Mostly I am on my other blog lately, http://theelvesattic.blogspot.com and my site where I am pounding out my late3st book, http://wakingupjesus.blogspot.com
7301 NORTH SHERIDEN, FOR LETTING ME STINK UP THE PLACE THIS AFTERNOON....
and bring you this fine, rambshackle entertainment...
Saturday, May 07, 2005
yes, i know what you are thinking.
Why doesn't he write more about the Ramones?? I get so many emails on this, and while I wrote them, spell checked em, and sent them off to myself, they are still quite impressive in their number.
Okay, You Know My Position On Chronic Assholism ? shoot those pushy, snooty little poofs. Fire for their heads!!! I say!!!! And Joey Ramone is, by his own reckoning, a mean asshole.
No, not really?. I write shit like this sometimes and then think of Matthew Hale, him being a real honest to dog, full of shit from head to foot, racist, and realize that if you are NOT laughing as you read this kill kill crap that I am writing, and are, indeed, just nodding along and thinking ?Yes, yes? they do deserve to die,? please forgive?. but, much as they deserve to die, that doesn?t mean that I am promoting violence; no, no?. it?s true? I am just trying to make myself laugh despite the decay (blame this long, long sentence on an early obsession with Henry James). I can wait for the fruition of the The Mighty Beat Them To Twitches and Moans Hamster Army.
Oh, yea, the Ramones?. They were assholes and weird, weird people? who inspired a lot of cool acts. I wish I had seen them play sometimes now, but they?re almost all dead at this point. I never hear them, and I don?t buy music, really?.. the dvd?s cluttering this place are of course the pack rat M?s, even though all are of course at the mercy of my destructive nature and stoned stupidity? so she doesn?t much approve of my using them anymore
Okay, I hope that cleared up the Ramones question that has been giving you all those sleepless nights and forcing you to have to stare at pictures of puppies for hours to break your pathetically dark moods? Maybe this can be a first step toward quieting all the voices in your head telling you to kill and play with feces and stuff? Probably not. At least the one asking about how I feel about the Ramones will stop driving you to email me all hours of the day and night with questions about Dee Dee and stuff. I am a half deaf writer who sings in a voice so out of key that I can actually make nearby squirrels scream in terror and fall over and just lay there twitching until you kick them, so I don?t know why you would bother asking me shit like this?
I guess it comes from me jokingly referring to myself as ?lifes? punk. ? This is not the same as being into the clash and dressing up in needles and tattoos? Punk and about every other trend you can name avoided the part of Indiana I grew up in? meaning, I suck way too much to be in on any movement as it happens?
Okay, You Know My Position On Chronic Assholism ? shoot those pushy, snooty little poofs. Fire for their heads!!! I say!!!! And Joey Ramone is, by his own reckoning, a mean asshole.
No, not really?. I write shit like this sometimes and then think of Matthew Hale, him being a real honest to dog, full of shit from head to foot, racist, and realize that if you are NOT laughing as you read this kill kill crap that I am writing, and are, indeed, just nodding along and thinking ?Yes, yes? they do deserve to die,? please forgive?. but, much as they deserve to die, that doesn?t mean that I am promoting violence; no, no?. it?s true? I am just trying to make myself laugh despite the decay (blame this long, long sentence on an early obsession with Henry James). I can wait for the fruition of the The Mighty Beat Them To Twitches and Moans Hamster Army.
Oh, yea, the Ramones?. They were assholes and weird, weird people? who inspired a lot of cool acts. I wish I had seen them play sometimes now, but they?re almost all dead at this point. I never hear them, and I don?t buy music, really?.. the dvd?s cluttering this place are of course the pack rat M?s, even though all are of course at the mercy of my destructive nature and stoned stupidity? so she doesn?t much approve of my using them anymore
Okay, I hope that cleared up the Ramones question that has been giving you all those sleepless nights and forcing you to have to stare at pictures of puppies for hours to break your pathetically dark moods? Maybe this can be a first step toward quieting all the voices in your head telling you to kill and play with feces and stuff? Probably not. At least the one asking about how I feel about the Ramones will stop driving you to email me all hours of the day and night with questions about Dee Dee and stuff. I am a half deaf writer who sings in a voice so out of key that I can actually make nearby squirrels scream in terror and fall over and just lay there twitching until you kick them, so I don?t know why you would bother asking me shit like this?
I guess it comes from me jokingly referring to myself as ?lifes? punk. ? This is not the same as being into the clash and dressing up in needles and tattoos? Punk and about every other trend you can name avoided the part of Indiana I grew up in? meaning, I suck way too much to be in on any movement as it happens?
UNDER A GODLESS SKY
Stumbling
away
from the warped words
Set echoing in mind
Watching infinity become finite
In a day swirling away from the horoscope
Under a godless sky
Laying down in the grass hearing
the faint heart beat of the mother
away
from the warped words
Set echoing in mind
Watching infinity become finite
In a day swirling away from the horoscope
Under a godless sky
Laying down in the grass hearing
the faint heart beat of the mother
THE HAMSTERS ARE BEING DEPLOYED, AT LAST!!!!
I have been approached by a group of revolutionarily indoctrinated ducks, mostly Mallards ? which is who I have been meeting with, though I guess there are other species involved, as well. They are armed, trained, and prepared for an insurgency against the heavies around their pond, the insolent, buck toothed, ever penny pinching and perverse, Beavers.
Or course the Ducks want me to provide them a few contingents from what has thus far been known as the Mighty Hamster Army,
Though they may soon change their name to THE MIGHTY BEAT THE ENEMY TO PISS AND TWITCHES HAMSTER ARMY, if I can figure out a way to get even the initials of this name on their little green army jackets. Which I really am going to make, even if nay sayers in the liberal camp, like M., think I am making up the jackets, as well as various feats that I have tried to attribute to the jugular nipping whisker twitches (as I sometimes call my troops).
The Ducks seem to think some bloody line was crossed by the beavers, when a song became popular with them which dissed ducks in a way that could be taken as just fun, or totally racist. I listened to it, and all I heard was another one of those stupid, beaver drunk tunes that the whisky-addled rodents sing to boost up their flagging buzzes.
The Ducks are sophisticated enough in matters of cultural conditioning to know that this kind of veiled brain washing of young beavers into believing that their beaked brethren are, as the song lyrics in contention call them, ?brain dead ducks,? must be stopped. This kind of first strike against cultural trends among other species that threaten their well being, has to be supported, of course, so I was quick to back them?. Telling the ducks gathered down at the beach this morning, ?Yes, I will help you take down the beavers.?
Other dog walkers were a little taken aback when I told the ducks this. I tried to explain to them that they were there to meet me, because of the hamster army? there was a young couple with bouncy terrier and a black kid with a white puffy poodle. They were all in a hurry or something because they didn?t seem to really be listening after the first few minutes of my explanations of general strategies like the use of indigenous peoples as low wage slaves. I guess they wandered off or something? I of course went on with my lecture? until finally the ducks flew off and I let the tugging Ruby Doo pull me on down the beach.
I like to believe that my troops are now trained and ready to go to war . . . actual troop strength is of course a national security secret at this point, and that has nothing with my making all of this up. I?d like to say that sixty hamsters have survived thus far, out of the sixty-six that started out weeks ago as young recruits. I?m afraid the code of hamster operational secrecy would be broken were I to actually say this, though?
I can confirm that the hamsters do learn quickly. You see their little whiskers whipping back and forth? That is how quick they think.
I will of course come to the aide of the ducks (whom this article in a New Yorker says are thought by scientific researchers of the joke to be the funniest species of all, so I cynically threw them into my pandering hamsters rhapsodies); anyone who is fighting the scourge of the Beaver would receive my full support, of course. MAKE THEM ALL INTO COATS I say, now that my belief in saving the environment and all other ethics have dissolved into cynical, petty name calling (or so my blog aspires, at least)?.
Like the Ducks, I cut off all diplomatic talks when the beavers messed with this stream, building a dam that swamped three duck nests and nearly killed a duckling.
Yes, everything here is true?. Every hamster tale is even now being scribed into the myths of our tribes?right now, before your eyes, in this CIA sponsored site that is intent on controlling your mind. I just want you to make you open minded, personally, though I suspect my sponsors may be wanting more?
Nah, I just made that up, like all the other hot shot journalists are doing. The CIA would never go so low as to sponsor a site like this? I know, oh how I know? I tried to sell my ass to anyone, you all know that? no, my attempts to sell out have thus far all been thwarted? the most recent attempt crumbled when no one would believe me when I said I setting up a tsunami relief fund?
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
Or course the Ducks want me to provide them a few contingents from what has thus far been known as the Mighty Hamster Army,
Though they may soon change their name to THE MIGHTY BEAT THE ENEMY TO PISS AND TWITCHES HAMSTER ARMY, if I can figure out a way to get even the initials of this name on their little green army jackets. Which I really am going to make, even if nay sayers in the liberal camp, like M., think I am making up the jackets, as well as various feats that I have tried to attribute to the jugular nipping whisker twitches (as I sometimes call my troops).
The Ducks seem to think some bloody line was crossed by the beavers, when a song became popular with them which dissed ducks in a way that could be taken as just fun, or totally racist. I listened to it, and all I heard was another one of those stupid, beaver drunk tunes that the whisky-addled rodents sing to boost up their flagging buzzes.
The Ducks are sophisticated enough in matters of cultural conditioning to know that this kind of veiled brain washing of young beavers into believing that their beaked brethren are, as the song lyrics in contention call them, ?brain dead ducks,? must be stopped. This kind of first strike against cultural trends among other species that threaten their well being, has to be supported, of course, so I was quick to back them?. Telling the ducks gathered down at the beach this morning, ?Yes, I will help you take down the beavers.?
Other dog walkers were a little taken aback when I told the ducks this. I tried to explain to them that they were there to meet me, because of the hamster army? there was a young couple with bouncy terrier and a black kid with a white puffy poodle. They were all in a hurry or something because they didn?t seem to really be listening after the first few minutes of my explanations of general strategies like the use of indigenous peoples as low wage slaves. I guess they wandered off or something? I of course went on with my lecture? until finally the ducks flew off and I let the tugging Ruby Doo pull me on down the beach.
I like to believe that my troops are now trained and ready to go to war . . . actual troop strength is of course a national security secret at this point, and that has nothing with my making all of this up. I?d like to say that sixty hamsters have survived thus far, out of the sixty-six that started out weeks ago as young recruits. I?m afraid the code of hamster operational secrecy would be broken were I to actually say this, though?
I can confirm that the hamsters do learn quickly. You see their little whiskers whipping back and forth? That is how quick they think.
I will of course come to the aide of the ducks (whom this article in a New Yorker says are thought by scientific researchers of the joke to be the funniest species of all, so I cynically threw them into my pandering hamsters rhapsodies); anyone who is fighting the scourge of the Beaver would receive my full support, of course. MAKE THEM ALL INTO COATS I say, now that my belief in saving the environment and all other ethics have dissolved into cynical, petty name calling (or so my blog aspires, at least)?.
Like the Ducks, I cut off all diplomatic talks when the beavers messed with this stream, building a dam that swamped three duck nests and nearly killed a duckling.
Yes, everything here is true?. Every hamster tale is even now being scribed into the myths of our tribes?right now, before your eyes, in this CIA sponsored site that is intent on controlling your mind. I just want you to make you open minded, personally, though I suspect my sponsors may be wanting more?
Nah, I just made that up, like all the other hot shot journalists are doing. The CIA would never go so low as to sponsor a site like this? I know, oh how I know? I tried to sell my ass to anyone, you all know that? no, my attempts to sell out have thus far all been thwarted? the most recent attempt crumbled when no one would believe me when I said I setting up a tsunami relief fund?
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
SECOND CHANCE... film noir
. If there was a god, I would never have to say these sad, sad words again?. ?Oh, so, you?ve never heard of Robert Mitchum??
A beautiful disaster.
SECOND CHANCE is a Howard Hughes movie starring Mitchum and a busty woman with puffy, pouty red, red lips? The Weed Smoking Actor God As Much As There Is One loved shooting this picture in Trinidad; the movie creates an exotic city filled with smiling natives selling whatever, in crowded streets filled with tough talking men and women who always yield; a Shangri la where the maiter?d?s are more informed than the local police. He got good weed there, his wife was at home so he could do any woman he wanted, and he loved to drink and sing and was welcomed into the local music scene, where he gained his life long love for Calypso music, which he actually introduced into the US on an album that he ended up being forced to sing on when everyone he elicited claimed that Mitchum was the better mambo singer. He could sing. On the album, which I have (as well as the DVD and all things Mitchum, due to M.?s particular form of geekiness), Mitchum sings like he is a native. He recorded this album not as a white guy doing his interpretation, but as an actor trying to convey how the natives were singing calypso. He gets across how much he enjoyed getting drunk and listening to the music, smoking a j and holding the shapely, soft ship of the night in his arms.
This Movie Second Chance also has a young, mean Jack Palance going up against a thirty something Mitchum face. The Mitch is at his zenith during this time, physical appearance wise at least. His ?duck walk? strut is at maximum leopard like coolness. Palance is so mean that the little kids shouldn?t see this one. The violence is stark in this Hughes Product, with a man beating his wife in public, then later falling down cliffs and bouncing bloodily to his death == just as Jack Palance does later, when the Mitch finally kicks his ass, on top of a cable car strung between the peaks of two mountainous peaks in Trinidad. The last words spoken in this movie are, ?What a beautiful disaster,? and come from the lips of the operator of a cable car, who is among those who have just been rescued from their original cable car, which they are watching do a deadly bounce down the cliff ? which is, oddly enough, the third deadly bounce down this cliff in the last twenty minutes of the movie?. for reasons inexplicable to me and more than likely you.
?What a beautiful disaster.? HMMM???? What does it mean when this phrase ends a movie? I like the idea of this line being spoke over the dead as their lives are remembered.
I hope some kid will have the decency to spray paint this on my tombstone one day. The list of phrases that I wish to have spray painted on my tomb is another of my lists that is ?seemingly? ?getting too long to be stored in the apartment any longer. ? At least that is M?s take on what she refuses to acknowledge are sacred piles of parchment? actually, M. has been particularly harsh with her censorship of my work ever since she spent a horrified morning last summer going through all the lists and charts and general source material and other data that I had gathered while doing my study, Bikini Usage At The Jarvis Beach,--which she still to this day sees as nothing more than, ?Criminal Invasion of Privacy,? and other assorted crimes.
The moral of the story is, obviously, that you should be sterilized if you start developing an interest in my writing.
.eal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
A beautiful disaster.
SECOND CHANCE is a Howard Hughes movie starring Mitchum and a busty woman with puffy, pouty red, red lips? The Weed Smoking Actor God As Much As There Is One loved shooting this picture in Trinidad; the movie creates an exotic city filled with smiling natives selling whatever, in crowded streets filled with tough talking men and women who always yield; a Shangri la where the maiter?d?s are more informed than the local police. He got good weed there, his wife was at home so he could do any woman he wanted, and he loved to drink and sing and was welcomed into the local music scene, where he gained his life long love for Calypso music, which he actually introduced into the US on an album that he ended up being forced to sing on when everyone he elicited claimed that Mitchum was the better mambo singer. He could sing. On the album, which I have (as well as the DVD and all things Mitchum, due to M.?s particular form of geekiness), Mitchum sings like he is a native. He recorded this album not as a white guy doing his interpretation, but as an actor trying to convey how the natives were singing calypso. He gets across how much he enjoyed getting drunk and listening to the music, smoking a j and holding the shapely, soft ship of the night in his arms.
This Movie Second Chance also has a young, mean Jack Palance going up against a thirty something Mitchum face. The Mitch is at his zenith during this time, physical appearance wise at least. His ?duck walk? strut is at maximum leopard like coolness. Palance is so mean that the little kids shouldn?t see this one. The violence is stark in this Hughes Product, with a man beating his wife in public, then later falling down cliffs and bouncing bloodily to his death == just as Jack Palance does later, when the Mitch finally kicks his ass, on top of a cable car strung between the peaks of two mountainous peaks in Trinidad. The last words spoken in this movie are, ?What a beautiful disaster,? and come from the lips of the operator of a cable car, who is among those who have just been rescued from their original cable car, which they are watching do a deadly bounce down the cliff ? which is, oddly enough, the third deadly bounce down this cliff in the last twenty minutes of the movie?. for reasons inexplicable to me and more than likely you.
?What a beautiful disaster.? HMMM???? What does it mean when this phrase ends a movie? I like the idea of this line being spoke over the dead as their lives are remembered.
I hope some kid will have the decency to spray paint this on my tombstone one day. The list of phrases that I wish to have spray painted on my tomb is another of my lists that is ?seemingly? ?getting too long to be stored in the apartment any longer. ? At least that is M?s take on what she refuses to acknowledge are sacred piles of parchment? actually, M. has been particularly harsh with her censorship of my work ever since she spent a horrified morning last summer going through all the lists and charts and general source material and other data that I had gathered while doing my study, Bikini Usage At The Jarvis Beach,--which she still to this day sees as nothing more than, ?Criminal Invasion of Privacy,? and other assorted crimes.
The moral of the story is, obviously, that you should be sterilized if you start developing an interest in my writing.
.eal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
not the ramones, again...
Of course I can read your mind?..
I know exactly what you are thinking: ?Why doesn?t he write more about the Ramones?? I get so many emails on this, and while I wrote them, spell checked em, and sent them off to myself, they are still quite impressive in their number.
Okay, You Know My Position On Chronic Assholism ? shoot those pushy, snooty little poofs. Fire for their heads!!! I say!!!! And Joey Ramone is, by his own reckoning, a mean asshole.
No, not really?. I write shit like this sometimes and then think of Matthew Hale, him being a real honest to dog, full of shit from head to foot, racist, and realize that if you are NOT laughing as you read this kill kill crap that I am writing, and are, indeed, just nodding along and thinking ?Yes, yes? they do deserve to die,? please forgive?. but, much as they deserve to die, that doesn?t mean that I am promoting violence; no, no?. it?s true? I am just trying to make myself laugh despite the decay (blame this long, long sentence on an early obsession with Henry James). I can wait for the fruition of the The Mighty Beat Them To Twitches and Moans Hamster Army.
Oh, yea, the Ramones?. They were assholes and weird, weird people? who inspired a lot of cool acts. I wish I had seen them play sometimes now, but they?re almost all dead at this point. I never hear them, and I don?t buy music, really?.. the dvd?s cluttering this place are of course the pack rat M?s, even though all are of course at the mercy of my destructive nature and stoned stupidity? so she doesn?t much approve of my using them anymore
Okay, I hope that cleared up the Ramones question that has been giving you all those sleepless nights and forcing you to have to stare at pictures of puppies for hours to break your pathetically dark moods? Maybe this can be a first step toward quieting all the voices in your head telling you to kill and play with feces and stuff? Probably not. At least the one asking about how I feel about the Ramones will stop driving you to email me all hours of the day and night with questions about Dee Dee and stuff. I am a half deaf writer who sings in a voice so out of key that I can actually make nearby squirrels scream in terror and fall over and just lay there twitching until you kick them, so I don?t know why you would bother asking me shit like this?
I guess it comes from me jokingly referring to myself as ?lifes? punk. ? This is not the same as being into the clash and dressing up in needles and tattoos? Punk and about every other trend you can name avoided the part of Indiana I grew up in? meaning, I suck way too much to be in on any movement as it happens?
I know exactly what you are thinking: ?Why doesn?t he write more about the Ramones?? I get so many emails on this, and while I wrote them, spell checked em, and sent them off to myself, they are still quite impressive in their number.
Okay, You Know My Position On Chronic Assholism ? shoot those pushy, snooty little poofs. Fire for their heads!!! I say!!!! And Joey Ramone is, by his own reckoning, a mean asshole.
No, not really?. I write shit like this sometimes and then think of Matthew Hale, him being a real honest to dog, full of shit from head to foot, racist, and realize that if you are NOT laughing as you read this kill kill crap that I am writing, and are, indeed, just nodding along and thinking ?Yes, yes? they do deserve to die,? please forgive?. but, much as they deserve to die, that doesn?t mean that I am promoting violence; no, no?. it?s true? I am just trying to make myself laugh despite the decay (blame this long, long sentence on an early obsession with Henry James). I can wait for the fruition of the The Mighty Beat Them To Twitches and Moans Hamster Army.
Oh, yea, the Ramones?. They were assholes and weird, weird people? who inspired a lot of cool acts. I wish I had seen them play sometimes now, but they?re almost all dead at this point. I never hear them, and I don?t buy music, really?.. the dvd?s cluttering this place are of course the pack rat M?s, even though all are of course at the mercy of my destructive nature and stoned stupidity? so she doesn?t much approve of my using them anymore
Okay, I hope that cleared up the Ramones question that has been giving you all those sleepless nights and forcing you to have to stare at pictures of puppies for hours to break your pathetically dark moods? Maybe this can be a first step toward quieting all the voices in your head telling you to kill and play with feces and stuff? Probably not. At least the one asking about how I feel about the Ramones will stop driving you to email me all hours of the day and night with questions about Dee Dee and stuff. I am a half deaf writer who sings in a voice so out of key that I can actually make nearby squirrels scream in terror and fall over and just lay there twitching until you kick them, so I don?t know why you would bother asking me shit like this?
I guess it comes from me jokingly referring to myself as ?lifes? punk. ? This is not the same as being into the clash and dressing up in needles and tattoos? Punk and about every other trend you can name avoided the part of Indiana I grew up in? meaning, I suck way too much to be in on any movement as it happens?
SLAPPING AROUND YOUR INNER CHILD
SLAPPING AROUND YOUR INNER CHILD
This is a treatise on how to avoid another Columbine Massacre, or another wordy waste of time ? you be the judge. Here with ye shall find that there are too many people walking around controlled by their inner child ? the side of us that sees all the bright and shiny things and reaches out with pudgy little hands towards, feeling an anticipation and need that wasn?t even there before the commercials started showing you all the bright and shiny things. (I suppose I should write that this is a reference to u2?s song about this, since I doubt I can expect YOU to do much THINKING, and I sure as hell can?t expect everyone in this blog wide world to have listened to BONO, even though I have never met someone who hasn?t. . .). Lexus commercials appeal to this part of your inner children; the part of ourselves who says, ?Fuck the environmental concerns, I am driving a tank because I can afford to now, and it is bright and shiny, inside and out ? even in the trunk.? Which is much like saying some vile, monolithic missive like: ?I am RESPONSIBLE only to my OWN NEEDS ? A MERCILESS MICROCOSM IN A HABITAT OF MERCILESS MICROCOSMS.?
This makes you a danger to the rest of us. History shows that a lot of little ?footnote? leaders around the world, when forced into the dilemma of what to do with a predatorial caste, saw the wisest solution written in bullets. NEVER WORKS.
I just read over this entry for the first time and I had to laugh, I tell you, because it is so apparent in my prose that I am in a particularly warm hearted mood today. I hate that.
teal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
This is a treatise on how to avoid another Columbine Massacre, or another wordy waste of time ? you be the judge. Here with ye shall find that there are too many people walking around controlled by their inner child ? the side of us that sees all the bright and shiny things and reaches out with pudgy little hands towards, feeling an anticipation and need that wasn?t even there before the commercials started showing you all the bright and shiny things. (I suppose I should write that this is a reference to u2?s song about this, since I doubt I can expect YOU to do much THINKING, and I sure as hell can?t expect everyone in this blog wide world to have listened to BONO, even though I have never met someone who hasn?t. . .). Lexus commercials appeal to this part of your inner children; the part of ourselves who says, ?Fuck the environmental concerns, I am driving a tank because I can afford to now, and it is bright and shiny, inside and out ? even in the trunk.? Which is much like saying some vile, monolithic missive like: ?I am RESPONSIBLE only to my OWN NEEDS ? A MERCILESS MICROCOSM IN A HABITAT OF MERCILESS MICROCOSMS.?
This makes you a danger to the rest of us. History shows that a lot of little ?footnote? leaders around the world, when forced into the dilemma of what to do with a predatorial caste, saw the wisest solution written in bullets. NEVER WORKS.
I just read over this entry for the first time and I had to laugh, I tell you, because it is so apparent in my prose that I am in a particularly warm hearted mood today. I hate that.
teal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
JUST SAY, 'DUDE, DON'T BOGART."
The JUST SAY: ?Dude, don?t bogart!!!!.? campaign
The new campaign I am starting is ?JUST SAY, DON?T BOGART.? Or possibly the ?JUST SAY, DON?T BOGART, DUDE? campaign, depending on how big I make the letters on the signs. I always end up measuring something wrong and losing the last word, or having to write it too tiny to see. . . being stoned all day does have a disadvantage ? I never would have thought there was one, and no matter how sad that makes me, I take heart in the knowledge that the little weed will soon enough make me forget all about this sad little smear.
Now, I know, you know that I don?t like to preach?. humble shit for brains I am, but once in a while, like during the Disposable But Monkey fad of 2003, I have to say something about a topic that is not being addressed by what I personally know to be the Wombat controlled so called free-press? Let me tell ya, when I heard that Nancy Reagen is starting some Just Say No campaign about pot, I had to be the first to say something, naturally. I mean, I have been watching the news and papers and no one is saying anything ? not even The Smoking Gun? so, to be startlingly current and controversial, as I find myself being so naturally?. let me now write down the proper thing to say while a joint is being passed around ? because if you say something about Just Saying No, you will probably be beaten, and quite justifiably so, I might add.
So join the disheveled giggling and Just Say:. ?Dude, don?t bogart the hamster? (See, I told you that all those pleading entries I wrote about sending hamsters really was a code for SEND ME WEED; using it like this in a sentence proves me right).
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
The new campaign I am starting is ?JUST SAY, DON?T BOGART.? Or possibly the ?JUST SAY, DON?T BOGART, DUDE? campaign, depending on how big I make the letters on the signs. I always end up measuring something wrong and losing the last word, or having to write it too tiny to see. . . being stoned all day does have a disadvantage ? I never would have thought there was one, and no matter how sad that makes me, I take heart in the knowledge that the little weed will soon enough make me forget all about this sad little smear.
Now, I know, you know that I don?t like to preach?. humble shit for brains I am, but once in a while, like during the Disposable But Monkey fad of 2003, I have to say something about a topic that is not being addressed by what I personally know to be the Wombat controlled so called free-press? Let me tell ya, when I heard that Nancy Reagen is starting some Just Say No campaign about pot, I had to be the first to say something, naturally. I mean, I have been watching the news and papers and no one is saying anything ? not even The Smoking Gun? so, to be startlingly current and controversial, as I find myself being so naturally?. let me now write down the proper thing to say while a joint is being passed around ? because if you say something about Just Saying No, you will probably be beaten, and quite justifiably so, I might add.
So join the disheveled giggling and Just Say:. ?Dude, don?t bogart the hamster? (See, I told you that all those pleading entries I wrote about sending hamsters really was a code for SEND ME WEED; using it like this in a sentence proves me right).
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
OFFICER, THIS IS THE TRUTH... OKAY??
Excerpt 11
OFFICER, THIS IS THE TRUTH? KAY?
Did I tell you that weed is my pet name for cigarettes? Legal little, no bust involved ever, cigarettes. They are all that I really smoke. Just thought I should get that into the blog, because without this statement in the transcripts, I am afraid this blog will look really bad in court. I am glad that is finally taken care of? I have been meaning to get that into the blog since the first day? no, I had it on there the first day, then those hackers came into my site and took it off all those times, and finally one day I didn?t bother, and the next day I didn?t notice? I kept meaning to put this back in the blog?. Really.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
OFFICER, THIS IS THE TRUTH? KAY?
Did I tell you that weed is my pet name for cigarettes? Legal little, no bust involved ever, cigarettes. They are all that I really smoke. Just thought I should get that into the blog, because without this statement in the transcripts, I am afraid this blog will look really bad in court. I am glad that is finally taken care of? I have been meaning to get that into the blog since the first day? no, I had it on there the first day, then those hackers came into my site and took it off all those times, and finally one day I didn?t bother, and the next day I didn?t notice? I kept meaning to put this back in the blog?. Really.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
BATMAN AND ROBIN
BATMAN AND ROBIN
I heard the most interesting thing said about this show the other day. A guy I don?t know said, ?I didn?t watch Batman when I was little because I didn?t understand Camp, but now I can?t get enough of it.?
I heard Batman say the other day, in response to something Robin said about having strong teeth, ?Yes . . . ? in his serious, preaching, super hero voice, ?Yes, Robin, people need to pay more attention to their dental hygiene. I . . . ? He was still preaching as the segment ended? So funny. So damned funny. Yet, when I was a kid, making fun of action shows hadn?t come to me, because I was into action shows. What a little idiot I was. Hmmmm?..
This got me thinking about my adolescents, which I want to write about more in my fiction?. I always told myself that I would only write about the life of the cab driver when I was finally out of it. Had some standard line for people who asked if I wrote about my adventures, something like, ?No, man, I don?t want to work all day, than go home and think about my work while I am writing. I?d rather be a spy, or a mercenary or a poet, or something?.?
Now, I think I am far enough away from those years to see myself as an entirely different person. I can?t believe I am still embarrassed about shit I did back then. The past really does catch up with you. That phrase didn?t make sense to me really until I was about 40, and started to notice just how many people died around me?.from bad habits picked up in their immortal youths?. realized that I am finite. This helps a lot. When I am dead and gone, I tell myself, all that anyone in this world will care about me is what value I have left behind in this world. This makes the earth my place of worship, and my fellow human beings the only demons and angels.
teal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
I heard the most interesting thing said about this show the other day. A guy I don?t know said, ?I didn?t watch Batman when I was little because I didn?t understand Camp, but now I can?t get enough of it.?
I heard Batman say the other day, in response to something Robin said about having strong teeth, ?Yes . . . ? in his serious, preaching, super hero voice, ?Yes, Robin, people need to pay more attention to their dental hygiene. I . . . ? He was still preaching as the segment ended? So funny. So damned funny. Yet, when I was a kid, making fun of action shows hadn?t come to me, because I was into action shows. What a little idiot I was. Hmmmm?..
This got me thinking about my adolescents, which I want to write about more in my fiction?. I always told myself that I would only write about the life of the cab driver when I was finally out of it. Had some standard line for people who asked if I wrote about my adventures, something like, ?No, man, I don?t want to work all day, than go home and think about my work while I am writing. I?d rather be a spy, or a mercenary or a poet, or something?.?
Now, I think I am far enough away from those years to see myself as an entirely different person. I can?t believe I am still embarrassed about shit I did back then. The past really does catch up with you. That phrase didn?t make sense to me really until I was about 40, and started to notice just how many people died around me?.from bad habits picked up in their immortal youths?. realized that I am finite. This helps a lot. When I am dead and gone, I tell myself, all that anyone in this world will care about me is what value I have left behind in this world. This makes the earth my place of worship, and my fellow human beings the only demons and angels.
teal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
I AIN'T NO FORTUNATE SON....
AS John Fogarty, SANG
Existentialism Boofishly Explained Away
My first brush with existing in the moment came when I had a psychologist, back over twenty years ago, who proclaimed that he was an existentialist. I read a few books about the movement, which pretty much answered an unspoken question that I had about whether this dude?s red eyes were caused by weed, or what? A young man in his twenties, with eyes that were as red as his hair. He was trying to live in the moment, for sensations and feelings, thrills and pills and chills. . . Can you see how this could lead to problems with a savings account? This is how a crack addict or a baby looks at the world? and it is the way everyone of us looks at the world to certain degrees. Who doesn?t want to feel good? Even people who like pain do so because it feels good, oddly enough?
T his philosophy of living in the moment sounds like it makes sense under a godless sky, where the old ideas of tying morality to religion ? and thus the empowerment of the current power structure that it is propping up ? are being not only questioned, but for all intents and purposes rebutted. . Taking whatever life has to offer with gusto like this is of course a lot easier if you are a rich rock star, rather than a crippled, sleeping in the streets, bum.
But, without a god to lick our wounds, what are we to do on this planet, spend our lives slowly bleeding to death from the thousands of tiny cuts that accumulate with the passing years? First a dead santa, then a dead cat, a dead sibling, dead grandparents, dead parents, dead? and no heaven waiting for them. I am forever surprised that more peoples minds don?t just break down and disentigrate into microcosmic countries reigned by the madness. I personally was so over whelmed by seventeen, when the essential question was being asked of me ? how will you proceed in life (though I had no real sense of this at the time), that I felt like I was going crazy. Feeling like you are going crazy is only almost as bad as actually going crazy? I think, but what the fuck do I know?
Trying to leap from sun spot to sun spot, regardless of whether it is a mile or a foot away, is hardly the way to be for most?.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
Existentialism Boofishly Explained Away
My first brush with existing in the moment came when I had a psychologist, back over twenty years ago, who proclaimed that he was an existentialist. I read a few books about the movement, which pretty much answered an unspoken question that I had about whether this dude?s red eyes were caused by weed, or what? A young man in his twenties, with eyes that were as red as his hair. He was trying to live in the moment, for sensations and feelings, thrills and pills and chills. . . Can you see how this could lead to problems with a savings account? This is how a crack addict or a baby looks at the world? and it is the way everyone of us looks at the world to certain degrees. Who doesn?t want to feel good? Even people who like pain do so because it feels good, oddly enough?
T his philosophy of living in the moment sounds like it makes sense under a godless sky, where the old ideas of tying morality to religion ? and thus the empowerment of the current power structure that it is propping up ? are being not only questioned, but for all intents and purposes rebutted. . Taking whatever life has to offer with gusto like this is of course a lot easier if you are a rich rock star, rather than a crippled, sleeping in the streets, bum.
But, without a god to lick our wounds, what are we to do on this planet, spend our lives slowly bleeding to death from the thousands of tiny cuts that accumulate with the passing years? First a dead santa, then a dead cat, a dead sibling, dead grandparents, dead parents, dead? and no heaven waiting for them. I am forever surprised that more peoples minds don?t just break down and disentigrate into microcosmic countries reigned by the madness. I personally was so over whelmed by seventeen, when the essential question was being asked of me ? how will you proceed in life (though I had no real sense of this at the time), that I felt like I was going crazy. Feeling like you are going crazy is only almost as bad as actually going crazy? I think, but what the fuck do I know?
Trying to leap from sun spot to sun spot, regardless of whether it is a mile or a foot away, is hardly the way to be for most?.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
THE STORY OF A. CRAYON
The Story of A. Crayon.
My neighbors are a strange lot. Across the hall are two couples in their seventies, who have had some kind of open group marriage? there is a lot to it, of course; they put together a book once explaining all the human geography they felt they were mapping out, like explorers they felt they were, discovering new and wonderful ways to be a human. They self published thousands and thousands of the book and ended up losing the one woman?s family fortune. They still have boxes of the soft brown leather bound books. The red leather text has faded over the years into a bland beige. Despite their inability to get people to buy their book, let alone take on their lifestyle, they claim to have found the perfect existence for man in a socialist world ? which, they admit, probably would have already swept the world were it ever going to happen. Bush depresses the hell out of them.
Down another flight of stars and there is a heroin addict and her fourteen year old kid, a video game wizard who hangs out as much as possible in our studio. Another denizen of 1436 Jarvis is a man in his early thirties who claims to be an alien. He was convinced by his present religion that he is one of the ?thirty six? of the chosen ones (36 being actually a floating number, based on how many people are keeping up with Sunday school in his sect; we could have been chosen, too, and become, in our mind and theirs, Godly, but I put down my foot on this one. I mean, I look a good religious conversion as much as the next boof, but if everyone is chosen than no one is chosen, you know?
When our neighbor asked me, ?are you ready to believe that you are god??
I responded by quoting Yeats as I scooted out his door, ? The best lack all convictions, and the worst are filled with passionate intensity.?
My name is Crayon. An artist to some?the people who buy my paintings, a slacker to some ? the parents of the women who I date, a waste to some ? all the people who mistake my silence and lack of interest as dullardly, and also an object of lust and pity and anger and laughter and all kinds of other shit every damn day of my life?.. I am as puzzled as anyone else as to what I am?
To myself I am a boof, a fool. It took many of years of college to reach such a level of foolishness. This story is an overly wordy, whiny postulation of my life. . .
The others here are more earthy than I am. They smell the turpentine in the air, notice when I leave the toilet seat down, and can always rinse out their coffee mugs. I am always somewhere else, no matter where I am. I am no longer an existentialist. I stand amid white flakes falling from a hot, July sky and yell at everyone around me to shut up and listen for the sound of snow hitting the ground. They shake their heads like I am nuts. At first I believed them.
What happened was . . .
and then we . . .
In the end, I think everyone learned a thing or two, though at the moment I can?t think of any.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
My neighbors are a strange lot. Across the hall are two couples in their seventies, who have had some kind of open group marriage? there is a lot to it, of course; they put together a book once explaining all the human geography they felt they were mapping out, like explorers they felt they were, discovering new and wonderful ways to be a human. They self published thousands and thousands of the book and ended up losing the one woman?s family fortune. They still have boxes of the soft brown leather bound books. The red leather text has faded over the years into a bland beige. Despite their inability to get people to buy their book, let alone take on their lifestyle, they claim to have found the perfect existence for man in a socialist world ? which, they admit, probably would have already swept the world were it ever going to happen. Bush depresses the hell out of them.
Down another flight of stars and there is a heroin addict and her fourteen year old kid, a video game wizard who hangs out as much as possible in our studio. Another denizen of 1436 Jarvis is a man in his early thirties who claims to be an alien. He was convinced by his present religion that he is one of the ?thirty six? of the chosen ones (36 being actually a floating number, based on how many people are keeping up with Sunday school in his sect; we could have been chosen, too, and become, in our mind and theirs, Godly, but I put down my foot on this one. I mean, I look a good religious conversion as much as the next boof, but if everyone is chosen than no one is chosen, you know?
When our neighbor asked me, ?are you ready to believe that you are god??
I responded by quoting Yeats as I scooted out his door, ? The best lack all convictions, and the worst are filled with passionate intensity.?
My name is Crayon. An artist to some?the people who buy my paintings, a slacker to some ? the parents of the women who I date, a waste to some ? all the people who mistake my silence and lack of interest as dullardly, and also an object of lust and pity and anger and laughter and all kinds of other shit every damn day of my life?.. I am as puzzled as anyone else as to what I am?
To myself I am a boof, a fool. It took many of years of college to reach such a level of foolishness. This story is an overly wordy, whiny postulation of my life. . .
The others here are more earthy than I am. They smell the turpentine in the air, notice when I leave the toilet seat down, and can always rinse out their coffee mugs. I am always somewhere else, no matter where I am. I am no longer an existentialist. I stand amid white flakes falling from a hot, July sky and yell at everyone around me to shut up and listen for the sound of snow hitting the ground. They shake their heads like I am nuts. At first I believed them.
What happened was . . .
and then we . . .
In the end, I think everyone learned a thing or two, though at the moment I can?t think of any.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
PLAYING IN THE DUNES
Playing in the Dunes.
I HAVE been off line now for a few weeks. How boring to write it and how boring to read it. The new modern dilemma. A deviation in the path of the blog, for sure. I have been writing, obviously, since this is the fifteenth of unpublished essays that I will upload when I have the time and inclination to get off my lazy ass and walk a block and a half to an internet cafe.
The last week, I have been reading and painting more than writing. The connection to the people who comment on my blogs is missed, and I think that aided me in my slow drift into painting and reading. I read the five hundred pages or so in a Frank Herbert book about the Dune universe, a later effort that carries the story on into esoteric and ever deeper complexity, involving Bene Gesserts trying to save the universe, (which ends up being Why Leto 2, the worm, during his 3500 year rule, allowed the congregation of near-white-witches to continue existing and doing universe wide genetic experiments to get a messiah.. When they do get him-- the first in Maud dib, and then, in a more poignant and lonely way, his son Leto II, who allows himself to become basically immortal, by becoming mostly Sand Worm, so he can stave off the obliteration of humankind. The sacrifices that it takes for Leto to live out this life is made particularly appealing because he knows his future, and realizes that the best part of his life is over. That he has become purely a tool of history.
Leto II saw that in one possible future humanity will become extinct, unless he is able to save them by one possible future, which they refer to as the Golden Path. HE takes this moral responsibility as well as he can, though he doesn't kid himself into some delusion to better deal with his plight -- a luxury afforded to the worshipers in the dynasty around him. He was very humbled and worried and desperately saddened by the bloody tactics that were required to follow the Golden Path to the survival of Humanity. I urge anyone who has even a passing interest on how science fiction is used to deal with topics in the 'real world,' need look no further than these books and their introductions... but at least you should see the two sci-fi channel mini-series...
The book I just read takes place three thousand years after Leto's death. What he predicted is coming true, and the main characters in the novel are discovering as much, s the plot carries on through intrigue, a war with a bastardized version of the Ben Gesserit that is coming back from what Leto set up, and numerous other juicy little subplots.
So, that is something of a book review that never names a book, which merely tries to entice you to enter a world that has given me a lot of solace over the years.
Seal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
I HAVE been off line now for a few weeks. How boring to write it and how boring to read it. The new modern dilemma. A deviation in the path of the blog, for sure. I have been writing, obviously, since this is the fifteenth of unpublished essays that I will upload when I have the time and inclination to get off my lazy ass and walk a block and a half to an internet cafe.
The last week, I have been reading and painting more than writing. The connection to the people who comment on my blogs is missed, and I think that aided me in my slow drift into painting and reading. I read the five hundred pages or so in a Frank Herbert book about the Dune universe, a later effort that carries the story on into esoteric and ever deeper complexity, involving Bene Gesserts trying to save the universe, (which ends up being Why Leto 2, the worm, during his 3500 year rule, allowed the congregation of near-white-witches to continue existing and doing universe wide genetic experiments to get a messiah.. When they do get him-- the first in Maud dib, and then, in a more poignant and lonely way, his son Leto II, who allows himself to become basically immortal, by becoming mostly Sand Worm, so he can stave off the obliteration of humankind. The sacrifices that it takes for Leto to live out this life is made particularly appealing because he knows his future, and realizes that the best part of his life is over. That he has become purely a tool of history.
Leto II saw that in one possible future humanity will become extinct, unless he is able to save them by one possible future, which they refer to as the Golden Path. HE takes this moral responsibility as well as he can, though he doesn't kid himself into some delusion to better deal with his plight -- a luxury afforded to the worshipers in the dynasty around him. He was very humbled and worried and desperately saddened by the bloody tactics that were required to follow the Golden Path to the survival of Humanity. I urge anyone who has even a passing interest on how science fiction is used to deal with topics in the 'real world,' need look no further than these books and their introductions... but at least you should see the two sci-fi channel mini-series...
The book I just read takes place three thousand years after Leto's death. What he predicted is coming true, and the main characters in the novel are discovering as much, s the plot carries on through intrigue, a war with a bastardized version of the Ben Gesserit that is coming back from what Leto set up, and numerous other juicy little subplots.
So, that is something of a book review that never names a book, which merely tries to entice you to enter a world that has given me a lot of solace over the years.
Seal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
LETTER FROM THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE
A letter from the slaughterhouse
The latest shipment of human beings is on the loading dock. We have been told to be extra careful with this group, because they come from segment 15 A. You never want to work down line from that out post, son. They use the childhoods of the animals for some kind of manual labor. They beat them into becoming whatever is best for their labor needs. So by the time we get them, they are half crazy. It?s like they know that they are about to become Earth Burgers with Blood Sauce, or something? Not that they do.
Even a remote breeding farm like 145367AKFJ has to at least follow the guidelines and let the humans play at their religions, where they are taught they will saved by some imaginary thing? I can?t remember, to be honest. But my years working out here have shown me that this component is what we need to get the humans to walk down the conveyor for into Meat Dissembly Unit. They just stumble along in a religious ecstasy, mumbling low some words from their religion. They are taught that the blades are their god, you know?.
Have they taught you this in school yet? They will. Humans are tasty, easily farmed, adaptable to numerous planetoid environments. Do I sound like a teacher unit? Sorry.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
The latest shipment of human beings is on the loading dock. We have been told to be extra careful with this group, because they come from segment 15 A. You never want to work down line from that out post, son. They use the childhoods of the animals for some kind of manual labor. They beat them into becoming whatever is best for their labor needs. So by the time we get them, they are half crazy. It?s like they know that they are about to become Earth Burgers with Blood Sauce, or something? Not that they do.
Even a remote breeding farm like 145367AKFJ has to at least follow the guidelines and let the humans play at their religions, where they are taught they will saved by some imaginary thing? I can?t remember, to be honest. But my years working out here have shown me that this component is what we need to get the humans to walk down the conveyor for into Meat Dissembly Unit. They just stumble along in a religious ecstasy, mumbling low some words from their religion. They are taught that the blades are their god, you know?.
Have they taught you this in school yet? They will. Humans are tasty, easily farmed, adaptable to numerous planetoid environments. Do I sound like a teacher unit? Sorry.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
THE FORGE
..
I imagine a forge on the page
See myself stepping into the first line
Nebulous and unsure of my very existence
Melting down to my essence and pouring into a mold
I become sporto statues on a child?s shelf.
Medals for generals and shackles for thieves
The forge is untrustworthy,
The page prone to sending out grotesqueries
Half done humans missing a few essentials
Predators never-tempered by a mother?s caress
When does the writing become the writer trying to forge a self? Is this possible? L. Ron Hubbard wrote a lot of people into his dream, but did he take himself? One would think, if he were sane enough, he would remember the world before he made up his lies and convinced people to pay dearly for them; before he decided to create a new religion?
An intellectual discovers what the dummest, drunkest Carnie learns too young to remember ? there are marks in this world; people who are easily influenced; to whom belief is an emotional experience without relevance to the facts. They are boring enough to take this little tidbit and use it to manipulate the people they sell themselves to. Like a lot of salesman, the end justifies the means when it comes to getting a commission check (how easily we all sell what we don?t even realize we have!!!!).
Pashaw!!!! L. Ron Hubbard is the easy target. I use him in the stupid belief that everyone has done a search on scientology and realized what scammers they are. The internet, with its various ways to think, may even be the end of such mind tyrannies, but then again, people are so stupid. Me included, of course. Me ? People ? Too. The trick is getting them all to see that other religions started with an L Ron Hubbard/social planner/government intent on mind control/etc? We tend to think that black psy-ops techniques are new, but history is full of examples of brain washed troops walking to their deaths, thinking that they were finally going to get to go play with all their imaginary friends.
Of late, I have read two writers who I love who had to respond to the question, ?Are you going to start a cult,? from people who wished to go into their novels and never leave. They replace their world by slowly allowing their religion to define what words mean.
Instead of how most of us live, where we let the larger, collective consciousness of our time/culture/genetic Imperatives tell us what a hat is? What a car is? Quite often, even what a woman is, and other ridiculously reductive statements that leave much more out of the definition of the word than they actually add....
?
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
I imagine a forge on the page
See myself stepping into the first line
Nebulous and unsure of my very existence
Melting down to my essence and pouring into a mold
I become sporto statues on a child?s shelf.
Medals for generals and shackles for thieves
The forge is untrustworthy,
The page prone to sending out grotesqueries
Half done humans missing a few essentials
Predators never-tempered by a mother?s caress
When does the writing become the writer trying to forge a self? Is this possible? L. Ron Hubbard wrote a lot of people into his dream, but did he take himself? One would think, if he were sane enough, he would remember the world before he made up his lies and convinced people to pay dearly for them; before he decided to create a new religion?
An intellectual discovers what the dummest, drunkest Carnie learns too young to remember ? there are marks in this world; people who are easily influenced; to whom belief is an emotional experience without relevance to the facts. They are boring enough to take this little tidbit and use it to manipulate the people they sell themselves to. Like a lot of salesman, the end justifies the means when it comes to getting a commission check (how easily we all sell what we don?t even realize we have!!!!).
Pashaw!!!! L. Ron Hubbard is the easy target. I use him in the stupid belief that everyone has done a search on scientology and realized what scammers they are. The internet, with its various ways to think, may even be the end of such mind tyrannies, but then again, people are so stupid. Me included, of course. Me ? People ? Too. The trick is getting them all to see that other religions started with an L Ron Hubbard/social planner/government intent on mind control/etc? We tend to think that black psy-ops techniques are new, but history is full of examples of brain washed troops walking to their deaths, thinking that they were finally going to get to go play with all their imaginary friends.
Of late, I have read two writers who I love who had to respond to the question, ?Are you going to start a cult,? from people who wished to go into their novels and never leave. They replace their world by slowly allowing their religion to define what words mean.
Instead of how most of us live, where we let the larger, collective consciousness of our time/culture/genetic Imperatives tell us what a hat is? What a car is? Quite often, even what a woman is, and other ridiculously reductive statements that leave much more out of the definition of the word than they actually add....
?
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
conversation with a kid
CONVERSATION WITH A KID
?You?re saying, that when people die, all of your imaginary friends come true??
He looked up at me slightly puzzled. ?Really??
?Sure. Like Jesus.?
?Jesus isn?t made up.?
?Are cartoons made up??
?Yea, everybody knows that.?
?Well, think of Jesus as a Pokemon, alright??
?With big eyes. Blue or black ones. Green. Make him smiling, too.?
?No, not? I mean, think of Jesus as Made Up, like the pokemon.?
?Mom says Jesus is real. So does the minister. And dad.?
?Well, they have all lied to you from the start. Oh, christ, you aren?t going to cry are you? Oh, stop that.?
?Mommy wouldn?t lie to me.?
?What about that time she told you that you were going to get to go get ice cream if you cleaned up your room, and then said she was too tired? That was a lie. She lies to you all the time. You?ll see. That?s what school does, and therapy? they get rid of the lies that you inherit from your parents, the ones they tell you to get you to behave.?
?You?re a liar.?
?Sure, I can?t help it. Everyone has to lie sometimes, because people are so full of shit that they take the truth and create their own little delusional pettiness to define what it is? like gay people who lie around weirdo?s who are going to act like they are evil or something??
?What??
?Oh, never mind. I can see that people are still lying to you about all this stuff. You like girls??
?Yea.?
?Never mind. This topic is for adults. I am practically, maybe even lawfully, forced to lie to you about certain things, and deviating forms of sexual appetites is one of them.?
?What??
?Never mind.?
?I need some ice cream.?
?Yea . . . yea, me too.?
?You?re saying, that when people die, all of your imaginary friends come true??
He looked up at me slightly puzzled. ?Really??
?Sure. Like Jesus.?
?Jesus isn?t made up.?
?Are cartoons made up??
?Yea, everybody knows that.?
?Well, think of Jesus as a Pokemon, alright??
?With big eyes. Blue or black ones. Green. Make him smiling, too.?
?No, not? I mean, think of Jesus as Made Up, like the pokemon.?
?Mom says Jesus is real. So does the minister. And dad.?
?Well, they have all lied to you from the start. Oh, christ, you aren?t going to cry are you? Oh, stop that.?
?Mommy wouldn?t lie to me.?
?What about that time she told you that you were going to get to go get ice cream if you cleaned up your room, and then said she was too tired? That was a lie. She lies to you all the time. You?ll see. That?s what school does, and therapy? they get rid of the lies that you inherit from your parents, the ones they tell you to get you to behave.?
?You?re a liar.?
?Sure, I can?t help it. Everyone has to lie sometimes, because people are so full of shit that they take the truth and create their own little delusional pettiness to define what it is? like gay people who lie around weirdo?s who are going to act like they are evil or something??
?What??
?Oh, never mind. I can see that people are still lying to you about all this stuff. You like girls??
?Yea.?
?Never mind. This topic is for adults. I am practically, maybe even lawfully, forced to lie to you about certain things, and deviating forms of sexual appetites is one of them.?
?What??
?Never mind.?
?I need some ice cream.?
?Yea . . . yea, me too.?
bob dylan should do more covers.
I see him in the not too distant future redoing some of the disco classics, personally. I should be paid for ideas like this last one, but no? just remember, when you see Bobby wearing Spandex and dancing about singing Do You Think I?m Sexy, that you read it here first, in the ever astute Psycho Elves Attic.
the animated johnny pain is coming
ANIMATED JOHNNY PAIN IS COMING. CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED, MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!!!
I am really embarrassed over some of the entries in here. They tend to disappear sooner or later? one of them is begging for alms, which I have pledged myself I will erase the next time I am indeed on line.
I am poor and scruffy and in need of patrons of the arts? and thankfully, through out my life, such people have stepped in to help me when I am stumbling. Without them, I would be much worse off. I in turn have helped others when they were stumbling and my footing was solid. An example of this popped up a week ago a friend of mine came in from Ohio and we spent an evening talking about computers and life and killing over annoyance (Like you can do now in Texas, now? usually I think those Bushes are good for little more than a place for dogs to piss, but on this, someone one of them did the right thing?I can only speculate that he is pandering now that he is in line to take over the Dynasty Of Dunces). He has some extra computers and is going to load one up with shit I can use and send it to my humble domestica? on the lake. This means I will soon be able to animate some of my stories. I have been wanting to do more Cartoons forever. The ones I do right are pretty funny to me, and sold right out when put on paintings. Johnny Pain animated. Makes sense to me, since it is very cartoony writing. I am A Child OF A TV that is funnier when it is animated (Family Guy is back!!!!!), why wouldn?t my creativity sooner or later flow down that little cultural stream?
So, when the cartoons and short little animated flicks start appearing on this site, you can thank, Jerry. Like I do.
I am really embarrassed over some of the entries in here. They tend to disappear sooner or later? one of them is begging for alms, which I have pledged myself I will erase the next time I am indeed on line.
I am poor and scruffy and in need of patrons of the arts? and thankfully, through out my life, such people have stepped in to help me when I am stumbling. Without them, I would be much worse off. I in turn have helped others when they were stumbling and my footing was solid. An example of this popped up a week ago a friend of mine came in from Ohio and we spent an evening talking about computers and life and killing over annoyance (Like you can do now in Texas, now? usually I think those Bushes are good for little more than a place for dogs to piss, but on this, someone one of them did the right thing?I can only speculate that he is pandering now that he is in line to take over the Dynasty Of Dunces). He has some extra computers and is going to load one up with shit I can use and send it to my humble domestica? on the lake. This means I will soon be able to animate some of my stories. I have been wanting to do more Cartoons forever. The ones I do right are pretty funny to me, and sold right out when put on paintings. Johnny Pain animated. Makes sense to me, since it is very cartoony writing. I am A Child OF A TV that is funnier when it is animated (Family Guy is back!!!!!), why wouldn?t my creativity sooner or later flow down that little cultural stream?
So, when the cartoons and short little animated flicks start appearing on this site, you can thank, Jerry. Like I do.
KILLING YOUR INNER TEENAGER
is a new column that I am starting this morning (I wonder if anyone has ever wondered, besides me? which I doubt? will I be going back one day to all these entries where I have announced new columns are starting and actually write columns? I can?t answer that. There are too many variables in the equation for a 2 + 2 solution; entirely depends on a mix of mood and chemicals of which I am not altogether in control of). I am hoping this new column (or word slop, if you will), will take the pain of my adolescence and place all that shit in a memory bag that smells like Chanel numero 5? Or just aide me as I play a game of pretending into a world beyond the touch of death and depression, and go back and find myself at ten and take myself by the shoulders and stare into my eyes and tell me something stupid (you know I suck), like ?Live the hell of every moment, but never live one as if it were your last?it won?t be, and you owe it to some future self of yours not to fuck up the whole mess in ?one bad move? (a line which Lyle Levitt made immortal on Joshua Judges Ruth, one great broken-hearted album filled with surprisingly joyous black south choirs ? he wrote most of this right after losing Julia Roberts, his young blush bride, to the next actor on her next movie),
No, on second or nine thought, or something?. I would tell my younger self, ?It?s okay, you were right, most of this that they are telling you is bullshit that will not matter in your later life, and when you are the adult, you will find your semblance of peace. Until then, get fucked up a lot, because the writing will need those ponies well broken before you are ever going to ride.?
I don?t expect myself to understand, really. I just want the words to ?itch at my ears,? as Whitman wrote.
I probably should also add? ?Don?t accept their cells, no matter how nice the furnishings or the bunk mate, because you will, sooner or later, come to hate the bars, and end up a Japanese stock broker with a lay off notice and a .45, slipping into a park downtown and finding a quiet, hidden place, where you can put the barrel into your temple and prove for all the world that you lived in a romantically addled drama world all of your own? By cells, I mean mentalities; cosmologies and the natural juices all together in one huge glass.?
This could probably happen, I think.
No, on second or nine thought, or something?. I would tell my younger self, ?It?s okay, you were right, most of this that they are telling you is bullshit that will not matter in your later life, and when you are the adult, you will find your semblance of peace. Until then, get fucked up a lot, because the writing will need those ponies well broken before you are ever going to ride.?
I don?t expect myself to understand, really. I just want the words to ?itch at my ears,? as Whitman wrote.
I probably should also add? ?Don?t accept their cells, no matter how nice the furnishings or the bunk mate, because you will, sooner or later, come to hate the bars, and end up a Japanese stock broker with a lay off notice and a .45, slipping into a park downtown and finding a quiet, hidden place, where you can put the barrel into your temple and prove for all the world that you lived in a romantically addled drama world all of your own? By cells, I mean mentalities; cosmologies and the natural juices all together in one huge glass.?
This could probably happen, I think.
hawaii five oh, and the invasion of Kirby, the traveling cat
HAWAII FIVE O. Mcgarret is still cool.
Listening to MPR while Hawaii five o putters about on the tv. Tommy wong has done wrong and must pay, even if he is detective Chin?s cousin. They are all so serious on this show. They have no personal life, usually?. There is the chief and his subordinates?. No rancor in the ranks.
Under the sun of satan? is being talked about on the Radio, which is weird since my last intro was ?Under the sky of?? We both play with the same clich??/thought. Bet that is interesting to you, the reader, eh??
This morning is weird. First, I found a stray cat on the stairs. To get on the stairs requires entering a security door, so more than likely the cat is owned by someone in the building. The poor thing is scared to death. Cute as hell, of course, black with white mittens and a real interesting pattern around her face that is incredibly symmetrical. A very uncommonally cute cat? ?Just what I need to replace Mr. Yeats? is of course the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw it (no sex has been determined yet, though I suspect it is a female. Why? Because it was trying to hide on the stairs, freaked out and cold as hell and scared, it had no where to go, could only crouch down on the stairs?. The little thing loved being petted, though? as M. found out when she first discovered the little pilgrim).
I let it in the house and it immediately scurried back into our cluttered dining room, with the dark recesses behind the desks and tables. Ahhh, I figure, the cat is better off hiding someplace it feels safe, rather than being crouched down in the stairs and petrified, as it obviously was. It barely moved when we went out to it, just stayed there all crouched down like the position alone was her best defense?. There is nothing worse than animals tales that end tragically?. This one won?t. I will find the owner or take care of the cat. Period. I will not trust it?s well being to anyone except the people who raised the cat, and are probably here in the building? or out of town? or asleep for the day? who knows????? I could swear I have seen this cat before, so it may be our next door neighbor?s? Who knows?
Well, the cat is safe in our back room?. The walls are lined with boxes and tables and desks, to the point that sitting at the dining room table is like being in a canyon?. I cover a lot of them with a room divider and a stand up Kevin sorbo doing Hercules that is signed?. (this being my only possibility asset in life, it is of course beaten up and was even possibly abused by a stoned guy once? which is why my guide to living on the streets is really going to come in handy one day). M. has so much shit she collects that I would call her problem a neurosis, though I have to say, she seldom buys new stuff to collect since I am around ?. I, the destructor? The accidental destroyer?. yes, I took some of her toys out of their pristine packages and displayed them and played with them and stuff, and indeed she has never let me live down this sin against geeks everywhere. They seemed so wasted somehow, all those gi joe?s and stuff who were stuck in their boxes, destined to become part of some rich gay guys collection one day in the future, which I predict will happen seven months and three days after they pull M. and I? s bodies down from the elf one day, and toss our old carcasses unceremoniously into the dumpster in the alley behind the building.
Now ?I Spy.? Is on. Watching these old shows of late, since the cable bill became outrageous? How could we owe 350 bucks to the cable company, anyways? You see the commercials, it is supposed to be cheap, like 29.00 a month? but that is just basic cable, which is like getting a better apartment in the ghetto, you know? Better just to stick to what you have?. Or better yet, do anything other than just watch tv? not that I don?t love tv?. I do? I would love to do more tv?. But only on my terms, which requires someone to actually knock on my door and hand me a bunch of money, which is not how it happens? I will do no footwork for tv. I am more interested in novels, short stories and essays, and just putting up blather like this up on the net?
Listening to MPR while Hawaii five o putters about on the tv. Tommy wong has done wrong and must pay, even if he is detective Chin?s cousin. They are all so serious on this show. They have no personal life, usually?. There is the chief and his subordinates?. No rancor in the ranks.
Under the sun of satan? is being talked about on the Radio, which is weird since my last intro was ?Under the sky of?? We both play with the same clich??/thought. Bet that is interesting to you, the reader, eh??
This morning is weird. First, I found a stray cat on the stairs. To get on the stairs requires entering a security door, so more than likely the cat is owned by someone in the building. The poor thing is scared to death. Cute as hell, of course, black with white mittens and a real interesting pattern around her face that is incredibly symmetrical. A very uncommonally cute cat? ?Just what I need to replace Mr. Yeats? is of course the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw it (no sex has been determined yet, though I suspect it is a female. Why? Because it was trying to hide on the stairs, freaked out and cold as hell and scared, it had no where to go, could only crouch down on the stairs?. The little thing loved being petted, though? as M. found out when she first discovered the little pilgrim).
I let it in the house and it immediately scurried back into our cluttered dining room, with the dark recesses behind the desks and tables. Ahhh, I figure, the cat is better off hiding someplace it feels safe, rather than being crouched down in the stairs and petrified, as it obviously was. It barely moved when we went out to it, just stayed there all crouched down like the position alone was her best defense?. There is nothing worse than animals tales that end tragically?. This one won?t. I will find the owner or take care of the cat. Period. I will not trust it?s well being to anyone except the people who raised the cat, and are probably here in the building? or out of town? or asleep for the day? who knows????? I could swear I have seen this cat before, so it may be our next door neighbor?s? Who knows?
Well, the cat is safe in our back room?. The walls are lined with boxes and tables and desks, to the point that sitting at the dining room table is like being in a canyon?. I cover a lot of them with a room divider and a stand up Kevin sorbo doing Hercules that is signed?. (this being my only possibility asset in life, it is of course beaten up and was even possibly abused by a stoned guy once? which is why my guide to living on the streets is really going to come in handy one day). M. has so much shit she collects that I would call her problem a neurosis, though I have to say, she seldom buys new stuff to collect since I am around ?. I, the destructor? The accidental destroyer?. yes, I took some of her toys out of their pristine packages and displayed them and played with them and stuff, and indeed she has never let me live down this sin against geeks everywhere. They seemed so wasted somehow, all those gi joe?s and stuff who were stuck in their boxes, destined to become part of some rich gay guys collection one day in the future, which I predict will happen seven months and three days after they pull M. and I? s bodies down from the elf one day, and toss our old carcasses unceremoniously into the dumpster in the alley behind the building.
Now ?I Spy.? Is on. Watching these old shows of late, since the cable bill became outrageous? How could we owe 350 bucks to the cable company, anyways? You see the commercials, it is supposed to be cheap, like 29.00 a month? but that is just basic cable, which is like getting a better apartment in the ghetto, you know? Better just to stick to what you have?. Or better yet, do anything other than just watch tv? not that I don?t love tv?. I do? I would love to do more tv?. But only on my terms, which requires someone to actually knock on my door and hand me a bunch of money, which is not how it happens? I will do no footwork for tv. I am more interested in novels, short stories and essays, and just putting up blather like this up on the net?
the pain train
A most unusual and typical train ride tonight; I took a seat right in front of a young, very attractive black woman LOUD TALKING rudely into her cell phone. People do this. For a few seconds, fine. It happens. But Loud Talking???? What the hell is that about??? LOUD TALKING LIKE DOUBLES THE ANNOYANCE LEVEL of having to listen to someone talk -- whether we have said to them we want to hear them or not. This is unusual in life. Mostly, people will choose who they have to listen to. Some just choose music, and I was like that for years. Kept me shielded from the sounds of the city, wafted me away from the every day, bringing otherwise non-existent drama to my commute to work, trips to spikes, and adventures with hamsters.
Back to the train. The el in Chicago looks old, is made decrepit by the NICE, NEW buildings surrounding its rusting metal sides; I feel like the old trains with their stench and seventies industrial look are a part of the past already? then I remember that somehow Chicago never has enough money for mass transit? hey, mayor, if you love the environment, get people riding the dam strange trains. Think San Fransisco?s BART, okay?
I should add, getting back to this loud talking on the cell phone? There are different types who are just as self-absorbed as young girls trying to fend off every bit of boredom in their average, average day. The other that comes to mind smell heavily of cologne, clean cut white guys with ties nice suits, shiny shoes and brand new hairdos. They look all dramatic as they LOUD TALK about their serious ?business.? They are like rouge microcosms, oblivious to the feelings of others. People like this see others as hollow; the other commuters on the train as dolls devoid of feelings and thoughts and annoyance at people totally intruding on my space. Kill them without pity.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
Back to the train. The el in Chicago looks old, is made decrepit by the NICE, NEW buildings surrounding its rusting metal sides; I feel like the old trains with their stench and seventies industrial look are a part of the past already? then I remember that somehow Chicago never has enough money for mass transit? hey, mayor, if you love the environment, get people riding the dam strange trains. Think San Fransisco?s BART, okay?
I should add, getting back to this loud talking on the cell phone? There are different types who are just as self-absorbed as young girls trying to fend off every bit of boredom in their average, average day. The other that comes to mind smell heavily of cologne, clean cut white guys with ties nice suits, shiny shoes and brand new hairdos. They look all dramatic as they LOUD TALK about their serious ?business.? They are like rouge microcosms, oblivious to the feelings of others. People like this see others as hollow; the other commuters on the train as dolls devoid of feelings and thoughts and annoyance at people totally intruding on my space. Kill them without pity.
Steal from me and you will be cursed in such a way that your hands turn into worthless, jelly fish like appendages that sting your intimates. Or sued or something bad like that...
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