Unwrapping the present, hearing the gunshot; at the end of it all Bilo felt that in some superficial way he unleashed hell on his family.
It was the first present his biological dad had ever given him. Bilo dropped the box when the gun sounded, sending a slug through Aunt Iris’ latest husband – fifth times the charm.
Well, maybe not for Aunt Iris – her brains got mixed with the potpourri.
Bilo’s mom had salvinated for this day for 19 years, the day she never believed could happen was now in full gear, but she waited for Bilo’s dad to off the annoying relatives. THEN she came out swinging with her daddy’s axe. The axe Bilo’s grandfather had used for 49 years with the fire department.
As a little girl, Bilo’s mom once asked her fireman father if he ever wanted to use the axe on people. He replied, “Sometimes.”
On the morning of August 16, this ominous mushroom cloud appeared over the sky of Haarlem, Holland. Most meteorologists suggest that it was caused by a temperature inversion, where there is a derision from normal temperature changes in any atmospheric properties with altitude.
Basic temperatures are warmer the closer they get to the ground, colder the higher up they go; however, the warmer temperatures in this cloud are at the top.
"Brave Megan Stewart is also at risk if she wears polyester clothing and can't touch balloons at parties as static electricity could cause her brain to shut down.
The 13-year-old suffers from an extremely rare condition called hair brushing syndrome."
Ian Redmond, 30, was attacked by a shark in the Seychelles early this week, according to media reports. He was on his honeymoon.
Michel Gardette, a Praslin development official told the news source, "I have been diving for the last 40 years and I have never encountered any problems. Sharks are actually very rare because they are hunted for their meat and fins."
"The man came running to us and said, `They stole a little girl.'"
Phillip Garcia, 29, had snatched the girl moments earlier on Monday afternoon in Albuquerque, taking her away in a blue van, police said.
Diaz's husband, Antonio Diaz Chacon, jumped in his black pickup and gave chase.
Walking nature's lane, which mirrors the night,
Which mirrors my steps;
A long, lonely session defines this insightful trek.
Around tree and stone,
A fragrance curls itself along the color-colliding, dusky horizon's mist.
A harmonious brew
Concocted by nature's own appetite for a sensually scented delight.
An exciting urge untapped by a lady's fingers.
A relaxing sense of a little death that starts with a little kiss.
A feral soul where wild pleasure's linger.
Now, campfire spreads,
The moon bedazzles,
As the essence of night begins to unravel.
This is how I am alone with her along my lonesome travels.
Breastfeed them until their fifteen while you're at it. The White House's Office of Management and Budget have been using these laws as gootch warmers for the past nine months because that's how far below the ladder this thing is. Child labor laws need to start being rescinded.
Accidents happen because of personal neglect and completely unforseeable circumstances, such as the tragedy at the Rangers game, but there are signs posted throughout the seating area advising the fans to never lean over the rails. Accidents and farms are synonymous with one another. These are high-industrial pieces of equipment meant to do things only a few of today's animals and more of prehistory's creatures are capable of, but they are under human supervision. Accidents are inevitable.
Ethan’s family buried Gran Fern only three weeks ago. He didn’t mind passing through, though. Dorado Middle School was in the same direction down the winding portion of Lionel Lee road as the cemetery. Ethan always bid salutations to the peacefully cryptic residents, and about half after three, the ice cream van passed down winding Lionel Lee to catch customers from Port Fern Elementary getting dropped off by the busses. On Saturdays it wouldn’t cruise by until around five. Ethan would hum that ice cream song until he got home almost daily. It reminded him of the calmness found only in a cemetery.
When Ethan began ninth grade, he began forgetting that song.High School’s direction was opposite Shady Luxuries Cemetery. There were no tunes to recognize in that direction. There were no winding roads.
Novembers were numbingly cold, a beautiful blister representing the positively frantic local spirit – We’re here; deal with it, man and weather united. The weather started suiting Ethan’s personal favor near Halloween, representing Stage 1 – Heavier Winds.
A week before Thanksgiving, walking home from a perky evening at some suburban darlings’ parent-less house party in Thorn corner, known as such because within that neighborhood bore the only homes where thorns grew naturally in the greenery. If you didn’t know where to turn, it’d be an instant miss, but Ethan stood every elementary school morning at the graveyard’s edge and was dropped of f there accordingly with Thorn Corner only a hidden block away. The road turned only east, a tree’s limb obstructed the sign naming the street, but no one ever complained about it. The people in Thorn Corner were often considered different by the other folks in town. It was an upscale community, but that was never an issue; the fragment of tension between the people went deeper, into the soil and the soul of the town where it seemed like the tension boiled into hatred.
Yet, all of that tension eased once Ethan reached the chain marking the start of cemetery ground. He was able to step over it now since his growth spurt, planting his feet on the docile territory he felt all of that uneasiness shed like a mature snake’s skin replaced by a calmness that he realized he had missed and not even known. It was a good feeling, like being reacquainted with friends long-thought-abandoned. Ethan was jovial about his return. He decided to visit his grandparents ‘plots, feeling succinctly guilty since he had not visited them either since transferring to high school. He still thought about them, he knew they were watching over him at all times which justified his excuses for not visiting them when the opportunities presented themselves.
Ethan’s family buried Gran Fern only three weeks ago. He didn’t mind passing by, though. School was in the direction, might as well bid a salutation to the cryptic residents. And from 3 in the afternoon ‘til about half after, the ice cream truck passes by to catch the busses coming from Port Fern Elementary.
The day Ethan progressed to high school he forgot that ice cream tune. High School’s direction was opposite Shady Luxuries Cemetery. There were no tunes to recognize in that direction.
Novembers were cold, a beautiful blister representing the positively frantic local spirit – We’re here; deal with it, man and weather united. The weather started suiting Ethan’s favor near Halloween. Every year there was a shift; there was never a shift all the years in that other place. Ethan loved being cold.
A week before Thanksgiving, Ethan’s walking home from a perky evening at some suburban darlings’ resident in the Thorn cul-de-sac, known as such because within resides the only home with thorns in their greenery. If you didn’t know where to turn, it’d be an instant miss, but Ethan stood there every elementary school year – at the graveyard’s edge. The road went only left, a graveyard’s tree’s limb obstructed the sign naming the street, but the voted to keep the tree intact out of respect for the lifeless tenants.
It was a good city to test a person’s will. Death was a steady business, Ethan recited. He’d forced himself to create a slogan for an idea. The chain blocking Ethan’s leg-stretching override was lower than he’d recalled, his memory salvaging itself – the mornings at the graveyard’s edge, plucking the chains, waiting for the bus; talking to Shannon Ann; still simultaneously the most beautiful AND strangest name you’d ever heard.
Driving through town today I witnessed a hilarious drug deal. I couldn't tell who was the slanger or who was the buyer but two men were walking on the sidewalk towards one another showing no indication of an association, none of any kind.
Usually, you see a friend or someone familiar you acknowledge them in some obvious manner, but these guys appeared obliviouis to one another. They meet in the middle and in the blink of an eye exchange a handslap, and faster than they converged in the center of the sidewalk the instantaneously turned around, heading in opposite directions. I laughed all the way to my destination.
Picked up a new cell phone today, too. It was an intriguing experience. The young woman that helped me had the most hypnotic, elegant crystal blue eyes. I wondered if they were contacts - they were astoundingly gorgeous, and she had a voice so soothing I felt myself becomiong intoxicated the more she spoke. I started nearly slurring my words. The more she spoke the more I focussed on her eyes, and slowly, like a crescendo in a sonata, our lips began spreading into grins, grins into smiles; smiles into attraction (for me anyways). Her customer service was exceptional to boot.
I walked away without complementing her on anything. I was disappointed in myself. The opportunity has passed and now it's up to bizarre circumstances if we ever meet again.
Those kinds of second chances are the rarest kind.
Have been working extensively and vivaciously on the Texas Death project. After half-a-day yesterday of fumbling wtih the foreground to the forefront of frustration (see what I did there), I settled on a nonchalant, imposing fixture. I'm about ready to tackle the atmsohpere.
Must keep blasting music.
Insufficiently, while taking a snack break, enjoying a ham sandwich, I happened to witness a rogue male hippopotamus get castrated. I chuckled at the situation. Life is just too funny.
Could've gotten further along with Texas Death if I hadn't blundered by losing my last twist-pencil. I absolutely love sketching with those things, their leads are just slightly thicker than a click-pencil, and they're fantastic to scratch your ears with. After today's work I was exhausted, but the caffeine injections of Code Red and Dr. Pepper from earlier were still working their abusive, bowel disrupting magic. I wasn't nearly in any sleeping mood and any trying attempt would have only wasted time. Instead, I went for a walk to get some groceries. This would have been around half-past-midnight; I returned shortly after one. The journey was ghostly and serene, cars in single sets drove past me on their way to where people desired them, and others to places where they desired a certain person; to place where they should have been, and others to a place where they have no business being. Such is the human condition. Either way people were going to awaken with new diseases the next day.
The greatest surprise was that punk-rock-girl was working tonight. I had not seen in her many months, her hair still fashioned in a black-length, white-bangs style tied back in a ponytail that completed the cuteness of her overall appearence while her eyes, as sweet as her look, but they told the truth. She is one tough soul.
Quite the attractive feature.
Unfortunately, I found no more twist-pencils. Luckily, after returning home I discoverd my lost one beneath a clutter of unpacked tools and other household objects that can force someone to scream.
Back to Texas Death, a temporary coma, and then training. Keep blasting music.
Wondering what it means to "have a good time," these days. I'm a simple person, gimme four walls and if there has to be company may it be pleasent.
But if I could ruthlessly indulge myself without consequences, on my application for Heaven's entrance, regarding the Hobbies section, there would be: Alcohol, Amphetamines, Weekends, Alligator Pits.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
It was during one of my skill-earned trips to Austin when I came across the Escape from L.A. soundtrack.
It was high-school, ’97 – it was at a CD Extra, I was flippin’ through their soundtrack selections (new/used) and came across the Escape from L.A. soundtrack; blazing cover with Kurt Russell in his awesomeness that is Snake Plissken, who was last seen in that shit in Cleveland.
I’d never found this soundtrack back home. I should’ve but I didn’t. The other sad bastards that followed cd releases beat me to it, probably by waking up. I refused to do that for anyone. OR, I just didn’t go to sleep. Either one was fine with me.
Regardless, I love this soundtrack and really like the movie. Can I have my axe back, please?
This song inspired this particular piece. I have some plans for dear old Dan.....
Cassy was quickly running out of hallway and light. She slowed herself and the only audible was her winded breathing but inside her mind still echoed the thunderous footsteps of the maniac that had killed everyone, everyone but her. For a few more relaxed breaths she would rest, but was far from safe.
The hunt was becoming tedious. Myles had erased most of the names as he silenced their voices on Earth. The young lady was the last one – Cassy. His blood-caked glove pushed open the kitchen entrance to continue searching for the deviled misfit. Her voice needed to be silenced. Myles needed to sleep.
Cassy kneeled low before dipping her head around the corner, checking for the psycho – nothing to find but more carpet leading down another dimly lit passage, and for being a seaside resort she couldn’t believe the lack of windows in an inn as gigantic as the Haveshum, but she felt a spit-worth of hope when she came across the stairs leading downward. It was familiar to her, and anything familiar felt like a way out.
When there were multiple voices, Myles could function suitably, but when there was a single drone buzzing throughout his consciousness the harsh memories flashed in front of him, the memories of grandmother and grandfather listening to their radio all day long everyday. As a toddler lost in his own mind inside his crib he could hear the talk radio from the living room. Occasionally, one of them would enter his room to feed and change him, but always with them did they bring their radio god until the day Grandma and Grandpa stopped appearing, yet their radio kept talking. They would rather listen to their silly radio god. Then, increasingly more flies began to appear particularly when the putrid stench consumed the household. And then, the men in uniforms appeared and took him away from the voices. But the voices followed him. Whenever he turned on a radio, the voices would regenerate, but now the voices spoke names. They were the names of the wicked and the guilty, the kind of wretched decadents that Grandma and Grandpa said his mother was because she refused to listen to the word of their radio god, and they needed to be punished. Myles would write their names and silence their voices.
The lobby was a sweet sight. Cassy leapt off the third stair step on to the floor and sprinted for the open door leading outside. Once her feet touched the sand she could sense salvation’s nearness. Her voice cried “thank you” aloud to anyone listening, but as she tried to cry out again she couldn’t muster any words, and she slowed to complete halt which was when she felt warmth trickling down her body and as she gazed down she witnessed a crimson flood powering down her shirt. Cassy reached behind her neck and felt the knife handle emanating from the back of her throat. Her body could no longer create tears for Cassy to cry. Her voice had been silenced because Myles had been listening the entire time.
Unsure what the next art piece should be. The samurai is the likliest candidate, but it'll be the most complex piece I've attempted in a lyong time; plus, there's research to be done.
Figured out a new deltoid workout. I tried it, and I'm excited with the results. The rotation works the deltoid in a twisting motion, taking the muscle to it's tightest peak; possibly beneficial to a gymnast. Also gonna try a personally new protein from Nutrex - Muscle Infusion Black (ah yeah), cookies n'cream flavor (Chyeah!), but I selected it because it has all the positives of a Syntha-6: the isolates, egg-whites, whey and such, however, Muscle Infusion Black (M.I.B. Haaa!) contains far less carbs, sugars, sodium, cholesterol; I'm looking forward to that as well.
Continued movie viewing with the original Bad News Bears - the authentic nature of the vulgarity couldn't be recaptured in the remake, only simulated.
While cooking breakfast I was trying to figure out the mood, so I settled on Ed Burns' The Groomsmen - excuse me, EdWARD Burns...but a good way to pass the time. It's a movie that questions the definition of being a man.
Legion - Sucked. Big ones.
Devil - A flashy 90-minute movie with a 30-minute plot that actually pulled it off. Fuck you comic books.
....and while they haven't been the same since the first album I've still enjoyed their sound.
Been catching up on movies; recently watching 2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams (yeahyuuuuh), Somewhere in Time (shweeet), Open Road (noyce), The Door in the Floor (overly sentimental but cool), Three Amigos (clllassic), Hot Tub Time Machine (new clllassic), Poolhall Junkies (constant rotation), They (good effort), Batman ’89 (still shweeet), Despicable Me (I liked it better this time around), Evolution (always a pleasure) ….
.....Aaaannnnd……
Shakedown – A new Peter Weller fave, he delivers, and Sam Elliot’s acting yet again makes all functioning alcoholics proud and looking good (acting, teehee).
Sssss – A charming 70’s thriller that stretches into the horror realm, with Strother Martin playing the nicest serial killer ever, Dr. Carl Stoner. Aside from a casual stick-model, all of the snakes were real and used splendidly and still cautiously. Dirk “IAMFACE” Benedict plays a naïve college student assigned to Dr. Stoner’s assistance. Poor bastard.
And finally, Green Lantern; that movie earned itself a Whataburger, I tell yuh. Loved it, and what saved it was the pacing, because there was a lot of shyit goin on – good editing. What was UP with the HAIRSTYLES? Angela Bassett’s overpowering sexiness made hers bearable; Tim Robbins’ made the aliens’ and Hector’s gigantically mutated dome normal looking.
Despite lackluster numbers the sequel is thus far a go, I am glad. They need to tell Sinestro’s story. He’s too important and they have the best actor possible for the role in Mark Strong, good casting all around. This felt like a DC film, a fun atmosphere with insanity all around you.
Been re-editing Sympathy Circus; polishing, editing, adding, consciously averting overkill but not without testing the waters. Completing the sourcebook and first chapter outline for Drunken Monk, got a new idea for another novel, but first things first and that is an endless suck in itself.
Have also been watching and re-watching documentaries on these fellas........UP THE IRONS!!!
It was three weeks since our superfluous break up. After five years of greatness I kept expecting to smell her in the morning, taste her in the afternoon, and love her for the rest of our lives.
I lifted Crusher from the fish bowl. The slick turtle crept along my palm, too curious for its own good. Whether it was male or female didn’t matter; I respected its privacy. I stroked the armored back of the pleasantly dull reptile bastard, envying the thickness of the shell. I hoped my skin and soul would grow as malleable, but if I wasn’t feeling pain then what was the point of being human. God would have made me a turtle, and the dismay would have rocked the clouds because I wanted to be a Komodo dragon.
We wanted to still be together. Love wasn’t enough; it was only the beginning. Time, biology, and faith had betrayed us – so I believed at the time – but Crusher, Crusher kept on probing the surroundings, slowly, thoroughly, care freely.
She had her new life now. I had Crusher.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Our Lady Peace can/could get as heavy as heavy as RageATM and as soft as bunnies skipping on clouds.
Typical if you’re fighting a larger opponent; or the closest thing to it.
Wisconsin was a good place to train, but it didn’t provide the sparring partners you were hoping for; and you know you can always rely on country-folk, but for whatever reason(s), that one time was an unfortunate bust; but the Canadian borders are consistently reliable.
The 2 a.m. flight took us back to Houston, and from there things got silly. Houston has always been kind to me. It’s a bit jittery for my taste, but once you grasp the heart inside your hands – I love Houston, particularly during Christmas-time. And the yearly purple.
Fucking brilliant; they occupied the intelligence of whatever learning tissue existed on them from time of death to last slithery drop or crackling erosion.
We were individually strung with our arms folded across our chests, like straight jackets, hooked to a walking post across our backs. There was a three-piece zombie sentry carrying the bastard leading us to what I could have sworn was a soda machine, but towered with it was a blender quite capable of devouring a fully grown human being, with room for pets.
The fleshy outcomes drizzled, curved downward into the machine where it filled the bowl of the Smart Zombies’ queen. When filled, the bowl is hoisted onto Smart Zombie Drones’ shoulders, and the bowl is handed to Smart Zombie Queen so she might feed as heartily or lightly as she hoped. She still wanted to have a figure….yuh know...Something manageable.
