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
THIS NARRATIVE SEEMS TO BE DEVELOPING INTO A NEW BOOK.. I HAVE LAIN AWAKE THE LAST FEW NIGHTS WITH THESE CHARACTERS RUNNING AROUND IN MY HEAD HAVING CRISES AND ADVENTURES AND DISCOVERING, AGAIN AND AGAIN, THAT THEY HAVE CHOICES TO MAKE THAT ARE NOT EASILY ANSWERED BY RELIGIOUS DOGMA.
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? The cult lives next door in a basement apartment filled with four teered bunk beds and a small chapel. I am the building manager, a job that supports me while I indulge my habit of painting rather rough, often poorly executed and conceived oil paintings that please me regardless. I am doing my best to stand apart from all the different views of reality that fill the apartment building and our block, as well as our enemies. I am immune to the madnesses of the cult and the socialists and the alein... as they are immune to my madnesses.
When our neighborhodd culters' asked me, "Johny, 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.
This is a story that will seem fantastic because it of course is fantastic. As fantastic as a dandelion's seeds whisping white on a breeze. I wish I could provide more of a passage into this dream, one filled with the realism that easily let's you step into a realm devoid of the commuters around you on the train and the low hum of a television in the distant, barking dogs, screaming sirens, crying babes and all the other myriads of distractions that make the mind disconnect from the page....
The easiest, shortest way to explain the events is to say, 'Things just got weird." The long version is required here, to flesh out this book and give me all the space I need to explain why and how and what caused our neighborhood to explode into a bloody civil war.
I'll start back when me and my roomates Paul and Matt took over the building. Matt's uncle Roy had owned the place, and lacking heirs and given Matt's love of the game store and the beat up bar and pot=--which uncle Roy smoked and sold. Before this stroke of good fortune, we were living in a ramshackle apartment, nine months behind on our electricity, which was on only because the landlords vicious dog wouldn't let the ConEd electrician into the basement to shut it off.
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...
Friday, May 20, 2005
The Story of A. Crayon... BEGINNING OF A NOVEL, ADDED TO...
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? The cult lives next door in a basement apartment filled with four teered bunk beds and a small chapel. I am the building manager, a job that supports me while I indulge my habit of painting rather rough, often poorly executed and conceived oil paintings that please me regardless. I am doing my best to stand apart from all the different views of reality that fill the apartment building and our block, as well as our enemies. I am immune to the madnesses of the cult and the socialists and the alein... as they are immune to my madnesses.
When our neighborhodd culters' asked me, "Johny, 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.
This is a story that will seem fantastic because it of course is fantastic. As fantastic as a dandelion's seeds whisping white on a breeze. I wish I could provide more of a passage into this dream, one filled with the realism that easily let's you step into a realm devoid of the commuters around you on the train and the low hum of a television in the distant, barking dogs, screaming sirens, crying babes and all the other myriads of distractions that make the mind disconnect from the page....
The easiest, shortest way to explain the events is to say, 'Things just got weird." The long version is required here, to flesh out this book and give me all the space I need to explain why and how and what caused our neighborhood to explode into a bloody civil war.
I'll start back when me and my roomates Paul and Matt took over the building. Matt's uncle Roy had owned the place, and lacking heirs and given Matt's love of the game store and the beat up bar and pot=--which uncle Roy smoked and sold. Before this stroke of good fortune, we were living in a ramshackle apartment, nine months behind on our electricity, which was on only because the landlords vicious dog wouldn't let the ConEd electrician into the basement to shut it off.
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...
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? The cult lives next door in a basement apartment filled with four teered bunk beds and a small chapel. I am the building manager, a job that supports me while I indulge my habit of painting rather rough, often poorly executed and conceived oil paintings that please me regardless. I am doing my best to stand apart from all the different views of reality that fill the apartment building and our block, as well as our enemies. I am immune to the madnesses of the cult and the socialists and the alein... as they are immune to my madnesses.
When our neighborhodd culters' asked me, "Johny, 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.
This is a story that will seem fantastic because it of course is fantastic. As fantastic as a dandelion's seeds whisping white on a breeze. I wish I could provide more of a passage into this dream, one filled with the realism that easily let's you step into a realm devoid of the commuters around you on the train and the low hum of a television in the distant, barking dogs, screaming sirens, crying babes and all the other myriads of distractions that make the mind disconnect from the page....
The easiest, shortest way to explain the events is to say, 'Things just got weird." The long version is required here, to flesh out this book and give me all the space I need to explain why and how and what caused our neighborhood to explode into a bloody civil war.
I'll start back when me and my roomates Paul and Matt took over the building. Matt's uncle Roy had owned the place, and lacking heirs and given Matt's love of the game store and the beat up bar and pot=--which uncle Roy smoked and sold. Before this stroke of good fortune, we were living in a ramshackle apartment, nine months behind on our electricity, which was on only because the landlords vicious dog wouldn't let the ConEd electrician into the basement to shut it off.
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...
CULTURAL CURRENTS RUN DARK AND DEEP
Puppet masters on the ends of so many strings that we lose count long before the memories of our childhoods kick in. We become this and that during certain years. A beaten dog bites because it has teeth and powerful jaws driven by survival dictated imperatives. Humans act in much this same way. We have templates, and our enviornment chooses which one will 'shape our content,' (to use a blog oriented metaphor).
If you are a regular reader, this is probably going to be one of those 'recap' and 'continue formulating ideas for a final draft' kind of entry; you can indulge me for a few, okay???? I'm not writing this shit because I think you are smart enough to put some of this to use (I'm not that astute, personally... but who knows? Maybe you don't suck as bad as me?), I am writing this stuff merely to prolong my buzz. ... and maybe illume some patch of the infernal, eternal, infinite darkness.
Mostly, I want to explore where the line is between the individual and their culture; look at the misty electric pulses that make up the person we experience as our 'self;' to find pathways through the godless skies to a peace of mind resting on science, not myths and booferies and bad cultural habits. This is simply a matter of reducing the arguement down to the lowest possible deconstruction, which is two little ego infested boys yelling at each other, "MY GOD CAN BEAT UP YOUR GOD!!" One's god is money, the other a mysoginist, theocratic nightmare. I don't want either to rule.
I want you me and our best interests to rule. Capatalism is not about this equalization of interests; no, it is about a slim ass few holding onto their wealth, to the detriment of most of the planet. They are the modern slave owners, and we slaves are all a just fighting over who has the best massah. You know it's true. It scares ya, too, huh??? If it doesn't, you better learn to feel again.
Take away religion and you lose the divisiveness that makes gangs fight and schools teams have deadly rivalries and the basic 'competition' that is built into our society. This idea of all of us 'competing' is sickening. I have never liked competing with other people in sports and what not. I liked hitting the tennis ball back and forth without keeping score, because this was more 'mellow and friendly.' Maybe I am a wuss, but I saw what sports does to some and I am glad I was too sick to play. Fuck you if you are the exception and taking acception, because I am talking about the rule.
What the hell does this have to do with the individual? Well, if you join a team and are one person when you go in, and another when you come out, isn't that ever so slightly cause for alarm? I mean, I always say, don't take leaps of faith. And deciding that sports is the best way to orient your life is a huge leap of faith (which is tragic in its implication on high school and college wanna be pro's, as we all know all too too damn sad and well).
I am probably wrong about this, as I am about so much, but there might be a grain here and there that is worth pecking.
Stay tuned for a post modern path to pseudo nirvana and all your wildest dreams coming true...
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...
If you are a regular reader, this is probably going to be one of those 'recap' and 'continue formulating ideas for a final draft' kind of entry; you can indulge me for a few, okay???? I'm not writing this shit because I think you are smart enough to put some of this to use (I'm not that astute, personally... but who knows? Maybe you don't suck as bad as me?), I am writing this stuff merely to prolong my buzz. ... and maybe illume some patch of the infernal, eternal, infinite darkness.
Mostly, I want to explore where the line is between the individual and their culture; look at the misty electric pulses that make up the person we experience as our 'self;' to find pathways through the godless skies to a peace of mind resting on science, not myths and booferies and bad cultural habits. This is simply a matter of reducing the arguement down to the lowest possible deconstruction, which is two little ego infested boys yelling at each other, "MY GOD CAN BEAT UP YOUR GOD!!" One's god is money, the other a mysoginist, theocratic nightmare. I don't want either to rule.
I want you me and our best interests to rule. Capatalism is not about this equalization of interests; no, it is about a slim ass few holding onto their wealth, to the detriment of most of the planet. They are the modern slave owners, and we slaves are all a just fighting over who has the best massah. You know it's true. It scares ya, too, huh??? If it doesn't, you better learn to feel again.
Take away religion and you lose the divisiveness that makes gangs fight and schools teams have deadly rivalries and the basic 'competition' that is built into our society. This idea of all of us 'competing' is sickening. I have never liked competing with other people in sports and what not. I liked hitting the tennis ball back and forth without keeping score, because this was more 'mellow and friendly.' Maybe I am a wuss, but I saw what sports does to some and I am glad I was too sick to play. Fuck you if you are the exception and taking acception, because I am talking about the rule.
What the hell does this have to do with the individual? Well, if you join a team and are one person when you go in, and another when you come out, isn't that ever so slightly cause for alarm? I mean, I always say, don't take leaps of faith. And deciding that sports is the best way to orient your life is a huge leap of faith (which is tragic in its implication on high school and college wanna be pro's, as we all know all too too damn sad and well).
I am probably wrong about this, as I am about so much, but there might be a grain here and there that is worth pecking.
Stay tuned for a post modern path to pseudo nirvana and all your wildest dreams coming true...
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...
Thursday, May 19, 2005
BURN YOUR BIBLE DAY MAY 29TH!!
NATIONAL BURN YOUR BIBLE DAY. (edit - delete)
home
by Scott Ridgway
2005-05-20
1:56 AM
I am going to start a national holiday, BURN YOUR BIBLE DAY, which will take place on my birthday, May 29th. Everyone who was raised tethered to christo tales has some residual infections. Some of these, like a moral imperative to live in a worthwhile, helpful manner, are exactly why something needs to replace religion before it is thrown out all together (history says that peoples stripped of their cultures can revert back to a brutal, bloody primitivism). There is the ying and the yang. We are only concerned with the evil, mind warping ying (or yang, depending on which one works here).
The supersticious nature which all but the most advance look at the bible can be further shed by burning bibles. Seeing what was once a sacred text to you burn into cinders can be very liberating.
This holiday will go through a name change eventually, like so many before (armistice day??? I am glad they changed this one), and become BURN day. This will happen because so many people will be burning pseudo-sacred books from their religion... I picture Korans burning all across the middle east one day, when the muslim cultures finally get educated enough to come into the 21 st century.
I will put any pictures you send of your burning bible into a file where all can look the stark experience. THe more who do this, the more impact it will have. Consider the digital photos your missionary work, and my birthday present, okay?
I will be selling t-shirts soon, and one will be INTERNATIONAL BURN YOUR BIBLE DAY, May 29th.
Free Your Mind Up, dawg ...
WATCH FOR AN ENTIRE LINE OF JOHNNY PAIN shit... I am going to make them all black, saying shit that over the years I have wanted to say. Like,
KILL YOURSELF AND OTHERS.
BIND TORTURE AND KILL ALL WOMBATS
I WOULD LOVE TO FEEL YOUR FINGER UP MY ASS
(this one is for fancy occasions like weddings or important meetings at work... picture yourself walking into your work place styling in this one -- bet you become the ceo!!!).
FIST FUCKING IS COOL.
MASSAH JACKOFFYOURSON MUST DIE!!!
HEY, PREISTS', QUIT FUCKING LITTLE KIDS!!!
so, once I have the price on the bulk shirts, I will have them available for cheap. I am going to sign them all in permanent acrylic paint. If you have any slogans you would like to see me illustrate (yes there will be drawings of people dying for the first one, a wombat being tortured, a finger and fist up an ass, etc...)
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...
home
by Scott Ridgway
2005-05-20
1:56 AM
I am going to start a national holiday, BURN YOUR BIBLE DAY, which will take place on my birthday, May 29th. Everyone who was raised tethered to christo tales has some residual infections. Some of these, like a moral imperative to live in a worthwhile, helpful manner, are exactly why something needs to replace religion before it is thrown out all together (history says that peoples stripped of their cultures can revert back to a brutal, bloody primitivism). There is the ying and the yang. We are only concerned with the evil, mind warping ying (or yang, depending on which one works here).
The supersticious nature which all but the most advance look at the bible can be further shed by burning bibles. Seeing what was once a sacred text to you burn into cinders can be very liberating.
This holiday will go through a name change eventually, like so many before (armistice day??? I am glad they changed this one), and become BURN day. This will happen because so many people will be burning pseudo-sacred books from their religion... I picture Korans burning all across the middle east one day, when the muslim cultures finally get educated enough to come into the 21 st century.
I will put any pictures you send of your burning bible into a file where all can look the stark experience. THe more who do this, the more impact it will have. Consider the digital photos your missionary work, and my birthday present, okay?
I will be selling t-shirts soon, and one will be INTERNATIONAL BURN YOUR BIBLE DAY, May 29th.
Free Your Mind Up, dawg ...
WATCH FOR AN ENTIRE LINE OF JOHNNY PAIN shit... I am going to make them all black, saying shit that over the years I have wanted to say. Like,
KILL YOURSELF AND OTHERS.
BIND TORTURE AND KILL ALL WOMBATS
I WOULD LOVE TO FEEL YOUR FINGER UP MY ASS
(this one is for fancy occasions like weddings or important meetings at work... picture yourself walking into your work place styling in this one -- bet you become the ceo!!!).
FIST FUCKING IS COOL.
MASSAH JACKOFFYOURSON MUST DIE!!!
HEY, PREISTS', QUIT FUCKING LITTLE KIDS!!!
so, once I have the price on the bulk shirts, I will have them available for cheap. I am going to sign them all in permanent acrylic paint. If you have any slogans you would like to see me illustrate (yes there will be drawings of people dying for the first one, a wombat being tortured, a finger and fist up an ass, etc...)
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...
lost in cyber space
Wow... I am an idiot. This I learn way too often. I suck so bad.... This week, I am learning just how ignorant I have been of what this computer could do for me. Everyone told me about downloading movies and music, but until this weekend, this whole dimension of cyber space was something that I figured was for professional hackers' who spent every second of thier pasty little lives on line. THen out of the blue, an old friend who I have occasionally had the pleasure to run into over the years, who we'll call J. Red (at least until I forget this name and stonishly make uyp a new one), brought me a computer over the weekend. He made a 250 mile drive to do this, and spent a good twenty hours of his precious life putting software in and tweaking the dvd/cd burner and all sorts of other goodies... laws were broken big time. There is nothing like a good pseudo criminal when you need one.
Now I am gathering all these movies and tv shows that I never would have seen, watching them and burning them to dvd's. Half the fun is telling my buddies what I have and hearing them ask me if I can make them copies. You know, the power gets me off and all. I make them wait, squirm for those movies... wait, no I don't, that was just some porn I saw once. By the way, isn't it hilarious when Homer mistakes his past for things that happened on tv? This idea is fertile, by the way.. should any of you writers out there need some little game to get the juices flowing one day...
So, back to the thesis statement, which is, MY NEW COMPUTER has put me about ten years further into the new technologies available than I was just one sad, gray week before. I was like a christian who has never seen a word path out of that mind swamp.
This has become obsessive. Well, to hear M. tell it. She walked into the computer room last night with a spatula, threatening to peel me off the keyboards... I ignored her, best I could, since I was way too far into the animated Clone Wars, making my way through both seasons and episodes 21 through 25. A few minutes later she appeared in the door way with her red riding crop. I don't like extreme pain or have a freaky desire to be spanked or anything -- she uses that damn crop to get me to do shit. So she smacked me in the ear. As hard as she can, and it hurt (by the way, she will deny this if you ask, just like she does her Bin Lad connections).
I stayed off the computer that time until she had gone to bed. I have been staying up all night and then sleeping during the day, because the screen looks better at night, without all that fucking sun reflecting through the windows. I guess the dishes are starting to pile up around me. I would probably have a jar full of piss testifying to my inablity to even leave the computer for a piss of seconds, but I don't do that anymore since M. toldme she would dump any such piss jars on my hjead. I would probably have gained weight if I could reach the refrigerator from my desk. As it is, I am losing again.
Not that I can't just leave this thing... I would right now, if I wanted to. Really. Oh, by the way, I am trying to get ahold of the directors' cut of blade runner, but don't tell the feds....
DISCLAIMER: I would not now or ever do anything criminal like download music. I am a work droid who has sympathy for rich rockstars who need a ninety seventh car to feel whole. I am not a socialist who believes that the proliferaioin of all art forms caused by the net makes for great audiences... not to mention the freedom of expressing oneself without having all the censors (both of taste and genre pigeon holing and all the other little ways the print publishing world practically dictates that people only get the worst, most pandering books possible.. a lot of the time, at least). 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...
Now I am gathering all these movies and tv shows that I never would have seen, watching them and burning them to dvd's. Half the fun is telling my buddies what I have and hearing them ask me if I can make them copies. You know, the power gets me off and all. I make them wait, squirm for those movies... wait, no I don't, that was just some porn I saw once. By the way, isn't it hilarious when Homer mistakes his past for things that happened on tv? This idea is fertile, by the way.. should any of you writers out there need some little game to get the juices flowing one day...
So, back to the thesis statement, which is, MY NEW COMPUTER has put me about ten years further into the new technologies available than I was just one sad, gray week before. I was like a christian who has never seen a word path out of that mind swamp.
This has become obsessive. Well, to hear M. tell it. She walked into the computer room last night with a spatula, threatening to peel me off the keyboards... I ignored her, best I could, since I was way too far into the animated Clone Wars, making my way through both seasons and episodes 21 through 25. A few minutes later she appeared in the door way with her red riding crop. I don't like extreme pain or have a freaky desire to be spanked or anything -- she uses that damn crop to get me to do shit. So she smacked me in the ear. As hard as she can, and it hurt (by the way, she will deny this if you ask, just like she does her Bin Lad connections).
I stayed off the computer that time until she had gone to bed. I have been staying up all night and then sleeping during the day, because the screen looks better at night, without all that fucking sun reflecting through the windows. I guess the dishes are starting to pile up around me. I would probably have a jar full of piss testifying to my inablity to even leave the computer for a piss of seconds, but I don't do that anymore since M. toldme she would dump any such piss jars on my hjead. I would probably have gained weight if I could reach the refrigerator from my desk. As it is, I am losing again.
Not that I can't just leave this thing... I would right now, if I wanted to. Really. Oh, by the way, I am trying to get ahold of the directors' cut of blade runner, but don't tell the feds....
DISCLAIMER: I would not now or ever do anything criminal like download music. I am a work droid who has sympathy for rich rockstars who need a ninety seventh car to feel whole. I am not a socialist who believes that the proliferaioin of all art forms caused by the net makes for great audiences... not to mention the freedom of expressing oneself without having all the censors (both of taste and genre pigeon holing and all the other little ways the print publishing world practically dictates that people only get the worst, most pandering books possible.. a lot of the time, at least). 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...
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
LOOK AT ME? A bio. Update
Weird how I decide to write about his and that for this blog here. I sometimes jot down a few ideas in my drawing pad, and occasionally the whole story just comes out on the subway or something. I always carry a pad and pencils. Like I tell people, they are my form of knitting; my mom knits, and I am sure we are doing the same thing somehow. I pull out my pad during long conversations, music show? on the train I am either engrossed in a a drawing or reading.
So, I have been watching a lot of movies, read a number of books, went to the doctors and hospitals and pharmacies too many times for me to keep track of. Right now, I am a couple weeks away from meeting with a surgeon who will do my surgery. She is a young possibly Indian woman; oh so attractive; I like the idea of being operated on by a really hot woman; going under on the gas is fun, too?. Waking up after a major back pain brings one into a body screaming with pain, though? enough pain to make the memory of the gas a dream of a way to escape his damaged flesh. Muscles have been sliced through. Nerves severed. How utterly boring even this event in my life seems. I hope the surgery takes away some of the pain. I would love it it was enough for te
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...
So, I have been watching a lot of movies, read a number of books, went to the doctors and hospitals and pharmacies too many times for me to keep track of. Right now, I am a couple weeks away from meeting with a surgeon who will do my surgery. She is a young possibly Indian woman; oh so attractive; I like the idea of being operated on by a really hot woman; going under on the gas is fun, too?. Waking up after a major back pain brings one into a body screaming with pain, though? enough pain to make the memory of the gas a dream of a way to escape his damaged flesh. Muscles have been sliced through. Nerves severed. How utterly boring even this event in my life seems. I hope the surgery takes away some of the pain. I would love it it was enough for te
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...
CHASING THE NEIGHBORS WITH CHAIN SAWS
CH
?.
State Prison let him out after 18 months?
Sent a wolf out amongst the sheep
He?s 38 and stabbed his daughter and her best friend to death.
A potato knife he says one of the third graders pulled on him
The cops think this is a lie.
Just an wily convict trying to say he killed the little girls
in some preposterous/ludicrous state of defense?
The prosecutor says the con is lying
to save his ass from frying
father was a month out of prison
for trying to kill his neighbors
with a chain saw,
They had to beat him down with a shovel to stop his madness
Psychopaths
out there
With hearts that don?t quicken
As they eviscerate a corpse that they?re fucking
Eyes turned inward
Staring into their porno/revenge/sensual realms
He sees? only a weaker con in the jail house
One he can take down and fuck
Kill and get away with it.
He doesn?t mind killing
He kinda liked taking revenge in prison
Felt like superman
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...
?.
State Prison let him out after 18 months?
Sent a wolf out amongst the sheep
He?s 38 and stabbed his daughter and her best friend to death.
A potato knife he says one of the third graders pulled on him
The cops think this is a lie.
Just an wily convict trying to say he killed the little girls
in some preposterous/ludicrous state of defense?
The prosecutor says the con is lying
to save his ass from frying
father was a month out of prison
for trying to kill his neighbors
with a chain saw,
They had to beat him down with a shovel to stop his madness
Psychopaths
out there
With hearts that don?t quicken
As they eviscerate a corpse that they?re fucking
Eyes turned inward
Staring into their porno/revenge/sensual realms
He sees? only a weaker con in the jail house
One he can take down and fuck
Kill and get away with it.
He doesn?t mind killing
He kinda liked taking revenge in prison
Felt like superman
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...
MASSAH JACK OFF YOURSON
A freak in LA goes on trial for violating little boys
Hoping to do an O.J.
Right now there is a few weeks away from the verdict
I am trying to find a place to put this information
into a mental context
Where it won?t cut and bruise me
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...
Hoping to do an O.J.
Right now there is a few weeks away from the verdict
I am trying to find a place to put this information
into a mental context
Where it won?t cut and bruise me
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...
revenge of the sith geeks
REVENGE OF THE GEEKS? WAIT, NO ? SITHS?
Star Wars? REVENGE OF THE SITHS?.
I know a lot of geeks. Had roommates and now friends who spend three to twenty hours a day? PLAYING Poker and snipers and world wars, Risk? AND THEIR OLD FAVORITE -- Dungeons and Dragons, which by strength of their ten plus years playing together, was their highest obsession? They play together only once a week, and what with all the other hours to fill in between, they all spend countless minutes playing the games by themselves ? Grand Prix Auto to Doom?.
One if them, Paul, got off going downtown a few days before the premiere of star wars; he had sword fights met other people who could talk intelligently about the Millennium. My ex roommate actually filled a wall with Star War?s figures? a sculpture and toy maker, he has various different ways of approaching the Lucas Universe. One as a craftsman, another the other as a child who just wants surprises and fun and to be ?blown away, and the collector who wants to make beauty for beauties sake. This guy, J.J., is attempting to avoid all references to star wars this month. He warns people at the door as they come in, ?Don?t tell me anything about Star Wars.? He wants the film to come to him as unexpected as possible? wants the plot, as much as is possible in this situation, to be a grand surprise for himself when he see?s this probably last installment. If a commercial comes on for SW he shreaks like a dying shrew, holds his hands over his ears and runs out of the room, yelling with his already normally too loud voice elevated by three levels, saying, ?Tell me when this is over.?
We were roommates when the last one came out, and hearing him screech like this every time a character from star wars
Came on the tube was annoying. You see the commercials everywhere, posters, etc? he doesn?t want any of it to enter his mind. I was so glad when the movie finally came out?. I think he got the dvd on the black market a week or so later, from a friend who traveled to Some half lawless country all the time to buy and import native crafts, like elaborate chess sets carved by hand
I like the commercials, myself? they tease me, just like they are supposed to?
ACTUALLY, I WANT TO SEE REVENGE OF THE SITHS so much that I have felt like I was going to pee for the last few weeks and it is getting worse every day?.
I was slow to warm to the last star wars film; ended up thinking they should have used the cut scenes that showed the princess and Anakin falling in love; ? The first time I saw SW2 , I was disappointed in Anakyn, as I had been in the last one, when that smarmy child played the potential jedi. The second Time I saw the film, I liked it more, because I was expecting next to nothing from the experience. Since then, I received the dvd for Christmas and have had occasion to watch it many times ?. Or at least a few scenes that I really like; battles and chases?. Battle and chases? what A BOY I AM?
Fox has been showing the older star wars for the last few weeks. I am presently sitting here, waiting for M. to get back from her mother?s day trip, watching ewoks?. I would still like to shove dynamite up all their fussy little teddy bear asses and see them explode and fly up into the air like rockets and splatter on the trees? Now thAT WOULd make me laugh.
Even they are forgiven my anger as I wait for the new film to come out? Oh, I?m fucking lying? I hate those damn wookies? and I hate that one of the evil tribes comes off as Japanese, the dum tribe of ugly, computer generated equatic animals as blacks.
Merely having a couple black guys on the team would have said more to little black kids in the theater. They did get better about this? Maybe I am being petulant here, kind of jelous and snooty? I love George Lucas. Why Not? He says he is going to go off now and do Art Films? Says he has been saving his money, and has like ten movies lined up. What a gas it will be if he makes these blow em away popular films; perhaps that would be the talent which finally wakes up his critics and tells them to just watch the story on the big, big screen and trust that this 14 hour film will make you feel alright. Alright?
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...
Star Wars? REVENGE OF THE SITHS?.
I know a lot of geeks. Had roommates and now friends who spend three to twenty hours a day? PLAYING Poker and snipers and world wars, Risk? AND THEIR OLD FAVORITE -- Dungeons and Dragons, which by strength of their ten plus years playing together, was their highest obsession? They play together only once a week, and what with all the other hours to fill in between, they all spend countless minutes playing the games by themselves ? Grand Prix Auto to Doom?.
One if them, Paul, got off going downtown a few days before the premiere of star wars; he had sword fights met other people who could talk intelligently about the Millennium. My ex roommate actually filled a wall with Star War?s figures? a sculpture and toy maker, he has various different ways of approaching the Lucas Universe. One as a craftsman, another the other as a child who just wants surprises and fun and to be ?blown away, and the collector who wants to make beauty for beauties sake. This guy, J.J., is attempting to avoid all references to star wars this month. He warns people at the door as they come in, ?Don?t tell me anything about Star Wars.? He wants the film to come to him as unexpected as possible? wants the plot, as much as is possible in this situation, to be a grand surprise for himself when he see?s this probably last installment. If a commercial comes on for SW he shreaks like a dying shrew, holds his hands over his ears and runs out of the room, yelling with his already normally too loud voice elevated by three levels, saying, ?Tell me when this is over.?
We were roommates when the last one came out, and hearing him screech like this every time a character from star wars
Came on the tube was annoying. You see the commercials everywhere, posters, etc? he doesn?t want any of it to enter his mind. I was so glad when the movie finally came out?. I think he got the dvd on the black market a week or so later, from a friend who traveled to Some half lawless country all the time to buy and import native crafts, like elaborate chess sets carved by hand
I like the commercials, myself? they tease me, just like they are supposed to?
ACTUALLY, I WANT TO SEE REVENGE OF THE SITHS so much that I have felt like I was going to pee for the last few weeks and it is getting worse every day?.
I was slow to warm to the last star wars film; ended up thinking they should have used the cut scenes that showed the princess and Anakin falling in love; ? The first time I saw SW2 , I was disappointed in Anakyn, as I had been in the last one, when that smarmy child played the potential jedi. The second Time I saw the film, I liked it more, because I was expecting next to nothing from the experience. Since then, I received the dvd for Christmas and have had occasion to watch it many times ?. Or at least a few scenes that I really like; battles and chases?. Battle and chases? what A BOY I AM?
Fox has been showing the older star wars for the last few weeks. I am presently sitting here, waiting for M. to get back from her mother?s day trip, watching ewoks?. I would still like to shove dynamite up all their fussy little teddy bear asses and see them explode and fly up into the air like rockets and splatter on the trees? Now thAT WOULd make me laugh.
Even they are forgiven my anger as I wait for the new film to come out? Oh, I?m fucking lying? I hate those damn wookies? and I hate that one of the evil tribes comes off as Japanese, the dum tribe of ugly, computer generated equatic animals as blacks.
Merely having a couple black guys on the team would have said more to little black kids in the theater. They did get better about this? Maybe I am being petulant here, kind of jelous and snooty? I love George Lucas. Why Not? He says he is going to go off now and do Art Films? Says he has been saving his money, and has like ten movies lined up. What a gas it will be if he makes these blow em away popular films; perhaps that would be the talent which finally wakes up his critics and tells them to just watch the story on the big, big screen and trust that this 14 hour film will make you feel alright. Alright?
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...
1)
?I ain?t no fortunate one.?
John Fogarty
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 confirmed 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?
2)
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, that didn?t sell much. They claim to have found the perfect existence for man in a socialist world that they thought was going to sweep the world long before now? I don?t know. Down another flight of stars and there is a heroin addict and her fourteen year old kid, who hangs out as much as possible in our studio? Another of the denizens 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? 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, if everyone is chosen than no one is chosen, you know?
I go by crayon, an artist to some, a slacker to some, a waste to some, an object of lust and pity and anger and laughter. 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 believe 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.
3)
LOOK AT ME? A bio. Update
Weird how I decide to write about his and that for this blog here. I sometimes jot down a few ideas in my drawing pad, and occasionally the whole story just comes out on the subway or something. I always carry a pad and pencils. Like I tell people, they are my form of knitting; my mom knits, and I am sure we are doing the same thing somehow. I pull out my pad during long conversations, music show? on the train I am either engrossed in a a drawing or reading.
So, I have been watching a lot of movies, read a number of books, went to the doctors and hospitals and pharmacies too many times for me to keep track of. Right now, I am a couple weeks away from meeting with a surgeon who will do my surgery. She is a young possibly Indian woman; oh so attractive; I like the idea of being operated on by a really hot woman; going under on the gas is fun, too?. Waking up after a major back pain brings one into a body screaming with pain, though? enough pain to make the memory of the gas a dream of a way to escape his damaged flesh. Muscles have been sliced through. Nerves severed. How utterly boring even this event in my life seems. I hope the surgery takes away some of the pain. I would love it it was enough for te
4)
CHASING THE NEIGHBORS WITH CHAIN SAWS
?.
State Prison let him out after 18 months?
Sent a wolf out amongst the sheep
He?s 38 and stabbed his daughter and her best friend to death.
A potato knife he says one of the third graders pulled on him
The cops think this is a lie.
Just an wily convict trying to say he killed the little girls
in some preposterous/ludicrous state of defense?
The prosecutor says the con is lying
to save his ass from frying
father was a month out of prison
for trying to kill his neighbors
with a chain saw,
They had to beat him down with a shovel to stop his madness
Psychopaths
out there
With hearts that don?t quicken
As they eviscerate a corpse that they?re fucking
Eyes turned inward
Staring into their porno/revenge/sensual realms
He sees? only a weaker con in the jail house
One he can take down and fuck
Kill and get away with it.
He doesn?t mind killing
He kinda liked taking revenge in prison
Felt like superman
Entry Six/Not in Blog
A freak in LA goes on trial for violating little boys
Hoping to do an O.J.
Right now there is a few weeks away from the verdict
I am trying to find a place to put this information
into a mental context
Where it won?t cut and bruise me
.
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 ain?t no fortunate one.?
John Fogarty
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 confirmed 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?
2)
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, that didn?t sell much. They claim to have found the perfect existence for man in a socialist world that they thought was going to sweep the world long before now? I don?t know. Down another flight of stars and there is a heroin addict and her fourteen year old kid, who hangs out as much as possible in our studio? Another of the denizens 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? 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, if everyone is chosen than no one is chosen, you know?
I go by crayon, an artist to some, a slacker to some, a waste to some, an object of lust and pity and anger and laughter. 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 believe 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.
3)
LOOK AT ME? A bio. Update
Weird how I decide to write about his and that for this blog here. I sometimes jot down a few ideas in my drawing pad, and occasionally the whole story just comes out on the subway or something. I always carry a pad and pencils. Like I tell people, they are my form of knitting; my mom knits, and I am sure we are doing the same thing somehow. I pull out my pad during long conversations, music show? on the train I am either engrossed in a a drawing or reading.
So, I have been watching a lot of movies, read a number of books, went to the doctors and hospitals and pharmacies too many times for me to keep track of. Right now, I am a couple weeks away from meeting with a surgeon who will do my surgery. She is a young possibly Indian woman; oh so attractive; I like the idea of being operated on by a really hot woman; going under on the gas is fun, too?. Waking up after a major back pain brings one into a body screaming with pain, though? enough pain to make the memory of the gas a dream of a way to escape his damaged flesh. Muscles have been sliced through. Nerves severed. How utterly boring even this event in my life seems. I hope the surgery takes away some of the pain. I would love it it was enough for te
4)
CHASING THE NEIGHBORS WITH CHAIN SAWS
?.
State Prison let him out after 18 months?
Sent a wolf out amongst the sheep
He?s 38 and stabbed his daughter and her best friend to death.
A potato knife he says one of the third graders pulled on him
The cops think this is a lie.
Just an wily convict trying to say he killed the little girls
in some preposterous/ludicrous state of defense?
The prosecutor says the con is lying
to save his ass from frying
father was a month out of prison
for trying to kill his neighbors
with a chain saw,
They had to beat him down with a shovel to stop his madness
Psychopaths
out there
With hearts that don?t quicken
As they eviscerate a corpse that they?re fucking
Eyes turned inward
Staring into their porno/revenge/sensual realms
He sees? only a weaker con in the jail house
One he can take down and fuck
Kill and get away with it.
He doesn?t mind killing
He kinda liked taking revenge in prison
Felt like superman
Entry Six/Not in Blog
A freak in LA goes on trial for violating little boys
Hoping to do an O.J.
Right now there is a few weeks away from the verdict
I am trying to find a place to put this information
into a mental context
Where it won?t cut and bruise me
.
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...
Saturday, May 07, 2005
thank ya QUEST COMPUTERS,
7301 NORTH SHERIDEN, FOR LETTING ME STINK UP THE PLACE THIS AFTERNOON....
and bring you this fine, rambshackle entertainment...
and bring you this fine, rambshackle entertainment...
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...
Sunday, April 24, 2005
VIRUS MAKERS DIE!!!!!!!!!!
I AM DROPPING MY COMPUTER
OFF AT THE QUEST INTERNET CAF?
To be repaired today. FUCKING VIRUS GENERATING GEEKS ARE AS BAD AS THE CHILD SEEKING CYBER-PERV.?S!!!!! So, I will have to write by hand for the next four days, and obviously will not be on the net. They are going to charge me 65.00 to remove a Trojan horse virus from my computer. C:\WINNT\ISRVS\SYSUPD.DCL?.
I hope to dog I can one day CHOKE THE LIFE OUT of the fucking geek who came up with this one. Only a supremely malicious coward would send a virus out into the public domains of the internet to just fuck with people. OR WHATEVER GODDAMNED REASON THEY CAME UP WITH IN THEIR DELUSIONAL LITTLE BRAINS?.
Though I must admit, it is the opinion of the leader of the Mighty Hamster army, General Sniggly-Poo, that we are under cyber attack and should send out the troops? I am hesitant yet to release that storm on humanity, though I am close? very, very close. 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...
OFF AT THE QUEST INTERNET CAF?
To be repaired today. FUCKING VIRUS GENERATING GEEKS ARE AS BAD AS THE CHILD SEEKING CYBER-PERV.?S!!!!! So, I will have to write by hand for the next four days, and obviously will not be on the net. They are going to charge me 65.00 to remove a Trojan horse virus from my computer. C:\WINNT\ISRVS\SYSUPD.DCL?.
I hope to dog I can one day CHOKE THE LIFE OUT of the fucking geek who came up with this one. Only a supremely malicious coward would send a virus out into the public domains of the internet to just fuck with people. OR WHATEVER GODDAMNED REASON THEY CAME UP WITH IN THEIR DELUSIONAL LITTLE BRAINS?.
Though I must admit, it is the opinion of the leader of the Mighty Hamster army, General Sniggly-Poo, that we are under cyber attack and should send out the troops? I am hesitant yet to release that storm on humanity, though I am close? very, very close. 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...
I NEED THREE CATS AND TWO DOGS AND UNLIKE EVERYONE AROUND ME SEEMS TO THINK, THIS DOES NOT IN ITSELF MAKE ME INSANE.
I dreamt last night that I had become a criminal and was carrying a gun. I was driving and thinking about how now I was free of all of societies rules and could just rob to get my money, that I was leaving all my family and friends behind to travel from town to town just doing whatever the fuck I wanted. I won?t bore you with any more details than this, but suffice to say the point of someone feeling alone is the THESIS STATEMENT that I am going to meander around for a while.
Being alone, PBS?s Nature told me this morning, is the worst thing for a wolf. I live with a dog that is about as near to a wolf as you can get, a Siberian Husky with clear blues that tend to scare some people, and know just how much she has to be a part of any goings on in the apartment. If we have guests over, she has guests over. If we are eating, she is sitting at our feet expecting to be treated. Most of the time she stays in the same room as us, curled up sleepily on the floor, or chewing on something or coming up to us with a tennis ball in her mouth that she wants to fetch for awhile.
Aloneness is unnatural with Humans, as well
DIGRESSION: By the way, if this non-hamster prose is boring you, don?t worry, this writing will be all about you in the end, not me, the writer, and we all know that you specifically are the center of the cosmos.
Return to Thesis Generated Prose.
I have been thinking a lot about this since one of my cats died, leaving behind his brother who he has been with since he was born. Science convinced me that I should raise them together so they had someone around to ?talk cat? with. So they would not be lonely, like a kitten who cries at the door whenever you have to leave them alone.
The dog has created the same concern in me since the day she came in the door and licked me and M.?s hands to say hello, then promptly chased the cats into the dining room. Dominance in another trait she gets from being a near wolf. If someone does not dominate her, she will assume that she is the dominant one. I seldom pull rank on her, of course.
We used to take her to a friends house to play with her two huskies three or four times a week. Whenever we even started going the way toward the house, Ruby became a pulling machine, her every muscle straining against the leash, jerking your arm out of socket? making you grab the leash with two hands, like they say to do with Huskies, because they are stubborn and wild enough that sometimes if they don?t agree with your opinion, they will go with their own. And getting to her Huskies buddies to play as fast as possible consumed her? When she sees another dog while she is out walking, she always tries to go play with them. As much as possible, I let her. But since her breed just runs off in front of cars and shit if you let them off their leash, the dogs leashes get all tangled sometimes. And you never know if the other dog owner will get all freaked out by this ? like the dogs, I could care less whether I have to untangle the leashes of a couple dogs, but some people I have run into here act like they are going coronary on me over this.
I have come to the conclusion that we need another dog, as well as two kittens (two because a kitten will have too much energy for Buk, who will be 12 years older and more mellowed -- though I usually prescribe to the philosophy that anything over two cats is a form of madness). M. Won?t let me get them, of course? though she in reality wants more animals bad enough that I think if I come home with a couple kittens some afternoon that she will take one look at them and hold them dear forever more, even though she insists that she will throw me and the kittens out into the street.
The modern dilemmas of this life are endless. Still, better to be subtly trying to work ones way through one situation at a time then impose a black and white world over all the pretty, pretty colors. If I was a black and whiter, I am pretty sure I would be white, and this would have cost me over a hundred women and countless fun and crazy times? as well as headaches, drunken embarrassments, O.D.?s, etc?
So I guess I will have to conform enough to leave both of my animals a bit lonely. The thought is terrible to me. A gut wrencher. Like the other night when I was watching the news, and a light hearted report came on about cows getting released on the highway after a semi accident. They showed all these images of beautiful animals lounging in the grass serenely chewing their cud and what not. Laughing, the reporter ended his spiel with, ?The cows were on their way to the slaughterhouse.?
My love of animals makes me, as I wrote recently, a reluctant carnivore. This report made me envision the half-pound of hamburger in my refrigerator as one of the gorgeous beasts. I guess I could look at the positive side and say, ?Well, Mr. Pain, perhaps your animals ? both of whom you rescued from being ?put to sleep,? are a hell of a lot better off than those cows.?
Jesus H. Cross!!!! This is why I hate people who are ?positive thinkers.? That is so intellectually lazy and socially irresponsible that I won?t even consider positive thinking anymore. Pumping oneself up with a mental sales pitch, or trying to give some nice mental spin to something like lowering the quality of life of some very beloved animals, is vacuous cheerleading in my way of thinking. To ignore the pain in the world and try to be the Prince who never feels his people?s wounds, would make you a potential Buddha who would never end up under experiencing ?nirvana.?
Well, the thesis statement may have seemed to have gotten away from me in this entry? let me just add then, as way of summing up this atrocious pudding of words, that loneliness is at the heart of this work, mine, yours, the dogs and the cats?. So there, you fucking English teacher in my head with a knuckle busting ruler, I got back to the thesis at the end?
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...
Being alone, PBS?s Nature told me this morning, is the worst thing for a wolf. I live with a dog that is about as near to a wolf as you can get, a Siberian Husky with clear blues that tend to scare some people, and know just how much she has to be a part of any goings on in the apartment. If we have guests over, she has guests over. If we are eating, she is sitting at our feet expecting to be treated. Most of the time she stays in the same room as us, curled up sleepily on the floor, or chewing on something or coming up to us with a tennis ball in her mouth that she wants to fetch for awhile.
Aloneness is unnatural with Humans, as well
DIGRESSION: By the way, if this non-hamster prose is boring you, don?t worry, this writing will be all about you in the end, not me, the writer, and we all know that you specifically are the center of the cosmos.
Return to Thesis Generated Prose.
I have been thinking a lot about this since one of my cats died, leaving behind his brother who he has been with since he was born. Science convinced me that I should raise them together so they had someone around to ?talk cat? with. So they would not be lonely, like a kitten who cries at the door whenever you have to leave them alone.
The dog has created the same concern in me since the day she came in the door and licked me and M.?s hands to say hello, then promptly chased the cats into the dining room. Dominance in another trait she gets from being a near wolf. If someone does not dominate her, she will assume that she is the dominant one. I seldom pull rank on her, of course.
We used to take her to a friends house to play with her two huskies three or four times a week. Whenever we even started going the way toward the house, Ruby became a pulling machine, her every muscle straining against the leash, jerking your arm out of socket? making you grab the leash with two hands, like they say to do with Huskies, because they are stubborn and wild enough that sometimes if they don?t agree with your opinion, they will go with their own. And getting to her Huskies buddies to play as fast as possible consumed her? When she sees another dog while she is out walking, she always tries to go play with them. As much as possible, I let her. But since her breed just runs off in front of cars and shit if you let them off their leash, the dogs leashes get all tangled sometimes. And you never know if the other dog owner will get all freaked out by this ? like the dogs, I could care less whether I have to untangle the leashes of a couple dogs, but some people I have run into here act like they are going coronary on me over this.
I have come to the conclusion that we need another dog, as well as two kittens (two because a kitten will have too much energy for Buk, who will be 12 years older and more mellowed -- though I usually prescribe to the philosophy that anything over two cats is a form of madness). M. Won?t let me get them, of course? though she in reality wants more animals bad enough that I think if I come home with a couple kittens some afternoon that she will take one look at them and hold them dear forever more, even though she insists that she will throw me and the kittens out into the street.
The modern dilemmas of this life are endless. Still, better to be subtly trying to work ones way through one situation at a time then impose a black and white world over all the pretty, pretty colors. If I was a black and whiter, I am pretty sure I would be white, and this would have cost me over a hundred women and countless fun and crazy times? as well as headaches, drunken embarrassments, O.D.?s, etc?
So I guess I will have to conform enough to leave both of my animals a bit lonely. The thought is terrible to me. A gut wrencher. Like the other night when I was watching the news, and a light hearted report came on about cows getting released on the highway after a semi accident. They showed all these images of beautiful animals lounging in the grass serenely chewing their cud and what not. Laughing, the reporter ended his spiel with, ?The cows were on their way to the slaughterhouse.?
My love of animals makes me, as I wrote recently, a reluctant carnivore. This report made me envision the half-pound of hamburger in my refrigerator as one of the gorgeous beasts. I guess I could look at the positive side and say, ?Well, Mr. Pain, perhaps your animals ? both of whom you rescued from being ?put to sleep,? are a hell of a lot better off than those cows.?
Jesus H. Cross!!!! This is why I hate people who are ?positive thinkers.? That is so intellectually lazy and socially irresponsible that I won?t even consider positive thinking anymore. Pumping oneself up with a mental sales pitch, or trying to give some nice mental spin to something like lowering the quality of life of some very beloved animals, is vacuous cheerleading in my way of thinking. To ignore the pain in the world and try to be the Prince who never feels his people?s wounds, would make you a potential Buddha who would never end up under experiencing ?nirvana.?
Well, the thesis statement may have seemed to have gotten away from me in this entry? let me just add then, as way of summing up this atrocious pudding of words, that loneliness is at the heart of this work, mine, yours, the dogs and the cats?. So there, you fucking English teacher in my head with a knuckle busting ruler, I got back to the thesis at the end?
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...
THINK POSITIVE??YEAH, RIGHT... YOU FUCKING MARK!!!
PUT DOWN THAT DAMN SELF HELP BOOK, all it will give you is WORDS TO EXTEND YOUR WHINING WITH. GET A LOVER, A CLEAN APARTMENT, ENOUGH MONEY TO LIVE ON, A COUPLE PETS AND A FEW FRIENDS AND YOU WILL BE FUCKING FINE?.. even one or two of these things would probably be an improvement for some of us, me included of course, because I really, really?. Suck.
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...
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 WHERE THE HELL HAVE I BEEN???
JUST WHERE THE HELL HAVE I BEEN?
Twilight Of The Gods blasts through the apartment. Buk the gray tiger is rolled up into a ball on the back of the black leather couch, a sunbeam on his back warming him and making his fur glow white. The temperature outside the window is staying around a loathsome 50 degrees, belying the sunny looking neighborhood filled with tulips and other early flowerers. The wind is tunneling through the alley beside our apartment, blasting a wind chill below zero into spring wardrobes.
A virus knocked me off line last weekend ? or so someone at the sbc phone company told me for 60.00 last Monday. He couldn?t fix anything, even if he knew how ? they only work on their equipment. I won?t even speculate much about what is wrong? if anyone knows how to lower my CPU?s, which are supposed to be around 6% but are now jumping up to 80 or whatever? Please let me know. I am probably going to have to take it in and get it fixed. I don?t have the money to dothis, or to go buy some protection software for my pc. So, if you emailed me and think me rude, well, despite your being correct, this is not why I did not return your much pleeeeeasing missives.
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...
Twilight Of The Gods blasts through the apartment. Buk the gray tiger is rolled up into a ball on the back of the black leather couch, a sunbeam on his back warming him and making his fur glow white. The temperature outside the window is staying around a loathsome 50 degrees, belying the sunny looking neighborhood filled with tulips and other early flowerers. The wind is tunneling through the alley beside our apartment, blasting a wind chill below zero into spring wardrobes.
A virus knocked me off line last weekend ? or so someone at the sbc phone company told me for 60.00 last Monday. He couldn?t fix anything, even if he knew how ? they only work on their equipment. I won?t even speculate much about what is wrong? if anyone knows how to lower my CPU?s, which are supposed to be around 6% but are now jumping up to 80 or whatever? Please let me know. I am probably going to have to take it in and get it fixed. I don?t have the money to dothis, or to go buy some protection software for my pc. So, if you emailed me and think me rude, well, despite your being correct, this is not why I did not return your much pleeeeeasing missives.
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...
Sunday, April 17, 2005
swimming in an ocean of shit.
Picture of M and I.
you will have to go to my other site to see this... http://theelvesattic.ebloggy.com
ALL WRITING IN HERE IS THE PROPERTY OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY, AND YOU CAN GET MY PERMISSION TO PERFORM AND REPRINT WITH AN EMAIL. 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.
you will have to go to my other site to see this... http://theelvesattic.ebloggy.com
ALL WRITING IN HERE IS THE PROPERTY OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY, AND YOU CAN GET MY PERMISSION TO PERFORM AND REPRINT WITH AN EMAIL. 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.
PUFFINS REFUSE TO SHOW THEIR SMILING FACES TO THE CROWDS. THE QUEEN IS NOT AMUSED.
PUFFINS REFUSE TO SHOW THEIR SMILING FACES TO THE CROWDS. THE QUEEN IS NOT AMUSED.
THE QUEEN IS NOT AMUSED!!!For days now, zookeepers at the Lincoln park zoo have been having trouble with the rather notorious puffins in the main birdhouse. There have been rumbles with other birds in the past, photographs of the bouyant waterfowl flashing gang signs, and whispers that only their well-documented excessive use of drugs keeps them constantly smiling all day -- yet, in spite of all their personal problems, and what numerous puffins have described as 'really, really killer hang overs,' the puffins have always somehow gathered the gumption to show their smiling faces to the crowd. Not today, though. No, on this dark excuse for day, the puffins have turned their backs on the adoring crowds and are spewing white runny feces out their asses out right onto their once faithful well-wishers... Yes, this is hard to remove from the hair and lips, feces; this fount of puffin shit indeed does sting in the eyes, and taste terrible in the mouth. For journalistic purposes, I did have to have a taste…The Queen is not amused!!!
The bejewled old leach called a special session of parliament today, immediantly after news of the Puffins unruly, anti-market behavior hit the shocked and sadden shores of great BrittanyThe queen addressed parliament for thrity seven minutes, screaming over and over into the microphone, "The queen is not amused."
Landed Gentry in the parlaiment then began singing, in gregorian chants, over and over, rising and sitting as they intoned, "Theeeeee Queen . . . is . . . not . . . a.. mused."
One of the princes flounced up and smacked the old queenie to stop her from screaming that she was not amused, and the bejeweled wrinkle then went on to urge the puffins to ‘do their part,’ by 'smiling through the bars of their cages.'
Seemingly unimpressed, the puffins responded by continuing to spew white gook from their anuses at the passing crowds.
In related news, the penguins are still spinning around in circles as fast as they can and screaming, :Oh, the shits with you," over and over again with no sign of stopping.
When their publicist was asked just what the heck those waterfowl are up to, she mysteriously answered this reporters stern, probing question by smiling and looking out at the horizon, then saying in a breathless, excited voice, "They are ushering in the new time!!"
THE QUEEN IS NOT AMUSED!!!For days now, zookeepers at the Lincoln park zoo have been having trouble with the rather notorious puffins in the main birdhouse. There have been rumbles with other birds in the past, photographs of the bouyant waterfowl flashing gang signs, and whispers that only their well-documented excessive use of drugs keeps them constantly smiling all day -- yet, in spite of all their personal problems, and what numerous puffins have described as 'really, really killer hang overs,' the puffins have always somehow gathered the gumption to show their smiling faces to the crowd. Not today, though. No, on this dark excuse for day, the puffins have turned their backs on the adoring crowds and are spewing white runny feces out their asses out right onto their once faithful well-wishers... Yes, this is hard to remove from the hair and lips, feces; this fount of puffin shit indeed does sting in the eyes, and taste terrible in the mouth. For journalistic purposes, I did have to have a taste…The Queen is not amused!!!
The bejewled old leach called a special session of parliament today, immediantly after news of the Puffins unruly, anti-market behavior hit the shocked and sadden shores of great BrittanyThe queen addressed parliament for thrity seven minutes, screaming over and over into the microphone, "The queen is not amused."
Landed Gentry in the parlaiment then began singing, in gregorian chants, over and over, rising and sitting as they intoned, "Theeeeee Queen . . . is . . . not . . . a.. mused."
One of the princes flounced up and smacked the old queenie to stop her from screaming that she was not amused, and the bejeweled wrinkle then went on to urge the puffins to ‘do their part,’ by 'smiling through the bars of their cages.'
Seemingly unimpressed, the puffins responded by continuing to spew white gook from their anuses at the passing crowds.
In related news, the penguins are still spinning around in circles as fast as they can and screaming, :Oh, the shits with you," over and over again with no sign of stopping.
When their publicist was asked just what the heck those waterfowl are up to, she mysteriously answered this reporters stern, probing question by smiling and looking out at the horizon, then saying in a breathless, excited voice, "They are ushering in the new time!!"
welcome to the post environmental age
Below is a link to a new animal, just discovered. Better look quick because the poor, ugly little thing isn't exactly pet material so you can expect its extinction soon. Yes, this is the thesis statement... http://theelvesattic.ebloggy.com
We think that keeping these animals in zoos will preserve them for the future, like the pyramids... leave it to mystically addled humans to make every other creature on the planet evolve until large, hair less beings that look like curds of cottage chesse. What else could they look like after evolving to live in a cage for thousands of years being fed for nothing. They will get bored of pacing, and one day just sit there and gawk back at us... I mean, you can't even give animals treats at the zoos anymore, and let me tell you, in the opinion of my dear husky girl Ruby, and the remaining Kitty Bum Buk, this just ain't right. ... zoos, you can't even be against them anymore because there is no nature for them to go back to.
Funny, I came in here this morning to pretend like I could start a trend, be the first one to declare that this the post environmental era, and wrote this really sad essay filled with jesus juice jokes and other disgusting, Johnny Pain at his painwracked meanest.... then, between trying to get the picture to come up on my blog and moving the type around, I lost the essay. What can I say, the world needs less whining, right? Luckily my pills and a few bowls have hit me skull since then...
However, since my thesis here is how to save the world, which is important to me no matter how much you are laughing right now and how silly this will sound to me on after the surgery, when I expect to be on at least a few less pills, I am going to move one with my THESIS STATEMENT RELATED MATERIAL.
I am a reluctant carnivore. Embarrassed by my meat addiction everytime I see a cow or a pig or a chicken. The futility of what one man can do in this world and my poverty kind of combine to keep me on the edge of the idea of the costly switch to eating right. I mean, know that if we could do away with the entire meat industry in one fell swoop, the world be better off. I would like people to stop showing at emergency wards with unbelievable stories about why they have light bulbs in their asses to be passe' as well, but like war and taxes....
The dying off of all the forests that we are seeing now, starkly and nightly, is a storm that is settling over the planet, and the lightening is striking already. You should never do things like drown your mother in an oil slick... (unless she is on my list). Fire, destruction, wave after wave of ancient cultures flushed into tent cities....
Not that I don't think humans are just selfish enough to figure out some way to survive in our gray, concrete future. ... We will shuffle through zoo's and see the large curds of cottage cheese that once leapt from branch to branch, high above man's bafoonery.... and we will read the histories of these times with disgust.
Hey, maybe all those statistics showing a rise in apocalyptic thinking are really people, in some garbled way, reading the thoughts of all of the animals on the planet? I am sure some Kook believes this somewhere.
So, do not become an environmentalist terrrorist because it won't do shit. Animal lovers lost... the winners are wearing them as coats.
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/050414/481/lon11904142236
ALL WRITING IN HERE IS THE PROPERTY OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY, AND YOU CAN GET MY PERMISSION TO PERFORM AND REPRINT WITH AN EMAIL. 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.
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