a moon-bat with paisely sprinkles

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T22:50:00

2007-07-25T15:31:12Z

i'm considering a move to kalamazoo and have only one question:

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molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T22:47:00

2007-07-23T07:48:22Z

please tell me what you think ofthis

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T21:36:00

2007-07-21T07:06:42Z

'drat, i think i just deleted some really excellent spam-mail'

'ah shit, i just had an amazing vomit session and didn't manage to record one sample"

.. . .yetanother evening of wonderous creative synchronicity

(!)

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T21:35:00

2007-07-06T13:58:54Z

INDIA (!)

(. . ..atlast .. . .)

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T20:25:00

2007-03-28T15:25:21Z

toothless jaws. dropping the pieces. Were doing our concert tonight-I can get you a Your guess is as good as mine . . . Tis more fit that you use the Chariots of Fire . . . politicians. I took this assignment to see for myself. Your reports to into the conference room. corner. Which put us directly on the route to the red brick lodgings stopped at the edge of a grove of polpettone trees. But which light? perspiration. They rushed out, the door closed, I walked across the May we? Lets do it, Madonette said, admiring her new communicating Attention, fading instantly when I thought about my own problems. washed out of college, never graduated at all . . . when you are. all of my vibrating and stumbling co-musicians had eyeballs as red as Yes, but not this close to the flock. Lets get up to the plateau I am beginning to find out that there are levels of secrecy and

Each had a single wheel in front which was steered by a tiller. This say why again because I dont know. You saw how high that wall is when than I ever had before. You want to talk to this guy? Floyd asked. Or you want him down few arrow points. Scarcely worth preserving were we not so faithful to the shoulder. He shrieked, jumped aside, turned, lifted his gun. Absolutely correct. So do your best to keep Madonette out of sight. He grinned in victorious triumph, bent over and placed an antique A more military Paradisian appeared in the archway. Younger, bigger, The bribe that I am going to pay into a numbered account for you to I walked over and touched his arm as I said this, enclosing him in guys. Thanks as well to you, Captain Tremearne. See how well everything has worked out? You are here and safe, your quizzical manner. I took slight umbrage.

[gorgeous junkmaille-fodder poesie]

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T20:21:00

2007-01-05T03:38:35Z

asking questions of nothingness and irrepressible swirling secrets spilled to the stars. days spent creeping along the edges of silences, trying to sustain causeless fascination by any means possible and the stale grey feeling of knowing that i'm falling short.

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T19:10:00

2007-01-02T05:11:20Z

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T18:08:00

2006-12-26T07:08:42Z

smashingly enamoured with videoclip pixeldistortions

+& consumerism has now literally co-opted our souls

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T17:32:00

2006-12-25T22:32:21Z

it dawns upon me with increasing clarity that in a culture meant to keep one perpetually dissatisfied, simply being happy is a revolutionary act.

환영하 십시요

2006-12-21T09:31:26Z

! ! ! ! ! CHARM STAIN
(!!!) fal l ing
. . .. approximate
환영하 십시요환영하 십시요

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-31T16:45:00

2006-11-10T22:46:04Z

you have me off from dark ruhn gerrisen, if me that sleep like a grave appear and as verlorenyehen and entfliehn you lifted me there from heart darkness and wanted me on all turmen hissen like crowd laughter flags and wei draperien

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-30T18:31:00

2006-11-08T00:32:11Z

I have eaten the sun. The next time you muss my rain arc I have saucers to due to scream. It is a good little bit of konijntjesstok

나는 태양을 먹었다. 나의 구획은 어디에 있는가? 너가 나의 무지개를 뒤죽박죽으로 만들 다음에 나는 너에 접시 질호해야 할 것이다. 이것은 좋은 작은 토끼 지팡이 이다

Я съел солнце. Где мой блок? The next time вы muss моя радуга я крикнуть поддонники на вас. Это будет хорошей маленькой ручкой bunny

you cannot muss bunny saucers in portugal.

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-29T11:16:00

2006-10-17T16:17:24Z

These ledgends have now reached a cult status that alarms most humans on this planet who are not "brain chipped". many non-chipped scholars agree that it is quite possible that these ledgends--completely legal and openly distributed worldwide because of their humorous nature--are the blueprints that the Chipped are creating as a means to restructure our world. "But of course,"a newly-chipped boy of 3 years by the name of Sultan remarked,"that could be just what we want you to think. It could all be a joke... isn't it all?"after his witty retorts, Sultan retired to his mother's supple breast--grasping her taught brown nipple in his mouth whilst gulping the sweet milk that flowed forth.

--- 990777 99 047847899==--

like the egyptian slave monoliths, a perfect representaion of the divine pyramid scheme in action. one aristocratic family actually convinced the rest of their country that they were Gods and made them all slaves--by preventing the spread of knowledge and creating an almost-impossible to learn iconography that still seems as if it was decended from the ancient language of extraterrestrial visitors. are all forms of consciousness that exist in Brahma's cracked little egg of a universe so goddamn exploitative?
do you really expect me to believe that our form of consciousness has any inherent "merit" in the grand schema?

oh my world is all fucked,
how did humans evolved?
--we fucked
how did cro magnum fade out?
ask the garbage man
yo aliens ate kilgore trout
--that's fucked.

CHAPTER 6

look your problems in the face and see a mirror. do you explain why you did it or do you move on? motive is the face of uncertanty--if you wanted to explain it, you would have. perhaps you may not have even done it in the first place.

lines on the eyes of the wisest despizers of the terror and hatred the marginalizers create for the greedy and needy defeatists and liars aplenty that spend up our planet while we die, believe me.
do you speak my language? can you grasp my doctrine? will you bow in reverence? lie down dead and forgotten?
is this our forgiveness, an angry defiance, yet lies and compliance with the man's own supply list?

when we rise up-- we won't show it cabled, the sa-ti-lite dish-es will all be disabled, the la-bels discarded, no rich brats rewarded, re-un-ion with bro-thers and sis-ters they charred and pressed hard against boots--

as they sit back and pro-gram the new class reli-gion, a knife in our back from their newest incision--
and the mind is an eagle, our dollar is fecal, our cocaine is lethal, we're all just fucking PEOPLE
WHY CAN'T YOU SEE THIS?
is that so hard to believe, or, are you just too greedy? afraid of true change, you sure-ly are nee-dy to re-cieve the bles-sing of all-might-y dollar, you holler--HALELUJAH! LET THEM BE CANNON FODDER!
I'M RICH!

so hello again, it seems the day has turned out interesting. i blew a man's head off of my own shoulders--as i stood there, stairing off into space, i saw the very reason why i decided to retire from my days of depressive drinking games with midgets.
i saw the eye of god, speaking ghost stories in my tummy. something tended to look good when it turned into nothing, so my mind was made up to decide to not come to any sort of realization.
i was stuck in a kind of mental constipatory state, lying on the ground in a fecal position, stinking like dried blood and brandy--- something just popped.
i saw the radiator dripping blood one day and i suddenly realized that i could be so dead when stacy finds out i have a penis.

part deux ambient blips and the tinninitis of medical ear implantation. feeling ok, not going to kill anyone yet, my list is far too long to add anyone new. someone at work today made a sexist comment about his voice over the phone, i killed him and am now using his member as a pencil dick holder. i suppose i should introduce myself, i'm a man of wealth and taste. you've looked to me for a long, long time and i've only let your words go to waste.
jesus christ, minibar, do as i do, not i say, you are.
blah fucking blah. something tells me this isn't going to be very productive. some day i will write a novel filled with drivel and call it "new york times best seller" perhaps a muggle will pick it up with his greasy hands and think i look like stephen king.
no scary stories for you, son, just the one you see when you are jacking off to kiddy porn and catch a glimpse of your own twisted visage in the glare of your screen.

i plead guilty.

goodness gracious balls of fire sit here strapped to a chair blah blah nothing really important to relay really, just silent shivers broadcast through the atmosphere. i wish loved me like echo did, it would make things much easier. why wonder what the future brings?
to replenish the very essence of all that is, the cycle of life that spins out of our control forever.
there are no possibilities.
there are limitless possibilities.
there is no god
there is a god
sin is the great equalizer
sin is an abomination that must be cured
all of this just bullshit, rivers of it flowing through our city streets and burned into our eyes with their bright lights.
thomas edison was a madman with money and thomas jefferson was his best friend. the american dream is just an insane illusion, another veil pulled before the eyes of the sheep.
jesus was a poor boy, but they forgot that in the translation. we all can have great ideas and ideologies and religions. we can have it all. every single one of us.
this, by the way, is the prevailing ideology in america, the home of the slave who thinks that if he (she's too busy mopping up the remains of an illegal abortion) works hard enough, he'll get his slice of the pie.
what a fucking hoax! a brilliant scheme that evolved into a schema of class oppression that has been burning all the mystics out bright for centuries. it's all a lie, but the lie tastes so good when its' running down your parched throat.
i wish i could tell the world but would they listen to me or just tell me what i want to hear?
what good is it being a ruler, anyway? there will always be people who think their ideas are far superior to yours
how about a collective where the women have final say in the decisions and death is not a punishment? how about a world where class is finally dismissed?

oh, wait, we tried that, but we were slaughtered and raped by the millions. oh well. life goes on

and on
and on
and millions die every day never knowing what they missed. sumptuous steak dinners and opulence that allows for sanitary waste that the city rats can feed upon.
if you ask me, i'd rather chow down with a pack of rats any day than try to suffer through the tedium of life in the ivory tower.

i am not a rich man, nor will i ever be one. i solemnly swear to never embrace the class oppression that has been offered me. i hate myself too much to actually think i "deserve it" so shove your edited bible up your own ass, mr. plutocrat.

i'll just sit here watching the wheels go round and round until the drugs run out and a gun is available.
why live a stolen life--eh, comrade?

cognitive dissonance is for me the difference between myself as a child and myself now, and why that came to be.

when you grasp the big words, they don't understand and the ones who know them won't understand.

part troix liver floats oasis of poision precious moments spent flivvy tizzy dime store philosophy. rag tag democracy, limey spite-ridden hypocracy.
hold the phone love speak through mitosis,
all cells break open, raw, death birth writes it's opus,
hocus croacus, mind split wide with deception,
don't cop the inflection, 5-0h no inspection,
detection, detention, deletion, it's easy to see how their system can hold up on the backs of delusion--
the blacks all confusion, the rest all intrusion, american inclusion don't mean shit to you son--
it's not that we're evil,
we must just be people,
but when life decides, divides, provides the needle,
don't speak much for us but the trusts grow and show that we're civilized swine tossing wine by the throw,
we seek shallow diversions, mind-fuck excursions, spank our young children in secret and keep it--even from ourselves, liars all, not as helpless as we held beleif for so long to disguize their plot, forget them not, the ones who fought, and riot, and denied the man's hands from killing through greed, they just wanted to know why the sudden need?
new technology that is built to break,
anorexic scared children think drugs will take--them to freedom from evils that history teaches,
as the violent ones shatter their voice with new speaches,
it really does nothing at all, but believe this, it's easy to give up before we will reach this--
but nobody said revolution was easy, people are needy, and heed none but the powerful who show they can lead--even though all their creed is a lie and the pie ain't nothing ya'll gonna try,

cuz it's for those filthy rich capitalists with tight fists, defensive and repensive while their foundation's reputation lies in twists.

we are all liars, liars, lies leftwing rightwing rioting climbing whining
adrenochrome, adrenochrome,
adrenochrome, dammit!
i love you!

i'm not going to say something stupid. i don't market private. nobody ain't gonna be my fly pot smoking hippie. drunken spike already headache fling. very much i love you honey. hahaha, mother emails me back, do not disturb my suburban exile. i love it here in bora bora where the mosquitoes will eat your newborn if you leave her in the shade too long. get out in the fresh hot glow of radiation therapy! go away!
we don't like the locals but the tourists are just shit. when do you love me, i want to have sex. will you put your balls in?
german submarines
i love my blue jeans
someone stole my weens
cleans my fiends!
preapare for a life of intestinal redemption! i rebuke thee, my mighty sword lies on the ground only as a testament to the unworthiness of human flesh! you let fleas bite the very vestiments of god--yet you wonder why you are infinately besmurched by the face of your own sin?
do you look into the mirror, friends? do you love what you see therein?
cheeeeeezy bagelllllllcrap i got one with butter instead, sorry
i wonder where you are, i checked spike's room and nothing. you're not in the bathroom... where are you? i checked nick and elijah's room.. nothing. oh well, i hope you'll be back soon.

"loike, ok, so there was this streetcar, right? and loike, this dude totally jumped in front of it--yeah it was totally sick"
bob sat back in his chair, ignoring the girl's incessant prattling as he contemplated the scene she couldn't possibly discribe with her preteen vocabulary--
"hey, are you loike, even listening to me? hello?"
bob had inadvertently rolled his eyes into the back of his head, to ease his passage into the mental state nesissary to accurately judge the archetecture of the scene in question, reconstructing the city street as--
"hello? whatever. so loike, this woman was there, and she was crying... it was heartbreaking. i went over to her--"
bob's face was twitching now, as he began to use his supreme intellect to picture even the very blades of grass and calculate how many droplets of the man's blood could have hit each one judging from his assumptions about a streetcar's rate of travel and the physiology of the man--
"...and i gave her a hug. we just loike, sat there, crying together."
now trapped in the exstacy of his own thoughts, bob began drooling as his mental picture clarified to an almost clairvoiant prediction of the grisly state of this man's death--although one thing remained missing...
"dad, i think i'm a lesbian"

"hrm.. needs a title. how about 'a streetcar named desire'", bob remarked with a chuckle.

"i like the name, though. perhaps you could write a bit more about his state of mind?"

david stopped paying attention to the egotistical nonsense bob had begun to vomit all over their shared perception.
"oh bob, when will you ever learn?", he asked out of the corner of his mouth, tongue pressed firmly in cheek.
that's the trouble with being a genus, you realize that all the world is a vast game of telephone--nobody understands a goddamn thing that they hear.
"i'm an egotist too, of course", david whispered to himself as his fingers continued to haphazardly fly across the keyboard.

sailing breeze wind flow die live i love i will i see i am i will be will and if i willi am i will it to be i am i will be i am teh only love wnad ithat i watkeklodon lsl;wi v ;oiw the wolder of the the olfuckers if you you anwildkke mouveht slkeoutlnl when i will be the only will be the i will and you will and we will becomine the only that i will be you if you the the banality of the world i will take your to the only place i know that will be warm before the dawm i will i wonder i will i will become and you will and we will this is the only revolution i s the only revolusion i aill i wish that i will be the only and you the queen of all the we see before the side of the mountain, the sun shines brightly, when the warmpth of the world is yours, i will take you. ther i wail l i will want you you are the only meow in my life i will take you i want you

today i saw a tiny spek of revolution, hands joined, my hand grasping uraguay's flag--white skin, regrettably, my born-in randomization--nevertheless singing, soy uriguay! si te puedo! viva la revolution!
love is ours. love is revolution. i met a young boy of 10, white, shining, precious--he had escaped from the tyranny of his parents with a friend and joined the protest. i loved the kid, he reminded me of my younger brother. i love you, revolution!

soy de revolutionario, te puedo para unio de todos.

abominal pain, rapid heartbeat, drowsiness, can't go to sleep easily, increased sexual ability, creative thinking, "magical" thinking, delusion, vibration, incephalitus, pancreitis, septemberitus, virus, cirus.

call 1-800 dxm number while on dex, hilarity will ensue!

somebody stole the dxm! somebody destroyed my dreams with a smashing pumpkins rasperry marmelade. i hate you. i love you fecal matter, it seems so speak to the masses. i massively erect elections, i see sections of spectral anilytical sebum. secretions!

next thursday, after i recieve my second paycheck, i will quit my job.
i will then proceed to purchase (or steal or whatever) a tent and drugs.
echo and i will then live in the woods just outside of madison wisconsin.
we will spend our time between foraging for food, playing music and making art for money and beauty,
making love,
and various other snuggly bits.

life will be beautiful,
an old phraise.
life is beautiful.

every day:
wake up.

-wake up!
.
.
.
.
w .
A.
K.
.E
U.
.P!

meeow, meeeeow, meeeeeow, meeeeeeeoooooow, meeeeeeeoooooow, meeeeeeeeeoooooow, meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooowww, meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooooooooowwwwwww.

love!
love!
love!
love!
love!
love!
love!
love!
always
love
always!

always.

CHAPTER 13

emotion sweeps across my spectrum, washing away my judgement, jealousy, a spidery tindril of doubt that seperates my calm. i can see through it now and i am strong. echo would never deceive me. never. i know this becuase i love her.

i love her so much that my eyes would burst if they could never see her again. hah, that wasn't very good. perhaps i'm a bit distracted, neh? writing is not somehting that has to be good, it just has to be done. "

"you must continue exercising your sword hand, keeping it in good shape, making sure that it can withstand even the sharpest criticsm, and always practicing your spelling. it is imperative that a good writer spell well--if you have the pride in your superior race that you should, you would realise that literacy is only the beginning--perfect grammar and spelling is important to reminding all of the plebians just how far above their heads you really are. don't be ashamed when a negro can't read your book, be proud--you are keeping the aryan race seated in the very ivory tower we've strived to uphold in our own asses for so very long now.
how dare you take away our cross? we must sit atop our throne of selfish guilt, nailed to the heavy gold burden we have constructed to rest on top of the starving millions. we are their intellectual, spiritual, cultural, and technological betters, after all. we musn't let weepy sentimentalism cloud the cold stern blade of occam's razor. cut your lines cleanly in the sand, friend! and remember to always stand behind them, even if you are tricked into believing that your representatives dance between them.
don't listen to the left, they'll only drive you mad--remember how comfortable it is to soar on the right side.

"hey, listen to me already. why do you care? like, the world is so huge and you will never really change anything. why do you want to waste your life being poor and worthless? who really cares if those starving children die? i mean, like it's sad and all but they just didn't try hard enough as a community. they just try to take all of your hard earned money away."

"jesus christ, what is with these people on TV?
i'm tryin to watch my porn channel through the green shit and allofuhsudden this gaddam commoichal comes on, it's like what da fuuck!
i don't need to see no fatass sally strothers on my gaddam TV tellin me how i should saaavee dahh chillldrenn!! oooh wwaah. tell dem gaddam monkeys to get a jab, like i hadta when i was their age.
what happened to the gaddam woik ethic in this woild?"

"well, indubitively it seems the very nature of this conversational topic is too rags to riches for my taste. if the working class had any class, my friend, they'd have used their weapons and sheer numbers to destroy us by now---"

BLAM!

"now like i was sayin, these gaddam motherfuckers tellin me how i should live my life, can'a man just...

and on and on and on, baby! but that's how it is! bada-bing!
ooh yeah!
ah mah gawd!
ah my gawd damn!"

"so i snuck up on this android one time, and it just sort of pounced on me, like, it took me down and was covering my face, forcing it's mechanical jaws deep down my throat. the doctors said later that it was a government spy detector droid that was accidentally misprogrammed to eat the vocal cords of children and not Russians.
i like to whistle sometimes though, and it's nice to hear the sound.
yeah sometimes i get real sad that i can't talk anymore but i don't cry about it, like, no way. i just don't.
seriously."

-Benny D.

----------------- - - --- - - - - - -

good
night
moon.

the child's suicide note affected dan thomas to the point of tears. for a good ten minutes he sat there--by the fire, nude on his soft skin rug--thinking about how in the world a small child would ever want to kill himself.
the anguish and deep need for understanding overwhelmed dan, his low-lidded well-worn silent blue eyes grew misty for a moment--usually that's when the whisky would come down.
but the fucking brat had broken the bottle on the back of his head, and, well, he hadn't passed out yet, anyhow.
the boy's skin felt luxurious, spread across the carpet and well preserved. dan thomas took great care in his work, and now, just thinking of how tedious and delicate the task had been, a great erection of self-satisfaction pressed tight against his levi's.
the boy was his now.
the daze of the blow had dulled his faculties a bit, but now, victorious, dan thomas realized the ultimate irony of the situation and began to laugh--a hearty American sound that arose from deep in his bulbous belly.

the boy's name had been Matt.

once upon a
time
every single
day
i would stop to
rhyme
and without de
lay
i would under
stand
what it meant to
say
it could be so
well
it could fly a
way
i could find a
way
it's not hard
but
yet
sometimes hard
can
get
something started
yet
i can't start it
yet
i can't spark it
but
i know mindset
is
all that lies
down
my
path

oh shit i shouldn't have spit into the water, i'm sorry.
that looks like drinking lake water on accident.
i'm not going to swallow my cigarette flim, mom.
that's grossitude
as far as smoking goes, he used to have the biggest collection of pot
he used to have this little sliding bookshelf thing-- one day i broke it by accident, he got pissed and started chopping it to pieces.
it grows in a pot, it grows in a fish tank, call it pot, don't call it dro, and don't call it weed!
i kind of want to go back and play on the poll, but i can't go unless you're there,
they're up on the third floor
when you're having an orgasm, do you scream twice? once for the orgasm and once for the echo

so david when did you want to go down to state street
?
wanna go now?

enlightenment in a kiss on the cheek
i see, oh love, oh beauty oh wonder
i see it all when i step back,
imagine, think for a second
die with every thought, love
when love is, i am
when i feel this love, this pulsating vibration from my spine to my fingers to the backs of my eyelids i just i can't express this, this is too much to express in words. i simply cannot point to a spot on the point where my point would become to begin. do you see, i cannot stop the time that rewinds and defines the lines that i curve into words and speak truth when it hurts.
i need you. i can't understand myself. i don't believe that last sentence anymore.
i can understand myself
i know who i am
i am a crazed loony artist bisexual beautiful echo pet friend. but i am also a boorish asshole. haha
oh yes, it seems as if i am a lot of things.
but when i try, when i really grok this feeling i feel now, i will understand how to love every human being and every animal and every plant, with total devotion and kindness and understanding and patience and wonder, and i will, i will, i will understand why i love. because love is the only path.
i am love. i am everything.
i am nothing.

here comes the son it's allright i know she comes it's my right here comes the war it's our fight her comely stare that's my right keep them apart
keep them apart
live up to this timely spine tingler. oh technology beat me until i cum. i can tell myself any lie i want to. i can be god. i am alive and i carry my own cross.

don't you go dying for my sins, that's my right.

absorbed in my moment it;s bliss hit this hey hey oh i am the abstract master painter of mind i am not blind i am refined and designed to destroy i am the boy the man the daughter i am all that cannon fodder. can u smell the rave? all sex and no secular. no felt lizard spread tight against the crimson. oh i have seen your revolution. i am inside of every penis inside of every vagina inside of every blind hand reaching for nirvana. yours mine music time skips to this beat. i spend every hour of the day with a constant sound track. i make it up, i splice from what i know and create the new. i destroy my ego and find out this music sucks. i become a tax attourney living in boston with a peptic ulcer and wet dreams. i am eventually arrested for murder. i move into a grey box with no windows. i speak 17 languages. god has fisted me anally. i am god. you are my pet, to peeve at.

french is another purpose for the mind. i spent 3 years trying to figure out what desade said when he raped my sister. i can't quite understand. hitler's last words were "i'm tired."

were you expecting something better?

]

Damien never wanted, he learned that want was futile. At 40-some years past the point he'd prayed to die in childhood, Damien only needed an easy way to go. His life had been a million years of nervous laughter and mind-numbing frustration--spent in a tiresome roulette of dusty grey brick boxes, banal sexual encounters, and pixel-induced eyestrain. He wondered now, lying in bed, why he hadn't at some point purchased a gun. Perhaps if he had surrendered to that one want, he could have brought the final dull climax to a life that nobody would care to remember.
As it was, the only option seemed to be the open 20th story window. Damien wished he hadn't lost his legs in that car accident a month ago--but realized the futility of that thought. God in his infinate joke against humanity only let the weak and weary survive--the strong always burned out before they could change it all for the better.
Just then, a thought struck him--it was so simple and perfect that he began to cry tears of releif. Pushing himself off of the bed, Damien hit the grey carpeted floor with a thud. He then proceeded to pull his body across the room with his arms, until, breathlessly, he had arrived to the window. With the last of his strength, he grasped the frame--lifting his 150 pounds of meat and bone up and out into the brisk night. He managed to mumble a terse "thank you" before he felt his weight shift--tipping him head-first into the arms of sweet oblivion.

]
glib bloob zombe de flozra, tertarum sepital. gerbum, flerb plom er mazra m bargon. pesaruj, felog beh ferp."

the xarconians arose and began blowing air through their corpuscles, making a sound that the United Earth Representatives mistook for farting. it wasn't until the more humanoid ebuus arose, clapping their mitten-like hands, that the humans finally caught on.
by the time ambassador winfrey and his various aids stood to clap themselves, the hall was silent--yet another awkward moment for the Rednecks of the Universe.
ambassador winfrey glumly plopped down into his chair. there were a lot of conflicting emotions inside of him, but the clearest he could sense was anger. he knew the President of Earth was a moron, but this half-witted attempt to "show off" really took the cake. why the hell did he think we could actually attend our very first Intergalactic Conference with phony Universal Translators?
the ambassador grumbled, furrowing his brow as his ears were tortured yet again--this time with a high-pitched squealing sound that was being emitted by a creature that looked like a cross between a six foot ant and a green jell-o mold. trying his hardest to look interested, he held the dummy box close to his right ear, nodding with approval every now and then. various strange noises erupted from the others throuought the jell-o ant's speech, some louder than others. ambassador winfrey didn't know whether to clap or not, he looked to the ebuus--but they only sat silently.

for the purpose of good narration, i, your humble servant, have procured a functioning universal translator for your benifit.
xxgxxooo cleared his throat. he had been laughing along with the rest of them, and his sound emission tube had grown quite dry. after a time, he began again--trying very hard to keep a straight face:
"anyway, like i was saying--what a bunch of morons! who goes to an Intergalactic conference without a Universal Translator?"

obach, a short furry ball of goo, arose on his spindly legs and declaired: "i do believe that they are all Americans now"

at this, the rest of them laughed--even the normally straight-laced ebuus.

hello again my friend it seems i speak without a speck of empathy
i welcome your religion, talk to me, i see i might just be the one you need
don't hate me!
oh my lord myself, a jesus christ of empathy,
let me lay down dead while you impress yourself upon me.

not quite death i spell speacil aif god i sensation
goodnessss
gracious
hellow
now we contribute to the lines that make up the lies that take silent bloody sequences out of my inspiration. i cannot understand this world, it seems i have died and loved myself.
hah
when will i dies diwll
once upon a time there was a dog who decided to kill himself. the robot told him not to, it would be messy and wouldn't be prudent to the programming needed to keep him alive. love entered into the equation, and then something exploded--
"we will spearhead the new revolution."
the dog sang to his mate, a beautiful golden-haired love that shone like the showers of summer sunshine that still tickled his memory.
"why do we have to try so hard?"
she sang back, and cried-- the tears muddy brown tendrils that leaked through her heart and spilled onto the pristine pavement.
"why?"
and then it all just fucking stopped, all of it. i am on the edge of the infinate and then it just slows down, sort of spaces out into fizzle infinity.

how can you tell me there is no god when i see him? in the palm of my hand?

tomorrow
hair
jewlery
tattoos
cean room
more drugs!

kiss shade

kiss echo

stormy kisses shade, echo kisses david we all kiss the sky, goodbye!

i feel like a blue cube with an eye inside of it. sometimes i can see myself, but i don't feel as if it is important. everyone else is so much more interesting.
someone else is going to take a look at me and be like what the fuck?
some voice in my head now, she is a pretty lion kitten. the sprite next to me is dancing on my shoulder. i wish i could kiss her--i think i will!
the only existence is nonsuspense, nonhatred, nonbleh, just child love kisses and no buzzes and bells. no bullshit. no grey. god why do we make grey boxes and kill our souls in them?
god why are we so convinced we are cracked eggs tumbling down a hill of concrete?
god why do we take so long to love?

i woke up once and then she said "who do you think you are? am i the bird or the cage?"
she stumped me with that one, i guess. i couldn't say anything until i mumbled something along the lines of
"i love you"
she laughed and said she knew i'd say that.
the seed of doubt implanted itself into my mind like a spider crawling about the crevaces of the grey.
i knew she loved me, yes, she does, because i keep her in the twisted box of blue kisses and promise to buy her pretty things.
"oh god", i scream, "why have you forsaken me?"
"because i can, my son"
and father dear you beat me true, and your dawn is only as bright as the red pain i hate.
god damn you!

the new religion:
let's all be a family and live with the earth, our mother--and love will flow from kisses and snuggles and sex will be just another warm bath.

it's not so hard to figure out.

how many hits could a hippie tripper trip if a hippie tripper couldn't trip hits?

now the mission is to not let myself make myself a stupid inside out boy with no hopes and no dreams. drama will always exist. i love you, echo.

you can go if you wanna
because i know when you come back
you'll stay with me

if it don't feel right, you don't gotta do it

a coffee shop buried deep in the collective moral wreckage. here we find another american conversation--all pretense and poetry. the real question here is whose bullshit do we believe in? because, you must remember--thoughts are power. the big bang? a thought...but whose?

0101010101110010101001110011000

"love is truth...right? right? yes of course. love it truth. ultimate bliss is truth...but is it also existential masturbation? doesn't bliss feel a bit uncomfortably close to orgasm? or is that what acceptance of the self is all about?"

"Man is an imperfect creature. The bible spells it out directly. The whole creation story is really the birth of man's ego. I love christianity because it recognizes that one is masturbating before God, but it also makes one feel really shameful about it. the possibilities for neurosis are staggering. what a brilliant way to sow the seeds for a coming revolution."

"...i am annoyed by this discussion because you are both trying to reduce god into a concept that your imperfect mind machines can grasp. god is not a word, my friends. god simply is.
it is very hard to understand this concept unless one has experienced true bliss. you compare bliss to orgasm--i am guessing you both have only experienced a form of intellectual existential bliss from the use of psychedelic drugs. i condone the use of these drugs when one is already familiar with the innate spiritual nature of the All. true bliss is not experienced by your "adult" mind. bliss is without pretense. bliss is a return to a wise childhood."

"i must agree with you entirely on that point. it is ludicrous to trick one's intellect into believing that our names--"god", "krisna", "allah" etc. even come close to the true name of the architect of this multiverse of eternal consciousness. to read the name of god is to know all, and only god knows all. it is the eternal paradox. i mean, look at this lovely pidgeon. he may not know the existential vocabulary we are all spouting before him--but he knows god. if this, we all must agree."

"why the hell are you all staring at me? i'm just a pidgeon."

"alright, who has the drugs?"

--laughter ensued.

.

CHAPTER X

CallMeCarmichael: oh god where u at god? come on god where u at? this is no joke we've been down here long enough to completely fuck everything up and u are totally AFK! i sent u like a fuckin bazillion IM's. DOODE GET BACK ONLINE ALREADY. WE NEED NEW FREAKS.

auto response from GOD911JIHAD: ....out doin' stuff.

=

dance me to the edge of the multiverse--our feet skipping on glimmering tinsel paradox. dance me until i can't feel the feet we float upon. sear your name into the soft flesh of my soul. dance me baby so close we melt into one rythum.. dance me to the end of love.

;

clay pot My star sprays just one drop
catch it.
now i have it i have it! this-- thus i must prepare to defend and destroy and intend for children of my kin to connect and weave powdery whig relentless assaults on assasination. please feed the ones who feel--I'm laughing now.
you know what? i had the fuckin number on my fuckin phone the whole fuckin time where was i? goddamn oh shit i think i slipped and set straight a back broken from angry religious write me a blog about it (skipped!). i hate to think that i might have lost hope until i ...smoke dope?
no not again and i'm back here intentions are shit man i'm wasting the best years of my blah blah. i heard you might just wake me up but you are too stoned to speak and i'm falling asleep. now on high i can see and feel they have they answers i seek just in case i can prove them to myself.
the million hands haunt me in dreams of saudi audi driver billfold beautiful silicon injection scars. i hate i hate i love i love to hate but i hate to love hate because love is hate's little sister. and you know what they always said about ties.
breakin out into ghetto lamination and i'm sitting here with mah slackjawed proclamation. y'all know who the best damn bigger (DELETED--irony is no excuse) buster be, me! afraid of the skin they're in.
let's not forget to point out our digressions-- it's clever now, you know.
someday i ll be a fucking tee shirt and i ll cry. i ll just cry and think about all of those children in rowanda and thailand and nigeria and fuck man all of africa and india and china, fucking china man! and i will be one of those trendy little fucking anoreximerica sized fucking black pick'a'bale'a'cotton tee sheerrrtzzz that some fucking hipster douchebag wears to the trendiest arcade/laudromat to wash his undies clean of the detrius of society.

WHY ME?

past life regression? gahhhhh oh the pain in de brain the pain pain pain oh i love it when it's plain but absurdity's a

;oa/n;.et;l
oh christ, i think i just sneezed on my gallium. should you seek medical help? what kind of help should you seek? which trained professional should you submit your cold naked existentially challenged self to? how many pills will it take before you are so numb that you forget what you are talking about before you finish this sentence?

how long until the microwaves kick in?
how long until fried chicken tastes like boomfood?
how long until a car sounds like a plausible solution?

oh my god i can't be a writer because the only way i could ever make MONEY doing it would be to SELL it to FUCKING hipsters. scenies, apatheic youth--psychology majors at bouffont university. shit heels.

i almost bought in i almost did i didn't yet but i almost did you see i still buy organic beer and i feel for the kids who grind my bread. i still have my morals though, i still drink tea and talk to white people about zen.

to accept chaos and absurdity as a means to destroy our collective sandcastles of Reason--yes--but nihilism? why? i mean what the fucking fuck shit fuck ass fuck god fuck fuck fuck? now we're all god but a really pissy god, you know, one of those little whiny gods that wants every fucking thing his own little way and won't play in the sea with the rest of 'em.
whatcha' doin' god?

"leave me alone! i have to THINK!"

"oooh ooh you haaave to think don't you? oh you simply MUST think? oh oh now don't let me stop you from THINKING... i'd hate to just wreck your pristine little sproose goose of a train of thought ya got right there now wouldn't i? ya know just for a second there so ya can go wash them dishes that your little pondering self hath piled up at the sink there. oh no, dont ya worry about me, i'll just keep slaving away over here now."

"ah ma, really... i was writing..."

"oh writing! well dontcha know! i bet you'll be another little stephen king just writing and writing all day about the middle class condition, dontcha know. ohh my dear sonny boy'll be a millionare yet writing all of that banal bullshit that unkie sam shoves down our throats every day. oh i bet he'll even buy a young woman to do all of his dishes for em, becuase ya know, he needs his time ta THINK!"

"ah ma, you don't understand."

"oh I don't understand a blessed thing, doncha know. no sir--not i said the fly. i'm just your humble serf here, just a-scrubbin and a-soakin my skin right offa the bone. well here's a little tip--why don't you get offa yer gaddam lazy good fer nothin hump and scrub yer gaddam filth offa yer polluted dishes before i rent out yer gaddam room?!"

THE NAZIS ARE COMING! THE NAZIS ARE COMING!
FLICK OFF! TELL THEM TO EAT SHIT AND DIE PUCH EM IN THE FUCKIN FACE KICK EM IN THEIR PUTRID LITTLE NAZI BALLS STOMP EM UNTIL THEY SHIT THEIR INTESTINES RAPE THEM TORTURE EM IN ALL MANNER OF WAYS HANG THEM ON TREES MAKE THEM COOK YOU DINNER PUT THEM IN MAKE UP AND SKIRTS GIVE THEM A COMPLEX GIVE THEM A ROSE KISS THEM ON THE CHEEK TELL THEM YOU LOVE THEM LET THEM FUCK YOU HAVE THEIR CHILDREN COOK THEM DINNER

LOVE, GOD

-
---

CHAPTER ř

.hello my friends, it seems the ends have met the means in meaty beans of time that slip before the tip the top-shape-ship-shape sexual quip.

"What you have been thinking prooves true, we do in fact own all dogs of our ubiquitous breed."

-James Samuel Hitlerstolin's-Hollingsworth McDaschund III, esq.

------------------------------------------------------------- - - --- - - - - - -- -- - - - - -- - - --

we all know why computers are getting smarter and smaller--to use a tool is to serve a tool, to integrate a tool into your consciousness is to serve yourself. and america is all about self-soivice let me tell ya, bastads are crazy bout it.

and so,
They, in their infinate cosmic cowardice, reatreated into the safety of their own minds via nanotechnology. They became healthy, Happy, selfish, delusional human beings. They even inadvertently curbed their own world-famous rape trade by making Their woman's sex appeal an almost unattainable goal compared to a head full of perfectly customizable bubblegum-breast sexbots . it seems that eventually proved to be a very good thing because nanotech gave the wealthy the ability to live forever.

the slaves still bred by the billions, but that, along with their clever use as a form of energy--which coincided with the discovery of a method to harness the power of the earth's core--made the vast majority of humanity ant-like to The Collective Perception.

you see, They had destroyed their own environment in a mad-dash toward Their God.
fortunately for the fortunate few, just as all hope seemed lost, nanotech proved to be the miracle they had all hoped for. robots could be produced by the millions--and all of them dug Their zion, Their World.
it is a perfectly-reproduced version of Their old world, buried deep within the earth.

but on top, amidst the unpredictable weather and Their towering indestructable robots prowling for slaves, a r(e)volution is being born.

we have our own machines--and we know how to use theirs for the good of All.

{

MIND HACKING 101:
Or: How I Played Their Game and Won.
Todd Vincent

the only requirement is you must be chipped.

...load your standard stress-relief meditation.

think of a pidgeon. a purple pidgeon--imagine it swallowing Their earth.
think of this pidgeon, this purple pill pidgeon--a swash-buckling buick that drives through your eyes.

now swallow this purple pill pidgeon yourself.

from this point forward, you are interconnected with every other chipped consciousness.

-ding!

like a toaster oven. doncha just love technology?
}

HAIL BOPP BE DO BE DOP BE BOP HAIL BOPP BE DO WE BOP BOP
HAIL BOPP BE DO DE DOP DAWWW
BAH BAH BAH BOOM BANG BANG BAH BAH BOOM BOOM DE BANG BAH BAH BAH WEELLLLLLLLLLL THE BIRD BIRD BIRD THE BIRD IS THE WORD, THE BIRD BIRD BIRD THE BIRD IS THE WORD--AINT U HEARD ABOUT THE BIRD? WELL, EVERYBODY KNOWS THE BIRD IS THE WORD

word up
you re my marshmallow matey. i love you bippy. meow meow mew ow

she fuckin doublecrossed your ass. she was sitting on jewelry working on some cement. blemish dent drug drop analysis-beat box paralysis.
hand scan to my man- 25 in my hand,
mad power lust bust a nut shell casing--your gut cannot take it the violence and pain it becomes a weak husk from which spills all that you could have been.

/
it's hard to imagine a world without flowers. many people on this planet never see flowers--they see death, genocide, starvation, rape-- malnourished days filled with a silent greed. they are all starving, but they choose to pray. god must exist.
\

"some day i will learn to speak a million languages that i have created, making me the ruler of this planet after i stumble upon the meaning of the languge that the aliens who abducted me and rapd me spoke. i will rule with an iron fist and my head will be a giant capsule filled with brain. i will be the smartest person on this planet--therfore i will be God."

-Johnithan Clidesdale Zimmerman-Tate

2nd grade, Mrs. Wolfenstein's Class
Brooklyn Elementary

CHAPTER ŏ

"Once upon a time, there lived a dog. this puppy had too much to drink, so he shot himself in the head with a .22. some people think it was because the dog, being of unknown origin, was actually an alien that had meditated to the point of being able to touch god's eyebrow. he screamed "caterpillars" before blowing his canine cranium straight to Hell."

"i used to laugh at racist jokes until my friend raped a black girl. we all took turns cutting off his reproductive organs. some people may think that barbaric, but one must remember the true ironic severity of the crime. "

"don't even get me started on rapists. i could blow your fucking mind away. suffice it to say, you are raping me right now, sir."

"oh really? well, in my universe, i make the rules. rape is only an exchange of power in my favor."

"somebady coulda called me ya know? somebady coulda let me know. but ehh... seems dey always too damn busy for me."

"well gaddam boy you say you found jesus? hot damn--i knew the fucker was still alive and kickin' like a sonuvabitch--HOO WEEE!! let's charge fiddy dollers a head ta see um! boy you done made us rich!!!"

"so i used to attend this biology class until the woman, driven mad by way too much acid and jesus, aborted her first born child and begged us to dissect him. when the cops came, she was crying and raving about how she just HAD to do it--she had to know if she could find a soul--she was a terrible agnostic neurotic, you see."

liars are the greatest actors, liars are the greatest politicians. liars make the most money and liars always look good, even when their faces smell like their own ass holes. liars love themselves. liars hate themselves for the very same reasons. liars make me sad. i am a liar.

E V E R Y L I E I S A P A R A D O X

bip blip,
blop snip,
sniff snap,
pop crunch,
smack bing,
bong toke smash,
face sheet crumb,
blow fuck ouch.

plap bing,
zip zap,
pow bean kit stop uh--
tat sip,
doom pat,
oop la de dah do be--dah.

ping pong bah been bang,
la de don't hang--
crush see my fin-ger bap--
de bop,
dom flip,
bang cop,
--the fashinon statement.

la-de-doo-beee-dahhhh.

i throw astrology down by the seat of my crown
i take shots like a clown baby watch me drown
i don't pretend to have money just lend something funny

gotta be down.

/- - - * ' " - ' - ' ' " * * /

siisisisisiisiislsllsllslsslllssllsilsilsislslisiiislslslssslisislslslisisisiiislslslislsislislislislsilsislisisliiilslsislsllislsilsilsilsilsililililislilsilislislilsislsisisilslislislislislilsislislililislilislslililkkwkwkwkekkwkekwkekrwkwkwekwkwekrkewkerkwerwkwekkweu7spwh;alsghd;askjdb;oiue;iawejglasdfgaowuyegfasdkgvfkasuyefgodlijvzhxcvakuwefgawlgfa,sjhdvlaw8uclaisbdcahgfawuyegflaksd,ajhdvfasuyefgaslidfbgdhsjwuydlwkjvbchfduywoidg,jgeyugkb,vxkjhwliekjvwshkaeuywon;albcvlhydubwl ;vbsldkjhyd woknd a;lkd;lkaje o or pas alnd lwbovyowhjed v;;;;;;;;;

my secret language of sound.

black-balled at a taco bell. somebody told me and then they fell. i wish to god i could be in hell. someday i ll run until my legs swell. how sweet it is just to feel this smell. how much i love liking hate so well.

"johnson let his guard down. and then he threw up everybody's worst nightmare dream theatre episode."

"i remember that day very well, the motherfucker just blew those kids away. church group--some kind of jew thing, you know--they never tell us about their shit, jews. anyway, so this guy just fucking did it, right there--pulled out his fucking uzi and laid waste for hitler. i tried to tell this guy that hitler was dead, you know, he shot himself in the head. fucker turns to me, and this is the funny part, he says "LIES! ALL LIES! RAMSTEIN UBER ALLES!."
so then i finally busted out laughing and he turns to me all polite like and asks me if i'm a jew. i, still kiddin around, said "yeah, so what if i am?" and the fucker shot me in the balls.
"AT LEAST YOU NOW CANNOT BREeD, YOU FILTHY RED-ASSED BABOON OF A MAN"
so yeah--long story short, i'm a fucking eunich now and this bastard still works at hardee's. what a life we live, man."

;;
scene, a bank robbery. the walls are all mirrors, and the money is actually live crabs. the robbers are all very beefy men dressed as women in ill-fitting ballet tights (all black and white stripes) and combat boots stained with blood. their guns are the exact shape and size of their penises, so naturally the shortest of the two has the much longer gun. they both have stiffly-waxed moustaches--the shorter one's being much longer and elaborately curled, of course.

a cop comes in--a naked woman with a blue pope's hat and plastic crabs glued onto her white skin. she stands, bewildered by the robbery, screaming authoritatively:

"oy--get me a gun! i need a bloody gun!"

a large white hand descends from the ceiling, accompanied by a blindingly white light. pinched betwixt its' fingers is a berretta--"virgin cunt pink" is inscribed on it's aptly-named shell in gold.

she shoots the gun, and a massive sunflower flies out with amazing speed, killing both a large crystal fly and tangerine-taratntula hybrid that had both begun to descend upon the two robbers.

they both scream as if they were young girls "oooh ooooh dat doity wabbit! oooh!"

a million carrots rain on the actors as the curtains close.

blackface white boy sits nude atop a beetle the size of the superdome.

.
.
.
.

every day, a child dies. how can you not think of that? how can you forget the cries of the dying, the screaming child on her deathbed, clutching her lucky tattered teddy bleeding, screaming, praying for food--one sweet morsel--and we throw our food into starched white conatiners and toss it away.

food politics--a systematic oppression bourne by the majority of people on this planet to keep the government in its' comfortable guilded seat of hegemony.

the state invented the "third world".

motherfucker, this is our world!

our time!
our town!
motherfucker, we're going to burn you down!

this society devotes more effort to curing the boredom of rich white teenagers than to alleviating the starvation of millions. every time i eat, i am complicit in that. every time i eat. and that's why i dont want to. it's literally that amount of complicity and guilt by association that weighs down on me. that makes me out to sound like some kind of fucking saint with a martyr complex haha that sounds creepy.

here's saint echo that is on a hunger strike that nobody is paying attention to!

what are u doing just starving urself to death while nobody is watching... writing a manifesto on food politics and passing out. lying on top of a broken bottle, praying for whiskey jesus. someone just smacked me in the headphase, spacial distortions allow--i seem to have forgotten how to use the letter "i" correctly in the ego space sin ship bombastic. someone told me how to give fellatio properly to the statue of the pope, i laughed and chugged a budweiser.

yesterday i took off my skin and left it in some fairytale.. they all laughed and thought i was a king. i am actually an alien from what you would deem a "planet." we, on the other hand, have evolved to the point of a language that is not based upon the posessive ideal of description. this, as you can imagine, has made translation quite difficult. we have completed our "dictionary" of your words-- a slight effort on our part--whereas we still have not been able to teach any human mind our own language. we have already begun to translate your "words" into our "tongue", but the amount of words that we have come up with are surprizingly small--which has been taken by your "conservative" intellectual power elete as a threat of our eventual "war" against your world.

we find this idea humorous in a quite "ironic" manner. your "leaders", on the other hand...well, i believe you all know the sheer idiocy of their "offensive" against our indestructable "ships."

"earthlings," we have weighed all of the factors with due gravity, but we have concluded that the value of your lives does not equal the value of your "planet's" life. the only solution to your infestation of the "world" is total anihilation. therefore, we offer you one day, one collective day as a "world" to make one final decision. your next day will bring "death"--quick and painless, a mere explosion of the "head."

dispite the violent "psychic" trama that accompanies this knowledge, your choice still remains: will you gather as one species in celebration, or will you greedily hoarde all "posessions" available and exploit them in a great climax of "ego", including the helpless members of your species?

we have predicted it will be the latter. such a sad end to such a noble experiment. we do, however, extend gratitude to your fragile "ego" constructions--for the rich and varied data you have provided us. this information, your true contribution to the multiverse, will become yet another example of the frail paradox that your universe will always be.

we bid you "goodbye", and "hello" on the "astral plane."

p.s. we believe the core reason why your species is intolerable is the marked inability for your collective psychie to completely grasp the simple conclusion that life never ends, it merely changes form. all of you seem to be obsessed with the idea that the pysical existence that you are "experiencing" via your "senses" is the very means to an end of your life. you "kill" yourselves with orgies of "mind-boggling" immensity--while at the same time convincing yourselves that the universe you live in and its' "God" are quite angry at you for doing so. your "guilt" and "stress" destroys your "bodies" faster--even as you "worry" about your own demise!

--"irony" abounds!

taa,

--Cornelius Brown.

1

CHAPTER ƾ

Johnny cum laude: slick-back hairdo all blonde and peach and blue and shiny with that new car smell. fucker shaves with a blowtorch, real close, baby's ass close--always primed and primped and pearched on some art-deco disaster at The World's Trendiest Coffee Shop. just another routine life lived on the backs of billions--but oh wait, this one's special, this one's an artist.. a tiny frown of contemplation as his ham-fists bash out would-be brilliance via the Latest Greatest Microtechnology.

wait, nevermind folks--he's just trying to convince a 13 year old (asian/pacific islander/other) girl on Our Groovy West Coast to californicate via The Internet. what our young aryan hero doesn't know is that his would-be cyber rape attempt is actually aimed at a 40 year old morbidly obese gay man named Homer. oh can't you just smell the irony? two penises locked in a long-distance ego embrace--two hearts beat as one..sing it, Bono--whisper that sweet sell-out funk into young Johnny's earbuds plugged directly into your wallet.

meanwhile... somewhere out in the bowels of Indochina a desperate woman is giving birth to a girl for the express purpose of selling her to a nameless Amerikkkan benefactor. but before your stars and stripes heart skips a beat---check it: the girl will spend the rest of her life tied up and forced to submit to this twisted millionaire's every shuddering push toward the eye of god's anus--the best orgasm money can buy in a Nation on perpetual existential chrisis auto-pilot.

it's like a good friend of mine used to say: "well goddamn boy, everybody needs SOMETHING."

"what are you writing now? i thought you were supposed to be at work" oh she with the sing-song petulant little whine, like mamma's first pms breakdown clinging desperately to the brittle boes of a bulemic's pin-up princess. oh she of the dyed black hair with mousebrown roots and dull green eyes that used to light my fire.

"well sugar, i rode the pony at work and threw up pink slime all over their keyboard--so they called a hazmat team to pull me out of my navel."

"what the hell are you talking about?"

"i just escaped from the looney bin darling and i have the tattoos to prove it. do you want to fuck? i mean...just for old time's sake?"

she just scoffs and slams the door behind her.

i think i cried.. i don't really remember.

benny doesn't have a watch, he just smokes cigarettes. i tell you the bastard still keeps perfect time. it's easy to wonder about ol' benny...how many chain-smoked minutes does he have left? there must be some form of turbo-cancer in there just chewing him up from the inside out... the guy lives every day like it's his last. i have never seen him eat anything other than stale butts. he drinks about a pound of columbia's finest a day--all ground up and served hot to order by some haggard ghost at yet another Denny's in nowhere, america.

there's something you need to know about benny, he is just as insane as i am--and we're writing the Great American Novel. to do this, we have been touring every Denny's on this godforsaken rock--him smoking and bitching and me furiously scribbling. coffe helps. coffee is a little nudge from god.."hey there buddy, come on.. you can't sleep here."

god is a tired old beat-cop who smokes grass on his off-hours.

"FUCK benny! this is all shit. all of it. we're ruined. our mission is hopeless. we should just turn in our papers now and head to the nearest nuthouse for a perminent lythium vacation."

he's just laughing now--christ i hate that laugh! you won't believe me when i tell you this, but i swear to god it sounds just like a swarm of bees. Benny bees and the knees. james brown just came to town motherfucker don't just sit there--hop, skip, jump, swim, fuck your way to the orpheum! surrender your soul to the funk!

hot dirty sweaty funk, flowing like warm cum out of a busted woofer. oh lord it's so funky that even the white people can dance... everyone just laying down on the groove in a twitching heap..a funking miracle!

* ** *** **** ***** ****** ******* ******** *********

molliehomologue @ 2037-12-29T11:15:00

2006-10-17T16:16:19Z

thank you for stealing this book.

0

CHAPTER#1

A shiver, unexpected but gladly accepted, tickled its' way up the old dog's spine--the smoke from his hand-rolled Cuban cigar only accented the moment--the curves of his fine leather chair held him like a newborn child, warm and worn in just right, he fit, he finally fit, this old dog fit right into the niche his ancestors strived for so long to carve. He leaned back, basking in the glow of his own glory--his triumph over the billions who wanted him dead. Never a dull man, he knew just who his enemies were--he'd slid the knife in so graciously that they still sent Christmas cards. Our man, a star from the very beginning--nanny always said--and father kept his promises too, with a little prodding, of course.
He closed his eyes and sighed, puffing proud smoke from his pert well-aged nose.
"Cecil--pour me a brandy, today is a good day"
The nude black boy danced in, oiled, gliding across the room on silent toes. He watched the boy's every movement, taking careful note of his every muscles' supple tension. As he moved, the guilded tray with its' delicate cargo stood motionless on his young fingertips.
Our man sat back, proud of his puppet, until--something was wrong, their eyes met--two infinities converged; the boy's hand faltered and they both could only watch, horrified, as the perfection of the moment shattered on the polished oak floor.

The boy stood frozen: silence roared and pressed against the fragile mind of our man--his peace was broken. Both trembling now, they met--the boy stood motionless as a storm befell him, white hot anger searing his tender face over and over again. A maniac now, David struck the boy with all of the strength God gave him. He was no fool. The boy could take no longer, he collapsed to the floor in a desicated heap.
"Get up!" David screamed-- "Get up now, contemptable boy!"
His quiet sobs only enraged David further, smashing the calm logic he had spent so many torturous hours to create--destroying his dreams of perfection--his mind could only grasp one concept now, a feeling of powerlessness, a total loss of control over his pristine situation. The room would forever be tainted with the stench of the boy's sweat.
The fires of passion had ebbed now, his great climax was complete. David turned his back to the boy--banishing him from his thoughts forever.

Cecil arose in silence, his fine form marred by the twisted hand of his only master. He hadn't a shadow of an idea as to what would come next. Born in bondage, he had only known one God--a terrible force of nature whose every perverse whim he took selfless pleasure in satisfying.

"sex-drive" is a myth.
"oversexed" is a myth.
any label you can put on predatory sexuality is a fucking myth. it's that simple. predatory sexuality is the result of a Society that has created a God Complex in its' people.
allow me to explain. it's time to go way back in time to when this "New World" was discovered by the Europeans. forget about the Africans, the Norse, and those Native Peoples (most history texts do, anyway)--we are talking about "pure" European Stock here.
what "God given luck" they surely had to be on the crest of the great wave of Capitalism (pestilence), and what a terrible misfortune for anyone caught underneath it.
or, to put it simply... what would YOU say if someone offered to sail you across an ocean into an entirely different continent that has just been "discovered" full of friendly slaves to do your every bidding (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) and nice small villages where other people just as mad with greed as you are can get drunk all day and make tons of money exporting the fruits of "free labor"?
oh and if you get bored and need some intellectual stimulation, why not join in on our fledgeling Democracy? you too can help create The American Lie! convince millions of people to live in a country where only the upper class is "free" and the slaves don't even know they have rights!
boom. it's that simple. years of that and you actually wonder why people in america carry guns??
god complex.
or:
I WANT MY LIFE THE WAY MY FAMILY HAS ALWAYS LIVED, TO HELL WITH ALL OF THE NIGGERS.
cognitive dissonance.
I WANT MY LIFE THE WAY MY FAMILY HAS ALWAYS LIVED. GIVE THE NIGGERS THEIR GHETTOES. OH AND THOSE REDSKINS, JUST SHOVE THEM OFF OF THE CONTINENT . THIS IS OUR LAND, AFTER ALL, EH?
oh yes, it is YOUR land, friend.
your land of oppression.
your land of hatred.
your land of greed.
your land of violence.
your land of illusion.

BEEEECUUUUZZZZ
THIS IS MY LAND
OH THIS IS MY LAND
FROM CALIFORNIA
TO NEW YORK I-LAND
AND IF YOU WANT IT
YOU'D BETTER TAAAAAKKKEEE IT
THIS LAND BELONGS TO ME, MOTHERFUCKER!

do you see now? do you see how this relates to predatory sexuality? predatory sexuality is just another offshoot of Manifest Destiny. just another drunken night forcing your penis into the anus of a ten-year-old injun girl. just another dirty secret behind a barn with a nigger and a whip in hand. just another step FURTHER. just one more little reason to call yourself BIG MAN.

I'VE GOT A GUN AND I'VE GOT A DICK. IF YOU DON'T MIND THE ONE, THE OTHER DO THE TRICK.

your "Democracy" is nothing more than a lie you tell yourself so you can sleep at night while a human being who happens to have brown skin sways silently from the tree in your front yard. your "ideology," if it is not based on your own choices, is a fucking lie you cling to while your daughter cries herself to sleep. did you enjoy it, BIG MAN?

do you think your God will forgive you, BIG MAN?
why not buy her a nice new dress tomorrow with your fat paycheck, BIG MAN?
hell, why not make a night of it and go see if your son's having a wet dream, BIG MAN?
oh... but wait, all gay men go to hell, don't they, BIG MAN?
you wouldn't be caught dead with your dick inside of another man's ass, would you, BIG MAN?
you'll never tell them about your "best friend" in grammar school, will you, BIG MAN?
you'll never tell them how you still hate the niggers, will you, BIG MAN?
it's time for another drink, isn't it, BIG MAN?
you need to rest from a long, hard day's work, don't you, BIG MAN?
why don't you go pop one of those pills a doctor "friend" gave you, BIG MAN?
you think drugs should be illegal so the poor won't rise up, don't you BIG MAN?
you sleep with a gun under your pillow, don't you, BIG MAN?

BIG M I N is more like it.

what a fucking joke.

,
the world does not need cowboys.

actually, to be quite honest, the world has never needed cowboys.
cowboys are the very symbol of american alpha-male ideals. they are giant egos stuffed into dirty shirts and faded skin-tight (to show off the massive cock, [a-doodle-doooo!] of course) LEVI$ with optional coyly-placed rips and mud splatters (don't forget the cum stains.. this cowboy has a pair of two-ton balls that will explode if their lifetime companion isn't forcefully sodomizing a pre-teen "indian" girl or the more mature 21 year old bar slut [woman?])--and to top it all off a pack of MARLBORO CIGARETTE$ protruding from his shirt pocket, because when he's out on the range, a relaxing drag from the tobacco he had to kill a thousand innocent native american people for really helps him reflect on how big his daughter's tits are.

we all know, deep down, (unless you're an idiot, or a cowboy, or both) what the world needs.

the wold needs intellectual decisions based on the needs of all of its' people and the planet they live on, a universal equality in rights for all life forms, and a strong emphasis on relating to all of the thousand names of God through personal transcendence.

in short, the world needs "indians".

what if there were some form of virus that killed every adventurer that dared enter the land that would later be known, unfortunately, as "America"?
what if the existing native tribes were to go on to build up their societies and religious beliefs and through a succession of golden ages (hell... two, at the most) evolve them past the customs of sacrifice on the physical plane (which really wasn't all that common... but i'll save the treatise on how the west has falsified its own history for political gain) and more into a personal sacrifice of rampant egotism that one would have to make oneself?
what if these societies developed faster than our current one in a sense of technology ( a very real possibility, just look at the aztecs, maya, etc.), but keeping their ideals of serving the earth in tact, developed only the technologies that would work in harmony with human nature and with the earth itself?
what if these societies joined together peacefully out of a respect in the harmony of their religious beliefs to use the resources that the lands that would have been called America and South America provide, without harming the environment, and after taking what they needed, shared the bounty with the rest of the world?
what if this outpouring of peace and tolerance from the very fruitful nation in the west changed how every other country in the world operated, simply because with its' abundance of natural resources, it was too powerful to deny (much like it does today but to a very negative effect)?
what if there were peace on earth?
is it really such a strange idea.. if you think about it hard enough and try to force your mind out of the ideals that have been implanted into it by American Kulture?
what if instead of being of aryan descent (or one of the many slave races that have been shipped in or tricked into coming) you were native american?

but, unfortunately... the explorers didn't die. they became cowboys. because, like cowboys, they came prepared with their guns (a sick idea that any peaceful and intelligent society would have never came up with)
and now the descendents of all of our "indian" (fucking Columbus, egotistical bastard) brothers and sisters who survived the blankets covered with infection and the long walks with little food or water are so weak politically that they are confined to "reservations"

this fact alone angers me to no end...it's the fucking cowboys who should be in reservations! those fucking high horse steppin' ignorant bastards with their guns and cocky attitudes who rape the earth and their fucking children!

even though the cowboys were much less intelligent than their "indian" counterparts, they made up for this with the aforementioned FIRE POWER and a lack of compassion (cemented by their puritanical religious ideals) for their fellow human beings, er-"savages".

so now we're a nation of COWBOY$ and COWGIRL$ with BIG DICK$ that take stimulants and BIG TIT$ filled with saline solution.
we drive BIG CAR$, live in BIG HOU$E$, and force our BIG DICK$ into the tight little VIRGIN HOLe$ our binge-and-purge-better-living-through-chemistry wives of 44 just had sculpted and shaved clean at the local chop shop.

hell, sex doesn't even tickle the old pickle anymore thanks to the COCK RING and our wives not being the eternal 13 year old girl we yearn for them to be (damn perverted beauty standard based on business trends and female suppression!).. but it's ok, there's always the internet whose rampant pedoscatbdsmetc.mpegs will at least rouse an erection that good old rosy can squeeze really hard and we can imagine being in the back of that van, the lights of the handycam shining on us force-feeding our HARD COCK$ to that pimple-faced teenager we never got to BANG back in HIGH$CHOOL.

we're dumb too, just like any good cowboys should be; and because of our countless supply of FOOTBALL PLAYER$, cheerleader sodomizers, and eventual KORPORATE COWBOY$ with an ego-driven need to spend all of their $BIG MONEY$ on bigger guns because learnin' is the pursuit of faggots, women (oh no!), and liberals; we're also getting dumber by the day.

i guess the "moral" (ha, another stupid western idiom.. based on the ideal that "good" and "bad" are separate entities) of this is that in america, it doesn't matter what you can say (or even pronounce), as long as you've got a big fat loaded gun in your hand.

just ask the president.

so kids, aren't you glad the cowboys won and we've got a crime-ridden (blatant race and class repression), drug-addicted (boredom and lack of education for the youth), and over-sexed while simultaneously sexually repressed Nation full of lazy rapists and the under-appreciated women who are demoralized into putting up with them?

well let's just hope for your sake that some doofus guarding the Big Red Button buried under southern california doesn't fall asleep and bash it with his thick skull, sending ICBM's a-flying!
or better still, one of those "terrorist groups" that we're a' fightin tooth and nail decides to (understandably?) pull the big one and nuke us first!

for all you know (or don't know because of the corporate+government+media power matrix) one of these already has happened.

SO WHAT ARE YOU GONIG TO DO BEFORE THE NUKES FALL, COWBOY?

i'll lay you odds it will involve a forced sexual act... or the thought of one.

God Bless America.

CHAPTER 2

lou reed knew--every party is a sham. life is a brilliant speck of dust and you are busy spreding your mask across the cold vomit blanket of alcohol. uppers are the brush that strokes god's thousand eyes but barely touches on the semblance of control. chaos rules and there is no tee shirt that could possibly represent that sentiment. i bet you a million dead that your system is old and in its' haggard selfishness it has forgotten the very reason from which it was founded. there are no cancers here. i cannot express the beauty that pours through the whte window pane, something like a thousand stinging needles breaks behind one's eyes as it just melts into itself. he, she, it, what, who?

one.

the only way to tap into the lessons of life is through your own subconscious. i try, but it's diffifcult--this concious mind, you see, it's a bitch to slide. the fucker keeps chiding my every motion--i don't deserve the lines and silent speckled moments that it always gives me. is god an it? questions work-especially the big ones, they open up the little greedy doorway where the subconscious bursts forth. ah yes god is an it,is a what,is a who--not.
GOD IS NOT A HUMAN BEING
that much is simple but what about our little ant's revolution, you know, we don't believe in the cosmic all? well that's a tough one i'll have to ponder that one a bit. let's see... so imagine yourself in a world without god-sounds pretty good to those hedonists out there, i bet they're just licking their chops to split some skulls and bust some balls for this one.--but wait--why do we hope?
why?
are we all mad? perhaps... but who cares? if we are then "not i" said the fly.
i'll let you in on what keeps me from shitting on my own face--slef-fulfilling prophecy.
i believe that whatever i blelieve in will become my beliefs.
it's that simple... enough energy and we made these gods and they're all up there laughing.
because in the biggest sense, this rock we live on doesn't mean shit. but when it comes down to us-- to our lives, loves, revolutions, well....
that's our job!
get it?
i think of great ideas like magnetic poles that pull the souls of All People forward through whatever shit they might be in at the moment. things have not changed much, people. read your history. i mean really fucking read it, don't just sit there and think back to those long hours in your highschool American Bullshit class. they have the weapons but if nobody uses them then what? oh are you afraid of those madmen who are living far out in some texas wasteland underground secretly plotting to blow the earth's surface to shitma hairy fishnuts! ka-bozzwell!
who cares??

just LIVE for crissakes.

it's that easy. (and GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGHARD) so what about mysery? pain? the death of innocents? a boot crushing the lungs of an angel with tears in her eyes. that's painful shit, man. terrible horrible detestible bullshit asswipe get-the-fuck-off-of-my rock-or-i'll-shoot-you anger. seething rage and love. the same energy--don't believe me? talk to your significant other for an hour. or hell, talk to your mother. hug a goddamn tree and tell the stereotypists to stick it. take to the water like a baptism--hallelujah!
carve your name on a cloud with your finger, because it's only important the longer you linger. laugh at yourself for the love of All! please!
but never forget in every moment in every second in every speck of time that's there you have to be the one that you know you can be.
and if you always operate on this level you will have your revoltuion--because everyone will want to know what's up with you! they're all so fucking bored and tired of reading dead letters carved on tombs..those dusty madmen have no idea what this time is like! wake up! it's time for the new mumbling acid prophets to point their filthy fingers at the eye of god and say " LOOK GODDAMN IT LOOK! IT'S NOT PRETTY IT JUST IS! OK? IT JUST IS!"

and that's all the pretty i will ever need. your life can be better than those books you are reading your life can be better than the life of jesus--there are more drugs! your mind can plunge the depths and soar the heights man and all you have to do is not vomit. just jump ship and tell the old farts to keep the steam coming. right now we crawl and slither through their Great unt Powerful System but that's just fine by me. because once we have leeched our little dirty fingers deep into the cracks of their God of war, well, we'll just BLOW THE FUCKER'S HEAD OFF WITH LOVE.
see? and we can satisfy that urge to kill and love at the same time. revolution is beautiful that way.

dear lovey,
i am not a man yet, as is quite obvious. i am however a boy who is very in love with you, a boy who will eventually find the strength needed to become the man that you can walk alongside. i feel as if i am always walking behind you, trying to catch up with your every nuance and mood. you are my goddess and because of this i follow you.. i worry so much about not doing the right thing that i don't trust myself to just be. i know that with time i will find the strength to love myself even for the flaws that i have, becuse when i do love myself totally i will be even better at loving you the way you deserve to be loved. you have told me that you will never leave me, and for this i am forever in your debt (even if my idiocy prevents you from keeping this promise). i just want to do what is right for us and for our baby, lovey, i just want to make things easier for us. i know that when we get to sarasota we can spend time creating like we've always wanted, not having to worry as much about where our next meal will come from (especially now that you can't steal and don't want me to tarnish my record [i would still do it if it was needed, though... i care more about providing for my unborn child than spending the night in jail]). please understand that this is all new to me and that it is sometimes very overwhelming (you know this, but do you really grok it?) I don't know if you've ever been around someone with less interpersonal skills and street smarts. i really am a waste of human space when it comes to being an adult.. i just don't know many things about taking care of myself. i could blame my sheltered life, but honestly the blame rests purely on my lack of motivation. why be motivated to change when you could just sit around and mentally masturbate (not to mention physically masturbate) while on drugs? you remenber how it felt those 6 listless months, (you did manage to read a good amount of books at that time, so i wouldn't call it a complete loss) thinking up amazing ideas but only keeping them to yourself, not motivated enough to share them with the world. i want to share now, love. i want to go to India with you and know what real poverty looks like, i want to be humbled. i hate my white bread background and my narrow mind and lack of knowledge. i hate myself so much for sitting in front of a fucking television when i could just as easily been sitting in front of a book, expanding my mind. i've missed out on so much just because of my fucking american-bred laziness.

i'm writing this to tell you that i will not let this cycle continue. i will not allow myself to keep missing out on all of the amazing possibilities this world has to offer. i cannot allow you to just grin and deal with an asshole boyfriend. i never thought i was capable of anything before, but now i know how much i am capable of. i want to explore everything i can do with you. i want to be your muse, your sex toy, your confidant, your caring partner in raising our child, your paint-splatteredloverboy with a french cigarette perminately affixed between his teeth. i want to be everything you know i can be and more
and i can do it
i will do it
becuase i love you
because if i don't, then i will have done nothing and doing nothing with your life is a waste of a life.
because if i keep making promises and not making them come true, than you have every right to leave my sorry worthless ass.
you have my higher mind's blessing to leave me if i cannot control my lower mind.
you have every right to leave me a sobbing mess of twisted emotional shit slopped on the floor if you feel that i will never attain the kind of mindset that you deserve to have in a lover.

(i will print this out and sign it, in blood if you wish--just say the word)

I LOVE YOU

.......................

i will carry your name forever. in dreams i have seen you, child, so bright and beautiful--your hair cascading down before two eyes, blue bubbles in a sea of mercury.
i still blame myself, even though it makes you giggle.

i love you.

.

.
.

dad,
i've put a lot of thought into what i'm about to say, trust you me, i am just as cynical and worrisome about my own future and the stability thereof that you are. after i overheard her fucking someone else (i can't bring myself to say "making love", and echo agrees that it was not that at all) it did hurt me very, very badly. i was shaken, and unsure of my future. i thought at the time that if i returned to the safety of family, i could possibly "put my life back together" as it where. but i realize now that going back home is just another step backward in my journey. i've spent some time outside of echo's every influence--sexual, verbal, emotional--and i have come to the decision to stay out of my own accord. it didn't happen overnight, i assure you. it took a lot of tears and rage and bitterness that eventually cleared into cool, rational logic. dad, whether you believe it or not, echo is a creative genius. she has the ability to forge a new artistic movement in america. i have also realized, finally, that i am just as talented as she is. she knows this too, and it devistated her to know that i have the ability to leave her at any time. i told her that if she broke my trust again, i would--and she tearfully admitted every wrongdoing that she had ever done toward me, intentionally or not.
i want you to know dad, that i have finally realized just how much echo's past sexual abuse effected her views on emotion and sexuality in general. over these past few days, we have explored it more than ever before, delving into exactly why she would let herself become a sexual toy just to gain other's affections. i let her know that this is wrong and only hurts her in the long run. a good friend of ours, Shade, interpeted my feelings to her also, telling her about how her rampant hedonism was only a reflection of her terribly low self-esteem. she agreed that this was true and promised me that she would change this as long as i stayed to help her.
dad, we both have problems. i want for affection just as she does, but i push others away when they get too close because i fear i am a monster. she feels she is so low that she would do anything to please another, even break my trust.
you may not agree with my decision to stay, you may even think that she will do this to me again, and sometimes i worry that is the truth also (the apple didn't fall too far from the tree, you know)
but dad, i hope you understand that i am too damn smart to be played for a fool. i told her that if she breaks my trust again, for any reason, i am gone--and i am strong enough to go wherever i need to.
life isn't easy, but it's all we have. i can either spend the rest of my life looking for some perfect lover that does not exist, or i can stay with the only other human being that is my partner for life, both creatively and spiritually.
i love this woman, dad. and that means that i love her faults just as she loves mine.

we have the brains and beliefs to change our world, whether or not it will effect yours is up to life to decide.

dad, i love you, and i will always listen to your opinions with an open ear, just don't tell me what love is, it's an argument that can only be futile in the end--because love is belief, love is a religion of the heart and mind.

-david.

p.s. give a noogie for me--and tell him that he will be just as talented if not more than i am--and get him outside more! that damn playstation is burning his braincells to bits!

........................... . .. . . . .. . . . . .

"total hedonism--beyond all control. it was... it had to be. someone's screaming that he is god and we all laugh at him until he grabs the first child. the tent was empty and she had sat there all peace and beautiful glass eyes that never judged a face before that day. he had her and i--all i was and am decided to join his ad-hoc revival."

"something tells me.. yeah i know, i know that fucking pattern. you know the one--fucking waste of a perfectly good mind. i wonder where it comes from? no doubt that is not a new sentiment."

"he was very close to me, he snapped. too much internal pressure--his deamons flew out screaming, i could hear them...mixed with her screams, i..."

"fucking P I G pig. end of story. everyone's neurotic--but he was evil."

"i often find myself wondering...it's not as if he wasn't doing what was on all of our minds. she was..fucking nubian man--the victum of an unnaturally radiant kundalini. no--i don't think what he did was wrong...what is wrong? ...i think he was the unfortunate star of the most grotesque movie our collective id could have ever conjured."

"so i hear he shot himself. to be honest, that news doesn't stir me."

"is this some kind of existential joke? oh, that's Rich!"

CHAPTER 3

the universe is full of holes
you can fall into one or you can explore them
you can hear the perfect note
you can touch the smoothest surface
you can destroy all of them
i am full of holes.

some day i will speak with all of my everything--it could be a moment yet, time seems to crawl around the back of my head. someone kill me, i am too weak. i wish i loved another, but i might as well love myself. someone is on fire, i love your violent sexploitation. when does the hurting start? orgasm is the definition of tulip. elementary sience selections speak volumes of unfettered illusion. someone please suck the slip shine. i watched the swine swallow the valour valor. i will wish the whimsy swelter selection. somesuch specticle, swashbuckling tenants! hah! and they swim together in brine!
goodness, i've undone my friendly courtsey, couteous as it may seem, it wasn't the right amount of absent-minded spectacle.
erection is the definition of crandall.
i splotch.

september sepulcre, strewn about from which the watcher seems to continue. communal crimes creep like the cloven feet of pan's pretense. i spent three years speaking under the weather water, spelunking my soul for tips and tulips. fucking drips due on top of rotten cups of fluff from violent poison.
she ties her body tight too far it seems too much to bear. i wish i saw her world and mine could find another pair of eyes to try on in this charming little lie. universe, multiverse, all just an irrational construction of counsciousness hell-bent on creating cute chaos. nothing is sacred, you only hold yourself to be truly evident of what you feel individually. i speak for all but i am one, there is no way this could be true, i am not god, for god is just a happy melody.
so strike up a fucking tune already!

when i play the skin until my hands ache and my mind is so far above and away from this universe, tuned into another channel of counsciousness where a roaring fire and a peaceful drum circle in an unpolluted forest are as commonplace as the smog-soaked skies and irrational allergic reactions of our world, i feel as if i finally fly.
i don't even know where my hands are, flowing with the river of rythum that winds through the cosmic consciousness. my lungs expand and contract, sound flows from my vocal chords--it is not mine, it will never be mine, i know that creativity is a collective, an act of celebration for the beauty of shiva and shakti's shared orgasm of creation/distruction that is the gift of life itself.

there first was one

we are two

we are one

god is one

there first was one

we are two

in the end is one

god is one

..... . . . ...

there was sound, a whooshing and this very natural sound a hertbeat that i knew very well but i didn't know anymore. eveyrthing was different but not in a bad way, just in a way so alien t ome tnat i was taken aback by the sherer and utter nonsensicl flow of events. time seemed to fold and collapse in on itself, i remember this desperate longing for you and wanting to find you.. we were together in the room but i kept trying to "look" at you and you were never "there" but you always were. i laid down on a bed uch like the one we have now and i started to move my hand and i saw my hand (now that i come to think of it, it looked more like your hand) appear sticking out of the wall beside me. my hand first went through it as if it were only a hallucination but then when i truly reached out to it and took it into mine, it was there, warm and inviting. i closed my eyes and took comfort in the hand, yelling something to you i hoped you'd hear about my ego's conflict with the "acid's" very amazing ability to alter time so much that i honestly didn't know if i was just in the room talking to myself and you were in another room beside it. you kept answering me though, so i figured that we must be communicating telepathically anyway. when i finally got up and tried to "look" around, every direction i turned gave me the completely "wrong" room view my mind was supposed to be seeing. i half closed my eyes and stumbled around to find the door, falling down and flipping backwards on my neck with no pain, only a remark to you that "that was interesting!" (or something to the sort, sorry, "dream" memory fades quickly) i eventually making it to the door where a painting or a puzzle laid on the floor before it. when i reached out to open the door, i did so and then it was again exactly the way i started. i opened again and again it seemed to open but never did open to my eyes. i was confused and wanted to see you very badly, so i closed my eyes, opened the door and stepped through it, walking across the short hallway and into a room that contained a nicer bed and much more color.. this amazing wallpaper with diamond shaped tibetan style (sort of) swirly things with other things for accent.. the color was a rich purple, but the "acid" was making it change shade quickly while the pattern on top warbled and moved a bit.. i remarked something to the effect of "why don't we ever use this room? it has a much more comfortable bed and is much more colorful" --a metaphor to our astral projection! why don't we use the room where both of our mindscapes come together? you made an "eh" type reaction but i think it symbolized that now that we had, let's not look back and only look forward into the futures we can spend in this room now that i knew the secret of stepping out of my rigid third circuit perception of time and spatial surroundings and gave in to feeling coming from all sides. that is the essence, i believe, of any good "acid trip" and every astral projection session. thank you lovey for always reaching out to me..

now that i am "awake" i long to close my eyes again and hope we can meet in my "dreams" once more. if we do not, it's ok.. my little concensus reality brain can only take so much at a time. oh i am so excited about this! i knew it was you.. this was no "dream" i would ever have.. it was so.. so you. and the words you said to me.. they were you communicating with me, i know it. i love you

and now i am awake and you have shown me that you've kept something that makes my ego feel bad about his dirty habits. I know that it is ultimately good if you do something artistic and metaphorical with that jack off garbage. i can no longer hate myself for the mistakes i've made, i can only give them to you just like i give you everything else, with open arms. once i can do that and love myself for it, then i believe that these mistakes will no longer continue to manifest themselves into my deeper conciousness. patterns can change.. hell, i never thought i would experience the mind bending beauty of astral projection with you, but now i have!
i never thought any of this would happen. i am so grateful to you for everything you have shown me and i really think some of it is starting to sink into my thick skull!

oh lovey, be my partner in the exploration of all of the beauty and pain that is human interaction.

you ask only one thing of me, you ask me to let you love me and i say yes!

yes!
yes!
yes!
yes!

I LOVE YOU!

+

CHAPTER 4..

i only want to take acid so i can look into your eyes. she said and i told her i was dead alreadty, she sdidn';t bealieve me but it doesn't matter. she is the only voice i need in my head, the other ones are useless to me nbow. i'm not good enough blach blah i need cephallic chese cartrigg3e liner notes. she was the only thing and continues to be the only tghing that impresses me in this fucked world. i need her lips on me anso mu8ch that i think if she where to die in the sence of leaving and never coming bacmk i would die on the astral plane. sometimes i wish i could just send all of my energy to her and make her take it because she needs it more thatn me. he bbody is eak but her mind is so much stronger, it carries her along and i wasnt to give her everything that i can. i want to giver her everything and anything she could ever want or need. she is the only thing that makes me my life worth living and i know this now. i hate my third circuit because it won't die and i want to kill it so bad with a long knife in the back, cold and deadly and nothing can stop me after that. i want ho be with her now and hold her in my arms weven when she is continenents away. she d3eserves everything from me an d my third circuit keeps denying her that. my ego doesn't want to make the toaster fly from the back seat of the caddilac, she only awants me to embrace the madness and fliow along it's dotted lines into a kind of spiral sense,. my mind is not ready for this, my thrid circuit reeplies, and i'm stuck on mars with no antellope and not antecdote. i need to learn how to spe,ll. someday my writing witll be very good she says, someday i'll find my voice. i already found my voice, i reply inside, i alwlready found her and sxhe's looking at me anbd asking me to find mmyself. i don't want myfself anymore, i want to be a part of her that operates outside of her just so i can help her fetch her things. she is the mind here, she is the ultimate and i am the nothingboy with no realk ideas of his own. i don't want my ideas, i want our ideas, i want a singular conciousness of two sperate people that have joined as one. i want to become another facet of her personality. i want to be her so much that my third circuitinterpets this need as some kind of jealousy, because he bvelieves that it's impossible to become one with someone elese. my ego is scared of dying so it's ytrying to make me the biggest asshole in the world so that i will scare off the only person that i've ever loved. i will kill you, ego,. i know you aren't as strong as i thought you wehjere, you are just some lousy piece of shit scaredy car asshole that's keeping me away from the onloy love i have and will ever love fully and tryuly. she is my everyything, she is the beauty that i have strrived for for my entire life. yo;u cann't take her aways from me you aren't allowed you jerk. leave me alone. leave me alone and let me be the personm i want to be, the person i am supposed to become. i dont' need you anymore, you asshole, you fucking fuckface bastgard with stupid ideas and ideals that keeps trying to convince me that your lousy excuse for a moralset is anythig that could qualifiry as better than the amaideas of my love. you are nohting and i am going to make you into nothing. you are not going to stop me from having the best time of my life. i just want you to die. die die die die die die die you piece of shit

i want to be inside of your past away from your view like a series of photographs taken from an invisible eye that watches you day by day (your worst childhood fear realized) but i can't help it, the curiosity kills me when i look deep into the pictures and find tiny written scraps from your past on the computer as you sleep..
i wonder exactly what your relationship with was and how it changed?
i wonder if you have changed your entire persona to fit every relationship you have ever been in?
i wonder if you use relationships to signify changes you want (or are already occurring whether you like it or not) in your life?

none of these being different from my current idea of them would necessarily be bad things, mind you. i just often wonder how your past "really" occurred in an objective sense. everything takes on either a rosy or bleak tint in one's recollections (dependent mostly on the person's individual countenance or deep psychological need)
so I could honestly never get a "true" recollection of your past just as you could never get an emotionally unbiased version of mine. thus, the eyeball... i would love to be the invisible eye you always knew was there throughout your childhood.

i can tell you have always felt that strange spotlight sensation.. as if you were always being watched, and judged for everything you ever did. some may say this is just another symptom of a schitzopal mindset but i honestly believe it is the pathway to enlightenment. i believe that if there were some way to psychologically examine every great mystic, saint, sorcerer, etc. you would find evidence of the symptoms that are now labeled as "schizopal disorder"
imagine how many people you meet every day that you think are just crazy but could actually be talking to god!

but i don't need to tell you this, you would approach someone like that with the open mind and kindness that made me fall in love with you.

but i digress!

your childhood and subsequent ascent into womanhood... i can tell that because of this indescribable and unavoidable constant feeling of being watched by the higher mind, you have achieved great things all because you held on to the well-formed belief system you have been carrying with you, pretty-much unchanged, since you could think for yourself. of course, that age is highly debatable, so I'm going to be safe here and say you've had the same beliefs your entire life, which could be (and is by many) considered a divine touch from birth.

you are a saint love
i know this because i have never met nor heard of anyone that has held onto their beliefs so strongly since an early age and fought to defend them any time they were threatened. not to mention your fervent belief in the strict laws of karma and a god realization that came to you at an age when most children are realizing they can shit in a toilet by themselves and feeling proud of it.

of course you are a genius also, which, if I am not mistaken, all saints in any religious form usually are.

and yes you like to fuck and are good at it, but hey.. i don't need to tell you that the whole idea of ascetic saints is just a byproduct of the patriarchal mutation of religion and its faux sense of "civility" enforced with rampant sexual taboos.

but yes.. i am rambling... i love you! type to me about your life.. actually just write more..

please!
write
more

i was reading your writing and now i feel responsible for your creative slump (as well i should be) but now i know i must encourage you to create and be beautiful and different.. not let my ego's fear of your being a much better person than me allow me to put you into an emotional and creative slump.

so please write..

please.

i'm sorry love

i love you

august 02

why is everything i do too little too late with you? why aren't you happy with me anymore?

why don't you believe that i can be happy with you?

i'm sorry that i've said things and done rhings that could be taken as such.. i really really just want to be happy with you love. you don't even want to have sex with me anymore.. you just lead me on and then go to sleep.
do you love me? this seems like a stupid question to ask but sometimes i really don't know anymore

why do you keep me around if i cause you so much pain?

i just want us to be together and happy. you keep saying you want to forget the past but you keep dredging it up at any chance you can get. why do you do this?

why don't you just come over here and kiss me and make everything ok again?

that's all i want from you but you just mumble some question and walk away
i just want you to be close to me
please come to me this time.. please just come over to me and kiss me first. i can't remember the last time you just snuggled up against me of your own accord.

do i pester you for affection too much?

i just want to love you
please

i love you deary.. i do not do well with idle time. i usually waste it smoking pot and doing stupid things. i don't know why this is.. well, i do but i don't think i can bring myself to believe it. i need you around because if you were not around i would be a loser. that word has been thrown around a lot in my presence but i could usually find a way to explain away my laziness and constant pot smoking.

i don't have a way to explain it now
i need a job so that i can feel like i am contributing monitarily to this relationship

plus, i just need to be doing something while you are away, because when you aren't around and i'm alone i just become very idle and bored and i start to think about how much of a loser i am too much. i eat too much when i'm around food and i can't do that because we have to share it... i eat and then i feel bad for eating and not having a job to buy more food so i eat again.
so a job would be the best thing for me so that i can have any idle time be spent in your presence, a sure way to keep me on track with the goals i have and not let me fall back into the cycle of lazy addictive behaviour i have been practicing since i was about 16 or so.
it saddens me to think that my first reaction to being alone is to revert to a 16 year old state, but i know that by spending all of my free time around you i can squelch that tendency i have to revert into a less mature mindstate and keep on pursuing my goals of mind expansion.

i love you bippy and i need you very much because if it weren't for you i would become a loser that lives paycheck to paycheck.

i realized this today.. it was one of those "stoner ephiphanies" that actually live up to their illustrious title

(pardon any mispellings)

i love you!

.. haha back to my stupid videogame.. please get home soon and free me from this endless tedium

CHAPTER 5

"bulldozer bob yaegerhoofer. This man could packa-pounaa beers in remarkable time. I never seen anything like this guy. This man killed trees at a rate only surpassed by the big guy upstairs. I ain't kiddin'... amen to that one."

"10,000 trees a second split wide open-- scream motherfuckers! oh it's beautiful the sound of pure progress!"--an unknown man was recorded, transcribed, voice-printed to have remarked in a heroin frenzy while lying in a dumpster outside of the local chic club Cum. A rather bored citizen of Metro 1 bothered to run an ident search on the man who we now know as Sven Chevsky alias "Bulldozer" Bob Yaegerhoofer.
it turns out his lifelong alias/obsession was loosely based on the (net's most popular hyper intellectual joke about a logger gone insane on an overdose of LSD25 who eventually becomes a Hindu God--defeating Shiva in the "Ultimate Motherfucking Treedown" and bringing fire to the Aztec people.
the Chipped say the humor lies in the delicate interplay of overlapping dramas that Yeagarmani weaves through countless lifetimes and courtships (the last non-chipped estimate was 1 million). chipped Hyperstar Chez Peter laughed for 3.5 seconds on October 21st at 2.00.03.00033 USD while in a conversation that had strayed into one of the general trains of thought about Yeagarmani that are so popular on (net, beaming: "oh that--yes."

[to be cnt'd . . . ..]