the girl. the king. the dwarf. the misfit lord.

Can’t fall asleep. What a shame. There is a variety of reasons why there is such a large variety. There was this man, any man…I don’t know…ok…there was this man called George lynch. Yes well good enough…now George walked into the bank on Sunday…there was grass everywhere inside…the scent of pine trees, plastic shrubbery and the vague hint of a dying winter…there were toad-stools in the foyer…in plastic bags…it was to be determined if these toads had hepatitis or not. standing beside the apple tree was a man…he was three feet tall and had three feet.
“hey dwarf…I mean midget…how are you?” asked George.
The dwarf looked at George with somewhat surprise and distaste…wondering what this asshole wanted…there was far too little time for this sort of riff raff jumping out about ruining the days of already tight fitted v-neck sweater wearing poor folk with tiny wills.
“Aaah…ahem…we prefer ‘little people’…” said the dwarf, a bit coldly.
“hah…yeah well I prefer athletic redheads…but no chance…such is life…full of chances but no chance.”
“I gather philosophy wasn’t your best subject?” asked the dwarf whilst scribbling away on notepads and typing on his tiny computer and scratching his balls. “But in any case…there’s an athletic looking redhead by the counter over there…” the dwarf opened a drawer and started petting a Siamese cat.
“Asian huh?” asked George…looking at the cat.

“it doesn’t have feathers god damn it…it’s just a cat…you won’t get bird flu from it…”
George walked across the dining hall…the classroom was still empty…stepping over his shoulders he reached into his back pocket…there was a door knob but no door…
“how do I get to the redhead from here?” wondered George. “Maybe I should just ask this athletic looking redhead by the counter.”
The redhead had red hair and the way her eyes reflected the clouds was nice.

“I hear you’re a redhead…an athletic redhead?” said George…straightening his tie and rubbing his shoe against the back of his pants...trying to remember if he had brushed his teeth… “I should’ve taken a leak before coming…I look thinner that way.” thought George.
“Yes…that could be me…”
“Any hopes and dreams?”
“Do I look crazy to you? I try not to”
“Can I shake your hand?”
“Sure…”
“Will you sit next to me in class?”

George walked backwards until he reached the manager’s office…a strange phenomenon greeted him in the courtyard…but before that, he managed to have a couple of words with the manager…”manageable managing by manageable managers.” said the door. There was a door but no door knob…at least not after it melted…so George reached into his back pocket again…found the door knob without a door and applied previously learned knowledge in complex everyday challenges…like a monkey using a stick to get at ants…George was pleased.
He opened the door…and beamed at the hippie sitting in the chair behind the twelve foot desk.
“Can I help you?” asked the hippie.
“Are you the bank manager?” asked George
“Are you the ring bearer?” asked the hippie
“I would like a job…” said George…he had a feeling things were going his way today.
“What sort of job?” asked the hippie…his sunglasses were transparent but his heart was pure.
“One that pays…” said George…with an air of someone who knows what he’s doing and demands only that…which is rightfully his.
“Money?” asked the hippie.
“Do you have gold?” asked George…this was a new area of bargaining…perhaps he should’ve brought backup…or at least a sub machine gun.
“We have some gold…but there’s a problem…” said the hippie and took an old busted up acoustic guitar…started singing a song about Susanna.

There was a smell of coffee or chocolate in the courtyard…bats were hanging from the tree…fast asleep…it was too early in the morning…George set foot in the courtyard and found the phenomenon again.
“The king requests an audience.” It said to George.
“some king…” answered George and followed the phenomenon…there was a band wagon somewhere nearby…some people were getting on it…others were getting off…nobody seemed satisfied…somebody was offering cigars to young boys…it was either horrendously sexual or just an explanation for why the place smelt of coffee and chocolate.
The king dwelt in a castle. Sitting upon his throne he asked George about the redhead girl…
“Nice boobs?”
“Dunno don’t care for boobies…athletic redhead…”
“Surprising…you go with men then?”
“Maybe if it were really cold…but usually I stick to animals.”
“Is she…er…how you say it in your tongue…er…purty?”
“Yeah she’s ok…I’d ask her number but I hate telephones.”
“I am king you know?”
“Of what?”
“Of this…all of this!!” said the king spreading his arms wide…
“How far?”
“well…er…since this is my castle…we’ll assume that it is the center of my empire…now if horses were to be sent in all directions…from here…until they reached a point where they are killed…they are in my empire…simple.”

“you know what?? You sit on this throne all day…you are a boring fool…your mother should’ve dropped you in a well.” Said George and left the king to his own devices.

George tip toed his way back up to the athletic redhead’s counter. She turned around and batted her eyelids before continuing in her best…voice…

“So you met the king?”
“Man I already like you…so give it a rest…you don’t have to push it…the king just wants to know about your boobies…”
“Take me away…I don’t mind.”
“I have a thing for your eyes…they reflect the clouds with an ethereal clarity that shouldn’t be allowed…and if allowed…then I should at least be permitted to stare…however in any case everything I like is dried up plastic from up close…by the way who’s the dwarf?” asked George.
“He’s the ring bearer.” said the girl with a laugh.
“You’re kidding right? Or are all rings exactly like keys?”
“he’s an employee…he works for this other firm but he’s a temp in our bank…came highly recommended too…the king likes him…says he’s amusing…don’t tell him I told you this but the king wants him to wear a jester hat…you know…the one with the bobbles and jingling crap on it.”
“I’m not really listening to a word you say…”
“Yeah that helps me get out of a lot of sticky situations…”
“I think I’ll take a look around and try to get your perfume out of my blood stream…”
“The menu is on the window if you’re hungry…I can’t come with you…got to work.”

There were pigeons on the…the…edge of the roof…the thingy…but they all flew away once George opened the window and climbed out. With his back against the wall, he inched his way across until he was at the other window…opened it…closed it back again…went through it anyway…took a seat with the rest of the misfits and awaited his turn. Shortly, the door opened and the dwarf came in.

“I’d take a roll call if it weren’t for the fact that there are racists among us…and hypocrites…as well as those who have issues with the vertically challenged.” He was looking at George. So George got up…a bit awkwardly…and began

“Yeah my name is George…I have a thing for athletic redheads…I hate royalty and I don’t care if midgets want to be called porcupines or laggards…they’re midgets…a midget by any other name would still be short and stubby.”

“yes well…George here thinks his opinion is important…why don’t you have a seat George while we look up a suitable study partner for you…somebody worth a stare across the table…across the road…across the divide…across everything you tried…but then changed and lied. It’s about time you defied bad luck and got back on the tide.” Said the dwarf…now looking at a long list of names…he was wearing glasses…dangling at the edge of his nose…some people were offended, others were aroused…some people were staring outside at the large inflatable robot running amok among the citizens…crushing them…mechanization is such a bitch…thought the driver of the tractor as he pulled into the gas station.

“What will it be today martin?” asked the grease monkey.
“fillerup…and get on with your story.”

George was waiting anxiously for his study partner. Sitting in the comfy chair he felt no comfort…not enough anyway. There were stains on his trousers…it’s the damn cheap material…he thought. Plus this coat smells like shit. The redhead walked in.

“You don’t seem athletic to me.” said George as she sat down beside him and took out her notes. She smiled and then told him he should get a hair cut, which was practically just an invitation for him to make fun of her beard. He stared at her for quite a while in silence…

“I don’t see clouds in your eyes anymore…but I wish I did.” Said George after a long time…shook her hand and left.

leper

Summers are shit but they have their perks. You can bathe without having to suck in gulps of air, screaming like a banshee as the freezing water makes your lungs collapse. It is not important to salvage warm water to rub as much of it everywhere and anywhere you can. In summers…the water is fine…except when it gets too hot and you can only bring one body part close enough for a bit of dry cleaning. Some parts are too precious to be wasted/boiled…and have to be washed separately.
Although in winters you don’t really have to bathe…I mean I don’t bathe for months…I don’t change my clothes for months…I feel fine…parents obviously lie to us when they overexaggerate the importance of bathing…oops my decaying arm just fell off…
The best thing about summers is the freedom to walk around without my shirt on. Sitting on chairs with towels on them that scratch your back if you move just right…and if your hair is long enough…you can make it touch your back like a pervert…which is nice if you’re a pervert.
You can’t sleep in summer. I want to sleep but I can’t. A platoon of mango bugs has dethroned me. I hate summer. I sweat in summer. Actually sweating is fine…it’s the smelling like shit that I have a problem with…a couple of beads of sweat are alright…in fact they’re perfect if you’re a pervert…and they’re on somebody else…slowly dripping down your spine…or down the neck…sweat doesn’t mind going where nobody is…but someone should be...so it's...good. I will have to get a haircut…fine…I’m bored of this hill anyway…actually since I’m all out of supplies and without anything to distract me, I’m getting pissed off about nothing…every sound seems too loud…and I want to bite a neck…for an hour or so I’ve been having the urge to bite someone on the neck…preferably female…or that one boy I used to have a crush on…I am too old to be playing the role of pubert the horny loin.
There are too many bugs around in summer. And children.
I hate ugly children. Ugly children are ugly and not pleasing to the eye. Summer is filled with ugly children. Winters hide these children under layers of clothes…summer exposes these bastards for what they really are…a sad collection of ribs and bits of meat…which would be a good description of my current physical state…a sad collection of ribs and bits of meat. Although my ass is to die for. this last sentence was supposed to make people feel bad about themselves...that is to say...that even though all it does is shit...it looks good doing it.
Sudden indifference…all the sounds subside…you don’t mind the noise at all…it comes in waves…the realization that you’re not in anyway altered…and this is what it really is like…we…er started at a low point…I think with little or no supplies…then we reached the happy period with loads of stuff to do and everything was boring but passable…endurable. and now we’re headed back to the long faced depressed state of mind where everything is too slow and we can actually take more time to linger in the company of each thought…get to know more about it…see where it came from…think up a cozy way for it to finally make its way into the sea of words. Which is even more boring…but at least it’s saner. Sometimes you can’t bother to watch them glide away to wherever…and instead you rush through…but then when you’re back and your back is against a nice enough rest…you can afford to just stare…it’s a test; the smell of dirt before it rains…bits of nature in tiny grains. Some people can write on needle heads…others carve their minds and become dickheads.
So it’s ok…we’re back to normal. Not so very tactful discussions with the squib lead us to hope…something to look forward to…although I’m not supposed to…but what the heck…shameless cowardice.
It’s been a long time since I looked at keys this way…the different shades that I was starting to miss out on…the feeling that usually gets intense but not quite right…not normal…enjoyable but not normal.
I’m a slow person (in the retarded sense). That’s how I function…slowly.
It’s been two months…
Writing complete bullshit for two months finds me writing more bullshit…just less interesting for the villains…

nNnNnNnNnNaa

i met my grandmother when i was three years old...she was tumbling down some escalators in another country. i think i was wearing shoes with dogs on them...might have been bears or nothing at all...it's a good thing she didn't break her neck...
the next time i met my grandmother was when i was living in her house for the summer and she was trying to shove mangoes down my throat.
generally, mangoes are alright...i like mangoes...but if they are soft and miserable looking...and you're supposed to suck on them...i abstain.
my grandmother doesn't get that. mangoes in her mind aren't supposed to be aesthetically pleasing...they're mangoes...suck them, eat them, shit them out...just take the freakin' mango for a ride irrespective of your racial prejudices...
i like super model mangoes...large...yellow...undamaged...and preferably first-hand...then i carefully (not really) peel the skin off and have sex with them...orally...
my grandmother and i were never great friends...but i've had a good time in her house...there was always seven-up, di-gas and a tiny green light in her room that never went out...except in winters when the ac wasn't working. at night we would watch her take a lot of funny coloured pills...that was always fascinating...what could she possibly need so many pills for? i never had a headache until after O'levels...cockroaches roamed free in her room...and that was a good excuse for other things that i'll take with me to the otherside...haha
i had many fights with my grandmother over the years about all the little things that she could never get and i could never explain. but it was ok. she invited me home...and that was a good excuse for other things...hahahaha
and then one day my mother told me that my grandmother was sick...so i (very reluctantly) went to see her...i don't like to meet old ill people...feels too sad and uselss...old healthy people are fine. i took a good look at her and realized that she would probably die in a couple of weeks. naturally...she did.
my mother had a great liking for my grandmother...probably because my grandmother was my mother's mother. hahaha. i never got that...my grandmother was...stubborn...and always got her way. i don't get along with stubborn people. although she didn't complain much about anything...not about being an orphan, nor about being cheated out of a fortune...or about being a widow...definitely not about having less than little to go on...nor about getting blood cancer and dying a horrendously painful death.
my mother is kind of nuts...she can explain anything unusual as being an act of black magic by unseen enemies who practice such arts.
for instance, my uncanny ability to hear voices when there are none...black magic...
birds not eating seed in particular spots on the roof but having a feast on other spots...black magic...
tiny holes in clothes...black magic...
blood pressure...black magic...
failed exams...black magic...
fever...flu...plague...sweden...cars...football...stock market...trees at night and alcohol. all black magic.
i once convinced her that i could make the house resonate. it was funny.
i saw my grandmother being lowered into a grave...there was a bottle of rose-water somewhere in the picture and i threw in some dirt to say goodbye...
considering how frequently she invades nightmares, dreams and general paranoia...she's still pretty stubborn...anything can be made scary with the right dead grandmother.

woman in the moon.

somehow i plan to turn this into a song.

aaj tuk to main
uss ki nazzer mein thha

i saw a woman in the moon.
she was singing my tune.
my jealous hand could feel no touch
i think i miss her very much.

that mellow sort of depression.
it's not enough that you're the sun
your shallow heart won't follow through
it's time to look for something new.

aaj tuk to main
uss ki nazzer mein thha.

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

pubescent animals are an inspiration.

exceptionally large genitalia = jango-ness

exceptionally large tongue = champango-ness.

nipples... = reluctant member...hah









[dUCK]

champango, jango and the rogue bludger.









we're better* photographers than musicians. when we touch ourselves...it feels nice. so nice...







*the word 'better' has been used without permission.







"i shall abdicate."

(famous last words...aog.)

throwing in the vowel.

it's getting a bit tiring. in fact pana is pissed about the fact that i have been a heap of firing neurons for too long a while now. each sentence begins with one thought, lost in the middle then fraught with confusion about this other one and then ends with the thought that rescued us from that damn quagmire of self obsessed insanity. i was reading a split-end somewhere on this plain and i wondered who it was that was supposed to follow that set of instructions...it's obviously not me...i don't get advice anymore...i get colour changing watches that don't even work...i can look but never touch...i can touch but never wear...my watch doesn't tick but it ticked me.

i was just talking to a split-end...
my favourite one of yours.
i was talking about the one time
they mistook you for a horse.

to live up to their expectations
you pretended to be just that
until somebody discovered
that you were now a cat.

you mewed your way every where
and later had to bark...
but i liked it best when you were you
and with me in a park.

hahaha maketh no senseeeth. so anyhoo...i'm thinking about...sometimes you have to unloooaddd...got to go...get around angry chicken. so so so purty. i'm tired...of this week...don't want it to end...it has had its perks...perks...perky...hahahahaa...poly...is back.

launch pad world thing

The insides of my cheeks are trapped between my…er jaw…whatever…I can’t stop trembling…quite…horrendous…my brain is tuerning into a senile british army general…good God…my head feels kind of small…but only because I was thinking that small would make for a great…whatsit…adjective or something…oho…they keyboard is taking loops now…this is not funny jezebelle…and the beast…annoying lines…I look like someone who has just snorted cocaine…hahahaha…I am not really in the mood to laugh although I’m pretty sure if I weren’t so…determined…er…there was a sentence somewhre around here but as of now I can only find myself in a grey area between remembrance and naughty habits…if I weren’t concentrating on typing I’d be smiling….bloody hell. Why did you say that old boy?
My cheeks are going to tear off…or something…mouth so itchy…should call chumpaango…and then we might make this situation more…bearable…bare remove your adjectives before you step in…there’s someone singing like a very bad singer in the bathroom…cold cold hands…fingers like ice…strange this…quite…yeah…maybe because it was frozen?? Hahahahaa yeah right…shut up you melodramatic bastard…atom ant…awayyyyy. I was listening to a song by somebody it went like so and something and something more about a butterfly an umbrella an old guy a young fella smoking alone by the pudding coloured sky high time for you to slip in quietly back among the silent and strangely confident inner voices that are watching you slow down…to the speed of a something very slow….there is prfect harmony….and you’re gone…
This might be interesting for you to note…that at the exact point in time when you typed the word 'gone'…you floated out from the back of your head and watched your brain finish that thought before it realizedthat it’s too late…er…what I meant to say was…you’re now…a mutant. Maybe I should send this to the national geographic as one of those moments captured on film type…moment captured in writing…maybe you should go in reverse for a while until you’re sure that you have at least some idea about what the hell is going on…
This is quite…”manageable.” The boy was right…this is quite manageable…by far the most manageable…kind of like squeezing a zit…feeling the satisfaction ooze out…gross as that is…I am not feeling too cold anymore…my jaw is still shut kind of tight…but that’s ok…damnit have to wake up early tomorrow…stupid boring stop hanging in front…ok this is too easy now…I expected a challenge…this is child’s play…if it doesn’t get any wilder than this…then I’m going home…hmmph!!!
Martin pewter pale…

wom taits

she's a haughty little pickle did giggle when i slipped up wanting some more of that honey sweet honey so funny in your mouth...runny?...strangely grossly spitty and goopy...and now we fall back through the puddle in the muddle but there's no hurry to get over this huddle cause we're a joined by the ends of the ocean and a moon...or meenz...as is the plural of my love for you. hahahahaha.
there's jelly in my head and it's warm and not really something i'd put inside my mouth. and the harpers begin to harp. a million burning jezebels fall from the sky and leave no stone...unturned. that is supposed to be a joke...taste i want a taste of that...that...guardian of the buccal cavity...wrestle it down to the ground...never be found...woohooo how gross is that?
this bird with a red hat for a head said between her med-ication and the lead in the environment...there had to be a better way to confess our love...you can dream and drowse said the man. dream and drowse...i'd like some of that as well...part two of the second part. sequel. contrabands. words exploding inside my head. i saw a boy play chess like he could read music on the chessboard. i can't beat him anymore...he has music on his side...the simple progressions on a fretboard have taught him how to maneuver through every tiny trap that i could possibly conjure...the other day pana showed me this picture he'd taken of a cloud...we're thinking of making it the official dUCK photo thing...hahaha...although i did take some cheap mobile phone band pictures the other day...if we find a data cable...we will find gold sooner...in my ass...but then again...i DO have an ass of gold...it's a killer ass...
man considering how very far beyond the realm of sanity i am right now...and how seemingly calm i am...stuttering...trying not to let my mother annoy me into a bad...er...zone. where. so it's a hard thing trying to. wait. er...in all honesty my brain is clogged with thoughts of sprintings down a road...
sometimes you can only curse yourself when you miss a great opportunity to watch boobies jiggling...aah lord...if only thou hadst askedeth of me to turn the hecketh around and smileth.
so anyhoo with that obstacle out of the way we can move on to the next segment...which is...more coded crap about the object of my affection. yayyyyyy...that's exactly what we need...a rant about shinyyyyyyyy....wooohoooooooooo.

i saw a turd with magic eyes
magic eyes so full of lies
i saw a turd with magic eyes
it ripped my brain in three

.and now i wish i had that turd
'cause i could always kill that bird
so even though it seems absurd
i want that turd for me

these magic turds talk falsely so
you should be careful when you go
reaching into a toilet bowl
will not get you an honest soul

all the turds in all the lands
and all the turds with pretty hands
and all and more and more combined
a turd like mine you'll never find

a piece of shit through and through
with magic eyes but no one knew
and i'm not sure about what to do
so i guess i should just...flush you.

the end.

there was this other "poem" about the moon or something...where's that gone? go look for it fool...fix it up and throw it in the rubber rubber...when is this shit going to kick the fudge in...goddamnit...this is bloody boring. fudge fudge fudge fudge...
i figured out why there was that phrase stuck in my head...it's a bit out of sorrow. pfloyd. i wanted to get a tattoo...a happy face on my dickhead...have been thinking about it for quite a while...maybe if i could get a clever tattoo guy...i might get a tattoo of a smiley face that turns into a menacing face as the situation gets...er...hornier. it'll have to do with some expansion thing...have to think it through...how can you make a smiley face that upon expansion becomes a menacing smiley...type cheez. it's a tough assignment...i'll tell you that...is that right you scum sucker...ok explain your current fizical state...obviously this thing with your spellings suddenly disappearing is a problem...ok there's dizziness...slight er vomitisciousness...and my head is about to ask my stomach to cut it out...apart from that...er heaviness...dry mouthiness...the same bullshittiness...is someone getting your breast your breast your breast your breast for youuuuuu...is someone behaving bad just like your dad when he gets mad does too? is someone getting the breast the beast the breast the breast of youuuuuu...pewterrrrrrrrr.
more songs should end with the word "pewter" because it's an unusually polite word. it's kind of like the word that could seduce you if you gave it the chance...but you have to avoid it because let's face it...pewter isn't the stud among words...not like...shut up bitch or i'll burn your babies...alive.
ok got to go...my father wants me to...er...leave the house...hahahahhhaa...farewell children of acorn...beatsy upsy.

Tom waits.

I suppose this is going to be a very long day/night…thing. Initiate launch sequence at 3…approximate time for lift off…lord knows…with this shit…I predict a 7 o’ clock flight…although last time I was off by around four hours!!! So that’s insane.
Just try not to press the wrong button…sitting spaced out completely not really thinking much about anything…just biding my time till the fun and games begin…feeling a bit cold…inability to…think fluently. Somebody turned the volume off. Too bad. I found the clippie thing…and the hahaha cheap mobile ring tones…nobody calls a mobile a mobile anymore…they’re cell phones…we are Americunts. Does it make a difference? No not really.
I was sleeping before or just lying down thinking…either way it was nothing…nothing... I hate it when i get stuck on one word and completely forget what was supposed to follow…remember that…ok it’s been a while since we did that though…I was wondering if you’re waiting for something or if you’re just chicken…the problem is that once you get the first prize there’s no point in competing…because now you’ll only mess it up…thing thing thing.
How to steal the red baron’s airplane for joyrides and stuff.
I was reading something…yes…a novel…by p.g. wodehouse…I was stuck outside with no lights so I thought I might as well read that…the small bachelor…it’s a funny book…only read a bit of it…I don’t expect to finish it because I’m bound to forget all and everything about its existence…this strange thing happened yesterday when for no reason I would become increasingly and uncomfortably sober…didn’t know what to do…felt like my brain had finally just decided to not participate in the fun anymore…which isn’t normal behavior…I dunno if I imagined it or if it’s in anyway significant…but…a boy told me about an evil rumor about me….hahahaha…apparently…in a nutshell…I am heartless…isn’t that a shame…it’s funny that I have no idea how I’m heartless…actually I kind of am…so it’s all good.
I was day dreaming about something…about another country…I’d like some pineapple juice…man it would be so nice if I could get some of that…`
I’m just trying to waste some time before this gets interesting…frozen chemicals and vomit…what the hell were those pukage days about? What was going on…? In anycase it feels alright now…I think I should just go fall asleep…I feel really sleepy…so…wait…ok pointless…good night.
Tom waits. and waits. and waits. and waits. and waits. and waits. and waits. and waits.

from the mines of moria to the yours of urea

It’s practically a crime…so fudging paranoid…I had thought up a complete sentence…a complete one but now I can’t remember it…the keys feel like goo…that has happened before…these muddy sticky keys are a curse of mine…paranoid…I am sitting here rocking back and forth pressing my hands together like a drooling psychopath and and and and and nobody seems to know that there’s a lunatic on the loose…hahah foiled…foiled again…
I was just in my room…it’s a nice room…I love my room it freaks the hell out of me sometimes but I really really like my room…if my room were a girl…I would hump my room till the cows came home…then went back…then jumped over meenz (plural of moon) and then died. What was I talking about…johny quest I remember Johnny quest…he used to go all threeD and stuff… it was insane I am insane…hahahah I was in my room just now…it’s a great place…and I realixzed that this was by far theeeee most massive tuning I’ve undertaken…in quite a while…including the roger night…er…roger night…roger that.
Aren’t you supposed to end stuff that way Einstein says that you should never stop asking questions…”for only then can you drive someone completely mad!”
That’s a direct quote…coat..court…cock…cock a doodle doo…the cow jumped over the moon the little dog laughed to be so gay…and now we’ll all hump my room…yay old mcdonald ki maa ko…run…rabbit run…dig that hole…forget the sun…
I seem to be a bit misplaced.
I was dancing naked in the barnyard last night…drooling over the fence and what-not when somebody whistled at me from afar…naturally I thought there might be some great times for musical comedies but this is definitely just not it…
Sisters never know not to annoy brothers when they’re there’s a wild raging storm outside…I mean like we’re on this huge ship which is being tossed about in the sea…it’s insane…there might be whales here but we’re sure as hell no where near Briton…says I to the captain who was wearing his crooked parrot and the half baked serimonial hubcaps…in his flight of fancy a phrase stuck to his mind like glue on to something…really tight…like jelly jar when you’re really hungry…like…tight…
“of promises broken…”
this phrase has been stuck in my head for a while now and I can’t shake it off…it’s obviously out to get me…
last night…last night…I was driving…casually mutant…pana by my side…we wer driving…jailroad…police car signaled us to stop…I decided to run for it…stepped on the gas…floored it…the bitch was down…we zoomed forwards at a million miles per hour…good God I’m already breathless…how now brown cow. We were on the main boulevard when the patrol car stepped on it behind us…we were in a dark alley when the patrol car caught up to us and flashed their flashy lights which I like very much when I’m not so afraid that I nearly make doodie or poopy if you like it…ruksana (my car) had finally let me down…so naturally…I said to pana as we stepped out of the car hands up…”tu apna kaam ker…main apna kaam kerta hoon.” Following my advice we both started pleading with the policemen…creatures…so then one of them said ,”gaddi check kero…dopeful te nahin hai?”
anyhoo it was all really nice and all…no it was not…they threatened to take us to jail…one man I think was trying to cop a feel…I tried to make myself more seductive for him…sticking fleshy bits out for maximum overdrive…it didn’t really work…
meanwhile pana was going, “khuda ki kassam humein aap nazer hi nahin aye thhay…mainay koi smile nahin ki thhi.” The feely uppy guard policeman was of the opinion that pana had passed him a smile when we had stepped on it to avoid getting kapchurred…ok my spelling just went for a trip to hell and came back horny…
so anyhoo they got tired of us and asked us to get lost and never do it again…they never asked for my license or anything…blow job nothing…eluding arrest…it’s shameful…if you’re in a Khyber and they’re on a cultus…and they can catch you in a fart…babies crying why is the floor shaking so much goddamnit…
ok there is a slight possibility that I might now just pass out…because this …welll at least peshawer is good for something…richie rich is a son of a bitch…I hate casper…and I like ducks.
Ok now I have to go crawl back into my nest and pretend that this was not really this insane…mind jelly koftaas…went to school…met these boys…one of them was loaded with this shit…and I rescued some from his philistine hands…he obviously had no idea how excellent this is…fool…had no concept of ratio and tuning paraphernalia…passed him a smile…passed out…passed wind…passed tense…paindoo babies from hell.
Goddamn white bugs with yellow goo in them will conquer mankind if we don’t do something about them soon…they’re evolving…and pana is convinced that they all live in my hair and that’s their secret base lair…dude somebody chop my head off or set it on fire or something…
I’m trying hard to shut up and go back to rocking back and forth whilst pressing my hands together looking like a drooling psychotic idiot…volcanic lava??? Hahahha funny
Ok ok martin pale…nearly went to jail. i like this overall pattern...there's something about it that really appeals to my nether regions...making love to phantoms.

what day is this anyway?

constantly surrounded by music and you start valuing silence, at least with this bunch. this heavy breathing...muscles waiting for something to snap. lungs are having fun...sparkly watery misty breath. winter's going home. going off topic because not entirely sure how we got here. spent what seemed like hours...ours...sitting with pana and the reluctant band member...mutants, lost and senseless. playing bits of original music made by the squishy pulpy juice of a thousand useless songs. singing like crazy to a tune i've never heard before...it's interesting...it's very loose...calm...and sort of like when you change your position but you're not really uncomfortable either way...no matter how far back you lean you will never fall off...no matter how high you fly you won't hit a ceiling...and this fan doesn't chop you in half.
have to go meet school...ask him how he's been...if he thought he would see me again...if he missed me at all...if i can come back for another year...i think that last one will be a ' no.'
didn't get called by trg...relief...no work...now it's pana's turn to sacrifice his soul for us...
i drove a car today. as always i found myself on a road that didn't seem altogether too familiar whilst molly screamed in my ear...disbelief...how can someone be so...absent minded...retarded...lost.
pana has been pointing out the fact that i have started trembling too much. i have to pretend to be an excellent surgeon just to take a puff...of...mutancy. it's insane...my hands shake like crazy...taking extra care to remove traces of traces from their hiding places...make sure padlocked...some people have curly brown hair through proper brushing...others just give in...fine...do as you please you infectious disease. i have said so before...and i enjoyed it then...and i enjoy it now...i am not sorry...but i would like to apologize...
i have the blues...very strong ones at that. i have made sentences that i can't understand and loads of times i have to wait for the right time...i don't like waiting...it feels too much of a bother...the crownless king and i waited for a bus once...we left, once it arrived...it was just a bit of life trying to slap me in the face and ask me how i'm doing. if i thought i'd ever see it again...if i had missed it at all...if i would like to come back for another year...that last one should've been a 'no' but...it's not like i have a choice.

free will is when you can understand what the other person is saying...know that in his mind it must be true...and then go on believing whatever it is that you believe...or maybe this is not freewill...
that...however...is free will.
telephones are annoying.
hahaha my...mamoo just called. said he was listening to my song...said he liked it. this is the first time that this guy has called me in...well around 20 years. for a wild crazy second i thought that he might know i'm...er...misplced right now...who knows man? it's plain paranoia...unreasonable as sin. so he says something and for a second i thought he'd said, "ye main tumharay baaray mein kya sun rahha hoon?"
and i was about to crap my pants...obviously moddy...or a friend of his...a squealer...but moddy doesn't know...what doesn't he know...he knows enough...good God...i'm dead.
"ji?"
"ye main tera gana sun rahha hoon..."
"aah acha......fit."

anyhoo...since my mellow...sexed up mood has been flushed down...and i can't think anything other than "this feels heavy...it's like a brick in my head." it's a shame when you turn around and you find a camera inide what you thought was your television.

martin pale...time to fail...stutter drool...go back to school.

yaaaaaaaaaaar rogerrrrrrrrrrrrr kutti ke!

complete and total mutancy...because...last night...very messed up. a launch time of quarter to nine had been estimated...but it took longer than that for us to reach orbit...probably because of the frozen chemicals delayed reaction...and then late at night...very late...in the room where the dinner table is...my mind caved in. the roof shattered...and my brain imploded...it used to be the size of a peanut...now it's...gone. so then every fibre of my being concentrated hard on getting me from there to the bedroom...step by step...i saw the door knob coming close enough for somebody to help me raise my hands...turn...push...walk in...collapse...listen to the remnants of my once able mind fry...but then it sort of became nice...and i stopped and noticed many things...so many things...my legs were miles long...over the hills...down some valley...and i saw something strange...i was talking to myself...then i told the goblin on the ceiling that he wasn't real...
"i could be your goblin you know?" he said.

i tried to disagree but in my heart i knew that he was right...and i sneezed. sneezing snaps your head like a whip and you're back in reality watching strange goings on in a reflection on the door...stretch your legs across the sky...the sea...it's fun. you're a mutant. there's nothing like bitter chocolate when you're so out of it that you can't even think anymore...but this isn't how it started...it started with frodo and samwise...in the park...the forest...the lake...the fountains...the mountains...and lots of substances...we stood there talking about...what it's like to view your mutancy through the eyes of a third party. ugly children dressed in rags...i need to go buy some....no wait...i have here a suit case...hahahaha.
it was not my fault. i did not intend to. i just forgot all the reasons why i shouldn't. i forgot that it was a bad thing. i forgot all that i had never forgotten ever...and then we watched a movie...

if i were a bit more gay...i'd wank off to johnny depp...he is hot and unbelievably good. shit. we watched blow. finally. i've wanted to watch that for a while...i hope that son of a bitch is going to be in the hunter s thompson biopic if they're making it.
i met two new people yesterday. they were old. older than us anyway. excellent musicians. unbelievable...anal orgasm. gross. and this one guy asks me if i can and i don't knowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...can't believe i forgot my own traditions. double sounds from my self.
then we drove back with a complete mutant. roger that.
roger...screw roger in his ass and then wipe him down with grease.
i've jumbled up the sequence of everything...we ate a bit. pineapple juice followed. lost two of our friends to the backseat of a mutant.
"are you sure you can drive home like this?"
"roger that."

fieldstink

dude what the hell do you think you're doing? i don't know i'm typing. ok. good night then junior.
ring around the rosie...rosie...quite contrary...how does yon gardeneth growth? the cradle and the baby the cow jumped o'er the mooneth...how sooneth? very. will you be supervising the transfer? listen to "last chance to evacuate planet earth before it is recycled" by porcupine tree.
this guy says in this book i read that mice are the ultimate rulers of the galaxy but still not smart enough to outsmart a man...boy. i am definitely not going to remember this week...maggot...how can you play the actual thing when you know it's going to cause trouble in the peepholes of society...bob "saggy bags" Mcgoogle once said something about how people who refuse to let go of the mundane soon get cancer and die. but the worst comes later when their bodies are dumped in a hole and covered with dirt. but that's only half worthy of being said because tension and fear are taking over from pompous obnoxious juice-pumpingism. the early manuscripts of boy include crude pictures of super heroes...funny side-kicks...dumb villains and happy endings. the book gets dirtier...the drawings turn to words and the words make drawings still...just the same...but well defined pictures with only one dimension visible to the mind itself. but then something snaps and the words turn to scrawls...scrawls turn to fire...fire turns to smoke...smoke turns to mutancy...mutancy leads to scrawls...scrawls lead to words...words lead to pictures...pictures lead to simplicity...mind jelly.

there is a woman on television talking about how she's addicted to sex...i guess we'll have to continue this lovely chat some other time...
early 70's keyboardists who wear sunglasses
remote controls should be surgically attatched to my being. all of them...
this woman addicted to sex is crying on television...that makes no sense...how can a woman be addicted to sex and not be able to satisfy her addiction...on this planet...you can die of hunger but never die of lust. i like it when americans die. not because i think they're all bad...no...i just know that they're all bad. how many people would you be able to recognize just from their dicks? army doctors. the simpsons have been sucking for a long time now...time to move. i was walking with the crownless king in the streets of france and he bends down to pick up a croissant from a stall...he took the croissant in his hands and smelt it and then started tearing it to bits and throwing them all away. french people are wierd but not that wierd. so they stared at the crownless king whilst i said, "yeah sure."
i think, i'm sure...i would rather die than read dickens.
templer...simon templer. roger moore was cool in 'the saint'...if you watch it on a black and white t.v...otherwise you can see how old he is...and the show always had a cool starting thing...some guy would say, "who's he?" or words to that effect and then somebody would answer..."he's simon templer." and then they'd show roger moore and he'd look up and their would be a halo on his head and then the music comes on...tootootootoootoot too too too too too too etc.
tonight you've turned into a demon bastard. somewhat.

porcupine tree. the song i mentioned...it goes something like so

If you fall asleep with me
You can dream and drowse
The miuntes turn to hours

We could climb a tree or two
And watch the sun go down
Upon our sleepy town

After all the time I spent with you
Summer went away
And we just weren't the same

It's just you and me alone
Not grown ups but not kids
You kissed me on the lips

hahahaha gross...good lyrics...yes well...good night.
children will go and fry now.

these hills have eyes

he will articulate my thoughts and I will illustrate his articulation. Fear us for we are boys…the crownless king and eye were chatting in the park and I told him a story about how it must be like to be a child. Sometimes you’re telling a tale about wondrous gardens and grassy water sources (that was definitely not my fault…) and beautiful hands and painting and your thoughts turn twist and then shout the names of everyone except one until your mind stops…reconsiders…retraces…sits back…falls in love…but wait because wait you must because of the reason that has haunted you like anything…like those cheap pterodactyl screams that they used to play in old cartoons…nobody’s watching…so you run away…you realize you haven’t run away…you realize you have run away…and you go back to thinking about the only thing you really want…but that’s a bad thing…therefore…and now…we come back to it and complete our circle of misery…Babylon fading.

There were other thoughts inside…like for instance…if you want it the normal amount and just the right…(disaster and boredom)…then you are allowed to fall in love…if you’re going to be seeing it everywhere and lose your mind before you ever even taste it…just in anticipation…then it is obvious…you are unfit to fall in love…(disaster and boredom). There must be something you’re not getting that I am…there must be something in the picture that only I could see…and you could only watch the waves fall and disappear beneath the rocky edges of the extent of your imagination...shabby coat sleeves.
Rude interruptions are like times when you’re madly in...you know...famished…right…and not really alive. when…it beomes a different plane of reality…everything is natural here…everything perfect…everything is only just the most beautiful parts that you can possibly think of…and then somebody touches you on the shoulder and speaks loudly and asks you if you’re alright…you’ve nearly been in a really bad accident...and you just turn your head around as the thoughts recede…and you say…haan kher hai. But you’re thinking…yup…I want that hand…that writes so well my name and leaves.
Another one written down…another one done for…thoughts are precious commodity and I waste them the most…complete change of thought means that you are circular but you’ve been inserted into a square tube…but don’t worry about it…you’re made of clay…you’re flexible…soon enough you’ll be a square…another thought wasted…they are a precious commodity as I said before…and it goes well for you to accept that as a fact because we hear things on this side of the spectrum…and some of those things are helpful…some not so much. And you wonder why they were wrong every time…how could they possibly commit that same error over and over again…you’re obviously doing it by thinking that…but hey…you are so very far away by now in what hubard said about being lost in the milky white arms of her. We appreciate that…that was one articulation that you weren’t expected to procure but I definitely would’ve illustrated.
About these splits in pages and scary stages, it’s all just laziness and blasphemy coming together to frustrate you and you’re still thinking about eyes and what strange wonders they are…how can you stand in the depths of someone, stare around and yet not be able to perceive the amazing ness of…er…them? Hide away little jug…hide away and speak nothing and show them how silly you are…how you can’t say a single thing…stutter…fall down…touch…understand…feel…want…alone…and shit we’re back with Morrison…Babylon fading.

I was home when I was away and away when I was home…but I still had to hop out of the car when it stopped…whether you’re away or at home…doesn’t matter…the car has stopped…now get out.

Met buttar today in lums…it was fun…he had beaten the crap out of someone and the someone was now abusing him whilst buttar swore that his nails weren’t long and this is all a misunderstanding…those cuts are obviously the work of gremlins. That’s how it goes with that part of the spectrum and it’s always fun…because it’s a broad place which seems narrow to pseudo intellectuals…people who used to think never thought so little as people who think nowadays…although these guys know more languages and obscure thoughts and facts than anybody else…but they still don’t know what it is that they’re supposed to be groping for in the first place…a pause for a bit of hate now.
You wouldn’t understand how difficult it must be to be made that way…if only I had been fortunate enough…I’d still be a bit late…because let’s face it…I’m me.
The physically challenged deserve my money whilst the mentally challenged deserve my hatred and my anger…and if you disagree with me then you’re obviously missing out on something…because this sure as hell feels nice…how ironic.

Insane hallucinogenic experiences don’t enhance your writing skills. I was warned today of not messing around with people…how shameful is that…I’m considered armed and dangerous…and I see myself standing in the depths of someone…staring…dazed…crazy…yummy…got to go back because reality awaits…but you don’t give up…just a harmless touch…a souvenir…something to think about…something you have thought about…it’s not as good…it’s just like when you write your name on a desk in that insanely sad style…" ______ was here”

Really so where is he now?

I don’t know man…you seem perfectly normal to me…now come to my arms.

even kings make turds...
turds become manure.
manure becomes food.
food becomes food
food becomes come
come becomes you
you become king.
kings make turds.

i think your shoes are very......jango.

i will obey your orders...although you couldn't bring the right emotion to your face because of various reasons...and something disappointed me...alot...but i looked. and amazing it was...wonderous like a cavern full of shiny stuff...better than diamonds...older than the sun...stranger than goodbyes...lonelier than hellos...hollower than me and beautiful in that same way that...slays me.
i am slain by you. said the mad boy to the ghost. to the hallucination. sneeze. and just for that...you can beat the shit out of me and hang me like a chicken but don't ask me why i wear socks all the time...don't just mouth words...i have a hard time following instructions when you speak with sounds, speak to me with your eyes and i am liable to explode...there was no fakeness...there is just me, my dellusions, and now i see it in everything and somebody touches my shoulder and asks me if i'm alright...i can only turn slowly...and say, "haan kher hai."

the crownless king and i walked in forests tonight. there were elves in there. i was home when i was away and away by the time i was home. it's kind of funny. i guess i'll call out and ask if there's anybody out there who feels the way i do...but that has never proven worth it. oh well...grab the hand before it vanishes...or at least watch it complete the paiting.

martin pale...did exhale.
these bearded girls will never do.

cunt majajan

sometimes you get addicted. the doctor told me that i should get extra sleep with zoloft around because otherwise it just makes the whole process worse. what's even stupider is that i decided that it was time to increase my dosage...i hate it when she goes into my room and messes around in my stuff...how many times do i have to make it plain that i don't lik it when they change the angle of my nest...why doesn't she take everything out of my room and just sits on it or something...hateful...so anyhoo...since i haven't slept in a long time and now i've increased my pill dosage...i could see bugs flying around in my room...marble floor changing shape and rodents burrowing in it...i mean i didn't see the actual rodent...but i'm sure only a rodent would've made a burrow like that...then there's boxes of milkpak...which reminds me...i was lying on my nest and pana was nearly passed out there too...and i turned and said to him, "maeray paas doodh ke dubbay hain." we found that really funny...i was just in my room...and i kept hearing old indian songs...i mean...there were children playing somewhere beneath and the way they were talking...it sounded to me like a woman was singing, "inhi logon nay...inhi logon nayyyy...inhi logon nay lay liyya dupatta maera..." etc if you don't know how this song goes...then i'm really sorry but you've had a very lame angrezi se bhurpoor childhood.
anyhoo i was just having a row with my parents...my mother keeps nagging me about the shabby coat and how she wants it sewed up...meanwhile...i am feeling particularly paranoid...and am shouting...she knows that i'm not right in the head...and yet she refuses...to LET ME BE. so then mister dad decides to intervene.
"tum shout kyun ker rahhay ho?"
"aap ko batanay ka koi faida hai?? koi to masla hai na maera..."
"to phir insaanon mein na baitho..."

see that's why i like my father...complete lack of understanding...if you've got noise in your head...go deal with it somewhere else...of course...if it had been anybody other than my father...they would've been dead...and a cruel death it would've been too...i don't control my temper when i'm paranoid and hallucinating...which reminds me...no it doesn't remind me...the woman is talking on the phone now...i can't take this anymore...pana'll give me company...
just took a xanax to get this thing down...it's prolly because of the hectic type tense sa day i spent in trg...i hate interviews and stuff...the smell of new places gets to me...so anyhoo...it's not not not not not...aaah...AAH lights just got brighter...hopeful sign that is...hopeful indeed...but then again this thing comes in waves...so they'll prolly dim down all over again...
ok this is how you feel my friend...you will not remember any of this...you can't remember anything about today...i mean you can remember it but it seems like a vague memory...normally it becomes a moment to moment thing...so you can feel like you're living in the moment blah blooh...but this is not like that...this is not moments...this is slippery oil slick and you're otter man. main nahin afford ker sakta main nahin afford ker sakta...this old man has spent his life being a bitch about money...i was watching this smoke like fire beneath my study table...he table that i'm supposed to study on i mean...nothing spectacular...just smokey flames licking the air...
write it down...so you remember...have to go open the door and stuff...this'll have to waittttt for motjher nature...i hte the fact that she's a mother...i hope she's hot otherwise i'm not hitting on her...i'm sick of your bullshit.

stepping bone

last night was ridiculously pointless. pana and i spent hours...and i mean that...hours...trying to growl like michael akerfeldt (opeth).

there is a song called, "serenity painted death" which has this bit that goes like so...

white faced haggard grin, this serenity painted death...
With a halo of bitter disease, Black paragon in lingering breath

pana and i raped our throats into labour by trying to growl...i suppose i'm too old to learn how to growl...on the other hand we tried to sing "face of melinda."..i think the only audible thing in that recording is me laughing for a minute and then end.

didn't sleep all night...i was busy being an idiot...had an interview thing with the trg people...i was kind of hoping that they'd tell me that i can't fake an accent and not hire me...but when i met the other...hopefuls...i dropped the accent altogether...i still passed the test...however there is still one thing left...if i fail the audio recording tomorrow...i'll have an excuse for not having to work...but then we might not ever afford drums...the things i do for a band that will never be. it's insane...completley deluded...i honestly believe that by working at trg i could make enough money to leave pakistan...and go live in sweden...where opeth breathes. although honestly...we checked out bathory last night...and opeth definitely...does...seem to be inspired...by bathory...not that it's a problem...the band admits to it...akerfeldt is cooler beyond human imagination...
anyhoo...the trg people offered me an editorial job...i didn't ask them what it was...i just said the first thing that came inside my head, "yeah sure..." in all honesty the woman looked surprised...she seemed genuinely shocked that i had said yes...which either means that the work will be to edit cows or i'll be paid in test tubes. later when i came to my senses...and realized that english is not my mother tongue and "yeah sure" can lead to a lot of trouble...i asked the woman if i might get paid much for the job...apparently i have to go tomorrow morning to find that out...
naturally i can't do a day job...i sleep during the day...normally.
in the application...they asked me if i had ever been reprimanded for any disciplinary reasons in school...i ticked "no" and then agreed to the license agreement that says that the information i have put down is true to the best of my knowledge...
they had wierd questions...like, "what are you career aspirations?"
so i wrote that i wanted a job that i could keep whilst continuing my studies (hahaha) i said i intended to make loads of money and stuff...quote ungoat
i had a typing test too...in case they want to make me a bitch...apparently my typing speed is 41 words per minute and my accuracy is 96%...take that crummy Alevels and all those medical colleges that didn't want me...96%!!!!!!!! yes that's really sad.
in anycase...if i'm lucky...they'll come to their senses and throw me out...and soon.
i have been listening to this goddamn thing for an hour...can't take any more...
i felt honestly retarded during the whole screening process...i have no knowledge of anything around me...i know far too much about middle earth and too little about the global economic scenario...smart people don't get jobs in trg...smart people go to lums...and show off their fancy fcuk shirt...so's i can make the good fun of them...have to go meet buttar soon...i'll call him and fix a date for us...if i meet the reluctant band member...we might go watch some pea cocks...
a relatively old boy...a hopeful contender for the trg trip...asked me what sort of music i listen to...i told him...and he started on about how he thought kurt cobain killed himself because of drugs...(which is news to me...i thought his wife killed him!!) so anyhoo...he was ranting on about how "lsd" can really mess you up...and so many musicians died young etc...so i looked up and asked him if he had tried lsd...he started laughing..."no ofcourse not...hahaha have i tried lsd...hahahaa...no man but i've read up on it a lot...it affects your brain in such a way that if you want to go somewhere you can feel like you're there just by thinking about it...and there are a lot of hallucinations and stuff...very messed up."
and then he told me about how people who take "churs" do it to write and stuff...because it enhances concentration and stuff...then he made fun of the fact that i was naive enough to ask him if he had tried acid...
this is a game i'll enjoy playing for a long time...he was balding and referred to his mother as "mummy." he had more work experience than i have...because i have none...but see i keep my mouth shut when everybody's talking in a language i don't speak.
my throat feel like a picture scratched by a fork...nobody can growl like akerfeldt...he is king of growling...
i asked my khala what the colour of her eyes is...it has fascinated me for years...she said it was "green brown." that's an odd combination that i don't generally see in eyes.
i crapped a lot on my application...they asked me to describe myself...i said that "considering the fact that this is the biggest paragraph i have written in this application...i obviously think too much of myself."
sometimes it frightens me how bad a person i could've been if my parents hadn't brought me up right...i mean...as right as they did...i only lost sight of the path once it was apparent that now it was my problem and not theirs...i have a proved an ungrateful bastard...too bad i guess...my shoes are nearly two years old now...i think...yeah i need new shoes...but they don't sell the kind of shoes i'm looking for...
i have laughed a lot...i'm afraid that you come here with a quota of laughter and i'm going to run out of it...that would be a shame...my eyes are bloodshot and i look like i died yesterday...
children will go and play now!!!
i saw smarter people than me leave just because they had accents like mine except that they couldn't hide it...in real life...i sound like someone who would have sex with cows...
childen will go eat their food now!!!

title backwards is eltit...spanish for boob.

this is not going well...see the whole point of keeping a secret is that you keep it a secret. once people...what? twice the people...fruple (?) the people and all the people...imagine all the people...man i just squished my left ball...so much pain...good God...this is horrible...it's entirely my fault. i have a love for spacious clothing...i can't wear regular tight underwear...the tighty whitey ones with the strange pocket in the front...which i just realised, is there, so that you don't have to take your underwear off whilst peeing...you can just slip your happy camper through the pockety slit thing and enjoy...which is basically like sex...so in fact taking a leak is like having sex when you're wearing the tightey whitey underpants...hmmm...i never thought of it that way...oh well too late...i love my boxers too much to care now...boxers are open...you can do whatever in them...no restrictions...but some times things run off in all directions and get squished.
ok now we're getting back...feel that? yes. that's you losing it. i have far too many keys. have to lock the damn room every time i step outside...paranoia...and mounds of incriminating evidence.

sail above the clouds with the west wind
think about the fools who let us down
laughing through the night for old times
sing and in your voice, i will drown

in the house of God...i saw men die
but i was just a kid and walked on by.
the moon has turned away, the sun won't shine
everything is yours but i'm still mine

shit...i've never been stuck in the middle of a shitty goddamned poem...shit...
screw it.
have to go to this place tomorrow...job application...night job...i hate telephones...i'm going to have to sit and answer calls...if it weren't for the fact that i need the goddamn money to buy drums and an electric guitar i would never actually work...damnit...goddamn phones...shut up...there'll be no more of that...the nazi in your head is about to scream.
the other day we were a bit mutant so i asked pana to move the water bottle away cause i could see stuff in it. i could see me standing next to pana...at least i thought it was pana...but it was actually just another me...the other me was holding onto my hair with one hand...and there was an entire line of me's everybody had the hair of the me infront of them in their hand...that sentence should be banished from the english language and i should be executed...but anyhoo...it was starting to get on my nerves...the whole...clone train hallucination. it's 2:30 am...i suppose i won't go home now...might as well just flop down here...we reduced coca cola cups to dogs...and rooks...now he's run off somewhere...
slowly but surely you get to the point of the whole thing...blowing smoke on the monitor...don't really care for...empty cigarettes...too...pointless. fact of the matter is that you're not seeing this right.

step around the corner and you will see
smoke...i have been wondering about this
barking shitty...ok enough. children will control their temper now.
i had a strange dream once...it wasn't really a dream...it was kind of like when you wake up but your mind is still lingering back there with the crazy things...a man in my dream said to me, "jhoomnay walon ko lutf nahin milta." what happened after that...is a secret...once the peeepul...twooice the peepil...fruple the peoplle...all the people...imagine all the people...see, the whole point of keeping a secret is that you keep it a secret. this is not going well...

just another brick.

in an effort to realise our dreams we have decided to ignore the blinking orange bar of doom...but since...the blinker has a vagina...we will return. man i'm sitting in pana's house...and i don't really want to regurgitate my innards right now...in code or otherwise so i'll just go with the flow...isn't that what the fat man said molly? anb anb anb...anb is the biggest swear word i could think of right now because the orange blinker is annoying me. in an effort to realise our dreams?
people hunt for the next amusement. they find a source of mirth...which could be anything from fascinating to just plain dumb...intriguing to retarded...etc...they have their way...and then when they get bored of it...they go away. i wonder how zamin is right now...if he's in a better school than i am...if he'll ever give me a job.
this is my blog...i like to think that emptying my head of all thoughts will be like therapy...i will write it down in not so many words but the words i choose will be mostly mine...
strangers decide that i am public property and then they tell me what they think of me. i have been told that i'm a poser and what a girl said in her last comment was that i am, "trying to be misunderstood." i'm sure the concept is fascinating...but see...if i were a poser, i wouldn't laugh as much as i do...this is my home...you can't come in here and tell me that my furniture is shit...if you don't like it...don't sit...i am as alone as i could possibly be...so your having turned up and then leaving will mean nothing to me...because i know eventually...everybody is going to be all happy and rich and i will hopefully disappear because SADLY i have everything except the knowledge that i have everything...but i have four sisters...anybody who has four sisters doesn't have to worry about being cool and making friends...sisters are fascinating. we were six children in all...believe me...i seriously have no need to feel like i connect with someone...i don't feel the need to feel needed...i am free of the curse of my generation...but...i'm on zoloft...hahaha it makes you feel like life is perfect once you get over the side effects...hahhahahahaha...i'm bi polar...and depressed...but that's genetic and has nothing to do with how many friends i have...man hahahaha i will not remember writing this...i'm sure your friends love you too...i won't die if you don't read my blog...ohh boohoo...notice me...notice me please...i am so alone...please shower me with fake affection and parade me around like a trophy hahahahahahahah...love the fact that i am so uniquely messed up...hahahaha...(i am not...there are a bujillion other idiots like me...) tell people i wrote all my poems for you...but keep in mind...i'd have written them anyway...ok maybe not the ones i wrote for shiny.
i have had friends...and i know one day they won't recognise me...especially if i ask them for a job...everybody has a not so hidden agenda...sadly i have nothing to offer. nearly everybody who knows me has good reason to hate me...i have dealt with it. or maybe it's just the pills talking. actually you know what...do everything you want to...throw rocks at me...fart in public...i don't mind...i still think that the reason God created you was so that i could enjoy the way you write and bother you about sucking your tongue...nether regions as well...right so that's that...
i have far too many keys...
the other day i saw a girl with beautiful hands...seriously beautiful...i could spend hours just watching her do homework or something...the dance of pretty hands. it would make me laugh if her handwriting was horse manure...i feel like i should stop this and go jam with pana...
children will go and jam now!!!

actually i'm asleep

just woke up in pana's house...completely forgot how i got here and when i fell asleep...i don't know what poly complains about....three xanax (and a zoloft) definitely work for me...last night we were...well pana at least was trying to add fake drums to the song whilst i drooled on his bed...i found a semi complete version of the song when i woke up...he's in the other room...unconscious.
the drums are nice...but i've kind of started liking the song without drums. but anyhoo...it's not like it...well...matters.
the other day pana and i had one of our favourite old discussions about why everybody is an asshole...

dUCKing around

we're finally finished recording the song...the first realtively coherent song...personally i know that we've made better ones...telephone and collect and blah blooh...but this one we actually worked on whilst recording it...usually...it takes half an hour to make something and we record it in three minutes...this time however the song was made in five minutes but we took our time in recording it...because we always have shit sound quality...but hopefully this one will be comprehensible...more or less. we were going to name it voiceless drone but then i decided that genetic potluck was a much better name...pana did nearly everything...while i ate an entire bottle of di gas and then passed out on his bed because of three xanax and some zoloft...i'm going to have a lot of ulcers when i'm old...i wanted him to add an echo to hide the inferior singing but he said it was fine the way it was...blah blooh...we didn't add fake drums...it's too much hassle and they don't really sound all that nice...
pana gave backing vocals in the last stanza...hahahaha...which is really cool...not really but i think it is. when nobody can sing then it's best that everybody sings. wish i had some juice...
pana came up with a really nice bass for the thing...and came up with an impromptu solo...no rehearsels as such...luckily it sounds really good...i came up with the idea that it should be in one speaker and sort of far away...type cheez...it's a nice solo...
we're messed up people living in a world of our own.
children will go to sleep now!

do you realise how old i am?

clint eastwood is the only real man left.
directs movies too...sort of gives you a game...you get to guess who the talking body part belongs to etc. shadows everywhere...everybody whispers...no flashy colours that could burn your eyes...good smooth pace...and time seems to have gone crazy...he makes real time movies seem like old western type...old movies...but not entirely...i mean it just becomes very obvious that a really old man is behind everything...man indeed...once clint dies...that'll be the end of the age of cowboys...he's a crappy actor overall...but he's convincing because he's nearly as old as jesus or any of the leprechauns. he pisses away the maliness in those rare scenes where he decides to let the waterworks fire up...it's gross...men can't cry...neither can boys.
how can you name a baby clint eastwood? did he shoot guns when he came out? did he have his rugged leather like face? did he have steely eyes that have the wisdom of age and manliness?? would i give him a blow job?
you might say robert redford is a cowboy too...but he's actually just a pretty boy...or used to be...clint eastwood is man. only met one real man in real life...

back off you cow this is my special day

people who love the night so much shouldn't be afraid of the dark...sometimes you need sunglasses to stare at the monitor...and you just can't find any. mutant again...blast it. ok...so..
there was this boy i knew...he would turn whiter with every step he climbed. and whiter still when he came back down. it was insane...he would mumble something in his mouth and still be very quiet when he would climb stairs...he stumbled alot but never fell. like a tight rope walker above the depths of hell. it was hypnotic watching him climb away and sometimes i'd just don't know what to say...he would seem genuinely kingly at times like these... and yet so many times i've heard him say please, to all these different characters from out of my mind...from the innermost pockets to whatever else i could find. it was frankly bizarre the way he could still command...a form of respect that many would demand, but never ever aquire because in real life you tire and decide that it's just not worth it except that it is and you know you couldn't earn it. he would walk around in lanes never thinking of his pains and all related with excess because he knew his only success so far, had been, redemption from sin...
some time later i was shaking his hand and it got hard for me to stand, for in that moment i noticed a white line, straight but broken and yet very very fine, that ran the length of his palm. it was nothing to worry about so i was calm and i asked him about it...brought it up in the conversation, casually like a zit. and he didn't seem to know what i was talking about. i thought he was joking so i nearly started to shout at the guy who i knew was trying to lie or decieve me into believing something i can percieve is unreal...how does that make you feel? strange? surreal?
i've seen the boy around, not that he wants to be found...i mean it doesn't really matter to him which is kind of annoying but you have to get over it and try to live your own life without having to taste the minds of others all the time...it's almost a crime though that we can't have this one delicacy which is so far more than all the rest that they have to offer in these thrift shops of humanity...sadly it leaves little room for us to grow and to groom all our peeves before this strange boy leaves.
i saw this really wierd indian movie song the other day on t.v....this gross looking man and this really gross looking woman were "dancing"...they semed to alternate between dry humping one another and synchronised cardiovascular workouts...it was insane...gross...and they were not dressed appropriately for the goddamn workout...nobody really cares about what the woman is wearing...too desensitized...but if the man is all gooey and not wearing clothes...it does serious damage to your groin area...the loin lay dead like lead in my bed...
independant movies are becoming crappier by the second. we should watch this movie...this guy was holding onto this balloon thing and then suddenly it escapes and winona ryder starts laughing...i'll find out what the name of the movie was if i don't fall off the chair. have to watch garden state as well...or anything by kevin smith. i can't take matt dilon seriously...anything he does...anything...i will not believe him...it's just...ridiculous...i find him credulous. slurry speech...going down. who's HE kidding?

genetic pot-luck

one is an open book, easy to read everytime you look
the other has eyes that give away nothing. and i am a bit of both.
both of them say that they love me...which is kind of gross...
but the sincerity of it all is unbelievably satisfying.
so i always say, "you're sick!!!! and obviously lying."
she says to me, "we're not crazy...we're just a bit creative."
i laugh and i say, "yeah i know...but then again what if??"
she says to me, "i have a lot of stories in my head too...entire novels, very detailed...i've added to them over the years...and i will take them to my grave."
so i say, "can't you articulate your thoughts, is that why you always save?"
and she answers, "no darling...they're too porno. really sexy people live inside my head...nobody will find out because i never said."
her power is undiluted whilst i have a bit of the open book.
she can remain insanely expressionless, won't say what her mind can cook.
it's strange that both of them have earned their final reward and even though i have everything i am farther away from God...it's a shame because i am both, so i should be stronger still...instead i am just confused and living on a pill.

voiceless drone

lots of pain...not in the mood...spent a good long time trying to make some music with pana...wish we had a drummer...actually i wish we had a singer...so i won't have to do anything but churn out rhymes about how shitty it is to be a boy on a planet which is obviously turning too girly...i swear man...people are becoming...very petty...i think we should all just sit...complain...watch movies...pass judgement on the actors...the director...the sound track...make fun of bands like jal even though they make better music than i do...not better music than pana or molly...obviously. life should be spent making fun of people to their faces rather than behind their backs but then again also behind their backs because that's too much fun. mediocrity and contradictions will follow me to the grave...
too much pain in the legs...prolly because i can't sit still for a goddamn minute...it's like being on a twitching treadmill thing...that just makes you twitch...
had another insanely religious type dream...won't write it down...too afraid...let me tell you why you don't get these religious dreams...yeah it's got a very simple logic to it...only those who leave are called back...in order to leave you have to be in a place that you can leave...since you were all infidel bastards from the start...raised by drunkard parents with ill gotten wealth therefore there's no point in calling cunts like you back...all you could ever possibly care about is...cars...and woofers and gel...designer clothes and your insane desire to abolish invisibility. there is hope...but not for you...because you are a miserable wretch...now i might be a deserter and a complete and total hypocrite...but since i'm so goddamn sexy...i can pull it off...but at least i was there...no it's just bad luck...you're screwed...i don't care...i'll watch you burn with pleasure because you watched me burn with pleasure...
bitter rambling of a lunatic...pay no heed to it...just be shamed enough into gathering what's left of your morality and try to stitch a shabby little coat that might...MIGHT...help you save face in the end...hahahahahahaha...what the hell am i talking about??? i don't even pray hahahahaa...
gradually...i'm becoming completely deluded...everyone is out to get me...a friend asked me to come to the mini golf place...i refused...why? because i was too afraid to sit among people...i was afraid that i'd be made fun of or beat up hhahahahahaha...for absolutely no reason...getting beat up by buttar is acceptable...he's a brother...and he means well...other people just want to...wring my neck because i'm hateful...i AM hateful...self centred...extremely selfish...i make children cry...which reminds me...today i saw a really ugly baby on the breakfast table...i was staring at it and it was staring back...then it started smiling...so i smiled back...you can't help it...even ugly babies can induce smileage...then it started alternating between smiling and pouting...and then it smiled again and fell asleep...so i left. as a general rule babies don't hate me...babies are nasty little bitches. they can prolly see the platoon of unearthly warriors that i keep by myself...the Lord knows i'm useless without help...what the hell is blank verse anyway?
ever since the blog stopped opening in pakistan...and you're only allowed to post but not view...which means that nobody can read this...i've noticed a sudden shift from mindless bantering to coherency...actually that might be because i haven't been a mutant for a while now...in reality it must be around three days since sobriety...but it feels like a month so...i dunno.
michael akerfeldt can sing just as well live as he does on the album...it's bloody infuriating...not only can he write at least a thousand times better than i can but he can also sing it a million times better...goddamn him...and may he...aah fudge can't even curse him to permanent voice loss...i like the band too much...assholes.
we came back from a drive...i felt the need to drive...so we came back from a drive...and pana sat down with my (his) acoustic...which is upside down for him because i'm lefty...and it's tuned to dadgad...and he starts playing something randomly...and stopped...looked at me...sometimes good shit erupts out of nowhere and we stare at each other...
"fit hai..." i said.
so he tried to add something to it...i told him he was ruining it...then he played something else...i said that that was better...then he did something else...which was nice...then he was just farting around so i asked him to take it to the other side...near the twelveth...er...thingy...i don't know any technical guitar language...so he took it to the 12th thingy...and it was nice...so i said that i had a bit of a rhyme that might go well with that tune...so we went over to his house...i opened my blog and used that bit of poem i wrote yesterday...it was a shitty poem but it rhymed and was honest enough for my liking.
i can't sing. that is a proven fact. i was never chosen for any choir thingy at school...i sing like a squeaky pig actually...but anyhoo...since pana can't sing either...although he has a nicer voice...actually the thing is...i can usually keep a note...if i'm comfortable enough...but the voice itself is painful to hear...pana's voice is nice but he can't keep a note...so we're stuck in the hell of mediocrity...but he has enough talent with the guitar to save him in the long run...all i can make is shit...and sometimes that takes a bit of work. so anyhoo...i tried to "sing". it didn't go really well...in fact IF we had been in MY room...a more comfortable environment...i prolly would have been able to sing better. not good. but better than the crap we did record. so anyhoo...it's a very strange bit of empty music because we have to add a bass...and prolly use the damn fruity loops thing for fake drums...goddamn fake drums...but...we don't really have a choice...once my trg job thing starts...if i pass the initial thingy...then i might be able to buy drums...in about...three months...provided i have a good pay...freaking night job...ten hours a night...and there's bound to be a contract...so even though i'll buy the drums...i'll never have the time to play them...kher...all contracts come to an end...usually at the age of 27...and by then pana'll have learnt how to play drums...he's got a good sense of rhythm anyway...the only rhythm i have is in my head. clint eastwoof has a lot of lines on his face.
this is the poem we used...again...only a retarded person would not be able to get the simple lyrics...blah blooh mummy daddy frustration of a pointless idiot...in anycase i think it's a better poem than art lost...so you can shove it up your ass molly. hah

begotten by a son of man
sometimes i wonder if i can
lose myself in thoughts i made
in shallow marshes where i wade

now and then my steps do falter
free will fades, my course is altered
leaving behind the path i chose
wondering where this new one goes

i close my eyes, sit back, indulge
in all those secrets i can't divulge
then close the book i wrote alone
a day in the life of a voiceless drone.

once we fix the dirty parts...and the fact that i didn't sing "sometimes" right...it was completely out...then we'll have the first coherent song we've ever made. this is not the kind of music we intend to make though...this is just...for lack of skill/talent/patience and better equipment...a settlement made. yes i know this doesn't interest anybody other than me...hence my blog.
so anyhoo...molly (the reluctant "band" member of a band that will never be) doesn't know it yet but he might have to play a lead thingy to this...i'm sure when i listen to it tomorrow...i'll be so ashmed that i'll delete this post...never mention it to molly...and then pana and i will move on...forget the goddamn thing.

i don't care if i never leave home again...i don't care if all my friends decide to leave...so speaks zoloft through the mouth of martin pale. once i start taking the proper dosage...i'm sure i'll become distant enough to disappear entirely and my life long dream will come true. although i do hope that i won't stop writing pseudo romantic poems...i enjoy writing about my muse...and any excuse is worth being used...although most of it is mediocre shit...i'm sure life would be a bore without it. what the hell is blank verse anyway?
my mother just asked me who i'm talking to...hahahaha.
that's pana in the picture...the guitar is upside down...if you look closely at the lamp shade...you'll notice a shiny object a bit to the left from the centre...that belongs to byron. a hairclip i stole.

1.2 ???

breathe...
this is an excellent pill when you ignore the not so nice parts...it might be just what i need. goofy smile. pleasant. everything is pleasant. and just the right song to go with this...mood.
breathe...breathe in the air. i recommend that every living creature present on this planet whether deaf or not...should listen to "breathe"...by pink floyd...from "the dark side of the moon." gilmour sings like gilmour. zoloft.
so many words are swimming in a bowl of soup. glancing back at the situation i realised that i should've leant in...saw a spiral of smoke....the widest one i've ever seen. can you feel your head being swallowed by the blackhole right behind you? do you know that that's a fancy way of asking if you've got your head in your ass...but it's true...there is a blackhole right behind me...and i can feel myself gradually running the course. bought a guitar to punish your ma...
i woke up many times today...the last time was the best...insignificant traces of dreams forgotten swimming with words in a bowl of soup that should never have been stirred in the first place. don't be afraid to care. when i read the word "permanent" it scares the shit out of me. congratulations mister X you are only a few steps away from becoming a permanent member of our great organization. everytime i read this...i hesitate and then i just refuse to submit the forms...why can't they just say...congratulations mister X you're only a few steps away from becoming a member of our great organization for as long as you feel like it and then you can leave for a nicer, cushier, machine gun hand.
my head is being sucked in by the blackhole in my chest. hahaha...this is good fun. the doc says that in a month all my insane fears will disappear...i don't agree...i don't believe...
leave...don't leave me.
twisted little tune of mine...i'm gonna let you shine...let it shine...
insane fears are large dogs beneath your bed. but this one isn't mine. i'm afraid of the moon.
i used to love the moon. now i can feel it watching me when i step out at night. miserable beautiful wretch. it's too big. it's amazing how little things from the past have come back to haunt me and the doc.
4 days for her...three years and counting for martin pale. in a dream i asked God why He didn't give me everything. You were given everything except the knowledge that you were given everything. and i marvelled at the logic of God. how many times will you repeat that to yourself?? how many people get the satisfaction of talking to God??? triumphant? is it because of your emotional problems?? are you haunted by a silly past that swims around in your bowl of soup, manifesting itself in your words and dreams?? well then you shouldn't have stirred it in the first place. somebody just reached out...go on...touch them on the forehead and speak your truth. the judgement will come eventually...
it would amuse you to remember that it was your unwitting squealer who reached out...and for some reason, you refused to touch him on the forehead...hahahahha...but you always speak the truth...and judgement will come eventually.
one of the oldest "bad" habits i have is of talking to myself...i am the single most undesirable.
look around choose your own ground.
i am tired of contemporary/melodic death metal...i now prefer the oldies...bathory...judas priest...blah blooh...but there's always room for pink floyd...because there's always room for a bit of honesty. when you've been messing with your head for a while days and the concept of time becomes pointless...if you want to think that the least time you did something was years ago...then it was years ago...because it feels like years ago...i can't explain this...and i'm in a hurry.
all you touch and all you see
is all your life will ever be...
i rarely come across honest people nowadays...everybody seems to have a hidden agenda which isn't really hidden...it's hanging out of their pockets and it's covered with all sorts of gawdy crap that makes it even more obvious...and you can't point it out...you can't say, "oye bastard i see what you're upto...it's very transparent to me...and if i ever see you coming back here where i breathe...i will end you." no you can't say that...
you can't stand in the middle of this one road in lums and shout, "you pointless lying sons of bitches...try harder...you're still not cool enough...try harder." you just can't do that...what you CAN do is...walk around with the satisfaction of the knowledge that among all these very brightly packaged helpless souls...the only one who is actually comfortable in his stinking skin...is the boy who hasn't bathed in a month...hasn't had a hair cut in six...is wearing mascara for no other reason than to amuse himself and is chewing on a paperclip...wearing dirty clothes that used to belong to somebody else...clothes that used to be "in" about ten years ago...the crownless king of the book of words and i...we don't have to try...we reek of greatness...the stench of maddening superiority hangs about us...we are the shameless heirs to a throne that was lost in the muddle when nothing happened. i have seen people look at us...i have seen people turn their heads...i have noticed that it has meant nothing to either of us...he will articulate my thoughts and i will illustrate his articulation. how gay is that? fear us for we are boys.
when at last the work is done
can't sit down it's time to dig another one.

begotten by a son of man
sometimes i wonder if i can
lose myself in thoughts i made
in shallow marshes where i wade

now and then my steps do falter
and free will fades, my course is altered
leaving behind the path i chose
wondering where this new one goes

i close my eyes, sit back, indulge
in all those secrets i can't divulge
then close the book i wrote alone
a day in the life of a voiceless drone.

sadly i've kind of forgotten a lot of stuff...tired of all the bullshit...the answers are not compiled at the end of this book...the answers are in all the pages. quite clearly written...you don't like the answers and therefore pretend that you received the wrong book...everybody got the same one...you just decided to call your book a chair instead.
i had a dream about this large goopy brain...we were trying to stick it inside a head...for some reason...probably curiosity...i bit into it...it was gross...but tasted kind of sweet...blandish sweet if that is possible...there were five eggs attatched to this brain...one did not belong with this brain...it was all hard and brownish...the other four were soft...white...in little plastic bags...i spat the bits of brain out...didn't want to swallow it...i've forgotten nearly everything that could've made this sensible...i seriously doubt if anything could've done that...

friends

can't find houses of the holy...it's somewhere on this damn computer but i can't find it...damn it. gay people are trying to get me to screw them...it's gross. there are more gay people in pakistan than you could've possibly imagined...and quite a few of them have joined orkut.
so far away, so far away...
have started a course of goddamned zoloft...properly...the doctor says that if i'm not going to take my anti-crazy pills then i might as well take zoloft...i only took half a pill of the damn thing and felt like there was a large marsh plant growing in my chest...thorns in my throat...always rumours of puke but no puke...hahaha...syriana...i watched syriana...it's a very nice movie. i went to lums a few days ago to meet my friend buttar...he met me at the gate...once inside and out of sight of the guards...he said, "oye...tunay drugs lenay shuru ker diyyay hain?"
all i got to say was "OH SHIT!!!" before he had my head in a headlock...squeezing it so hard that i was sure it would come off...then he beat me up...punched me up, threw me down on the road...my hand was bleeding by the end of this very long beating-upping...he asked me why...?
i didn't have a good reason...i had loads of excuses though...he seemed disappointed...i think he was the only guy i was actually worried might find out...and all this is muller's fault...unwitting squealer.
buttar sat me down in his room in the hostel...we watched hotel ruwanda...then we watched pi...then we watched syriana...then he made me listen to all these holy recitations and stuff...i used to be the boy who had never smoked...never tested, tried, experimented...anything...and now buttar's the boy...and i'm...kind of pathetic...and on zoloft...which makes you feel like shit...my head is too heavy and my jaw is shut too tight...i gave two to chumpango...he never got the pleasant effects...direct jump into the crap-ass side effects...too bad...
zoloft doesn't let you eat anything...at least not me.
buttar has been beating me up for the last 8 years...on and off...there was a long gap after prep school...
i'm not good at anything i like to do. how originally miserable is that?
once i had a dream in which i asked God why he didn't give me everything...so He says that He gave me everything except the knowledge that He gave me everything...
that sort of thing kind of puts you to shame...i used to be very religious...and even though i'm a contender for the eternal flame now...i can still get God to talk to me sometimes...
here have another pill.
voluntarily lonely people should be shot.
buttar asked me to stop it...i said i would...i stayed in lums for two days...
molly and i were sitting in the parking lot and some girl comes up and says, "you're supposed to be dead." normally this is not a very strange thing...but from a complete stranger...in anycase i was too mutant to really figure who it was and what the hell??? well...now that i'm all sober again...ahem, "you're supposed to be the fairer sex."
either way molly said a load of stuff to her that i couldn't understand at all...i was in that state of mind where you mistake white trees for peacocks. the girl was kind of dark...with a...ok this might not have been real...but she seemed to have a rather large jaw...i'm sorry girly...if i'm not describing you accurately...i was slightly altered at the time. there was another girl with her whom i remember only as something round and white with a smile...seriously that's all i remember...could've been a pudding or the moon.
that's buttar in the picture...i took that picture with a paper clip in my mouth...in the lums office...(three lexotinal...complete droolage.)

pudding and the moon
by the river sang a tune
pull down that foggy veil
uncover it for martin pale.

battle of evermore...is that a girl singing with him?

ibnay somnia

too much timbuctoo in THEE blood to sleep with. therefore goggly eyes sharpen on steely light dat somewhat seemeth to be too intense...itchy mouth. i haff this cuzin who is always QUITE happy...what willed if SHE WUZ not so happy? hopefully never to be seeing such sad times. imagine all the peepul...living inside of me...woohoo hoo hoo...you may say, i'm a dreamer...but i am not the only one...i hope someday will join us...so we don't have ALL THESE creative differences all THAAA fudging time...know what i meander? itchy.
today...i went on a ride...bike it was...with motor and all...wind in my face...blue the blues awAY.

i made my kitten's bed once
with a load of sappy stuff
there were all these gay ribbons
and a hell of a lot of fluff.

mein frauline squished the kitsy
that's how my kittens bled
i guess i'll go get a dog now
this kitten seems to be dead.

lickiting on the furry head
lickity little tongue
upon its hind legs dances
and frolics in the dung

juicy americana
swedes is hotter shit by far
what a waste this bed of mine.
when kitten run over by a car.

all grey it was and lovely
with eyes of orange peel
squishy sounds and tires pass
now tell me how you feel?

i held my kitten in my arm
and saw it bleed to death
i saw it dance this freaky dance
until it lost its breath.

you know i could do this forever
make cheap rhymes out of crap
but honestly i feel i should
go get me a power nap.

so anyhoo in closing
as i forget this sordid tale
this poem was about a kitten
that once belonged to martin pale.

wish there was a job that required that i churn out nonsense that rhymed...and use too many "that" in one sentence. cats i like. they are funny. and very life like too. one of my friends once gave a cat a hand job...with tissue paper of course...i assume he's a cat lover too. large dogs that come too close to my private parts are scary...haha...the feel of your toothless gums stirs up a lot of passion in my loins...i have two loins to be honest...ahem
a lion with a loin is a mane
a loin with a lion is a mane
a mane with a loin is a lion
a mane with a lion is a loin
a mane with a mayan with a lane with a lion is a lane.

right so now then that's all cleared...this is what we do...we detox for a few days...because we are in dire need of it...we ask the high priestess for some xanax...and we go to bed...we do not wake up for a very long time...and also remember...there was this dream you had about a lot of funny stuff that you're supposed to write down...actually you wrote it down but now you need to read it and make it coherent. now go before the wind takes you away from us. remember...beauty is only skin deep...but a large penis goes deeper.
drummers are excellent people...they are not like the rest of the band...some bands can't cope with that...so they get a ringo star...which is basically a monkey with two sticks and a drum set, and a better sense of rhythm than i could ever have...i mean even if i jump up a black woman's hoohoo...and come out again as a black guy...i'd still never have a good sense of rhythm...only black people...with a few exceptions...are black.
if i write mostly jackovsky material...i bet i could come up with a book in a month...maybe 2 months...but definitely a book of pages and numbers...because pages and numbers are excellent...when you start reading...you get the urge to look at the last page number...see how far this egocentric maniac is going to babble...then when you get to the middle of the book...you hoot and dance unless the book is interesting...in which case you read on...as the second fatness endethes...you get to the end...you realise that it was a complete waste of time...you pick up lord of the rings...or alice in wunderbra...if it strikes your fancy...and she does...and then you go back to reading...but in actual life you're just thinking about reading...whilst typing...dude...DO SOMETHING...for the love of God...it's a good thing that your life isn't televised...or they'd wonder what you do in the toilet for so long.

i wake up fine and then go to sleep
for beauty is SADLY not skin deep
when it hits you full blast on the balls
it makes you tear down all your walls

now if you're smart and i'm sure you're not
you'll hold on to your dick and pray that you're hot
sadly if it doesn't work...you can come and join me.
there's always room for a bit more ugly...

imagine a lot of razor blades
imagine improvements made
the things that you would stoop to
just so that you can get laid.

i will pick from out of the crowd
somebody who has begun to fade
and we'll walk through this way
and out the door called "somedaylade."

somebody has got to sexplain to me...this...bantering...CHILDREN WILL GO THE HELL TO SLEEP NOW.
about that dream...you DO remember the best part right?
there's some difference of opinion about which part was best...BUT...i remember all the nominees...therefore...it's all good...personally...we liked the part with thaaaa saxual tenseeowne...hahahaha...lean in...lean in goddamnit...should've leant in...sighman gets no hymen. gross. hahahaha.

oh gorgeous one with luscious lips
who sails past like haunted ships
stop thine love making to the inanimate
give a chance to this bloody git.

oh gorgeous one what vocabulary defies
all these words are horny lies
truth be told you're better still
in a bujillion years i couldn't get my fill.

born she was on a day like this
and when she dies we'll surely miss
her sister's friend...because she was hot
oh luscious one...you are so not...

ok fine you have the lead
but i have my agenda filled with greed
so when you hump and think of me
tell your husband, you came indeed.

mechanical sex is all you'll get
says the boy who lost the bet
sour grapes and onions too
to those who refused this lonely jew.

right...dude...go to bed...now...before i kill you myself...the tobacco is in your mind...go to sleep...please...gentlemen don't curse imaginary girls to mechanical sex...right so then that's covered too...good night woolium.