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.