Dear Santa,
I know we've been at odds over the last several years. It's almost going on a dozen. I don't hate you and you don't hate me. I remember that year that I wished for only obtainable shiz. I remember that other year that I only wished for very specific and obtainable shiiii... and I got what I wished for. I'm back to setting my bars high. I hope you're back to singing in four four/
Boiling it down: I will not. That's all. There's no second part to it. As close as we will get.
///what ive been waiting for all years
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label unrest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label unrest. Show all posts
12/25/15
12/13/15
Caps Locked, Similar
I think the biggest thing to get out of the way was talking about how locked up I was becoming. It still governs everything and every choice that I make. The way that my mind works. I don't like to think of it as a disability, it is. Talking to my eternal optimist. The children are in the classroom. It's a bit soggy and untrue, but it is you too!
It really is. Will you dance with me? We can have a fabulous time, a gorgeous time, a wonderfurousfantabugloriousshanannigonkulous time. HAHAHAHA oh yes, oh yes. No bass necessary if you are willing to cut a rug. Down butler street to penn avenue to the point and back up the river trail underneath 40th street bridge and up top on 62nd to watch the sun rise. Kill em, kill em, kill em, ac dc-s? That was a good drum break.
Some things make me smile and I don't want to back everything over it like trying to kill a raccoon you hit at five A.M. If hand outs are coming out lets enjoy them and be one with the weekend. No? Obviously, you have no nerves in your extremities because I defy you to try and find hard drugs that are not spray paint and brick based at this hour.
///Starkey - (Eris) up from the depths
It really is. Will you dance with me? We can have a fabulous time, a gorgeous time, a wonderfurousfantabugloriousshanannigonkulous time. HAHAHAHA oh yes, oh yes. No bass necessary if you are willing to cut a rug. Down butler street to penn avenue to the point and back up the river trail underneath 40th street bridge and up top on 62nd to watch the sun rise. Kill em, kill em, kill em, ac dc-s? That was a good drum break.
Some things make me smile and I don't want to back everything over it like trying to kill a raccoon you hit at five A.M. If hand outs are coming out lets enjoy them and be one with the weekend. No? Obviously, you have no nerves in your extremities because I defy you to try and find hard drugs that are not spray paint and brick based at this hour.
///Starkey - (Eris) up from the depths
3/14/15
Bah
Engage the suppo meta super chim gank ja ja ja hahaha ckck la la la jhjh gohgoh fukjj aooao uiw way of looking at things. Or make a hard break, no?
It's been a very long time, we know. All of us know. It's been a long time for a reason and we support that reason whatever that reason may be and however that reason came to be. We support it. It has taken a lot of force to bring everyone to the table. Hell, it's taken a lot of brute force simply to bring us all to the table, let alone a table.
Some of us want to wave around our individuals flags. I am fighting, as the selected individual to represent our collective passport, to wave a single one, but everyone wants to be heard so, I guess I will step away for the song, it's a rarity, but feels appropriate:
well that did not take long to fail. As soon as the spotlight descended they scattered like cockroaches. Big surprise. Machinations of my brain. Faults and artifacts you say. I say. Could it be that the prices I would have to pay should they be named may be so high that I cannot let their names loose anymore or must erase the names as soon as I have let them loose should they be known and summoned on an account other than my own I and I alone should feel the repercussions or should I say that even having mentioned them I should now fall under their disgrace and suffer the consequences in utter paranoia and I should I now tell you that having disclosed that much information the knowledge alone will tell the body and mind collective to brace for impact that other worldly souls should be (this is all in a Britton accent) coming down upon my head?
No. Some of that's true. Most of it's not. I know a lot of what happens inside my head is my own fault. I know a lot of it is not and if I could pluck your eye balls out of your head and implant them into mine you'd want to kill yourself to. Every day. Maybe not every hour. Sometimes some hours people you surround yourself with help you to forget what is all around.
You can all laugh and drink and I drink to forget but not to forget my circumstances or anything like that. I get it. I didn't do good in school and I missed out on trade school by going to learning school and I couldve jumped out of it if I'd known or had the balls to do it instead of taking everything I was force fed, because being a mechanic is tip top, but I didn't so... whatever.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
I drink to forget my father and the senseless beatings and I drink to forget the fact that I can't see straight into a vagina and I drink that I cant see straight at children because they give me the heebee jeebees every time I'm alone with them and I can't stop imagining what a giant penis feels like in a tiny weewee or if a tiny wenis gets hard or if they know or if I knew back then if someone was cleaning me or just being fucking weird or if there's someone who should be on my end of days "I'm going to scoop your motherfucking eyeball out with a margerine plastic knife" or not or if patting one of them bastards on the back is too much contact or too little or if I should shuffle on down to Maryland and kill my father and just have it out, take my time, and have a happy weird time with a kid of my own eventually and explain to him or her that you'll never meet your father because he's dead because I killed him.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
A friend of mine keeps saying "bah" and I think he's doing it in part because I told him saying "it is what it is" is the Pittsburgher, PAer, way of saying "I dunno" northeaster-ish. Northeaster shit. You could just say ellipsis but that's too many penstrokes, yeah? Yeah is an ellipsis too. Dot dot doooooooooooooooooooooooooooot. To other thoughts along the same train, not quite a hard break, however hard enough to change the frames position along the wall to be noticeable. Hard enough to be, should someone visit, a highlight in the tour to the tune of "you've changed."
So we're here and we've arrived and I will borrow in the meantime a "bah."
I cannot tell you how much I've loved you but I can tell you how much I've missed you.
It's good to work. It's good to work at what you love. It's better when the work brings me closer to you.
Breaking trail. Breaking silence. Breaking my heart for you. I miss you every day. You have no idea how much I wish multitasking was an actual thing.
Keep streamlined. Stay feathered. The wind is screaming aginst your nose and mine too. Feather through the days and weeks.
///Unkle & Sparklehorse - (Maria Gur Cover [Insane Lullaby]) ....upon a podium.... you're charming and you're brave
It's been a very long time, we know. All of us know. It's been a long time for a reason and we support that reason whatever that reason may be and however that reason came to be. We support it. It has taken a lot of force to bring everyone to the table. Hell, it's taken a lot of brute force simply to bring us all to the table, let alone a table.
Some of us want to wave around our individuals flags. I am fighting, as the selected individual to represent our collective passport, to wave a single one, but everyone wants to be heard so, I guess I will step away for the song, it's a rarity, but feels appropriate:
well that did not take long to fail. As soon as the spotlight descended they scattered like cockroaches. Big surprise. Machinations of my brain. Faults and artifacts you say. I say. Could it be that the prices I would have to pay should they be named may be so high that I cannot let their names loose anymore or must erase the names as soon as I have let them loose should they be known and summoned on an account other than my own I and I alone should feel the repercussions or should I say that even having mentioned them I should now fall under their disgrace and suffer the consequences in utter paranoia and I should I now tell you that having disclosed that much information the knowledge alone will tell the body and mind collective to brace for impact that other worldly souls should be (this is all in a Britton accent) coming down upon my head?
No. Some of that's true. Most of it's not. I know a lot of what happens inside my head is my own fault. I know a lot of it is not and if I could pluck your eye balls out of your head and implant them into mine you'd want to kill yourself to. Every day. Maybe not every hour. Sometimes some hours people you surround yourself with help you to forget what is all around.
You can all laugh and drink and I drink to forget but not to forget my circumstances or anything like that. I get it. I didn't do good in school and I missed out on trade school by going to learning school and I couldve jumped out of it if I'd known or had the balls to do it instead of taking everything I was force fed, because being a mechanic is tip top, but I didn't so... whatever.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
I drink to forget my father and the senseless beatings and I drink to forget the fact that I can't see straight into a vagina and I drink that I cant see straight at children because they give me the heebee jeebees every time I'm alone with them and I can't stop imagining what a giant penis feels like in a tiny weewee or if a tiny wenis gets hard or if they know or if I knew back then if someone was cleaning me or just being fucking weird or if there's someone who should be on my end of days "I'm going to scoop your motherfucking eyeball out with a margerine plastic knife" or not or if patting one of them bastards on the back is too much contact or too little or if I should shuffle on down to Maryland and kill my father and just have it out, take my time, and have a happy weird time with a kid of my own eventually and explain to him or her that you'll never meet your father because he's dead because I killed him.
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's whatever man! Rimshot.
A friend of mine keeps saying "bah" and I think he's doing it in part because I told him saying "it is what it is" is the Pittsburgher, PAer, way of saying "I dunno" northeaster-ish. Northeaster shit. You could just say ellipsis but that's too many penstrokes, yeah? Yeah is an ellipsis too. Dot dot doooooooooooooooooooooooooooot. To other thoughts along the same train, not quite a hard break, however hard enough to change the frames position along the wall to be noticeable. Hard enough to be, should someone visit, a highlight in the tour to the tune of "you've changed."
So we're here and we've arrived and I will borrow in the meantime a "bah."
I cannot tell you how much I've loved you but I can tell you how much I've missed you.
It's good to work. It's good to work at what you love. It's better when the work brings me closer to you.
Breaking trail. Breaking silence. Breaking my heart for you. I miss you every day. You have no idea how much I wish multitasking was an actual thing.
Keep streamlined. Stay feathered. The wind is screaming aginst your nose and mine too. Feather through the days and weeks.
///Unkle & Sparklehorse - (Maria Gur Cover [Insane Lullaby]) ....upon a podium.... you're charming and you're brave
2/9/14
Uncle Scar's Cross Dimensional Fortress
There are days of dread in trying to cross the bridge into dreamland. Days when I've convinced myself everything will stay stable if I keep my eyes open. Days when I'm afraid of putting on clothing, because once it's on, it cannot be turned off.
Some nights you just gotta take that slow breath and put on the helmet and close your eyes and wait for the assault craft to crash into the beach. From the second the floor rumbles and rattles your teeth upon landfall to the instant the long range weapons open up is sleep. In those moments, that very long blink, listening to the engines hum and forgetting where you are and where you're going, worlds congeal. Cities twine together like muscles sliding over bones and lives burn into being like veins inside. And then it all blows apart in the morning. Crying face down and screaming and laughing at the same time.
Sometimes the most satisfying minutes are those early ones where the tears on cheeks are dried by the heat of combat and flames run high and blood runs. They're the minutes where you know you know what you know and you know whatever happens next could be the next that changes everything. I do not want that. I think there are times people mistake free wheeling for extremely extensively planned. The back up to the back up back up back up plan allows for flexibility that mimics carelessness. Walk with the wind on your mind.
I think I'm done trying to be funny. It never comes off right. Days of dread. Open your eyes. No. I've been mapping fantasy time lines across several sheets of paper and now there are twelve of them taped end to end. There were twelve of them. I got extremely upset about the inefficiency of the entire exercise and tore it apart. And now there's packing tape everywhere packing tape need not be and a severe longing for a time machine to undo what I did because I did not take the time to think, the time to breath, before I took action. To die with rage instead of rage is a win.
At some point the alarm goes off that the amount of blood you are losing will have a stiff impact on your ability to continue effective consciousness. I suppose it was a bit disappointing to have someone I did not know all that well recommend something to me with the caveat "...if you like huffing you will love...". Irregularities. An overwhelming desire to remain on schedule. I will follow you down. Any deviation is unacceptable.
Protection is invaluable and hard to come by and harder still to compromise for any reason, but compromise is necessary and not without it's own value too. We need to get back on mission. An operation unto itself. Obstacles have been attacked and sent down and the path is clearing to make a good run at the main objective and it feels good. It feels really damn good. What are all of those jars of piss for? If I knew, they would be used already! And frankly I do not appreciate the line of questioning.
Come play with us, Arthur. That is not my name. That is not my name. That is not my name! Stop calling me! I do not know who that is! We match, don't we? Leave me the hell alone. I need a whetstone. Who doesn't? I've been dying to put together a new theme tailor made to what I want to see and what I want others to see when they come here. Sometimes we're struck unexpected again with the death of a friend. I did not know him that well. Am I wrong to be violently upset about it? Years removed.
Sometimes I weigh how well or poorly my brothers and sisters know me. The now me. The today me. Oddly enough, my brother in law may know me better than them. It's difficult to contemplate. Processing and it comes back not a number. What do I actually know, though at the mouth of the bridge. Do it for you. I will get it working. I have to. Back up back up plans fly well at the interface and through interstice, but nearer toward the core they blow apart like tissue paper origami in a squall. Get it right. No will do, can do. You're having a hard time, aren't you. Nope, just downloading the patch. The short that makes the radio turn on without having to turn the key because the battery is still good.
No gods, no kings, no high down, and for christ's sake no god damn rings. Especially pinky rings. Boosters on. It is not me you have to worry about, it is the rest of me. We have done life by committee pretty satisfactorily going on a decade and a half. I see no reason to make sweeping changes just yet. Obviously at some point we will run into the person, faced up, who does not get the joke, but deal with that when it arrives. And by deal with that I mean make extensive back up plans now.
I am still going to make music this year. We cannot not do it. It has been too long already. "...We're only in the first few minutes of the first of January..." we'll evolve. Walk with the wind on your mind. Let go. Open the gate. Do not be afraid to walk with the wind on your mind because you are not alone.
///Underworld - "Second Hand" gear up. slingshot around the sun.
Some nights you just gotta take that slow breath and put on the helmet and close your eyes and wait for the assault craft to crash into the beach. From the second the floor rumbles and rattles your teeth upon landfall to the instant the long range weapons open up is sleep. In those moments, that very long blink, listening to the engines hum and forgetting where you are and where you're going, worlds congeal. Cities twine together like muscles sliding over bones and lives burn into being like veins inside. And then it all blows apart in the morning. Crying face down and screaming and laughing at the same time.
Sometimes the most satisfying minutes are those early ones where the tears on cheeks are dried by the heat of combat and flames run high and blood runs. They're the minutes where you know you know what you know and you know whatever happens next could be the next that changes everything. I do not want that. I think there are times people mistake free wheeling for extremely extensively planned. The back up to the back up back up back up plan allows for flexibility that mimics carelessness. Walk with the wind on your mind.
I think I'm done trying to be funny. It never comes off right. Days of dread. Open your eyes. No. I've been mapping fantasy time lines across several sheets of paper and now there are twelve of them taped end to end. There were twelve of them. I got extremely upset about the inefficiency of the entire exercise and tore it apart. And now there's packing tape everywhere packing tape need not be and a severe longing for a time machine to undo what I did because I did not take the time to think, the time to breath, before I took action. To die with rage instead of rage is a win.
At some point the alarm goes off that the amount of blood you are losing will have a stiff impact on your ability to continue effective consciousness. I suppose it was a bit disappointing to have someone I did not know all that well recommend something to me with the caveat "...if you like huffing you will love...". Irregularities. An overwhelming desire to remain on schedule. I will follow you down. Any deviation is unacceptable.
Protection is invaluable and hard to come by and harder still to compromise for any reason, but compromise is necessary and not without it's own value too. We need to get back on mission. An operation unto itself. Obstacles have been attacked and sent down and the path is clearing to make a good run at the main objective and it feels good. It feels really damn good. What are all of those jars of piss for? If I knew, they would be used already! And frankly I do not appreciate the line of questioning.
Come play with us, Arthur. That is not my name. That is not my name. That is not my name! Stop calling me! I do not know who that is! We match, don't we? Leave me the hell alone. I need a whetstone. Who doesn't? I've been dying to put together a new theme tailor made to what I want to see and what I want others to see when they come here. Sometimes we're struck unexpected again with the death of a friend. I did not know him that well. Am I wrong to be violently upset about it? Years removed.
Sometimes I weigh how well or poorly my brothers and sisters know me. The now me. The today me. Oddly enough, my brother in law may know me better than them. It's difficult to contemplate. Processing and it comes back not a number. What do I actually know, though at the mouth of the bridge. Do it for you. I will get it working. I have to. Back up back up plans fly well at the interface and through interstice, but nearer toward the core they blow apart like tissue paper origami in a squall. Get it right. No will do, can do. You're having a hard time, aren't you. Nope, just downloading the patch. The short that makes the radio turn on without having to turn the key because the battery is still good.
No gods, no kings, no high down, and for christ's sake no god damn rings. Especially pinky rings. Boosters on. It is not me you have to worry about, it is the rest of me. We have done life by committee pretty satisfactorily going on a decade and a half. I see no reason to make sweeping changes just yet. Obviously at some point we will run into the person, faced up, who does not get the joke, but deal with that when it arrives. And by deal with that I mean make extensive back up plans now.
I am still going to make music this year. We cannot not do it. It has been too long already. "...We're only in the first few minutes of the first of January..." we'll evolve. Walk with the wind on your mind. Let go. Open the gate. Do not be afraid to walk with the wind on your mind because you are not alone.
///Underworld - "Second Hand" gear up. slingshot around the sun.
6/11/13
Bed Time Story
A bed time story for you. I'm sorry I missed Friday. Life has been awfully up and down.
There was once a young man who had a goldfish. It lived in a square bowl inside of a white plastic castle with a little submariner who wore a big brass helmet.
Everyday the young man would watch the fish circle around his castle, big fins swirling the water, going about his fishy day and doing his fishy errands and forgetting things as quickly as he could remember to remember them.
The young man watched and chuckled and sometimes wondered about his fish. Was he happy as a fish in a pond or was he sad as a fish in a pond? Did he think about the sea or did the little fish wonder if the sea thought about him?
He'd chuckle and sprinkle little leaves of food and watch him make tiny bubbles on the surface while he ate, before turning in to sleep himself.
One day, the young man had a terrible day, he failed his tests at school, and left his backpack on the city bus. He tied his shoes so well he couldn't get them off and had to cut his favorite orange laces in two. He cried and his dad would not hold his hand and instead sent him to bed with no dinner. He knew his teachers would scream at him tomorrow without his homework in hand. He would try to explain that bad luck was the blame and they would not care nor understand.
That night as he sobbed and went sad to sleep, body sore from too much crying, the fish watched him weep and yawned, wiped his fin feet, and went inside his castle to lie down.
"Mr. submariner," the fish asked I need to cheer up a friend. Do you think you can do me a favor?"
"Sure," said he, all bubbly, "I think I can help you out."
"I need there to be a rainbow outside, when day breaks, near the window beside that bed in the corner way over there."
"Well you see," said the man, bubbles blowing from his brass head, "to do that is not at all easy. Rainbows only come when angels laugh til the cry and those tears fall down on trees. The trees shake in the breeze from the mouths of angel belly laughs and they catch little colds and sneeze. The colors fly up and loop back down and that is the rainbow we see."
"How, Mr. Submariner, how can I tell a joke so funny they'll hear. With all the prayers flying up in the air it will never reach their ears."
"Give me tonight, and I'll give it a thought and I will make a joke for you. But in the meantime, don't you worry a wink. Lay your fins on your pebbles and sleep."
The very next day as the young man woke, tears still dry on his face, he walked to his window, stretched and yawned and a smile began to grow on his face.
He whistled a tune to the summer sky, to the rain soaked air, and to the largest rainbow he ever saw. Inside his heart he knew the day was still young, but he knew too he would be okay.
The fish awoke late, the young man long gone, and rushed to the submariner, in a daze.
"Mr. Submariner! Mr. Submariner! Did it work? Did it work? What on earth did you say?"
"I told the angels, just before dawn, that a fish I knew needed a favor. I told them that if they did me this one favor I would love Jesus until the day I died and they, already shocked that I could talk, split their sides at my wager."
There was once a young man who had a goldfish. It lived in a square bowl inside of a white plastic castle with a little submariner who wore a big brass helmet.
Everyday the young man would watch the fish circle around his castle, big fins swirling the water, going about his fishy day and doing his fishy errands and forgetting things as quickly as he could remember to remember them.
The young man watched and chuckled and sometimes wondered about his fish. Was he happy as a fish in a pond or was he sad as a fish in a pond? Did he think about the sea or did the little fish wonder if the sea thought about him?
He'd chuckle and sprinkle little leaves of food and watch him make tiny bubbles on the surface while he ate, before turning in to sleep himself.
One day, the young man had a terrible day, he failed his tests at school, and left his backpack on the city bus. He tied his shoes so well he couldn't get them off and had to cut his favorite orange laces in two. He cried and his dad would not hold his hand and instead sent him to bed with no dinner. He knew his teachers would scream at him tomorrow without his homework in hand. He would try to explain that bad luck was the blame and they would not care nor understand.
That night as he sobbed and went sad to sleep, body sore from too much crying, the fish watched him weep and yawned, wiped his fin feet, and went inside his castle to lie down.
"Mr. submariner," the fish asked I need to cheer up a friend. Do you think you can do me a favor?"
"Sure," said he, all bubbly, "I think I can help you out."
"I need there to be a rainbow outside, when day breaks, near the window beside that bed in the corner way over there."
"Well you see," said the man, bubbles blowing from his brass head, "to do that is not at all easy. Rainbows only come when angels laugh til the cry and those tears fall down on trees. The trees shake in the breeze from the mouths of angel belly laughs and they catch little colds and sneeze. The colors fly up and loop back down and that is the rainbow we see."
"How, Mr. Submariner, how can I tell a joke so funny they'll hear. With all the prayers flying up in the air it will never reach their ears."
"Give me tonight, and I'll give it a thought and I will make a joke for you. But in the meantime, don't you worry a wink. Lay your fins on your pebbles and sleep."
The very next day as the young man woke, tears still dry on his face, he walked to his window, stretched and yawned and a smile began to grow on his face.
He whistled a tune to the summer sky, to the rain soaked air, and to the largest rainbow he ever saw. Inside his heart he knew the day was still young, but he knew too he would be okay.
The fish awoke late, the young man long gone, and rushed to the submariner, in a daze.
"Mr. Submariner! Mr. Submariner! Did it work? Did it work? What on earth did you say?"
"I told the angels, just before dawn, that a fish I knew needed a favor. I told them that if they did me this one favor I would love Jesus until the day I died and they, already shocked that I could talk, split their sides at my wager."
///Coco O - "Where the Wind Blows" sweet dreams, ghosts.
5/13/13
Bricking the Computer
All I want to do is fix a hit and I know that I can't. That's the fast track to crack and it tastes so good. People get all concerned about weight loss and image that it grows insane. How about a powder that takes away the urge to snuffle? That would be nice. Get on it science! Help me rewire my brain maps. That's the pill conversation again though and that is looped over as many times as it can be without taking action. In the meantime I have a good stable of Krylon calling my name. I want to try the chrome, but my lungs are not having it. In fact they're not having much of anything lately. Just how it goes. At least I'm not pulling knives on anybody.
I hope people feel safe. Distance is its own thing. It's not a buffer though. As long as your legs work you can literally go anywhere to do anything. Been trying to figure out alibis. I could walk to New York or Virginia. The hard part is gonna be explaining my absence. That's also the easy part. I have a habit of disappearing. It happens. Sometimes you just have to tag up. If I disappeared for a week to walk to D.C. the only problem would be fueling myself along the way. Then it's mission accomplished, duck out back home, and problem solved. Still aggravating though. A bad kind of hassle.
Shrinking the maps, it gets easier. Shrinking the maps further, it's a day trip. Further still, it's a nighter. We don't do that anymore! Jexel. If you're going to accelerate, make it worth it. The hardest part about burning down a house is sealing the exits. Or at least making them difficult enough to dissuade navigation. Then again, you have to take into account the body types you are trying to ash. It's all math and I struggle with math a lot. I've always been more geometric. Visual spatial. One of the best days I ever had was guessing how many jelly beans were in a jar to the nearest ten.
Sure I could have estimated the volume of a jelly bean, the volume of the jar, and gotten fairly close with a little error mixed in for air space, but it was so much easier to hold in my head if I took a cube slice from one corner and moved it around in my head to form a disc and then raised the disc up to reach the lid. Same deal, I suppose, but different ways. Screw math. What have you done for me lately science?
I jerked off for twelve hours. Twelve god damn hours. Twelve gotdamn hours! I need a boyfriend pretty hard. Pretty sure I ran through half of my entire library between watching full length videos and skip tracking it to money shots. I'm not shamed or ashamed by the activity. At least I know my heart and my cock are still functional. I'm just head hung cuz I know I'll never get those hours back and I want them. The toughest thing about free time is figuring out where to spend it. I want those twelve hours back to draw and sketch and explore the things I can't put into words but I know I can put into pictures if I used that hand to do something besides stroke my pud. I'm pissed because it was supposed to be a fifteen minute quickie and I couldn't do it on my own that fast. And I'm pissed because I'm horny so often that it's become a problem that needs solved. Gotdamnit!
Melange. I think I may peirce my own nipples today. So much energy. Throwing off U two thirty something, or maybe fifty. Uranium all over the place. I don't know how to shut it off. Shoving carbon into the pile, but I can't undo Chernobyl no matter what I try. Part of the issue is dealing with getting my body back. I wanted it back so badly and now I have it and I can start building up from the foundation because I finally got back there, but the house that foundation wants only knows how to speak in terms of violence instead of the next step; love. That misunderstanding and shadow and grift breaks my heart and hurts. Does violence to me and I want to reverse it and I don't know how and if I could, a pure reversal, I do violence to everyone and everything within the radius. It's a lose lose.
You're breaking my heart, sweatness. Spill the bucket. We are weak ends. I need you. I need you to explain to me how rain comes about and tell me the little squirrels running at the corners of my eye are just shadows and not black lizards doing a slow hat dance.
I'm trying to brick the computer. I'm trying to reset it. If I can't reset it, I would be happy to silence it. Stop making noise you tire kicked fall out bumper bad doored dumb coded winkied rusted out piece of .... clawing at myself. I want that soft tissue out of me. I know a few ways to do it, but none of them are acceptable. Rip. Rip. Get out of me. Get out! I want them out. I want the caucus to end. I want the factory to shut down. I want there to be no more discussion. I want to be normal. I want to be you. I'm tired of tears strolling down my fucking face unprovoked. I want to love the idea of children. I want to be married. I want to be skilled. I want to be able to do math. I want to be able to be relied on. I want honey shots. I want more tree climbing. I want to hear less and nose more. I want shot for. I want dap. I want candy hahaahahahahahahahaha. I want ... I want a lot of things. I'm trying to brick the computer so I can start over again. And wanting to start over again is sometimes hard to admit.
///Junkie XL - "War" sunrise on Titan. I got your pith. I raise you 400 horse power at the brakes. Eat me.
I hope people feel safe. Distance is its own thing. It's not a buffer though. As long as your legs work you can literally go anywhere to do anything. Been trying to figure out alibis. I could walk to New York or Virginia. The hard part is gonna be explaining my absence. That's also the easy part. I have a habit of disappearing. It happens. Sometimes you just have to tag up. If I disappeared for a week to walk to D.C. the only problem would be fueling myself along the way. Then it's mission accomplished, duck out back home, and problem solved. Still aggravating though. A bad kind of hassle.
Shrinking the maps, it gets easier. Shrinking the maps further, it's a day trip. Further still, it's a nighter. We don't do that anymore! Jexel. If you're going to accelerate, make it worth it. The hardest part about burning down a house is sealing the exits. Or at least making them difficult enough to dissuade navigation. Then again, you have to take into account the body types you are trying to ash. It's all math and I struggle with math a lot. I've always been more geometric. Visual spatial. One of the best days I ever had was guessing how many jelly beans were in a jar to the nearest ten.
Sure I could have estimated the volume of a jelly bean, the volume of the jar, and gotten fairly close with a little error mixed in for air space, but it was so much easier to hold in my head if I took a cube slice from one corner and moved it around in my head to form a disc and then raised the disc up to reach the lid. Same deal, I suppose, but different ways. Screw math. What have you done for me lately science?
I jerked off for twelve hours. Twelve god damn hours. Twelve gotdamn hours! I need a boyfriend pretty hard. Pretty sure I ran through half of my entire library between watching full length videos and skip tracking it to money shots. I'm not shamed or ashamed by the activity. At least I know my heart and my cock are still functional. I'm just head hung cuz I know I'll never get those hours back and I want them. The toughest thing about free time is figuring out where to spend it. I want those twelve hours back to draw and sketch and explore the things I can't put into words but I know I can put into pictures if I used that hand to do something besides stroke my pud. I'm pissed because it was supposed to be a fifteen minute quickie and I couldn't do it on my own that fast. And I'm pissed because I'm horny so often that it's become a problem that needs solved. Gotdamnit!
Melange. I think I may peirce my own nipples today. So much energy. Throwing off U two thirty something, or maybe fifty. Uranium all over the place. I don't know how to shut it off. Shoving carbon into the pile, but I can't undo Chernobyl no matter what I try. Part of the issue is dealing with getting my body back. I wanted it back so badly and now I have it and I can start building up from the foundation because I finally got back there, but the house that foundation wants only knows how to speak in terms of violence instead of the next step; love. That misunderstanding and shadow and grift breaks my heart and hurts. Does violence to me and I want to reverse it and I don't know how and if I could, a pure reversal, I do violence to everyone and everything within the radius. It's a lose lose.
You're breaking my heart, sweatness. Spill the bucket. We are weak ends. I need you. I need you to explain to me how rain comes about and tell me the little squirrels running at the corners of my eye are just shadows and not black lizards doing a slow hat dance.
I'm trying to brick the computer. I'm trying to reset it. If I can't reset it, I would be happy to silence it. Stop making noise you tire kicked fall out bumper bad doored dumb coded winkied rusted out piece of .... clawing at myself. I want that soft tissue out of me. I know a few ways to do it, but none of them are acceptable. Rip. Rip. Get out of me. Get out! I want them out. I want the caucus to end. I want the factory to shut down. I want there to be no more discussion. I want to be normal. I want to be you. I'm tired of tears strolling down my fucking face unprovoked. I want to love the idea of children. I want to be married. I want to be skilled. I want to be able to do math. I want to be able to be relied on. I want honey shots. I want more tree climbing. I want to hear less and nose more. I want shot for. I want dap. I want candy hahaahahahahahahahaha. I want ... I want a lot of things. I'm trying to brick the computer so I can start over again. And wanting to start over again is sometimes hard to admit.
///Junkie XL - "War" sunrise on Titan. I got your pith. I raise you 400 horse power at the brakes. Eat me.
10/30/11
Every Day I'm Shoveling
First of all, why is "every day" not one word by now? Or the various "every" constructions? If we as a people can come to accept "bling" as a word with real meaning, how can we not accept words with real meanings that don't lose those meaning with the space dropped out? A space between words is a fence between neighbors and fences are necessary. I'm not saying take out all the spaces and make every sentence a word, though that would be awesome. You could say what you wanted to say whenever you wanted to say it in like ten words or less every time. But instead of an organized neighborhood of streets and cross walks when you looked at a page you'd see a mosh pit. Every time you spoke to someone it would basically be you sharing your personal rave and trying to combine parties when they spoke back and that would just be... ...awesome. Also awesomely unintelligible. For a generation or two. Ultimately though it would probably make our children smarter, or at least allow them to think differently. It would change politics. It would make it pretty much impossible for foreigners to assimilate and then you really would need to learn other languages because that guy that only speaks Spanish or only speaks Cantonese would not be able to talk to you at all in broken English because the language would be so agglutinated and dense that it would be impossible for anything but an uncreased brain to grasp it with ease and build into it.
Second of all: why can't I sit in a park with a shovel after the sun goes down? That is just unfair. I walk halfway across town because I saw an awesome shovel out for trash and I forgot to go back and get it until the evening and besides my hands were full at the time. I walk halfway across town, granted I live in a pretty small town and get this nice, heavy handled, spade shovel that would be absolutely perfect for some yard work I'll have to do later and on the way home I cut through the local park and it's a pretty nice night out and the hills are all dotted with little Saturday evening fires of people in doors so I sit for a moment on a bench with my new sweet ass shovel, staring up and letting my mind wander over who those people might be and just enjoying the weather cold enough to drizzle the air with the smell of fireplaces. I've never had a fireplace of my own. I like to imagine what it's like. I saw a duraflame log once, one of those fake wood things for people who don't like to burn real wood I guess. Or maybe for people who like fire places, but don't want to do the things that having a fireplace requires you to do. That really is the story of modern America. I want things, but I don't want to do the things having those things will require me to do.
Anyway, I'm sitting there and a car comes rolling up real slow and I don't look back to see who it is. I know it's a car. I know that pebble crunch anywhere. I also know people don't like it when I make sudden moves, and besides I have nothing to hide. I'm just a dude with a shovel. I keep listening to this car rolling closer and then, in the background of my mind because I'm still thinking about the hillsides and the gorgeous night, but my head is also running through all of the sound clips of tires and pebbles and speed equations, I realize the tires are doing police cruiser and/or drive by speed and/or jump out and stuff in the backseat kidnapping speed. So I stand up and I figure one of those three things will happen and sure enough the flashlights come on and the questions start in and why the hell do you have to shine that shit directly in my eye sockets anyway. I have a shovel. I'm not running anywhere with a damned shovel. Or at least not far anyway. So now I know. It is officially not okay with society to just be a dude in a park with a shovel between the hours of 7 PM and 7 AM.
I haven't really been eating. Not my fault though. I have been eating. Because I'm pretty sure I give off this pheromone when I don't eat. I'm kind of obsessed with how I smell. I try to match it with what I've been doing and putting into my body. Not farts. Those are totally easy. I'm pretty sure you can tell how someone's body functions based solely on how their ears smell. Well maybe not solely. And you probably have to lick them like licking a nine volt battery to see if it works to get the full suite of diagnostic information available through smells. What am I talking about? I get lost in theory sometimes. So I have been eating some. Enough to keep things going, but little more. Mainly because my sink doesn't work and I don't want to have to slog all my dishes down six flights of steps to the sink that does work. Naturally the answer to that problem is: don't do anything that requires the use of dishes. So I've been skipping a bunch of meals. I don't really miss them. I do miss them in that it makes it a lot easier to stay awake. Staying awake has become a full time job again. Partly because of the lack of intake and hypermile-ing my body, but also because dreaming has been so incredible I can't help but want to be there constantly. It's becoming less of a second life and more of a single joined seamless in phase existence. You know people that complain about how they "already did that" in a dream and then like have to go to work again? That used to happen to me. Long ago. Now it never happens.
Of course I feel completely unrested because I am basically alive and in phased consciousness for twenty hours a day, but the people I've met and things I do... it's been ridiculous. Also pointless to tell you about it in those terms because you weren't there. Definitely a "dude I saw this movie and it was awesome, you should have been there, but let me continue to talk about the movie in terms of superlative adjectives because if I frame it in enough paper thin hammered gold you will totally be inspired by the blank space inside the frame containing the picture only I can see."
So the dish thing I learned from my dog, Jack, rest his angry, fun loving, visitor hating, best friend for life, little Shelty bones. We would go on weekend road trips and he didn't want to poop in the house so he would basically not eat or drink, though we always left him plenty of food and water, until we got back. Maybe it was equal parts "if I don't eat then I won't have to poo" and vigil for me. "That's giving an animal too much credit," shut your face. I can't give that old bastard enough credit. He was the man. Seriously. Except for his fear of thunder and lightning and his rage toward fireworks he and I were basically two of a kind and alternated top dog roles depending on the situation, but we were basically 1 and 1A. Learned that little trick of no input equals no output, body wise, from him. More bravery per pound than most people who are not also Marines. Probably more stupidity per pound, but we were, again 1 and 1A on that front too. If you are a cat person I don't hate you, but you have no idea what you're missing.
Which is why I should never be a parent. Me and my kids will be the baddest family on the block. Partly because I would be way too fair to them. With my dog, he would bring me a sock for tug of war and being like three times his size, maybe four if I just ate a couple burritos, the only fair thing to do was meet him at his level. I figured his teeth were probably a lot stronger than mine, what with his eating bones from time to time (never understood that, but I do have a propensity for walking around with spoons in my mouth), maybe four or five times so naturally I used my teeth for tug of war. If I lost a couple, no big deal, so we got it on. "I'm a take you down to China town!" That's how we threw down. Gotta be fair. So instead of setting a curfew I would probably tell my kids they can stay out or stay up as late as they want, but they have to fight me for it and if I win then they have to go to bed when I say. I wouldn't kick the crap out of them. I never actually hit Jack. I would scuff 'em a little. More like lioness to cubs kind of stuff. Only minus the breast feeding. Do they even do that? Or do they come out of the womb craving a hearty meal of lightly chewed, but still fresh, Giraffe. Instead of telling my kids not to go set fires, I'll probably stop them at the door and say something like "make sure you bring fireplace matches so you don't have to stand too close to the accelerant, because I'm not driving up to the woods to put you out." Sure, I wouldn't let them blow themselves up. I'm not a monster. But I will make sure they know how to set a charge properly and it would be the best father/son or father/daughter tandem ever. We will be feared. Probably. Anyway. What I'm saying is every day I'm shoveling so don't cause any problems and there won't be any problems. I'm just a dude with a shovel out for a walk.
Trying to get back to writing fiction, but it's been a long and heady road full of potholes. I'm not dawdling as much as I am reflecting. I wrote a fairly long draft of a science fiction short called Scanlon, but I haven't back over it in almost eight days now. I'm trying though. I apologize. I will try harder. Life's too short not to try, so don't spend all of your time "doing".
///Deadelus - "Taking Wing"
Second of all: why can't I sit in a park with a shovel after the sun goes down? That is just unfair. I walk halfway across town because I saw an awesome shovel out for trash and I forgot to go back and get it until the evening and besides my hands were full at the time. I walk halfway across town, granted I live in a pretty small town and get this nice, heavy handled, spade shovel that would be absolutely perfect for some yard work I'll have to do later and on the way home I cut through the local park and it's a pretty nice night out and the hills are all dotted with little Saturday evening fires of people in doors so I sit for a moment on a bench with my new sweet ass shovel, staring up and letting my mind wander over who those people might be and just enjoying the weather cold enough to drizzle the air with the smell of fireplaces. I've never had a fireplace of my own. I like to imagine what it's like. I saw a duraflame log once, one of those fake wood things for people who don't like to burn real wood I guess. Or maybe for people who like fire places, but don't want to do the things that having a fireplace requires you to do. That really is the story of modern America. I want things, but I don't want to do the things having those things will require me to do.
Anyway, I'm sitting there and a car comes rolling up real slow and I don't look back to see who it is. I know it's a car. I know that pebble crunch anywhere. I also know people don't like it when I make sudden moves, and besides I have nothing to hide. I'm just a dude with a shovel. I keep listening to this car rolling closer and then, in the background of my mind because I'm still thinking about the hillsides and the gorgeous night, but my head is also running through all of the sound clips of tires and pebbles and speed equations, I realize the tires are doing police cruiser and/or drive by speed and/or jump out and stuff in the backseat kidnapping speed. So I stand up and I figure one of those three things will happen and sure enough the flashlights come on and the questions start in and why the hell do you have to shine that shit directly in my eye sockets anyway. I have a shovel. I'm not running anywhere with a damned shovel. Or at least not far anyway. So now I know. It is officially not okay with society to just be a dude in a park with a shovel between the hours of 7 PM and 7 AM.
I haven't really been eating. Not my fault though. I have been eating. Because I'm pretty sure I give off this pheromone when I don't eat. I'm kind of obsessed with how I smell. I try to match it with what I've been doing and putting into my body. Not farts. Those are totally easy. I'm pretty sure you can tell how someone's body functions based solely on how their ears smell. Well maybe not solely. And you probably have to lick them like licking a nine volt battery to see if it works to get the full suite of diagnostic information available through smells. What am I talking about? I get lost in theory sometimes. So I have been eating some. Enough to keep things going, but little more. Mainly because my sink doesn't work and I don't want to have to slog all my dishes down six flights of steps to the sink that does work. Naturally the answer to that problem is: don't do anything that requires the use of dishes. So I've been skipping a bunch of meals. I don't really miss them. I do miss them in that it makes it a lot easier to stay awake. Staying awake has become a full time job again. Partly because of the lack of intake and hypermile-ing my body, but also because dreaming has been so incredible I can't help but want to be there constantly. It's becoming less of a second life and more of a single joined seamless in phase existence. You know people that complain about how they "already did that" in a dream and then like have to go to work again? That used to happen to me. Long ago. Now it never happens.
Of course I feel completely unrested because I am basically alive and in phased consciousness for twenty hours a day, but the people I've met and things I do... it's been ridiculous. Also pointless to tell you about it in those terms because you weren't there. Definitely a "dude I saw this movie and it was awesome, you should have been there, but let me continue to talk about the movie in terms of superlative adjectives because if I frame it in enough paper thin hammered gold you will totally be inspired by the blank space inside the frame containing the picture only I can see."
So the dish thing I learned from my dog, Jack, rest his angry, fun loving, visitor hating, best friend for life, little Shelty bones. We would go on weekend road trips and he didn't want to poop in the house so he would basically not eat or drink, though we always left him plenty of food and water, until we got back. Maybe it was equal parts "if I don't eat then I won't have to poo" and vigil for me. "That's giving an animal too much credit," shut your face. I can't give that old bastard enough credit. He was the man. Seriously. Except for his fear of thunder and lightning and his rage toward fireworks he and I were basically two of a kind and alternated top dog roles depending on the situation, but we were basically 1 and 1A. Learned that little trick of no input equals no output, body wise, from him. More bravery per pound than most people who are not also Marines. Probably more stupidity per pound, but we were, again 1 and 1A on that front too. If you are a cat person I don't hate you, but you have no idea what you're missing.
Which is why I should never be a parent. Me and my kids will be the baddest family on the block. Partly because I would be way too fair to them. With my dog, he would bring me a sock for tug of war and being like three times his size, maybe four if I just ate a couple burritos, the only fair thing to do was meet him at his level. I figured his teeth were probably a lot stronger than mine, what with his eating bones from time to time (never understood that, but I do have a propensity for walking around with spoons in my mouth), maybe four or five times so naturally I used my teeth for tug of war. If I lost a couple, no big deal, so we got it on. "I'm a take you down to China town!" That's how we threw down. Gotta be fair. So instead of setting a curfew I would probably tell my kids they can stay out or stay up as late as they want, but they have to fight me for it and if I win then they have to go to bed when I say. I wouldn't kick the crap out of them. I never actually hit Jack. I would scuff 'em a little. More like lioness to cubs kind of stuff. Only minus the breast feeding. Do they even do that? Or do they come out of the womb craving a hearty meal of lightly chewed, but still fresh, Giraffe. Instead of telling my kids not to go set fires, I'll probably stop them at the door and say something like "make sure you bring fireplace matches so you don't have to stand too close to the accelerant, because I'm not driving up to the woods to put you out." Sure, I wouldn't let them blow themselves up. I'm not a monster. But I will make sure they know how to set a charge properly and it would be the best father/son or father/daughter tandem ever. We will be feared. Probably. Anyway. What I'm saying is every day I'm shoveling so don't cause any problems and there won't be any problems. I'm just a dude with a shovel out for a walk.
Trying to get back to writing fiction, but it's been a long and heady road full of potholes. I'm not dawdling as much as I am reflecting. I wrote a fairly long draft of a science fiction short called Scanlon, but I haven't back over it in almost eight days now. I'm trying though. I apologize. I will try harder. Life's too short not to try, so don't spend all of your time "doing".
///Deadelus - "Taking Wing"
6/24/10
lookin good
finally finished the principal of the thing in the benegon project. feels good to be done with fitting pixel A to pixel B. it looks good though. hopefully moving forward will allow me more time for writing and loving and wandering the other side of consciousness. you know, the side where the wild things grow and come and lick and poke at the membrane around where we live.
i can kind of see how the next 5 years is going to play out. spoiler alert: more losses. did i ever tell you district 9 really touched me. like way deep down? yeah. i almost shed a tear at the end. i wrote an email once to all of my old professors asking for any aid they could possibly offer. one responded out of ten or twelve people. one. and that person's main talking point was: sorry.
researching technical schools ive found they are not cheap and id need a car to get to most of them. im in a camp. i am walled in and held apart from my peers. i dont fucking know why. if i did i would fix it. what are they afraid of? why are people so easily upset? i mean im sure my situation probably makes other people uncomfortable because so little cash would make such a massive difference. but the sum is just large enough to be too much to give away. people probably spend more on cigarettes in a year than i spend on everything combined because im just that broke. well still... theres some hand wringing over that im sure. i avoid talking about it most of the time because its so out there i guess. outside the realm of knowing. im so far away from my socioeconomic peers i stand out like a burnt out house in a neighborhood of gated homes. its not that im too lazy to fix my god damn windows, its that the only thing i can afford is a slab of plywood. you try not to let it color your experiences and temper your relationships but it does. its like having a broken pen in your laundry. no amount of balling up the fabric will prevent it from staining. the viciousness of life does not cease to amaze me. the foulness of our fellow man did a long time ago.
whats the fix. whats the fix. whats the fix. how am i supposed to fix this? do i stay? do i leave? to where? my head hurts. i dont want to lose friends, but sometimes i wonder if friends want to lose me. loss and dealing with loss is something that i dont do well. who does? its crushing to live in such a small box and unreasonable to think others should think of you when you yourself are never around. its like im shouting from the bottom of this well and asking what happened in the news today. eventually the people around me get tired of me asking and they wander away. i guess all i can really do is keep talking so i dont forget what my thoughts sound like.
enough of that depressing shit. in other news... now that i have some design time free for a little while im going to redo the poetry page layout over at the auralport.blogspot.com and have it play off of and into this and itll be one big sexy party of thoughts and words and colors and strikes.... and when youre knee deep in rainbow colored vaginas and unicorns and giant robots and mushroom clouds youll weep tears of solid gold and ill say pretty please while a sky diving t rex plays the greatest guitar solo ever heard.
maybe not that awesome. but hopefully itll be close. god damn it while i was drawing that i inevitably came back around to the black hole in the middle of my life. this is what ive realized: normal people dont like hanging out in hospitals. even on star trek no one hung out at sick bay (unless they were simply bat shit crazy or had no friends) sooo i cant really expect people to want to hang out with someone who is constantly on the verge of ... ah fuck it. im too sleepy to get into this shit. when is it alright to ask someone if you'll ever get back together when you already know the answer? it just goes round and round and round and one of these days im just going to smash it into my desk with a claw hammer and shovel the guts out the window. but till then
///the seatbelts - "forever broke" sunset on 8mm film sounds like this.
i can kind of see how the next 5 years is going to play out. spoiler alert: more losses. did i ever tell you district 9 really touched me. like way deep down? yeah. i almost shed a tear at the end. i wrote an email once to all of my old professors asking for any aid they could possibly offer. one responded out of ten or twelve people. one. and that person's main talking point was: sorry.
researching technical schools ive found they are not cheap and id need a car to get to most of them. im in a camp. i am walled in and held apart from my peers. i dont fucking know why. if i did i would fix it. what are they afraid of? why are people so easily upset? i mean im sure my situation probably makes other people uncomfortable because so little cash would make such a massive difference. but the sum is just large enough to be too much to give away. people probably spend more on cigarettes in a year than i spend on everything combined because im just that broke. well still... theres some hand wringing over that im sure. i avoid talking about it most of the time because its so out there i guess. outside the realm of knowing. im so far away from my socioeconomic peers i stand out like a burnt out house in a neighborhood of gated homes. its not that im too lazy to fix my god damn windows, its that the only thing i can afford is a slab of plywood. you try not to let it color your experiences and temper your relationships but it does. its like having a broken pen in your laundry. no amount of balling up the fabric will prevent it from staining. the viciousness of life does not cease to amaze me. the foulness of our fellow man did a long time ago.
whats the fix. whats the fix. whats the fix. how am i supposed to fix this? do i stay? do i leave? to where? my head hurts. i dont want to lose friends, but sometimes i wonder if friends want to lose me. loss and dealing with loss is something that i dont do well. who does? its crushing to live in such a small box and unreasonable to think others should think of you when you yourself are never around. its like im shouting from the bottom of this well and asking what happened in the news today. eventually the people around me get tired of me asking and they wander away. i guess all i can really do is keep talking so i dont forget what my thoughts sound like.
enough of that depressing shit. in other news... now that i have some design time free for a little while im going to redo the poetry page layout over at the auralport.blogspot.com and have it play off of and into this and itll be one big sexy party of thoughts and words and colors and strikes.... and when youre knee deep in rainbow colored vaginas and unicorns and giant robots and mushroom clouds youll weep tears of solid gold and ill say pretty please while a sky diving t rex plays the greatest guitar solo ever heard.
maybe not that awesome. but hopefully itll be close. god damn it while i was drawing that i inevitably came back around to the black hole in the middle of my life. this is what ive realized: normal people dont like hanging out in hospitals. even on star trek no one hung out at sick bay (unless they were simply bat shit crazy or had no friends) sooo i cant really expect people to want to hang out with someone who is constantly on the verge of ... ah fuck it. im too sleepy to get into this shit. when is it alright to ask someone if you'll ever get back together when you already know the answer? it just goes round and round and round and one of these days im just going to smash it into my desk with a claw hammer and shovel the guts out the window. but till then
///the seatbelts - "forever broke" sunset on 8mm film sounds like this.
3/30/10
the thing is
i dont want thank yous borne of common courte-fucking-sy. i dont want you to buy me a fucking lunch of cheap ass fucking fuck me in the ass taste like shit fast food. i dont want you to make yourself food and then offer me some as a fucking afterthought cuz im in the kitchen and your fucking eating and you feel like shit cuz i just washed the god damn dishes youre eating off of you worthless fucking shit prick. i dont want you to fucking pay me. and most of all you cock lick shit on a dick stuck so far up satans bloody acidic asshole from which all that is unholy on this earth was dispensed since time immemorial, i dont want your fucking humor and smiles cuz you think its all fucking gravy cuz it aint. fuck your face hard enough to blow your jaw clear off. i hope thats what happens to you. i hope that when, since you could not do a single god damn fucking no strings attached thing out of the non existent kindness of your steaming pile of horse shit heart, when you do die ill still be around to cut the face off of your corpse and throw it in a fucking river for feral dogs to fucking devour after the fish and vultures are done with it. fuck off. when i leave here itll be too god damn soon before i am forced to see you.
fucking god damn fucking fuck
okay, micro rant. not a good way to start anything besides a drunken conversation with someone who may or may not be homeless and or addicted to amphetamines and or a person old enough to have fought in a war but whose only motivation for claiming to have done so is to to get free drinks exemplified by the fact that your knowledge of the claimants supposed theater of conflict and parties involved far exceeds said imaginary veterans own (okay i was in a shouting match with a guy in chicago not long ago and finally we got to citizenship and war and voting rights and the guy says "i was in fucking Nam, man" so i asked him what year and he said "the 70s" so i asked him where he was stationed and he said "Nam, man" so i asked him which years in the 70s aaaand it basically went vaguely on and on... what ever fuck it... i dont even know why im still mad about that. hmmm. what was i mad about.... i dont fucking ohhhh yeah.... god damn it... fucking family.
so these fucking ass wipes sit around not doing shit for each other. the food goes bad. rots in the fridge. everyone waiting for someone else to do something. FUCK THEM. fuck them. fuck them. the dirt just piles up and piles up until its unbearable to walk around barefoot in their own fucking house. the bathrooms become unusable. the kitchen sink fills up with dirty shit until you cant even pour yourself a glass of water. all the plates get used until there is nothing to eat off of. what the fuck is wrong with these MORONS. they treat their home like they dont even fucking live there. GOD DAMN IT. i cant kill them. i cant reform them. meanwhile they fucking freak out about the shit they cant control and they fucking stab their god damn noses into every inch of my fucking life and what the hell i wish i could force them to look at the two inches in front of their god damn noses. i mean... what the hell ass damn hell bitch fuck fuck fuck fuck.
theyre like three people clinging to each other and using each other to stay afloat and so are all going to drown eventually. the little sister needs both parents for absolutely everything and gives nothing back. the dad needs the mom for food, and clean clothing,and gives nothing back. the mom needs the dad for shelter and money and gives nothing back. everyone is taking. seeing people fucking behave like this makes me want to shoot myself in the fucking head. its like watching cannibals eat each other every day and somehow the following day the torn away flesh returns to be eaten again. fuck. its disgusting. none of them realizes their parasitic nature. living here is like pouring my heart and brain and time and energy into a fucking black hole.
so these fucking ass wipes sit around not doing shit for each other. the food goes bad. rots in the fridge. everyone waiting for someone else to do something. FUCK THEM. fuck them. fuck them. the dirt just piles up and piles up until its unbearable to walk around barefoot in their own fucking house. the bathrooms become unusable. the kitchen sink fills up with dirty shit until you cant even pour yourself a glass of water. all the plates get used until there is nothing to eat off of. what the fuck is wrong with these MORONS. they treat their home like they dont even fucking live there. GOD DAMN IT. i cant kill them. i cant reform them. meanwhile they fucking freak out about the shit they cant control and they fucking stab their god damn noses into every inch of my fucking life and what the hell i wish i could force them to look at the two inches in front of their god damn noses. i mean... what the hell ass damn hell bitch fuck fuck fuck fuck.
theyre like three people clinging to each other and using each other to stay afloat and so are all going to drown eventually. the little sister needs both parents for absolutely everything and gives nothing back. the dad needs the mom for food, and clean clothing,and gives nothing back. the mom needs the dad for shelter and money and gives nothing back. everyone is taking. seeing people fucking behave like this makes me want to shoot myself in the fucking head. its like watching cannibals eat each other every day and somehow the following day the torn away flesh returns to be eaten again. fuck. its disgusting. none of them realizes their parasitic nature. living here is like pouring my heart and brain and time and energy into a fucking black hole.
7/25/09
fuck the news
Subject : fuck the news
Posted Date: : Jul 25, 2009 2:42 PM
the news sucks. ihate watching it. i hate all the networks. i hate all the spins. i hate that i rarely ever get to hear about anything even remotely important. and i hate that its now more or less a source of entertainment, product placement, and spectacle more than it is a source of information, reliable or not. its something to tell you how to think and feel. and it does it with arguments and commentary that wouldnt stand up in a highschool logic and proofs class if people even went that far in high school, let alone college.
watching the news is like a recieving a daily reminder about just how fucking dumb the majority of americans are. which kind of reminds me of something i thought about near the end of a drug policy class. the conclusion was that the war on drugs was an unsustainable war that is not even close to fighting the real source of the drug problem, if you can even call it that. america is a country of wars. we need wars to dominate everyone else and to flex our will on them, but the only sustainable war, in a country that has thrived on war decade after decade, the only war worth fighting that will take care of so many problems that lead to desert storm part 2 in the first place, the only war to potentially end all wars is a war fought against ignorance.
if people werent so god damn stupid and complacent and fucking misguided there wouldnt be unions, we wouldnt need them, classism would fucking die out because it had to, legislation would be reasonable, people would care about public policy, american cars wouldnt suck dicks and would be worth more than the CHILTON manuals printed about them, fossil fuels wouldnt be a crisis, renewalable energy would be a lot more than a pipe dream, the banks wouldnt have gotten so far gone, gore would have been elected, bush wouldnt have been elected twice, a bill wouldnt have passed making it okay to bring guns into bars, all university would be free, homes wouldnt be built ten feet away from hurricane swells, infrastructure would be stable and able to grow, wal mart would be gone, america wouldnt be an exclusionist state, global warming would be under control, 1 percent of the people wouldnt have 50 percent of the wealth, healthcare would be available for everyone, cigarettes would go away, stupid drug laws would never happen, you'd have to be older than 16 to drive, and younger than 21 to drink, politics wouldnt be nebulous, school would teach you how to learn and grow, prison would reform instead of being a self serving industry, campaigning wouldnt mean pandering, the best man would usually win, the f22 would be out of production years ago, we wouldnt be in a consumer/debt driven society, outsourcing would be non-existant, religion wouldnt be law, the free market would be a myth, job security would be real, a life of excess would be considered abhorrent instead of the ultimate goal to work toward, celebrity would shrivel up and die like the wretched pox on humanity it is, tv would be worth watching, homelessness would be a choice, joining the military wouldnt be the only way out of a dead end life, people would be upwardly mobile, stories of courage would be exclusive of any tv or film personality or lifestyle choice, rags to riches stories would never be told, athletes would not command more money than the president, and corn wouldnt be fucking subsidized.
but the news reminds us every day that america is a pretty fucking ignorant place populated and run by sheep with expense accounts and a desire to someday own an escalade and a helicopter and a house so big the electric bill alone would swallow a low class persons monthly paycheck whole with a pool big enough to provide enough water for a small town to drink and a lawn as green as the sky is blue all located in the middle of the fucking driest climate possible with a gate hardy enough and security force reckless enough to keep out the god damn huns and lurking have nots. cuz what is stupidity and excess without that wonderfully american "they said it couldnt be done so i did it" spirit.
fuck the news. i dont need to be reminded.
///lily allen - ldn: because sometimes things get so rediculously sour that all you can really do is smile about it. the scale of disdain only extends so far. and sometimes things are so black they can only be described in shades of white.
Posted Date: : Jul 25, 2009 2:42 PM
the news sucks. ihate watching it. i hate all the networks. i hate all the spins. i hate that i rarely ever get to hear about anything even remotely important. and i hate that its now more or less a source of entertainment, product placement, and spectacle more than it is a source of information, reliable or not. its something to tell you how to think and feel. and it does it with arguments and commentary that wouldnt stand up in a highschool logic and proofs class if people even went that far in high school, let alone college.
watching the news is like a recieving a daily reminder about just how fucking dumb the majority of americans are. which kind of reminds me of something i thought about near the end of a drug policy class. the conclusion was that the war on drugs was an unsustainable war that is not even close to fighting the real source of the drug problem, if you can even call it that. america is a country of wars. we need wars to dominate everyone else and to flex our will on them, but the only sustainable war, in a country that has thrived on war decade after decade, the only war worth fighting that will take care of so many problems that lead to desert storm part 2 in the first place, the only war to potentially end all wars is a war fought against ignorance.
if people werent so god damn stupid and complacent and fucking misguided there wouldnt be unions, we wouldnt need them, classism would fucking die out because it had to, legislation would be reasonable, people would care about public policy, american cars wouldnt suck dicks and would be worth more than the CHILTON manuals printed about them, fossil fuels wouldnt be a crisis, renewalable energy would be a lot more than a pipe dream, the banks wouldnt have gotten so far gone, gore would have been elected, bush wouldnt have been elected twice, a bill wouldnt have passed making it okay to bring guns into bars, all university would be free, homes wouldnt be built ten feet away from hurricane swells, infrastructure would be stable and able to grow, wal mart would be gone, america wouldnt be an exclusionist state, global warming would be under control, 1 percent of the people wouldnt have 50 percent of the wealth, healthcare would be available for everyone, cigarettes would go away, stupid drug laws would never happen, you'd have to be older than 16 to drive, and younger than 21 to drink, politics wouldnt be nebulous, school would teach you how to learn and grow, prison would reform instead of being a self serving industry, campaigning wouldnt mean pandering, the best man would usually win, the f22 would be out of production years ago, we wouldnt be in a consumer/debt driven society, outsourcing would be non-existant, religion wouldnt be law, the free market would be a myth, job security would be real, a life of excess would be considered abhorrent instead of the ultimate goal to work toward, celebrity would shrivel up and die like the wretched pox on humanity it is, tv would be worth watching, homelessness would be a choice, joining the military wouldnt be the only way out of a dead end life, people would be upwardly mobile, stories of courage would be exclusive of any tv or film personality or lifestyle choice, rags to riches stories would never be told, athletes would not command more money than the president, and corn wouldnt be fucking subsidized.
but the news reminds us every day that america is a pretty fucking ignorant place populated and run by sheep with expense accounts and a desire to someday own an escalade and a helicopter and a house so big the electric bill alone would swallow a low class persons monthly paycheck whole with a pool big enough to provide enough water for a small town to drink and a lawn as green as the sky is blue all located in the middle of the fucking driest climate possible with a gate hardy enough and security force reckless enough to keep out the god damn huns and lurking have nots. cuz what is stupidity and excess without that wonderfully american "they said it couldnt be done so i did it" spirit.
fuck the news. i dont need to be reminded.
///lily allen - ldn: because sometimes things get so rediculously sour that all you can really do is smile about it. the scale of disdain only extends so far. and sometimes things are so black they can only be described in shades of white.
7/25/07
change the channel 07/25/07
Subject : change the channel
Posted Date: : Jun 25, 2007 7:53 PM
alright so im basically complaining again, but its legitimate this time. i swear. on my eventual grave.
america is raising a bunch of pussy ass punk bitch kids. and the most pussy punk ass bitchiest of the bunch are the ones that are gonna run things. just think about it. all those emo mother fuckers who sware ... or is it swear... whatever... who sware they cant deal with life for a single additional day or that everyday is the worst day mankind has witnessed to date are likely not so weak willed because they cant change but probably because all the shit they listen to tells them to be miserable. its like high fidelity... except there is no ambiguity. music is making people miserable, fearful, shallow, and worthless.
kids are afraid to speak up for themselves. kids are afraid to be different from what industry tells them to be. theyre fearful of so many things that have no bearing on real life. theyre distraught over emotions that dont matter. and theyre hateful over differences that are purely cosmetic. they have goals that are pipe dreams and engineered stories designed to sell unsustainable lifestyles. and they see themselves as warriors in fights that dont exist. its more than a manipulation of emotion for effects that can be enjoyable or inspirational or cathartic or whatever the hell you wanna call it. its basically creating ideology for children. yaaaay. childeology. copyright. true story.
its not all music either... duh... its just that the people with half a brain to change the channel instead of being brain washed by recycled beats and redundant guitar riffs have better things to do than try to reform a music market for the masses who are so geared into their own worthlessness to accept that things could be different.
your music is offensive and your brain is under utilized. please see vh1, cmt, bet, and mtv top "music" countdowns for further examples. then burn your tv. then buy a new black and white tv and keep it tuned to public access. jerks.
dont eat ice cream all day. itll make you fat and a waste of space. however much it contributes to the GNP.
///del the funky homosapien - "3030" quality 7 minute anthem. listen to it. rebuild something. more and better and different music to come. for serious.
Posted Date: : Jun 25, 2007 7:53 PM
alright so im basically complaining again, but its legitimate this time. i swear. on my eventual grave.
america is raising a bunch of pussy ass punk bitch kids. and the most pussy punk ass bitchiest of the bunch are the ones that are gonna run things. just think about it. all those emo mother fuckers who sware ... or is it swear... whatever... who sware they cant deal with life for a single additional day or that everyday is the worst day mankind has witnessed to date are likely not so weak willed because they cant change but probably because all the shit they listen to tells them to be miserable. its like high fidelity... except there is no ambiguity. music is making people miserable, fearful, shallow, and worthless.
kids are afraid to speak up for themselves. kids are afraid to be different from what industry tells them to be. theyre fearful of so many things that have no bearing on real life. theyre distraught over emotions that dont matter. and theyre hateful over differences that are purely cosmetic. they have goals that are pipe dreams and engineered stories designed to sell unsustainable lifestyles. and they see themselves as warriors in fights that dont exist. its more than a manipulation of emotion for effects that can be enjoyable or inspirational or cathartic or whatever the hell you wanna call it. its basically creating ideology for children. yaaaay. childeology. copyright. true story.
its not all music either... duh... its just that the people with half a brain to change the channel instead of being brain washed by recycled beats and redundant guitar riffs have better things to do than try to reform a music market for the masses who are so geared into their own worthlessness to accept that things could be different.
your music is offensive and your brain is under utilized. please see vh1, cmt, bet, and mtv top "music" countdowns for further examples. then burn your tv. then buy a new black and white tv and keep it tuned to public access. jerks.
dont eat ice cream all day. itll make you fat and a waste of space. however much it contributes to the GNP.
///del the funky homosapien - "3030" quality 7 minute anthem. listen to it. rebuild something. more and better and different music to come. for serious.
11/10/05
contentment 11/10/05
Subject : contentment.
Posted Date: : Nov 10, 2005 11:06 PM
so the outlook is bleak. true.
I still enjoy life. I'm not saying everything sucks bleh! all im saying is that with none of the usual things to really look forward to i just focus on the pleasures i do have... like masterbating. whether i have money or not i can still masterbate to my hearts content... and writing... i can still write whenever i want and im glad that i am a literate mutha fucka. so not having money isnt the end of the world. its just not the beginning of a new one.
and when the day ends and everything is over and done with... i'm okay with that.
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