Wednesday, December 31, 2008
accessibility
Thursday, December 18, 2008
The Apocalype is here
When did we become a race of inbred wankers? After all its only a gang-raping bunch of inbred wankers that would not pay attention and consequently miss the entire apocalypse. Butt shit, why would grease soaked, semen stained, sister screwing inbred wankers care about the fucking apocalypse in the first place? They’re not even self-aware. A small fern is more self aware than inbred wankers are.
It’s you lucky ones that have to suffer. At first you won’t care or notice those missing. They will be insignificant people. But soon you will notice friends and neighbors missing. One of them might escape and come back for help. Then you will see them with their ears missing and hears graphic tales of forced sterilization without any anesthesia. And these things you will try hard to quickly forget and say to yourself that these former people had committed some unimaginably heinous crime. Then you came to believe that they deserved their scars and punishments.
Butt one night, when things are quiet and peaceful you will find yourself hogtied, raped, beaten, and forcibly sterilized on your dining room table with your own kitchen utensils. And you will come to the bitch of all realizations that you live in America, and that you are in hell…
Monday, December 1, 2008
crack rock city cont.
i awoke sitting on a velvety heart-shaped red shag couch. there was a small asian person of indeterminable sex talking harshly to someone somewhere nearby. i think the asian was a waiter or butler of some sorts. the asian person kept saying, "now who dumb, you muva fucka!" and whipping a man harshly with a switch of some sort. now the asian person went into a tirade about ordering drinks, i think, i couldn't make out most of what it was saying. my head was surprisingly light. i wasn't seeing any tracers, however, and i was somewhat puzzled by that.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
the back lakes (gene & oso)
dayys-
we pretend there is in our music & culture & society-
butt we have no culture.
what we have is not a society.
we are all big overgrown infants--
the rest of us- the disaffected-we are children--not babies butt lost children wandering, starving, killing, fucking, lying, stealing & all the while hiding from ourselves cuz our hearts are broken-
we fight to have our lives mean anything butt mostly end up casualties to our environments.
we can only hold out for so long until the lying, the stealing, the fighting & fucking darkens our minds to life's possibilities cuz our lives don't have potential.
our possible achievements become monuments of violence & apathy.
fuck you for thinking i am invisible
I.will.make.you.see.me.
i run this delicious fantasy thru my mind butt in the end the rich & powerful still oppress
we havent changed their minds & we are lost to our violent fantasies
Sunday, November 23, 2008
crack rock city
i needed more insight into this man's character before i would venture off into darker--and somehow even dirtier streetstreetsfeaturesafter getting properly acquainted I love
Monday, June 30, 2008
liminal spaces
These dark valleys that I stumble through. The various sorts of self-executioners that walk about wearing hoods and capes black as death. They actually smell of death as well, but a description so short is inept at describing these. What death smells like is not quite like the rotting flesh of a dead or dying animal. These walking dead reek of guilt and shame. That is what death actually smells like: guilt and shame. Hatred and anger are of course by-products of death. These executioners go about lashing out with animus, but this is simply an attempt to hedge off the guilt and shame. Denial is quite the bitch here. It is their lifeblood and the oxygen that they breathe. Survival—for lack of a better word—depends greatly upon gripping tightly to denial and pressing it hard and close to your chest. This is a memorial for where one’s heart used to reside.
I think I enjoy walking amongst the dead and dying. Not that it proves that I am alive, not by any means. That is certainly not the case. Fuck, I don’t know. I can’t take much more. When I walk amongst the dead, I sometimes feel more at ease, relieved and heartened in a demented way. I can’t be happy in many situations at all. They all lead to this reckoning; this reeking stench of death, but with the intentions of bringing to God’s love. That is all I want, but when I go after it all I find is death. So why not, then, search after death? I have indeed, tried everything.
There is one thing that I know for sure. It is that love—in all its simple glory—can fill in the gaps that crack open and exist because of our fear and hatred and guilt. The only mistake is that the way to love is not through fear or hatred or guilt. Love is what I want. I would worship it if I could. When I worship love, I am worshipping God. I am talking to Him. I talk to Him. Not the god of fear and guilt. I know what love feels like and I know what its absolute absence feels like.
But I thirst for this enlightenment, and for God’s love, and for love. What is stopping me from finding it? Have I even been looking, let alone searching? I cannot say. One thing I can say is that I cannot run and I cannot and will not hide. Fuck this guilt and shame and fear. No more, no more. Is that cowardice or is that just a human being?
Friday, June 6, 2008
powdered bug dust
something in the development phase...
“I can’t help this feeling of abandonment,” I said, afraid of what the reaction, or really the lack thereof, would be. “All my life, I’ve been alone. There’s no one I can turn to for answers. A father, an uncle, a mother, an older sibling. There has never been a single person that has ever filled this role for me.” I stopped, thinking this was an adequate, though entirely brief, explanation of my life and feelings. But this was a risk that I seldom took. First to express my emotions or feelings, and secondly to think that anyone would or could empathize or sympathize. I was lost. I wandered through this hopeless desert. I had nothing with which to tell what direction I was travelling in. The heat scorched me to my bones, drying out the marrow and stealing any trace of life. But nevertheless, I walked in darkness. There was no rising and setting of the sun in the east or west or any direction. No hints or clues. And despite the fact that I wandered in darkness, there weren’t either any stars with a fixed position. There was never a way of telling where I was or where I was headed, that is to say that I could say I was headed in some sort of direction with some sort of destination. Whether I was standing or sitting still, whether I walked, or wandered, or ran; it mattered not. All I had was the past that continuously haunted my every waking moment and dominated my dreams when I was able to doze off into restless and paranoid sleep. Often I woke not being able to move any muscle in my body. I could open my eyes and look around, but I couldn’t turn my head or neck. I couldn’t move my arms, or even wiggle my fingers and toes. And somehow the illusion I had while I was awake; that I could move and walk and run and scream, kept me from losing my mind. It was during these paralyzed fits that I felt my psyche slowly slipping away. It was movement that helped make this illusion so powerfully effective and that somewhat kept my mind intact during my waking moments. I could sense that something was terribly wrong with me and my surroundings, but I was too distracted by my lack of rest and peace. My head was barely above water. I struggled to take in a breath of air with my head raised to the sky, but half the time took in a mouthful of water instead.