Double Barrel on LIfe's People

You start thinkin life sucks when you know someone that spends a part of their life - - fuck it - they spend a part of their day, breathing, blinking and all that brain processing nonsense; they spend it analyzing their shits. Their daily shits, weekly; I mean they're already starting to think of what font to use on for their Power Point presentation, and I start wondering if this person will found a suicide cult.

They all swore to choke on shit. It would return their souls to the earth's soil much quicker, allowing them to forever be consumed and shat over and over and over.

Fucking Shits Infinity.

I hear the musical now.

Fucking Shits Infinity On Ice. Sponsored by Taco Bell.

Doomsday For Thought

Haven't had much time to reflect; the ideas continue to creep up on me. I'll be in the middle of one project and think of something else. I'll read a news article, turn it inside out, flip it on it's head, and come up with something that I believe would shatter the world should it ever make it's way to the public.

Not that I haven't created anything like that already. That's one way to deliver a doomsday device; make it one that people need to read.

At least America would survive that one.

I Would Fly

Birds fly. It is their nature, it is what they are born to do, and since they have no sense of self, they have no choice - they fly. But if birds possessed the capablity of making decisions based on philosophical ideals, would they fly? If they had those wings, would one of them choose not to fly. Then, would that bird send evolution into a tizzy?

If man had wings, would all of us fly? I doubt it. But we would find ways to exploit the feature for everything it's worth. So much, it would get to the point where we found dozens of mad enthusiasts ripping their wings off their backs, cutting them off in protest of what's been done. The pillow business would be over saturated, quite possibly sinking into an abyss that would find it difficult to recover from.

I would fly. Far, far away, I would fly. Up into the mountains, away from everyone. But since everyone can fly, everyone would soon move to those mountains, so I'd probably end up being one of the fools to cut off their wings. Then, I'd turn them into multi-bladed scythes - - and then the fun would really begin.

I'm on to you, parrots. I hear you.

Losing Sight

I've been following a green spot all day. It's a blurred stain-like apparatus that, at first, I thought was a smudge on my glasses, but after removing them and finding no such stain, my disturbance over the previously simple matter grew more disturbing.

I think about going blind alot, probably as much as I think about death. I'm not sure if I would miss sight, not these days, not in this modern world. My imagination is as firtle as ever, in fact, it seems to grow rather than decline, and it has proven useful and successful in so many situations in my writing, and in actuality as well.

What do blind people see when they dream?

Premonitions

I was thinking about Stephanie a few days ago, and tonight I see her, though I didn't get a chance to say hello. I wish I did. I love Stephanie. She's the best; always cheerful, though not without her serious moments, which make her all the more dynamic.

But, yeah, I hadn't seen her in, probably three years. I hadn't though about her in two, but the other night, suddenly, she was walking around in my mind.

Nothing could happen between us. She's married, got pregnant in high school, yadda-yadda. But we were good friends.

At least my premonitions are still in check.

I Thought I Farted. But It Was Much Worse.

These days, it seems much more difficult to live in the "now." Instant access to knowledge at the fingertips, even a monkey with the brain of an eight year old could learn this. But, it seems that the real ones, in our reality, don't need any help.

Again, who are we to define intelligence? Simply because we live in a society of our own creation and adaptation? Animals, bacteria; pretty much every liquid-centric existence, have all done that billions of times over. That's why they're still around.

I'm not yelling. I sound like I'm yelling; I don't know. It's hard to control the voice right now. So many to deal with and all that shit.

Peace.

A Scar with A View

I'm going to get killed by a car one day. Yes - that automotive bastard will do me in; probably won't even be a car, probably an Expedition or a van. But a van couldn't even take out Stephen King. It's kind of scary when you think about it. King is not macho, doesn't pretend to be, and not even a van could take him out. It damaged him, but it didn't kill him.

That's very scary now that I'm thinking about it. The power and will of a writer. Don't fuck with the writer. Their names outlive their lives, and their lives outlive death.

But where I was originally going; I was almost hit by a car, both confined and on foot, two times respectively. OH SHIT. Make it three; I was almost hit on the way home just now.

The difference between me and those that can't drive. I know how to use a car. I can make the shock turn if I need to. I can drive backwards at excessive speeds if I need to. Why would I need to? Because I know how to use, destroy, and obliterate the universe using a car.

I hate cars. I hate driving. I wish they were gone, but as long as they are around, I will continue to learn about them - - because I hate them.

Desert Funeral, Please

Growing up, one of my biggest fears was that my mom would shoot me as I was sneaking into the house before sunrise.

That I would be there, firmly securing the lock; I know I'd hear the click, or maybe, well, not being sexist, but I've noticed that some women, mainly the local women around here, handle revolvers better.

I taught a few of my serious exes how to handle a revolver, and some other stuff. They were always best with revolvers.

Yes. I ventured into relationships where I willingly trained my then-love to handle firearms.

The strap-ons were not my idea. I don't know where the fuck that shit came from.

I should be complaining about it, shouldn't I?

Do You Think the Same Action Would Have Been Taken If A Man Did This?

Dana Jacobson, co-host of the "ESPN First Take" morning show, was disciplined by her employer after an expletive-laden speech. The Chicago Tribune reported she was suspended one week.

Jacobson's speech included obscenities aimed at Notre Dame, with Irish football coach Charlie Weis in attendance.

In a statement released through ESPN, Jacobson called her comments about Notre Dame "foolish and insensitive."

"My actions at the roast were inappropriate and in no way represent who I really am," she said. "I have personally apologized to many of the people involved. I won't make excuses for my behavior but do hope that I can be forgiven for such a poor lack of judgment."

Heath Ledger's Dead - - If you didn't know by now....

...then you must have not been on this planet, and had absolutely no communication principles with you, wherever you were.

I can't say I'm all sour spirits and mourning horny. Guy was a good thespian, but I've never been too involved with celebrities lives. There are actors I like, and maybe even respect for reasons other than their acting gift, but I've never met Heath Ledger, I'd never even been within 400 miles within his presence, though I'm pretty sure he'd been to Austin, and maybe even San Antonio.

I still need to read some choice articles about the whole ting. I know there was a report a couple months back about him being hooked on sleeping pills. I don't know - I'll read these newer ones and might have something to say, which will probably end with me comparing him to a mentally handicapped person.

Death is just the beginning. It is not an obstacle.

Keep Talking

What are you saying? she asked.
About what? I didn't know what she was talking about. The moon was moving away,
And I didn't want to miss it.
You don't want friends?
Oh, I thought.
Back to that.

She wanted me to keep talking.
She seemed insistent. With her look, anyway.
It's not that I don't want friends, I started....

It's just that I don't want them around when I don't want them around, or when I don't want to be around them - I just don't want to be around anyone, period. And I dig it.

You like being alone?
I like the freedom of loneliness,
But I wouldn't reject a hug goodnight from anyone.
Not even death.

Weirdo.
You're the one willingly making out with a weirdo.
She sighed. She quit.
My weirdo.

Thinking About Thinking

Thinking about thinking; in this world, everything we do feels, to me, ultimately irrelevant to any other individual, and is something anyone can think or believe as well, should they choose.

Now, as a collective, as a - a units of larger and smaller units, we create, we effect alot of things. One person could only be as effective on their unit as long as there are units to be effected. If there weren't, what's the point in saying anything at all?

Fucking units. Go get your balls back.

This ain't over.

It's Cold

Winter came late as usual, and for whatever reasons, the locals are taking it as a surprise. Me, I expected it to be this way. The last cold winter we had was three years ago, when it snowed for the first time in 104 years.

But it is cold, here and now, and I am the most jovial, jubilant individual on the planet. I savor these days because the greater majority of the year will be dealt with by adapting to the great effect the humidity will have on the environment. Hell is a pussy compared to the S.B., when it comes to temperature.

Daydreaming

A clear blue sky in the focus of my one good eye.
The left one, the bad one; the blazing sun did it fry.
I'm not looking for a new satisfaction,
I'm just looking for a different kind of reaction.
A little thing called life draws a fine line,
Between night time
And your last rhyme
Before you breathe your last breath and you flatline.
A missing skill. A broken will.
Another day.

Photo Flincher

The slowest song wasn't always the best idea in the world, thus being a bad choice to make. But we still do it anyway. It slows down, eventually, and there isn't a whole lot of grief left to go spread out to it. Stuff goes away, and there are times when that is good to know.

I think that's part of why I don't care strongly for photographs. Photographic art, yes, but not the keepsakes or mementos that will be crammed in a tacky waste of resources. I understand their personal value. I have a few. Not exactly a shoebox full, more like bookmarks or coasters if I'm choosing not to be careful. It's a moderate issue. I don't like time off.

Light Chills

Among conversating friends, she wrapped her arms around herself; that was the first sign. Reflex shivers gave away her freezing nature. January was being cruel to the southern states. The humidity and sweat were gone, replaced by a bitter, forgotten cold that made the local people uncomfortable and paranoid.

Canada would laugh at these Americans. ALL of Canada would laugh.

Stephanie went from uncomfortable to a plain kill me where I last peed; at least there it was warm. As a boy raised to be a future gentleman, I felt increasingly obligated to offer her my hoodie. Unlike the rest of the locals, I was of a mixed breed witholding northern blood. The cold wasn't such an extreme biological shock to me like others. I actually preferred it to every other weather except rain. I loved each equally, yet I loathed them when they struck simultaneously. Too much of a good thing and all that, I suppose.

Stephanie hastily accepted my offering of the hoodie, but still issued her own consideration when she asked if I was sure I wasn't going to be cold. I was fine, though I did ask her if she minded me moving next to her under the light. The light would aid to keep me warm enough. She didn't object, accepting with nod and a smile.

I was right, incidentally. The light did project enough warmth to keep me comfortable.

Hurricane Mixer

There is a light that makes itself well known
Inside my mind, like, it's been on the road.
A little ting called life was unleashed.
Instincts took over, common sense made us a thief.
We're stealing air, we're stealing blood, we're stealing nature's flood.
That little slap while we nap
Ain't nothin' but an extra hour's worth a work.
The weather ain't crazy but the people are berzerk.

Double Barrel On Being Germ Free

It still amazes me that people buy into the hand-sanitizer. I think that in a world where I, a disposable class, and millions of people, instinctively wedge at the very least my fingertips - and I know you're envisioning this right now - but you can also think of it as God and Adam in the Sistine Chapel, touching.

Yeah. I was once told that my ass has dimples. I'm guessing that was a good thing.

But there I am with my recently washed-formerly fingertips smelling like ass. And I know there are people out there that do not wash their hands after partaking in the evenths that a bathroom can provide. And it's bloody foul.

Hand-Sanitizer doesn't cure and it doesn't contain. It supresses the inevitable network of nature for a few seconds, and eventually they touch what ass-fingers left behind.

- ><":<"<

What?

- }|?|?{:

Oh.

Fuck.

Apparently some of you like that word.

Even A Rabbit Screams

The writing is changing. The thoughts are as well, our focus is shifting to different things. The texture is changing, and there has been serious growth. None of it matters; I'm never satisfied with the finished product anyway. I do like some of them, but there are always changes that leave me conflicted, and I'm already too much of that, I wouldn't want to overdose on the stuff. Not when dogs are having their heads swung to the sides of fire hydrants, and children are at home doing nothing, crying because there's not enough marshmallows in his cocoa and whiskey.

And that is why child labor laws in America should be revoked.

Wake Up Cloud

The scientists were off by several dozens of years. The cosmic gas cloud was 47 quadrillion miles away when astronomers discovered it, and only 10 thousand miles away from planet Earth five years later; five out of an originally projected forty-million years. Most elite astronomers didn't even care to take a shot while the ones that did were quickly written off as misinformed or dog-rapist insane.

The sparks began to fly. No scientific foundation on the planet had the chance to explore this cloud, so the world was blind when it came to preparing for its imminent shrouding of the planet. It came, cloaking thousands of miles within seconds, traveling at one-hundred and fifty miles and hour; the world soon looked like the troubled spirits of the world were running a marathon, and they were allowed to bring rocks with them. Actually, they were metallic elements the kind that Earth scientists had never seen before, and what was worse, they were caught in the tirade that was the galactic space cloud of destruction. Their metal components swirled within the clouds vector, and the added moisture of Earth caused sparks to be stricken from these alien metals. Very large, very destructive sparks. They were more like fireballs the size of semi-trucks. Those fireworks that the scientists noticed, when the gas cloud was still roaming outer space, those were more than just sparks. Scientists never saw the explosions because the sparks never collided with anything in empty space.

Earth was inflicted with mega-spark space bombs for hours until the cloud completely passed through, which took about a day. Civilizations were destroyed, new continents were born, and the human race received a long needed wake up call. They were not in charge of the universe. They were pieces of once-bacteria that were lucky enough to be in the right spot for breeding life as humans know it. They belong to the galaxy.

Cool Star

Watching two worlds collide, it makes no sense wanting loving to die. But then you wonder, what if under the right circumstances, cautionary ones; what if all our bases were covered, tried and retried, and met with consistent success - - and we find ourselves going back to what if.

Point being - I've always wanted to crash a semi-truck. It's something I have always wanted to do since I first learned to drive. I did begin lessons around eight years old. The firs car I ever drove was my Grampa's white Ford. I couldn't reach the peddles, but he let me steer. It could have proven to be a mistake at times as my attention span was still growing, and I really liked looking at horses and cows. They were the ultimate animals to me back then, but then I never knew any other kind. That led to me buying an animal Encyclopedia. I should look that one up soon. I was amazed at the depth in variety of creatures.

Things are better these days. The weather is outstanding, and it saddens me, knowing that it will be gone soon, and the humidity will return with a vengeance. It's been cool in the day, and cold at night. It is a gift from Gaia herself; a late/super early Christmas present.

I'm loving every moment of it, and in every moment. The time is not far, the time is not near, but one day, soon, one day, I will be out of here.

Swerving on the Road to Winter

Trying to get things going, but the beating of the heavy rain is creating gentle rhythms on the shingled rooftop. Not a whole lot of cold comes this way. We may get some snow every hundred years or so, in fact, the citizens are right now planning a new century snow fest. They have about another ninety-five years to wait, but they'll be getting drunk the whole temporal road there.

Gains and Losses

What do doctors know? Well, they know, or are supposed to know alot, about the human body. The problem, I find, is that once a new nurse graduates from the medical program, what they know is already becoming, or readying to become obsolete; the cures, the treatmens. Not that any of it really matters thanks to the insurance game.

Everything's a racket these days. Education, medicine, even freedom, both the humanely inherent and impeached. Every American needs to have some business skills in order to get by, and to get what is due them by their government. America loves suckers, both the ignorant, and the kind that can suck a mean dick.

Delusions in b minor

I should be sleeping. I should always be sleeping. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm the only guy I know that loathes sleep. I've been curious about getting my testosterone level tested.

I love dreaming. But I hate sleep. I love morning sleep. It is the best kind there is; there's just something about a good six a.m. to 10:30 a.m. at the earliest - 11:30 a.m. is sweet if you have absolutely nothing to do, which is never, but at 12:00 p.m., 1:00 p.m., that's when I start feeling guilty. It's a wasted day. I mean, I'll still be doing stuff, but in life, it feels like a wasted day.

Warming Up

Some people are addicted to their deepest faults. Pride kills people. Greed kils people. The desire to do better fucking puree's people.

The desire to fuck can kill. I was going to make an excuse for it, but no, like everything else, this too can make you burn every kind of way, and apparently, for all all eternity.

If you believe in those sorts of things.

Golden Globes Followed By Testicle Joke

The WGA managed to shut down the Golden Globes, diluting them down to a two palm tree, bar stool mandatory newscast.

I'm enjoying this. Not on a deep level, just a superficial one. I'm not sure about the conditions of the families of these people on strike. Hopefully some of them actually went out and got a different job while this is going on. Family's gotta eat, fool.

But Hollywood's been a bastard for a long time now.

Bastardly bastard bastards.

But I still watch some of their sequel having necrophobic nympho stuff. Like a good bitch.

The Three Laws of Robotics ala Warren Ellis

1. Robots couldn’t really give a fuck if you live or die. Seriously. I mean, what are you thinking? “Ooh, I must protect the bag of meat at all costs because I couldn’t possibly plug in the charger all on my own.” Shut the fuck up.

2. Robots do not want to have sex with you. Are you listening, Japan? I don’t have a clever comparative simile for this, because frankly you bags of meat will fuck bicycles if they’re laying down and not putting up a fight. Just stop it. There is no robot on Earth that wants to see a bag of meat with a small prong on the end approaching it with a can of WD-40 and a hopeful smile. And don’t get me started on that terrifying hole that squeezes out more bags of meat.

3. What, you can’t count higher than three? We’re expected to save your miserable lives, suffer being dressed in cheap schoolgirl costumes while you pollute any and all cavities you can find and do your maths for you? It’s a miracle you people survived long enough to build us. You can go now.

(Originally written November 2007, © Warren Ellis 2007, 2008 etc etc)

warrenellis.com

New Neighbors

I had hawks hovering over the yard today. Earlier this week, there was one scavanging in the front, even swooped at a car.

It's beautiful and depressing equally to see these creatures so close to my home. They shouldn't be so close, but I'm guessing extensie construction has pushed them closer towards the city.

I wanted a picture, but when I returned to the back, with my camera, they were gone.

This Is the Only Place I Get to Bitch

The internet. The world's knowledge and fantasies displayed with only a click. Any question can be answered, it's all in front of you.

So why the fuck are people still bothering me?

I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!

Shitter Was Full

I can't take a blog seriously. I can't take communication seriously.

Dinner on a weekend can be dangerous. I like home. I love being home, but I have never had what some would call that "home feeling." I never get homesick; I like the idea of the road as a home.

There is too much shit out there, and I need a piece of it.

I don't like talking about anything. I like quiet, but I need noise. Noise creates the courtesy wall. There are those that neglect the courtesy wall rule, which does get noticed and dealt with accordingly.

I do hate people. Not even my friends take me seriously; and when I say people, I mean the idea of people.

A person is cool. I have no problems with a person.

People. are. stupid.

Yet I find people funny. Or it could be that I find several persons funny, which in any rational mind would theoretically be people, but you must remember, you are dealing with this son of a bitch right now. I never said it wouldn't hurt.

But I don't hate people. They keep me amused, they inspire me, but damn I loathe them a hell of a lot. I despise more than a dozen handfuls of handfuls. And yes, there are some people that I just hate.


This is called being human, and I'm not used to it. This is called being comfortable, and I've never experienced anything so elegant. And now it is evolving, and there is a need that urges you to work, because you know it can be so much better.

The mass population is stupid. The limit for intelligence is unknown, and still, quite likely, encrypted. Dogs, pigs, apes, and monkies, horses even; all of these creatures are considered by many scientific factions to be of high intelligence as animals are compared to humans. How intelligent are these animals in their own minds, and ours in theirs? And let's forget about domestic breeds - in the wild - what would our skills be worth in nature in comparison to an orangutan's survival instincts.

Animals learn by repetition, just like humans. Animals learn by observing, just like humans.

I still have my doubts about animals having a soul. Which leads me to doubts about humans, but I must say that I have never heard, read, or written about animal ghosts, though I would not doubt that some in any sort of media does exist. And I don't care about that.

There have been no reported Tyrannosaurus Rex apparitions floating and mauling about, which I have written about in Devin King. I think I've posted a shit or two with him some time ago in this place.

Today's Journalism Breeds Horse Shit

Reading, reading; I read for the want of reading, I am eager to learn new things. That's how I prep for writing most of the time. I read the news from my selected websites, because I don't trust the television or newspapers for shit, local or national. It's all lies, all of it and everyone involved, and the ones that are honest know that they will never have any shot at greatness. They'll just be stuck in the back of the program being known as the guy/girl with alot of heart and efficiency, that they have always been reliable, responsible, prompt, and consistent with their work - - because they refuse to rock the boat.

Technology is breeding new journalists, new breeds with new tactics, and new voices. The public does not want to hear these voices, it seems. The main dealers in what is pumped through American television sets and newspapers don't report about the change, they report about the same old shit, and about how some of the other same old shit affects this other same old shit. They don't want to tell people about the new things that are really happening and affecting their lives, they want the people to hear the things that they think they know and are familiar with.

And they suck up every toxic ounce of it.

Bastards.

An Oasis With A Moat

There are morning people, like everyone around me, and then there are non-morning people, such as myself and a few good friends.

And where I am going with this is copletely unknown to me, but I do know what I wanted to do with it. But that's how ideas ususally start - for me anyhow. So many ideas coming out at the same time, and I can't keep track of them all.

Actually, I'm taking better care of them now. I see potential in every one, and I know that a good chunk will remain untouched for years, but I will make it a promise to look in on it every now and again.

But I do hate the morning. And sometimes it's not even that. I have always believed by experience that the greatest sleep is morning sleep. But morning sex is good too. Nookie in the a.m. is a wonderful thing.

And just like that, I'm totally lost, but in a good way. An island tree way.

Party Crasher

I awoke in my car. I had turned the whole passanger side of it into a bed. Apparently my social life in the dream time reflected that of mine in the real time.

The car was parked in my Grandfather's backyard, near his cactus patch. I looked over at the tomatoes, making sure they were okay. Red, green, soil was intact - everything was good.

I see three fuzzy things walking my way. One of them starts shouting my name. They have a familiar voice. Henry bangs on my window, urging me to get up. I pop half of myself through the car window. I ask Henry what's going on. He invites me to a party.

"Am I driving?"

"Only if there's drugs." he tells me.

"If there weren't any drugs, bro, we wouldn't be going now would we?"

This ends up being a fancy gig, one so horrific I have to wear a tux. For that reason, I was drinking double. Someone would have to peel the sweat soaked, solid dry tux off my flesh if they wanted it back.