It's On

I don't really like to look back on things unless I'm willing to learn from them, which is quite typical. I get what I need, ususally from a mistake; why I made it, what I did to make it....and so on.

I'd like to think I haven't made any critical mistakes these past few months. It doesn't feel like I have. I know I don't like opening up to people, let alone a second-life tech world where as much of your life is on display for any and all that wish to read or watch it.

Life has not slumped, it's just ceased to be interesting, and I'm sure it's my fault, for the most part.

Asia's suffering quite a bit right now, the UK is now allowing you and yor pets to squeeze out DNA which scientists will allow to dry hump and fuck one another; America's really becoming a bitch to live in, unless you bleed or shit money.

Life has become interesting again, but right when you are about to start a new one, the spectral physics of it change the rules yet again.

I'm game. Bring it, bitch.

Time For Change

Depression is a son of a bitch. I've been coping with it lately; all day today. I just stepped out of the house maybe thirty minutes ago.

I know where it's coming from, me being my own worst enemy and all, and I know what I need to do to get things back to some semblance of normality.

It's time for a change. A big change. A very big change.

Behind It All

There isn't a wave that importance rides too far away,
So far away that the sun couldn't even reach it. Miniscule bits
Of history and science,
A little bit of blood and code, Both types
Decipherable only be what lives behind the stars
And behind the darkness that is always there;
Was always there;
And will meet us when we are no longer here.

Fight Sleep

Fighting sleep again. The wind is agreeing with me, things are overblown, damaging the soul along the way. Just some bruises. Thicker skin helps and has been a pleasuer to have. It makes things so much easier. There's only one person that can screw up your life that way.

I miss dreams. I miss the walks on the beach that make me want to visit the beach. I miss drowning sometimes because I know one of these nights I will swim.

The revolution is coming. Pieces are in place. Things are going so well, I'm really expecting something to screw me up in these coming months, maybe even weeks.

Congress

Serisouly, get a fucking life, get a fucking clue; get a fucking happy ending from the Korean stretch-goddess, capable of penetrating any slight opening on your person, your body, your physical shell.

But Congress - - FUCK. YOU.

I could care less about what Roger Clemens injected into his ass on what date.

As a fitness enthusiast I know who needs what for what, and I, like the greater nuber of the American public, could care less about what sad piece of metal-drip doesn't get to go inside a person's ass.

It's not your blood dying afar. It's not your livliehood being threatened. You have no idea what the "common" person feels, thinks, or endures every damn day. You don't know what America is anymore - - the REAL America.

I have no sympathy for any of you - in what is going to happen - and what is to become.

You are not survivalists. People like me are. We live to live. We breathe so we know we're still breathing, which let's us know we're still alive. And being alive means having choices.

That's where God and democracy fucked up. You let me have a mind of my own.

Working for A Living

I don't know how to have fun on the internet. Yet, when I feel like I am, people get scared.

Internet is the absolute best place for schizos and other multi-personality type.

People got stabbed in a theater in California. The newest trend has begun, yet, it's so far behind schedule.

Hurricane Gorilla Bitch

Sometimes I'm glad the wind still scares me.

I'm tired of humidity. Tired of banal excuses behiind lackluster progression.

I'm tired of people around me being a decade-plus behind the rest of the world. I do see its benefits, and the way this world is heading; the road the human race is forcing it to take for itself, I am afraid, but I am so excited.

I live in one of the best areas. But I hate it. So I'm just waiting - success or no man's land - whichever comes first.

Personally speaking, I'm rooting for no man's land.

'Bout fucking time.

Need To Move

And again, the questions strike like cards in Vegas. "Why don't you talk; why won't you talk; what aren't you talking?"

I'm the kind of person that likes to mash buttons sometimes, only because I want to see what happens. I like knowing that things are eventually going to be fucked, which is why I a cannot stagnate in economical relationships. I need to keep moving forward, but sometimes, and it's a bitch when it happens - - I go too far ahead; I go forward without understanding the now.

It is the attraction to the why; that is my chosen side-thorn. The whys and whats of the world.

Need to move forward. And it will kill me.

I Have No Idea What This Is

I cried tonight. I know I did. The pillow was wet, the flavor was salty. The cleaning was a bitch.

I knew we'd had a party. Where was the music coming from? I mean, did we havea dj or did Jareb offer up his mix?

And how the fuck would you know? You weren't there.

I Try

I try painting a picture,
But the colors refuse to shine.
Nothing but gray and black,
With some sparkles of white breaking through the plain.

I try composing a song.
The melody is pure,
The rhythm is tired,
But human emotions, so brittle and frail;
There will always be a will to hear it.

I try writing a story.
It always ends up with my own characters
Shooting me in the back of the head.
I never wanted them to hate me,
But I suppose the torment I put through
Would be enough to warrant anyone
Trying to kill their creator.

Tired in Deadsville

Haven't felt like posting lately. Not much to talk about. Everything is back in routine, and not a whole lot of progress made on any end other than spouting out new ideas. Well, new to me, probably a rehash or a rip off to others.

I don't have an interesting life and I don't want one. I like mine, though others do consider what I do, the different things; the writing, the training, the art - they find that interesting. I suppose if I would find selling toilest for a living interesting if I never knew anything about it.

The world is still fucked. America is still without a leader, and has been for abour four or five decades. Humanity is a shrill, and hopefully will find itself on the endangered species list one day.

Global warming isn't threatening anything except mankind. The planet, you know, planet Earth, the one that is supposedly in such danger - - it's going to be fine. It's the people that don't stand a chance. Well, a whole lot of people, several billions. Some will be okay, but the majority - deadsville. Suckers.

A Very Rough Blueprint For a Loose Idea

Back in the locker room, the wrestler walks, awaiting his match. He sees many characters in costume, a couple making out in the shadows, doesn’t know if it’s regular or mixed.

Walking, he greets everyone as he goes by. Wrestling is a family, you see these people nearly every day of your life. You have your friends and acquaintances; you have your business partners and inside guys. It is a world in itself. It is a true circus.

You are a successful independent promotion, successful for three years in a row, but have been around for decades, mixing, inheriting from previous promotions and shit.

You walk into the bathroom; you hear a rookie headliner doing blow in the bathroom stall. You ask him…

Wrestler: What are you doing, kid? Sounds like your having a hell of a party in there.

Kid: It’s cool.

Wrestler: I get it, Kid - but I don’t get it. Why would you wanna do that shit before the match? It doesn’t enhance anything except the burning flesh.

Kid: A bump for a bump.

Wrestler chuckles expecting Kid to be gone in a month, maybe less. Outside he sees the man he needs to see; the head of talent Johnny Hill.

JH: Ay, big guy, what’s going on?

W: Not much, man. Ay, Kid’s in there blowing snow, man.

JH: God damnit, Johnny hissed what sounded like both anger and relief simultaneously.
Well, he was losing tonight anyways. This’ll be his last match. He’s doing a pay per appearance anyway. Dumbass.

What else going on?

W: Nothing much, shaking his head. Just waitin. Already stretched out, hit the ropes. Just waitin for muh music.

JH: Alright alright. Good luck, have fun. Good what you told me bout Kid. We got enough problems round here, don’t need more a that shit. Good lookin out W.

W: Likewise.

Now what?

The Future is Fucked

You look at the world and expect someone to save you; expecting the government to postpone your burial amongst the garbage you called your life.

You had a little girl before you even learned how to read, and you were barely learning how to read shortly after you grew your first pubes. That little girl was better off without you. That little girl was better off the day you died.

Planets Still Drifting

Gina stared into this new stranger's eyes. They were familiar, yet now lifeless, but alive. A numb state. A sad one to Gina.

That thing has the power of life and death.

"Among other things," he spoke, telepathically.

Gina, unsuccessful in her own atempt at telepathy, humbly asked, "Like what?

"Things you don't wanna know about."

"And the boy?" Gina knew what used to be her friend Victor read her mind all the way through that, and was well aware that he was well aware that she first hoped he would wipe that "fucking, shit-licking grin off his handsomely retarded face."

"Alive, living and will live. Diamonds with Snow is imminent and inevitable. We thought the universe was pulling itself. Your moon moves half-an-ince away from Earth every year. Instead, Earth is simply on the tail end of an inverted implosion."

"And how is he supposed to stop this?" Gina didn't give a damn about powers now.

"He isn't. But he can."

Retired Teacher Reveals He Was Illiterate Until Age 48

"I can remember when I was 8 years old saying my prayers at night saying, 'please, God, tomorrow when it's my turn to read please let me read.' You just pretend that you are invisible and when the teacher says, 'Johnnie read,' you just wait the teacher out because you know the teacher has to go away at some point," said Corcoran.

The Power of the Pen

COPENHAGEN, Denmark (AP) - Danish authorities on Tuesday arrested three people suspected of plotting a cartoonist's assassination for his depiction of the Prophet Muhammad wearing a bomb-shaped turban that enraged Muslims two years ago.

Checking In

Took a break. Just wanted to chill.

I'd speak, but right now one of my favorite Boondocks episodes is on.

Maybe later.

Fight Sleep

I fight sleep. I fight sleep so much. We're not even enemies. I love the shit.

Dreams keep me going. The capability of having dreams, the potential in scope and dynamic that can be accomplished is profoundly, smack a bitch and that bitch is you, surreal.

And don't even GET me started on the pleasures of complicating every little fucking thing.

As Political As I Can Get

Every Kennedy under the ozone was endorsing Obama, and he still lost Massachusetts.

On election day everyone just needs to stay home and masturbate. At least you know who's screwing whom, and you damn sure know you'll be satisfied with the results.

Double Barrel on HD Television

Damn HD tv bullshit.

I already know how ugly and fake television creatures are. Beauty died when the imagination was left behind.

Assholes.

Fuck HD. Give me HEAD - Happily Eat A Dick, ass-licking Hollywood tards.

Had a Good Day

And I'm just going to leave it at that.

Mammal Feels No Pain

Scientists knew the mole rats were quite sensitive to touch — perhaps to help replace their almost useless eyes. After probing their skin, Park and his colleagues unexpectedly discovered the rodents lacked the chemical Substance P, which causes the feeling of burning pain in mammals.

What the Hell Did I Eat, Bear Taint?

I'm so fucking introverted, it's unread. But it can't be unreal, because it is real, is actual and factual. Because I fucking am.

I like it though. I like being alone, I like the idea of solitude, but the walls come closing in every now and then, it's unavoidable, but then, by the time you feel like hanging around people, all the ones that thought they were your friends feel betrayed, call you a prick, and ditch your ass.

Not AAALLL of them, of course. The true friends forgive and understand. Forgive at the very least, anyway. Not all of them comprehend your views on everything, they don't know why you think the way you think, and there's really no point in explaining it to them, not because you want to brush them off, but because you know you won't tread new ground.

I don't like meeting new people. I really don't. But I love some of the shit that happens when I do.

Manager's Choice

I never told her what it was that made it so special. I didn't know.

I fear that if I had ever found out the secret to our relationship while we were together, it would have self destructed. And by "it" I mean me, yes, me; I would have sabotaged the whole thing, I don't know who I'm trying to kid here.

But she chose me.

Her parents didn't disown her. Her friends did call her a lunatic.

If I recall correctly, "A dickless, muscle-headed, crazy bastard."

She laughed at all of them, told them "they just didn't know." I don't know what that meant. I'm guessing it's good. I want it to be good.

She chose me.

Machine Head - Now I Lay Thee Down

One of my favorite videos in ages, mostly because I stopped caring about videos long long ago. The vid goes well with the song, and I have an affinity for silent movies, and the true value of capturing emotion on film.

But Machine Head's always had good videos.

Seeing Through

I don't get photographs. I mean the sentimental, keepsake kind, not the artistic interperative kind.

I look at me, as a toddler, at Christmas, and all I see is me as a toddler at Christmas. But I can also look past that and get new ideas.

I look into mirrors and see the same old thing. I look through the mirror, or past the mirror, into the world behind it, and I see something so spectacular; a new road that has yet to be travelled, leading to more untrekked passages.

All for the moonbeams.

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.

2007 DMN Texan of the Year: The Illegal Immigrant

COURTNEY PERRY / DMN
We can't seem to live with him and his family, and if we can live without him, nobody's figured out how. He's the Illegal Immigrant, and he's the 2007 Dallas Morning News Texan of the Year – for better or for worse. We can't seem to live with him and his family, and if we can live without him, nobody's figured out how.

....."One week I'm a traitor, the next week I'm a patriot," laments Mr. Gears.

Honesty Can Hurt, But It Always Helps. So Fuck You. There. I Helped You.

What do you like to do, she asks,
With people?
Nothing,
I tell her.
Where are you from?,
Stirring her drink, and seeing her world
Swirling in it.
Here,
I say.
Oh c'mon, she's sparked.
I know who you are, I know you have more to say.
I blushed with a grin,
But, you don't know me,
I enforced. You know your idea of me.
But I am human. Aghast,
Only human.
What do you like to talk about?
She tried
Again.
Nothing.
With no one, if that is what you meant.
She was shocked, stunned, but intrigued.
She was curious -
What did I really mean?
We then talked,
And we walked and talked,
And then we laughed, sometimes we kissed,
And then we laughed.
Then we kissed alot more.
And then we laughed.
And laughed.

Mr. Heevil

The blue blur of the Florida bound bus distracted Mr. Heevil. He had been making out contorted patterns among the frosted windows. Watching the giant vehicular transport specialist zip by recalled to Mr. Heevil the day or game against Trenton when the hockey puc slapped him across the face, ricocheting off his panic-swung stick, and passed the goalie. Remembering that day gave Mr. Heevil the chuckles every time.

People Losing Privacy

"The general trend is that privacy is being extinguished in country after country," said Simon Davies, director of Privacy International. "Even those countries where we expected ongoing strong privacy protection, like Germany and Canada, are sinking into the mire."

...concern about terrorism, immigration and border security was driving the spread of identity and fingerprinting systems, often without regard to individual privacy.

Wake Up Juice

Still trying to wake up. Not in the get-out-of-bed-way, but in the brain-needs-to-function-way. I'm trying to do that with some light typing, which comes in handy once in a while. Even now, I'm testing out my speed. I've been practicing lately just in case I become a lonely, single, coffe-making, dry cleaning seceretary somewhere some day.

My fingers are too bulky for answering phones.

Knightriders

Man - this one is a twister on the judgement factor. The concept seems outrageous, even by today's standards. Maybe being set in the future would have numbed the first look shock of it all.

BUT DAMN IF IT ISN'T FUN.

This could have been a joke under anyone's direction other than Romero's. It became something unique, but not without some of the campiness blasting through, but good performances from Ed Harris and Tom Savini, with some great surprises, including Stephen King and Romero's regular, "I'm Joe Grizzly, bitch" Ken Foree, now, seemingly, a Zombie regular.

The characters are allowed to grow, though some are more annoying than others, particularly Julie, played by Patricia Tillman. She thought every police siren and every alarm was because of her for whatever lazy reason.

Ed Harris took this role so seriously, as much as any other performance I've seen him in. Somehow, it all made sense in this film. Especially today with pro-wrestling, mixed martial arts, and now American Gladiators is returning (but I seriously doubt for very long).

This movie also represented well the kind of people attracted to this lifestyle, the ones that can't settle down in society's norm, because they know it isn't the norm, that the world is not supposed to be full of all of this hate and despair. People like that usually wind up willingly homeless, or a carny; living the lifestyle, at least.

Hustlers or jugglers, they're both out to sell something.

Harmony of the Phoenix

What am I searching for?
Beyond this evolving door
The songs I have learned to play
Cut the air, and along the way
They go, spreading the sweetest thing
That anyone could recall hearing.
The composer rejected fault,
Claiming the sound was never meant for all those ears
That would take years upon the sound to descend,
Bringing curiosity to a halt.

Did not the world care for a new day
Of new ideas, when mankind once again
Had someting interesting to begin,
That would lead to new things to say?

In the distance,
Deep underground,
There lived a new race of sound;
A new species of resonance
Waiting to unleash itself upon a droll, monotonous world,
Not that this new harmony would go untouched as it unfurlled;
Truly some changes would come,
A new revolution,
The kind that would require the sounds of the sun.

Osama Claus at Parachute Blue

Late December, 2007

Houston, Texas was the last place I ever expected to find the long bearded, featured festival character of Osama Claus. Cloaked in an ominous black, clouded by heartily loved cigarette smoke and bad drunken breath, he cut a path through the steadily crowding bar, nesting in a corner, unloading his endlessly provisioned, white-trimmed, black sack of debauchery. The taste of the second hand smoke enthralled the holiday terroriser to an delightful degree, Osama Claus prouced a single cigarette and lighter from the darkness that was the morbid veil of his self, though by human's sight it appeared as a faded black sweater and livlier black cargo pants, with boots to match. His salt and pepper beard swayed down past his chest, and while his facial features were full and covered, not even the dry profile hair could hide the angry look, malicious look eternally branded on to Osama Claus' face. The face that told a story, that sent a message; Osama Claus wanted the world dead.

In the hazey distance, the flashy and jubilant nymphs, aptly named the Happy Elves, crowded the entrance welcoming surprised newcomers and beloved regulars of the Parachute Blue. Its reputation was mixed, but legendary, and often times intimidating, but one supposes that ass-less chaps would do that to a few sheltered individuals.

Farmer Happy Elf unleashed a smile when an intoxicated and excited Preppy Asian Happy Elf showed up. Preppy Asian Happy Elf had generously helped himself to the egg nog, this particular batch made by Simple Bill, the bartender and co-owner of The Parachute Blue. The potent beverage exceeded all expectations, including being so dangerous to keep close by; it had to be kept in the basement of the bar. One flick of burning ash even near the direction of the egg nog, snow and ash would intertwine making for a conflicted Christmas and a gray New Year. Simple Bill's working partner, the sharper tounged Vicious Larry, ruthlessly dubbed the potentialy lethal holiday concoction "Dread Nog."

Preppy Asian Happy Elf continued his hugging feast, cheefully throttling any and all that neared him loudly greeting them with a "Welcome!" He went on, enthusiastically threatening any that refused to show cheer by kicking them with his four-hundred dollar elfen boots.

"I kick-uh you with my four-hundred dollah boots. Come here - why you no lemme kick-uh you?"

Osama Claus watched, calculating hundreds of thousands of ways to rid the Parachute Blue of its thril and merriment. His only projected obstacle would be that Preppy Asian Happy Elf.

Osama Claus waited.

Patrick Stewart and I Have Much In Common

J. Edgar Hoover's Paranoid American Imprisonment Plan

A newly declassified document shows that J. Edgar Hoover, the longtime director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, had a plan to suspend habeas corpus and imprison some 12,000 Americans he suspected of disloyalty.

Hoover sent his plan to the White House on July 7, 1950, 12 days after the Korean War began. It envisioned putting suspect Americans in military prisons.

Traveling

Heading to Houston. I'm clueless as what to expect other than cold weather. I'm already smiling.

I'm avoiding family this year, but unlike previous holidays, I'm not cowering in the kitchen corner shielded by a flipped table and armed with a pan and cleaver.

I need a new book. I've been circulating two short story collections (Dying for Tomorrow, Fragile Things) and an omnibus (Sherlok Holmes). It's been a delight, but now I have an exigency for a single literary constant.

I may have to take chance with this next one.

Tickle My Nucleus

This week - alot of death this week.
Students, teachers, and fathers dying.

I wish I could fabricate this,
but it is real.
And I'm used to it. I have no problems with death.
I know when I die,
I'll die for good, I'll die for sure;
My death will be pure.

I love Christmas. The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack is perfection. Music seems livliest during Christmas time.

But Christmas has been disoriented this last half-decade, so this year I will escape north. The weather is so blasted unpredictable; the humidity (as I've often griped about) screws everything up all year long.

The fog before half past eight was a dastardly discomfort. I mean I like fog, but not when I just wanna get home before bedtime to a piece of chicken. Damn, man.

Restless Planet

A new $1-billion theme park in Dubai – featuring over 100 animatronic dinosaurs of 40 different species – promises to take you closer to a prehistoric world than you've ever been before.

The Tyrannosaurus rex follows you with watchful hungry eyes, but unlike his likeness in the Jurassic Park film, this robot – found at the world's most impressive dinosaur theme park – is unlikely to snap you up for dinner.

These things shall rebel, eventually conquering Earth to dominate it once again, but the kicker, they shall reproduce, and later on down the line, the species shall become agresal cyborgs.

Evolution will cycle itself, only robotics will be a native component of every species.

It will rape you, is what I'm getting at. And then eat you - - you see.

Sleep with the Sun

There is no sleep like morning sleep. Night sleep is boring. Morning sleep, the mixture of the dreary and the sparkling energy that comes with a newly birthed day.

Dreams at night are better detailed visually. I'll give'em that. The ones in the morning are clouded. The mixing of dreary and sparkling energy, the foundation of a new found day, disturb several connections.

One might think they could train their bodies to adapt to the circumstances, but it never happens. But awakening, refreshed and sun soaked; that is a pleasure reserved for the idle and the opportunistic; the sacrificial and the fortunate.

Liquid Eyes

I saw my body floating there. I was oblivious to everything, confused. As if I had lost my connection to everything in the world. Another dropped call, another lost number, and the shuffling continues.

I was still breathing, but that didn't occur to me until a good thirty minutes in. I was immersed in the vision, it moved organically. It took me through time. It let me see things, but not telling me who or what.

What I had seen was not at all what I expected, but the best thing was the absence of humans, but I didn't see any animal life either.

And there it was. I had seen the Earth reclaim dominance.

I couldn't stop laughing.

Dream Date

Were we together last night? Did we take a walk along the bridge; moonlight gliding us past the iron and blood,the purpose and the pressure. The city could protect as easily as it could harm. That was what I used to think about serial killers.

Did I hold your hand? I would hope that I did, with the fog blanketing our affection, secluding it momentarily from the world, leaving that moment spiritually, universally, and forever ours - our own. Time does not own it. The Earth does not own it. We own it.

Just keep looking ahead. Ignore the dog urinating in the sunken eye sockets of its dead master's corpse.

Industrial Oasis

I never wanted to rest on the island. I loved it so much, I never wanted to tire of it, thus I would never visit. The city suited me well. It wasn't loud, not where I chose to settle. I explored every asset and corner, and around some corners stood the blind guy that would be celebrating his birthday.

Everyday ended up being his birthday.

Highrise

What is it with being scared? These days, every time the wind shifts someone's brains rattle until liquified.

I hope for alot of changes, most of them would get me banned from quite the amount of countries. And I still wouldn't give a shit what most others think. It's a curse at times, but I just don't.

But to those that I do,....be greatful. I could have used the exact same words to shred your mind.

Yeah, I care about you too. Do I really have to say it? Every time?

Shit. There's banging on the door. Grandson's got the shotgun. I'm down to Brianna, my sweet knife. Nin, my grandaughter; she's aiming low with that tommy gun cross bow.

I love being old.

Double Barrel on Homosexuality

It pleases me to know that I live in a world where a woman can naturally become aroused when watching another woman masturbate. If I had to thank a gawd I would.

Because it just can't be done with a penis. I've checked before. Nuh-uh. No way. Whatever gay men see in it, they are welcome to it.

But sometimes head is head, and kinda like drugs, sometimes the good shit is just hard to find.

And I can't fuckin believe I feel obligated to do this, thank you, you sensitive bitches, but I have nothing against homesexuals be they male, female, pre-op/post-op male/female because some people probably skipped around on this one.

All are welcome to make porn and post it on the internet. Variety is a wonderful courtesy.

The Birthday Massacre - Blue

They've just been getting better and better with each album.



I remember when goth had guts and was willing to fight for their ideals. Now, goth kids are soiled diapered whiners. The Birthday Massacre has finally brought some glory back to the darkness.

Innuendo Mocha

Alone, seated, with warm coffee growing cooler with every ticking away of time. Marshall once left his finger in a cup of coffee from the time he poored to the time it cooled. He wanted to know how long it took a cup of coffee to cool in Connecticut. Maybe it was different from Texas.

Surrounded he was by a young man's dream. A quaint and sometimes too cold coffee shop, and surrounding him were women. Ladies of all sorts, and maybe some of them didn't deserve to be called ladies, but his grandparents had taught him better. He liked meeting the people he would eventually loathe first.

But back to the women, he didn't need this. He really didn't. His physique didn't match his age. He enjoyed exercising, and the workouts had been kind to him, except maybe that evening.

Sitting alone, next a dulling cup of coffee, reading from a book who's auther's name was printed in bulky, bright red letters - Moorcock.

It sounds exactly the way it's spelled.

Happy Fries

People forget that other people have problems, some more cruel than others, some more playful while scarring less.

But it is when we have problems that we forget others have none. We see them smiling, sparkling in a shiny life when deep down they're just as miserable as we are.

Misery is reality. Happiness is indeed something we create.

When the Bomb Drops

When the bombs drop
There will be no pain.
Ashes will kiss the wind,
Earth will cease to rain.
The axe will resume control,
The superficial will be in disarray.
I will be smiling.
I will be waiting.
When the bomb drops.

Running Bunny

Damn you, bunny. I don't want shards of your skull embedded between my tire's treads, but I'll take it if I have to.

Sci-Fi's Humping of the Corpse That is the Wizard of Oz

The Tin Man

I had some interest until I saw the extended preview. It feels, to me, like Sci-Fi's attempt at getting a franchise going, though I have neither read or heard anything of the kind. It's just a feeling I got conducted by my beliefs in the whoredoom that is Hollywood.

Read the originals. I know - read - AAAAHH!!

Spreading Misery In Every Direction

I needed her to be there for me. She was. Always.

Stupid stupid beautiful girl.

The blood on my clothes made her think, but I've somehow made her believe that I am worth keeping around. I have known no boundaries with this odd lovely lady. But here I am, needing her again. Using her again.

She has no idea, but when this whole thing is over, I'm leaving.

I hate it. I do. I hate it. She's the sweetest woman in the world, and I have been mighty fortunate to find a woman that could keep a body like hers. I've slept, spanked, and had the sex that makes people lose weight with what some would consider worse. I called them different, and much lovlier and rich because of it.

But she was only my access to the outside world. My looking glass. I couldn't be seen out in the world, not after death and malicious coincidence were involved.

I had done this kind of thing nearly a dozen times in a dozen ways. She settled in with the rare few that I felt guilty about using. I've always hoped she'd find better.

Double Barrel on Simplicity

I got a rubber band for a wallet. What the fuck do you think?

Double Barrel on Anger

If anger were a woman. I'd fuck'er. Nice fuck, not the dirty fuck. Funky fuck.

However, with an attitude like that, anal would expectedly be open for consideration, but that seems to be the standard of the funky fuck at times. Again, not the dirty fuck. The nice fuck. Funky fuck is fun fucking.

I feel like I'm fucking forthwith.

- What she look like?




Right now? Disappointed, but playing it off like she's thinking of what she needs from the grocery store.

Aniimals

I love sharks and snakes. Alligators and crocodiles too. I respect what they can do and how they are made. I respect reptiles.

And sharks. Bull Shark's a bitch. Hammerheads are just weirdly awesome.

Dolphins are fun.

Angry Good

Watching tv. AAAHH!

I know.

Anywhichaway - the Diet Dr. Pepper commercial comes on, and their ending slogan is "THERE'S NOTHING DIET ABOUT IT."

How literal does this ad team want the public to take this. As I'm writing this I'm also thinking about possibilities for its content, and it's smart. They want all kinds of feedback, various tastes of thought to go with their advertised flavor. They believe in the negative publicity. And omniscients fucking omniscients it fucking works.

But Diet Dr. Pepper does suck. No. No. Don't even try. I don't wanna hear it. It sucks. It's what cement would taste like mixed with sugar-filled berries.

Go away.

Where You Want to Be

There is this song sung by someone. It is the song that I will dedicate to my forever. The song is about those quiet moments, the ones in between the happiness and tension; the ones that hold everything together.

I give it to one, or never; to none.

Double Barrel on Kids

I'm great with babies and toddlers. But once the kid learns how to effectively communicate through thought and speech, I just wanna punch'em in the throat.

The Thanksgiving Disease Day Address.

Let us not forget the true meaning of Thanksgiving. Find a quiet,painful terminal disease and pass it to your neighbor. Once they are dead, take their property, move into their home, and abuse their resources.

Have a good one.

CLUTCH!!!

One of the few bands I would battle a gorilla for.

Just a plain ole Gearhead, baby.

This Message Will Self Destruct

Upset with someone. The immediate, primal anger is out of the way. Now it's the "I would love to punch this person, but I'll settle for hanging this over his/her head for the rest of his/her life" kind of anger, and not the kind that consumes me either. I sleep well when I do sleep. Not really, but you get what I'm saying.

I'm a huge adherent to self destructive behavior, but this person's just trying to steal my thunder on the matter.

"I'll get you, Gadget. Next time."

Piss

Internet, I have not missed you.

Had a splendid night. Debauchery was high as the range was open. A comfortable amount of maneuvering room, sounding much like the idiot that I choose to be when all I have to do is say the right thing. But I rarely want to say the right thing because you know it would never be substantial. Some positives, yes, but there's nothing better than the true surge forward. Forward in mind and heart. The soul needs to figure shit out for itself. If a dinosaur can't have one, why can I? If my doggies aren't supposed to have one, in some people's eyes, then I'd rather not have one either. I will find my dogs when we all eventually reunite in the afterlife. And we will still piss on anything and everything. When it's raining, don't be surprised if there are some surprisingly warm odorous patches of wet falling sky around you.

My Kind of Luck

I know.

I just fucking know - - that the world will erupt, be it with a disease; somebody pushes some buttons and shit gets launched, SOMETHING. But the world will proceed to end the day I qualify for my master's degree.

The world won't even make it to me receiving the certificate. The info will work its way through the computer, my stuff goes through - apocalyptic outbreak.

Like I'm not angry enough, I need to create things to be pissed about.

"The Best Friends Stab You in the Front"

To my best friend:

Should I ever happen to have sex with any of your exes - Sorry. Shit happens.

But we can consider it as kharma doing its thing. You are my best friend, but you do annoy me from time to time.

Rushing Through Innocence

Sheila pounded the flickering, multi-colored touch platform. At first she tried following the colors, but DaDa came around to coach her.

"Say it, Sheila," DaDa requested. He repeated the words uttered from the low-level amps in the machine. "The dog tastes like the cow."

At ten months old, Sheila was talking with DaDa and the machine.

MaMa heard the verbal choir. She focussed an unnerving glance towards DaDa, which he immediately noticed. He returned MaMa's tensious gaze with a battle-ready one of his own. He told Sheila to keep up with the machine, then, kissed the back of her head, smelling that baby daughter smell, with a hint of lilac from the baby shampoo MaMa chose.

He met MaMa at the counter.

"What?" he asked with an empty tone.

MaMa thought she was ready for this, but the daring stare was just the foot in the door, but now that she had DaDa's attention it was time to follow through. She gathered her courage.

"This needs to stop," she stated.

"What?"

"This," harkening to Sheila and the speaking toy. "You - You making a science experiment out of your daughter." MaMa's voice was full of tone - tone in the key of urgent.

DaDa was stunned, but kept calm. "What are you talking about? Let me in on what level of zany I'm supposed to be flourishing in, because you're a few notches above mine."

"Why can't you just let her be a child?" Mama retaliated. "Let her discover things normally, the way children are supposed to? Why are you rushing her into things."

DaDa was unflinchable, though he required a deep breath before continuing. "I'm at a loss," he said. "All I am doing is playing with our daughter. Doing the same things that my family did with me when I was her age. I am unfamiliar with these 'science experiments' you are alluding to. I'm just a father playing with his daughter.

"Please - - where is this coming from?"

Drained

The hairs did not do well. They're momentary duty was to show Chris that he was growing old. It wasn't working, and for whatever reason, reality agreed with him. He looked the younger one, inhaled the excitement that a younger one should, but business was never so far away from his thoughts - no.

The future dead should not be surprised. Most died with a masked blank expression. They just shouldn't have been surprised.

We could make masks out of their corpsed expressions. Infiltrating their facilities became an act of will.

....All of this because I saw hair strands in the sink today.