Musings of a Madman

Man Next Door

2009-10-27T22:03:00.002-04:00

I need to focus on dots and lines. The dots themselves will contain enough information to give the life of more than a dot, while the lines will remain lifeless in order to create an environment in which life can play out.

Down Is The New Up

2008-09-01T03:43:00.002-04:00

I have this issue with my memory. Information comes in, and I comprehend it. I know what's going on. I'm in the moment. And moments later it's all just gone. Things that you could never forget, ideas so brilliant that they could never be simply wiped from the mind. It all just rinses off. As though my brain were a head of lettuce you just stick under the faucet. Or washing off a dish after a meal. Using a detergent with sheeting action. If someone would just stop washing the dishes, I could remember what it was that I ate for dinner last night.

Misty Mountain Hop

2008-01-16T02:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Upstairs Neighbor,

Please. Stop Moving Furniture. Also, Please stop using your Boots as a Bowling Ball. I know that's what you're doing. You think I don't know, but I do. Every night at precisely 3:47am, you return home, set up dishes on the floor and hurl your footwear at them. Please, just go back to having sex with that one girl. She had such a pretty voice.

Exchange

2007-11-25T00:53:00.000-05:00

the Buzz has come back. It hasn't been there for awhile. It's like if you find your favorite radio station on your stereo when your in an enclosed basement. It's never quite all the way clear, there's a little high pitch whine mixed with with noise and a jet engine. Recently it had been clear. Nothing really good on, but you clear clean signal. Plain as elementary arithmetic. But the Buzz is back now. It's got a familiar blanket sort of feel to it, a little ratty, but oh so comfortable. Sweeter than the program. Almost tastes like cookies with a high butter content. If I could just find a way to keep up with it. Put it on the wire...

The Contents of Lincoln's Pockets

2007-11-19T14:44:00.000-05:00

Ceiling Light fixture: 3 spiders - Dead; 2 gnats (or similar bugs of equal size/importance) - Dead; 1 pillbug - Dead; 1 moth - Dead

From the Morning

2007-11-09T17:01:00.000-05:00

More Truths of the the universe: The Cheerios Effect. Let's say you're pouring torus shaped cereal bits into a bowl. A few of them drop to the floor, inevitably. I don't care how anal retentive or obsessive compulsive you may be, it is certain that a few of those bastards will go tumbling to the floor. This is going to happen. That's the way it works. Now. The amount that dropped to the floor will Always be greater than the amount you recover. The number of pieces that you pick up "n" will be less than the number that fell to the floor "f." So n < f. Or, at the very least f = (n+1). Furthermore, when you do find the one or more that you missed, it will be in the form of a fine irrecoverable powder, because you stepped on it.

Annie's Parlor

2007-10-28T17:42:00.000-04:00

A distinct lack. A precise exclusion of subtley. Shredded fish. Raggamuffineous maximus. Drinks on an house. The word Booger doesn't get used anywhere near as much as it should in daily adult conversations. Flies don't have brains large enough for psychological trauma. Walrus tusks aren't small enough to pick locks, but I bet if you tried hard enough, you could pry a door open.

The Bark and Below It

2007-10-23T18:31:00.001-04:00

I broke my favorite flower pot today. I needed something out of my closet. Now, my closet operates similar to the classic cartoon cliche, where it's absolutely packed to the brim with random objects and things that just don't belong anywhere else. A veritable booby-trap of knick-knacks, old toys, arts supplies, gewgaws and bad pornography. Usually something falls out, but it's generally something prett resiliant or resistant to an emergency crash landing on the creaky hardwood floor. This time it was my favorite flower pot. It's been waiting, dreaming to have something planted in it ever since my last plant, Niel, died. All that time waiting. Only to be greeted with an unexpected and sudden death. Deep.

Anyone Can Play Guitar

2007-10-14T01:47:00.000-04:00

There's a very unique feeling you get when you think of something you could have said, if you had just thought of it at the time. It's the kind of stuff you insert into a story about something that happened at the bar the other night. Like, "That's when I said 'burt reynolds called and he wants his mustache back,' and hit the guy over the head with my pool cue." You didn't actually think to say that at the time, but it would have been really funny if you did. And you didn't actually bust him over the head with a pool cue, you just kind of made a motion to and he flinched.

Well, I think my whole life is like that. Even when my timing is good, it's about 5 seconds behind when it would have been perfect. Mostly it's just poor. She didn't actually need directions, she just wanted to flirt. That would have been funnier if I had said "stomach problems." Oh, that was where we were supposed to kiss. Holy crap, I knew that guy. Duh, it goes in THAT end. I really should have gotten her number. Wait, go back three topics, were the rhinos female?

I'm witty, I'm clever, I care, I love, I have opinions... It's all just a little bit of a delayed reaction, can you really hold that against me?

This Red Book

2007-09-27T12:06:00.000-04:00

Found this one in a diary I kept when I was 2:

"Dear Diary" <-- it was spelled "dairy," isn't that cute?

"I found these great candies in the cupboard today. They taste like vic's vap-o-rub, and they make your breath cold when you breathe in. But they don't last for very long if you chew them, so I had to keep eating them. I made sucking noises through my teeth. My breath was icy like ice. When mom came home, she asked why the whole room smelled like cough drops. I told her all about my cold breath, and then she hugged me and put me to bed."

The Puzzle

2007-09-09T18:30:00.000-04:00

Running through a field, it's exhilarating. When you hit the center, it's so wide. Nothing but the tall green of it. Swear by the curvature of the earth, so open and ready to fall in on top of you. So it does. Push down a hole in ground and fly through crust at breakneck speed. This must be what it feels like to a worm. Surely they experience their own perspective at a much more rapid pace than the birds eye view we have. Loping along in strides that can reach over 1000 millimeters at a good pace. So cry out, but it won't stop, and no one is around who would care enough to help. And even if they did, they wouldn't really know how. They could only pretend. Though even that would help so much.

What If We Do?

2007-09-08T12:03:00.002-04:00

Oh, hi... didn't see you come in there... No, I'm just sitting alone with my cat... Oh, right... I don't have a cat... Well it's good to see... Oh. You've got to go... Well, If you know anyone that wants to sit and talk, send them my way... And by "talk" I mean have wild hot passionate playful kinky roll-around mind-altering explorative uninhibited spine-arching gutteral-moaning jealous-neighbor wanton all-night-and-well-into-tomorrow sex.

Bloody Well Right

2007-07-19T13:01:00.000-04:00

Everybody's looking for something beautiful. They just don't realize there was a search until they find it.

My Little Blue Window

2007-07-15T04:03:00.000-04:00

No, seriously, something's crawling out of the wall.

One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

2007-07-15T03:53:00.000-04:00

A state of dreams once again seeps into the waking world. An eerie looseness and sense of muddy hackles raised into an electrified air begins to quicken the pace of a stagnant calm. The surface tension remains the same, but the waters below start a slow crawl upwards, chasing a bit of mercury. A pregnant pause. The air before a lightning strike. A muscle coil before a pounce. So much potential barely perceptible before realisation. It's got a chew to it like tapioca pudding.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

2007-05-25T20:28:00.000-04:00

The window is open and there's a kid outside. He rides his bike up and down the easement with a baseball card in his spokes. It's a sound I haven't heard since my brothers and I did the same thing years ago. On the same patch of easement, no less. Of course it's probably not a baseball card. It's a little bit throatier of a sound. Maybe plastic. Maybe it's one of those plastic cards that come with the pre-approved credit notifications. Yeah. That's what it's got to be. Some MBA's bright idea is now ribbing the spokes of a bicycle wheel. Just so a kid can pretend he's got a motor bike. Or at least a moped. That's so darling.

You're so Hollywood

2007-04-17T19:30:00.000-04:00

Tied to the bed, her mind drifted, and she found herself admiring the ceiling. "You like them?" he asked. "They're Beautiful," she said, "How long until they hatch?" "These won't," he replied, "they require a temperature of over 50ºC. These are long dormant, and will never see the light." "What a shame," she cooed, "can't you part with a few? Just to see what they become?" "No." he spoke as he thought, "It would hurt too much." He grazed her neck, "Besides, I like you where I have you." She sighed, "I do to."

Golden Boy

2007-04-11T12:16:00.000-04:00

Walking home today, I overshot my street by a block. There was a time when every person's defects or abilities could be attributed to a surplus or defecit in any combination of four humors. The compass rose, has risen. North, South, East, West. Up, Down, Left, Right. The Don would have a field day. To think that so many carrry within a potential unrefined. A tool without intent creates nothing. Hammers don't swing themselves. Direction, decision, focus. If you don't build the aqueduct before opening the floodgates, you'll only end up trudging through the mud. If only we had the sense of precision to bring to bear the power behind our eyes. There is an untamed strength in so many. Restrained in a way that is unhealthy. To be docile is far different than to be diffident. Under control opposite having control. Wild beasts behind the eyes. Mortal shells to misunderstood purpose. Focus. Concentrate. Pull your shit together, man.

The Nightly Reaping of Skin

2007-04-01T19:58:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow I'm giving it all up to become a taxi driver. Nothing turns a man cold quite like the crazy in the back seat whose nose you have to break when he starts to stick his head through the gap in the glass. Those horny couples that can't keep it tucked in until they get home. The stupid kids who get too drunk over the bridge who vomit on their friends and the back seat. That will need to be cleaned. Of course there are the daylight devils too. They relate to you, you're a working man, like themselves. They'll tell you about their wife and kids. She's an alcoholic, and the boy and girl are a prostitute and heroin addict, respectively. They pour it all over you. Their cardinal humors and sins. Taxi's are the new confessional booth. Just a little more expensive. Take the long way around for the tourists, suck out a few more ticks on the meter. Get there quick for the locals, speak angrily on your cell phone in a language nobody's ever heard of. Makes them feel bad for you, the tips will be bigger. He's got a hard life, a couple more dollars ought to fix everything. Gas up.

PS - I am not, nor have I been, dying in a hospital. Happy April Fool's Day.

Reconstruction Site

2007-03-17T19:08:00.000-04:00

Those bastards ran out on the check again. You try to take them out, show them a good time, and they jab a spoon in your back between your shoulder blade and spine. The sickest part about it? It feels really good. You can't wait to do it again. Something about the goggles they wear gives you a sense that these things are honest. You can see forever into their black pools. You feel as thought they can't hide anything from you. But you couldn't be more wrong. It'a all a ruse. A cleverly assembled facade allowing them to get away with anything. And you love it. You wish they ould have betrayed you deeper. Made you hurt more than they did. Just a little more, use a bigger spoon. Can I offer you a spork? Oh, please, just a little more. But they've already gone. You'll never see that set of them again. Order another pint. This one you'll pay for cleanly. No worrying about whose expense it will be. It's just you. Welcome back. We've missed you here. You'll like it here.

Drifting Patterns

2007-02-28T22:18:00.000-05:00

If you really think about it, apples and onions are the same silly thing. Apples can make you cry just as easily, though there's a little less choice with an onion. They're both delectably sweet when caramel/izing comes into play. Better baking comes from using sufficient quantities of either or both. Everybody remembers their great grandmother's onion orchard when they were young. The onions would be so ripe, you wouldn't even have to pull them off of the branch. You just give them a little support, and they come to rest in your hand, just in the right position for taking a big bite. The biggest difference, really, is the pains you have to go through to properly peel an apple. Your nails have to be just the right length so that you don't dig off too much, but if you've trimmed your nails in the morning, you'll never get into the bastard. See there? Crying just thinking about it.

The Last Night of Winter

2007-02-19T01:36:00.000-05:00

There is an elegant subtlety to redundancy that holds me in thrall. Repetition only lasts until a breaking point is reached at which the pattern reveals itself to be far more intricate than originally assumed. Chaos re-asserts itself anew amidst strict order which before now had been considered the ultimatum of the meeting. Upon reaching the plateau, we find that there are more hills to climb, though they may be at a different angle of gravitational trajectory. Fractalinear expressions become necessary to begin the swim again, but this time at a better pace, and quite possibly straight down. Visibility will become limited, but this is mandatory for the full realization of other senses as of yet lazy and less lucid. Once I was told five, today I counted seven. Proof positive that anything is more than it seems, but only so long as it is not limited by the predetermination of it's extent.

Immortality

2007-02-13T21:29:00.000-05:00

It's too thick. It's insubstantial, but it's far to thick. I can't get through this time. I've been good in the past. I've been so good at pushing it back. There was always some point of reference. Not this time. The existential break down. Silences are too loud. Darkness too bright. Button it up again. It's got to wash over. It alwas does. It's just going to be harder this time. This time there's no purchase. This time it's just me. I can't afford to wait for anyone else. I've got to read back a few hundred pages to remember lessons learned past. This one is just me. This one is going to have white knuckles. The answer is "no."

One of These Things First

2007-02-06T18:49:00.000-05:00

There is a long standing rivalry between the mind and body. The body trembles in fear and trepidation at the exciting and enticing tasks the mind puts forth on a regular basis. Conversely, the body puts forth the mundane, i.e "eat something," "bathe" or "touch me." The mind persists along longer and elaborate ideas involving taxing trials of both body and spirit. The body persists, "let's rest" or "we'll get to that later." The end result is often a stalemate. Once the body, willing to venture forth and extend a hand, moves forward, the mind reels with elation and becomes a bubbling pot of tumultuous escapades. The body recoils in horror, terrified of the unchained maliciousness of a mind unrestrained. Rope it in, bind it fast. Put it to the wall and tap it ever so gently, for too much pressure will destroy its momentum utterly. A natural loss will occur, as some abstracts will remain unformed, yet some of the crystallized achievements may be held aloft. Gepetto didn't want a real boy, he just wanted a puppet that would pull its own strings.

Jeannie's Diary

2007-02-02T23:48:00.000-05:00

Words from ages past resurface. You've got my little heart in a glass jar on your dresser and I'd really like to have it back, that is, if you don't mind, of course. It's not that I don't want you to have it or anything it's just that I... I think I could put it to better use than you do. I could take it for walks in the park and show it the squirrels. Or maybe out to a nice dinner with cloth napkins. I just need to get my ties shoed and screw headed on straight. I just can't seem to place the pins in the right map. I just miss having it around. I tend to get along better when I've got it to myself. I know that's a little selfish, but you want what you want.

Take California

2007-01-22T13:22:00.000-05:00

At any crossroads there are obvious decisions to be made. What nobody really wants to tell you is that there are other options well hidden from the senses used to perceive the calculatory nature of the situation. The path is malleable. You hide this fact even from yourself in order to keep a clear semblance of the situation at hand. If the sheer propensity of compounded components were to be awakened suddenly from their subconscious slumber, the ego would have a hissy fit. Through the hum of a tuning fork, one could keep the wolves at bay for a moment. A simple agitation of a growing crystal causes a new and completely unpredicted result.

Hell and High Water

2007-01-06T19:28:00.000-05:00

It's hard to hurt and move on if you don't know whether or not the skateboard was going fast enough to skin your knees when you fell off.

My Room Is White

2006-11-30T01:55:00.000-05:00

If it were pinball, it would all be so much more fun. Instead, it's shuffleboard, all floaty and semi-lucid, but not without an element of frustration and detachment to rival that of a chessboard with only three sides. If somebody spills something, every towel at hand would be required for the clean up, and god help you if it's laundry day. That damned little german lady only speaks spanish, and she always shorts you a few dimes when you ask for quarters. That elmer's glue you used to use in 2nd grade to put together construction paper dinosaurs would sure come in handy right now, but all they carry is that super glue that you can't help but get two fingers stuck together with. It took 38 minutes of soaking in much-to-hot water to get them apart last time, and you dread having to do that again. However, it's still got to get done, and there really is no kill like over-kill. Holding out for a decent game of pinball seems like a much better idea. Know what? Forget it. Volleyball in the backyard. Everybody's family in that one, so there's no fear of embarrassment.

There Goes My Gun

2006-11-29T22:49:00.000-05:00

The Best There Is is not, and never actually will be. To insist upon this is to install a ceiling which caps and contains the realm of possibility therein. To insist upon a best anything implies not only that there isn't, but that there never will be a better. Under context, fine. It is the best to date, sure. But if you dare assert such a claim, there ought to be an evidential dissertation, at the very least an unassuming explanation, to portray your manifest representation as the best. Even then, the implication is not that the method is a limitation, but that it is a challenge to come up with something that meets, nay, excels in comparison to the present pinnacle of pristine performance. There is no ceiling, and I'll be damned if there ever is one. There is no higher echelon, merely the tallest platform on which to stand another ladder. To accept anything as the best way implies that you are finished. If you are finished, please remove yourself from your seat and allow someone else to play, because your acceptance is not necessarily theirs. If you are finished, you have nothing more to contribute. If you are finished, there shall be no growth for you. If you are finished, you shall remain stagnant. To a few, this is entirely unnacceptable. To impose the peak as the end and no higher is to damn those below to a ceiling most unbecoming of the potential that may be laying dormant below. Give me the sky, and I'll give you the stars. Give me the mansion, I'll give you the Attic. Give me the sink, I'll give you the kitchen. Just don't put a goddamned box over my head and tell me to jump around. There's no grace in that.

I'll Not Contain You

2006-11-19T19:50:00.000-05:00

As if by magic, it always works out. It's never easy, but the resolution always comes after the climax. Birds in their trees shit on the ground below. If you're lucky, they'll shit on the swingset, leaving it useless until the rain, or you forget and sit in it anyway. It's always worth it, though, when you find yourself once again waiting for the cat to die. There's a nearly imperceptible changeover when it happens. It always happens. After the long wait, or struggle, or ecstasy, or agony. Bars up, rides over, get in line for the next one and have your tickets ready.

X I Y

2006-11-13T02:14:00.000-05:00

Ambient strain is a a brightly colored button on a jacket filled with the body of an elephant with no trunk. Would that a sitter sustain long enough to collect change as a beggar, they would assume a posture stiffer than that which they had before upon returning to the right way of their walking. Well-ironed lapels confirm the desire for an order as of yet unrecognized and bewildering to behold by those not aware of a remark as pointed as that which may deceive an unknowing and illegitimate wretch while confirming the very existence of the first. The match unlit itself implies a selected compatriot companion co-conspirator as of yet irresolute, yet fully available upon recognition of the potentiality of the event.

Delicacies

2006-11-03T04:53:00.000-05:00

Five in the morning again. Which isn't to say you should be getting to bed, but rather that the clock is ticking, and you only have a few more hours to finish what you began so long ago. There's a mush factor that has to be taken into account. Mental capacity at this odd hour is a small fraction of what it may be a any other point in the day. Tasks take a bit longer, and they come out funny. The dull ache in your stomach doesn't come from hunger, but rather the fact that you shouldn't be snacking at this hour because your guts aren't trained to work the night shift. Don't even think about sleep at this hour. Your only fooling yourself. You'll be a lifeless heap for far too many hours. You can't afford that. Not yet. Soon, though. Just one more long burn. When dawn comes, pretend you just woke up. You won't do anybody good complaining that you didn't sleep last night. You did it to yourself. slow roast buuuuuuuurn.

Robochacha

2006-10-07T17:45:00.000-04:00

Tools are extensions and expansions, divine manifestations of self used to impose the creative elements and physical fantasies of the inner mind onto the fabric of the exterior universe. Absurd and archaic forms of communication, each with a language all of it's own that, once learned, becomes another form of conveyance for the primordial substance of raw unrefined thought and idea. With tools we are allowed the luxury of communication on a level greater than the capacities inherent within our own bodies. Proper use of tools goes beyond the perfect radial arc of a hammer, or the proper interpretation of information of an implement of the finest machination. Flow into, around, through and out. Free the idea.

Surf Terror

2006-10-02T16:10:00.000-04:00

Thin smoke and Sirens. Feverish Haze clouds the judgement of the practiced. If only there were a way to butter knife the stuff out of a jar and slather it onto the backs of the jaded and cynical. Find them wanting and move on.

Damn Shame

2006-08-28T00:36:00.000-04:00

Seven Tendrils of Funk. A Topical And Graphic map of the violence endured by a gaggle of rail-armoured polka-dots shows just how angry a three ton walrus of gelatin can be. Fear the recordings of the nether. Embrace the power of the yarn spun from the ashes of the slightly singed frame of a bicycle grown to four times its normal size.

Cemetery Polka

2006-08-18T15:16:00.000-04:00

Everthing will rust and fall apart. Nothing really lasts. These days will have been primitive ones. Or the height of it, before it all broke. In either case, anything modern becomes ancient with time. Those fresh ideas, already archaic on the grand timeline. See farther. A full generation? Two? Three? Eleven? How long will that building stand? Twenty years? Two-thousand? Life lived in history.

Mad Tom of Bedlam

2006-08-03T17:34:00.000-04:00

If you can't stand the heat, get the fuck out of the city. There's no more room here for the likes of any one jackrabbit that can't keep up with the hares. If there were a number of stones equal to or greater than the worth of one man, then that man be doomed to carry them.

A Peculiar Noise Called "Train Director"

2006-07-06T04:29:00.000-04:00

Two Rings; Five Seconds. Divide one equally amongst the other. If there are any flora or fauna present, the task is null and void. There are only a few outcomes, so let them find their own route of escape. Be sure to watch out for that last step, for it surely is a doooooo-Z.

Racing the Sun

2006-06-06T02:24:00.000-04:00

There's a moist warm fog floating down the river. It's only desire is to stop off in a small town near the overpass. There isn't even anything there, just a change of scenery from the quiet forests along the banks high in the mountain. Sadly, the fog will wiggle to the town's park, only to be destroyed by the sunlight reflected by the glimmering teeth of smiling children.

Your Name Is Snake Anthony

2006-05-26T22:54:00.000-04:00

Sometimes you've got to go against the grain to get up the river. Your opinion must be known to all, even if no one will agree with you. Dare to be the one who says what everyone else has thought from time to time, but not overcome their own cowardice to exclaim. Take the goose by the horns, the bull by the bill. Stand up for yourself and make it known to everyone. the time is ripe for revolution.

I hate scooby doo.

Northern Sky

2006-05-14T17:59:00.000-04:00

I spoke a different language in a dream about hares eating the tough hide of a tortoise. I told them that what they were doing was quite unsportsman-like. They didn't seem to understand what I had said, and it was then I realized I was speaking the language of the tortoise, and not the language of the hare.

Demographics

2006-04-19T22:50:00.000-04:00

There were a full seven of the things just staring at me. There I was, pinned down by the creatures. They all started gibbering maniacally, as thought they were arguing over something. Before I could get a grasp over what it really was they were so fitful about, their attention suddenly turned to a small hole that was opening up in the ground. Seizing the opportunity, I fled. I never did find out what was in that hole. My greatest regret is that I didn't have the courage to stay with the situation in order to have a proper end to the story.

Skanky Panky

2006-04-15T01:40:00.000-04:00

Up and to the right. It's the only rule of the game. Only two directions are to be chosen from. Perhaps occasionally you can cheat it and use a support, but for the most part you should stick to the rules. These are however guidelines, so there is some leeway. However, please stick to the rules as best you can, up and to the right.

A Reversal of Polarity

2006-03-22T12:57:00.000-05:00

The Clothes you Love will one day turn to rags. Love them while you can. Though the more you love them, the faster they decay. The bright side is, they'll gain what your grandfather would call "character." Perhaps with enough love and wear, they'll gain enough character of their own to get up and leave you behind.

What is This Note?

2006-03-14T23:26:00.000-05:00

"Eat it clowns!" That's what you'll be screaming from your cardboard box out-post from the top of the two story wal-mart. You were driven mad by the fear of being left alone with your cat while an extra-terrestrial bides his time under your bed darning your socks. Serves 'em right for putting that goddamned yoda furby on clearance. Bastards. Oh, and your horoscope said you'd be meeting new people. Go figure.

Galaxy Drive

2006-03-13T23:08:00.000-05:00

Rumble, Tumble. Rolling around all day gathers no moss, but the bruises can become the most wonderful colors you've ever beheld.

Velvet Pants

2006-03-12T14:31:00.000-05:00

I know i've mentioned this before, but it's so important that it must be revisited. I fall in love with someone every day. And I never do anything about it. On a good day on the sub way, I fall in love maybe three or four times before reaching my destination. Beautiful people. Not simply a matter of beauty, but People. These are Beautiful People. An actual real live beautiful Person. Some days it's not even people. It might be the refraction of light across a pane of glass that accentuates the acute angle of a branch bent by the weight of a squirrel who gave up looking for nuts in favor of a pleasant view. I fall in love every single day. And I never do anything about it.

Sweet Avenue

2006-03-07T23:15:00.000-05:00

Here's the Plan. One day out of every year, we stop the whole thing. For 24 hours, we get to ignore time entirely. We'll pick up exactly where we left off. Most of us won't even know it happened. We'll go from tuesday, to the void, straight on into wednesday. No one can possibly complain about this. Except for a couple astronomers, but fuck them, nobody cares what they think anyhow. Just think of the magic of it. For one day, you don't have to sleep, you don't have to eat, you don't have to fuck, you don't have to work, play, love, hate, stress, relax, everybody just gets to stop.

Death of a Pirate

2006-03-05T12:05:00.000-05:00

It cries out again, meekly. What the hell have you done to this poor animal? Hasn't it suffered enough? There was a time when it wouldn't have let this pass. No, this time it's going to take a little work to get things back to where they ought to be. One thing at a time, though, and finish each. Steps on a ladder must be taken in order.

Sweet N Sour

2006-03-03T22:17:00.000-05:00

okay, but seriously, i'm really getting tired of falling in love and doing absolutely nothing about it.

Soaked

2006-03-03T21:36:00.000-05:00

New soup flavour debuts next week. It's called "tropical chutney surprise." It's going to taste like the sound of someone popping gum as they ring up your groceries in the express lane. This may take you by surprise, but hey, you opened the can. It has a mild aftertaste of angry hobo telling you that your tiny fistful of change that you can barely afford to spare isn't enough to buy him a forty. That... you should have expected.

Sun Down

2006-02-27T20:18:00.000-05:00

Lean in close for this one. It's all at hand. A waive of your fingertips, and it's right in front of you. Closer, closer, here are all of the secrets. Ah, but you've missed it. That moment has passed. You'll have to wait for the next one. It's closer than you think, just make sure not to blink next time. Amateur.

What If No One's Watching

2006-02-18T17:41:00.000-05:00

Soak it up. It's not going away anytime soon. But while it's here, you've got to soak it up. No matter how thick or gooey it may seem. It's not the easiest way to deal with it, but it may serve you the best in the future. Soak it up.

Eggs and Sausage

2006-02-11T20:21:00.000-05:00

A photographic memory can only be put to proper use when there is something actually worth remembering photographically. Who really cares how many fingers there are on the left hand of Ronald McDonald in the 1987 commercial with all of the fry-guys but the orange one?

I Can Smell the Leaves

2006-02-06T17:21:00.000-05:00

Headspace. headspace. It's one of those days when your mind gets floaty. As though you should be really high, but you're not. Tingle the tips of your fingers. Torturous the nerve endings in your upper back. Detached from the ground your feet. Cut your hair. Maybe it will go away after you cut your hair.

You Owe Me Five Potatoes.

2006-02-05T23:24:00.000-05:00

Put on your flip flops. We are going to the beach. Forget the towel. It will be so much more sensually stimulating to be dried by the sun and to have to pick crusted sand from your heel. Where I'm from, the water's always cold. It's no fun with shorts. It's better without. No clothes for the dip. The skinny is that wet clothes stick to you and that's no fun. Nobody needs that. Cold Sea Water and Square Inches of Flesh. It's a good time in a bottle. Drink up.

Thinking About You

2006-01-26T17:43:00.000-05:00

All these bastards are darting around, a whole mees of 'em. Every body's got a bonfire, but no body's got a single damned match. How's a guy s'posed to get any thing done around here when there isn't any thing but organic copper pipes and poorly seasoned plate steel to eat? I tell ya, it's a damned miracle any body could ever bake a cake in this environment. damn it.

Kiss the Girl

2005-12-29T03:03:00.000-05:00

It occured to me this evening that, while there are plenty of fish in the sea, I never actually learned how to fish.

Over Retired Explorer (Dines With Michel Foucault In Paris, 1961)

2005-12-13T19:24:00.000-05:00

There were red/green apples strung around the room and none of them were ripe. That's what I was told, anyhow. My hunch was that they were a hybrid that was part green apple. I bit into one to see, and found that they were a bit soft toward the outside and crisp in the middle. All of these apples were going to rot in hopes that they would ripen.

Ruby, Tell Me

2005-12-05T00:38:00.000-05:00

There's fire in my brainpan. The sky above it takes on a purple hue to reflect the sanity absent from the bed of the lonely girl with bright green earrings.

Starry Configurations

2005-12-04T13:44:00.000-05:00

A sweeping rain washes across a flatland and dries out over a field of buildings. They rise out of the earth like needles from a pincushion. Brittle and fragmented, they fear the high winds. Occasionally, a scattering of them will fall. they snap at the base and tilt lightly. Monoliths fall as cuttings at harvest time. There will be no gatherings, however, for there is no longer anyone to care.

Speed Kills

2005-11-25T21:42:00.000-05:00

So you're "channel surfing" your picture tube, when you come across the image of a man with the head of a wolf. it is a twisted charicature, and gives you the willies for reasons you can't understand. You want to move on to the next channel, but you can't. You're frozen. It stares you down. It stares back. After a forever passes by, it speaks something to you in a language you can't understand. Laughtrack. You realize you've stumbled onto a channel in spanish and it's simply a sketch comedy bit. Regaining your footing, you're finger hovers hesitantly over "Channel +." Press it.

Rain Dogs

2005-11-10T23:59:00.000-05:00

It's too early to feel alone. Keep moving. Stay occupied. The inside world doesn't actually exist. It's the outside world that needs your attention right now, not your own. Stay awake. Stay Awake. No dreams. Not yet.

Dance Till The Morning Sun

2005-11-04T11:26:00.000-05:00

Your belly rotates on the z axis. A zillion tiny bubbles radiate outward from within, creating an energy potential you rarely experience. Be careful what you do with it. Treat it with disrespect, and it may loose itself upon the world without any direction. Reign it in too tightly, and it may shatter the glass box that you've created to contain it. zssang.

2 Rights Make 1 Wrong

2005-10-30T22:42:00.000-05:00

At a certain point in Time, there was a certain someone who had a certain propencity to do a certain thing. When it became clear to this person that this thing was leading them down this path that this thing always led to, there was a great recoil in posture and stride. To resist would mean a return trip. Choices long ago would have to be recalled and retooled. Was this possible? That instant froze and was bejewelled with a Moment.

Hello Operator

2005-10-28T00:58:00.000-04:00

When everything finally shuts down. When the last light had been turned off. When the last piece has been cut. When the torque is relieved from the last sprocket. There won't even be silence.

Give, Give, Give

2005-10-23T19:24:00.000-04:00

If there were really monkeys in space, they would have the most fantastical SRBMs ever. (Space Ready Banana Meal)

Jellybelly

2005-10-20T00:14:00.000-04:00

Armed with a felt-tipped pen, a pink pearl eraser and a pair of scissors, our hero descends into the labyrinth. A sparse scattering of torches dimly regard the corners and halls with a simple disdain. But what's this? The air is tainted with cinnamon! It appears the Minotaur has been expecting company, and has created a batch of snickerdoodles. Fresh out of the oven, these confections are impossible to resist. Minotaur: 1, Hapless Adventurer: 0.

Love Me

2005-10-17T22:24:00.000-04:00

If you sit and stare at the wall long enough, something magnificent will happen. First, you'll hear a thick layer of paint separate itself from the wall with a series of sick crackles and wet popping noises. Visually, there is no manifestation. This is followed by a brief silence. After you begin to second guess your senses, a split in the paint will appear. The moist noises from before will return in force as a pair of hands pushes out of the wall from the inside. They will spread the paint apart just wide enough to reveal a pink-haired version of yourself. This entity will stare you deep in the eye. The following is crucial; Do Not Say a Single Word. You will want to with every bit of your being. You must not. The deepest regions of your elbow will demand the you say something, anything. You must not. Your fingers will tingle with the intensity of one-thousand and twenty-three perturbed porcupines in hopes that you will speak. You. Must. Not. Only then will you understand what it was you were about to say. At this point you will realize that it was not meant to be said. And the eyes of the wall will no longer be made of glass.

The New Cannonball

2005-10-17T02:13:00.000-04:00

With wolves baying at each other over my shoulders, Focusing the irises of the ocean becomes difficult. If it weren't for the soothing balm of the immortal noise, Old movements would be overtaken by their rusty assailant Time itself.

Ballad of Mr. Bonkers

2005-10-16T17:51:00.000-04:00

Outside the window, there's an angry leaf with a big mallet. Just waiting for me to fall asleep, it is. I have a small number of matches left in a box that keep it at bay. There are only so many matches. It is only a matter of time before the world of light and shadow is discarded, and the land of slumber takes over leaving me vulnerable.

Callous

2005-10-14T03:04:00.000-04:00

It's not the first time I've seen Rain. Spin 'round to face the crowd on this one, friend. If there were a bright yellow bird atop a perch of pure reason, you'd have reason to worry. This time it's a flock of pidgeons eyeing a loaf of apple cake. They are fobidden! Do not feed the Pidgeons!

You'd Prefer an Astronaut

2005-10-13T19:07:00.000-04:00

With a spool of High Tensile Cat/5, and a Rod of pure Luck, the Data-backed flounder was hooked. Fish-on. Fish-on.

Alarm Call

2005-10-06T13:16:00.000-04:00

Is this thing on? *whump whump* *skreeeEEEEEEEeeeeee......* *cough*