Dulcimer Elves and a Force Fed Tapeworm Satellite

If only I were able to organize outwardly then we’d really be cooking!  Really, like soup du jour for breakfast.  Those cheese-sticks that make you feel like shit in an hour glass, time moves by slowly.  Tick-tock towards completion, here we go! OK! Bye! C-ya! See ya later! Ta-tau!  “Motherfucker only left me a tip!  If I needed advice, I wouldn’t take it from you, sir.”  The savers and the squanderers, who do we like better?  “Well, that’s retrospectful and not really respectful at all!  And that’s all we’re ever asking of our employees,” goes the corporation.  “It’s in the soup, bitches! It’s right there in the soup, laughing at me!  LOL alphabet soup!  AHH!  The noodles!  Run for your lives!”

“I would but it’s cold out,” or even in Summer, “I would, but it’s too hot.” Oh mama, I love fucking Summer!  I love this time of year!  Timism.  Let’s get our work-out in! Bangers and mash!  A British time philosophy from Big Ben.  “No! No! Not a New Year! I don’t want to admit that it’s the year 2000 and I live in the future!  It’s crazy with robots out there!  I could be a robot!  That would be awful! ...or would it be like Inspector Gadget?”  asked the introspective gadget to herself, more like Penny and change, that clever dog, Gizmo. “When my dog dies, I will be crushed, sad.  Oh, so sad.  I would cry if I could, but the frozen tears would just stick to my face.  It’s cold in Winter, but then Spring comes with new species in the rainforest where the dodo has died, or continues to survive in some sort of top-secret dodo robot zoo for birds, a mechanical aviary, a large, working Ben…”  We’re only told the dodo is dead because those crazy Brits go on crazy expensive safaris. Americans only believe they are rich because they also, conveniently, believe in statistics as a rule of law.  Satisfied statisticians have made a judgment, ass-slapping a maid with those nasty gnarled hands, usually used for self-satisfaction.  Talking to The Man as his cock, and also his pride, pluming the plummet into North Pit, North Hell, or SE DC, mere miles from the White House and the financial district, whatever you prefer.  “The Blacks are all going crazy on freedom and drugs!  The Whites don’t know what to do!  More money?  I can’t understand it!  It’s like, we give them more money and they keep making their lives lousy with children!  I mean, we say that Whites and Blacks are equal, yet they’re a statistical anomaly! (Like a typographical error, ‘holy anomaly, Batman!’),” Robin the bird-brained bat-shit insane flighty red-tighty-whitey looking robot caught speaking.

                Abundant cud, effervescent fluids, and clear, sunny days in a meadow precedes slaughter.  “What’s with all the fracas?  I’m bloody everywhere!”  The red sock without the roast beef, stubbed toe on MN’s printer.  Pucker marks, a pointy ass, and shit! “Shit! Everywhere!  Shit!  If I have to eat, I’ll eat grinning.  I wouldn’t want to fuss up my skeletal structure over such a minor inconvenience that we all go through as humans,” humans identified by statistical chips, implanted in, on, or around arms, legs, or appendages, or a force fed tapeworm satellite.

                Freeze-dried amoeba Splenda!
                You could see his bulge from his splay.
                Women go wild, tickled pink.
                Thoughts of a baser nature fill the void.
                “Me hits homers!”
                Better a skull bashed-in than abashed heads.

                Some people really know how to live!  Or they think they know, but not really.  I know from being a life-long learner who remembers everything tied to a string or strand of DNA.  It’s all in the circuitry.

                “Blown fuse, dipswitch!”

                “Carry on, Scotty.”

                Marshall Mathers blithers blathers, blithering blathering idiot, I.  The adroit idiot confounded supposition and continues to seem to the astounded, profound.  We’re sooner to jump to assumptions than truly conclusive conclusions.  Aren’t we?  I don’t know.  “I don’t know,” uttered and reuttered the macho pious.  “Ate a lot of cheese,” Attila the Hungry growled over his stomach, congealed.

The Brotherhood of the Awakening was not recognized by party-goers because it wasn’t Greek and got no less respect, already receiving none.  Alpha Omega Alpha would have burnt to the ground within a week.  Bitches getting pregnant, death in the bathroom stall.  Those guys want it all, individually, to end it all.  “Burn the motherfucker down!” A just resolution sans arson on Indian burial grounds haunted by a curse, a gift, and a plague of dulcimer music.

                Some are not entertained by some comedy and it is inappropriate to force an issue, by custom, politeness, and good manner.  It is also rude to make a big stink by etiquette. Unchained, perhaps it is best to just let her go.  A ghost can be felt, even if it is not an apparent apparition.  I descend to a more perfectly painful plane, the fields of Athenry, in sheets of pins and needles rolling into the horizon.  It is a far cry to a complete circuit at the speed of sound to the speed of light, raindrop of petals, and wrapped in a casket.  Beauty is fleeting and must be chased!  Beauty is fleeting, you must be chaste!  Exercise procrastinates aging.  Wisdom is blue.  What should I do?  Just do it.  (Nike.)  Work for the Man.  The Man kisses booty every night before bed and throws his cash in a drawer full of elves whose function is to multiply the man’s money so that there’s enough to share!  Isn’t that kind of them?

Evil Elves in the Age of Absolution Divide

Evil elves work in filing cabinets.  That’s a fact!  They work at whittling.  They whittle every little thing they see until the whittled wares reflect their gnarled and moody mirror images.  They are the dust of the sea and the waste product of sea-mites.  The dust of sea-mites that feed on amoeba corpses that would have plagued the entire eco-system.  If only we could wash the water!  Alas, the water must be blessed by a priest lingering in abundant seed money.  Lingering also is the belief in blessed water being holy.  The Word dislodges sea dust and disinfests dusty sea-mites.  A single step to eternity means nothing much, but to a single man it could mean infinity. 

                To some our little games are purely political, to some of cosmic importance.  Law makes me tired.  It bores me.  It stops my breathing.  It makes me ignore things.  When you are on the outside looking into windows of understanding, you are intrinsically without the comfort of the interior.  I live within laws of rules and physics while toeing the injunction line of chastisement.  Nobody desires undeserved punishment, not even Jesus, abiding by the big man above.  You, who are usually unique in your lack of singularity, n’ary a player shall pass the gamer without heed.

                When life hands you a gun, kill yourself, Shinto.

                When life hands you a typewriter, typewrite something.

                Something. Something thus is eternal over nothing because of this, despite inability to divide.

                Some. Thing.  This. Here.  Right now.  Save yourself.

                Save yourself the indignity of knowing something that is not true.  Save yourself that infidelity I know so poignantly.  Save yourself from the flavor of regret, that bitter rue.  Do so with direction.  Do so with heartfelt honesty.  Seriously.  Earnest honesty just sounds goofy, and it is important to express joy when times are good or natural emotion will be misplaced.  Now I’m tired of kneeling, so I’ll stop.  A neighboring report is heard.  Deadhead down!  What else is new?

                Blithering blathering, that heartfelt honestly, memory is the echo of words in my head, a frequented section of cavernous river before the batty feast, catching frog-flies with a snappy tongue.

                “How does he do that?”

                Biology.  Read a book, a scientist’s babbling brook.  Reading near the shore? Touche!  That’s transpositional!  I respond to the sound of the Barenaked Ladies, those filthy Canadians.  “But their cities are so clean!”

                What I hate worse than that is that 2:30 feeling and relying on an energy drink to avoid it.

                If I were truly self-sufficient, I could make it on my own and be a transcendentalist.  Live stress- free!  Death, that grinning hard-on, saint’s a bitch beating bishop with impossible chastity.  We know who strokes who’s ego and it wasn’t a ghost.  The Ghostbusters were saints on call, helping each other out of a turn-for-the-worse with pulsating plasma-guns aimed at impurities inherent in nature like a white blood cell’s dirty membrane.  The con-artist could fool the pants off a naked man running.  He would say, “It’s all about illusion and timing, and alcohol helps (to augment fantasy over a sense of balance).”

                A chiropractor is the saint who cracked my back and restored my proper nerve function and the bastard who convinced me that he was my savior.  It is important to relax sometimes, but not too much, too often.  Imitate posture, if only for the lady in the carriage, the carriage’s bearing, the axel, and the wheel is rotund, just how I like my bearings, without all the boxy mish-mash of pugilism.  Yet, it is right to fight the fight for what we believe in, so it seems while bashing one another without yet being bashed-in, for what we should fight for is what we should love living therein.  The bloody turnstile, that revolving door of hopelessness, again-and-again, etc., print!  The deranged metro panda let loose was captured by a tourist with a gun who thought the panda was coming right for him when it clearly was not charging at all, but acting surprisingly melancholy instead, in spite of the beautiful surroundings and lovely people with guns and other side-arms in their vest pockets.  The panda, not even disconcerted, was shot in the face by this phrenetic orientation.  The gun will be sorely missed by the abusive idiot who gave it up only to reside in a federal penitentiary as a political prisoner for his right to smite passive pandas!  …amongst other sociopathic crimes against humanity.  He will be sorely missed by his best friend, Dave, who ironically was also a panda of close relation to the recently deceased panda smote to death by this tourist’s lofty handgun.

                Why am I drinking V8 juice from a coffee mug?  I’ll tell you why!  I…I don’t discriminate cups to the dishwasher who happens to be Hispanic.  Panic in Hispaniola today as deputies scrutinize an issue of routine significance.  No one knows what all this fuss is about.  NOBODY!  Nobody can figure out what all the fuss is about.  True.  If you will just remain calm, collected, and cool yourself now… breathe deep.  Echo the refill.  Relax.  Everything shall be brought to justice in due process time.  Just you wait.  You shall perceive that truth to which you had been previously blind before, your forgotten history you chose to forget, thus the more grievous, heinous, and absolute!  Absolution of the celestial tribunal, random acts of kindness to be bestowed on beings below from beings above.  Youth is a fallacy.  This is the age of absolution, of forgiveness for your sins if you ask and forgive yourself.  Save yourself.  This is the age of absolution.

DJ Argonized Jargon Linked Playlist

Music: 

Charlie Wilson – Infectious

Screaming Females – Ripe

Fugazi – Waiting Room

Modest Mouse – The Ground Walks, with Time in a Box

Parquet Courts – Pretty Machines

Blur – Coffee and TV

The Sahara All-Stars of Jos - Feso Jaiye

Saul Williams – Amethyst Rock

Viceroy - Paradise – Paradise Wines on Connecticut St. Free Wine tasting Fridays 4:30-6:30

Mike Strong – Bread & Butter – Read an article about this guy in VA Beach earlier this yr., skip

Aesthetic Perfection – The Great Depression –asked about somebody’s band tee at work, skip

Marlena Shaw – California Soul

Charles Bradley – Why is it so Hard

Jamie xx - Gosh

Mungo Jerry – In the Summertime

Mother Mother - Verbatim

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Cellophane

St. Vincent – Birth in Reverse

Stan Getz - Corcovado

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds – We No Who U R

Melvins - Lizzy

Focus – Hocus Pocus the yodel, yazz flute and fluier of ’73!

This Town Needs Guns – Baboon

Wilco – Star Wars (full album)

Film:

The Jinx: The Life and Deaths of Robert Durst – HBO Miniseries

The Ruining Process – a good death metal band name?

Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soapbox – documentary about eccentric soap producer

The Source Family – documentary about a rock ‘n’ roll cult

Love & Mercy – Brian Wilson biopic

The Aristocrats – documentary comedy film about a joke

Bottle Shock – Wino film

It Follows – 2015 Horror!

Event Horizon – 1997 Horror!

Afflicted – 2013 Horror!

As Above, So Below – 2014 Horror!  “I think people are hating on this movie way more than they should. Yes it is a horror film and no i was not terrified crying in the corner of the theater, but to say this movie didn't scare you it just seems like you think you're this super macho man who isn't scared of anything because you beat slender-man at 2 am in your parents basement.”

Public Enemies – 2009 mob movie w/ Depp

The Last Starfighter – 1984 teenage Sci-Fi flick

Black Snake Moan – 2007 Ricci Jackson in the South

Carlito’s Way – 1997 Pacino crime drama

Little Accidents – 2014 coal mining disaster with Banks

The Big Year – 2011 Black Martin Wilson birdwatching comedy

Four Rooms – 1995 indie

Evangelists?

Francis Schaeffer and L’Abri community in Switzerland

Nancy Pearcey

48666-

Grapefruit eggplant.
A gorilla riding a horse,
Attracting flies to funk
Landfill salad not at
Banana sculpture park.

Animals:

Sheltopusik

Lacerta (lit. lizard)

Rinkhals

Mangabey

Mandrill

Capuchin

Duiker

Siamang

Mot Mot

Oropendola

Takin

Kudu

Gerenuk

Guanaco

Binturong

Shazam Playlist 082115

Completely Linked! Much thanks for 91.3 WBNY.

I Can’t Explain – Surfer Blood

Lazy Love – Guster

Under the Boardwalk - The Drifters

Cannonball – The Breeders

Jealousy – Run With Bulls

Bound for Glory – Tedeschi Trucks Band

Happy Boy – The Beat Farmers

Lovely Day – Bill Withers

Master Heartache – Sir Lord Baltimore

Girlfriend – Cruzie Beaux

Web – Thee Oh Seas

Goodbye to Yesterday – Ben Lee

All The Right Moves – Onerepublic (Poor Quality, skip)

Real – Years & Years

Wildfire – SBTRKT

O’ Love – The Lindbergh Babies (bandcamp)

-          The Lindbergh Kidnapping

Who’s Producing You? – Ty Segall

You Belong To Me – Patsy Cline

Vivir Mi Vida – Marc Anthony (long, self-ingratiating introduction, skip)

Better To Be Loved – Francesco Yates

Rock Lobster – The B-52’s

Buck Rogers – Feeder  (is this from the 90’s? skip)

Been Here Before (I’ve) – Andy Kim

Eyes of the Muse – King Tuff

Halcyon Days – Mokhov

Love Tastes Like Strawberries – Miriam Makeba

Brand New Revolution – Guts

My Heart is Beating – Mary Weiss & Reigning Sound

Sampo – Amorphis

Slumville Sunrise – Jake Bugg

Operator (That’s Not the Way it Feels) – Jim Croce

Don't Twist my Words!

***All paraphrase and quotes from Don’t Censor Me: Art, Strippers and Nipple Politics***

Censorship on one level is easy and feels clean and right.  Artless freedom is given daily while undersexualized children and love taps are sober on Daveboards and ex-s in contrition.  Yet a woman cannot be topless?  What’s so moulant or right about that?  I have nipples, Focker, could you milk me?  The fuss is about this:

Recently in SaskatMcCarthchewan at the Lyric Theatre’s Chautauqua Theatre Festival a burlesque performer called Rosie Bitts was censored during her performance about censorship! Get it?  It is currently legal to clothe in the soon-to-be US State of SaskatMcCarthchewan.  She did a performance involving audience feedback.  She does her letter in futures and an f-strip to demonstrate how practical the rules are.

When Ms. Bitts brought a male audience member on stage to reveal his nipple, she pointed out that revealing her female nipple would be completely illegal.  Quickly the president of the Lyric Theatre shut the show down and the burlesque performer gracefully left the stage.

“But Ms. Bitts! The show must go on!”

She was acrimoniously coerced into silence and degeneration.  Some of the band members were electrocuted by their own brain activity.  Sadly it was all a lie.

Are all nipples created equally?  Dinner plates!  I hate how on MySpace there are men who are MSPainting women’s nipples over their own to beat off to the idea that they could make another person feel good or bad.  Men are fighting against this Dadaist single standard with a legal tradition that seems antiquated and companies are covering their asses.

Person Micol Hebron created an analog areola overlay.  Other regular people such as Courtney Hate and Sarah Goldman have even used this analog areola application.  “Until recently, the only female nipples allowed on Instagram are of women breastfeeding and post-mastectomy scarring.”  #freethenipple is a campaign that allows all different type of people to find nipples for free.

I’m terrified by public nudity!  My parents were mugged by a naked person in the 1970s, so the fear is in my blood. Besides telling the truth off stage, I hiked in the last Appalachian Prude Stride, rode my unicycle in a three-piece suit in the Buffalo Penny-Farthing Fling (“Prude is un-Gooed” was the motto), and have been a prominent member of many social circles.

The worst art causes confrontation.  Peace and love not war!

Since Obamacare, health is even more a matter of public concern and we know that everyone in this country is addicted to something, the challenge becomes determining what that something is!  Anyone can perceive the sins of excess and the benefits of moderation.  Buck cowardice!  Unless we want a health police state run by a cluster of granola Nazis we need to be a better big brother and tell our neighbors what’s wrong with their eating habits before we become like the modern Greeks!

Some people are disturbed consistently, some people become disturbed easily, and other people are just plain disturbing.  The level of distrust of strangers is aroused by a sense of foreboding or sometimes triggered by even the suggestion of apprehension.  And people react differently to their own sympathetic nervous system, (the old ‘fight or flight’ mechanism), and many people are ignorant of human anatomy, let alone the biological basis for their base animal instincts and the psychological rationale that allows an artist think on a higher level. What allows one person to see humor or an underlying message, and another person to consider it all a bad joke?  Pussy coming comedy is what we’re all caulking about, right?

All the little hearts I ripped out and ate on the way to the top, they don’t mean nothing to me, just very little.  There was my professor in college, who really only had my best interests at heart, even if she didn’t realize I eat artichoke hearts and it’s for my cholesterol, bitch.  All I want to do is live forever even if ye have to die because I’m a warrior prince who has traveled many moons and to that astral plane that transcends life and death.  She understood once she stopped breathing like all the rest of them.  They say serial killers start out killing cats and dogs, but I didn’t want to leave the birds and mice that talk to me a dossier.  You never know who is watching until you start observing. 

I was unhappy with how that day lazed by.  Sure, I was adding value to my portfolio, but I wanted more.  I wanted to know how I could offend so deeply that my name would never be off another woman’s lips.  If she talked about anyone else, I’d cut her to pieces. 

I’m a hypocrite for sharing this story.  Obviously I didn’t do all those things or they’d be in the news and I’d be lying low.  But I feel like Guillermo Vargas’ starving dog and I wish someone would come feed me.  Alas, majority rules!

Heavy Beverly and Effory Sharp Defend

Heavy light weighed heavily on heavy Beverly as she imagined Light’s light pressure.  Light, of course, does not exist, just light and the idea of proper Light superimposed on a minor, a student, a follower, or a trailer like a comet across the sky barreling towards earth.  Earthboundness being the problem of Lucas the Turtle on a line from start to faraway finish regarded Roger Rabbit at Rabbit’s End, at the foot of Jack and Jill’s hill and a foot from finishing, what a character!  Pandora’s Box of Orthodox spontaneity, also described as a can-o’-lightworms ‘n’ universal dialects if not accents and body-language.  A buncha beat-boxin’ Haw-stah Far-eyes, regional hastafarians, say goodbye! Because they are on a trip from God like the Blue’s Brother’s mission of musical missionaries, except more like the ice proselytizers in Mosquito Coast.  They team up with pacifist thugs and start drum rumbling or drumbling and the drumberling’s rumbling tummies they are numb to when the music hits like Sublime, Bob Marley, or heroin, although they are too enlightened now to try the hard stuff even though they once tripped on oxy.  Fuckin’ hippie lightworms.  Turtles all the way down, Sturgill!  It all means nothing, “Shut up! Ladies!  Eu cand vreau sa fluier, fluier, ah providence, ce enfantement!  Why couldn’t I have the ability to be cool?” I think as I whistle ‘Voux le voux couchet avec moi?’

The author frequently committed artistic euthanasia and then wrote about the gray skin and waxy pallor of the recently deceased, that morbid creep.  Barbeque sheets.

The infidel blood-dance is an orgiastic routine.  Swingers and fundamentalists raking hands over a loaf of theft sings ‘Happy Thanksgiving!’ despite enormous debt to foreign banks home and abroad.  “If only blood weren’t so revitalizing!” thought the thirsty throat gnasher, gorged on the flesh of the once living.  The heathen wears a crow cap and with the mind of a murderer concentrates on Depp’s worst role.

Black-and-white weather: good, bad, and/or etc.  Irrational and erratic thought-patterns published in black and white print have me sitting indoors wishing the weather were more weather so I would go outdoors and read.  Maybe I’ll just smoke the joint I started an hour ago and put out.  Smoking solo, solo cloud, solo weather experience.  This goes against any reasonable profit-driven motivation.  Commerce doesn’t exist in a vacuum unless you’re Hoover and we all heard about what happened when he took office!  (Founding Fathers will fill you in.) 

Effory Sharp miscommunicated the esoteric scripture of fluency because of her pitch, frequently falling flat. “Gee-flat-flat” chanted the one-note-wonder in monotone F within the choral din.

The danger in believing you are doing a certain action correctly digitates its action on the plane. If you were to correlate their features, you would discover a revealing insight into the human species as I am a part of, as a vessel for ideas from above or passed on through tradition.  There are really no new ideas, only rearrangement of fragments that already exist.  Striving for a more pointed perfection, expressing interest in the individual.  What I mean is to query specifics.  When your team is on offence, it is just to offend.  Undermine offenders, defiantly, “de-fence!” 

Who removed my wherewithal?  Where did my wherewithal go? If we were all truly all-inclusive, we could all be truly rich indeed.  If we were truly open to open-mindedness, we could be easily overcome prejudice inherent in issues, on issues, and around issues.  In his shoes, he issues a stench…

Llala Dimitri and Ray Blue's Intercession

Maximize potential: The stored charge hoarde.

The joy of being ‘fucked up’ is the understanding that we should take control when we are able, by contrast.  By contrast we were more in control before and hopefully we will regain control again.  The ‘fucked up’ feeling is overpowering.  Imagining a charioteer, as our ancestors might have, our arm’s duty is to reign the horses attached in order and in grasp.  During the fast going, refusal to abide could be fatal by falling, distractedly. Ingest sub-stance; receive understanding ye openminded.  Always have a fall guy.  Fall guy believes he has control when he does not.

The path is set, the roads are clear.
Fall guy sits. Lightning intercedes.
Shock therapy is administered to paddled temples.
A necessary jolt for a torpid recording
“I’ve always wanted a servant like you.”

It’s like we win the love lottery.  There we are, standing with the winning love ticket, thinking to ourselves, “Finally! I’ve put myself out there every day paying my love dues every day for this love ticket and here it is! Finally!  In my hands!” What do we do?  We rejoice! Is there any better weather that day?

Control+alt+plot – The Graphic Escape (a Romance?)

The power to be devout is a broad fool’s Cape finish.
Guns and friends without a manifesto run blind hoods.
The hip-hop literati take the power back, plans before actions, action planning.
Organize, strategize, fight, easel, big paper, Sharpie.  Llala Dimitri would?

The deceased increase as bodies pile without decay.
A limb wader would know no dirt of decomposition.
Patience and pumpkins bring seeds and seasons’ beings.
Doth thy greatness go unhailed? Never!
Diminish thy static nares.
Oh no! Upturned nay-ers!
An order to undo should be undone.
Dumpster dive for dumpster diversity.

We do what we do to survive, despite extenuating circumstances.  At least the circumstances do not continue to attenuate.  Multiples of sentience produce and reproduce until production becomes a postproduction decomposition.  Hmm…  When do we get to round up the social pariahs again?

A whoremonger, villain to these non-progressive types, complains about his relationships.  Seeing his static institutions crumbling, decides to break up, but this is normal to a progressive individual like a whoremonger.  Personally, I’ve only ever heard of two types of mongers, whoremongers and fishmongers.  If there are more mongers out there please let me know.  I would not like to shake your hand, both mongers seem fishy somehow.  Rumormongers are a thing now too.  Mangomongers?  Mango Republic outsources Bananas, markets to lonely women.

Do away with static like a cling-on, ye masters of tradition, tradition of eternal apotheosis.  Imagine all the people, like Lennon in Heaven, suddenly losing faith, and tumbling.  Imagine there’s no Heaven, we know it’s easy, do we have to try?  Is there a man without judgment and without the aspect of senility?

Skippers approach another massive wall at the border of an arctic wilderness.  Another hurdle fast approaching.  How much would I rather be cruising in my Dodge Durandango than be stuck in the 1850s on a boat in the arctic sea that I’m not even captaining?  I’d even rather be in an ’04 Kia Queequeg.  Where’s my tiki idol that I can put on my head and pray to as it meditates on me and maybe it’ll teleport me to a time and place where I am finally captain of this goddamned ship and not at the whim of some Virgin Ahab?  O apparition of matter, o monster who haunts the winds pinned against an ethereal pillar extending into Heaven, plasma state of the heathen.  Oh!  How could butterflies and Enya in blissful judgment be so cold and ugly?  Tradition of antithesis of eternal apotheosis, thanks Obama!

Intercession.

Sock Ray Blue!  “Poor guy didn’t do nothin’ to hurt nobody,” just his dog.

Relive torture because you deserve a memory photo action replay in high definition, big hits football.  Fractured clavicle, broken rib, cavemen died from less.  A bruised ego?  A collective imagination allows such things to exist.  “He’s suffering, put him down,” a hopelessly hard thinker expanding on a single yeller spot.  See Spot.  See Spot run.  “Run, Spot, run! O.K. Spot! That’s enough! Come back now! I’m not going all the way over there.  It’s too far.  Come back!  Come!”

See Ray.  See Ray blow.  Blow, Ray, blow!  See Ray Blue’s blown fuse.  See Spot twitch.  See Ray Blue’s invisible fence evident by yelping Spot and yard flags along the property border.  See Spot become territorial.  Growl, Spot, growl.

Chatty power walkers wiggle swish walking suits like crystal wrapped ham by Spot’s lawn and invisible fence, chew toy chew-chew trained not to lunge at the flying meat like heavenly swine.  “That’s married rack, tough tits, good no hump.”  My complaint is this country is filled with Puritan puppies founded by Ray Blue’s ilk, kith, and kin.  Any face would grow old around a big pugnacious mouth and a slack jaw.

Getting back to basics is getting away from complexes, complexities, and melodrama of an exalted elite class stuck in an elevated depression.  “Brothers!  Our brethren are broiling in their own stock!”  Gobbled the turkey, chicken cuckold, “A delicious dish,” the clockers concurred.  Ray Blue’s invisible fence extended to the coop, every hen was yoked with proximity stun guns, so would-be escapees were electrically fried thoroughly enough to prevent salmonella.  Last eggs like popcorn burst from chicken snatch cadavers.  The last exodus: a yolky kaleidoscope.

Ray Blue’s electromelanophreniogram:  lit. An electric (digital) recording of a dark mind.

America’s brain cancer: Vegas expands the desert’s grid into the Mojave, Las Vegas, the get-lit oasis, a high-energy spectacle.  Job creation and personal debt for the cost of a flight.  The attempted tooth scalper baffled the loan shark with his utter nonsense as his gums were severely inflamed from a recent pulling with unsupervised anesthesia and a hob gob wandering drunk with pliers.  This has been a fatal attraction to a fatal distraction to a fatal extraction.  Apparently human ivory isn’t selling these days.  The woozy autoscalper bled out face down in the Belagio’s lobby fountain having poached himself.