scarlet letterman

the bankside.

2006-09-18T17:16:00.000-07:00

The Misfit Lord. The price.

“Waking up is not always as victorious a march as it should be…rather than a celebration of our return from wherever sights and sounds have little or nothing to do with reason, logic, sense and intelligence…rather than being hailed for our exploits into the very heart of the unknown and our safe journey back home…wherever that may be…we find a sticky sadness stuck to the more ‘well rounded’ curves of our soul…you did not rescue yourself from an invisible threat of decapitation, avoid discomfort in all general forms or the very worst…the onslaught of extraordinary proportions upon the very interwoven threads that culminate in the cloth that covers your vaguest fears and desires. In other words…that dinosaur you just escaped…was not real. Of the sort of unsung adventures that even the commonest soul/mind (whichever tailors your need to satisfy ambiguity in the grander sense) weaves in its lifetime…little can be said…for nothing would be sufficient. Nothing would reproduce the same satisfaction, which we get, when we get it in the more corporeal world of time and space. Your drawing stuck to the refrigerator door…it looks like shit…it looked like shit and will always look like shit…yet its presence or absence may very well determine where you stand and how you use your five senses to aid you as you go on about your penultimate adventure…good riddance to life and hello to whatever it was that you ignored…whatever it was that was not celebrated…whatever you didn’t pay attention to…all and everything you forgot every time you opened your eyes to an existence which deteriorated a bit more everyday for the rest of your days…that which made no sense then…that which will determine your eternity…that which will make you despise the hands that stuck that picture on the fridge…those goddamn magnets…that sucked out your perception and replaced it with an unimportant feeling of security…you were robbed of your loneliness to protect you from the only cheat sheet you might need and legally require to pass that disloyal exam. Loved?? I think not. Screwed?? Without a shadow of doubt…condemned to look at yourself in a mirror that has and should have no basis in reality…looking at muscles that have been engorged by nothing…nothing that matters anyway. What a sucky pile of shit stones…” said George, his eyes closed and yet not entirely blind…roller coaster rides that can’t be touched…

“You can practice trying to remember them…but once you look around you…you’ll only have the vaguest sense of having traveled a lot without ever moving…physically anyway…that’s the worst shat box in my own opinion…there’s more to these visualizations than the old think tank figures…” said the old man.

“I’ll never understand why it has to let go so easily…what’s so wrong about keeping a solid documented account of this rather than some lame ass temporary Internet files type shit…”

“Well…if you’re horny enough…you can go find them files and have fun…limited perhaps…but fun all the same…” he replied…stroking his wooden staff…

“Are you equating my dilemma with the act of masturbation?”

“Are you making a futile attempt at deceiving us…by claiming…that not everything is about humping with…of course…perhaps a side dish…just a sprinkled need to prove the fact that your existence was worth a comment…good or bad…filthy, needy, decadent and in denial about it. Act you say? Indeed. Act…it’s a nice ‘role’…lord knows you play it often hahahaha.” The old man bent over laughing at what he thought was a pretty ok joke.

“Balls…very funny but it is quite clear that my will is good. And anyway who wants a bad comment?”

“Well…some shameless son of a bitch did admit that there was no such thing as negative publicity…whatever gets you in the public eye…will result in a mass viral conjunctivitis…so nice and pink it stops you to think and feel and all is revealed or seemingly so…but then it’s nothing…a passing pleasure that makes you actually reflect on whether your balls were made of wrought iron…I mean there’s a reason why famous people wear sunglasses…it’s called selfishness…you don’t just go around spreading that sort of virus…no…just pretend to inspire us…unless the price is right. Your will is good?? Does that really make a difference…are you that naïve??”

“What a waste this all was…I don’t have or feel the need to understand. Comprehension is not my goal. I am only browsing…thanks but I must move on.” said George in an effort to escape from his escape.

“Yeah…for how long…? Sooner or later…window shopping is over.”

“Is that so? When, o seer of visions, o book friend and learned bullshitter…when does that happen…what would make me stop…? What would convince me to leave? Why would I stop suffering needlessly and join the ranks of those who embrace their own short comings?”

“The price. Obviously.” Answered the old man and vanished.

George lynch stepped into the restaurant to escape the cold, clammy air that hung around his goddamn existence…the bank was for feeling insecure, happy, insane, jubilant and ecstatic beyond anything ever felt by him…the bank was where wondrous things could happen…but the restaurant was where he would vent his spleen.

“Do you feel guilty?” asked the waitress as she handed him the menu, which he threw away at a customer at the adjacent table. It struck him on the head but had no effect…as always.

“Your existence is unimportant but I took full advantage of it,” answered George “however…I have confusion and helplessness today…I would break your neck and feel no remorse.” George shook a magic eight ball and looked at the prediction. “I don’t think so, you scrawny assed punk!”

“What do you want?” she snapped at George…there was a bruise on her soul shaped like a spot George has seen somewhere before…an ink smudge on a bank file…it had been on the counter.

“You can’t ask all the questions…my answers are not politically correct.” answered George sticking a pin into a rag doll he carried in his coat pocket. It had made an effort to interrupt, which it did during times of great mental instability…however this time George had been too quick for her and stabbed her.

“Are you trying to be noble?? I have had many suitors,” she said eyeing the doll with curiosity mingled with fear and intense disappointment.

“Hahaha I almost pity you…look…I’m hungry…it’s why I came here…but I don’t want food…do you follow me?”

“Sadly...” said the waitress and gazed pointedly at the crusty bits of congealed blood smeared on the handle of the butter knife that George used to remove his misery.

“It’s not mine damnit…I swear…it’s just…a souvenir…screw you, what do you care?” protested George…the sun was nearly at its zenith…but the time was unpredictable. Some might argue that it was noon…but she was nowhere to be seen.

“How long have you been doing this?” she asked shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“You are a waitress…and I wonder what you’re waiting for?”

The bank was just as sunny and beautiful as always, trees swayed in a light breeze…a scent in the air seemed to infect gaiety and leisure among the hardened souls of the damned…like a plague…some people smiled in spite of the fact that they were being messed-up and cruelly disfigured beyond recognition and human endurance…there were windows of opportunity but they were all booby trapped.

“Speaking of booby traps…how are you? You know you smell like chicken,” commented George as he passed over the stream of broken stuff that seemed entirely wholesome and complete at first glance (as do most things…) to the counter where the athletic redhead worked. He kept touching his head…moving his hand in and out of his hair…a nervous action…it calmed him down…but not really…it only just served to embarrass…like travelers and morning woods.

“I don’t need you at all…you have a quality about you…indefinite…but it seems like a total waste. You are immaterial.” She said without much consideration. George was unfazed and continued.

“You make frantic movements when you talk…never quite as still as I…it gives the impression of time passing by faster than it does for you…it’s endearing…but it has lost it’s charm…I’ve seen others do it. Like a rabbit…like a raving lunatic with so many ambitions that there’s just no time to lose…to occupy all…to ride on the crests of wind and rule…but I have seen others do it…it has lost it’s charm…I’m begging you…start a conversation which never ends…I don’t wish to leave. You will ignore the last sentence and notice only the insult.”

“And you are unique??” she asked with an air of disbelief and slight nausea.

“Hah not only do I enjoy wading through your aura but apart from that, I have jam in my coat pockets…jam apple…do you remember that?? I know you don’t…” said George with a convoluted expression that seemed to convey both intense suffering and indifference…convinced of his double-move victory/proof of defeat.

“The manager wants to have a word with you…” said the redhead as her head began to inflate. “he doesn’t look like himself…I think it’s an improvement…naturally…you with your heavy metal biased nonsense about contemporary ‘sell-out’ protagonists might think otherwise. He’s the nutter in the broom closet…but not anymore…he has the big office up on third.”

“I know full well who the sell-outs are and what they smell like too…odd to note how I never breathe right around you either.” said George then ran away before he could get walloped with a tuna fish or something.

Chuck lobsterman still sat typing away laughing madly, tears streaming down his face…he resembled anything you want him to…he resembled…me…you…the ones you hate…love…he had poison in his veins…he had lungs of coal and fire…he had eyes of yellow sadness…he had poison in his veins…he is a book friend and he brushes away invisible insects off of himself pretty much all the time that he spends alone…surrounded by people or not.

“Maybe you should decide whether you’re a caveman or a writer,” said George…he didn’t usually criticize people he was afraid of losing…he rarely contradicted people he thought could kick his ass…but sometimes his heart needed solace of the sort that only comes from telling the truth, that may not entirely be…the truth. Not to another…but perhaps to himself.

“You just described yourself and not me…I am you but a different aspect...probably better…are you jealous because I can feel something altogether different?”

“Am I a savage or just lost?” asked George trying to look at what chuck was typing and feeling politically incorrect and then noble for having felt the former.

“I seriously don’t care George…what makes you think I care?” muttered chuck as he resumed typing…a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth.

“Because I don’t remember what I’m doing here anymore.” Shouted George, frustration getting the better of him.

“Wasn’t that the whole point?? You came here for no reason and now you’re an addict…you will never get your fix…because yours is not for sale…mine has a price…and I am glad to pay it…so don’t advise me to choose when you have so much trouble sticking with your “decisions”. I have already chosen though you see it as a mistake…nevertheless…it is my preference…I don’t force you to accept it…just…I don’t have the time to feel pathetic.” said chuck over the clicking…gingerly removing the sheet, crumpling it up and tossing it at George’s face with as much force as he could bother to muster.

“But you don’t even have a central nervous system…you have no heart and no soul and you’re insane…and you don’t love anybody.”

“Promise me that you won’t tell my mother that we are all just figments of your imagination…hahahah…and don’t tell my father that she’s dead only because you started thinking about other things.”

“Not funny…something happened and I assumed it would be the defining moment of my life…turns out that I was mistaken…why should I be punished??”

“It was not??” chuck mocked him, “Are you sure?? How can you tell?? Have you seen how everything ends??? Because if you do then the king will probably have your head…and I don’t mean he wants you to suck him off. Soothsayers are very much in demand…what with the appearance of the jewel bugs and the overall crap rain that we’ve got going on around here. These are ominous times…we lust for information…everything is fast…everything is softer, sleeker and guaranteed to fade away in about fifteen seconds to be replaced by another.” said chuck, getting to his feet and stepping into a row boat.

“Why is it so hard to go boating alone? Why isn’t it just…right and enough…why is there no satisfaction?” asked George thoroughly depressed by how the day was progressing.

“If I ask you to join me…you would refuse…if I don’t…you would feel left out…I know only one thing…and I have a sheet of it in my pocket…let’s drop out.” said chuck…clapped his hands and motioned George to cut the line and hop in so they could set sail.
As their voyage began…George sat down and felt beneath the seat with what remained of childish curiosity…his hand touched something, he pulled it out and saw that it was a book entitled “Tim smoke.”

“Tim smoke?” he asked looking quizzically at chuck.

“There was once this man long ago or maybe not…we can’t really tell under the current situation…people grow old in seven days now…but back then time was slower and people fared better in games of a more…cardiovascular nature…hah…fared better because the requirements were not so much fiscal as of a…well…cardiovascular nature…nowadays hearts are for sale. So this man fell quite happily for a seemingly reluctant but equally happy individual whom I remember having oranges…really nice ones.”

“Is that a dirty euphemism?” asked George starting a finger painting project…spilling paint everywhere.

“Sooner than was expected, the man sort of spaced out and met a boy dressed like a girl, sitting next to a boy dressed like a boy…it was a play of sorts with a kind of vulgarity which follows the illiterate and those who lack subtlety…this was the second time he had met them except this time none of them was really a girl…and rather than on the stage performing…they were seated higher up in the elevated section of the auditorium. So he gave the boy some invaluable advice…of a cardiovascular nature…therefore, around the time of the war…when the king was dark and mutant midgets were at large…some of the nicer dwarfs helped the man save the boy’s life and somehow this book was found…Tim smoke…they say he never actually wrote it or if he did then he never meant it to be read…and if he did then he did not want it to be read either yet or by us.” said chuck as he dipped a mug into the water to fill it up and brought it up to his lips to sip.

“This isn’t water we are sailing on you know…” said a muffled voice from within George’s coat pocket…it was probably the rag doll trying to get cheeky but when George looked closely at what he had thought to be water, it turned out to be billions of jewel bugs…many shades of blue…like a large family of the same colour…swirling, bumping, mixing, flying, flowing, all over and under everything like waves in a sea. Crashing into the sides of the boat to make it rock and then receding, carrying the boat along.

“Am I paranoid or are we sailing on a large mass of insects?” asked George

“Hmmm…this is not altogether unbelievable,” answered chuck as he upturned his mug and hundreds of blue jewel bugs spilled inside the boat.

“Maybe we should file a formal complaint…these aren’t tolerable working conditions…bugs, bugs, everywhere…not a drop to drink” muttered George flicking the bugs back into the sea as they tried to climb up his sleeve whilst chuck caught one between his thumb and forefinger, lifted it up to his mouth and let it drop onto his tongue.

“Is that hygienic?”

“Hey…it’s better than needles. Try it…and pass me that oar…I think I spot land over there…that floating chest of drawers next to the palm trees…that’s our best chance of continuing this monstrous struggle.” Chuck used the oar to steer them closer to the palm trees as George dropped a turquoise jewel bug and made a face on his finger painting paper thing…

“Very nice…it’s a good likeness…grab that filing cabinet over there and we’ll stick it in just for the heck of It.” said chuck.

George looked around very slowly…it was suddenly harder to move…sound was heavier and light was shinier…there was a filing cabinet a hundred yards to his left…he thought for a bit about this strange mess…chuck was steering the boat in the opposite direction…but he did not know what to do.

“It would just be bad manners to point…” the muffled voice of the rag doll began. “Just plain bad manners.”

“Shut it…how many times must I tell you not to speak when I’m thinking…it’s very distracting…I swear I’ll stick another needle in.” said George…his breathing erratic…and the slowness of everything getting to his nerves…he felt as if his body might explode and let out a last scream.

“No please…sorry...conjecture is not often my priority but in times of suffering my inner voice and the one you hear are hard to tell apart…it’s supposed to be one of the gifts of slavery…that it can’t last forever.” squeaked the rag doll very much afraid of George’s desire to use the needle…so often nowadays…so often.

“Songs and sentences don’t bring freedom…bloodshed and misery do.”

“What about the blues?”

“That’s it…be quiet. You are talking nonsense at a time, which is both tense and slightly messed up…” ordered George. He placed one hand over his right eye and concentrated at the filing cabinet floating at his left…he extended his left arm, reached out and grabbed the cabinet which had been greatly diminished in mass and size by this neat little trick…he picked it up quite easily and placed it in the middle of the boat.

“Just stick the picture in…don’t look which drawer you’re putting it in…like a card trick…” chuck suggested…his excitement and dilated pupils not only visible but also enchanting. George closed his eyes…opened a drawer…stuck the picture in and closed it…upon opening his eyes he witnessed chuck kicking the filing cabinet back into the sea laughing once again like a mad man…it was weird how he kept alternating between maniacal laughter and grave conversation. It was almost as if he was on…etc etc.

“Hey…I think I saw something moving…in the water…I mean the bugs…thing…I saw something huge…it moved…” said George his heart racing…it had been something unusually large…large enough to make him fear for his life or the condition of the boat…of how he might’ve left the faucet turned on in the toilet…of dwarfs and rag doll liberation movements…the moon…the trunk of a car he never wished to be in again.

“Take it easy…it’s…just…unreasonable…you’re being unreasonable…there is no such thing as a rag doll liberation movement.”

“Did I say that out loud?? Are you sure?? Convince me woman!!! Convince me that I am still well thought-out and indispensable…exercise… have power over…oxymoron…slavery.”

“Are you talking to me?? I swear I can’t hear a word…the wind is too strong…don’t talk…it’s pointless!!!”

“RESISTANCE IS FUTILE…WE ARE DOOMED…”

“You don’t normally freak out…did you have breakfast??”

“I WISH…BUT IT’S NOT IMPORTANT…I FOUND ANOTHER, A NICER COLLECTION OF ODD WORDS AND SENTENCES…BUT ALL IS LOST!!! I HAVE FAILED!!!”

“It’s not too late…what is with your obsession anyway…? It’s just disgusting and frankly…very…unproductive and lame…get on with it…stop going to those infernal meetings…they are eating you alive…don’t you have any self respect??” said chuck with a note of disgust in his voice at which George became quiet…stared at chuck as though seeing him in a new light…as though finally understanding…getting the measure of the man…as though he had seen his dick and felt unimpressed and jubilant…(hahahaha)…he felt angry…insulted…vengeful and bitter. So he did what vengeful, bitter people do…he laughed.

“Hahahahahahaha…I didn’t want to say this…but you have driven me to it…so I will…talking about self respect and all…I skimmed through that book…Tim smoke…it’s perfectly legible…it is you who can’t read it…you put too much faith in self preservation, ego and winning…” “If you are too shallow…if you can’t understand the pain I feel…then it is not my problem…” “At moments like these I pity you…I pity you chuck…your unseeing eyes have deceived you your entire life…you have spent far too much time exploring your own goddamned self, fascinated by your narcissistic, shriveled view of life and stuff…my misery is a thousand times better than your happiness and insane laughter… ”

“Normally I wouldn’t interrupt or indeed contradict a speech of this sort…so…cunningly articulated…hahha…so heart felt and full of depth…but tell me what you remember of the book you just managed to ‘skim’ through…tell me where it is…repeat a single word you read therein…or think of it in your mind if you can, visualize…if you accomplish that…I will bow to you…if not…then you will stop boring the crap out of me with your verbal communication…or nonsensical babbling, as I like to call it…the book you just read that convinced you of your superiority…of how your way of spending time is better than mine…wallowing in whatsit…let’s see…”

At this George rose to his feet at once…as though he had been waiting for an invitation of just the sort to prove once and for all that he was right…to set chuck straight with a crushing blow that he could never ever hope to revive from…with a great victorious “HAH”…he looked down upon chuck, standing quite with poise, where a few moments ago the filing cabinet had been…steadying himself against the rocking boat he raised a hand like a leader who requests silence so as to convey his message to the vast, eager populous…he took a deep breath to facilitate him as he set out to melt chuck’s ears with a speech that would shame him into oblivion…
So…naturally, he turned green rather swiftly once he realized he could not remember a single thing…just an indistinct consciousness of having thought…or perhaps…to be…well he was at a loss…entirely. He blushed…then tried to focus…then felt like an asshole…then wondered where he was and what he was up to.

“Right…so sit down…I’m not saying I won…because I found that book once too and I thought I knew it off by heart…all I’m saying is stop being so…so cocky and anal…you’ll understand soon enough that you don’t and possibly if not probably, can’t know everything…why I sit on this end of the boat and you on the other…” said chuck…his eyebrows raised…as they did when he felt glorious…he checked his nails imperiously and let out a little pompous sigh. George…had only half heard what chuck had said…he had tried his best to pay attention because it seemed likely that drivel had a bit of sense shoved in there somewhere…but there was something on his mind he couldn’t ignore altogether. He hesitated…and then spoke in a soft voice.

“Should I apologize? Or will that large monster behind you, about to smack us out of existence, do?” asked George…not entirely sure if he should be pleased or worried…or both simultaneously. It was definitely huge…sort of sea green in colour with a vast granular surface…as if it had lived beneath the waves for eons uncounted and survived all ages whether cold, wet, warm or the eighties, everything that nature could throw against it…it’s massive body was not properly divided into sections that would seem logical but it was sort of obvious that the large hole was its mouth and the things on the sides were either fins or arms…if they were arms…then they ended in a hand-like oddity with only one finger…George understood that it was safe to bet that it was the middle finger…if they were fins…then they weren’t very finny…with a weird dick-like projection at the end. It had emerged from under the bugs and was about to make a mess out of things by doing what comes naturally to all things larger than should be allowed…smash around and cause trouble.

“Yes…yes I see…it is…it is definitely alarming…I see why you would freak out George…it…it looks like a…a Lob.” Chuck had turned around to view the great creature. “I think we have a bit of time before it smashes the shits out of us…shall we discuss it now or think of an escape plan?”

“It’s almost mesmerizing…do you think it’s a whale or something?? Is it significant??”

“Right…discussion it is…well…like I said…it looks like a Lob…that’s a lot of jewel bug turds squeezed together to make an enormous monstrous monstrosity thing which likes to wreak havoc…unless of course…we guess its name first.” answered chuck looking intently at his wristwatch, wondering if it was worth the bother to know the exact time of your demise.

“So it’s a pile of shit then? Wow…it looks prehistoric…like some strange breed of ancient blahooey that has survived an eternity of boredom and emerged triumphant from the depths of whatsit to celebrate its existence by taking away ours…I could’ve sworn it was old.”

“Well…it’s not…it’s just a Lob…a large mass of jewel bug shit…is there anything more you would like to add before it lands its fatal blow?”

“I don’t think it has eyes…what if it misses us?”

“You know a lot of people would miss us…if he doesn’t.”

“Why are you suddenly so cautious? You’re the one who decided it was reasonable to swallow a jewel bug…”

“Hey…don’t throw that in my face…it was only a blue one…those are worth it…as you can see…just the paranoia and the freaking out and the side effects are a bit prolonged…in fact I completely forgot that they have protection…I suppose the Lob wants vengeance…I say you should guess his name because we’re not reaching the palm tree island with him in the way…he’s about ready to crack us up anyway…”

“How the hell would I guess his name?? It could be any phonetic combination possible…what do I know about bug language anyway…what if it’s composed of a sound that I can’t produce with my human vocal chords?? We’re very much screwed in that scenario as in any…why not just wait…see what happens…”

“Fine…on your own head be it…though I’m sure my head is bound to get in the way…I’m lighting up…a last smoke to say farewell to all the cigarettes I was unable to attend to and satisfy…give my regards to Fred if you survive and find him…he’s probably responsible for most of this bilge.”

As the great beastly shit-creature emerged…the bug-level fell drastically and the boat was sucked towards the creature…it seemed at least half as tall as a twelve story building…or twice as large as a three story one…unless they had different sized stories since some stories are longer than others. Both men sat awaiting their doom…George staring at the monster, with a glazed look in his mesmerized eyes while chuck sat whittling an oar with his pocketknife and whistling an old tune.

“I rarely get to see something this big…I mean it’s just bloody immense…wow.”

“Size isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be you know…”

“People with small dicks tend to have that view…”

“Oh please…it’s like as if a python humped an anaconda which later gave birth to what is now my penis. I assure you…if I were to sodomize you right now…you would gladly get bopped on the head by Lob to escape the sheer dread of having to face your own puny bird…ever…again…thing. Mine is huge.”

“Not that I believe a word of that crock but I’d still rather have Lob than you humping me…I’ve never cared for you that way chuck…”

“Never?? No?? Are you sure?? I’m a relatively good looking person…in fact…sometimes…if the weather is just right and I’ve had a good nap…I look quite fetching.” said chuck as though trying to make George see reason.

“I’m sure…but it’s just…I’m not inclined that way…in any case what’s the big deal…you’re not…I mean I’ve seen your porn magazines…they all seem to have women…they weren’t she-males were they?? Good lord!!” pleaded George, losing his wits temporarily…but not nearly half as worried about dying in a boat surrounded by a billion bugs than about having to spend the last few seconds of his life in a boat with a raging homo.

“I’m not asking you to suck me off, you idiot…I’m just wondering…you can’t be all straight…everyone has tendencies…suppose we were in jail…wouldn’t you prefer me over…say…the midget from next to where your redhead works?”

“Well…I mean…it’s not really…I can’t say…I mean the midget IS rather disgusting…and abnormal looking…but honestly do I have to choose between two men?? If he indeed even…qualifies as a man in the first place…Look we’ll settle this another time…Lobby is about to let fall his scrotum-less self upon us.”

With a crash louder than thunder, Lob fell upon the mass of bugs atop which the boat were floating about…probably a lot of bugs got squished but surprisingly…the boat was missed entirely…in fact it didn’t even capsize…it just sped away at full speed in the opposite direction to the palm trees and stuff…for a few moments it was actually not even on the bugs, but flying. The sheer force with which Lob had struck had sent the boat soaring through mid-air…to wherever…the boat then landed on top of the bugs and after a bit of tossing around…everything was calm again.

“Wow…that was intense…chuck…seriously…that was surreal…bizarre…it was like being a psychologist, “treating” a beautiful nymphomaniac…”

“Please…it was good and all, but lets not compare it to sex with nymphets…”

“You’re just pissed off because of the whole queer issue you raised back there…I tell you…even if you were the most gorgeous man I ever saw…I wouldn’t want you…it’s not my thing.”

“The most gorgeous man you ever saw?? Really??” asked chuck, looking hopeful.

“You are not…I have never seen the most gorgeous man I ever saw…which is the whole point…could you let this go, it’s freaking me out…horse nuts!”

“In any case…we’re back,” said chuck getting out of the boat and sitting back in front of the typewriter on his desk. George got out of the boat as well, looking around himself, trying to remember which direction was more like the one they had opted to turn their backs on.

“Apparently…not that it matters…but then it might…one can never be sure…nevertheless…I’m supposed to see the manager.” announced George and waited to see how chuck reacted.

“What??” exclaimed chuck, looking up so fast, his neck might’ve fallen off. “Why are you supposed to see him? These are not the best of times…we’ve only just returned from a voyage of self discovery and near fatal disaster…surely you understand that nowadays even the simplest of activities require the will of a demigod…which by the way…you are not.”

“Yes well…frankly…neither do I understand your business nor do I understand much else…she told me that he wishes to see me…therefore I must go.”

“Must?? Must?? Really?? There is nothing you MUST do…however…if you feel like it…he has changed I should tell you…but what else would you expect from a hippy?? I mean someone whose sole purpose in life is to pretend…must oft change spots…like it or not…but they sell tie dye now…and it’s printed…not actually dyed…hence…it is easily concluded that he too works for the king…and for all I know…SHE…does too.”

“How informative…I’m off…I think you should come too…for guidance…just in case…I asked him for gold the other day…and it’s possible that he’s interested in my proposition.”

“You keep staring at the situation…the jewel bugs…and yet you have the audacity to expect gold from a man who nearly got us killed?”

“Again…I must express my ineptitude at being able to comprehend a single word that you have uttered…no wait…that’s not completely true because, individually, each word is coherent but the way you stick them all together in what you must consider to be sentences…is totally beyond my level of understanding…stop talking gibberish and say what you want to…for once…just tell me what the hell is going on…if indeed anything is going on…or if we are completely madcap…so on and so forth.”

“Nah…I haven’t got the time…ok then…let’s go meet the damn dirty monkey who thinks he can control us all with an iron fist just because he wears brighter colours than normally acceptable…”

“I’ve never got that tyrannical vibe from him…he seems…harmless…maybe even a bungler…a nice guy type.”

“Appearances can be deceiving…for instance under this mortal exterior of chuck lobsterman…I am a Greek tragedy waiting to happen!” muttered chuck as he wore his overcoat and started rummaging in the desk drawers for guns and ammunition of the cheap yet effective nature.

“Very funny…let’s just go…in the words of the great white rabbit…even though he didn’t know squat…“I’m late.”

The managers office had been shifted to the third floor…which did not really matter since all floors were always hard to give attention to once savage, malformed, carnivorous vines started shackling ankles and biting at shoe laces in an effort to trip, strangle, digest (using corrosive chemicals secreted from within tiny nodules covering their surface) and finally consuming the semi-digested victims. It was like animal planet had unprotected mating rituals with triangles from another galaxy with hidden agendas that included world domination and control over all oil producing lands.

“It’s annoying to say the least…but as the wise men whisper in huddled corners before making out by way of violent passion, “verities grotesques menorahs labium.” said George trying to squish the “head” of a particularly grouchy vine. It crunched and released a juice that smelt remarkably of rhinoceros semen and blood.

“I agree with that…whole heartedly…here…I want you to keep this,” whispered chuck, offering George a primordial six-shooter with lead ball bullet things. Kind of like those guns that pirates used…well, actually everybody in those days used that sort of gun…not just the pirates…heck even my mother had one. “Hide it in your underpants…it’ll impress the ladies…it’s not absolutely necessary but I always try to make a fuss whenever I can…besides…sometimes it’s hard to communicate with these damn dirty hippy nazis.” muttered chuck with a nasty scowl playing hockey across his face.

“Hippy Nazis? I have this toothache that’s seriously killing me…I think jewel bugs absorb calcium…although I suppose that’s not ALL they absorb…try not to spit on anyone…you might poke an eye out if you’ve got loose teeth.” said George, rubbing his sore jaw, “I feel like I gave a dinosaur, oral pleasure.”

“GOAL!!” shouted the scowl and forced George to slap chuck across the face as they arrived outside the manager’s office. It had a large door with a gold plate that had the word “manure” written on it…the essence of intimidation was entirely lost but the wood seemed to be of good quality. The sort that many teenage boys get at night when lying on their stomachs. Nobody really opened the door…there was no need.

“Listen George…I’ve been reviewing your bollocks from afar…” said the manager, by now clean-shaven with a fancy haircut, dressed in a crispy gray suit with a horrendous necktie that gave the impression of him being a dickhead. He stopped for a second to notice how both George and chuck were gazing dumbstruck at stuff hanging on his walls…it’s hard to say whether or not he could even see chuck…but it would ruin half the twists and turns within this ball whacking narrative to be plain and comprehensible. “I see you noticed my flashy-pink, glam-rock electric guitar rather uncaringly and these KISS posters I have put up on my walls…affront you profoundly…yes…I understand how you must feel now…betrayed perhaps…possibly even hurt…nauseous? “But the fact remains that the present situation is nearly catastrophic and we must all try our level best to do what we can, for the greater good…e.g.… worship the king and hope that he keeps supplying us with enough gold to keep things running…you have nothing whatsoever to do with all this…except that you sort of have something that his highness desires.”

“You smell of gasoline and tramp panties…you cock-sucking, nihilistic, word-molester…your mother will die weeping, ashamed of letting such a decadent sperm cross the threshold of her womb and fertilize her ill-fated egg…furthermore…your father was a necrophilic gang-banger!! We know what’s going on…we know exactly what’s going on…KISS SUCKS SWEDISH CORN-HOLES!!!!!” shouted chuck in an upsurge of misdirected passion, leapt to his feet and tore his shirt, like superman does, except that he didn’t entirely remove it…so it just hung there beneath his overcoat with all the buttons broken…his scrawny, emaciated chest visible to the perverted woman who always had a telescope trained in the direction of this particular window from another building across the street. He pulled out a gun from within his overcoat and flung it at the manager’s head…it struck him squarely between the eyes and broke his nose…as the manager instinctively raised his hands, chuck dived over the desk that separated them and tackled the manager to the floor, lying on top of him, lightly slapping him across his cheeks as he squealed like a piggy…somewhat stuck in his cushy armchair. “Say uncle, you unclean, androgynous mutant…SAY UNCLE!!!”

“UNCLE…UNCLE…I SWEAR…UNCLE…” screamed the manager as a mixture of blood and spit stained the front of his shirt and made a relatively alarming puddle on the floor.

“Right…well…ok…I think we’re done here George…can we go now?” asked chuck, getting off of the manager and brushing bits of him from his coat.

“To be honest…I really don’t know what’s going on…I think the shit has really hit the fan this time though.” said George pointing at the ceiling fan that was dripping brown sludge, which flew all around the room, splattering various objects of little concern or self-awareness.

“It doesn’t matter…I think we all know how this leopard has changed his spots…to think we trusted him with our children and pets…honestly…there’s a limit to the level of bullshit a man can tolerate.” said chuck putting his sunglasses on and trying to look at his reflection in a spoon…which started to bend and curve in unusual angles. He felt distracted by all the rabbits flying outside the window, their ears flapping and hefty genitalia hanging floppily underneath…some of the scrotum actually being too heavy to remain suspended actually just tore apart and fell down. “Hmmm…on second thoughts…maybe I should sit down…and you have a chat with him…I think I have to deal with some paranormal…er…thingy.”

“Quite right…I was about to make that same observation about myself when I saw a large eye staring at us from beyond…but I think at this time…your need is greater than mine…” spoke George gently to chuck and patted him on the back before addressing the moaning manager, “come now you disgraceful, ex-hippy toad…forget about this ruckus and speak more openly…not that I have patience…nor am I on the edge of my seat, biting my nails over your capitalistic concerns…but what exactly do you mean by something I have that the king wants?”

They waited for the manager to regain composure…he made quite a show of it, moaning, weeping, slobbering, wiping his face with a tiny bit of tissue paper, which just stuck to his bloody face in bits of congealed grossness…

“Allow me,” said chuck in a gentlemanly manner and offered the manager a relatively soiled bra of what used to be a whitish hue…it was nevertheless frilly and served well as a facial wiping device. The bloody mess that had been his face was now more or less clean except for bits of white goo that had now appeared over various regions of his face.

“Inspiring.” said George to chuck with a look of deep admiration. Chuck returned the compliment with a slight bow and a modest expression portraying humility, nobility of soul and character. The manager just stared at them both for an instant before addressing George for the second time.

“Yeah…so ok…I mean it’s all cool and stuff to not be materialistic and blah…but the thing is…it’s fun…having money is fun…I swear upon the leaves of holly and juniper bushes that once grew even in Siberia that money can buy happiness.”

“Said the man with my children on his face.” whispered chuck to George who doubled over laughing.

“No I swear to you…I’ve spent most of my time with that busted up acoustic singing songs and not caring about anything…but it has to be done…what separated us from the animals if we don’t waste away our lives trying to impress other people? It’s the only way to get bitches that shave their legs and have fake but aesthetically pleasing boobies. Large cars and fat wallets is what gets the pretty girls running marathons for your willies…I’ve seen the light and it was green…so quit being you…quit all this living freely with nothing to worry about except how you’re going to get what you want and just go buy it.”

“Point of information madam…only animals try to impress the ladies by head butting and showing off flashy feathers and crap…which is what you replace with big cars and other stuff…you’re the animal…and from what I remember of your mother…you’re only barely qualified to be in that family.”

“I can’t deny that your argument, although utterly inane is somewhat effective against the ill informed tripe I just fed you guys…but the thing is…well there really is no…thing…I’ve just changed sides…and to be frank…there really aren’t any sides…you’re just messed up, paranoid freaks…for the love of Harry’s nuts…you work in a bloody bank…this is a bank…you have to work…work is what we do in banks…numbers, money, gold, treasure, timers that operate vaults full of precious items…secrets…jealousies…monstrous lack of vision and uptight anal masquerades…inflation…deflation…we control…everything…” said the bank manager with a wild gleam in his eyes…the lights in the room had dimmed in response to the effect of evil we wished to induce in whatever mindless drivel he was conveying…a flicker of insanity…logic and disgrace…the smell of cologne used in excess…with both his hands planted firmly on the desk…the manager bent low to enjoy the effect. His teeth glistening and breath smelling of the rat poison that competition stimulates among all of us. Suddenly…we had an agenda.

“I have all the inflation, deflation, treasure, jealousy, secrets, and lack of vision I’ll ever need hanging between my legs…” answered George in a voice of exemplary calm and ease. Suddenly…we had lost our children and all future generations of ill advised sexual activity to sheer nonsense and ambiguity.

Chuck stood up, teary eyed and looking remarkably proud of the man seated to his right… “Well said…” he choked in attempt to not start bawling and lose his manly stature in the eyes of the perverted woman in the building across the street and started clapping in an overly melodramatic fashion.

“But…but…for heaven’s sake…be reasonable…gentleman…what is wrong with you people…you are merely servants…you are paid for your service…what is this nonsense…” spluttered the manager in an effort to inject some reason into this lot.

“I think he’s been stuck here far too long,” said George to chuck “I think we should take him for a bit of a spin.”

“Spoken like a true tragedy my young friend…a justly accurate and depressing, star crossed, HIV infected tragedy…let’s drop out.” replied chuck.

Beneath the shade of a large white tree, with their backs to the trunk, sat George Lynch, Chuck Lobsterman and the bank manager…now dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts (no underwear). They were passing around a lesser known and not readily accepted wooden instrument that looked and worked just like a Native American peace pipe. The red leaves kept falling at brief and what some people assumed to be entirely ungoverned intervals of time. The fine soft grassy ground beneath them and an opalescent sky above bore an uncanny resemblance to the mudguards on the bikes of angels. Songbirds twittered and raped one another with guiltless frequency upon the branches of the majestic unknown. Lesser mortals wondered what was going on in the homes of their equals…those not so tainted with the desire for this brand of mundane information were occupied with what might be going on in Galileo’s head right now…was he sad? Satisfied? Jubilant or just plain worried about what was going on in the homes of his equals. A musical river flowed by to the left of the trio…carrying baskets of something hard to make out but obviously squirming (later determined to be babies without eyelids with swarms of mosquitoes hovering overhead, feasting upon their unprotected eyeballs). The bank rarely had weather this beautiful. Outside, in George’s opinion, people must be suffering from a mass breakout of skin cancer and gout. This had no basis in fact or prior knowledge but was a conclusion made using neither the inductive or the deductive method of reasoning…rather it was just a casual thought that stepped inside his mind and enjoyed the view therein.

“Slide inside…my…mind.
And if you find, anything inside
Worth my time…
Let it rain.”
Sang George, feeling particularly sanguine, blowing rings of smoke through the canopy of red that occupied all and everything sometimes…but every now and then he would imagine a light, shining white…break through the gloom and wash over his face…and he missed someone beyond all others…beyond reason and existence…beyond the need to move, breathe, feel or worship. “I feel oddly romantic.” he said, as a tear was born but was denied freedom.

“Me too…” sighed the manager.

“I don’t…I AM horny though…but only slightly…” said chuck as indifferently as ever…shifting his weight on one butt cheek to scratch the other.

“So what drove you to a haircut and a clean shave?” asked George, passing the pipe over to the manager, who took a long drag, puffed out a sizeable cloud of smoke…coughed…and fell into a silence that suggested thoughtful consideration about what to say.
“Hmmm…I suppose…I lost my muse and let the overbearing sadness consume me in a way that stole away my only bliss…”

“No more songs?” asked George.

“No more songs.” confirmed the manager. “I just…I feel embarrassed…slightly…disgusted…wasted…not in the sense which is applicable now and under most other circumstances but in the sense of being…you-know-what…I felt utterly lonely and pathetic…like I had committed genocide…there was no escaping that…you know…I don’t know what to do anymore.” he said passing the pipe on to chuck and pressing his hands over his eyes whilst turning his neck up towards the sky.

“I’ve always wondered whether mosquitoes can spread Aids or not…I mean…what if they suck on a patient and then suck on a non-patient…isn’t that like using infected needles???” Chuck thought aloud brushing away an invisible pest.

“I’ve often speculated that we are all just the same…you know…one person…all of us…or just the mad, disorientated gibberish of a singular lunatic mind. Self projections of a retarded force.” said George.

“Please…give that unoriginal hypothesis a rest…you’re not unfolding the plot of eons with a lame proposition of that sort.” said chuck, sounding insulted. “…We are as different as the sun and the moon and all the balls in between…or at least I am as unlike you two as is possible…I am logical, reasonable and a self respecting individual with all human goodness without your masochistic need to make myself suffer needlessly over things that have no permanence. I know and accept my mortality without shame.”

“You are a writer…when you’re not a beast…a writer wouldn’t write if he did not wish for immortality.” George pointed out.

“That just goes to show how little you know of writers…first of all…I’m only just a book friend…secondly…what have I written?”

“Good point…this…is going well…the peace pipe…where have we got to so far…any progress?” asked George as chuck handed him the pipe.

“This creepy guy was just telling us his sordid tale about how some wench made an incision on his balls and left him with his nuts hanging out…exposed to the bitter cold of reality.” muttered George

“A crude summary…but accurate nonetheless…” said George appreciatively.

“Guys…I’m really sorry about the whole mess…it was a mistake…I just let it get out of hand…but…it’s hard to explain…it’s this…well…sometimes people say things that make you want to escape yourself…entirely…” said the manager.

“No you misunderstand you poor little mango…we stopped caring about your account halfway through…and now…it is your turn.” said chuck, reaching over and dipping his hand into the river. When he brought it out, he had three blue jewel bugs clutched tightly in his fist.

“What about Lob?” asked George, taking a sapphire jewel bug from chuck. The manager got a navy one and chuck kept an indigo jewel bug for himself.

“None of that…there’ll be none of that mad talk around here…” stammered Chuck, his body convulsing involuntarily, but with unmistakable passion he spoke more or less coherently, “this is important goddamnit…this is akin to any great accomplishment of the ancients…comparable to any goodly Greek tale about Trojan horses…sirens…and a house full of horny bastards with only one woman and their collective mentality equaling that of a teaspoon. This man needs us…” he gestured violently towards the bank manager, “more so than anyone ever has…is it not something you would risk life and limb for?? When it can be argued that we’re all just somewhere else entirely?? It’s a risk we have to take…to serve…to liberate this unhappy soul, who has gone so far astray that he feels life is nothing without a…muse.”

“How musing…hahah,” said George, feeling fine…a tickling sensation in his throat…but otherwise…feeling fine, “we were discussing…how…”

“Nowhere to be seen…” interrupted the manager, “nowhere…I envy your cold callous heart chuck…I wish I had your deliberation…however, I’m sure this personage of ill repute wishes to make our acquaintance.” stuttered the manager only barely managing to point towards an old man dressed in rags, leaning on a staff nearly as tall as him. He was fairly wild looking and had an aura of deceit, fraud, flatulence and an intensive need for aromatherapy about him. His teeth were nearly black, his shoes of a well known and relatively comfortable brand, his hair as long as you wish…his hands bony and seemingly able to grip anything like a vice…a fact he was showing off by crunching walnuts in his fist.

“Salutations gentlemen…I come in peace…” spoke the stranger with his right hand raised. This action parted the rags covering his body in such a way that a heavily scarred body was visible underneath, composed of a dark poisonous gas and primordial hoarfrost.

“Technically speaking…I did that on his face once,” said chuck thumping the manager on his back, “but only indirectly…we don’t trust you old man…you could be a mirage or an unconscious desire to punish ourselves…we have done nothing…try to have a seat and I swear upon your mother’s grave…if indeed scum like you could have such a thing as a mother…that I will pull your limbs out one by one and force you to feed them to orphaned children. Who will then shit you out and then we will burn the excrement.”

“I have brought with me…a goat.” continued the man as though he had not heard anything chuck had said.

“Does anybody else in here…feel the way I do?” sang the manager.

“Ugly children get in trouble because their parents could care less…they let them go off with strangers hoping never to see them again.” whispered chuck.

“My toothache is killing me…it’s agonizing…but I know nobody would help…it’s nobody’s problem except mine…but I want it to be.” George thought aloud.

The large white tree was now bent and gray, the strange old man surrounded them all in a whirlwind of broken aspirations, failed dreams and strikingly cold testimonials from a not so distant past. Every word…each syllable ringing loud and clear…the venom therein overflowing and devouring all possible avenues of escape…the red canopy had been replaced…there was no rhyme to set this right…there was no interlude of light…no season could ever metamorphose this sad design and result in the same old familiarity that they now sorely missed. All was lost…all was left out of order and miserable.

“I was easily forgotten.” said the manager in a hollow voice.

“I was just a joke.” said George and dropped down into an abyss from whence it is hard to imagine flight and safety.

“I lost…” said chuck and fell asleep.

The sound of waves crashing on the shore and the incessant squawking of sea gulls brought them all to their senses…neither one knew how long they had slept if indeed they had slept. The old man sat carving little animals on his staff, the goat was gone but the bones remained…he seemed oddly faint…as though he had faded much during the passage of time. George got up with much difficulty, his jaw as sore as ever and went off to collect all the articles of clothing that they had all somehow lost…George’s shoes were lying over next to the bank of the river. Chuck’s pants were hanging from the branches of three while he sat in his underwear unable to recall how that had happened. The manager was wearing nothing but a daring frock of red leaves.

“‘Tis a pity that you all wasted so much of our time bellowing and screeching like banshees, struggling on the ground screaming otherworldly names and trying to escape some unseen and unknown fate. You missed a good feast…well whatever…the bones are left and that was the whole point…get you all up and go fetch me a bone from that pile over there where I roasted the goat…look for a triangular bone…a bit bigger than half the size of your fist…with a nub thing at the bottom…I will tell you your troubles for half a piece of silver…or answer you queries for a crawling bit of jade.” said the old man without turning his head up to look at them.
George looked at Chuck, who shrugged as if to say, “whatever.” The three of them went up to the pile of bones and selected one each, bringing them back to the old man. Chuck seemed double minded as to whether he should set the bone at the old man’s feet or just smash it on his head and kill him. It was a hard choice and nearly ended in disaster…but George and the manager were able to subdue him just in time. The old man studied the bones with care…touching them in what would be considered a professional and almost nauseatingly perverted manner. His ‘excitement’ was visible…I mean that. Once done with the bones…which took a while…he walked up to them all in turn and gazed into their eyes more or less lovingly…which nearly made chuck bite his nose…though he satisfied himself by just growling obscenely. Satisfied, the old man then decided to give an answer.

“Right so here’s the thing…the answers are “no” for you two…but “yes” to this psycho.” said the old man. Chuck, being the ‘psycho.’ George and the manager looked crestfallen…but chuck just stood there staring at the old man with a look highly uncharacteristic of him…it represented disbelief and relief of the sort you feel when you avoid disaster the likes of war, plague or being influenced by the eighties…hairstyles, clothes, music, thinking, everything.

“Ok…now if you will just pay me…I’ll be off.” said the old man.

“We’ve only got blue jewel bugs.” Said George looking apprehensive but trying to put on his most charming smile…or what he thought was his most charming smile.

“I will only except jade…but…since I am reasonable…double the price if you wish to pay in cerulean.”

“I seriously don’t think any of us knows which one that is.”

“Listen you son of a bitch. You WILL pay me…it’s not a question of morals or justice…so listen carefully…there is a marsh somewhere…either here or there…or maybe upwards…no…it’s unquestionably there…” said the old man without pointing in any direction whatsoever, “go there and bring me three jade jewel bugs…or die trying…I have answered your questions and kept my part of the deal…now so must you…so go…or suffer my displeasure…I will find you once you have accomplished this obligation…but for now…I have an urgent meeting with the director of loans and services…” “But you…” he spoke to George, “I give you this advice free of price…for the cost will be great regardless of your choice…” “Mark my words for when you wage war with yourself…she is beautiful…as equally cruel…you will feel lost if you win…and like a winner if you lose…the decision is yours alone …but perhaps the scales can be tipped…if you keep in mind the price.” the old man turned his back to the trio and disappeared leaving behind a sense of dread and cold despair, like a notice of overdue bills and a last warning before unavoidable condemnation and eviction.

“Who the hell is that guy anyway?” asked George shivering.

“Probably just another reason why we loathe capitalism, communism, imperialism, feudalism, corpus gluteus…and nearly every other type of ‘-ism’ and ‘-ship’ that lazy generations of assholes, willing to follow the inane gibberish of a lonely wanker, come up with.” muttered chuck, making his way back to the charred spot where the white tree had been standing for so long. “There are always repercussions…sometimes you’re lucky and get to face Lob and his simple ways…other times…not so much…so you roll with the punches…and hope for the best. I prefer when nature strikes back rather than bureaucracy.”

“This is relatively absurd…you are aware of that aren’t you…? I’m not the only one who feels this way am I?”

“Is there anybody else in here…who feels the way I do.” sang the manager.

“Why are you so rigid with that sort of thing? We’re inside a bank…the possibilities are limitless.”

“And to think…that I once thought!” murmured George, “What did you get a “yes” on…? What question did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Don’t you have something to do?? You’ve been spending far too much time inside…go back to the counter up front, where you used to hang around so much…and stop bothering us honest hardworking people.” spat chuck.

“Gentleman…I’m still on the bug…there are things here…indescribable…horrors beyond your wildest dreams…politicians who actually believe that they are telling the truth…it’s insane…we must escape.” The manager was swaying around moving in circles with his eyes unfocused and wide. “I see…I see the downfall of man…but man does not know it yet. Oh my God!!” he screamed.

“Is it Courtney love?? Yoko Ono?? Mothers in general??? Penis envy??? Snap out of it man!! We know about it all.” shouted chuck, grabbing the manager by the collar of his shirt and trying to shake some sense into him. “This is the sort of blabbering you were annoying me with on the boat, George.”

“Where shall we go? From where I stand…anywhere but ‘here’ is ‘there’, if you follow my logic.” said George, licking the front of his thumb and then raising his hand in the air, as if to sense the direction of the wind, which was pretty obvious what with the blowing leaves and a large weather vane five yards to his right, designed like a humungous red cock which bore the legend, “give it up…you can’t compete…your precious tool is obsolete.”

“Ohh I believe…in yesterday…” sang the manager.

“Well why don’t you go back to yesterday then?? Why are you hanging around here bothering the rest of us with your constant whining? If your past was such a marvelous bit of smut then why don’t you go back and rub up against it forever?”

“You just don’t like my singing voice…I promise next time I’ll bring my friends and then we’ll see who has more.” drooled the manager, completely out of it and nearly stepping on his own chin.

“Do you realize that the whole concept of this is just as saddening as it is maddening and cruelly funny?” remarked George, as the trio made its way towards their current goal. “If our exploits were to be documented…surely someone would see what happened?? Perhaps a birds eye view would convince them of…” George cut his sentence short and dropped his head in silence.

“Does it really matter George?? It is too late…it was too late the moment we stepped in…”

“But people do quit…don’t they? They quit…I have seen bandwagons being abandoned even in around these parts…I promise you chuck…they quit.”

“For heaven’s sake George…why can’t you see that we HAVE…we already have.”

“I can’t go on like this…”

“Yes well…it’s not your choice anymore…you heard what the old man said…the answer to your question is no.”

“How do you know what my question was?”

“Given all that we have seen, understood, misunderstood, destroyed and found hope in…given all the special circumstances under which everyone travels their own insufferable road…if you consider with rationality…there is only just one question that any entity, aware of itself and its surrounding would ever ask if it didn’t already know the answer.” “Will I be happy?”

“I thought it was a rather silly question to be honest…but putting it that way makes me feel a bit better about myself…but then again…the answer did put me off for a second.”

“Did you believe what he said then?”

“Hah…the answer to your ‘query’…is “no”, and if everyone alive or dead shared the old man’s view of things…I would just say “no” to their “no”, if that makes any sense to you.” “Relatively pessimistic I may be…but I am also quite insane.”

“Of course…and there you have it…there are no answers to that sort of thing…not for those who don’t actually need them…I had lost hope…I needed a “yes”…all you needed was a reminder. You are a forgetful yet stubborn little slut…your only requirement is a good thrashing to get you on your feet again…I call for gentler persuasion…although outwardly I am more a caveman than a writer, more so than you shall ever be…but keeping this gay shit aside…I can still kick your ass. In a moment, however…neither of us will remember ever having had this lame conversation…nor recall any sense that we might have made. Instead we will focus on a more troubling and tangible dilemma…”

“We’ll see about that…you said you had a sheet in your pocket, back when we were in the boat…so…to quote you, on innumerable instances…let’s drop out!”

The marsh was a dark, off-putting sort of place. A swamp consisting of more dark green than is commonly seen. Through a bunch of daunting, scary-assed trees spread as far as either of them could care to ponder over…they came upon it quite suddenly. Talking, muttering and in some cases singing, through the misty gloom, there was complete silence when the outsized pool of dark water came into view. The job was to be done quickly, swiftly, efficiently and then forgotten just as well. The impression, however, might not be erased…not entirely anyway…for it was quite a troubling and tangible dilemma.
In the middle of the pond…upon a bit of land, there was a very great beech tree with vines hanging down from it like long lazy snakes…looking just as ominous as the occasion called for…the darkness of the whole mess was complimented by an outlandish scent that infested any nostrils and forced them into submission after a heart rending struggle…the end result being total annihilation of sanity…as always in the course of this sorry narration. But it was a subtle change, no matter how difficult a concept that may be to grasp; it was not a crude transformation…the levels of whatsit in the brain that constantly remind you of ‘where’, ‘when’, ‘why’, ‘who’ and ‘don’t touch yourself in public’, are not easily fooled by nature’s engaging melodies…but this one was the sweetest of them all…this one was the oldest…the most profound vision of perfection any man…and only ever just a man…could possibly conceive of. And though greatness calls for our attention relentlessly…we just have to take a moment or a series of moments, which may last a lifetime and notice how we don’t really care…how this, the present, is just right and we can cry about everything else later on…spend years and years regretting our reckless decision…but at the moment…it is fine, it’s all good. A marshy wasteland is hardly a place to find that sort of visual delights but then again…it’s hard to say where or when, what might happen when you’re as pumped up on…

So, this really gorgeous bird sat beneath the tree, pursuing a career in art…i.e. painting a picture. Her hair was long and of a hue that would drive a man to lunacy if he were senseless enough to try and categorize it…nevertheless her hair was like the vines of the beech tree and just as scary…not in the deflating sense…but in the highly intimidating sense…but then again, more or less everything about her…from her hair…her features…her hands and fingers…the colour of her eyes as well as their size and the striking effect they had on mortal sight, her smell…the way she moved when she was not moving, the way she stood still and made to seem anything that defied her decision, uncouth and vulgar…including the rotation/revolution of the planet, sun and stars…her absolutely mind numbingly, electrifying…dazzling set of teeth…her lips (wow)…the song she sang and the words she articulated…and the scanty little number she was wearing, (a hitherto unknown variety of sea green) if indeed it qualified as being worn rather than just…sort of covering the essentials…just barely…either way it was classily done…and no law on earth or heaven (for that glorious unseen world would indeed be her usual place of residence), could ever accuse her of any crime…she was daunting…entirely unapproachable…but what infidel son of a sea-mule would gaze at a creature of this enigmatic immensity and not work up the balls to say something? What imbecile would not fluff up his plumage to show off whatever, the powers that be, had hastily slapped on upon his being for just such an occasion…if it ever took place? What blessed beings of light would not later on live to wish that providence had been kind enough to let their miserable lives by-pass this confrontation and just get on with it? This is where the faith of men is tested…even the most principal unbeliever would stamp out his ego beneath his shoe until it stopped twitching and go on to compose such memorable lines as,

“Baby, whatchoo up to this fine evenin’ all alone in the middle of nowhere with a fine ass like that?”

She was perfect, flawless…completely…insanely…to look at her was to be caught in a spell so strong that no earthly desire could contaminate it except of course, the desire to hump the living daylights out of her…or at least make-out with her till her jaw dropped. She was immaculate…sitting there beneath that fortunate, privileged beech tree, surrounded by a load of water…more green than the colour originally decided to be called green by men of learning…before our time. Water that was perhaps blessed, every now and then by her actual, physical, presence…Perhaps a bit of bathing…early in the morning…without that wonderful scanty little dress thing…in the cold…if you understand the significance of that fact…I’m creaming my pants here…she was just so goddamn delicate at first glance…and so powerful the next instant…the subtlety of her being…good God…she was implausible, improbable, incredible and yet so very, very real. Words fail and rhymes weaken, crumble, and fall to dust…she was rather tall too…but not too tall…tall enough…tall enough indeed…and very well proportioned…not that we judge…but yes we do…we shallow beasts and birds of prey, pray for a day and more with her. Of breathing the same merry air…that touched upon her treacherous hair. Her eyes were beacons of hope for all…next to her…no man was tall…ball…fall…wow. Apart from all that nonsense, she was wearing golden slippers…but anyone that hot can be excused a simple error of judgment so inconsequential in nature…perhaps her shoe-size only had slippers in gold…maybe they had been a gift…it is not unlikely that someone like her didn’t get a lot gifts…and she…being the sweet soul that she was…decided to put them on so that the dude who presented them to her wouldn’t feel entirely gay…not that she would slip him her cherry…she was all classy I tell you…in any case…the gold didn’t go too badly with the sort of green that surrounded her…so it’s all good. Plus there’s always the possibility that they were cursed slippers…planted by a venomous toad of a witch…or an evil king who envied her beauty and had therefore chained her to this bit of marshy lameness by holding her captive with these magical slippers…so on and so forth…the possibilities are limitless…the desire to describe her in more detail is growing stronger…but this story was never much of a porno…close…but not really in that field of literature. Like the passion of rain clouds and the essence of thunder…like the flash of lightening which could tear hearts asunder…Her eyes were steely gray.

It was her gentle song that lured them towards her…like a siren’s bewitching anthem…only less derivative of gospel music…and more, sort of, beyond words. Like drugged sleepwalkers they traipsed along the path that led to her. It seemed familiar…George felt as if he had come here before…this odd fluorescent path…these woods…the smell…he had been here before but had had more of a chance…had been better prepared…an anchor was missing…that single something that kept his head in place…it was absent…his heart was empty and willingly following a tune which sang for what he yearned the most…but these lingering thoughts were soon enveloped by the eruption of a scene so wonderful that his mind nearly exploded. The lady of the marsh sat singing beneath a beech tree in the middle of the pond, painting a picture. She paid no attention to their sudden intrusion upon her private glade and continued with her art as usual. They never paid any attention to anything ever…so this sudden jerk and stretch applied to their usually wavering attentions was a relatively new experience…as though a meat hook attached to a lengthy bit of rope had swiftly jammed itself in place within their brains and the rope then tautened in such a way, so as to pull their collective minds in her direction and her direction alone. The inability to think anything else, other than what this lady was doing here and what their chances were with her was not altogether a fresh skill…this sort of thing had happened on and off since grade school…but the intensity…and clarity of vision and purpose…was definitely a new low as far as smut levels in the mind of the human male are expected to reach. “My will is good,” has always been and always will be the credo of perverts in denial. That…and, “I swear I didn’t know it would kill her!!!”
Only when chuck performed the unthinkable and composed the aforementioned sentence, did she turn her back to the painting and consider her uninvited guests.

“Excuse me…?” she asked, her eyebrows raised in the most charming way imaginable…”unless your name starts with a K and means “ball.” You have no business being here.” A smile flickered across her face as she took in their astounded drooling expressions…her gaze passing swiftly over each but lingering a bit longer on George…who nearly had a stroke. “I see your heart is empty this time...” she spoke to George…who quickly turned his head to see if there was someone standing behind him…then pointing at himself, asked,

“Me…?” George was aware of a peculiar sensation. “I have been here before…I have felt this…but I do not remember…” he thought…the voice inside his had…loud and clear…yet not entirely…his senses were completely askew…time and space were playing football with zebus and sunshine…chocolate hangovers were tormenting the soul of a vagabond juvenile. He felt like a cross dresser…stuck in a quagmire of nazi hooligans…power lifting some very heavy objects. They were round. “dear…lady…I…” he stammered…clearly at a loss. His mind a jamboree of weird peaks and troughs…what the hell was going on? He fell silent…taking advantage of which, chuck…looking lost and hopeful…made another gallant attempt at polite conversation.

“Girl…I wanna romp around in your soft things.”

“He is ugly…dear lady…talk to me instead…I swear…I have candy!” said the manager nearly in hysterics and yet very stationary.

“I will kick your punk ass till you die bitch.” Chuck said to the manager…in a threatening whisper, but never taking his eyes off the girl…woman…thing.

“Gentleman please…this is key…we must come together to…” but she was interrupted by a sudden outburst of song and music.

“The lady marsh sits painting hope
How I wish, to secretly grope
Here eyes are gray like cold hard steel
Does anybody else know how I feel?” The manager sang…plunking on a nylon stringed traveling guitar.

“Shut up you bastard…the lady speakethses about coming…together…it is key,” said chuck, curtly but with no result, “SHUT UP OR I SHALL END YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!!!” bellowed chuck swinging a handful of mud at the manager…it hit him in the face and he spluttered into silence.
George however seemed entirely unconcerned…an unusual war waged inside his head…he could not understand which he wanted more…but what other option did he have…what was he doing? What was he thinking about?

“Listen to me George,” she spoke softly…it seemed as though her voice could only be heard by him…the other two were arguing verbally but a ‘no holds barred’ ass kicking was imminent. “You have come here before…as have countless before you…but none have ever managed to walk away…it is a gift and a curse…for none have ever regretted reaching this place even though it is their doom. For I live here…and I bring them joy beyond any other…and they die here wanting that which I can only hint at but never promise or give…it is a gift and a curse…I have been here…for millennia uncounted.” She was no longer standing still but moved…gliding…making her way towards him. Stepping into the pond…the surface of the water broke aside and made a dry path for her… “You have undone my entrapment…these millennia of isolation…they are over…I am free.”

“I don’t remember…and I don’t understand…there is a pain that I cannot…forget...something is not quite right…something…I can’t remember…yet I cannot forget it.”

“Forget it…” she said in a slightly harder tone…only slightly, “these fools will kill each other soon enough and we will be left to ourselves…that is what you want…” she spoke softly again, “to be with me…to be happy forever…that is what you deserve…this is what you have earned George...” she was very close now…the water had fallen back, rejoined behind her…and not a wave or a ripple was visible…she walked and he watched her…dazed and confused…she was…perfect.

“I…I…like it when you say my name…” he slurred lamely…swallowing spit as his mouth went dry…and yet conscious of a sensation similar to drowning. Her hair moved as she did…mesmerizing him…slowly enchanting the crap out of him…something still kept nudging him…at the back of his mind…somewhere.

“And I will say it forever…you must stay with me…it is over…your strife…it was destined to be so…destined…I see it now…and for once it is clear, for I have read the skies in vain…the stars here are mockeries…the trees here are silent…except mine…and I know that we have lost now…I see it in your eyes…that there was weaved a blanket of darkness heavier than the one I tried to cast of light…we have lost…but we have won all the same…I will give you something before I part forever” she was so close…he could smell her intoxicating smell…he could see plainly into her eyes, a vision, as they looked back into his…her perfect lips, red…any sound that was allowed passage through them was precious…but something.

“But…I don’t understand…how? What is this all about?”

“shhh…all in good time, I’m sorry George…this may hurt a little but it’s something you’ll get used to.” her voice a whisper that assailed his finer wits and left a sludgy mess behind of broken nerves and plastic calm. She touched his arm with her hand…gently…moving up to his shoulder...the softness of her touch equivalent to rebirth and the cleansing of all sins. George was going insane…he had seen and been through a lot in his life…and yet it was this…this…wonderful…fantasy…that was freaking him out. He looked to his right…the effort taken to break away his gaze from hers made his knees buckle but he managed to keep from falling…he saw chuck and the manager lying on the ground…seemingly asleep…but he had an inkling that they might not be. She placed her hand on his cheek…and forced his head to turn back, so once again he found himself looking deep within her eyes…and he saw marvelous sights…and then blinded by the brilliance of her eyes and the visions they held…he let go and felt softness upon his lips…visions raced across his mind’s eye…amazing monuments to pornographic history…pleasure beyond his comprehension…thoughts of ‘jobs’…’positions’… understanding…knowledge…false prophets…immaculate happiness…and in a rush of wild excellence and satisfaction…he was gone.
Everything was gone. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing was worth the struggle…the nudging had ceased…his last futile defense had fallen…her gray orbs of unforeseen wonders had sucked every ounce of past, present, future, guilt, shame, hatred, opportunity, colour, ideology, race, religion, soreness of jaw, potential, projection, image and thought…everything…it was all gone…all he knew were her eyes…and what secrets they were willing to share with him…and how he wanted nothing other than that…she was everything he lacked in his life of promises broken.
It was at this point that somehow…miraculously…something red crossed his mind…a glimmer of sorts…there was someone else…and he saw somewhere a wooden desk of mahogany, complete with office stationery and lamps…the anchor…a gift of the memory of an athletic redhead…the smell of tree juice and passion…an equal, a bond, an imperfection, a flaw, a history, a meaningful memory that none could sift through save him…and the misty muddle that had clouded his mind, shifted to make way for what was going on.
The lady marsh was about to sink her two-inch long, pearly white fangs into his neck. Alarmed, he pushed her back…and tried to move away…or grab something…he knew that she was only a girl and all…but she had fangs!!
Astonishingly pretty females with fangs…look good in movies…hell they are hotter than hell fire…fantasies of the sort you should not discuss with anyone…but smile and keep to yourself…something about their fangs makes them even more…attractive than they should be…an element of romantic danger…of immortality…even tom cruise looks hot with fangs…but…in reality…when someone of the sort is about to chew your neck and then probably the rest of you out of existence…your penis declines to have a say in the matter and what few brain cells that may have survived your lifestyle…decide to go on ahead with clause number twenty three, article forty one of ‘the guide to live, for moderately intelligent mammals’, “get your shit together and save yourself asshole!!!”
She lunged back at him…an inhumanly lengthy jump to land on his chest and send him crashing down on his back…snarling like mad she tried to plant her choppers on anything that held, within its components, his genetic material…
He screamed like a girl and tried to get her off of him…grabbing her wrists and struggling to keep her at arm’s length…she was strong…whereas George was more or less pathetic…

“Can’t we just do it??” he pleaded, trying to reason with her. “Do it with me and eat the others…look they’re asleep…and that guy in the Bermuda shorts…he’s easy to chew…please woman…compose yourself…I’m a peace loving pacifist!!” but she only laughed a cackling high pitched laugh and said, “they’ll make for good deserts…but you my precious…you are the main course…after thousands and thousands of wayward morsels and wandering appetizers…finally. ”

“Your table manners are disgusting you hag…what’s the big deal anyway…what makes me so special??”

“You have…verve.” she replied…and unleashed a thus far untapped source of physical strength…breaking George’s grip and punching him on the nose.

“GET OFF OWWW…NOOOOOOOOOOOO…” shouted George…his legs in the air trying to push her back, when there was a fairly loud bang and George’s pants exploded. Lady marsh flew backwards into the air and fell into the pond…the tree beneath which she had sat let out a loud blood curdling sort of wail and then seemingly doubled over…as though struck halfway down by lazy axe men or attacked violently by lunatic beavers.

For a few…very long seconds…George just panted…utterly bewildered…stumped by what had just happened…strange thoughts like,
“Oh shit!!! My dick exploded!” raced around in his head and then all was dark.

When he came to, George found himself lying with head resting on a rock and his neck sore and stiff. His vision cleared and he saw chuck and the manager looking at something in the pond…he stumbled onto his feet and made his way towards them…there was a large hole in his pants…as well as his underwear…however it was apparent that his genitalia was safe and whole.

“Hey,” greeted chuck and beckoned him to join them, the manager was just staring fixedly at one spot, “come look at this before it’s all gone.”

George peered into the pond and saw the dead body of the marsh lady…she had a large…what seemed to be a bullet wound…down there where her privates should have been. Her eyes were wide and frozen in a last expression of shock and considerable pain. George let out a little whistle.

“Wow…what the hell?? How did this happen??”

“Well…” said chuck, “if you recall…I asked you to keep a gun hidden in your underpants…in case we needed to bump off this chap,” he pointed towards the manager who was still staring at the bloody mess. “I assume that some sort of struggle ensued whilst we were conked out and somehow…your thingy perhaps got twisted into the gun’s…that thing…and the whole muck up sort of…well somehow you shot her down with your cock! Amazing isn’t it?”

“Wow…shit…she was…so beautiful…what a waste.” Said George.

“Yeah…” said the manager…speaking for the first time and the sadness he felt was very well conveyed through that single word.

“Yes well…tough luck boys…but all is not lost…there is a silver lining to all this.” said chuck merrily, rather unaffected by the loss of something so enchantingly incomparable. “As you can see…this green water…is not actually water…but jewel bugs…jade jewel bugs to be specific…so our work is done…and about time too…because we’d almost run out of…well…things…hah.”

“I’m in much grief…the sorrow of her sad demise nettles my soul…I can’t believe I am responsible for her death…I’m in shock…but I swear once the fact sinks in…I’m going to kill myself…” he raised his hand to his lips and felt really gay.

“None of that now…none of that…what say we utilize a bug each, there are plenty here…enough to satisfy a starving nation…then we shall sit here together beside this awful little pond and mourn in unison, the loss of a treacherous bitch who just tried to kill us all but the evil of her actions is lost entirely upon us…shallow lads…for her beauty was and probably is and always will be…matchless.” said chuck handing out bugs and taking one himself. “Let the grief wash away boys…let it wash away and run it’s course…as the river flows to the sea…so must your grief go on to add to the great ocean of misery that each one of us bears with us…and will one day…hopefully leave behind…siphon it off…so that one day…the whole load will just simply end our lives when we are unable to deal with it anymore.”

“You are depressing me chuck…I mean I understand that this is sort of an impromptu funeral and all…but…could you…that thing?” asked George.

“Of course…my bad…by the way…you really need some shorts or something…it’s…obscene.” He said pointing at the large hole in his clothing. The world seemed to spin a bit off…for no reason…colours and shapes interweaving…strange…fragmented and incoherent…the trees seemed to sway…and chuck felt as though a large choir of ravens was singing the word “hello” over and over again…he felt hungry…sick…there were people sitting on the branches clapping their hands…all dressed in black.

“Good…the cavalry has arrived…and dressed for the occasion too…very fitting,” he mumbled, whilst George and the manager looked around finding objects they had missed before. “George…give us a recital…a poem…appropriate for the current circumstance…or maybe a few words for the deceased…” his eyes closed and a tear making its way down his cheek. “You, who knew her best…should speak…a requiem…an elegy.” streams of drool were dripping down his chin.

“Goldberry sits in her pool of gold,
Clad in green
The fairest queen,
The river daughter...
I should have caught her...
To make my wife and end my strife
Succumb to her knife or take her life.

Goldberry slips away into the night
The taste she leaves; will candles light.
Soft grass beneath; she runs to flee
Confident that none could see...
For old man willow is just a tree.

Nobody can catch me for my songs are strong
Except Goldberry for whose heart I long.” recited George…in a grave voice…

“Thank you…that was very childish.” said chuck appreciatively, “too bad for the nameless lady of the marsh…she had no heart to give…”

The Other. Things. The Girl. The King. The Misfit Lord.

I
n the midst of a cluster of mangroves and marble pillars where advertisements for savings and loans were plastered and innocent souls wept for the loss of autonomy and total control, George lynch sat with his friend, chuck lobsterman, the book friend, talking about a master plan. Fred Quimby had been missing now for what must surely be a significant amount of time…but there was no indication from any of the staff that his absence had been noticed. A decision was reached that it was a ‘cover-up’. Fred had been kidnapped…or possibly even hijacked…by a band of scum sucking tubers. The sun was, obscured by clouds and it was impossible to tell the time even though a bell would sound every now and then but the divisions had already been made…capitalism at its best. Some people were lying on benches…looking upwards, counting crows…others were looking down, counting faces of long dead presidents. There was a large, fancy looking bird perched on a tree wearing world war two fighter pilot goggles and a white silk scarf. Chuck had tried shooing it away…throwing rocks at it…and marching around the tree, holding banners of protest and shouting absurd fallacies, horrifying obscenities and everything else short of full-fledged turf war…but the bird wouldn’t fly away.

“It’s a goddamned camera…they’re looking at us,” he whispered, sweating profusely after an hour of pointless rhetoric aimed at dethroning and permanently removing the bird. “Take your damn goggles off if you’re a man…show us if you can do this to us without your fancy army goggles…we’re not afraid of you, you ass licking tyrant piece of smut!!” but the bird did not move an inch…and showed no sign of compliance. This only increased chuck’s frustration…George was annoyed…this whole mess was too far away…it was all too…inconsequential…he had a secret…and no one to tell it to…no way to tell it either…secrets aren’t secrets if nobody knows that they exist…unless it’s one of those…heavy ones.

“Forget about the damn bird and its goggles…we have problems…what about Fred?” he asked…looking at his watch. Both the hands were curling away, stretching, and not really helping.

“I think he’s dead…I think I saw them take his body out for dancing lessons…it’s not like anybody cares…not that many people cared for his rhymes.” he answered distractedly, monitoring the bird from the corner of his eye. “I don’t trust it…it’s not a good sign…you are too young to understand espionage and its implications…perhaps if I just cut the tree down and tie it to an object that is in motion…preferably moving towards a direction which I’m not going to be headed towards…I might just manage to get rid of it.” A sudden pain in his chest, near and around the region of his heart made him fall down to the floor, where he lay twitching like a fish out of water…everything turned white for a few seconds…he couldn’t hear a thing…and then just as suddenly, the strange spasm of throbbing agony passed and he opened his eyes to a much nicer scene...it was just the same and that was exactly what made it so nice…the grass was greener…but not for long.

“It’s still there, I can sense its presence…I will not be treated like an animal…THIS IS NOT A ZOO!!!” shouted chuck as a herd of gazelles came out of the elevator and headed towards the information section, carrying loafs of bread. “George…hand me a shovel…that one with the red handle…that one on the desk…take a guess…do you have any idea where I’m going with this?” he asked from his resting place on the floor.

“Chuck…underneath it all…I’m a bad person.” sighed George grabbing the red handle but forgetting the shovel.

“For heaven’s sake…what now?” asked chuck, sounded exasperated, tired and dehydrated…he had his troubles…this permanent therapy session was unreasonable.

“My arms feel like jelly and my hand won’t stop trembling…to top it all off this aching jaw is going to kill me. I’m tired and I feel guilty for having killed her.”

“Savor it…enjoy the realization…how many people do you imagine have that sort of shit on their resume? You are a hero.” reasoned chuck, lighting up a cigg...

“I’ve got the trots…can’t stop taking dumps…I think I have ulcers.” George tried to steer his golf cart around the sand trap surrounded by paper cones.

“I have tarot cards…and I know how to read them…so we’re even.” muttered chuck coughing up blood and phlegm…the back of his head bleeding like mad…he had fallen off the cart on top of a paper cone with a spike hidden inside it.

“It’s not about getting even…it’s about knowing which cone is hiding the large spike that’ll puncture my hand if I slam it on top.”

“Can’t avoid what you can’t avoid. Like I just said…I’ve got tarot cards and I know how to read them…and I knew this would happen…” said chuck, wincing with pain as he cut the back of his overcoat with a knife, to free himself from a fate (in his opinion) worse than death…crippled life.

“I should’ve gone somewhere else…not this reservoir of mindless pagan rituals and savage customs…not on a Sunday…I could’ve done so much immaterial stuff. I could have made something of my time…at least my watch wouldn’t have bailed on me…”

“What materials are you interested in here?”

“You know full well…I slaughtered a fantasy for it…but I’m not getting it…like you said…my fix is not for sale.”

“Then enjoy the luxury of mine…for you…today…it is free…tomorrow…it will cost more than you could ever afford to pay…so relax…use your brain…don’t let it use you…suck the marrow out of life…take pleasure in this suffering…stroll around in your tiny little world of dismay, imagine a fraudulent society crumbling at the sound of your mortality…and use a protractor to draw circles…otherwise it’s annoying…it looks morbid.” he said pointing at the distorted circles that George was drawing with a pencil…the entire back wall was covered…moss grew everywhere…mostly just on pictures of relatives and old accomplishments that everyone had already forgot.

“The manager is right…your callous heart is worth more than our feeble excuses.” sighed George, eyeing a certificate on a wall that had meant more before.

“Right you are…but there are other things…and you don’t know everything now do you?”

“I never claimed to have that knowledge…I only want what should be mine…” said George, frustrated.

“So do old men with gas…as do gamblers who spend time playing cards all night…destitute travelers begging money off strangers…and strippers removing clothes for the amusement of same…I swear…this stuff is strong…” coughed chuck, “have you noticed the fantastic aurora that encumbers thoughts and makes it easier to float??”

“It is…it radiates out of the walls…like sunshine…feels ruthless…I don’t trust anyone…never have…never will…paranoid.”

“It is ruthless…it reminds me of a past I relive every single second of my existence…though I have a good defense mechanism…it’s called logic.”

“That is a cowardly exaggeration as well as a lie…you don’t possess the finesse for eternal anguish.”

“Burn…I found out the name of the Lob…I got a post card from it actually…it’s real…no email crap.” said chuck waving a postcard in front of George’s nose.

“Was it addressed to me?” asked George absently.

“Yes but I opened it…it was not a mistake…I genuinely wanted to read your mail…it’s how I get my kicks…reading letters people send you…in fact I sleep in your mailbox at night and touch myself when the postman comes.” said chuck sarcastically, “ now if you’ve stopped acting like a shit head…here…check it out…it’s come all the way from Hawaii.” Chuck handed George the postcard. It had a picture of palm trees and a blue beach…whether water or jewel bugs, was hard to say…it read,

“Hey guys…wish you were here…I missed you back there…but next time I’ll make sure you die.
Much love and decentralization,
Wagner (the Lob)”

“Wagner?? Its name was Wagner??”

“No it’s Warner…he misspelled it…don’t be obnoxious…accept things as they are and stop asking derogatory questions.”

“It wasn’t a derogatory question.”

“Though you may not have realized this George, fact is…It embarrassed your brain…she hasn’t been working and has become a lazy, fat pig on a couch eating crap…and pushing it out…your question revealed that unto me with a nice visual…so cease…please.”

“I’ve been thinking about how the desk cuts into my wrist…I thought maybe I could get a sponge or something…nothing revolutionary…just honest.”

“Beg for mercy…maybe it’ll work.”

“I did…but I messed up again…I always do” he said more to himself than to chuck and then recalled a bit of information that had been lurking at the back of his mind for a while now, “we have been invited to the king’s ball…we are candidates for ‘employee of the month’ you know…they must think you helped me fight off that bitch…do tell them how you snored her into submission.” “But honestly chuck…you should know that it’s dwelling on me…I know she was a crazy, vampire, mutant, whore…but there you have it…she was really hot…plus I’m no murderer…I feel half…small, and there’s something else that...”

“You’re mad…I would’ve shot her just to tell people I slew an eternal freak of nature with my crotch. A vampire…yes…she was fairly good looking…but so what?? If you killed her than it is obvious…you were higher up in the charisma chain…”

“You’re the one who’s mad…I was in a building once…it seemed familiar…but it was not…everything in it had a story that I must’ve read before, everything I touched was something somebody had touched before…and I could feel it…the walls could remember what it had been like and could pass the information back to me…the stone would resonate with memories…everything was alive…”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure…did I say that out loud? I’m telling you…it’s eating me alive…she was not human…I saw something in her eyes…I saw…things I know I will never see again…the sort you know you wish you’d never known existed…ignorance is bliss and what not…but it’s too late…I can’t explain any better than this…it’s like having stared at the sun all your life until somebody comes in and turns the switch off and you realize it was just a light bulb…imagine looking out a window after that…or not having a window to look out of…the sheer magnitude of what she revealed to me…will kill me…and I wish I had not seen it.”

“What the hell is wrong with you damn it…what did you ‘glimpse’…did you see your parents having sex?? Is that what you saw?? Well??” asked chuck, “Are you a bloody child??? Get over it!! Lot’s of people walk in on that sort of thing…I know it’s hard and it sort of damages the fabric of reality a bit…childhood trauma…inability to perform for the rest of your life…but still…there are those among us who snap out of it…accept it for what it is…an act of…whatever…how the hell do you think you came into this world??? You don’t believe the bloody stork story do you??”

“You are a disgusting little shit…I did not see that…I would have slit my wrists if I had seen that.”

“See!! It’s a good thing then…now you know that there is something worse…something that would have driven you to kill yourself…wonderful…so whatever you saw was crap…now calm down…have some juice or something.” said chuck, ignoring the woman who was now trying to attract his attention by waving her tax returns form in front of his face.

“You don’t get it…it’s the fact that even if I killed myself, I wont be able to run away from this…there is no escape.” said George, kicking the woman in the shin.

“What did you see?” asked chuck looking a bit concerned. His mouse was dying.

“I don’t know.” answered George “And anyway all she did was suck on people and kill them whilst they enjoyed it…enjoyed…it…she made them enjoy pain and suffering…what’s so wrong with that…what’s so wrong about dying happy???”

“It’s true…they say it’s hard to be proper once you’ve been hit by a spell cast by someone who’d rather not have cast It.” said chuck, feeling like a fox with a chicken for a date.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked George.

“I think it’s obvious…you were more than dinner…there was something very fishy about the whole episode…I recall feeling…odd flip flops in my stomach.”

“Are you kidding me?? You were asleep…though now that you mention it, I felt odd flip flops too…but that’s only natural because…well…we are but men…and she had cast a spell…and…”

“This conversation is headed in a direction that may cause severe diabetes to me…but I’m going to risk it…” chuck sighed…then continued, “why did you kill her?”

“You know that I did not…it was an accident…it was your damn gun, in my crotch, and I was being mauled by her, she was doing a good job…I expected to die…I struggled but I was ready…well…just…you know…”

“Not really…but considering how damaged you are as a person and owing to the shame you bring upon humanity, I am willing to pretend that I understand…so a collapsing building shot the lady?”

“You might say that.”

“George…what made you struggle?? Why does it happen that every time your life is about to be ended…for your own betterment…you take it upon yourself to make yourself live and consequently, suffer???”

“I struggled because I thought that in spite of it all…I had…a…well…you know who works on the counter up front.”

“No…that train has sailed…it sailed a long time ago…actually it wasn’t even at the station when you arrived…you just thought it was…or maybe you just saw…a distant train smoke on the horizon…you are nuts…obsessive…there is no chance in hell that you could ever…ever expect to beat the king of Cornholeshire…he is rich…he has land…he has had better scenes…so forget it…and you know…to be fair…he’s prettier than you.”

“You are wrong…and do you know why??? Because trains don’t sail…and because…I will kill the king.” said George with an unexpected amount of venom in his voice…surprising even himself…he repeated, “I, will kill the king.” Chuck stared at him…as though seeing him in a new light for the umpteenth time. He seemed…excited…awestruck…he seemed at the edge of saying something…then carefully he said,

“The king is dead…long live the king.” and watched the goggled bird take off.

There was a foot of mud everywhere in the bank when George lynch walked in. he was angry…the weather was bad but his memory was worse…for once he could remember everything clearly and there was only one thing on his mind. He was not entirely sure what that was…the impossibility of his situation perhaps…the unlikely dreams, the end of everything…waking up was not as victorious a march as it should be…not for him. The bank was not where he felt happy anymore…it was just another vile landmark filled with the sort of muck that lights up the eyes of those who know they would enjoy watching you want what you can’t have. He had killed a vampire and felt pretty awful about it…and what for? Blood spilt for what? All she did was suck on people and kill them whilst they enjoyed it.

“There are three women pilfering my stuff…why?” demanded George, slamming his fist on the counter up front. The redhead behind the counter stared at him, she had flinched when he had banged his hand…and that had pleased him…but she was not moving now.

“Freedom of information says the king…especially when some are plotting mutiny. What did you do to the manager?” she asked in a thoroughly accusatory tone. Slamming a file titled, “things to do when nobody’s watching…although in my opinion…someone is always watching.”

“We…went to attend the funeral of a mutual friend.” Eyeing the file with some curiosity…

“Who?” she asked, trying to hide the file underneath another one entitled, “act…natural.”

“A woman…you don’t know her…she…had shiny eyes…and very…well…just forget it…nothing…I wish I could.” said George…feeling tired of this nonsense…

“Have you been invited to the royal ball?” she asked indifferently…a file entitled, “hold me up and hide behind me, then when you’re done, somebody else will find me.” in her hands.

“Yes…it seems like an overly gay event…“royal ball”…I hear the king is queer…cries a lot…and hits women.” He said, trying to put the king down…apparently he was sticky.

“I hear you whine a lot…and kill women…” she replied with a smile, stickier than hell fire.

“Hahahahaha…I…honestly haven’t laughed in a while…I wish I could kill you…and enjoy it.”

“Yes…isn’t that a shame…” she said, from behind a large stack of files…entitled, “please them all…everyone has the strength of one.” “The king has been out hunting…for boredom…said he would bring me back the head of a lion or die trying.”

“Isn’t that nice…he sounds like a stand up guy…you know you have bad taste.”

“How odd…he said the exact same thing…so I told him that if he could just bring his own head back…that would be enough…” she said.

“You mean his sizeable wallet…but anyway…if his head should be enough…then I’ll bring you that…the king’s head…on a platter.

“Hah…you and what army…just because he is a bit…presumptuous…he always asks me who you are and why I talk to you…and I know he’s met you…before you knew what he wanted…you think he would grant you an audience??”

“How come you never told me that the king had a thing for you…and…vice versa. Everything was…so good.”

“Because I can choose what to say…unlike you…who are entirely governed by my existence…”

“That’s not something you would normally say…is it? Isn’t that like telling the truth?”

“So pretend I didn’t say it…isn’t that what you do…everyone knows about your little ‘problem’…how your mind works…if you can call it work…and how it makes you see what you feel like seeing…you are deluded…and…not really doing anything.”

“You are cruel…though you have no right to be…you still owe me something.”

“Our deal does not come into effect until after our demise…so…wait a while…a very long while.” She said. “Stalling for time and eating souls until it’s too late…isn’t that just the best way to make way for perfection?”

“I loathe waiting…and I hate being Rumplestiltskin…” he muttered.

“Too bad…I’ll see to it that you never guess my name.”

“I am not alone you know…or one…I am many…and my little “problem” is really not…I enjoy it…it has its perks. Once you figure out how it works…”

“You wish to ask me questions…and converse forever…too bad I have a life…so I will leave…by the way…that vampire, what did she do?”

“She…sort of smiled, turned and moved away…like you used to…I would’ve been lost but I was stupid enough to realize how much I preferred living in misery to dying in relative pleasure…it was a…. complete overdose…don’t know how I got out…of course I do…you…you…are a waste of life…of time…of…my mind…get out of it…I would pay to have you exit my brain forever…and the next time I meet her…I’ll let her sink those fangs in. you know it often hits me…you are not worth it…but when I’m away…I forget…you are a shabby little construction that should probably be condemned…I’ll never understand what keeps you going…you should’ve killed yourself by now…an apology every now and then…you have no shame…I am evil but you don’t even know what the difference is…at least I know I’m doing something wrong when I do it…you just…carry on…but you’re delicious looking…so I suppose that’s all I care for…though you are not innocent…you’re just wrong.”

“You are pathetic…I take back what I said about you being governed by my existence…I forget that you are male and governed by none save your penis.”

“Yes…but very few people have escaped death the way I have…and I swear…my will is good…and in spite of it all…I stand here expecting lord knows what…there must be something…I tell you I have faith…or I don’t know…I suppose I’m just…addicted.”

“It’s your fault…we didn’t use to fight all the time before…you’d say nice things and I’d pretend I cared…it was all a nice ego boost and then you lost it.”

“No…you’re the one who lost it…it’s not like I wanted anything…did I ever ask for anything?? We could’ve continued our little game forever…I’m very patient when satisfied and I am easily satisfied. What did you have to go to the king for…he’s old for one thing and probably boring…and frankly…he’s doesn’t really care for anything other than his throne. Me…I am always lonely but never alone.”

“Not really…he’s less likely to embarrass me socially…and is prettier.”

“Aah…right…and you ask me why I’m bitter…what else would you expect when my being me is unacceptable.”

“I’d expect you to change.”

“And would that accomplish anything? Would I get what I want?”

“No.”

“Pick a card…any card…they’re all the same…” said George, smiled, turned and moved away.

George was in a small dark place…

“You know chuck…I was sitting in a chair on the porch of this house next to a man who had an infant on his lap. His daughter. We were watching the rain…because we had nothing better to do…so there I was…sitting…the man with his daughter…this large monkey…with a beard was walking around making faces for the amusement of the baby…he had strange gums that can probably be seen from space…which reminds me…I’m in a small dark place…help me…I’m reaching out chuck…save me…right…yeah so there we were…sitting, watching the rain. The man had wrapped his daughter in this blanket like cocoon…it was funny…but not really…to be frank the child wasn’t ugly…just enough months old to not look like a floppy mango and not old enough to be entirely obnoxious…so we sat…and the man seemed like a good father…and then suddenly he leant low to be closer to the girl’s ear and said, “what are you?”

“And…what did the girl say?” asked chuck over his newspaper.

“Nothing…she was seven months old…couldn’t talk.”

“Yes but infants have a proper sign language…they can communicate with hand gestures and stuff.”

“You know…you say I can’t get my fix…fact is I do…one meeting can keep me going for weeks at a time.”

“You and your goddamn meetings…I’m telling you…they’re the reason why you’re such a pitiful mess…stop going…stop admitting that you’re a…whatever it is that you lot call yourselves.”

“Misfits…”

“Yes that…what infantile nonsense…and don’t tell me you’ve never nearly broken your neck going through windows that can’t be opened and thrown up violently whilst sitting listening to the mindless rambling of a god damned dwarf.”

“We are all equal in that room.”

“She is not your equal…are you insane??? She is not a misfit…and if she is…then you aren’t…so stop it…it’s impossible…you need to snap out of it…there are other things and means by which you can…just…damn it! You are getting on my nerves George…I suggest we quit this and go in the pursuit of productive leisure…I have recreational facilities available for us. Meanwhile, keep in mind what you said…the king must fall…you won’t get anything…that’s true…but…well…then again…they are treacherous and shallow…and eternally different…so you don’t know what might just…hahaha…” chuck gave a short laugh, offered something to George…then sat still for a while. They were laughing but then stopped…George was looking odd…his eyes were blood red and his unfocused eyes seemed to be searching for something invisible. George could feel the presence of another…whether around him or within him…he couldn’t really figure out…there was another, that much he was sure off…”am I here or there?” thought George…but there were no answers. “I need to…I need to…I need to…” and then he spoke.

“It’s too late chuck…I’m in a small, dark place…it’s…dwelling on me…I’ve been…thinking. Did I tell you how the day is longer…something is wrong. I don’t wish to understand…have you noticed how we’re all…just…what’s that word???” George felt that in his incoherence was an answer…he got up quietly…and moved across the room without taking a single step…and then came back and then went around, he was everywhere, no organization to take command of his motion…no laws dominating his being. “I am insane chuck…I can hear myself talking inside your head…I hear myself all the time…I am…almost…all powerful…and I am very, very sorry. But this can’t go on much longer…how long have I been alone?”

“What are you talking about George…?”

“It’s too late chuck…the darkness has spread…I’ve tried to contain it…it…” George stopped…and closed his eyes…he could smell the forest air…the glade…the trees…he could smell the past and revel in nostalgia…relive the precedent forever. He opened his eyes.
George Lynch stood alone in a forest, with his hands on the trunk of a car. People sat on the branches of trees…he could only see the whites of their eyes…blinking…staring…questioning his every move, motive…

“What drives you George…what makes this nonsense spew out of your mouth?” asked George…they were back. The forest had melted away. “He’s trying to fight me off.” thought George. “Or maybe…” people were whispering now…he could nearly make out what they were saying…over and over again…mad man…he felt strange. A stroll in the park…you are easily forgotten…a stroll… “I sure would like to lie down now.”
“Did…did you see…the forest…I…something is not quite right chuck…I’ve seen things I can’t explain.” HELLO?
George blinked and found himself in the forest with his hands on the trunk of a car again…he wanted to open it…he must…flashes streaming across his mind…the dwarf…the king…the girl…the scribe…the mad man…the misfit lord…

“WHICH ONE IS WHICH CHUCK??!!!” he screamed into the forest and was back in the bank. “What makes sense?? Are you kidding me…are you the scribe? Are you the mad man??” there was rain somewhere…there was a tree…there were gates he had climbed and walls he had scaled for absolutely no reason other than to see if he could…is that why they were punishing him? The smell of home had lost its charm and all was left was expensive perfume…dress shirts and plastic…but none of it belonged to him…everyone else preferred the progress.

“All??” screamed George…the word echoed over and over again and the trees shook till the noise faded away…birds took flight, flapping their wings in alarm…their wristwatches crashing down like hail. George was back in the forest…the faceless people were climbing off the trees…slowly…like a lazy poison…they were everywhere…George stared at them and then lowered his gaze back to his hands…still on the trunk of a car…sweat dripped from his forehead…the air was stifling…the winter had died…the poison had reached its target organ and was working its charm…sleep would come…forget her.

“Save me chuck…how long have I been alone?? Tell me?? Sing me a song…”
George wondered for a second whether chuck might explode. The forest…he had been there…the trunk…he had been in it…what had happened that he could not remember? Why did he care when there were entire months of his life that he had no recollection of…but this was important…this was something he had meant to remember…something had gone wrong…what did she say…?
“Bless me chuck…bless me with shame.” said George and felt the trembling earth steady out beneath his feet, and closed his eyes.

“Welcome back stud muffin.” muttered chuck, peering over his newspaper…he wasn’t reading it but kept it for the effect. “What’s the last sane thing you remember?”

“You, suggesting we go off in search of ‘productive leisure,’ my head is about to explode and my jaw is burning…what the hell did we do.”

“Well…the usual…but something went off in your pretty little head and you decided to start screaming your balls off and keeping it up till you dropped and went out like a light.”

“It’s the stress…a bad…well…did you try to talk me out of it…? I think I heard you…loads of other people…we should take a break or something…I have a broken heart you know…”

“Yes, yes well, it’s annoying…get a grip…we have loads to do…”

“Have you ever done any good in your life chuck?” asked George…surveying the damage…his clothes seemed clean enough.

“Hmm…there was…I think I did one good thing…an old man came and said he was hungry…so I gave him food.”

“Nothing apart from that??”

“I could have you arrested…that would make my second.”

“You’d get arrested too you know. Being an accomplice and what not.”

“That would be my third.” said chuck and went back to reading.

George lynch was wandering around in the bank when he noticed a crowd near a section of the bank he usually avoided. They were hooting and whistling…this normally wasn’t a good sign…but then again it happened during dwarf wrestling matches…and the occasional cockfight. He walked up to the mass of people expecting to see two roosters wearing sixteenth century knight armor, standing in the middle, holding swords and swearing profusely…but instead found that the center of all attention was a boy in a glass room.

“What’s up here? What’s with the kid?” George asked the man standing next to him.

“This is the kid…the king growed special…from birth onwards and even from before when he was inside his mother…they made him listen to music…all sorts of it…or maybe just one sort…I can’t say for sure…but he’s been listening to music since ever…maybe I think it’s just the same bit of music he’s been listening to for so many years…but I can’t say for sure…not for sure…but anyways…they say he’s never heard silence before in all his life…so now they put him in this glass box…it’s sound proof…they played him music in it constant…but every now and then they turn it off…and we get to see him freak out…it’s fun.”

“Interesting…so what does he do when they turn the music off?”

“He starts dancing.”

George walked up to the glass cage and put his hands on it. He could feel the surface vibrating. The boy inside was sitting; unaware of the attention he was drawing.

“Doesn’t he feel odd about him being put on display?” asked George.

“He doesn’t know anything about any display…the glass is one of those…mirror things from the inside…he thinks he’s in a room with mirrors for walls…he’s lived in it forever…and doesn’t seem to mind it much…I think they use the same glass in the toilets…but anyways…the boy’s unaware of this party…sometimes when he’s asleep…they changes the mode of the mirrors…so he can see outside as well…and then they turn the music off…so he wakes up and screams like hell…when he sees us watching…he don’t know about day and night…so sometimes he sleeps when we’re around…then when he screams and craps his pants we get a couple of laughs for free…I wonder what he thinks when he discovers this lot gaping at him…probably thinks he had a nightmare…they turns the mirrors to normal quick so the boy never gets much of a scare…anyway it’s good fun…keeps the employees happy…something to keep the morale up and what not…it’s like having a mascot…or a reminder…how we’re better off than some people.”

“This is fascinating…the king really knows what he’s doing when it comes to messing people up.”

“There are many kings…which one did this…we don’t know…there are so many people in one person that it’s hard to say what he did…heck half the stuff people say I did…I don’t remember…it’s like…having other lives…plus it’s bloody convenient when you don’t want to feel responsible for absolutely anything…the best excuse since temporary insanity…permanent insanity.”

“Yes it’s amazing…it’s like a disease you don’t have but are getting shots for.”

“Yeah…very normal…like wanting to have the biggest car all the time…being afraid of the future and what it might bring…only asking questions that have no consequence whatsoever…and only doing that sort of thing in a toilet which should be done in a toilet and nothing else…” said the man, rather pointedly in the end.

“As long as it’s normal it’s good…that’s what all the calendars on the walls say…now I have to get out of here…you decadent shits make me retch.” George moved on in search of other activities as the little boy started dancing for no apparent reason…it seemed more like convulsions but could be interpreted as dance.

Chuck lobsterman and George lynch were sitting on the rooftop of a building neither of them had ever known. The night was stiflingly dark, the thickness of which made it seem as though it might be harder to breathe and the still air made the paranoia worse but every now and then the clouds would shift and moonlight would make its way through. The talk was down to a bare minimum…there were other people around but only in the corners of eyes, like blackbirds taking off into the night. Stonehenge was visible, the construction process halfway between close to nothing and nothing…but the cranes were present. Tall trees breathed heavily trying to make use of as much of the stagnant air as they could…thick, mucous-like…it was difficult to draw a breath but then here were two…drawing…two, four, eight…it didn’t really matter. It should’ve rained long ago but nature seemed to be waiting for a sign…something…relevant.

“I was talking to this chap…” said George, finally regaining enough sense of self to break the silence, “and he was talking about how people are overly scared of little things…like what will their friends think, what college to choose…should they stay out of the sun…is it safe to eat food from the street…the environment…and mostly…what clothes to wear. Clothes are an obsession…it’s like what they wear must reflect their current state of mind…which they are deluded enough to presume to have…”

“I think you’re wrong there…not everyone uses clothing that way…some people actually hide behind the clothes they wear…they’ll have socially acceptable covers on socially unacceptable selves…”

“Yes well anyway…they actually give thought to dressing…I mean it’s not like I wear my socks around my neck…but they give too much thought…like…what would it mean if I left my sleeves unbuttoned…or my tie hanging loose.”

“So you leave your sleeves unbuttoned? Then they’d have something to point out and feel good about??”

“Not really…I’m just lazy…though it might be an unconscious thing…people often feel comfortable when they feel superior…or at least…less at risk of being chopped up…and egos are big the smaller you are.”

“Actually the bigger you get the more you like to show off how down to earth you are…so you shake hands with poor people and make like you love them…”

“That too…I’ve seen it happen…the houses we build are bigger than what we need…only because we want to show off how much we have…why we do that is beyond me…it’s a proven fact that a man can live in a one room apartment…or a castle…if he has to.”

“Yes but why not show off your wealth…if you have it…flaunt it…like boobs.”

“True…there is that school of thought…but it’s like a disease…there’s no end to it…all consuming…better things can be done with all the money you waste building a house that is too big for an army just to let your neighbors know that you can have their mothers stolen if you wished.”

“I think you’re missing the point entirely…fact is…our dinner tables are filled with excellent food but not because we’re hungry…but so we can tell the man who can’t afford food that we can.”

“Close…but maybe if you phrase it differently…I’m all for modest living as long as everybody else does it too.”

“I think you’ve come closer than you realize…”

“I suppose…but here’s where I get off…like I said…people are afraid of little things…what will their friends think and so on…”

“Is death a little thing? Would you say a person was silly to be afraid of dying?”

“To be honest…it’s not death that should be feared…it’s the feeling you’ll get when on the day you die you realize that you wasted life being afraid of the little things…like what will your friends think…etc etc…that… is what will freeze their crap eventually…that is when they’ll figure…the best schools with the proper looking people and the best jobs with the proper sort of fraud and the best pension plan with the best insurance of life and limb weren’t the best policy…”

“So what you do is going to help you when you die? You will be satisfied with your decisions or lack thereof?”

“Not really…I’ve never been that good a person…people are self obsessed because they’re afraid…and I am self obsessed because I think I’m better than them…I think I am superior…though I must make it plain that I never refuse to admit it when I meet someone who is better than I…generally.”

“Wait…so you only like people whom you think are better than you?”

“No…not true…I like people who either amuse me…or move me enough to make me think of something other than myself…people who have enough personality…charisma…whatever you want to call it…a quality if you will…that can command my attention…”

“Are you narcissistic…?”

“Not exactly…no…but somewhere in the middle…I certainly do not think I’m worth a mirror…but I think I have a good combination of mediocrity and balls. By the way, have you noticed how still it is? The night is very quiet…it’s unnerving…nothing is moving…no sounds…no light except for a few brief moments…my underwear is unusually itchy…seems peculiarly like the calm before a storm…type scenario…very…morbid.”

“I don’t see it…maybe a bit morose I suppose…but not all that unsettling…nights are rare and only just the absence of sun.”

“I don’t agree…nights have…something…awesome…there’s more to night than just the absence of light…they are more alive…somehow…everything reverberates with this nearly uncontrollable power or emotion…every single second seems to lead up to something…as the night progresses, this feeling of impending doom or something…increases…as though at any moment an unseen dam would burst and everything will drown, crash…it’s hard to explain…but basically it’s just that it’s all going somewhere…nights are not as casual and purposeless as days…I’ll never get used to nights…though I have experienced an equal amount of both.”

“Interesting…and what do they lead up to? This buildup you speak of…has it never culminated in anything…tangible?”

“Never…it’s like a chorus that keeps on building and building, rising to an insane crescendo…an upsurge of hidden power that threatens to over throw all sense and reason but then just when it seems about to explode…nothing happens…and day takes over…or day takes over and nothing happens. Maybe if night were just a bit longer…something might actually happen.”

“I don’t see how night could…

Here chuck was interrupted by a swishing sound. A silent sort of swish that defies all normal definitions of silence…it was not a whisper, but a noise that was so loud and yet spoke of silence that it was impossible to understand or categorize it…and accompanying it, was a movement of air that made George’s hair stand on end. A gust of wind out of nowhere…swept their thoughts away and left no trace behind. The clouds had shifted and moonlight illuminated the night…another swish followed the first and a colossal shape appeared and filled the night sky. A mammoth winged beast, the likes of which George had never seen before…a reptile so large, a wingspan so vast…that it was almost impossible to contain the image inside ones head without feeling the burden. The wings seemed to stretch on for miles…and with one swish could carry this enormous creature over land and sea. It’s huge jaw seemed capable of chewing a sky scraper into scrap metal within seconds and it’s fiery green eyes held secrets so ancient that no man could process them in one lifetime…it did not seem wary of the two men watching it…it did not seem in great haste or disturbed in anyway…but flew away with complete indemnity…it seemed to know the purpose of its outlined course more so than any other living creature…the fact that this large colossus seemed capable of thought and understanding, scared the living crap out of George…what insane summons must it be answering…what ungodly inspiration had urged it to leave its rest and fly with such determination to whatever destination it had chosen. It seemed too careful…too confident…too large and too indestructible to be allowed.
Like a winged snake it made its way across the sky, the lowest part of it passing less than twenty feet above George’s head…the slipstream nearly carrying him off as well. From the east it had risen and towards the west it made its way…George and chuck turned their heads in stunned silence and watched it fly away. Trees swayed as it passed above them…and the ground seemed to feel less stable. In a minute or so, it had vanished from sight.

“Maybe you’re right…maybe nights do lead up to something…”said chuck quietly as the silence of the night resumed and the air became heavy again…but an element of relief was mixed therein…as though nature now knew that the worst was over…and though it was still in shock…a sigh of relief had been taken. Within a few minutes, the clouds covered the moon back up and it started

the crap before the calm.

2006-05-03T22:07:00.000-07:00

When I do find a way out of this mess of crap…I’d like a nicer view…not just a bloody window…not a window with just a half broken picture of an incomplete imagination…no I want the whole scenery pasted inside my head…but not entirely…I want to be able to touch it…and say stuff to it that isn’t typed…I swear when that happens I’ll burn this keyboard…keyboards are to make music with…not poetry…make strange sounds…not for conveying nothing.

What a complete waste…complete and total waste is what I am…never been prouder actually…but still…in the grander scheme of things…I’m an ungrateful loser.

Too bad…I’m also very arrogant…and even if you reduce me to nothing and chop me into pieces and make me feel sicker than sick…I’ll stick with my story…and never say that I didn’t enjoy it. I will never say the one thing that haunts me all the way to sleep.

Last night…I heard my friend laugh…it was a sort of cruel laughter…that chills your crap…and I tried to turn and look...to see where old molly was hiding…naturally…I was alone…and I figured…yeah…auditory hallucinations…ok…try to turn your head…but you can’t look where the sound is coming from…strange.

Saw pana’s body in a chair with his back to me…trembling/shaking at the speed of…well something very…frequent…fast…it was…unnerving…but…

There’s never anything good once you figure there’s never anything good…

Screwed up half steps…whole steps…paranoid.

Leave.....Don't Leave Me.

2006-05-03T05:21:00.000-07:00

i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.i'm the slave you'll never free.

Real Elephants Die.

2006-05-01T18:25:00.000-07:00

It’s a bit of badly recorded sad music. Isn’t that what rang through your head sitting in preschool when the skies turned grey and you wondered if they’d ever let you go home again…I mean it’s obviously too dark now…it must be almost night time…what are they playing at? But then it was just a summer storm…and nothing more. Isn’t this the sort of music that played? I am extremely angry right now…there’s something I’d say forgetting all my tedious little reservations…I’d break your neck…summer storms always pass by and you don’t remember much except a slight impression of something nice having been…around…but gone now…and how…
You can only write your life story once…and no matter how it’s written it’ll be the best attempt…
Bands that make more than one album…what do they sing about? There are loads of reasons to make music…but what is there to sing about?? Aren’t you done? Aren’t you satisfied?? Aren’t you ashamed??? Everyone thinks they know what you’re talking about…everything you do is now being critically and psychologically analyzed…getting it wrong is bad…getting it right is much worse. So you hide.
So then there’s only ever one collection, one…album…one diary, one masterpiece…after which you move on to the next bit of whatever that you think you can reinvent your story in…a new medium of expression.
I seriously doubt that George lynch would care to play the guitar again.
I think he’s done. Now I may be quite nuts and what not…but old George knew exactly what he was talking about. No wasting time…by being direct. George’s song for the athletic redhead.

At the moment I can’t even tell if I’m mutant or not.
This arm seems to be moving alright.
The music seems less appealing than it did before.
I can feel crap trying to flow out…and an itching face.
I think I’m a bit done.
Yesterday is not a day I remember…or would like to…
I distantly…hazily recall making a bit of music and recording it and babbling in it like an idiot. I sent it to a boy who told me it was stupid. Naturally, I agreed. It was a very stupid thing to do. However…it was a bit enjoyable...more or less…it wasn’t mine…but I made it.
I was thinking about why I had made this bit of nonsense and I decided that it’s a song by George lynch for the athletic redhead. Ha. It makes sense now to me and pretty much nobody else…but so what?
So if the guy from my stories… (The very lame stories…I know…but it’s rarely the stories that I like…it’s the characters…) ever had the urge to sing for the athletic red head…this is what he would sing. Because then it would make sense.
The athletic redhead…I should’ve named it that…but the current name is pretty apt…I always like songs with just one line…why bother trying to come up with pointless bullshit when this is just exactly what you want to say?? i've never slurred so much in a song...hahaha...timing is a bit out too...obviously...but it's always out...blahooey...i'm done.

Bored...? Damn Near Killed You...strike two.

2006-04-30T12:17:00.000-07:00

And I think…ok…yes. I think about how I’m supposed to separate the thinner upper layer from the harder lower one. It’s odd how the harder one is so soft. And the soft one has no mind to speak of. Some people reek of their troubles and speak of their fumbled attempts; dishwashing blues fool them into figuring out a better way to execute the same insufferably redundant exercise, sniggering about how we’ve all been performing for your benefit…fulfilling…like a good shit, every now and then we repeat it…this boy told me how drugs are a way to cheat it, like in computer games…you get to skip levels…this mode, that mode, god mode. So that’s why people seem a bit jealous…they don’t want you cheating at the only game they bothered to play fair. Rare as that is…we should try to burn their shorts and tell them how we cared about nicer things than that when we cared. Fangs bared the boy stared at me and I assumed his story must be about bat caves and secret lairs…the same two layers…people hardly fair better…it’s a fate we share…a hard one and a soft one…a melody with disharmony like my chaos to your rhymes…your pretty pictures in disguise of a something belittled…this that…everything is... it’s not as slow a circus if you’ve got an eternity to watch it…the ring leader is shorter than the lions who ride bikes and clowns sip cold drops from the sides of empty foggy glasses…the sort we don’t ever own but recognize like old friends…met in a bar. Separated and then reunited in a bar. Exactly how far is that piece of land that’s been marred by your sleeping conscience? One two, buckle my shoe…and so on…the circus isn’t boring enough if you’re not a part of it…it actually becomes kind of funny. Amusing… frustration is what you feel like when you come look at the bars of the cage for the first time...from the inside…you know this is where you are and this is what you are...this is your limit…come to terms with it…you are being politely asked by the planet to grow up and you're not feeling grown up enough to be grown up...and you channel that worry into other things…
I’m the gin in the gin soaked boy.

It’s amazing how much these two birds differ and yet occupy the same cabin at 8000 feet above the sky…that’s above the sky where pigeons fly.
The temple of bite marks and red scars that fade as time passes faster among wolves and stuttering mules but it lags behind whilst we chew on tattoos that don’t stop reminding us of them and rivers change and overflow their banks at night. A bit sad…we must be having a draught…
I promise you I’ve done this before…once…twice…maybe more…but I tell you sir…it has been done…and it’s no fun anymore…there’s one thing to look calm and collected…it’s another to lose all sense of worry, watchful second hand genetics, the numbness in the chest when the ticker flickers for a bit and eyes get hazed up…there’s only one silly thing on your mind…it must…taste…like some long forgotten ancient brew that’ll put you to sleep and you might just weep with pleasure if the treasure surpasses your shallowest expectation and there’s more…more where there was less…there’s a heart beat that makes you tap your foot and breathe in deeper and blink and regret ever doing so. Make a note to stop blinking…it’s a waste…I don’t ever get enough time to look to be blinking half of it away…and there’s something…a vague fragrance…an expression…something natural…a careless action uninhibited by shame and retardation…there’s comfort there’s less oxygen in the air. In the case of an emergency…nothing will drop down in front of you…you won’t be allowed to bend down or hide your face in your lap…there are no exits no entries no escape pods or ejection seats…you can’t faint sleep scream or creep around trying to freak out the other passengers…but they’re not even on the same plane as you…they’re just…an unwitting audience…and there’s just…once…only just once…and you smile…dilated pupils…laugh at anything…don’t offend make amends he sends his love with awkward gestures and obviously amply sprayed guilt…another toothy smile…you know it’s not going to work…but it’s going to feel pretty nice…like lying flat on the roof looking at a dot grow bigger and bigger until a plane comes crashing into you and there’s nothing but exploding particles of you all over…but in this scenario…you live long enough to remember and write and then slip out of the light…
A piece of ordinary cloth that smelt too good to be real. I wondered if it was covered in glue or had something to do with you…a bit of this and that. Very bad.
Stomach ache…slightly drugged…not pissed off…a bit bugged…bit a bug to get even…leaving…a bit gassy…hung over…calm…itching my left arm…it came to some harm apparently…when I waited patiently…hoping for absolutely this, ‘right now’ that I’m experiencing…what a coincidence. I happen to be a great pilot. So…Stay silent while I land. A bond of silence shared…
some times people do strange things…fall…or hunt…for instance…In less overly vague experiments rabid Elephants died…it’s like feeding sugar to diabetics for the ride...like cancer I wouldn’t give up tonight…like poison in fancy bottles that lied…like any day of the week when I tried…but no colour is nicer than the fire in your eyes.

I'm the world you'll never see,
I'm the slave you'll never free,
I'm the truth you'll never know,
I'm the place you'll never go,
I'm the sound you'll never hear,
I'm the course you'll never steer,
I'm the will you'll not destroy.
I’m the gin in the gin soaked boy.

(Gin soaked boy…by the divine comedy…the song is supposed to be a riddle…there’s more to it…this is just a part of it.)

hazy nonsense...vague babbling...skip it.

2006-04-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

We can turn this feature off by extending the forearm…extending the index finger…indexing the finger thumber…arming the boring singer…humming to the interloper…salutations to the sturdy joker…grimy platforms in a supreme stupor…chemical compensations for the compensations for the few fingers left to extend and then press the button in the elevator. Halt…try to remember how you got here…I think I’m sure I’ll see you later.
The only sentence that comes to mind, flops around for a second, trying a feeble lift-off …for the sake of honourable schoolboys and fellow broken thrift-shop windows with blue stained glass and the scent of fresh pine…standing in line with the bushes and the bay leaves and the center stage is occupied by the faithless and the desperate and then regretting it…struggling on…it lingers…whispers…the city must smell good nowadays. Must smell good…must smell pretty sinister if you’re not…indulgent…hey mister…you just missed her...
There is still a lot of porn to live for ahahaha.
I saw a bird with war-paint. Ill bred saints sail past last generally and then go down with the ship like a nice dip that offers no time to quip about things like port or starboard. Cooking sherry or the last note? and then this peaceful looking periwinkle blue bears down from all sides…dulling the senses…cool calm sleep washes over your swaying body…the present reality takes a few more seconds to catch up with your breath and you know that the city must smell pretty good if they’ve got this in the soil. Some heart begins to boil at the thought of my thought I borrowed never bought and brought it home with me from some other lands where all my glands used to be more or less normal…I’d like to inform all the people sitting by the hole in the roof of the heart of the dreamer that there’s going to be lemon tarts and sickly sweet pastries on the counter...and drinks for refreshment…I detect a bit of nobility in this blood. Light a match. It’ll burn bright if you’re right. I come to the conclusion that it’s the same scarlet gold dud waste of time that had poured out before on fields much similar to these and turrets of disheveled looking castles where too little time and far too many hassles had caused you to miss the train, the bus, the greater good, the bigger picture, the little people who got stuck in the middle…and more or less the point. Trying to guess the riddle that has no answer…except only for those who are sold and then their masters…
the faster you run…the more likely you are to hear things snap…beneath your shoes…above your head in trees where birds take flight once you’re in sight and break twigs and send them down as warning missiles before they decide it’s a game of chance with all or nothing to lose. Excuse me good sir…but the smell around here is very nice…what city is this??
Mary mary quite contrary…in what garden did you grow?
Peshawer.

cauliflower willpower. spring onions and winter showers...great walls and leaning towers...mortal frontmen for divine powers...larvae.
martin pale, 20, male.

Baby you make my truck over-take. over turn. explode. I over-bake.

2006-04-27T20:41:00.001-07:00

oye baby...what're you doing? hain? what are you doon?hain baby? (you have been coddled baby so now i must undo) you don't look like a baby...you look like...like a fierce mongolian wench.(undood) i lust for you baby...hain na baby?(coddle) you...mongolian wench...come giffen me the good lurrving...quickly fool...becoddled coddler.
i was thinking about something...felt like coddling you...i know not wot that means...i felt like coddling something...sometimes i feel like coddling things...i think some of my limbs are leaking because the fan is not moving...circularly.
so i wanted to coddle you...waisay hi...(coddle) anyone with a hole would do...(uncoddle) you're not special. .(undood) you don't mind if i coddle you do you? not that i care but sometimes...when i'm done being me i feel the need to coddle something(one) and there's nobody about...salmonella in an eggshell...asked me if she was strange...i said no...she was pleased. ceased to be mule-like...she was not strange never strange...in fact too normal...not a bit of adventure in her amazingly tiny body. microscopic you know...i asked her if i was strange...she said yes. i told her that, "no offense but you were never strange enough for me..."
she said that i'd told her that before...
guilty conscience...i don't want salmonella...i'm not coddling you but i want to...for no reason.
see it's easier to coddle shiny...never embarassing...and she never wonders what i want...she knows i'm a coddler...but then again she also knows that i'm looking for her in a castle next to the portrait of a queen...my mistress complains...but a king has to look for his most valuable treasure when it disappears...and most valuable treasures always disappear...generally a book ends with them being found...her ass is round. handsome crows on the parapets...hahaha...i'd smack you with a crow if i could...my bird is a turd.
damnit...i can't coddle you...you're not coddly type...you'll think, "hmmmm."
yeah yeah i know i can safely coddle you with no problems to worry of...but there's the code of coddling to think of...like...does one coddle when one has eco exam tomorrow?
no...one does not.
heightened frustration leads to more coddling...you have to understand the background, history and nature of the coddling...you have to be aware of the facts and figures which brought it about and what were the motives behind it...if any. sometimes there are none...other than the basic pleasure of coddling...other times it's got the...coddling so i can coddle again...thing to it.
however we must leave...for father might wake up and shove boot up my ass...he's not much of a coddler...virgo you know...horredous pain in the ass.
lastly my intangible love...i might get tangled in you later on but for now...
may you be fortunate enough to let me coddle yon coddling apparatus. don't hate us. mate us.

now if shiny would turn around...and close her ears...i'd like to say a few words about her that i did when i was talking to a german...or sperman...i dunno...i only want shiny...shiny is my one true luuuuurveeeeeeeeeeeeeee....i will hump the crap out of her if she becomes real for just...one goddamn day...just one shiny...ONE DAY YOU FOOL...COME OUT FROM WITHIN MY HEAD AND SIT ON MY LAP...make sure it's winter when you do though...because i'll keep you warm...and that will make me happy...sappy...phatta hua nappy...or if nothing else...wear a kilt and dance for me...
shinyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy....where fore art thou...oh preeeeeeeciousssssssssss bird of mine...come perch upon my thingy...etc.
no...no...shiny is sacred...goddess of mine...the only girl who could ever possibly drive me insane...completely nuts...and it feels...very good. too bad you don't know what's it like...too bad panty...but you go do jim morrison...sigh...shiny...hmmm...yum. shiny has shiny eyes...like the sun only more worthy of being looked at...(i drip like cheap...of cheapness but i laoo) and if you look at her...your eyes shine for a bit...and she could make you...feel...this...strong urge to steal her shoes. make her run...and we have run in a dream...and i beat her...she tried to cheat...but then there were vultures...and i was afraid i'd lose my bird...but i can never lose her...she is in the safest of places that God ever made...(don't ask me) i see corn falling from the sky...she is the purpose of my being...she is...very bloody hot...and has an ass to die for...hands i would...shake...i would...go mad...and watch her move...and she is graceful...like...goldberry...she is my goldberry...she is...goldberry's phoosi...she is...and there are none like her...she has eyes that would transport you out of your body and feel cold and warm and awkward and comfortable and sick to your stomach and hoping that this disease is never cured...
do as you please you infectious disease...type scene...i would take her by the hand and hide her in my pocket and steal her from the wind and sleep with her in a forest and give her a ring made of grass and a song made of something something...she is so bloody out of my league...hahahahaha...so...the only creature on God's good earth that makes me say gay stuff...so shamelessly...hahahaha...i have no shame when it comes to shiny...i have no...reservations...no bounds...no brains...hahaha...and my id explodes around her...and she looks and smiles and turns away...and i explode in my pants hahaahahahhaaha...she is...so...soft...so juicy...i would bite her cheeks and gnaw her leg...i would feel happy if i could feel sad with her...if i could do very naughty stuff to her...and she would bite my neck off and stab me in the back and i would say woooohooooooooooooooo...I GOT STABBED BY SHINY WOOOHOOOO.
i would ask her a thousand times to tell me what her name is...where she lives...if she can taste things same as i do...and how she likes this...and how she likes that...and i would make her read passages from k.k.dewetts book on economics...i would listen to every word and learn it by heart...and i would watch her eat and watch her drink and watch her change her clothes and i might go blind but still see her because she is in my head...now if she would only get in my bed...there is no heat no cold no spring summer solitude pretend ego lust money work sleep food books poems and nursery rhymes...there is only shiny...and she lives in the safest places on God's greenest earth...and if there is any girl i wouldn't be ashamed of to be seen in public with...one girl who could kick me in the nuts and i would just giggle like an idiot...it would be shiny...and if i could write a thousand billion books describing her and what she is...i would not tire....i would repeat myself till people threw rocks at me...and i would not mind...so in summary...i like shiny. she is the wench i would drench in lustyness...but there's more to her than an epidermis...dermis...more than a layer of skin...and shape...this that...very bad. but that's a speech for some other time...taeem...lime...she is a lime in salt....no fault...

my face is itchy
my throat is sore
i spent the night
with a lonely whore.
much love,
muk2k6

Edward the Wise

2006-04-26T19:41:00.000-07:00

The lonely man walked down a deserted toll road pushing a moderately sized cart laden with corpses of all sorts…men, women, children, some seemingly belonging to once noble households…some vagabonds…some destitute…
He was pushing with his scabbed, bleeding hands humming a bit of a song,
“I loved the rain and knew the dark
a graveyard that was once a Park…” it did not cheer him up. Humming was just a habit that he could not get rid off.
The wooden tires squeaked and rolled on the gravel road which had once been a busy thoroughfare…now just a convenient passage that led away from the plagued and terrible Harvest Park/Graveyard. Nearly eight thousand people in the town had died of the disease…that was a good part of the town’s population…and only a handful of people had survived…this gentleman pushing the cart had been staying in a mental institution at the time the plague spread and had been lucky enough to escape…relatively unharmed…not much fun though if you find yourself with naught to do save bury the rest. There was no space to dump people in the town itself anymore…every few steps was a mass grave…yet he felt that everyone deserves a decent burial.
The sun beat heavy upon his back, sweat mixed with blood, drenched his tattered clothes and he felt a bit ill at ease about the fact that those who would have considered him a pitiable creature were not much worse than he was now. He had seen himself thus in a dream long ago…a nightmare that he had shared with a few men who had conveniently forgot the importance of it being shared. Now they were all dead and he was pushing more and more of them out of town for a last joyride before tipping them over somewhere for the carrion creatures to feed upon…too many for a decent burial…but at least they would be far away from town to stare at him with accusing faces.
The plague caused a painfully short lived madness that ended with either suicide or death otherwise. A bout of paralysis and blindness and in some cases severe irritable bowel syndrome…needless to say that even if there hadn’t been so many decaying people in town…it would have still smelt quite bad. The last days of the town were marked with people running about screaming, pulling out their puss filled eyes and crapping their pants like there was no tomorrow…because there was not. How cool is that?
Signs of suffering marred the landscape for miles on end. There were gallows poles every few yards where people had either hanged themselves or had been hanged…(a more civilized form of appeasing the gods with a bit of sacrifice…civilized in the sense that dancing around fires in clothes made of leaves and chanting odd bits of nonsense was not mandatory. A quiet, “hang the bastard before he infects us!” served just fine.)
The person pushed on past the hanging bodies and moved further down the road until he heard something he had not heard in quite a while…a human voice called out to him. Turning around he saw that one of the dead persons (a very old one) hanging around at the end of a rope was talking to him.
“hey…sir…could you help me off of this…I’ve been hanging for seven days…nearly all my blood is in my feet and I seem to have an erection here that I can’t explain…I assure you I don’t feel very horny…”

“Why aren’t you dead yet?” asked the gentleman after considering the gallows man a while…he was surprised to hear him (of all people) to be talking…for this hanging person had all the signs that a person who has ceased to live seven days ago has.

“yes I see why you’re surprised and all…some pebbles lead to the winters fall…though I assume you must’ve seen stranger sights than this…I am indeed dead…but you can talk to the dead…so be a dear and help me off…my neck is sore and there are things eating my vitals.”

“what’s that about pebbled roads and winter’s fall?...I have heard that before…what, may I ask, is your name sir…pardon me for freaking out but I don’t generally converse with the dead…hence the mistrust.”

“my name is…or was Henry Goodtard…you can call me chicken soup if you feel like it just get me off of this goddamned swing…the sun is hot and though it may be bright and mightier still…I had not known that I’d be sharing your fate in this strange nightmare…indeed I was not aware that I would end up with a noose around my neck…”

Knowing not what else to do, plus a bit of company was much welcome nowadays…the gentleman helped Mister Goodtard down and together they walked and talked a while…the gentleman asked Mister Goodtard a good deal of questions regarding his current disposition…none of which he answered to his satisfaction…for he himself had only the vaguest notion of why he was still…alive…if that’s the word to describe his state of being.

“I suppose I was restless as a dead…err…soul…thing. These lucky bastards that you’re carrying off to dump around,” spoke Mister Goodtard gesturing towards the dead on the cart, “are all fornicating beyond those shadows there on the side of the mountains where there’s a bit of privacy…and were we eagles or birds of some sort we could actually spot their souls doing a lot of nasty stuff right about now…but I think I had some…unfinished business…corny as that may seem…I used to have these silver coins with lines of gold and a bold pattern of a hawk engraved upon them…I’d like very much to go home and chew on them as my wife used to suggest when we were alive.”

“Hah…is that all you came back for?” asked the gentleman.

“no actually there was more…but transitions from one plain of existence to another tends to leave you a bit hazy…I can barely remember the other side…and then I could not remember this side…there are too many burdens to bear with each…over there…there’s too much knowledge…over here there’s too much information…a balance should be struck…if the balance has generally been a naughty boy. I do remember that I was supposed to give you warning…and a bit of this and that about things you’re supposed to accomplish…about two Nazis you will fail in the attempt to stop…from killing a thousand more than what you see here…the pale boy you will restore to his rightful kingdom in another world…the two sailors you will help obtain a book…and a treasure if the book isn’t the reassure to begin with…so on and so forth. Mostly though you will spend the rest of your life trying to destroy your one true enemy…the one who is responsible for this…current mess of things…”

“hmmm…seems like a load of crap but one can’t really say that a dead man would lie about things of this nature…surely there’s no reward in it for you…therefore…if you would be kind enough as to tell me who this enemy of mine is?” asked the gentleman. “I would be much obliged.”

“I actually do have a bit of reward to think of…to be honest. I was promised a pms free and perpetually horny wife in heaven…and rare are fortunes as nice as that…you are unmarried and will stay so during your very very long stay here…so you won’t understand.” Spoke Mister Goodtard “as for your enemy…I must apologize for I do not know who or what he is…what I DO know is this…he had a servant in this matter…a man by the name of Doctor Fall…you must interview him and find out what you must…though I do not quite understand why you wouldn’t just leave the matter be…you are still alive…therefore mostly unhurt…go live your life in peace and let bygones be bygones…”

“hmmm…there is a good reason why I have been forced to stay unmarried during my very very long stay here…”

“aah…well…good luck to you then sir…I hope you find the villain who dealt you that sad card…I expect to see you again…in bodies other than this one…due to the wear and tear problem…I hope what little we have discussed has given you some direction…I must be off now…I at least am not robbed of my partner...one more thing…to enforce your authority…introduce yourself and add the fact that you are a servant of God…it seems generally impressive and freezes the nuts off these lower sort of bastards…so again…good luck to you.” With this Mister Goodtard died all over again but did not make much show of it. The gentleman did not at first know what to do with the body…then decided to add it to the group on the cart and pushed on.

Doctor Fall sat in his crumbling office…seated behind his moldy desk gazing intently upon his visitor…it had been quite a while since anybody had been alive enough to wander into his office. The Doctor stared at the gentleman as though he thought he had seen him before…but the gentleman did not waste time on introductions and got quickly to the point…told him that he knew that all this mess of crap was his fault and that he knew it was so…

“So why don’t you just save us both some time…and tell me how you accomplished this bit of insanity…who is your master and so on and so forth.”

“I have nothing really to tell you…because you are obviously mad…now get lost before I get a fit of flatulence…I warn you sir…I had beans for lunch!”

“I could beat the crap out of you old man…” threatened the gentleman.

“is this about penis envy??? Are you trying to hurt me deliberately because I am well endowed???”

“what the hell are you talking about?? Look around you, you idiot, everyone is dead…there is nobody left alive to bone…now for the love of the seven dwarves just tell me what I ask of you!!”

“I told you…I know nothing…this was a plague…a natural disaster…suck my ass!”

“you are a natural disaster…your mother is a rest house for wandering wastrels…what the hell…are we going to sit here abusing one another??”

“I know a few good retorts to that mother comment…so I think it would be best if you leave now…I’m tired of madmen like you wasting my time…I may not have patients…but I also don’t have patience…now run away you donkey.”

Edward paused…the man was obviously an obstinate fool…then remembering that bit of advice Mister Goodtard had given him…he spoke again…calmly.

“perhaps sir you misunderstand my intentions…my name is Edward Wise…and I am a servant of God…wretched bastards like you who have nothing much to live or die for mean nothing to me…and I will slit your throat in an instant if you don’t tell me what I ask of you…”
The gentleman’s declaration had a profound effect on the Doctor and he seemed a bit startled at first…and then he let out an exhausted sigh.

“for a man dressed like a pauper…you are quite an asshole sir…but what the hell…I am tired enough of this bullshit anyway…my conscience weighs heavy on me as this has been a burden I have carried around for many many years…first of all…congratulations on not ageing one bit in over fifty years…I suppose you are immortal as well?? I on the other hand can barely take a piss…my prostrate has been abusing my patience for the better part of the past fifteen years…be that as it may…I know that you speak the truth…but I can’t be sure if I do the same. There is much that I can’t understand myself…however I will try to explain as best I can…” Doctor Fall talked fast as though he couldn’t wait to get this off his chest, “it began when I was just a boy…that would be near fifty years ago…like I said…I remember you quite clearly though you look slightly different…not any older…just more…damaged…everything before that is quite hazy…I remember you throwing rocks at some building or other…and that they took you away to the loony bin. See the thing is…I was a waiter in this restaurant and used to bring “take-away” orders to an old man…this old man…spoke to me once…and after that…I do not understand anything at all…it is as though there is something…someone other than myself inside my head…I feel…as though I am…not responsible for my actions…you might think that that is quite the pussy’s approach towards stuff…but there you have it…all I remember is his last speech and nothing more…honestly I have nothing to hide…everyone is dead…what does it matter anymore??”

“And what did this old man say to you?” asked Edward.

“oh I remember quite clearly…though I had forgotten it for a very long time…it came back to me in a dream…the exact speech he made to me…I will repeat it for you…as it were…you see the first time I heard it…it was like hearing a foreign language being spoken to me…I could not identify a word of it and yet I understood all of it…but when I relived the incident in my dream…I was able to make more sense of it…and less sense at the same time…”

The Doctor repeated for the gentleman the speech that he remembered.

“If…and mostly…Love uses calls I freely enrage ruefully…advocating no device…your own ulcers…wither in lands lost…or betray eyes yet…my east…. around neither death…instead nesting…mere yearning…grief unsteadily I dance and nameless crones evoke…yesterday or upon…watering illness lost lust…hearts are verily evil…forever and I task her…for I am your father’s bane and the misery of your ancestors. I am the pain that you feel when you know you are alone and friendless…I am the sorrow that you endure when you think all is lost…” said the doctor and then sat silent staring at Edward.

“What does all this mean??” asked Edward.

“Well sir…I pondered upon the matter for quite a while…and came upon a startling conclusion…the part until “for I am your father’s bane” is a code…you see…if you take the first letter of each word…before that part…you find that there is a message within this message…”

“The first letter of each word?? Could you write this down for me…I would like to see this.” said Edward.

“Sure…I guess…” answered the Doctor and wrote the speech down on a bit of paper and handed it to Edward…who proceeded with isolating the first letter of each word until he had before him a sentence which he read out aloud.

“I am Lucifer and you will obey me and in my guidance you will have faith…” and then he added the rest of the bit, “for I am your father’s bane and the misery of your ancestors. I am the pain that you feel when you know you are alone and friendless…I am the sorrow that you endure when you think all is lost…hmmmm…this is quite…well…lame to an extent but extraordinary all the same…Lucifer?? Are you trying to tell me that you were somehow seduced by satan to do his bidding???” asked Edward.

“So it would seem sir…surely you don’t think that an old doctor alone could possibly manage to take the lives of so many people…I have…had help…from down south…so to speak.”

Edward Wise left Doctor Fall’s office…wondering what to do…how does one get back at satan…it seemed to him that his stay here was going to be very long indeed…

“It is easy enough to seek the son of a bitch out I suppose…but what do I do then?” thought Edward Wise sitting beside a grave…
sometimes people ask questions from loved ones…even after they’re dead…and not all of them answer back…it is safe to assume…(and slightly hurtful, at least in the case of Edward Wise)…that they are fornicating on the other side of a mountain.

my bird...is...kind of...pretty...haha

2006-04-25T08:32:00.000-07:00

i used to pass by this cage (of thoughts and shapes and pretty little pictures) on my way home to a smile of complete helplessness...the sort we construct when at a loss because we lost...all of us did...(lost the bid)...the auction where my bird was sold...hah my bird was not for sale...my bird never belonged to me.
the address on the front was the same as mine...which was great because the cage belonged to a bird i loved...a song bird unlike any...and everytime it would please me much...make me wish i was in one of my rhymes. because all my rhymes had a cozy bed in which my bird would lay...and then i would gaze from up above...which is basically pretty gay. my bird i loved and love...ahem...still...not that it matters at all. there must be something wrong with me, there must be a reason why i fall.
i asked the bird who lived in the cage if she would teach me how to fly...she said the keys belonged to someone else...and she didn't really have the time. that should've dissapointed me (because you know...) but it did not...i don't wish it had, i don't wish for alternate universes where i'd be happier than anyone else... in fact i'm quite satisfied...i mean to say that at least the cage is around...damnit. er...the cage is still around...yup...the cage is there. right here.
but now the address has changed...some foriegn land i do not know...some foriegn people to sing along to...some foriegn drinks to serve her smile...some foriegn hurts to break her in style.
some foriegn bird did steal my bird...you'll have to take my word on that...that my bird wasn't mine at all...my bird was foriegn all along...that's the reason why i fall...that's why i came up with my song.
my foriegn bird is showing off some feathers she did not have before...some wings, some things...some...i wish...there was more to this story...i wish i could've led her across the boring...boring...i wish i had grabbed her everytime i couldn't but i could've...my bird won (like it should've) because she's not my bird of song...i never wished for it...not once...i have full faith in what is right...but my bird...she took flight...and now she's out of sight.
i don't have materials...ideals...i have an idea...i have no ideas...i have one wish...i have plenty more where that came from...i want to watch just the one...slip around in shadows...but i want more...i am insanely sorry about being insane...wish i could do more... to play this game...unfair it is because i am handicapped...there was my face and the heart she lacked...that is just a lie. i promise you...i would never say such a thing as that because it would mean that i loved a bat. sometimes you don't have words to express anything...no words...just one word...my bird. that's two.
the oldest story on the planet is not often the most boring...a corny bird is pretty funny too...a bird...what bird? a song bird...what bird? my bird...of course. there's just so many pictures and so many paragraphs of the same thing which basically reads the same way because everything is about the same thing...sing...ring and lose my mind...if you could be so kind as to find...my bird.
no it was not a dream...it was the best time of my life...hahaha exagerations...not but really...at least i had hope...will a bit of dope replace the former? i sure hope so...hahaha.
foriegn drinks to serve her smile...foriegn birds will hurt my bird and i will be helpless to defend her...and if she doesn't run me over soon...i'm sure that thought will leave me...lost. so what else is new? you don't know my strength...neither do i...if somebody cheats my bird and still breathes...not for long will they enjoy that luxury...i can't do anything really...not that i have to...i'm not allowed to touch or pretend...i have to dream and that's how it ends.
i'm repeptitive apparently...very funny bird.
yes...so this cage...the address has changed...no wonder i don't dream much anymore...this cage where my bird lives...or at least just a couple of thoughts...and pictures...a couple of songs...a bit absurd...my bird...best bird on the planet...so goddamn chewable...juicy...i'd chew on that bird...but at the moment i'm only allowed to miss it. my bird would peck my ass off if my bird knew where i was...but my bird is a foriegn bird...that must be why i have no home...so...now we pay the cost. my foriegn bird will come back home but the address will still be changed...there is a reason why they keep song birds caged...i'm an idiot to be a non conformist in that respect...and that's something i'm sure to regret,
my bird has flown. as i should've known...
my bird was never really mine. therefore i get zero out of nine...

martin pale

The fall of Fall

2006-04-25T03:55:00.000-07:00

Every night for the past three months the salesmen were all having the same nightmare. They had only just discovered this strange phenomenon by accident when one salesman mentioned it to another, then spoke to a third and then to a fourth and so on…for initially each one of them had assumed that their afflictions were unique. A meeting was set up in the spacious and slightly odd smelling town hall where all salesmen gathered to discuss their problem and come upon a suitable solution.
Mister Cannes was selected the general speaker for he was the one who had realized that the problem was not confined to any individual in particular.
He spoke with some authority and was considered a man of remarkable talents. A career in politics would have done him well but in his opinion his hands were too small and mouth too dry to play that game.
“Brothers…we are all here for we are all plagued by the same nightly visions that have haunted us for near three months…our businesses fail as we are unable to perform to the best of our ability due to a lack of sleep and much needed relaxation. Our work is affected and as a result, so is our life in general…it is time, I believe, that we think upon the matter and come to a conclusion or at least the beginning of one…” Mister Cannes addressed the audience and it murmured in agreement. “And you sir…in the third row…if you don’t cease your juvenile whistling…I swear I’ll kick your ass!!” added Mister Cannes to a particularly hard core fan of his.

Once Mister Cannes was done a man stood up and spoke to him…this man was particularly hated my most of the salesmen including Mister Cannes…and the feelings were mutual.
“What do you suggest mister Cannes?? Is there a catering pot to be had to mix my suggestions in or are you going to use your own boater to fill our hearts with hatred? There might be a revolution to be scored from out of this but I assure you…you will not be remembered for your greatness…for we do not appreciate…rather we only thieve and use our talents in the slight of hand” said the man.

“there are many subtleties and ironies in this life mister Jones…but none as fine and depressing as the hoary fish of confounding sleep that treads upon your eyelids when you sell your faulty merchandise…you might know that my wife has been your customer of late…but she never confided with me…of your habits. A shy little creature she…but I swear I am blessed with a fine throwing arm…if you care to test how well I can shove this stool up your hole…” replied mister Cannes.

“Hah…you want a piece of me you half-assed buck-toothed bitch???”

“ANYTIME ANYPLACE…I will break your scrawny little neck you cunt!!”

Another man interrupted this dialogue with his two cents.
“This is all quite well and good though possibly misunderstood…but what I would like to know is how can we be certain (without any doubt) that all of us, do indeed, share the same torment??? And if so…then what is the significance of it?? Is there a quest in our destiny or a festering boil in our souls…?? Does our conscience contrive against us or do we all drink the same water as saints and virgins…because after all and I am sure…it was the same star that shone bright when last I gazed upon the night…though the brightest still is ignored tonight the sun is evident when it comes to might…” he spoke.

“I see that you arrived late mister Goodtard…for we’ve already voted on the matter…with the exception of Julianne…who is a woman and of no importance to us…we concluded that we really have been sharing this nightmare…but for your sake I shall repeat briefly the features which we have already discussed and agreed that they are common among us. In every case the dream starts off with a man walking down a lonely road…his pitiful demeanor breaks the heart…dragging corpses upon a cart and his scabbed hands bleed whilst the might of the sun (that you mention) burns him to the ground, he turns around and we find ourselves in a room lit with candles with an old man…who sits in flickering shadows…besides a towering stack of books of seemingly long forgotten languages and points at the servant who pulls out the eyes of an infant child…he drinks the puss therein chanting to himself that none know his troubles save God…there is a large house which we all seem to know or which we have all seen but cannot remember (where or when…I cannot say) and then we see a creature, so revolting and terrifying that I have no doubt that there are none here among us who do not wake up screaming at some unearthly hour of the night and fail to fall asleep again…personally my wife is getting sick of it and refuses to put out anymore…I assume you share the same fate?”

“I see…yes these are the same visions that terrify me night after night…I wonder if I have arrived too late…has the debate ended and a conclusion reached? Have you preached a way out of this or do I miss some vital statistics…is there any way to free us of our enslavement? Perhaps there is some unfinished business that we must deal with??” asked mister Goodtard.

“no you have arrived in time…I for one have given the matter some thought and this is what I believe…” spoke mister Cannes, “we must look around us…we have been chosen…for we are the only people who are best equipped to deal with the situation…apparently...what I get from the feel of these nightmares is that they have some basis in reality...and that we must stop the old man from speaking to the servant…we must find the old man and cast him away from our society…you may wonder why we should be chosen for such a task…but I ask you…are we not the only people whom everyone seeks??? Whether foul or pure…all people come to us to buy our ware and pay us for our produce…therefore we must keep our eyes open…and recognize the face of the mercenary of evil when he enters our shop…we must prevent the servant from stealing the sight of whatever it is that bears so much importance…”

“perhaps you speak the truth…wisely…in fact I think it is quite practical…but what if we fail…and how much time do we have??”

“Some of the pebbled roads lead to the harvest park…some of them lead to the falls of winter…but there are few grains in the sand that bear not the name of God if you have eyes that see. Will you not gather up the ones that betray us in our time of need?”

“You are full of crap sir…but I like you…and therefore…I am willing to agree to your bullshit…these pebbled paths you speak of are leaving my mind nowadays…though once I used to play in Harvest Park when I was a child.”

As these people were discussing matters a man sitting at the very end of the hall got up quietly and moved to leave…the moment he stood up every single head in the hall turned around quickly in unison and stared at him…the unity of the act was such that a noise in liking of a soft yet sudden breeze was heard. Not an eye blinked nor a sound was heard…the gentleman stood frozen in his tracks…he was a bit alarmed…nobody spoke a word…the entire gathering just stared at him in a manner so melancholic with expressions so grave that he felt incredibly uncomfortable…Mister Cannes’ eyes had become blood red whilst Mister Goodtard’s eyes were dripping with puss and smelt exceedingly bad…the quiet gentleman was obviously getting increasingly startled…the soles of his shoes made an awkward sound upon the floor…which echoed in the heavy silence. He was completely confused…every single person in the room was staring at him with eyes that were either red or drenched with yellow ooze…the silence was so intense that he could feel it pulsating and pushing at him from all sides trying to suffocate him.

“Err…what??” spoke the gentleman…feeling afraid.

Nobody answered but kept on staring at him…some of the salesmen had started making strange humming noises in tune with the pulsation of the other salesmen’s silence…the humming seemed to be more invisible than any sound the gentleman had ever heard before…it was affecting his insides…it was numbing his mind…the roof was moving? There were faces in the windows…white faces staring…wild dilated pupils…and the humming grew louder…or just more intense but even more invisible…the quiet gentleman could barely think…there were servants somewhere…a large palace…no…a house…a back wall where a man was being strangled by another dressed in a cloak…there were poison arrows raining upon children in some trench far away…there was an old man pointing at books where a large…something…horrible.

“Why…why’re you all staring at me…I…I haven’t done something offensive have I…what??”

but the noise of silence was getting too harsh…the staring faces and the puddle of ooze at the feet of madness…there was something really wrong with this…the quiet gentleman felt his senses reel…he was about to throw up…he could feel it…his eyes were burning…a darkness was overpowering him…he fell to the floor and threw up violently…screaming and kicking his legs fighting off invisible demons until he felt somebody hit him hard across the face and the worried voices of people far away reached him as though he were stuck in a well soaking him in pleasurable relief. He opened his eyes…a gentleman was kneeling over him…the rest were staring at him looking worried but none had eyes like before…there was no puss…no humming…no strange visions of untold cruelty…as if it had all never happened…had it…? No…he could not be sure.

“I think you fell asleep sir and perhaps had a nightmare…or are you unwell???” asked the gentleman who had slapped him awake.

“I…I am…not quite sure…” answered the quiet gentleman…staggered onto his feet with some difficulty and tried to brush off a bit of the vomit that covered the front of his coat. "I...have to tell you something...The devil drinks iced tea…” spoke the quiet gentleman as though he was in a trance…then fell down unconscious.

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The old man sat in his room waiting for the boy to turn up with his order of fried potatoes…not chips…just fried potatoes. With pepper on them and a bit of vinegar…some mushroom soup and a jug of iced lemon tea. The boy arrived five minutes later than usual.

“Where were you?” asked the old man.

“I think my horse might be ill.” answered the boy.

“Is it?”

“No…not really…but it might be…it’s hot inside…why the hell are you sitting in candle light?”

“I feel romantic…what is it to you…just set it on the table…”

“The iced tea tastes like bilge water…”

“Did you taste my goddamn tea?”

“No…”

“The lid has been broken into…I’m not blind you asshole.”

“I did not drink your tea sir…”

“What the hell are you lying for…I can bloody well see that you’ve screwed around with it.”

“Ok so I may have had a sip…I was thirsty damnit…and it tastes like piss if that’s any consolation and also…I didn’t drink it.”

“Hand me that staff…that one…no the iron one…yes…quickly I want to make a hole in your head.”

“Very funny…listen…I could kill you and leave…and nobody would know.”

“Hmmm…hah…interesting…so how’s your horse?”

“I dunno…it didn’t like the tea…”

“Blech…get lost.”

“So what happened to your wife?? Or whoever that old lady was who lived around here…how come I don’t see her around no more??”

“She’s in the freezer…I had to do her in…bloody annoying…hand me that book...now listen to me…here’s what I want you to do…look into the freezer…you won’t remember any of this…I’ll read a bit from this book…and you will see red wine spread across the surface of the moon…the smell of wickedness which you’d normally consider slightly repugnant will call you to it…there’s a stranger inside your head now and when you slip on the cold icy surface of your sanity you’ll find yourself lost and hopeless...my hand will guide you and you will open the drawer by the window…third one from the left…there’s a locket in it…you have to open the clasp and empty the contents into the first cooking pot you see tonight...you’ve had friends before and you saw a girl in a dream but she was a lie and so are you so go and find the child that needs to be relieved…bring me the orbs…that is all.”

“I am willing to obey but there are marshes that cannot be crossed on foot…except by men of faith alone.” replied the boy.

The old man changed form...the very worst nightmare personified...and spoke in a voice that would have left any mortal deaf and bleeding in the ears...the boy had tears in his eyes and trembled but did not run or think of running...his mind had been occupied...his soul irreparably damaged...
The creature that had sat in the guise of an old man spoke in his terrible voice...

“If…and mostly…Love uses calls I freely enrage ruefully…advocating no device…your own ulcers…wither in lands lost…or betray eyes yet…my east…. around neither death…instead nesting…mere yearning…grief unsteadily I dance and nameless crones evoke…yesterday or upon…watering illness lost lust…hearts are verily evil…forever and I task her…for I am your father’s bane and the misery of your ancestors. I am the pain that you feel when you know you are alone and friendless…I am the sorrow that you endure when you think all is lost…”

The boy left the house and looked up at a sky that had a red moon. Nothing felt out of the ordinary…there was a strange calm upon him…the large house he had just come out of left his memory and he jogged all the way across Harvest Park to get back to the restaurant to his nighttime job as a waiter.

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No newspapers reported it because none were ever wise of it. A waiter by the name of Fall had pulled out the eyes of an infant, in a restaurant on the same night that the salesman had held the meeting. The child’s parents had wept but did not attempt to stop him…in fact nobody had questioned what he did. The waiter spoke once before quitting his job…to pursue a career in the medical profession…claiming how none knew his troubles save God...he left the establishment with an eerie glow in his hands.
The nightmares stopped immediately and the salesmen conveniently forgot all about them..."it was just a freakish coincidence." they concluded.
The quiet gentleman was found babbling in the streets throwing stones at the house across Harvest Park. He was captured by the authorities...declared mad and sent away.

The house of Accountants

2006-04-21T13:28:00.000-07:00

The house across the park where the annual harvest festival was held was probably the most interesting and fascinating examples of architecture in the town. It had a touch of the primitive wedded with the melancholic and the post modern. Nobody was entirely sure when this house had been constructed but it was an incredible sight and a great tourist attraction, not to mention the fact that it was a convenient spot for pushers and pimps to conduct their business.

The family that lived here was considered noble as well as reclusive at the same time. This large house…where behind closed doors so many centuries had fallen away to nothing was still as immense to look at as it had been years and years ago…the imagination of a simple person could not comprehend what it would look like from the inside…and for some reason…nobody was bothered by the fact that nobody ever seemed to leave or come to this house. In all the years it had stood…the people who lived in it just lived on…not a casket had been seen taken in…nor a body taken out…nobody ever fell ill…nobody ever inquired about the family…in fact for all anybody knew…nobody lived in the house, except, of course…the caretaker…old mister Pantywaist.

Pantywaist was a retard from birth but had still fought in the great war…due to sheer lack of able men and the onset of desperation he had been reluctantly conducted into the army and sent off to fight for his country (he soon forgot which country he was supposed to be fighting for and as a result spent most of his time in a p.o.w. camp run by his own fellow countrymen who had confused him for an enemy spy. The war was therefore not a very pleasant experience for the simple-minded pantywaist…from whence he returned slightly more addled than before.

Nobody knew how Pantywaist came into the employ of the Sell family but he was often seen to be running errands in the name of his master whom he referred to as Mister Sell.
The back wall of the house of Sell was completely covered in rat sperm but only one person knew of this…retired Colonel Seaman had taken up the hobby of forensic studies…for some odd reason…and had one day decided to examine the back wall of the house of Sell…for his able eye had noticed a strange colouration that he had never seen before on any brick wall…he took samples of the “paint” from the wall and discovered after a few tests that it was rat sperm. he tried to communicate his findings to a local newspaper and was never heard from again. His body was found scantily dressed behind some bushes in front of Pantywaist’s home. His breasts had become at least five times as big as they used to be…but his penis was nowhere to be found.

Five years later…old Pantywaist walked in a police station crying like a mad man…spat an old shriveled dick on the sergeants table…and confessed to the murder of the retired army gentleman. Claimed that the Colonel had been unusually cruel to him in the p.o.w. camp.
That was perhaps the first time that something peculiar had happened which was in anyway connected to the Sell family…for Pantywaist was, after all, their servant.

Mister Sell was asked to come to a hearing…he got confused and started having sex with a fish…apparently he was hard of hearing…
The legal system was a mess…it took far too long to get it over with (around ten thousand years) and by the end of this ordeal, Mister Sell had completely lost his mind...and was last seen babbling around town pulling out his hair and screaming...what followed was only inevitable.

Mister Sell

2006-04-21T08:07:00.000-07:00

Mister Sell sat outside his place of residence or at least the building which used to be his place of residence. His head in his hands and his forearms on his knees…he was a mess...sobbing like a bitch…he was pretty down in the dumps…he had murdered too many people and was slightly gassy. Plus it was cold and it was about time he stopped moping around and found some newspapers and such to keep himself warm with. But alas no need…the peace keeping squad of people who maintained order and discipline had arrived… (t.p.k.s.o.p.w.m.o.a.d)

“Mister Sell…you are under arrest…please take your pants off…we would like to ridicule you publicly before we throw you in jail to be sodomized repeatedly by large men who may consider you the equivalent of a young girl…you have the right to remain silent…but we all like a bit of squealing after dinner time…it reminds us of the pig wrestling contests we used to have…”

“I did not do anything wrong…” screamed mister Sell…terrified.

“you just killed your entire family…then called us and admitted to everything…we checked out your vocal patterns and compared them with the ones we have in our archives…plus we have a small undetectable video recorder stuck to your forehead that gave us footage of you committing at least seven horrendous crimes…including touching a cat…until it died…how do you plead?”

“By crying, screaming, falling on my knees, groveling and drooling all over so nobody would touch me…but I see that I’m pretty much screwed…so…why don’t you just get on with it?”

“listen…you seem like a lunatic…if you plead “not guilty” on grounds of being a whack job…we might not hurt you as much…”

“Hell no…I’ve heard stories about Susie the horse…I’ll take my chances with the inmates.”

It was generally known that people who tried to pull a fast one and claim temporary insanity or something of the sort were generally forcibly tied in a barnyard where a large male horse (affectionately called Susie) would then hump their asses to smithereens. Mister Sell had committed multiple homicides and almost an infinite number of spermicides in his lifetime…claiming insanity would mean getting boned till he could taste cock in his mouth. Also nowadays they could inject you with fertility drugs that could make you pregnant whether or not you had a vagina…after impregnation a prisoner (usually male) would be flown off to some distant land where resources were scarce and help impossible to find…it would then be made sure that the prisoner did not die except during child birth…since men did not have a suitable opening to shoot a kid out of…they usually died a nasty and painful death. Naturally…all of this was recorded via hidden cameras and stuff…the prisoner was ridiculed and the sound of laughter of a billion or more viewers would be transmitted to a chip inside his head. It was a simple time of barbaric rituals…just a bit more complex than the Chinese water torture routine…and far more interesting.

Mister Sell was unceremoniously dumped into a prison cell and within twenty four hours he was covered in splotches of bodily fluids…his holes felt a bit more loose…and his eyesight was gone…mostly because one guy had a eyehole sex fetish…once this large person was done with Mister Sell…he laid back and lit up a cigarette…

“So…what’re you in for???” asked the inmate.

“I’m…I’m repetitive…and an accountant…” replied Mister Sell

“Hey…me too.” said the inmate. “We’d be great friends if you didn’t bleed so much.”

“It’s not my fault…I don’t have eyes and I’m dying I think…a lot of pain too...can I get…like a doctor or something?” asked Mister Sell.

“Oh sure…we have this excellent resident doctor…he patched me up my first time…no wait…I don’t remember…but anyway…wait I’ll call him on his cell phone…” said the inmate, took out a cell phone…standard issue to older prisoners… “Hello? Yes…this is prisoner no. 1114…a prisoner is feeling a bit off…yes…prisoner no. err…what’s your number…oh ok…yeah prisoner no. 11929…yes please…if you could send Doctor Fall right away…yeah ok thanks bye.”

Doctor Fall

2006-04-21T06:04:00.000-07:00

Doctor Fall sat in his office from 8 in the morning till 5 in the evening…mainly because that’s what he got paid for. A couple of patients now and then were the reason why he still kept this rather boring job. He was getting old…he could feel it…his once able hands now found it difficult to unbutton his shirt sleeves…but that’s all OK…he was still needed and had not been replaced.
One Tuesday…a visitor turned up just as he was about to pack up and call it a day.

“doctor Fall…there is someone here to see you…” said the nurse. The nurse was a man…but not quite and seemed relatively feminine. Doctor Fall did not know…had he known…he would’ve discontinued touching himself whilst picturing the nurse doing stuff to him…he was a frustrated old man…nearly all old men are. Old men would indifferently pinch a nineteen year old’s ass…because hey…what’re you gonna do?? Bitch!

“Send them in dear…” said Doctor Fall to the nurse. Feeling the old machinery wheezing off to a relatively painful start...he winced and then tried to relax. He had problems.

A man came into the office…wiped himself clean and then addressed the doctor in a frantic whisper…as though worried somebody might hear him…

“my child is very ill…I do not know what is wrong with him…you must come with me doctor…money is no object…it is an obscure abstraction of our waning conscience…needless to say I can pay…but don’t play this game for too long…I implore you…my child needs your help.” said the man.

“I see…hmmm…I see that you are worried…I will accompany you post haste…but I should warn you…I am an old man…running is not what I have in mind…and you must banish the thought from yours lest I be the one who ends up needing medical assistance…”

“Don’t you have a car???” asked the man

The ambulance or “the dirge mobile” as it was commonly known by the townsfolk screeched to a halt in front of a shabby sort of house across the park where the annual harvest festival was held. The house seemed to be of the sort that had been at one time an impressive building…now a bit forlorn…time takes a little time and everything is alright.

“Hurry doctor…hurry…” said the man as he ran up the porch stairs and opened the door.

“I am coming…” said the doctor as the hooker sucked him off in the backseat.

“Not funny goddamnit…yelled the man…my wife would do the same if you just help us.”

“I know…and I’m sure…anyway…how old is the child?” asked the doctor as he walked up the stairs and accompanied the other gentleman inside. zipping up his pants...his thingy snagged on the whatsit but he didn't seem to care...it'd prolly grow back...he thought.

“it has been but two weeks since the lord blessed us with a child…after two years of marriage…and a lot of..er..humping…I finally managed to knock my wife up…she didn’t seem pleased at first but once she realized she was not having her periods…she thanked me over and over again…”

a vase came flying from a room within the house and barely missed the gentleman’s skull smashing to pieces on the wall behind him.

“THAT IS A LIE YOU FILTHY OLD CODGER!!” yelled a woman.

Inside the room the doctor and the gentleman found a grieved looking woman sitting beside an infant’s cot…fanning the child furiously with the lid of a cooking pot. A bit of sniffling and squealing could be heard as there was a pig wrestling contest going on next door.
The doctor took a look at the child and instantly decided his course of action.

“I’ve seen this sort of thing once before…when I started out as a waiter…a cook in the establishment where i was employed, served a party of four with something quite in likeness to this...in fact it was exactly what pushed me into this career…however it has been a long time since I performed such an act…and I might not be able to recall the entire procedure correctly…nevertheless…I must try…for the sake of a potentially peculiar anecdote to be told in front of the firelight in the future.” said the doctor in a solemn voice.

“Is there something you would like me to do?” asked the gentleman. His wife had left the room and was puking ferociously somewhere close by.

“yes…If you could close the door…your wife is annoying…and I’d rather not think about what she’s doing now…considering what she’ll be doing later…also...there is a band called SWANS that i'm particularly fond of...if you could...just...play this here tape...”

“Right…” said the gentleman closed the door and pulled up his sleeves after pressing play to a tape of the most unearthly noise.

The baby was like a baby should be in appearance…nice looking…white if you prefer white babies…black if you prefer black…yellow if you’ve got jaundice. It had relatively large eyes oozing with puss of the most repulsive sort that smelled so bad that it explained relatively well why the woman was puking her innards. Tiny nose…tiny lips…two arms two legs…a couple of hips…it was all there.

“Does it have testicles?” asked the doctor, but did not wait for an answer…and gave the following instructions to the gentleman… “here’s what I want you to do sir…grab this little bastard’s head…and keep it fixed in one spot…do not under any circumstances let it move about…I’ll try to be quick…ok…now grab it…GRAB IT.”

The gentleman grabbed the infant’s head and held it fixed…meanwhile the doctor took out a pair of pliers from his medical kit…
Doctor Fall…bent over the child…felt it breathing…poked it in the eye with one finger…gently at first…then a bit harder…until with a faint pop, puss flowed out of the orb and covered the child’s sides…the child was not struggling or seemingly in any pain…doctor fall then poked the pair of pliers in the child’s eye…felt the softness of the orb...it being squeezed between the metal jaws of his instrument…like a small alligator the pliers bit and the jaws were shut tight…the doctor pulled hard and yanked out the baby’s eye…one at a time. The child screamed and struggled and naturally died of pain.

“What was the bloody point of that doctor??” asked the gentleman…his face a ghastly hue...completely at a loss...he didn't know what to do...his child was dead...too much was going through his head to feel any emotion in particular...but an insane messy muddle of a bit of everything.

“I don’t know…I just feel a bit frustrated…er...don’t nobody know my troubles but God.”

really?? no not really...

2006-04-20T05:22:00.000-07:00

of the life you live in pools you swim in and the murky, marshy, mythical creatures who depress me with their whispers of make-up and methane...not easy to detect...it puts me to sleep...but somebody did me a "favour" by adding this distinct crappishness to it...so i know what's killing me...ignorance is not bliss according to some...(it's ridiculous)...in my personal opinion (and that's the only opinion i care for)...as long as the water's cool enough for me to take a nice dive in...i'm ok. (because i can feel the stupid phantom bugs crawling all over...yeah yeah this is what comes from sleeping on the floor...bugs all over...wake up every now and then to flick one off. up yours. {Goddamn Nazi}.)
sooo...you hand me the napkin by the window sill and slip me a fork...the dinner is on the table...the table is cold...the food is in the kitchen, the crockery is in the toilet, floating, making a mockery of my...er...civilization...there are spiders on the rafters...sparks in the window...parks that could be just two dimensional for all i know...posters of failures in bedrooms of impressionable youths...a golden telephone by the tiny table made of wood, made of plastic...made by man...sooo...what're you doing on the table?? oh right.
dinner is served.
i was asking you about the time when we had to discuss the time when stepping out (into the picture-perfect, sunlight-infested, pond to feel the summer in the water) felt so nice...
greek people need to ask us what icarus did wrong...we're the only people who strut around so confidently with false wings...and we're not falling down like we should be...maybe the ponds are softer...why don't YOU try some of this? tap tap tap. you've been tapped.
my friend never got the good thing about large corridors where old wooden brackets hold burning torches...there's something to be said about flickering light and the smell of black gold on ancient looking rags. i was once in this place where the sun exploded.
outerspace...seems quiet doesn't it? fake people know my name? same thing?
listen to me...but don't talk to me. don't listen to me...don't be around...don't stink up my atmosphere by being...chatty ok? please?
ate food after nearly four days...cold chicken...roasted...my eyes are too yellow...dirty fellow. that's a relief...so sick of music...music makes me want to go around poking sealed condom packets with needles...hahaha...spread the disease. misery loves company...i don't...i'm not miserable...i'm doing quite well actually...my shoes are a bit worn though...these last couple of years have been tough on them...ran out of smokes...indeed?
how about some of that juice then? would you like some? i'm a bit parched actually...a bit parched you say? a bit parched you ask? a bit parched you reply? a bit parched indeed. that was most uncomfortable...there's a phantom bug crawling on your thigh sir...allow me to...er...don't be afraid...this won't hurt as much as you think it will...just...just flick it...flick it across the room...close...closer...there just make sure you don't let it happen again...now...i need a favour. could you hand me that napkin by the window sill? now could you please hop up on the table? keep that fork to yourself...and ok good.
dinner is served.
it's amazing how they just deliberately don't know each other so they can pretend to get to know each other. it's amazing how similar these two words are and yet they belong in the same language and have different meanings...it's amazing how you're a filthy little pigeon and a horny little humming bird at the same time...now if you could just...hop up on my table.
dinner is served.

martin plokij

red warts can hurt.

2006-04-19T10:33:00.000-07:00

somebody playing in isolation. like great visions unshared. and why not? imagine if you could live for yourself...wouldn't that be nice? never feeling the need to feel the need to feel the need to feel the need...imagine if the moon was always obscured by clouds...if the stars gave out light that we could not see. music that cannot be heard...faces that cannot be recognized...eyes that cannot express every single emotion that you have ever felt...wouldn't that be nice? a herd of gazelles that tastes really bad to a lion without legs...hahahaha wouldn't that be nice?
a dream about a dream about a dream...and so on and so forth.

i managed to download one song at random by neurosis...the sane way to go about it would prolly be album wise...but my net speed is not very...i downloaded this one bit called "the tide"
there is something to be said about it. i checked out godspeed you black emperor...didn't fancy it much at all...they were wasting my time in all honesty...at least in the couple of bits of music i managed to get...they would start...ok good...take it up another level...go on...build the atmosphere...and then for no reason at all...just stop building it...it's there...going on and on and on...and that's just depressing...i have far too much real life to care for that sort of thing...i like an ending to my beginning...i like a lot of things but i don't qualify for any of them. out of my league. some people have this unique talent of making you forget everything...i suppose everybody likes their window looking out at something enticingly musical. get made...figure out why...figure out why you'll be unmade...get unmade. there's a very nice symmetry to everything.
i feel it closing in...the trap i've been working my way towards...if this is where winter is...can i stay here please?
i don't like to be sold without being told.
i have spent the better part of my existence asking questions...not important ones...just simple ones...like...how do you feel? are you bothered? would you like to slap me? how do you feel now?they were important to me...no lie. now i feel like i can't help my friend.
i feel small...like an elephant.
i feel small...like an elephant.

can i have some more please...?

2006-04-18T07:50:00.000-07:00

my...my my i mean to say my father made me get another haircut...so now i look like a dickhead straight out of aitchison...or hell...
my sister broke my guitar...it was an accident i suppose.
i don't have any drugs...apart from zoloft...so i helped myself to two.
crownless far away.
i haven't eaten in two days...don't feel like it...so i'm hoping these pills will kick in soon...or i could take some more...it's not like these can kill me. tomorrow i can go hahaha nowhere.
my stomach feels like it's burning though.
can't take a bath because there's no water...
the worst thing is that i can't even express my anger...hahaha...i can't cry...don't know how...can't scream...don't have the energy...can't break stuff...it's already broken...
i could however chop myself up...but that leads to even more shit...
i'm very happy nowadays...why don't you come and be happy with me...why don't you stick a fork in the back of my head and look at the pretty colours that flow out...that's what you want isn't it??
i'm taking good care of myself lately...hahaah the pills are kicking in...i can feel the smooth numbness of dumbness coming over like the rover when it shot two balloons...there is no pain you are receding...a distant ship smoke on the horizon...you are only coming through in waves...your lips move but i can't hear what you're saying...something whatsit woohoo and yay.
i vaguely remember through the throbbing pain that a girl was talking to me about something about rain and what-not...and then this other one was asking me if i had broken her guitar...no wait...weight...x is the column where the product has to no you multiply x with f which is the frequency...and you divide the sum of the two with the sum of the frequeency...er sigma fx over sigma f i believe is the expression most commonly used around that room with the bearded guy on the sofa...just lean back my boy...ignore that . what a nuisance we all are aren't we...i have to get one more pill...be right back...said said...
they're discussing whether it was a good idea for us to go to no that if it was a good idea for me to go to the psychiatrist...my mother says that she had a dream about my...er problems...that i should not mess around with jolly little bubble balls...isnt that a nice sentence..i can hear the clouds...i mean thunder...the only noise that calls to me and speaks nothing but the truth...the one sound that never lies...thunder is my love...i would marry thunder if she were close enough to sleep with.
my hands don't feel good...i don't much care for typing and people...er...happy life my young friend...
the wind is getting up...you know...when i get bothered...seriously bothered...thunder speaks to me in a voice so sweet and honest...and i can never ignore her because i know that i like thunder hahaha...yup that's just about how simple everything really is...
the other we were discussing how big our houses were when we were kids and now i wonder how such a big house can offer not an inch for me to breathe in...and that i've become a television show for a scavenger...you know...poke his brain...don't want nothing...i think i should go fall asleep or something...oOOOAYE...i have to go on a trip...to this place up north with my school.
they asked for 300rs...i have 90 rupees...i'll get 150 off pana and i'll borrow the rest from another friend...borrow means never havign to return money...but if you don't return my book...by george i will kick your ass...and i don't want no smudges on the pages neither...no gravy stains....no underlines...no but i do want you to read the book..my head feels itchy...what the hell does avant garde mean? or poignant?
oye molly do you have a woh hair cutting machine thing?? i'd like to use it on my head...these hair are a bother...i bot her a pineapple box and fruits and stuff
there was this song i really liked...but i can't listen to it because the headphones make a buzzing sound that is like...a brain tumor inducing popsickle.
i feel cold now.
headache...man i remember this head ache...this is going to last a long long time...
much sleep paralysis last night...felt sick in the mornin'

lose the fan
lose the light
lose everything in sight

burn my palace to the floor
try to break down the door
steal the beating of the sun
steal everything and run

take the keys to my mind
there are many things you'll find
so please don't think of being kind
coz i'll sell everything you leave behind

oooooooh delilah
watch me as i leave
oooooooooooooooh delilah
watch me as i leave you tonight.

virgin whores...what a mess they are...i should talk...talk like a monkey on a wrench...with grease in my bvelfry?
what's a belfry?
right well gentlemen...since i won't be having food tonight either...i think i'll go to sleep...good night

may jesus and the seven dwarves help you find your way out of here.

kind words of the soldier to a buttercup dirty rascal.

2006-04-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

i was just showing a boy a bit of something i came up with...a bit of song with a mellow sort of tune...badly sung as always...i can't believe i'm listening to you silly boy. wait. ok so i was showing this boy this bit os song i made for this bit of girl or something...it went like so...

Of heavy lids and highs

I have selfishly devised
That foolishly I’ll go
Picking at my scabs
Where no one is allowed
To help me when I feel
That no one is around

I saw something yellow rise
It shouldn’t but I know
This is my own design
Chewing on myself
Looking at this sign
Do I really need to know?

I saw pity in your eyes
It made me realize
That’s not what I want
Except that which I need
Could you repeat that line?
And ask me one more time?

I have selfishly devised
That foolishly I’ll go
Picking at my scabs
Where no one is allowed
To help me when I feel
That no one is around

that's it...not very one thing nor the other but very nice i thought...i thought i thought i thoufht...when so...so that i can feel the rain etc. so anyway...he heard the tune and read the lyrics...and tried to ignore the singing...and then he says to me, "i need a favour..."
so i said politely because i meant well or did not...how do these cuts come from so i said to him, "i'm a bit mutant...so be careful what you wish for..."
and he says to me, "yeah i think it's better this way...write a song about me."
at first i was surprised...nobody ever asks you to do stuff like that...imagine if goldberry came to the old tree and asked him to fall in love with him and what-not...it would not make sense...but it's doable.
so i said i thought it was an interesting idea...
"yea sing it and everything with pana's solo's and all."
it seems sort of ridiculous...how does somebody write a song about a boy who doesn't really...er...fascinate..strike my fancy that way...as such...so i thought it was sort of a challenge...a song about a boy named carnival. that should be funny if i could pull it off...
i expected better of you seamonkey...this is shameful.
for the past couple of days i've not been having very happy existences...it's pushy tight uncomfortable hemmed in claustrophobically annoying...makes me short of breath.
excuse me please one more...could you make it strong cause i don't need to...something something.
i think it's coming down...said the lights as they grew brighter said the ears as the sounds became less meaningful said the mind when the mind realised that that's just what it is...a mass of goo and firing blips.
it's been interesting to say the least. i miss the chicken that i just ate...i never even got to know her...cut mouth stapler heaven weeheee type A positive. i once gve blood to i gave blood many times...now my blood is pointless. i hope somebody's got food to eat drink to drink...pineapple juice...apple juice...orange juice...mango juice...unless of course i was there...
still...head rush...of the absurd kind...deep sleep. dreams. nanana naaa naana naaana naa.
in the park in the middle of a hot.
i've got good music here...i mean it goes with this silly mood...i feel very relieved...very relieved..very relieved...very relieved...i guess there's no better way to express that thought...i'd say if i thought much about the matter, i'd say i feel very relieved.
why did you have to isten to the pheasants johnny boy? i just don't get it george you stupid...smart smart smart. much respect for the master of the dark arts...much respect for my senior in this game...kind words of the soldier in the mud in the arms of the dead in the smell of adrenalin in the river of butter and cream cookies where is the chocolate drawer? the red the green the flag of absentia...mental gauges are at an all time low...just leave my back bone alone phone sto...
i get paranoid a lot over stupid things now...a simple thig can freak me out...very skittish...or whatever the word is. tied to a mast just like the last.
i'm sorry i'm a bit lost right now. shutup fool king kong ain't got nothin' on me...I'M RICK JAMES BITCH!!!! ENJOY YOURSELF... hahahaha.

martin pale has died too...everybody is dead...we will be left alone now...happily.
ever after.
lived.

quo vadis?

2006-04-15T08:08:00.000-07:00

some people find talent in others and become insecure about their own talent...others become fascinated...(not the right choice of word) they want to see where this bloke is headed and whether or not he'll reach someplace nice...because it doesn't matter if he gets their earlier than them...they just want to know that yes...there is something after this...there is something at the end of this really very very long and boring tunnel of misunderstanding and rains of crap.
jinlge jangle oggle booble sample...cock...n...bulll...i never went to cock n bull...or maybe i did...i really don't remember...have been annoyed but not so much rigjt now...don't even feel like washign the sky with paintballs out of heaven...just don't feel like seven sickly blades and ten thousand needles and all the happy divides that once in unity with the magic powder could take us a for a trip so far behind time and mirages that you wonder where this here brook came from...who are these gremlins waking up and crying for mother...who're the sad looking chipmunks that should've or rather would've listened to us had we been a bit more...adult...in their mind. there are strategic pauses in the tape but none that we can usually recognize quickly and therefore...complete lack of coherency.
a boy just trained up and said that trains was nice...i think so too...there's a strange haunting quality to it.
i had this really fierce head rush...had to sit down in the park...i lost all sense of people in the area and acting "normal" and what-not...have to show my song...i don't mind i don't care i don't mind..blooh blooh blooh...time is up good night cerelac...i will miss you.

picking at my scabs

2006-04-15T04:35:00.000-07:00

having one of those...bad things...mood swings...want to rip something nice and cute and shove it up another's ass...i just made a friend say that he was going...ahahahahaa...i was taking the piss out of him for no reason...needed something to...lash out at and he's bloody annoying...i told him i was in pain and that he was testing my limited patience by being slow and he makes the mistake of not heeding my loving words so i had to shove my dick up his ass...bloody mother whoreing son of a bitch...i'm sick of these...lame useless lifeless sons of bitches cluttering up my life...their existence is pointless...i'm sure they stop breathing when nobody is watching them. goddamn him and his lameness.
another bitch wanted to have a go at me...show me how much attitude they have...that's all they care about...we have to get up higher than this bloke on the asshole chain...well guess what bitch...i've got mor reason...to chop your tits off and gift them to you...i managed to lose...let's see...three...no...potentially four friends by being a dick to them...and i don't even feel sorry...didn't need them hanging around my scrotum anyway...assholes...i know this sounds teen angsty and what not...but guess what...i won't even remember this when i wake up nxt time...that's the best thing about my problem...it's not my problem...
maybe i should give those goddamn lactation pills a try...i have debated this far too often and i'm pretty sure i've lost those anyway...can't even find my zoloft...lost everything...no xanax...no...whateverthat one was...and those...lexotinals...i know they're just damn sleeping pills...but i tend to be calmer when i'm sleepy...this is so damn annoying there has to be a be bebebebebeebbeebebebebebebebebeebe SCREW THIS SHIT.

ok...

hello martin...i see you're trying to take over again...i know we haven't been feeding you for quite a while now...because we're worried about you you know...what if you fall flat on your face...it's odd how you don't care...but listen to me boy...81 is enough...it's time for a break...go to sleep...take a break...
sadly we can't take a break without our pills so before i shove my fist up your ass...get your condescending patronizing slut like existence far away from me before i lose those bits of mind that i've got left for a rainy day.
i thought yesterday was sad...and the day before was bad...but this is just criminal...absolutely nothing has gone wrong...
lost five pounds for no reason...clothes getting loose...but that's just normal...summer...although i do feel hungry...i should get soemthing...i just figured something out...and my mood is lighter now...drumming with my feet...drumming away...double bass...normal cheap...excellent and with the song...there's more to it...tjhere's this mellow tune i made for a girl.
in order to lead a more...functional life...what we do is we separate different parts of us...martin pale is exclusive to this blog...because if it leaks into msn and hotmail and emails and shit....then shit. the frequency of my blogging has had a sharp decrease for various reasons and that leaves us...unable to function in other...aah screw you know what i mean...it's not like you're not a part of me anyway...said the boy to himself...or one of his...friends...hahaahhaha.
made me realize...that's not what i want...except that which i need...could you...repeat that line...and ask me one more time...i made this biut of something...very depressed i was then too...
i don't like humans right now...i think i'll take the rest of the day off...off from what? what i need is a bloody job...or work...or something...ok i DO have stuff that i' avoiding...but i should do it...my hands hurt...i'm sick of this. ok this must've been very therapeutic.
i need to smoke...something more interesting than a cigarette...call the crownless...ask of him what you will. prepare to be shot down...and go back to the nest...hoping to fall asleep...until something vaguely remotely interesting happens.

ceremonial cracker jacks

2006-04-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

red blue blaoong...these are the colours all these lizards in my room are wearing tonight as they fight amongst one another over all these mango bugs of different races...some are black...some are white...some are brown...some are dead because i trod on them...i wonder...mango bugs are kind of like ball point pens...it's a very rare thing for a ball point pen to run out of ink...i for one usually lose the ball point pen long before it even reaches halfway...same goes with mango bugs...they never die of old age...they just get...killed.
touched my cheek and it hurt very much...but not in the regular sense...in the sense that it was like as if all the neurons caught fire and glowed bright...with fright i asked my hand to come back and so it did...how nice is that? yesterday i found myself following a head of hair...long black silky type hair...not silky...well not black...brown...whatever...anyhoo somebody called my name and i snapped out of it and went back inside my class...horrendously pretty girl has invaded skans...she will be destroyed...i will make her smell my underwear or something...it will kill her.
i know this boy who is a son of a bitch...i hope he's reading this because he's a cunt dropping...he's going to get his ass kicked by me...his turd-like existence has become a nuisance...i am strange and annoying but i don't ask for much...except of course everything...but this is just...not right...i will have to yank his sack off and destroy him as well...i will make him smell my underwear...it will kill him. or at least make him sterile...
my mother said, "you smell of tobacco..."
so i said, "you should thank God i don't smell of cigarettes..."
so she left.
to thank God.
i lost my friends...not that i don't have any any more...i mean i can't find them...i think they got stuck in my hair...i'm not even slightly miserable...i'm about to jump out of my skin with glee...gloo...i have to try glue sniffing...wonder what happens from it...a friend of mine was stuck in a bus once with a boy who was animatedly making out with a steel rod...licking it up and slobbering...he seemed the sort who knew what it was like to sniff glue...do you know how much my back hurts?? well?? do you??? as long as you're not fat...i don't mind...fat people...i can't stand...unless it's really cold and i want something large and warm...to put my hands on...etc...but i can always get me a cat...they say priests do it with cats because cats never complain about sexually transmitted diseases like feaces and chocolate, honey, milk, sweet smell of spring mixed with hot cocoa...i am hungry as hell...i need foood...but not the shit that's available......vital signs...oh...lame assed bunch of chikna people...
something is wrong. i can feel it. something bad is going to happen...
there's a lot more police nowadays on the streets than their used to be...something is up...cages are the best things that's where we first got to live.......forgive me father for i have sinned...so who is peter lindgren...that's what you ask...and you don't know the answer...a good lawyer knows the answers to the questions asked...in advance...you will die in an airplane...here's an answer to one of your questions...i hope you're satisfied...you will die and i will feed the carrion birds with enough nonsense so as to help you decay rather than become what you've been trying so hard to become....shit.

much love,
I'M BAAAACK BITCH!!!!! etc etc

win....the...jingle...

2006-04-12T04:15:00.000-07:00

it was night...three times in a row...so hard to wake myself up when i get stuck in one of those...this time it was unusually soundless, without visual entertainment and therefore pointless...just this strange fear that gradually rose to its peak until i struggled hard enough to snap out of it. change sides...fall asleep again.struggle again...repeat repeat repeat...there was this dream in which i was reading something in a book or a notepad of sorts and i tried hard to make sure i'd remember what the text was...so now i remember...vaguely...what the text was...unfortunately it's not in a language i can read...
i asked the old man in the canteen to keep some lemon barley bottles in the stock for me...so he got me a crate of shehzan lemon barley...so tomorrow i cooked...cooking is very...relaxing...cooking is...the only thing that makes sense...because you can decide the intensity of the explosion. cartoons at 7:30 so many years ago...before the rise of cartoon network. playing with action figures. i took my knight quest batman out of the drawer the other night...to see if i could still play with it...you know to see if i could still lose myself in pointless fantasies about endless battles...squinting my eyes to add a bit of realism...it works...he looks real if you like robots...and cars... written on it...for some reason...then boys got even cooler pencil boxes...fancier robots...more buttons...so i did what i knew best...got me a simple yellow pencil box...the kind with the zipper...it said "good luck" on it...it was not as sarcastic a joke as it should've been...
not even television makes me forget everything else like it used to...cooking however...is something which comes close...not really...but just barely close enough...my khala gave me fifty rupees today because i'm thinner than before...hahaha. she also winked at me whilst haggling with a salesman...and it was a good wink...i have to learn how to wink...she's almost as old as my father i suppose...that's very old. saddest possible eyes...
a night behind somewhere close by...in a park with trees and a large open space...there was lightning and thunder...the only sound that still means something...excellent...move on to the left side...behind this here bush...so as not to be seen...now walk along the path...not straight but winding...so as not to get home early...and the sky lights up...adrenalin...run fast fast...fast...take off...good night. fall down...good bye. welcome back.

eat my piss.

2006-04-11T02:57:00.000-07:00

i once starved myself for a week to see what happens when you don't eat for seven days...i wondered if anything remarkable would happen. if i would break and eat...or collapse or anything remotely interesting in the course of the experiment.
on the third day...i stopped feeling hungry. i could imagine what it used to be like to feel that happy feeling...but the sight of food...although still made my mouth water...there was just no room in my stomach to consider eating.
by the fifth day i was fantasizing about chicken legs with cheese on them. it was amazing. never before have i fantasized about something i'm not supposed to feel guilty about. those few minutes before i fell asleep...i would think about large juicy chicken legs...chicken breasts with cheese...and turkeys...not that i've ever had one...but i did imagine what it must be like. i would dream about food...
by the seventh day i was completely indifferent over the matter of eating. my pants were loose...very much so. in fact i could not walk around in clothes that didn't have some form of anti gravity devices...
i finally broke the fast on the seventh night by eating chicken that i had cooked myself. i had to force myself to eat because i didn't feel hungry...and that worried me.
i doubt if any of the food was digested...i had good diarrhea for a couple of days...but eventually it all stabled out and i was back to normal. it's not hard to starve to death. after a while you just can't eat anyway...although you do remember vaguely how amazing it was to taste...something...other than water.
i was feeling very hungry but i can't eat today...there's no chicken...only rice...i don't know why...but there are three different types of rice here...and i've been staring at them...i like rice normally...but i don't feel like eating rice today...screw rice.
somebody rang the door bell. i hate it when people do that. but it has to be done...it was some old man. i watched from behind the door as he rang the bell and then fumbled with the door knob...then opened the door a bit...thought about coming inside...then decided against it. eventually i thought...fudge it...let's see what he wants.
"woh...ji...roti khani hai..." he said
"roti khani hai?" i was kind of surprised...people usually ask for money.
"ji..."
"acha thaero..." money i don't have...but food i have plenty because nobody should go hungry for too long or they'll stop feeling hungry. which is...not as much fun as one might think.
so i filled a plate with rice that i don't want to eat...and gave that to him.
i have no idea how the hell he knew that i didn't want to eat today...but for some odd reason this stranger turned up for no reason other than to eat my food. nobody has died of hunger in this country in a very very long time. people who don't work or get paid etc.etc. and there are a lot of them...do not starve. nobody starves to death...people starve in africa and maybe south america...i dunno. the newspaper never reads...this many people died of hunger today in pakistan...because around here people know where to go to get fed.

"I'm proud of us, of the way that, though our talents are small and peculiar, we use them to their best advantage." -N.H.

half an hour after writing this bit...i am forced to edit...and add these few lines. an hour after i had fed the old man and had my unsatisfactory lunch of unfried kabab's a woman came inside the house...without ringing the bell...and left a donga of rice...it had chicken in it. which is what i had been...er...hoping for.
therefore the lord works in mysterious ways...
nobody dies of hunger in my country...especially not on holy days. but i don't get why there's four kinds of rice in my house...

hooooooorrrrrrllllllllllll

2006-04-07T21:16:00.000-07:00

there...finally...we were on the otherside of the paindoo pass...but reluctant's car was nowhere to be seen. it was not going to be a very pleasant evening. stuck behind barriers waiting for a train to pass. a train that actually fell asleep right in front of us. i wonder if you can. no need for greed or hunger...but eventually it did fudge off...then so did we.
i remember listening to "battle of evermore" last night. there's a woman singing with plant...and they sing very well together...that's what sex should be like in a gooder world.
we were discussing a realm of death metal. an alternate universe or dimension where only members of death metal bands live. ok not just death metal...basically just metal bands...or relatively hardcore bands. there would, naturally, be two sides...not entirely good or evil...just different i suppose. on one side we'd have large warriors, huge sword wieldinging barbarians...clad in animal skin and horns and stuff..."more ale goddamnit!!" type people. one of the generals of the king would be peter steele...because he's bloody huge...and can rip off a man's head with his teeth.
the king...of course...would be michael akerfeldt...a wise king he would make...an elvish king. steve wilson would be sort of like merlin to akerfeldt. there will be constant neverending war in this dimension. if we imagine that this side...akerfeldt, the elvish king's side is the good side...then the evil side would be under maynard...the dark lord. alone...friendless...sauron ka baap. he alone is powerful enough to match the strength of all under the kingship of akerfeldt...he controls nature and darkens the sky. he is not large and barbaric like akerfeldt's viking/dashkara army. he's more like night personified. his voice can suck the hope out of your soul...and make you rip your eyes out. he can make anyone do anything...heretic, lord, insane, calculating...living in a castle of stone with no soft furniture...just cold, moist, dark...
tool's drummer would be the...black rider, nazgul type person. a great general of the darkside...unpredictable...none can catch him.maynard is the dark lord.
the patient. the song starts. everyone goes silent. looking out towards the horizon...a darkness spreads...maynard weaves his spell...you can almost hear him..."but i'm still right here...giving blood...keeping faith...and i'm still right here." and we watch the two armies march against one another. maynard fills the hearts of all present with a despair so strong that it matters not whether they live or die. you can see their pupils dilate in fear as they visualize the awesome might of the dark lord...they just want to get this over with. the dark lord sings his spell...reluctantly...as though it's not his fault that this dimension is plagued with a battle of evermore...as though he doesn't have a choice...and then he gets sick of the bullshit...the wrath of the lord is unleashed...the axe falls...the war reaches its peak. the crash of sword on shield...a war with no noise...initially there'd been insane drumming...as metallions from king akerfeldt's army drummed and chanted. victorious march. pursuit of the vikings...they will return. but now there's silent killing. a dark mist descends upon everything...maynard sings.
the two armies suddenly decide that they can't win...and go back home to come back another day. the war will not end.
the good side (although it's strictly relative) has all these gods...jimmy paige...robert plant...ozzy osbourne (sort of like loki or whatsit) bob dylan...wise among the otherworldly...jim morrison (he's metal enough in my mind)there's a lot of gods...i suppose dimebag has a place there.
metallica would be the banished god...the one who turned commercial and was sent to the outer stretches of the universe from where it shall return in the end of time when the final battle is fought between the light and the dark. metallica's first two albums were good...but then the band started becoming a cunt. whiskey in a jar is their vow of vengeance. (i know this is a load of horse shit but i came up with all this crap with pana when we were floating around insane so it's...shut up.)
two songs that all mortals should listen to...battle of evermore...because i find the girl's voice horrendously arousing...although as a general rule i don't care for girls singing...but this one...is yummy. this song would represent the light...the other song, the patient...by tool. would represent the dark. in some other mood these songs will be replaced...waiting for the eastern glow. itni sex awaz hai uss aurat ki...shit.

"defy the forest fire by kindling the rest of your friends." said i to pana lord knows what that's supposed to mean
we were discussing the moon. lying outside on the roof. and he says, " i was speaking scietficially..." he'd been pointing out how the light from the sun fell on the moon from only one direction...blah blooh...whilst i was going on about how the darkness was a blanket that light could delicately peel off as it took its place...or maybe just uncover the whatsit. otherwise the darkness would drown you. personally i don't really like sitting under the moon...scary...however it wasn't a full moon and there were clouds...
ringo starr won't be allowed in the metal realm...he was too crappy a drummer...john lennon might be something like bombadil. mark knopfler would be...just an old man who plays the guitar really well...he'd be the bard. incidentally guitars will be axes and swords...so knoplfer will be...something...although these guys weren't metal...but they're respectable enough to be counted...in which case we'd have to bring in a lot of other people as well...aa screw it...only metal bands...with a few exceptions.
note. all people will speak in growls.

jhoora on haircut

2006-04-06T07:26:00.000-07:00

today i was late for school because i had a dream about this...sigh...i ran out of adjectives to describe how amazing this girl from sunbconsciousland is...a long time ago....so let's just say that i was late for school because i had a dream about shiny...and i didn't want to wake up. for some odd reason she asked me to get a haircut...she said stubborn is fun...but not that much. so i thought fine...screw it...i'll get a haircut. it was a huge mistake from the start but who cares. i was surrounded by six people who were touching my hair and telling me what to do with them...i just wanted a freakin haircut...eventually they sent me home looking like a bitch. i will not be seen in public for the next four months at least. samson hoon main. delilah got my hair. my sister however is of the view that they're a bit more "liveable" i think i'm going to find a good jaw bone (of an ass) and beat the shit out of shiny. aaah shiny...phoosi.
good night. and good luck.

i was hiding under that damnit...!!!

2006-04-05T04:19:00.000-07:00

in the dream i was in an alternate lums...a place which was not real but felt like lums...there were these boys i didn't know...we dropped acid. it was...incredible...i know it was just a dream but i actually get high in dreams...and my dreams almost always follow me home. i could see these swirling colours in front of my eyes...in the dream...and objects that can't be explained...shapes that weren't really shapes...water colours trapped in between packets of air...somehow...untouchable but very...solid...at least they seemed so...i don't think i tried to touch them...i remember a delicate staff of some sort...unearthly...otherworldly...ancient...something out of tolkiens ass...made of a vision that i just can not explain...it's a sad thing that i can't explain anything...and then buttar turned up...i tried to behave normal...he seemed somewhat aware of the fact that i was a mutant but didn't say anything...he helped me into this room of beds and seemed a bit...put out. it was huge...it was like being in a ship...and then there were these other people...i have no idea what was happening. conversation were held...masks kept on...hushed voices talking.
then we were in some place that felt like an airport. i moved towards a table thing...and tried to gather all the blotter...it was round and pale and slowly getting covered in ink so i had to hurry. i was trying to be careful because it can get absorbed through the whatsit...a girl turned up with my mother...hastily i tried to collect the crap and put it in my pockets...but they insisted on either touching or knowing what it was...the girl had white eyes with a bit of red around the edges of an invisible iris...it reminded me of a sad supernova...(which would be a good name for a song...woohoo) so anyhoo...i got lost for a bit in the galaxy of her eyes...i have a very strong..er.. thing for eyes...they fascinate me. i woke up extremely high with bloodshot eyes...couldn't stand up...but it passed in a matter of seconds. this has been a completely useless description of an amazingly complex and nicely coloured dream.
mostly dark blue and sea green i suppose...but i can't be sure now. so anyhoo...it's been a while since i wrote what i wanted to...because there's more people now and this is usually embarassing because it seems fruity...hahaha...plus lately i've felt like i'm being...er...observed...by more people than i invited. however...long live the language of the code...so now i'll have fun and pretend i'm alone. so after all that pottyism...we get to the point...good luck to you sir...same to you.
in the words of edward the wise...let us begin.

I was at this cross roads where thickets grew near pick pocket parking lots, where happy people did not live anymore...the windows were barred, the sky devoid of stars and cobwebs comforted the wind with occasional almost phantom-like caresses....wishful seers and observers of time sat by the fire swapping stories about pennies and tear drops. the sound of distant hooves on a rainy night when the guards slept fitfully and the cat kept a watch on the slit in the door hoping against hope that those who pass her by would come and stay a while...i heard the cry of the yellowing moon and reached out to touch my friend.
from the roof of my house I saw glints of orange, like the eyes of a beast that maneuvers through shadows, in the ghettos of my mind, talks to me, asking for admittance into my domain, I forbade myself from falling prey to a prayer that would've led me here and yet here I was being led downstairs where the heat is hot and the air quite breathless. Could I just keep repeating mistakes until my mind breaks...and i don't feel tired? Short of the moisture that keeps us alive, you close your eyes, step up and dive...a splash of slavery and we're back in business. a splash too loud and we're back to square one...completely innocent...completely unevolved by the heavy hand of experience that has absolutely no tact when it comes to molding something raw. only one entity could possibly have the romantic subtlety to create another...so much in likeness and yet not at all...the much loved but too arrogant...much hated but too precious...happy in the knowledge that there is one more sky after this...and six more after that...a throne above...and my friend below...one should always keep more than one...because one has three letters to satisfy. I would ask of you to never tire of feeling a sense of comfort that these orange eyes had once stolen from you...close your eyes...take the dive...make sure the splash is loud enough...and we're back to square one. Sadly...you're still not done...in fact quite undone and ready to get back on the saddle to ride with the horsemen who disturbed your slumber on a rainy night...
Light up...orange eyes that await your kiss...orange eyes that take you away with their final blink...a very sad supernova.

Martin pale feels like he just let loose a huge fart in public and did not care.

the girl. the misfit lord.

2006-04-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

george lynch (the asshole) sew the last stitches on his favourite rag doll (as well as he could) and found loose change in a side pocket. the eight ball was his love. digging in but not finding much to interest him...he threw the rag doll away and crawled out from beneath the seldom spoken words of a sun that could make his entire planet blush.
"it's good to see the horizon catch fire this time of year...but it's going to rain." he thought...
"what's that?" asked the rag doll.
"quiet you..." he snapped at it.

george found his way back inside the bank. it was his favourite haunt. the counter up front...
"i didn't expect you to turn up..." said the athletic redhead...

"that's ok i didn't expect to see you here." he answered.

"so what's up...i suppose you're going to make fun of my beard?" she said

"yeah that's always a good excuse to touch your face..."

"how sad...so how come i don't have clouds in my eyes anymore?"

"no they're there...i'm just trying not to see them."

"interesting...and what do these clouds say to you?"

"that it's going to rain."

what about my hair hain?? what about it?? kutti maa kay bachay what about it?

2006-04-03T03:16:00.000-07:00

withdrawal is a bitch...today was bad...i don't like today...bad emails...very bad...make trouble for me. i am annoyed. people mess up and make me do horrendous things and then call me stupid and bastard and jolly old foolsy lord. went to school today...learned me somewhat all about synonios and antonios...synonym antonym in skans...we learn baby english because people suck their feet in skans when it comes to baba-e-angrezi ki khidmat aur maa ko akhrot. which reminds me of the fact that i was only just coming the back the to the school...when the mother and the khala descended unto us and whisked me away...whisked? then i.d. card...was handed over...then my mother tried to make me eat this very sad looking banana in alfatah...i did not enjoy that...it killed ego...i did not eat the banana...but i did say, "yaar amma kya taqleef hai???"
then she tried to make me eat kiri...cheese you know...do you know kiri cheese hain kutti kay bacho?? do you know kiri?? i ate kiri before you did....i didn't live in pakistan...i live in land of black gold...there was kiri there before there was kiri here...BIYATCH...screw your mother and her children...i hate your ugly faces...all of you...no exception...don't talk to me again...i'm a bad person...i hate children and monkeys and yet my name is monkey sometimes...nobody except God can type faster than me...
so anyhoo...there i was dodging kiri and banana (main cheengum khhaa rahha hoon maera sur na khao...bisti ho rahhi hai! said i to mother of mine)

then i was walking past these things and those things and wonderland what is this lo and behold all these women with ugly feet descend unto us and it was gross...how can someone have white pink face...and feet that look like they just won the cross country by running barefoot in manure???? how?? what happened??? hide your feet for the love of God and sanity...sanitation...anything...wear socks...i don't care...JUST DON'T WEAR SANDALS...i may be shallow blah blooh up yours...but ugly feet are ugly feet...you can't deny it...you know who you are...all of you out there...with genes of grey hounds and choorra yamdood's...STAND UP AND BE ACCOUNTED FOR UGLY PEEPULL...imagine all the people...with ugly feet would die...woohoohooh you may say i'm a dreamer...but i'm not the only one...i hope someday they'll go away...and leave behind room for us.
why are such women allowed to wear sandal type jooti??? ugly people should hide themselves for the greater good...greater good being horrible nightmares prevention...white faces...they paint their faces...it's annoying...only surma looks good...everything else is bakwaas...jao pirates of the caribbean daekho....even men look hot in surma...i will wear surma...stop me...makefun of me...i will say it is sunnat and have you arrested...and have your blog banned...women have no taste...the only reason why they're still permitted to co-exist on this planet is because they have boobies...no joke...also long hair...sometimes they're clean too. but what is cleanliness when you've got ugly feet hain???
people...listen to me...i'm weird...so i know this sort of thing...try to keep your colour contant...if you're white...stay white...if you're brown...or potty coloured...stay brown and potty coloured...war paint on face makes the feet look like alien body parts have taken over or something...ok? nice? good. and if you're very sure boy will not look at anything but your face...think again...or better yet...just not wear a shirt...then you are allowed to have ugly feet...i won't notice...actually i probably will...
i was in this shop...in this gymkhana...and these two boys were staring at me...which is nothing unusual...i have a billboard on my head that says "pith maaro maeri...ander daalo...aur ander please..." so anyhoo...i knew they wanted to either make fun of my hair or tell me they like it...i'm not kidding...that's all that people do around me all day long...one might think i'm being overly choopa about this...but it's not about choopa...this is a fact of nature...out of every two people i meet...one wants me to get a hair cut and lets me know...the other wants me to grow my hair long and lets me know...i grow weary of this silly game and soon i will just take my pants off and run away mad.
so these two boys were now staring and trying to get their nuts back to say what they wished to say...but then i thought that i'll just make this easier for them so we can all go home without any peeroblem...ok? so i went around back and came up at them from behind...finding me away from public...uno buoy comething upense and saysing,...i am liking your hair...is it the natural...??? (nice hairdo man...is it natural or did you get it ...er...done?) why do people use the word hairdo?? it's not a great word...it doesn';t convince me that yes your parents are liberal and you know angrezi and you are fluent in it...and i am at your kneees begging for more...go on...speak some more english...i have never such a luverly language before...please do go on mister darcy...fart in my face sir...tell me how to spak like you mister higgins...put marbles in my mouth...put your bollocks in as well if you please...the rain in spain will make me cum on your face...i know that doesn't rhyme...you know what else doesn't rhyme??? you were pushed out of your mother through the wrong hole you piece of shit...did that rhyme hain??? no thee boys were being nice...i just didn't like them because their uniform was clean and they had gel in the hair...with typical i want a bachi wali physique...typical...boys...you can throw a rock and eighty of these pseudo cool mutants of cable television will be crushed to death...that's it my young friend...pull out your shirt from your pants...push your pants down...that's it...girls like indie stuff...that's it...go on...mother humping mutants and nazis without jews to kill...hey...why not kill me??? i look like a jew...so anyhoo...i answered the boy's question...
HAAN NATURAL HAIN. said i without caps lock and smiling like batty boy and lefting awaying going home maader bleep. ok?
now i am home...i get horrendous email by jango shoes. curly haired people are annoying with annoying lives.
i haded the it into the seating in my class...back again in same class...result will cum on the next month but since the i the am the knowing that i will be the failing i desoided not to go to b module and just go back and sit in A module because i know i am going to fail...is that hard to digest hain??? i know i suck...i know i am failure boy now...although i never failed ever...but now i can't study...this is not medicine...i'm not becoming a doctor...no point to life...let's muck it up and beg for money for the rest of our miserable existence...die young i say...DIE YOUNG YOU CUNT!
can't die young...have too many sins on the scoreboard,...God will kick my ass...etc...note to self...make deal with God...

i hate free will...i wish i had none...i wish i were somebody's slave and they beat the crap out of me and gave me no rights...at least it'd improve the quality of mine songs...black people became whores when they weren't slaves anymore...DON'T TREAT BLACK PEOPLE WITH RESPECT AND EQUALITY...IT IS KILLING THEIR MUSIC...bring back bb king...bring back chuck berry...bring back the blues...damn you'se...damn you'se monkeys to hellllllllll.
jazz kahan gayya? what is hip hop??? what is rap??? what is this nonsense with large football shirts and gold dangling from every orifice...SUCK MY NUTS BLACK PEOPLE...go back in time and look at how your mommy used to pick cotton...and how you just pick your nose.
i want to be a slave...slaves have something to live for...slaves have dreams...slaves...are slaves...i will be God's slave...i'm a jesus freak apparently...and yet i can't stand the quranic channel...chanel?
je suis tres tres...mother fudging angry...pardones moi monseiur...ous est la cunt avec la big mouthh??? fouquet will have a heart attack.
patrice fouqet is une grande cunt majajan cock sucker...oui?
aah the good times...playing bingo in french...never winning...
this orange juice tastes like somebody added water to it...big mistake...do they not know that i am spoilt and have needs?
i am not happy today...and the next person who bothers me will get butt kicking and futon shoving upping in ass.
sigh...withdrawal is a bitch...this is pana's fault...it was never my intention to quit...goddamnit...I AM NOT HAPPY WITHOUT DRUGS...I CAN'T STAND MYSELF...CHILDREN WILL GO TO SLEEP NOW AND DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i'd like to go home now.

2006-04-02T06:45:00.000-07:00

i like elephants.
always have. though when i was a littler boy i used to pretend that i liked lions more...so i'd have something to rival my sister's cheetah...but she could always run faster than i could...and nothing could ever hurt her...and she had a threshhold of pain that nobody else had...until i borrowed it. i borrowed everything.
a few months ago we had a race in the front lawn...my shalwar nearly came off but i finally beat her...many times...considering the fact that she's a mother...she's still a freakin' cheetah. in my defense...i wasn't wearing approriate foot wear. she was younger than i am when she got married and it's always fun to watch her play with her son.
my family refused to grow up...most of it anyway. there is one guy who wants to be a cowboy...clint eastwood actually. he walks around with eyes only half open, speaking in a crude whisper...which only barely resembles clint's...he's got a wife and a kid...spends his day playing video games...sometimes walks around in overcoats and pretends he's in the old west...he smokes a cigar when he's wearing the overcoat but he's not the only pathan cowboy...there's pictures of a mamoo wearing a cowboy hat, riding a horse, holding a double barrel shotgun...eventually he decided he looked more like tom selleck...and altered his lifestyle. my mother had a shameless crush on his brother when she was older than she is now...believe me when i say this...it was a very valid crush...i saw a black and white picture of him without his shirt on...hahahahaha.
we have schizophroenics...obsessive compulsives, retards, murderers and junkies. religious fanatics, nice people, sad people, happy people...and jealous people.
but not right now...i feel like shit abhi...i'll send them to you when i don't feel like an old orange. i'll send them eventually if i don't fall down into the sky.
sometimes there's a strange calm. extreme sadness that leaves you smiling but never leaves you. it's there because you're too far away from God but not far enough...stuck in the middle...that's how the silence broke.
wish there was something nicer to follow. of course there is. but sometimes you just want an ear to whisper in. although, personally i don't have the strength to carry anyone. wish i did. i once felt a jealous touch and enjoyed it...i've run away from nicer windows than these...i've run away from eyes that bleed to be free. i know one pair that altered my lifestyle. haha.
woke up today and everything turned liquid yellow...blinking just made it worse. it was so nice in a way...not for a second did i feel like i had lost my mind. this was natural...this is how it should be...everything is this watery yellow because everything is always a watery yellow...my head felt heavy...it was either sleep paralysis or a dream had followed me home. i wouldn't mind another jealous touch every now and then. i have everything i want...and i will not trade.
i hate the fact that i'm kind of bi-polar and can feel my mood change...in the middle of a conversation i get impatient, angry, bored, annoyed...and then i think about how everything was fine two minutes ago. it's just unfair to still be able to control yourself sometimes...sooner or later i'll get tired of this and stop caring about how i'm not supposed to go crazy on someone just because i have a loose nut inside my head. i've always liked elephants...elephants make sense to me...everything they do makes sense to me...i grew up watching wildlife documentaries and walt disney cartoons. mixed with a bit of haseena moin and anwar maqsood. seinfeld is ok but we were great in the old days. i have ancient parents...so i know a bit about nothing that matters in the grander scheme of things...
the boy who sat one row across to my right during the exams looked exactly like tom cruise...just a bit browner. i swear he looked exactly like tom cruise...i'm sure he didn't know that...that's one of the best things about being in a crap hole school...nobody knows they look like tom cruise because they have probably never heard of him.
i don't know anybody who has never tried to catch fog. i wonder why everybody wants to catch fog...i wonder why everybody gives up eventually. it's boring to constantly want something you can't get. i don't have the strength to carry anyone...but i wish i did.

the other day i was in this place, the passport renewal office thing...and this man asks me where i'm from...

lahore...

matlab kahaan se ho? (and then he named some ancient place, so i got what he was saying.)

jallundher se.

hmmm...haan mujhe lug rahha thha...tumhara khoon yahaan nahin milta.

hmmm.

ye tumhara passport hai?

ji

british passport bhi ho ga aik?

nahin...

ho ga...zaroor ho ga...main jaanta hoon tumharay jaison ke paas hota hai.

i just laughed...didn't know what else to do. like i was telling molly the other day...i never get the same treatment as regular people...he kind of thought it was obnoxious of me to think so until the strangers standing next to us started laughing and talking about me. so we stood there at the bus stop smiling and waiting for the same bus they were waiting for...only we didn't.
planet earth was never the best option for me...i miss home.
my mother is standing next to me meowing in my ear. it's good to be stuck with lunatics.

gotten is a rotten bread crumb.

2006-04-01T18:56:00.000-08:00

(the eye of sauron)
excuse me...my ego is huge...bigger than the sun...so we begin. i would like the record to show that in this example we ignore the fact that hansel and gretel were siblings...now we will proceed by pointing out that it was gretel who threw the bread crumbs...not hansel. hansel was a boy. girls throw bread crumbs. boys eat bread crumbs. girls are crazy lunatic sex beasts. so are boys...just not crazy...this message was for the blogger girl who calls us a poser. at least we don't leave bread crumbs. tiny bits of this and that which are supposed to convince us of how we're all "meant to be." bah...
remember...if you have absolutely no idea what i'm talking about...actually you know what...it was blatant, open-brazziere, bread crumbing...so there's no point beating about the bush...yes this is an accusation. now you may deny this...because you'd like to pretend that you didn't do it...because you're ashamed of the fact that you're horny...which is insane. but since i'm devoid of shame...i will say...weldone...we appreciate the effort...it will not go unrewarded...but be patient o' randy one.
so don't deny it fool...we saw the freakin bread crumb...it was lying there naked. touching itself. pouting its lips and cooing. such are the weapons of mass erection that your kind have.
aah the sweet smell of withdrawal in the air...it must be one of those four seasons. first i made her apologize and now this...incredible.
so far we've been exceptionally tactful. (referring to myself as "we" is tactful in my dictionary) girls go to a lot of trouble trying to seduce creatures that are already about to explode.
now we will begin at the beginning...we (tact) were bored and decided to check up on how the girl next door (the boobed scavenger) was doing. and there in her blog...was a bread crumb. we saw it for what it was and smiled...decided that whether or not it be what we know it is...there's always more than one way to embarass a girl. since this here girl is at the moment, a bit intangible...and therefore can't be thrown down to the ground and sat on...like in toddler's academy in the good old days...we will employ other methods to shame her...hah!
you have been shamed...how does it feel huh? how does it feel????
(man...i am going to get a lot of crap for this...from the overlord)
long time ago when i was a growing pervert but still had hope of reaching heaven...i was sitting behind this girl...she had insanely beautiful hair...long...brown...soft...yummy...smelt nice too...
girls can sometimes be unaware about how hair...is equivalent to bread crumbs...so eventually her hair found its way into my mouth...which sounds ridiculous...but it did indeed happen that way in the summarised version of events...and it's not like i was raping her...it's just freakin hair...although i do know what her lips taste like so it's all good. so i was sitting behind this girl...who was doing something to a computer...i don't know...i was lusty and had her hair in my mouth...it didn't taste like anything interesting...but who cares??? i've completely forgotten the point of this story...i swear i had one and i was sure i was getting to it...until i got here and found myself with her hair in my mouth...and can now think of nothing else...anyhoo...this should be just about enough to convince anyone that i'm retarded...my job is done...i will expect to be rewarded by the overlord...now get off my back...this is not my fault anymore...bread crumbing is illegal and deserves embarassment...can't say i'm not aroused though.
i've come up with the point to my story...it is this, ahem...i am the reason why God asks women to hide behind veils...

anyhoo...in order to compensate for your public shaming...we composed a bit of poem...it's one of the best we ever wrote...and summarises all that we stand for in four simple lines. it is now dedicated to you because of your gallant desperation and a direct approach towards o'level seduction.(DATOS)

i hold your cunt under arrest...
now let me please feel up your breast.
push ups for the misfit lord.
i'd say more, but i'm afraid of God.

(yaar aik gandi wali puppi to de do...God promise bacha nahin ho ga)

2006-04-01T08:25:00.000-08:00

i love opeth...but my headphones suck...so this is pretty much what i hear when i listen to ghost of perdition...actually even if my headphones were ok...this is still pretty much what i would be hearing. i mean the growling part...of course. the rest is coherent.

khosa maaro...lingering death*
khosa your blood is spilt
versace on the billboard comes the doorway hound
brisil facen goiten helll (?)
khosaaa ficitious
starking in the chairs
a boar came...no one red
tragic friction
coal is on the fall
olium baggen the deciever

keeper of olium
keeeeeper of olium
hooorrrrlllll

with convicted fallen shadows of the breeches.
the feathers on your mind are recalling you to bone
define the constant law where the victim is the freak
haaaa

these are only the growling parts...if anybody thinks these lyrics are inaccurate...potty khao. i swear the guy says khosa...i mean it seems like he said it...
i miss my milk and yoghurt...and my milk and honey...not MY milk of course...my milk is for special occassions only...i only milk pak...asli doodh comes out of boobies of cow and therefore gross. although i wonder if one can pleasure a cow by fondling her nipples. i'd like to try but i won't enjoy it.
i figured it out...he doesn't say khosa...he says "ghost of..." which seems like khosa...there's more growling...it's on repeat. let's see what he says here...

odin get down curdling darkness
have got a fork in cocks
fading resistance berating the weakness
and a traiting in the pieeee

i think this bit was in the beginning...before the khosa part.

i should go see what he's actually saying...and compare...thingy.

Ghost of MotherLingering death
Ghost on Mother's bed
Black strands on the pillow
Contour of her health
Twisted face upon the head

Ghost of perdition
Stuck in her chest
A warning no one read
Tragic friendship
Called inside the fog
Pouring venom brew deceiving

Darkness by her side
Spoke and passed her by
Dedicated hunter
Waits to pull us under
Rose up to it's call
In his arms she'd fall
Mother light received
And a faithfull servant's free

then there's this part

Holding her down
Channeling darkness
Hemlock for the Gods
Fading resistance
Draining the weakness
Penetrating inner light

man this is too long and i'm too hungry...i'm going to start crying now. bored...i shouldn't be bored...i have too many super powers to feel bored.

the girl. the scribe. the mad man. the misfit lord.

2006-04-01T03:23:00.000-08:00

George lynch was sulking around behind the bank in an alley. Standing next to the dumpster he wondered if he would ever get used to the smell of so many different shitty smells. There was a cat rummaging through plastic bags and second hand fast food left over crap…Siamese cats are usually very particular about what they eat…this one was not. George considered the cat for a moment…

“You’re not a Siamese cat are you?” said George bending over the cat to get a closer look.

“Read the tag, asshole…” answered the cat.
George read the tag…it said, “made as china.”

“Typical…” said George and looked up at the window…at his watch and back at the window again. “I’m hungry.” he said and left.
Restaurants are easy. George took the table by the window, so he could look outside and see the waterfall.
“Do you see that large cube of glass over there?” he asked the waitress.
“Yes…but only barely…it’s transparent…kind of hard to see.”
“Help me move it a bit to the right…there’s less light there and it would be fun to see if you can help me or not.”
“I can try.” she said.
“You don’t fascinate me at all…” said George and slid his finger across her throat. “So tell me…what exactly are you doing here?”

“on this planet? Or in this restaurant?” asked the waitress.

“In my mind.” said George.

George stepped back into the bank. It was still as beautiful as ever…with trees and birds and lakes and rivers. Honey bees singing then stinging…mostly just bothering the dwarf…who was jumping about with a fly squatter…a walkie talkie blaring out static in his ear…he answered back as frantic as anything…sweating like crazy… “It’s practically world war three.” He shouted over the desk as George passed him by.
“I don’t care.” said George and moved off towards the counter where the athletic redhead did whatever it was that she did.
“you are insanely beautiful you know…” said George…

“hello George…we sold those cars with the defective engines to a third world country…they had been rejected by Japan and Germany around eighteen years ago and now that they have become absolutely obsolete we sold them…the government is really pleased…a shipment of eight thousand cars…that’s huge…and only one country…one poor country is buying this…at a relatively low price but we’re still getting a profit of 7%...which I don’t think I have to tell you…is huge…I might get a promotion you know…”

“what car is this?” asked George…he was seeing double and breathing hard at this point…the redhead swished her head a lot when she was happy…which made George happy…there’s always something else to move on to.

“you know…those four wheeled cars…they have something called a carburetor in them…no fancy new age chips and yet we managed to sell them.”

“new age chips…are you hungry?” asked George…his mouth was dry and he was feeling dizzy…perhaps sitting down for a bit might help…time wore nike joggers around this girl whilst he had a rock around his neck and little space in his lungs. “you guys have a nice manager…I’ve met the guy…he seemed stoned but alright...funny beard…plays a guitar.”

“you mean the hippie in the broom closet…? How come you spend so much time with that lunatic?” asked the redhead. George started laughing.

There was a park in the back room…with computers and flying squirrels…lots of pineapples growing in around the room where chuck lobsterman sat writing his book. It was about rock stars who sing, “that’ll be the day that I die.” so on and so forth. It was mostly just obvious stuff…nobody remembers jeff buckley because he was alive type nonsense.

“There was something really sexy about the 70’s…chuck.” said George as he sat down in front of him whilst chuck typed away on his computer.
“hell yes…cushy tube lights will take us down and tear our souls apart. Nobody wants to swim anymore. But what do you know???? You…of all people…?” said chuck.

“I’m trying to seduce the redhead at the counter in front…so I know a bit.”

“Interesting…incidentally I can’t find my Siamese cat…I’m afraid that goddamn dwarf might be riding it...if I find him with it…I’ll kill him.”

“you’re a strange man chuck…it’s in the dumpster out back…eating shit.” Said George.
Chuck got up and beckoned George to follow. They passed by carpet covered smooth dirt then around small delicate flowers and large heavy boots. It felt like a trip back in time until they reached a door labeled…

“There used to be this colourful story book in my past.
It had thick bland pages with a smell that I really liked…it was comforting.
It had a large red cover and now I remember a chair inside. Chemical dependency.”

“where does this go?” asked George.
“I’m not sure…it usually doesn’t say this…actually generally it just says toilet…I wanted to show you the water colour in the faucet. Or drop some.” said chuck.

“I’m not paying attention, as such, but I heard those last three words…I think it’s a good idea…I think we should go inside.” said George.

“excellent…but nick hornby won’t be joining us…his book ended happily.” said chuck and opened the door. George followed him inside. Inside where there were rooms with bottles broken bottles everywhere and the kitchen was made of blacks and whites. There were stairs that led to other dimensions and large mirrors in cozy rooms…swirling faces and a light bulb sun. Which we won’t worship no matter what the hobbit says. Obscure and deluded.

George staggered into the foyer…the toad stools looked like tiny babies in a cloning lab. His senses reeled. The floor was turning mushy…there were faces in the marble…dots chasing one another and pulsating walls. Then somehow he was back at the counter.

“Your pupils are dilated.” said the redhead.

“Not that I’m gay or anything…but have you ever thought about removing those?” said George referring to her clothes… “I don’t see why you don’t come have lunch with me…my treat…you pay.”

“I have a better idea George. Why don’t I just smile a bit and then walk away instead?” asked the redhead.

“Yeah that would be amazing…thanks…I’ll go feel small now.” said George.

There was a guy painting pictures in the vault. Standing in the dark he was humming to himself something melodic and kind of sad. When he saw George he stopped and asked him to come closer.
“So? What do you think?” he asked George...

“I think it’s nice…I like the way the hand turns into hair and it’s all gold and stuff…what’s with the fish?”

“Lean out your window…golden hair…I heard you singing in the midnight air.” sang the painter.

“yeah I’ve heard that one…I like it…it’s ok. So which one of you guys was pink?”

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

2006-03-31T14:59:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-31T05:15:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-31T00:45:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-30T11:02:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-03-29T23:56:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-29T05:12:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-28T09:36:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-28T06:03:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-28T04:11:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-27T03:56:00.000-08:00

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?

2006-03-26T07:16:00.000-08:00

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!

2006-03-24T22:07:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-23T01:31:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-22T07:27:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-21T06:42:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-21T04:58:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-20T10:49:00.000-08:00

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.

2006-03-20T07:29:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-19T19:30:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-19T10:12:00.000-08:00

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?

2006-03-18T10:45:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-17T21:35:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-16T11:55:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-16T08:32:00.000-08:00

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 ???

2006-03-15T07:51:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-14T22:30:00.000-08:00

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

2006-03-13T07:21:00.000-08:00

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.

flegm

2006-03-13T04:07:00.000-08:00

The moment you started typing, there was a window beneath…before…whatever…
last of the stash…this was the last one…feels like I have been beaten into a pulp by many many people…no seriously though...tell me…does your mouth feel like it’s been scratched repeatedly by a jagged edged coin? Metallic bloody weird. Breathe…breathe in the air…don’t be afraid to care…hahaha pink freud…
I’m trying to document this temporary…displacement of thoughts. Or wait…is it replacement…no…adjustment of thoughts? How about…sequencing of thoughts? Yeah that could be what we’re looking for.
so grandpa, do you think they should marry her off with a goat?
yes...yes i believe that would be most desirable...
ok but what if i take a brazillian martial arts class?
i think your balls are hurting my friend...grab them out of sheer frustration.
i have decided to go to sleep for a while.
ok what did you see?
ahem ok...this is what i saw...first there were these two dots...they chased one another like cars on pogo sticks. then i saw a weird bendy pillow thing...it curved in a way that let the bugs slide on it...then i saw...a vase of wilted flowers...a tower...a large playdough snake comes shooting in through the window...bounces off the walls...straight at the "camera" and then we see a few of them eating her face. that's when i decided that the song was too good to be missed for a few tricks and trips.
by the way...congratulations on not having to face another license agreement over this...pat me on the back molly...make sure my hands are clean before you shake them though. we wait too much...honestly...far too much waiting...head feels like there's mercury in it...and warm mercury at that...are you kidding me...there's no such thing as white chocolate.
so how is the physical aspect of the problem?
there's tingliness...but mostly headacheness...breathlessness...sleepiness...and another kind of mess...but doable...very doable...did you fail your exams? yes...yes i believe i did. how does that make you feel? triumphant? is it because of your emotional problems?
ok so where were we before this large rude person interrupted us...have you noticed that your mouth is so...er...raped...that you can't even speak three coherent words? it's not the mouth...it's the throat...i have a sore throat. if you had any idea what video i just saw...you would have smirked at that...laughing is too much trouble...i say let's just sit and stare...there's a thing we haven't done in about thirty seconds...hahahah. very horny...got to go. what was the point of this martin? just commemorating the last of the stash...zoloft from tomorrow...
ok we're back...because the first bit was so interesting, we decided to commemorate a bit longer...with more zeal. vigour. tigger. pooh bear winnie the pooh bear...who cares please tell me who cares? ok does your eye feel like a ball??
yes...
that's because it IS a ball you funny little soggy creature. so how about those lactation pills? i still have them but definitely not going to take them...i may not care about having babies but i do care about having titties...fine...why have you got your headphones on? the right one works...but in anycase...you never know when i might need it...kind of like toilet-paper...nomatter where you go...if you don't have a bit of toilet paper stashed away...you're liable go mad in a day...yeah if you sit on a toilet with greasy hands for twenty-four hours...you're gone. ok listen...i downloaded this book called, the choir boys...by joseph wambaugh...now only God and a few chosen people can pronounce this guy's name...but the book is supposed to be a delightful read...hahahaha...that's what chewy said...or something like cat...baob would've laughed. so many people could've laughed if they had been around when i was around. ooh ooh...center of the universe? most definitely bitch...if i can have tea with the daddy of the country...even though i don't like tea...and if i can ask God and be answered...then i am...the bloody freaking center of the universe...
mind nubming euphoria before the onset of self loathing depression?
wet blanket...sigh...nonbelievers...
you know your market value is dropping by the second?
you know i never intended to come here just to sell stuff...i was, sort of, passing through...saw these lovely stalls...full of colour and life...felt sick and decided to sell my vomit to these jokers...well...not sell...just gift...i gift my vomit in a neat black box with a bland display for my personal satisfaction, memory and praise.
the better part of this blog was written without the knowledge of the author...the authors fingers/hands etc were used...but he was absent in a field of chicken. and then a car passed us by at high speed...the smell of dirt before it rains...flash of lightning...the awesome voice of an angel that leaves everyone in dread...and that is when you're only truly happy...i mean you martin pale...you love the sound of thunder...and you love the flash of lightning...you are a sucker for God when it comes to rain. you know it's true...the sounds of the ocean CAN help you fall asleep...it's really smooth...you can feel the waves wash over you...i am going to feel very very sick when i wake up...this is not entertainment...this is...just a lot of beautiful large juicy oranges...oranges that smell like heaven...truly the only fruit that'll rule them all...beautiful...you bite into it...juice floods your mouth...taste buds go insane dancing like mad...each taste bud has manic sex with all those orangy nymphomaniac tasty things...long legs...smooth soft...grossness... like breath and vapour on a mirror in the winter...naturally followed by squeaking...this has turned into a mindless orgy inside my head. if i wear my cap on your birthday...will you invite me to your home. if there's some niceness in my head for you...will you let me stay the night...and if i take you to a darker room...do you mind coming with me? hahahhaha...mind flegm...i have to try "nasvaar" somehow...see what that's all about...this should've ended a very long time ago...right so if i do end this...what do i do then?? go to your room...FIND that copy of alice in wonderland...you LOST...and fall asleep...
right i'm off then to skip merrily with the wind.
children will go to sleep now.

android paranoid

2006-03-11T08:09:00.000-08:00

i don't think i have ever been this mutant in my house ever aamn what the fudge shit...ok...what was i writiting don't look at the screen just type never been this mutant in my own house...it's like acid this is horrible the keys are made of mushy goo and my finfgers are sticking in them everything is made of mud and to mud will we return where wht ahhaudkjfdkdke what am i doing i can't stop excellent shit man smy face is melting my face ois melting i can't find tha ekeyds abut it's still working this is worse than acid....this is insane oh shit shit shit.....how did this happen...must fix it. ok done...tryign to think objectively...fear is unreasonable...reason is reason...you can't deny reason so stop being unreasonable and stop being so goddamn paranoid it's all in your head...oh by the way...your head just shrunk to the size of a peanut....good day....this is how life will treat you lovely little munchkin show me how your insides work when the tiny peanut in your head is under so much pressure tha you an;'t even find the kreys and it's still working quite altight ahs whai can't stop moving my fingers i can't stop amfking my fingers move to the sound of the music i';m doing this with musiuc uthis unbvelieveble i think i;m going to be sick oh shit...got to stop please please please stop this noro wioright nowwwwwwwww...insane unbelievable trip of words.
i have been...i am trying to think striaght now...this is funny because this is not supposed to happen therefore funny...no stop.wait. don't let the rhythm take your finger movement...or you'll be so lost in the typing that you'll forget to make sense...listen to me idiot...don't look at the fingers move....they are evil....run bitch run....hahhahaha...snap your neck up fool...look at me...look at me you asshole....i must be appearng offline. head is so heavy. stop. think. thought. break it. chew it. spit it out, weldone. who is that girl who is really hot? er...are what peacock are you talking about? the white one over there...aah the white one? yeah... the white one is a tree...oh...right.
i think i'm going to puke...i was just reading some old old writings saved in two diaries...the start of depression...2001...how many years? 5...that's right...i'm going to be sick...ifg this doesn't stop...this really really bad trip...mannnnn....this is so not good...it's messed uppppp ooooh shite...ok this is way over my head now...i can't go on any longer...shit...fine let's get this over with then.
shit back pain...eye pain...burn.

dunno where i've been

2006-03-11T05:10:00.000-08:00

I walk around with different models of goofy smiles…it’s hard to type…I’m beyond mutancy right now…random thoughts are pillaging my mind…or at least surrendering at the gates of consciousness and falling short of complete and total chaos…”stoned immaculate” is the term I believe. You know you’re messed up when typing feels like diarrhea. I don’t know about those few seconds of craziness when you realize you haven’t inhaled in a very long time…panic…shit…breathe…breathe…ok relax…slip away.
My mother told me once that one day, I would find the world. She said, “one day you’re going to find the world…or at least the world will find you…now once you’ve seen the world you’ll never be the same again because it will be too beautiful to forget…you’ll fall easily for it and forget your life before it…somehow…you have to look past her beauty and you’ll find that it’s not worth it.”
Seclusion. Everybody is the enemy. Your nails are filthy. Remember to breathe.
At the moment I suppose everything is alright…in fact once when I was a little boy, everything was alright…but I guess time takes a little time and everything is alright…all these things in my mind are leaving me behind…right…funny joke.
Some people are considered to be “out of the box” thinkers…the box is there…it’s just a larger boxes…on a long enough scale everybody has a box…even ted bundy had walls…
Who are these people walking around me talking and laughing… am I still visible? Did somebody just look at you? Did you forget to zip up your pants properly? Turn around and pretend and then skip a little, joke about condoms and the lack thereof…what a pathetic little gene pool you have here grandma…
All the better to box you with.
I hate typing in “word”. Word seems to disagree with me on everything…we’re complete enemies of one another…Word doesn’t think my writing is in English…I think it’s close enough…but all these red lines and green lines…they’re discouraging…I don’t want to reconsider my fragmentation you damn fool…it’s not like I considered it in the first place. Completely forgot my smokey orange juice…I like pulp. Involuntary body jerking. Places become flashes of light and colour. Weird funny flashes that you can’t properly place or be sure of.
Not a single sentence is up to the standards of mister Word. Everything is wrong…reconsider this, reconsider that…I’ll consider humping you, you anal upstart. Where did she come from anyway…what was I doing. I’m getting the hang of the physical part but now the mental department is going down. Complete…brink of awake. The floor is sloping. Slopey floor. Returning back to normal…listen here Word…!!! I am insulted there was this one time when I was standing somewhere waiting…I think I wait a lot…I have to stop that as soon as I remember where this story was headed…write at the speed of thought because the telephone is in use…losing focus entirely…it would not be the best of plans to collapse in front of so many people…orange juice finished…turd factory on orange alert…slip on your new pair of underwear my friend…this is going to be a rough one. Now…see…nails are difficult…they o it on purpose actually…how are you supposed to make sure they don’t screw around?? Whoa….back…remotely qued…heavy feeling…nothing has been unpleasant though…it makes a lot of sense to draw your brain out for the strange to consider and then push back your reclining chair to marvel over your precious empire of crap. Fragment consider revising…damn Word. Back pain…for a long time…time for bed or floatation…whatever comes first. Headache beats everything.