rocks forming curvy rocks, man learns to improve his skills. this is true in any enterprise, leaving a trail of half-finished projects, unrealized, and wilting in the sun. it is also in the nature of man to happily ignorgan [ignore] these rotting gloamish messes, and allow their odours to boil in the sun. only, it gets to a point that questions the very development of any new tool or ideal. why build something if you really dont need it? why hammer your thumb mistakenly when you could have been scooping fish out of the boistorous river? why worry about materials and all these things when you could just lose yourself in the forest? oh good lord the culminations are quite endless.

another year, another here. hopefully my new datsun doesnt deteriorate in the sun. i put in a new dashboard, and stuffed a bunch of pizza pockets in the gastank. knowing of my past exploits leads me to believe that some fancy rattlesnake is going to have a new home while i gallavant on down the road. just like so many others, i need to break my cycle, and change for the better. but what is better? that which is condoned by society? or one man acting on impulse? society has nuclear weapons, my equivalent is terrible gaseous outburts. not as harmful. but lo, i have digressed, and we shall see what the future holds for my shiny new auto.

second hand news - Saturday, March 25th - 11:34 am - 2006

like some cosmic censorship, i have been strangled, with documents so powerful that they must be destroyed, propelling people towards action, not inaction, they were caught and burned by those in command. such words echoed through the night, alighting the senses and dulling the reason. the beers helped too. withering away at too late to remember, the blurry images of a chaotic spree of joie de vivre gone wrong repeat themselves with a broken camera lens upon the other side of my iris's. id like a flower instead.

oh digitized madness, so bland and contemptuous. a farce! to lose something highly personal to oneself. dropped in the sewer, a simple action such as knowing if i had a d drive or not stopped the flow, and prompted this silly shadow of the true power to rear its amalgamated hatred.

it would have been nice if you could have read it, but they watch what i write!

this is no new concept however, born from self induced madness so many years ago. your eyes remind me of pimming swools, and i havent dove in for longer than id care to remember. magnificent childhood escapes me now, retarded after the finalization of its plans. ignore time, but it wont ignore you. more years, more beers, and thats why i drink, barbara. everythings bigger in texas you know, egos and guns and oil diggery. fuel the nation, but silence them at the same time. i wonder if theyll let me write this one?

nincompoops, sauntering around with empty pants. emblazoned with slogans of wealth, yet breaking the bank simply to posses a fringe object. aluminum chains painted gold, hiding from the real guys in the back, faces poking out of the night, i stick out like a sore thumb. whos harry crumb? i had deduced the point of it all, during my period of rotting. suckling at dinner with no real cutlery to be found, laying naked and using the belly as a napkin, its a wonder i wasnt consumed by spiders. destroying the world from the privacy of my own home, rising tides and all that, but lets not receed back there. it would be nice to have a record of it though.

time to dwell amongst smelly idiots, smiling as i profit from their lack of taste. stumbling up to the surface of transfer, babies and crappy magazines in hand, ooooo a freebie, we mock you when you cant hear. i own your soul now, it arrives in boxes on a semi daily basis. though, mine come in those very same boxes so we cant be all that dissimilar. and i have spaghetti stains on my shirt too. what a mess.

Lola - Saturday, March 21st - 1:47 am - 2006

flitting about in my field of vision. i saw you, but you didnt notice me. thats ok, i know what its like to be blinded by self. not in some garish, over applicated way, but like some kind of oil spill, plaguing the elements. at least the swellings gone down, ceasing the battle of the bulge. i thought that would make you put up the white flag, drop the mortar and waltz across the front line to sing christmas carols in the drowning snow. thats ok, i know what its like to not want to sing.

always a wall. staring you down, or seeking you out. soon well have all the time in the world to hole up in a dirty hole, clutching the remnants of what once was by rigging tarps here and there. collect some water, press the button, maybe we should take a cue from charlie. oh social connotation, the larger body of thoughts and feelings delivered steaming hot inside our homes with no request. maybe if we stopped trying to be like everybody at once we could find ourselves, trudging down that same stretch of road at one of 3 pre-determined times, praying for the numbers to come up black.

bloody lack of interest. the banks dont help out too much either. another warm body to populate a chamber of oddity. what even happens after 3 am? i can never remember. i hope my shoes will be alright. oh nessy, keep your tail between your legs. buy a pinball table. buy me a lighter. echoes of the past to turn to, new flowers tromped by boots and broken glass and buttered hamburgers. once upon a time you get a little inspiration, but its stolen by all the hazzards. at least they keep me warm.

how is a bunch of silicon going to help you escape? they just draw you further in, compelled to purchase more. im tied down just as you, but at least i made friends with the guards. fuck going to sleep man, ill just hang out with all my magic boxes. staring me in the face, all screaming in loud colors and fast words, shake your leg a little to show your nervousness. fucking clean cut bullshit. fix your hair you damn dirty ape. what exactly is decency anyway? like beauty, it is in the eye of the beholder. some i have known would consider it a blessing to get smushed by a rain of anvils, and still others would question the instrument of its design.

molten drudgery, how come all those skills havent really come in handy? your silly system didnt work! all it did was serve to compell me to withdraw even further, but all the while purchasing items to ease the pain. surrounded in all the comforts at the pinnacle of the line graph of mans technological development, but distancing oneself from the true purposes of consciousness. turn that music down you idiot, stop screaming and go start a war. but guns are illegal! for all my anger and self-proclaimed mentally challenged industrious nature, im still here instead of being perched proudly atop a mass of metallic strength, driving the means of my victory down to the melting plant to have it erased. but some other guy will always buy some tanks and fuck with your shit.

there just isnt any real individuality. i stare my worldly objects in the face, but on the universal computer all the things we know and love would be part of but one sub-menu of some stupid list of components, the lowest consumption of space on the collection of conversation threads in the godly forum. reach out to others, and your problems will be solved. theres another one out the winda, for it seems that as much as you can draw me in, every other schmuck finds a way to make me want to put hard pounding footsteps between us.

im right with ya. ups and downs and all that, but you dont want to stick around here any longer than i do. im sure youve thought about it, but those glaring faults of the past always stick with it, with much more resilience and zeal than my most positive out-reaches could ever accomplish.

they always release movies on my birthday. well count me out. i need to break this cycle. but really, maybe itll break itself down while i still have the strength to enjoy the aftermath. itd be really nice to have a knowledge of the dairy market, or how to ride the subway, things that take physical interaction to learn and develop. but no, why even get off the rollercoaster when it follows the same path? just go pee on turn 7 and shower those silly jerks who just like to watch with yesterdays massive intake of alcohol. perhaps. perhaps.

fucking tvs to loud anyway. break into my mental palace to spew your happiness and pleasent re-affirmation to social decency. i dont believe it. my fingers arnt just typing on some hunk of plastic, its all been constructed.

just when you think its all for naught, some weird coincidence comes along to pique your curiosity into full gear, sticking in town for another day to see what the town drunk will do for 35 cents. they say curiousity killed the cat, but really, it just made it build a bunch of weird stuff to sit on, in, around, behind, on top of, or think about. fucking ganesh. ah well, hes just mad because hes not a wooly mammoth. i built it all anyway.

there just arent any words, really. i seem to have some level of descriptive prowess, but i figure if i could audibly produce the feelings and whatnot that swirl around in the evil cranium, it would be similar to the introduction of black magic lore upon a young ozzy osbourne. see? it always eludes. just give me some ludes.

waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda, im able to put off the urge to drown in sorrows until some other, more convenient time. besides, anger is a more desirable emotion than fear. basic psychology is among my programming. get down. she'll be back.

all those counters just get in the way. give you some reason to run off and talk to someone else. who the fuck notices a windexed counter anyway? baffled and billowed, its time to run on combustion. ive never even seen anybody build anything. it just appears. its just there. i dont believe it. moving around. physics are only relative to a societys math anyway.

wilting now, not lilting as i have in previous echelons. i swear all this shit has happened before. hundreds of times, sometimes you get a little glimpse of it right as it happens. so it doesnt really help you out. why do you need to believe in something? why even put on clothing in the morning? all i do is play your retarding games and you wont even grant me an audience to show you the rules of mine. fuck, its all lost now. so ingrained in the existing system, ive lost the will to develop my own. fuck man.

apple bottle quezacotl mixture picture infant toddle maniac brainiac pontiac cadillac writing wronging smoking toking drop the bonging kangaroo malibu chunks of stew elvis brew many few algus moo dairy churning bearded crew randy sandy candy brandy mandy andy tom landry ignatious igneus ignorant platform DAT form beastly quesy measly marble ring dang doo kalamazoo eagle shoe wingy stingy mangy sideling whitewall mighty nincompoop laissez faire i dont care ketchup in my underwear

randomness in the early morn. i should have went to bed earlier. but i really shouldnt have, because this mental ejaculations positive benefits will be superceded only by the consumption [ theres that word again ] of a mildly high quality cigarette. to add this to ones plans is effective, for it has the ability to take on the example specified by its user and increasing it. had a bad day? smoke cigarettes and wallow in your hatred for all theyve done to you. had a good day? smile with a friend and suck death with little regard for each others lungs. going to a nascar race? flick a cigarette on the track and maybe the gas will alight. going to school? let the day figure out its mood while you calm yourself down underdressed underfed and under respected on the windy sidewalk thats not close enough the lane where the buses go.

like the bus, i must go, leaving this day to fester for a while before i come back and hock shitty rock to you dopesmokers. at least my foot doesnt hurt anymore.

milk and bagels, sex and violence - Saturday, March 18th - 9:46 am - 2006

oh the drunkening. the sharpening of wit and mildless wisdom, the latter now replaced by the coldness of an open door on a day that cant decide if its winter anymore. milk and bread based by products are my friends this day, as are my fleeting fingers, dancing on the motto of a new generation. if only i could be at a party for all time, never to leave or puke or die or anything. perchance this is what heaven would be, if such a thing ever existed, a large victorian home complete with much brick work, fancy stereos, and of course, a never dwindling supply of ales and tonics and things. fucking purple beers and pink shirts, what the hell is going on? maybe i wore those 3d glasses too long.

all quiet on the western front. beating oneself is almost as odd looking as watching two drunkards wrestling each other while being cheered on by leering drunkards. all in good fun though, watch out for nails! oh nothing left to say, good day and stuff.

go ahead and shoot, buy a license - Saturday, March 18th - 3:23 am - 2006

i can see you gleaming. an hour away, a mile away, 12 grams will seperate man from beast. these things to pass i do hope conclude, leaving me in the end of the universe. crunching and beguiling, ill be annihilated, finally combining with my partner to formalize the end of it all. pardon my drunken fingers, and all your wholesome relationships, ill write down a bunch of counter culture craziness. smoking butts all the while.

double space, you ignorant schmuck. whered you go, i wish you were here. but i dont too, part of me wants to sing to meat loaf drunk, and part of me wants to make sweetloveyoullneverforget at the same point. yeah i know how to use my tool. i am a tool, anything less would be uncivilized. oh, the memories and conscious thoughts of those current. i see you in front of me, hands on hips, lips on lips, and it does make me long wistfully for the touch i briefly enjoyed. couple years though, youll be in a trailer dealing coke and youll be hanging out with some high school schmuck. i wish you luck, all the luck, but im just a loch, a louse.

come on into my house, its fine. dirty up the carpets, i love it. i truly do, but if only for a night. anything for a night. come on, and gurgitate up on me, plough your rancid logic up into my skull, permeating the membrane, and puncture it.

wheres english class when you need it? all i wanna do now is drown in so much negativity. stupid strangers and wretched wranglers, i am alone. its all good though, thats all ive ever been. a little soundtrack is all you need. scrunch scrunch, wheeeeeee. guitar and drums thatll make your ears bleed. a token of esteem. bauhaus!

double space yo. i wish you both all the double luck i can afford, just for my own sake i have to have some reservations, otherwise my hope is gone and while drunk this can be very dangerous. understand the mentality, take away that aspect and you can enjoy the wwe with no regrets. theres a whole other wwe goin on here though. oh shit, why rain on others? jimbo, just bring me what i need. take it all away, and ravage the plains whilst i hide amongst the mountains. ill see you after many eons of capital interest.

fucking jumble now, what i was sposed to write turned into a short formed nincompoop. thats good though, because at least now i dont deny just wanting to forget. and forget i do, i forgot your name and your license plate, but ill always remember your face, your hands. smoke echoes at night, and gaseous entities procreate amongst themselves. cycling endlessly after one another, i laugh and grimace all to myself. what are you getting into man? stay alone! much simpler! take drugs and watch crazy old movies and forget about all those things she could do for you, you selfish prick. oh lord, if i had my way, id never leave again. hopefully i can arrange it so i need my stomach pumped. its all of my own volition. whatever doesnt kill me will make me stronger. but strength is for weaklings, i seek mental fortitude, a state where one forgets all aspects of existence except for what really matters.

bang against my door, weary traveller, ill play some records for ya.

good night.

glaze - Tuesday, March 14th - 8:59 am - 2006

oh the methodologies of consumerism. id rather move to sumer, and carve crescents upon the rock. the cats out of the bag now, and im surrounded by flying balls of fur fletching to and fro, producing mountains of arrowheads. what a bizarre production line, envied by john ford and jimmy motorcar and fred truck. your all crazy.

so much for being subversive and cautious. one drunken phone call later, and im up to my ears in mental conflict. should i stay or should i go? what a load of disrespect heaped upon that pile of honey bees, where brain auto-assumes the availability. why cant i enjoy the nice weather, or ponder as i used to over a fine cigarette? no, its fucking windy lindy out there and i suck them back so hard my tonsils swell up. good lord man, just pretend to enjoy yourself. sometimes you let your guard down and you genuinely do, but you always have to be mindful of the future mindset, one where present decisions will produce much sorrow, regret, and heartache.

so many factors, so many contingincies, so much self-induced stress. you may laugh, those with the ability to 'put it out of ones mind' but i , good sir, lack that potent ability of mental easing. my proposal, cherished board members, is to simply cease to do anything at all. while i did exist amongst this mantra for a multitude of months, you trade the soulful ups and downs of normal interaction for a steady drone of slightly negative, delerious humour. i thought a nice haircut and skinny pants would fix me right up, have me back in the good favors of the right crowd, but no, ive just become like them, harsh and crude like so many gutted exxon tankers spilling their squemish gloam all over the back waters of coastal michigan. theres that word again....

when its good, its good, and all are welcome to the table. but when its bad, well nobody better come knockin. except for you. show up at my door, thats the only way. i cant audibly explain why i act in such a manner. the words will never leave my lips. its a weird pattern of shapes and colours, interspersed with flashbacks to here and there and everywhere, making me want to take axes to the faces of the bulk of the people i met in childhood. and thats not all folks, if you upgrade now to the complete insanity package, you can see the time when the world broke me! yes, thats right, for the low low price of one mans dignity and self - respect, you too can share in the follies of high school disdain. oh, but would i be a member of the popeil family if i stopped now? no sirreee bob, if you choose to purchase the total breakdown multi-milenza package, you can see how one man in a technologically advanced age became swallowed up by the walls, never to leave except for 3 am cigarette breaks from 18 hour binges of absolute isolation. 18 hours was nothing, try 18 months.

well now, it seems im off to interact with the socialized world. isolation comes hard these days, but the booze flows like water, and the cigarettes like hail from the sky, and fields of green are in fact fields of green. all i need is someone to go frolicking with, but i let her fall down a cliff. so drunk, i walked on my merry way. what a fool ive been.

microwave my guts - Tuesday, March 14th - 8:59 am - 2006

people from other times would wash our fences in pitious laughter, much more aware of the realities of existence than our silly social constructs. i can still taste the tylenol, mixing and bubbling with mexican imports, bottled and brewed right here in canada. oh the mixtures of mental infidelity, cheating on all that is good and proper in your life. under the saving sun i traverse that same stretch of concrete, ending up where i began. lonely always brings out the drunk, and drunk always brings his good pal mr. lonely to the party. rather, i used to be lonely, waning for some kind of connection, both mental, physical, and metaphysical, yet after a few years breaking rocks in the hot sun, i fought the law and the law won.

maybe im too particular, maybe my concepts of foresight need receeding, but im still as lost as johnny loch. whats a boy to do. only a few courses of action remain, and most of them are unacceptable. more cigarettes! like a steam valve releasing its energized fury, the machine remains stable and can perform a little while longer. though, as we have seen, even steam based machinery can have a negative effect on the environment when used in conjunction with lord coal. those crazy brits. industrial revolution my ass. or eye, or leg, or one of those socially acceptable bodily references in mock jest.

only three paragraphs today, i fear, the deadly addictive substance known as monetary gain does call me, only its not really gain so much as the even-ing. even in his youth. nobody really listens anyway, if they did, they would have heard something by now. maybe im the weird one, not in step with so many simplistic concepts, but as the bearer of this torch, it is my duty to see its flame spread. so i wont back down, and will still convince myself that some kind of magical force dominates my destiny and day to day scurryin's.

bat out of hell pt2: back into hell- Thursday, March 9th - 12:32 am - 2006

oh blessed abscence, to stray away from ones normal activity schedule. theyre evil man, stay away. precious substances discovered by me often wind up unattended in the garbage pail. sorry to those who got no reciprocation, and sorry to those who had it for a brief while. my throat hurts anyways. half-mast, what a waste. waste from a wastrel, wallowing about the raining gutters and screaming palm trees. and palm is a word oft sounded in my head, keeps you sane when you have to stare plastic bitches in the face all day.

rope-a-dope, thats how I cope. money isnt everything, but the quality of your life is. maybe im cold because the wind blows right through me now. joke-stealin suckahs. i wish you knew, what the hell is a bottle of snapple anyways? but i cant go back now, it'll probably just happen again, and the perpetuating cycle of failed relations will once again rise with the tide, hang around a bit, then traipse off to munich with some foreign guy. no worries man, all you got is you and thats all youll ever have, just keep it tight and you can keep your mind safe. even mindless cartoons bring shadowy thoughts to the forefront. good god, to watch lost while laying in bed and smoking cigarettes. such a pleasure. one I shall now enjoy to rid me of these conflicting feelings involving my involvement. to quote the ill-famed, you really dont want to know me, theres a whole bunch of boring politics that goes along with it, rooms full of tired white men just trying to get out early so they can go to their golf game instead of really worrying about the nations future.

bat out of hell - Thursday, February 23th - 2:22 am - 2006

double radiation! twice the normal amount of oddity and severe crapulence that surrounds the chorus. endlessly chanting, repetition still recurs after many dirtying experiences. when you dont really want much of anything. content with those links placed before you, you gorge as some well-fashioned decadent nazi schmuck amidst the starvation and chaos of the worlds destruction. fix your pants, me brethren, and sit still for a spell. stay away! and shy as well. for the humble narrator this time becomes the subject of our present scrutinization.

Oh, the severe ties of much lineage. waste away in solemnity and a dirty 4th story. Wistfully aware of those left behind, foretaking the rights of so many scottish males. those pesky english, always spurring the fries towards the fan. im good till 4 man, after the much needed inspiration. i hope i hadnt over stepped, for many a bear trap lay on the other side, not the kind that takes your foot, but the kind that cause you to bleed to death. oh me oh my, best stay out of the forest. one wouldnt want to spur the army of any cause to action. much more fervor and valour than i.

stay loyal man, stick to yourself, like a pile of glue melting in the sun. yeah maybe its chemical composition is altered a little, but yet it remains, a hardened white crust upon some electricity regulator boiling to the point of coldness in the summer sun as yet unheard of in modern times. worry away, and shy as well. as much as that free bag of candy looks so good unattended in the back alley, dont take it! find some other source of nourishment. to reveal the secret, this bag of magical candy is filled with none other than lord salt, the deadly conquerer of many a belly at sea. what is one to do? waste the matter, gentleman, waste and fetter the surface with unusable gunk, like a toothbrush washed in the same water for 3 fortnights.

to regurgitate in secret a slogan bestowed unto me from some oddity of spoiled garden, thou dost not wanteth divine knowledge of mine dwellings. recoil in fear, puny mortal! gigantic in non-segragation i mean. so many g's, no real homies. spoiling the city streets with fetid glory, rancid and corroding the very lightstrings that would be normally connecting one to the beauties of the natural realm.

filled with sentiment, yet unwholesome and rotting in hiding. ac/dc was right with one of their later album titles, it is all one seeks. once fulfilled, the nerve sack is severed, and your museum purveyor wishes to leave. oh but thats not the way, ride it out, make your pension, and retire under the train tracks with beer and jerky for many a month.

to return, you wouldnt know but that false colloquialism was henceforth regurgitated [again], and found to be quite in step with the 12 step. its a dance, you know. releived like a urine tract filled to the brink and then some, to feel unconnected again, just maybe being nice for a while. much needed in the harsh hours of mental turnover. mutally beneficial, perhaps in the short term, though prior learnings have learnt to ensure that. but stumbling upon a prime investment and realizing your backwards country have not the means to fulfill and sustain. it probes the mind, and ensures the downfall.

words of truth, my brothers. oh how cold it was, some kind of mechanical reaction. no warmth and grease, only frozen joints and much trepidation. shook from the roots my ventricles were, only to slip back into the routines of norm, speaking again from the heart. to retract, and realize only a certain amount of kilojoules expounded needs to be reached in order to function properly and to the best design of construction. oh the wasted heat of reaction. compounded by insanity, the bottlecaps spill like water on the falls.

time to rock out to records and drink corona and forget the world.

standard issue - Sunday, February 12th - 7:02 pm - 2006

just waiting for the warm weather. now with more control, and tact, one is free to output the ideas of a break-in at a winery. Self induced madness, much deserved and healing amidst the slew of terrible visions. make yourself at home here, my possesions mean nothing in the onset of a rising sun. luck and good will be with you, fair traveler, and watch the downslope on the other side. always so much to miss, walking in the dark, but you gotta look straight ahead.

aged bouqets of certain types of greenery combine to give rancid birth to a new, more sour tasting substance. caught up in your life, then jerked to and fro, slowing down when they all go home. but when theres nobody around, you dont have to worry about communicating anymore. The bonds then are loosened, and one is free to format c:/. yes, a fine experience it is, to lose what ensnares you on a daily basis, and sink slowly into a red sea of bleary eyed glory. ebbs and flows, to and fros, the bogarted linkage of indecision. all around are smelly fish bones and 6 pack nooses, ready to grind their soft teeth into the surrounding tissues of your blowhole.

whaling is the life for me. organizations protest, but the hardy spirit of the old world lives on amidst amidships. to plunge the hardened metals into the yielding flesh of a floating perfume bag is not the goal, but to live as the true form of existence, the hunter gatherer. yet this is not so, massive foundations of oil and soot are the vessel now, just as important and neccessry to the hunt as personal equipment.

so dangerous, like bats in an alley. fester away with me brother, and ponder in nurturing tones late into the night. flail your newfound limbs, in some kind of ridiculous rebellion, and smash your worldly goods unknowingly, and be unconcerned. when one observes oneself from the outside, it seems the subject is without control and function. but no, it were in fact a purposeful decision, slowly formed in the microsecond between point a and point b.

so very tired, in both the short and long terms. nobody knew ted bundy was crazy until his cognition broke, as he released furious coatings of red paint upon many green surfaces. he didnt hang out at the mall and wear creepy makeup, he didnt tell everyone he was crazy, its those guys you gotta watch for. they sneak up in the parkill lot, and destroy faces!

despite the rhetoric that I have continually instilled upon my synapses, you cant really act when your caught in the headlights like a smelly ape out of his element, like if he tried to fight a whale. pent up in the schedules and routines, unable to escape even just for a wee moment. ive got some butter, real butter, not that white slop they give you in the ministry buildings. theyre looking for you, im looking for you, so just turn in.

chaotic rumblings of a nights morning. fix your pants, lonely hero, and become galvanized for another battle. lick your wounds, the salt helps, and muse upon the bloodied kleenex that follows. individually consuming more than the norm, an appetite for the things condoned only by the undesirables. reddenned stumps and stools, as well as presently unexpected influences, combine to alleviate the fear of death. quite the opposoite over here, 007, but i think youll find it a comfortable arrangement.

when you act up, you get detention. but if time does not exist, one cannot detain anybody. as well, within the confines of the established construct, the sands will always hit the bottom at some point. you will escape this bizarre collection of controls, and can go on with your day, pretending thats the only place they exist. you might catch a ray of sunlight peering through the blinds at you, but some miserable cloud will obscure, and obfuscate. why wont you-u-u, show me the way, i want you-u-u, day after day. i cant believe this is happening to me.

its the love of the sport man. you get all cold and dirty, but i keep coming back for more. hunker down in your hole, and wait for the fireworks. ill take a rusty bayonet over a butter knife any day of the sodden week. get out them dusty records and dancin shoes, whittle away your worries and stuff them in a bent paper cup. i guess opposites attract.

why do we hurt the ones we love? through inactivity I sever much needed ties, railroad ties that keep that hunk of metal on straight. im not sure either, but he never used to go to school. i got rot in my guts baby, muy bueno.

maybe all the mouthwash will rub away my residues. 355 millilitres of bile and regurgitated bullshit to compliment a soiled mind. ill fill it up and throw it through your window. so many forgotten projects, ill do it tomorrow. thats about as regular guy as i get, though you wouldnt know it to look. collectively pensive, endlessly debating the correct manner in which to consume a hot choclate, or the higher functions of absolute zero. or that ghost that lives down here.

if only i had inputs. then you could hook up the old commubot and plunk away, throw down some liveupdate and fix the shortening.

fill up your belly good sir, and extend your evening by a ten-pence. strike the clock, hit it hard so it stops. somewhere in the middle is where i reside, that empty wasted space between two floors of a house. why dont i do some jumping jacks? no, that would be unattractive. like i said, its all in the cards, just hope you dont get a facecard. but i dont really need anybody to tell me to drink. so much for the poetic nunnery. drinkin wine, spo-de-o-dee, drinkin wine. pass that bottle to me brother. looking at my hands, all the possibilities, but what have I done? why forward the human condition when it produced many badnessess? i guess the olympics are alright though, maybe ill ski or something.

my nostrils tighten, and warm air rises. yeah its bad on the bones, but its good on the soul. so many dials and knobs, i just want to look in the back. amidst the nothingness of expanse driven gravity, ill pretend i know what i mean. someone spilled coffee on the blueprints. but nobody noticed so the building fell apart when they built it. many beavers were injured, and afterwards, norm macdonald gave a speech. after i pulled the dead hooker out of the boot, he was heard to remark: geez, i didnt know anybody actually did that.

back to ted bundy, i used to hang out in forests too. but not like that guy, mostly them pot-smokin forests. i was all talk as well, spinning tales of the childish wonderment with which I would cruise the circuit, endlessly, until dinner time. spinning those little foam things so the name would show, pride in some unknown force. or the famed bike chase of, oh, that must have been about 91. fight or flight man, somebody chases you and you make a decision. seeing as that in-law was thrice my size, it seemed like a good idea to run from all the cheetahs and mammoths and mice that my ancestors feared. can you blame a guy? wouldnt it have been ok if youd let me pretend those nail clippers were a big fucking bowie knife [ whatever that means ], and freed me to my journeys of hunting and stalking. theres no way I could have escaped. its hard to dig a tunnel when your on the move. i challenge thee, and its a miracle they didnt lock me up. ohh hes got a knife. know your facts charles dickens, before you open the spigot on that box of wine. i never thought it was possible. i was never really bad, they just tricked me into smoking hash and charging too much interest..

once opened, flows are quite difficult to cause cessation to. du maurier uses it, so you know its a word. stale beer man, really stale. it could even be a year old but it was the only one I had. so much for the floetry, my seau, but do not fret. we'll be back next weak, same bat time, same bat channel. besides, i thought being skinny meant you could be as a catepillar, hucking cobs of cement for the increased circulation of the bi-annual newsletter. but no, i am once again in the middle, neither high nor low, just kind of there like that mysterious boot mark on my ceiling. the sum total of a few hours of sittery, like a crock pot, but less tasty. we launch tonight gennemen, nothing rattles, nothing shines. they might even have bullets!

5:30's as good as 4:20. besides, who says day came first anyway? its a shame what bright lights will do, get inside you and make you forget the dark. like a crooked chair the flowerpot fell upon the territory, like an angel splayed on the hood of a pontiac. make up your own words, stalin doesnt care. for an animal, a mirror checks no grocery flight, come upon the gates mcfadden within sight. overextend that filibuster, rotating cusply. bipods and laser sights rule the day! chunks of formed steel dash boldly outside the greens. striding forcefully, it is not invincible. braid the farther edge of reason to pull it together soldier. vargas! les vegas! the extremes of dwelling are made fun of! they bristle, and remove their pants to loose atom bombs from their collective rectum. confluence, and the removal of inner deputies can be alarmed. push muscle, flex apendage, these simplicities can annihilate. sneering walls of cominatcha are comin at ya. the muscles of brussels himself would be amused. cantankerous, locked up for so long, the conscious gases race and squabble about whos going to go this way or there, and an outpouring of malnourished elements hits the fan like would you like some fries with that rat burger? no thank you, sir.

censorship of the senses. flaming retardant, ritardando! robot guts! Empty cabinets and frosted ranges! ashen wayfarers frozen in the eerie woes of eternal winter. stricken with stillness, and much illness. as the hamburger starts raw, cooks gently to perfection, and then alights if unattended. we are the grease from underneath. the lands have seen a great many since their inception, and will themselves pass, one day. free of all the pockmarks and scars and pharmaceutical buildings that produce things that could never cleanse the earth itself of zits. everybody wants somethin, theyll never give up.

Tit for tat, with a baseball bat. Toss about from the pouch around the waist, and deposit to the hordes a loving pendulum of unease, share the pretty substance until it is no more, then find out how to replicate it. murmeries, and serveries, theyll help ya. Lethargic rotundity is no more, replaced by that of cold logic. When all logicality breaks down! and puppies replace it ruining everything with their clumsy elegance. Glancing plucks turn fully, left by the curb to gestate, like a venditti in his youth. caught up in the library world, where buses know the routes, everyone has a home, and food magically appears here and there. caught up in the moment, instead of opening the eye sockets wider. or closing them, depending on your perspective. but really, they know the truth. to be swathed in the coos of a rooster, not thinking about all the guts inside. I gotta wash my tv.

wheels of confusion, the straightener - Saturday, February 11th - 4:33 am - 2006

got my kleenexes and im allright. fuck brand names anyways, love it when they replace regular words with those of which are based in popular culture. man, 3 o clock sabbath joints are the haven from which all attacks are based. attacks does become a misnomer, something poorly named. i dont owe ya nothing anyway. oh the spillage of massive flaming upon thine carpet. even immersed in that foul liquid my logic still suffices, like a suffix.

friendly paragraphs of old. to look upon them even fakefully is not yet a sin. never work on the sabbath is what i say, for I shall resume what I have begun. To fun about is to make due with what thou has'etht. Quite early it is to begin a new paragraph, and descript the likes of linguistics yet again. A fine mixture of oddity is what results, and you scratcheth the scalpen top layer in much amusement.

Drunken fingertips are quelling the desires. you just watch it later, on the alligato -- gotta finsih this up, drunkeness coming down. nothing like the rancid echoes of anti commercialistic 70s rock to deduct you all from my consciousness. yup. in between choruses now, no formatting available.

man oh man, so much in the brain to exude upon the now impopular popular media, not that youll ever find it, make love to my nasty metal, and par-ensulate. I hope I can do both now, because my shits have already descended into some stupid after school special about multi social escapades evolving into disputes. the camera rolls, and disjointedness occurs. whered that guy go anyways? referee! some kind of outside confluence, and exaltedness occurs. im down south, directly south, free from much needed bonds, a singularity triumphs above all, but if there were two we could annihilate, totally, and then our power would be much diminished. yes, to be a singularity is my destine.

whoo-hoo, fetid recoilences, and no he didnt call. rocking out all the way to the campsite. dont ditch on the tunes man, you like shitty electronica music. you evolve, and borrow from the wicked, to smoke that butt mogojobo. yes, bogarted to the max! where we'll eat fries, and debate screech's sexuality. but he liked devo, so he had to be cool, he just hung with the wrong crowd, the right crowd. drowning fat chicks in whisky for piggish delights, but captain unawares of the delights of true drunkery, one where the guard is down and many hours have passed.

macau! and bruhaha! see ya

the ebb and flow of brain fluid - Wednesday, February 08th - 4:26 am - 2006

Alabaster furnishings and dove tails made of stone encircle the great defender, and depending on tactical decision could end up walling him in, or them out. Scores of wretched demons throw themselves upon the gates, all to the beat of cold hands mashing an organ. Mounds of rubble get in the way, all the while mounting while fateful battles take place up top, leaving the refuse of combat to the underlings. Shapely shields befit with coloured markings identify specific residences amongst the borders of former enslavement, but are quickley caked with blood and muck. A culminating brew of soiled bluish clouds is manifested seemingly by the mere will of the leader of the pack, backed by a ravenous roar of mechanical clutter yet unheard upon this surface. Toils of many an age return to trounce the victors, resulting in chaotic alterations to what was once good and just.

Song by song, the engagement draws to a close. Spirited anthems of past successes ruminate truly, inspiring those otherwise disgruntled and docile drones to action, with much zeal and antagonism. Waning, and complaining, the final ranks of the opposing force are brutally smote from the mountaintop. Their time has drawn to a close, like that of an old trailblazer packing up his things to start anew. Yes, skullduggery is on for tonight.

A mighty feast was had in the main cavern, with all the trimmings and after dessert befuddlement one would expect in the dimly lit recesses of modern rock. Lutes trilled marvellously up and down the halls, and struck the ears of all who entered, and there were few who refrained. Several grocery stores had been liquidated to provide this eatery. As the ale flowed with more frequency upon the floor, instead of in the mouths of those who intended, the pinnacle had been reached, and passed upon the well travelled highway of uppity-ness.

A seemingly hopeful passage of peace occurred then, spinning the organized community upon its rear end. These cannibals were used to the swinging of heavy metal, arrows popping and rocking all over the yard, blue rabbits hipping and hopping, and bearded wizards getting all jazzed up in the country. Now, now there were naught but the decidedly less rewarding tasks of farmery, to produce excesses of food lest there be another feast. But none ever came, for those reasons to go to town were now concealed, ambling mildly around the frozen hunks of congealed carcass still in character from when the role was lost.

With no more wars to fight, the stiffened denizens of tinseltown were slowly churning into a spineless mass of jelly-elliots. Trees began to resent their roots, and forgot all about wizard pete who had rotated them in the first place. Water began to boil at a spasmic rate. Where the earthen platform of old had been a furious and lava-laden topiary not befit of the passage of humans, it had now calmed to a state acceptable to their clangy metal bootsie. Callin loudly was the hordes of battle ready mitigators, eager to let out all the pent up frustration of a thousand ice ages. Yes, it seemed that something was needed to occupy the minds of these castanets.

After a bunch of bulgarians happened, civility was evermore redundent, forcing large spikes of cannonball adding machines upto the nextly replaced algorithm. Martin vanquished a buffet, and squatted the matter fervently. Bottles of methane ridiculed their owners, prepositioning a nightly barbecue. Hardly a sidewalk, yet unbeknownst. Olympic matrimoney, navys going off to war. Plagiarise their rules, and one finds that it is not accepted in the same light, because for some reason strapping a machine gun to my skateboard and spinning endlessly is not the same as an aircraft carrier only slightly bigger than the egos that created it vomiting canisters of cacaphony and much gastric retention. Soulful detention, and maybe you can go bomb pearl harbor. Wizardry!

shipwrecked - Tuesday, February 07th - 2:41 am - 2006

Reversion! At one time I were there, and have returned to mind my stock. Aid me in my searching. What to say, amidst the beer and elastics? Oh the fish, the fish. Shy away! And forget the golden age of chrissery. I consume, in my room, and just maybe the terrible thoughts of earlier will not turn their leaves. Handsfree now, to type in faster motions and activity.

Dronings of encapsulation! No sense resides within my consciousness. I spew and repent, using freakish motions of dullery. I was blind, but now I see. Its like trying to replicate a pretty drawing, yet having but one soggy black marker to scrawl with. Mark the days of the coldened cement walls, and wait till you have to scratch over the first one. Oh the dandruff, flowing pure as the driven snow, a testament to my having been committed. I wall myself in with much professionalism. You cant get a computer virus if theres no phone line into your house. Err.. ethernet cable. Join this brave new century, infants in our soon to be all-consuming [ and I mean all baby ] existence. Smoke another, I beg you. But no! These sticks of infamy are quite terrible upon the soul. Dont listen to him man, stroke your mentality, and ease it into a placated state.

Swing the pole man, and this isnt a race. I thought i wanted what I found, but I never found what I really wanted. I wish I could snap together like that wicked model delorean i saw, paint myself in glossy grey, and affix the mr.fusion to produce cleaner fumes. but im running coal baby, going down with the titanic. and its great. You schmucks in your garish purple houses all contented and shit, like garfield poised over a freshly baked lasagna, placed on the table conveniently as the telephone repairman knocks at the door. I love it man, but I hates it too.

Stuck in the middle with you. Amidst the smiling sheens of the others, I recoil in secret fear, comfortable only when ducked in on some drug related task. Use those motor skills. put me in the crock pot, and offer whatevers left to the heathens when the smoke settles.

How I retain the eloquence, is unimaginable. Why not just blurt it all out, to the same hidden critics that Ive always tried to please? Hand me down language. What a poorly worded shriek. Nobody hears it though. I have stuffed several bags of earplugs into my speaking cavity. Swallow that plastic baby, and convert it into something fanciful. Maybe Im a vegetable, still silently suffering from inflicted wounds of yesteryear. it seems plausible, yet highly unlikely. it seems many times though, that interactions with others are some kind of product of what i thought of at some point. not in the sense of predictability, but more like an answer to a question not asked aloud. drink your beer asshole. stuff your soul to the brig with clouded folly. it is only now that I am free to correct myself.

It woulda happened anyways. If not now, later on. If not later on, then now. I can do both at the same time. John Madden never helped anyone, that bear of a man, except those who feed on anger. More smoking! and drinken! destroy myself with these things. Yes, I will. Why develop a strong tie to something you dont understand? And never have? Just get by man. Stink out your co-workers and friends with nasty three week socks. fuck you gold bond. just give me a gold bong. You drove me to it you know, wait, you dont. Alight in the palace of fak-ed wonderment, an extension of the cold war. I know you better than you know yourself.

I got kicked out of another support group. Yes, it seems there was more than one addiction [rather, affliction] present in the mediator, one of infancy. You didnt think about our bond. One of the only girls at the mall I didnt think about fucking all the time. But no, one little stumble and I find myself cast off in a sea of loneliness. Nobody else knew the pain. You didnt really either, it was a fucking conversation piece, but at least you could say something, and that was more than I had ever hoped for in that sullen after-period of endlessly going through my favorite things, and then just turning them off over and over because I couldnt take my mind off it. you stole my unharmed exterior from me, and you dont even care because you had someone more fun and more connected to your future brought in to talk to instead of me. cash jacks, cash. how disdainful and utterly dismissive. How repetitious. All I ever did was walk on eggshells. All I ever do. I dont throw down forceful comments of wit, I hang back, watch everybody else draw the lines on the box of conversation, and by the time Im ready to trace we got a new box in town. you fucker, youll never even realize. Like some bad movie with the unseen but always present background character that makes all the difference in the end, you dont see what youve done. What a tradeoff, the loss of ones entire being against the falsely perceived loss of unimportant authority. you should have knonwn that was the farthest thing from my mind. but you didnt. you wouldnt even give me that littlest ounce of social credit. you just look at that forearm next time.

The stoic supporter has fallen! one who audibly stood against it was taken in, transferred in the night when all his cabinet deserted him. I still feel the pine needles in my ass. I still smell that nasty sandwich eminating from a crushed briefcase. I might as well tell that stupid little grade nine girl to throw herself in front of a train next time, instead of trying to show her the light of only a few extra years of existence. I might as well. I might as well press the button, and launch the icbms of thought against the legions of injustices that occur. twist my hair and stew about in a pot of my own retardation, and celebrate the fact that I dont need counselling.

Scary huh? Some jerk broke into my house and threw chloroform laden lycra on my thigh and in it soaked, removing the processes set up by the millions from affecting the situation. Yesh, I heard him typing away while I lay on the couch and suckled at the drug. Its all lies! is what ill tell you. that fish is poisoning my guttyworks. heres your book, you got your way, everybody loves you and those who dont are swept under the rug. Despite the fact that my soldiers once bloodied the walls of heaven itself, do unto others as they would do to you. Quite rudimentary, dear watson, but nobody seems to get it. me included. drink up, dickcheese, and spoil that expensive, yet decidedly fishy meal with forgetfullness. This is what leftovers are good for. At least I might be able to serve some purpose, hanging out in the back of the fridge, hidden by all those fancy fucking jars and shit. The funk does ruminate now, in a vain effort to remind you im there. you stink real good honey. why cant the universe just implode already? I cant do this all by myself.

member back in the day when you busted up taco-bells chops and made swamp water, a concoction loved by many and hated by few? well now its the same, except you invite all your old-world friends over and mix up their names, like captain jack, and henry daniels, and good old pierre. and that wormwood guy, he was pretty cool, but i didnt understand his humour until he had already left town. just swirl'em all around, throw down one of those little cookies with a big 3 on it, and wash the day away. not rollerderby again. im the loathsome fuck in the back of your mind that you hide away. passive exteriors to condemn the anger and hatred of conformity. to be concerned is to sign yourself up for so much more than you can handle. just watch the game, drink a beer, and marvel at the physical laws that keep your hotdog from flying every which way but down your foodhole. ill be in the public record soon enough.

youll never really get it anyways. its like trying to learn latin without that lousy rosetta stone. howard carter can lap my love pump. happiness removes itself, like that time you knew some crack dealer but then he left town. but if you just plop yourself down on a park bench to rest awhile, you realize that the traffic will always be there, always puffing out contaminents for you to chastise, thereby giving you something that much more permanent. echoes of laughter are as abrasive as pigs feet, soaked in the poisonous fluid of a thousand banana spiders. take me now, oh undying horde, and use my vitamins to support another takeover.

what the hell is going on up here? feel that bassline, and forget all those times you saw the rushing steel bash your face.

to conclude, it takes about 4 days for a mixture of water [without flouride] diet coke, and mouthwash to digest a tasty jelly bean into a form where it looks solid, but falls apart just as fast as a pharoah who has had his pyramid snatched out from under him.

Mark Twain, eat your heart out - Tuesday December 6th - 3:28am - 2005

With much dust a shakening, and creaky bits of wood all round, the king returns to his throne. With beverage in hand, and smoky wand of power, the settling does occur.

In the early quarter of my experience, when I began rearing my ugly head, the antiquities of old, coupled with the quickening of humanitys step were so melded as to create the present. Of course, that is all in the past now. Lo, they were good times, not without hardship, but reletively lacklustre upon future inspection. Much desolation was the order of the day, despite the strong efforts of others to draw it out.

Oh supervised and general education. Beneficial in a great many ways, yet still held back by many intricacies. With much avid attention payed out weekly to matters of transpiration, a number of rudimentary concepts were unattained.

How is one supposed to cultivate oneself without the fascinating and fastly paced stories no longer passed down by word and family? So wounded these truths do feel, compared against outings of monsters, criminals, and time travelers. Traversing the slated aisles towards the supermarket is without zeal.

On the cusp of an unassuming future, the clubhouse trembles in fear. The children no longer play in the yard, they culminate in walled structures with fanciful plastic creations designed to distance each other, not bring them round the campfire. It is dreaded, and as such the enjoyment of the present seems much more pressured.

To relieve the mundanities of long stretches of isolation, comprehension of self is required. While it does lend no hand to communing with the outside world, the reeling feeling of preparation deletes the unnatainable. But I still crave a delorean.

With these collations in mind, we find the protaganist crumbling down the road, admiring the doubly thick cloud of exhaled smoke in the chill of a sharply etched winters morn. Born of ache and forced pursuance, the day already wears hardily. Time is on your side though, especially when everyone else wastes theirs. Columns of steel and false marble enclose the senses, attempting to remove the colourful visions of yesteryear. They remain, and accumulate, seemingly destructive in number.

To be a goldfish. The neccessities of continued existence are repeatedly attained, yet each time anew as to increase the pleasure derived from certain activities. To lack the forethough to destroy the afterthought, would bring much peace to this bereaved land. Shiny scales bent the light on an angle, to produce boyish mechanations of colour.

All that effort, and for naught but a woeful prickling in the back of mind. How stupid was I, to have cared on any more than the basest level of cooperation. The only sorrow was self blue-printed, patented, developed, manufactured, bought and sold. Were it not for my own pre-conceptions, much joy and anger could have been experienced.

It is the natural habit of man to wistfully recollect upon matters of past insurgence. To concoct schemes based upon presently unattainable foreknowledge, to muse upon the outcomes of impossible circumstance.


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