120211

 “Man is not a domestic animal…It is because we vary so much in temperament and endowment that the social restraints necessary for our survival seem so burdensome.  Men and women are caught between the millstones of their temperament and the customs of the society in which they find themselves and which they must accept in order to survive.  When these two are at odds they become anxious, resentful, guilty or fearful, depending partly on their personal makeup and partly on the emotional expression which their particular society allows.”  Osmand, H.  LSD pg. 32,3.

Multiple perfunctory ideals synapse simultaneously perfusing axons with a confusing balance of

excitatory and inhibitory neurotransmitters oscillating between termini n terminu.
Let me teach you a lesson, you can only get luck never have luck. 
To put it Gumply, Lucky is as Lucky does,
Dalmatian dumb luck reverscreen old Sid-o-TV-id-Sedative 1,001 channel front river front satellite dish
capillary neighborhoods, vein drags, and artery Main St. redistribution stent overhauled 90
necrosed-dead-ass. Bursting brain cells fail to react again; neural networks detour.

Nama-Rupa (Name and Form)

The sensuous sensationalizing of parts of us reacting righteously to symbols manifests itself outwardly according to pattern, mode, set, and setting.  There’s a first time for everything.  *Blink*

Acculturated man breaks up the continuum, (a fathomlessly mysterious and infinite something, whose outward aspect is what we call Matter and) attaches labels to a few of the fragments, projects the labels into the outside world and thus creates for himself an all-too-human universe of separate objects, each of which is merely the embodiment of a name, a particular illustration of some traditional abstraction, what we perceive takes on the pattern of the conceptual lattice through which it has been filtered.”  Huxley, A. LSD pg. 41

Mundainty apparitions blow over daybydaybodaybybody.  Okay, if this is only this and tat tvam asi then how cynical it is easy to simply solve in fewer words the Obed jubilation that this everything showers everywhere.  Why words anyway?  Silent utopia!
(Modest Mouse sings the Willful Suspension of Disbelief on Everywhere and His Nasty Parlor Tricks)
Conjecture, reasonable conjecture muse rhetoric into a fearful following that spin wheels in parallax.
The future is known, the future can only be known if the future is static.  Ecstasy, according to Leary, indicates an etymology, ex- (out of) stasis, (static, or fixed).  In the process reading this, meanings of words continue to grow, become transmogrified, or become uprooted completely, branching offshoots.
I might disintegrate into thin air!

Differ Sports; Kind Points.

When those guys (owners v. b-ballers) measure everything in money it takes real heroics entirely out of the equation when nasty sty statistics dominate the boards.  When honesty is denied for steroids, Clemens, those chemicals and hormones take the power of the heart into reduction, the power of the heart beating poison learns to preserve and protect itself like a QT interval in trouble, hurting inside.
The flagging
militarism            downward glancing cross-eyed murmurings           on a leashhhhush
                                                                                                                        with a lease
                                                                                                                        contract signed
                                                                                                                        willfully
                                                                                                                        beholden
                                                                                                                        to the pact.
To his credit, he would indiscriminately autograph
anything, Rose, without regard or with regards to the highest bidder (adieu).
Ink sucker! Debt coverer!  Shylock Bass, trumpeting noiselessly, appreciative fan…
“I finally offended Love enough that she left and so much that she never wanted to come back!”

Owl:

“What a hoot!”
“What a pair of hooters!”
“If looks could kill then herpes would be fatal.”
(The cold sore on her face consumed me and I lost my head!)
“That’s way more than a zit!”
“It has got to be infected, look at the size of that thing!”
“A Botulistic Facial Anomoly!”
“Holy Anomoly Batman!”
Yes, Robin, I see it too…those lips.”

Rabbit Hole Booby Trap Perverse Scuttling Indiscrete Design:

The Fahrer Artuna Autumnal Industry Ball full of hard legs and up the happenstairs into the arms of a falling offer.  Though I don’t deny blubbury, I admit shury dafal.  In defense of the indiscriminate, I attest to the following:
1) That I have no recollection of the preceding devents
2) That I loved her; All of her; and then some (Moor)
3) That all the time I was convinced of my virtue.
The alcoholism was the result of my being in a bad place, not vice versa.
I admit that I have two hands; wishes and reality; seeds and manure.
“Grubby little hands, go plant some daffodils, they are pretty, write ten: 10.”

∞/0 Zero: Place-holder:

Zero is a number in waiting for future events that will make everything more describable.

“’How is a memory to be made for the man-animal? How is an impression to be so deeply fixed upon this ephemeral understanding, half dense, and half silly, upon this incarnate forgetfulness, that it will be permanently present?”  As one may imagine, this primeval problem was not solved by exactly gentle answers and gentle means; perhaps there is nothing more awful and more sinister in the early history of man than his system of mnemonics.  “Something is burnt in so as to rein in his memory: only that which never stops hurting remains in his memory.’ This is an axiom of the oldest (unfortunately also the longest) psychology in the world.”  Nietzsche The Genealogy of Morals pg. 37

Without pain, without mutilating factor, we would have no mnemonics nor demand any sympathy recompense.  The fact that man (thinks he) knows so much indicates that either he has lived a difficult life or is in some way a glutton for pain.  Loneliness…angst…nibbles away at our very soul come to burn on the atomic level in the fires of self-help books come to personalize anguish.  The gifts we deserve are seldom worth sharing.  Reading SOB, so effete, writing sympathy cards for every occasion, “So sorry for the birth of your very own soon to be hated Son.  He will be a nuisance on your life, schedule, and your very ability to have a good time or find any peace!”  God is troubled.  He became troubled by our increasingly frequent use of convenient excuses to explain away anything and everything into nothingness, until there aren’t any answers, only silence. 
“I can’t take it anymore! My bitch is about to get married to some other mother matriculator!  I’m losing my gripe on reality!  What is there to complain about anymore!?  Nothing!  That’s the problem!”
Nothing!  That’s the problem!  Arjuna observes the battlefield, pure and pointless.  “There is nothing to be maintained by these foolhardy extravaganzas!”
War intimates cross-cultural communication; assassination silences complicit renderings, thus silencing the heart,
“So I grab the knife from his hands and give him the sound beating he deserves amplified.  A cross between piss and shit, he was getting more attention than he deserved.  Why I didn’t beat his face in sooner, I figured that look wasn’t natural, that he was already undergoing some kind of personal trauma or bereavement.  Nope!  Turns out, that’s just the look of an asshole.  Some asshole at that!  You know, sometimes I stay in because I know that if I go out I’ll be looking for trouble; not so with this guy.  A real go-getter went out to find it!”

Young the Giant – Cough Syrup:

Over the counter
and through the bar he jitters on his swivel
stool in nervous apprehension for the first sip
of the day of anti-anxiety ethanol that
will put him in Irish ease with all
of his drinking strangers staring
through him, paying no mind to the
vibrating trusses he wiggles looser with
each successive Achilles crank.

The Whistling Wizzard:

A cellular demographic streamlines mom & pop
cultural media interests targeted to & for
trendsetters who unwittingly acknowledge
statistical trends self-satisfyingly set
for animated sales base program loopers
whom firework application scrollers attract
into technological relapses at 4G
framerates. [FruitNinja LemonBodies]

Die Gedanken Sind Frei:

Thoughts are free, who can guess them?
They flee by like nocturnal shadows.
No man can know them, no hunter can shoot them
with powder and lead: Thoughts are free!

I think what I want, and what delights me,
still always reticent, and as it is suitable.
My wish and desire, no one can deny me
and so it will always be: Thoughts are free!

And if I am thrown into the darkest dungeon,
all this would be futile work,
because my thoughts tear all gates
and walls apart: Thoughts are free!

So I will renounce my sorrows forever,
and never again will torture myself with whimsies.
In one's heart, one can always laugh and joke
and think at the same time: Thoughts are free!

I love wine, and my girl even more,
Only her I like best of all.
I'm not alone with my glass of wine,
my girl is with me: Thoughts are free!

“What is man that thou art mindful of him?”

What is woman that man art attracted to her?  With regard to every curve, this goes all the way back to Ecstatic Eden when it was recognized that man come from God and woman came from man and original sin came from recognizing lower orders instead of God.  Nowadays, there is less sin from observing animals and more from regarding computers and other machines that serve as idols of obsession, especially when these very machines can provide an adequate simulation of animal sexuality through Gorilla Glass™ and technology urges us onward as a female in heat.  “People don’t know what they want until you show it to them.”  So said Steve Jobs and so would say the Snake.

The temporary shutting of the doors and windows of consciousness, the relief from the clamant alarums and excursions, with which our subconscious world of servant organs works in mutual co-operation and antagonism; a little quietude, a little tabula rasa of the consciousness, so as to make room again for the new, and above all for the more noble functions and functionaries, room for government, foresight, predetermination (for our organism is on an oligarchic model)- that is the utility, as I have said, of the active forgetfulness, which is a very sentinel and nurse of psychic order, repose, etiquette, and this shows at once why it is that there can exist no happiness, no gladness, no hope, no pride, no real present without forgetfulness.
Nietzsche, The Genealogy of Morals.

Lines shift, vibrate, and hum…zap!  Something caught a hold of the electric fence.  Kindling, tiles, ratfinks, and beer shits.  This is the second café hit today.  Aroma Syrah!  Babbitt, little brown man, pubic beard, leather visor-beret, socially awkward hobbit, beady eyes always looking, inspecting, and judging.  He doesn’t ever say much, which is probably a good thing.  This neighborhood isn’t big enough for the two of us.  Word spreads around Buffalo and the Elmwood village fast…can’t get away with much…the women talk.  They never let anything go, man they can really hold a grudge.  Being judgmental is what makes a person beautiful and keeps you that way, the friends you keep, fucking moral liberals with hang-ups.  Winter wardrobes cover pudge.  All I ever wanted was some pot and a thick squeeze, somewhere warm to be high and daydream.  The troubles of this world pass beyond me and I have no desire to catch up (to them).  A sucker’s born every day to fretful parents who think they can protect them by containing them in a cubicle somewhere out of harm’s way.  What a life.  It makes me sick, the fucking thought.  Easy living is for suckers who only know how to suck and only want to keep suckling social teat on nutrient deprived soil.  Fuck ‘em.  City dwelling pacifists are the only true evil.  They are no fun.  They have no sense of humor.  They have nothing to protect but corporate hand-outs and antiquated ideals.  They are good-for-nothing swindlers who truly believe that home-ownership and an easy lay are the highest ideals to conform to.  May your ego sustain you!  It’s not that I would turn down a hot piece of ass, because honestly, the longer I go, the better they all seem to look.  Beauty is in the eye of the longing beholder longing to hold a radiant beauty in my own right.  It’s hopeless really, all the attention, it seems exhausting.  The ones who look the best never seem to care, really…After all said and done, give me a hit of ecstasy without the week-long depression, let me have Christ’s chemical body, buoyant on eternal reserves of serotonin, oxytocin, and superserendipity.  Wouldn’t it be nice?  Heaven is a place of euphoria and ideal forms (coming to me).

               Writing for writing’s sake, getting stoned for the sake of art, becoming that mutilated masterpiece, making myself interesting as a job, doing my own promotion, vertically integrating myself, creating for myself some sort of Clockwork Orange Nazi torture projector of humiliation, drug induced screams, and forced change like unwanted menstruations.  The umbrage reveals the dark, hidden truth behind suffixes and crucifixes.  Death is a [symbolic] means to salvation, do what you must, pragmatist.  Organization relaxes.  Organizational reflexes keep clean what could otherwise be dirty, stressful, and chaotic.  By committing cleanliness to muscle memory, we thereby relieve ourselves the mental hassle of turning tasks into chores, chortling as things are revealed and thereby made easier by upping the intensity of insane practices designed to desensitize numbskull slaves who are clearly under my control for the numbing task of getting things done for me more efficiently, profitably, and making corporate a science such as subliminal sales for my portfolio, psychological mechanism for the wishy-washy devolving brain developing blanks, educating imbeciles who suck the pity system dry as dumbed-down families of weaklings continue to breed under the auspices of the scientific method, way of getting down to fittest conclusions, twig bearing fruit bearing heritage doing things the soft way, studying soft sciences that never quite get past the basics and make the rest up on sandy soil sure to slip under pressure, when reality meets its realist who truly believes in things that are provably plausible so as to exemplify the circumstance in lay language, so as to condescend to the hoi polloi who have no choice but to bow to hardened knowledge, calculated respect, and the threat of aggravating circumstances made worse through the poor leadership from the son of a rich man.  (I think you lost me.)