A Sarcastic Title!

Source Material

When a person wants a lover to regard genuine love, it helps to be friends with that significant other first, or at least be a friend of a friend.  My confidence is part of my personality, and since the root meaning of confidence is ‘with faith,’ what is my faith?

This outward appearance looks of having a religion, but smells different.  Most religions smell of musty old incense while my religion smells of fresh kumquat.  I am a pastor in the church of Dog where my congregation finally has a place to sit and stay.  Lie down.

I have a confession to make, I’m terrible at being honest.  I am one emotional meltdown away from Takotsubo cardiomyopathy.  I always play black in chess while I desire white.  I can never have sex when I’m tripping.  It breathes!  I’m lonely and horny and I have someone in mind.  If truth were a quantifiable as well as an observable quality, I would desire to capitalize on this social exchange.

I don’t dive, I belly flop. I am the friend zone!  Infatuation is not rewarded.  Time travels. I have survived with all of my money, white dresses, and feline frenzy.

The notion of long-suffering is an idea worth complaining about.  The situation I am trying to describe involves infiltrating social circles and how easy it is for me to creep from one to another and somehow remain fascinated, a fixation in each and every one, it’s like feeling like being pulled in many directions all at once.  I understand how this can seem degrading.

I’m a flirt, I live dangerously, and I get away with it.  It’s easy to enter into relationships with preconceived notions.  Am I simply trading pleasure for pain with demons? Affirmative.

I’ve gone fishing with my BFFs, Diane Coffee, jail birds, and women I have trouble even describing.  Couples are getting married like crazy at this age!

You!

Just the other day I was hanging with Heynong Man Talkin’ Tang and about the fact that he wants to replace me as comedy host.  He spoke and it sparked my desire.  He asked, “Why aren’t you using punctuation?”  The love of my life would be shocked.  It’s still funny to deny everything.

Is it disturbing that everyone I kiss has a hairy face?  If Buddha taught me anything it’s that desire is the root of all suffering.  I put you on a pedestal (or is it a cross?).  My memory turns me on.

Nasty!  I refuse to negotiate or compromise, yet the world around us for some reason requires some kind of metaphysical navigation between extremes of virtue and vice.  Are there really no rules?!  If there really are no rules, how am I supposed to control anything!?

Emotions are confusing.  Friends reflect who you are.  Some people (Dave) sound superfluous. 

She blew my butt like Trombone Shorty on parade.  Butt cum.  “Butt chew,”…”Bless you!”  “Gesundheit!” My nose settled down for a while.  But then I sneezed again and this time I farted.  I had to bury her back at the old parade grounds like an informant.

“We bullshitted for a while.  He did all the things a nice guy would do.  I didn’t appreciate it.”

I have attachment issues.  I need someone to go over the top for me, but I still probably wouldn’t appreciate it.  I don’t want to settle.  I want to keep dreaming.  I’m tripping and it takes however many more hours for the effects to wear off.

I make poor choices sometimes.  I don’t think therefore I am not (a bride/a groom).

Mona Lisa’s frown.  Oh well, I’m hungry again, won’t you cook for me?

“But when you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,” Matthew 6:3 I just long for the link!

Here’s the hypocrisy.  I hope that what goes around doesn’t come around.  As long as I can still make enemies out of would-be friends I’ll be okay.  I should probably just assume that person is my enemy ahead of time.  Karma’s a bitch.

Even if there are no rules, decisions have to be made.  Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in terra incognita, my country ‘tis of thee, and in God we trust?  Perhaps, perhaps… I’m only human!  It is vitally important for people to learn from their mistakes and take charge of their own destiny.  The fate of the world depends on it!

Former Seal Anxiety

10/21/15

I dream I had:

I was a seal swimming with the seals along the coast of South Africa and along the coasts of islands off the coast of South Africa in a sea free of great whites.  However, once I realize I have to keep my smartphone dry, I become human, circumcised by technology, and before I even realize what’s happening I’m travelling upstream on a motorboat with my drug dealer with a baggy full of white tablets I also have to keep dry.  Running the boat back downstream, Marines (or were they Navy Seals?) running covert operations in the dark, they pay me no mind, under the cloak of an alternate universe where I am one of them.  They take my alter ego in for questioning, while I wait in a corrugated steel watchtower with track and field out the window and my father is on television driving a golf ball off the crossbar and through a football upright while my father’s friend clowns for the camera.

@0200

                Anxiety produced by the product of my produce, difficult to calculate under the circumstances.  I start thinking my heart is operating under conscious reflex.  There is definitely something in me that I need to reason with or fight.  A mind on smart-drugs or uppers, there’s always one extra clean-up step and I see people in public places leaving litter behind and I feel like it’s my duty to pick up the pieces like disco.  Everyone has problems, a girlfriend’s great-aunt died, it’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to connect!  If there’s anything I can do!  Bee pottery hexacomb, I don’t care about being anything, just a person who matters, as I treat others at the end of the line, as a resource for rent.  Shy from so much judgment, those who judge others invite others to judge, be unconditional not unrequited (secret to all happiness, so says the New Order Stray Dog).  And there’s always dirty money involved isn’t there?  Isn’t there?

@1551

                And now as I move past the former… the former…closer to the fully formed oyster looking for a laugh, I don’t like feeling vulnerable because I know I am and I like to forget.  Everybody but the most hardened combatants have vulnerabilities and even then…hearts and heels.  Everybody loves a laugh.  Hard to find that tickle spot?  So cold.  So heavy.  The floating soul of some vision-inducing rock on the surface of some struggled-upon planet…with so much luxury water gone to waste, now a laughing stock to aliens and a broth of hilarity to everyone else.  Alfred E Neuman’s anxious father, one generation removed, worry gives way to madness.  The music, the technology, and most importantly the medium (is the message), the external adaption to cultural evolution brought about by the eternal consciousness that strings theories that are really morphing mandalas interpreted in different ways.  Drama occurs so much in one whom humor is lacking, (often the result of prolonged dehydration), blessings to the stage performer, and curses to the lamb astray!  Who is that special person who can draw the light of the sun through a cloud?  Thinking I’m someone special through emotional wringing, feeling sorrow for myself! Indeed! How dissimilar?  Look at me growing old and sour in the cold in ill health.  People are dying during the season of my birth again!  Rig an election!  How well does the democratic process relate to self-governance on a personal level?  What general recourse does one have but in-season cauliflower?  Romanesco?

@1616

Ptoleymon!

Book intent – “the sequence of operations starts at the apex of the hierarchy with the intention of conveying the idea or message. But that idea is as often as not of a pre-verbal nature; it may be a visual image, a feeling, a vague impression.”

Onomastics – “the study of the history and origin of proper names, especially personal names.”

And so, with only a vague impression of what I wish to communicate, the sequence continues with the living God adorning all apices.  Live free (from sin) and die happily, “but this people who knoweth not the law are cursed,” (John 7:49) so through right-mindedness lives may be free from suffering and all anxiety of free speech and clear conscience seeking glory that sent me?  A mental midget in stilettos with a spastic colon and a tin twat came traipsing down the causeway.  Hipposticks!  Mastodon Nostradamus, “once you’re on the road and you have an idea of what to expect when transporting yayo, the borders and boundaries become seamless.”  Terminally determined pachyderms fucking with the brainwaves of fortunetellers and almanac maniacs in inglorious frames.  American war for attention, an English pickle, a Jersey grenade, and a Mexican standoff.  Thoughtful industrial gas holdings, bacterial digestives, acetic kombucha, onomatopoetic boom-stick, scribbling sounds, “they grow like flowers, there’s so many of them, but there’s only so many of them,” farming dreams (wide awake), speaking acronymic matrices, fa-fa free-form associative smoosh.  “There’s something bigger happening, fibril tickles, PT murmurs, fool’s Austicks (alternative gold bars), vitamin $¢hool...” buzzing on potions lightyears ex machina.  Metagnomic stereotypes, comic elegance over café sax.  Buzzing breezes from humming bees intrigued by my Old Speckled Hen, suds handicapping, mixed judgment to questionable acts bleed condensed sweat full of salt and Fe.  Private ear bass parting radial Sun king-of-all-media out-of-control in Japan.  Christian Pong-a-Long, romantic euxyl, rock currier, and French fatigue, the mere attempt at excellence is what separates most people from attaining their goals…banging Asiatic broads for some soldiers, existential ideals from other mindful men, and then there are some who enjoy being engulfed by their projects.  Acting lightly in the dark, American deviants enjoying American football socially and mischievously distance themselves from the competition with some commercial slogan, “Tortelli Suant Simmons banging mothers Zappia, wound-up, spilling neuro seas of salty sentimentality and elegiac stridency with the pipe of Prometheus,” and there’s certainly a pill for sexually diseased personalities?

Ultraviolet Quicksand Simile Droste and Origins of Seven Deadly Sins

Orthodox lions, tigers, and bears Oz Seuss Megalodon [DD1] with a hundred kilo hard-on autistically thrashing the controlled ego that watches hour-long displays of mating dominance that go unabated while the uncontrolled ego gores dancers that happen to be triplets, two of which are cyclops’.  Cyclops sez Marshal Cadenza [DD2] picks up paycheck slop in his low riding cruiser sporting masked aviators judiciously disturbing the peace in the name of the law of badged undulations.  Libido mosquitos’ blood suck the youth from their parents. These dehydrated children are far flung from the roots of the family tree, a tree of life bearing more than bargained-for fibers that make up The Fabric of the Cosmos: The Illusion of Time.  Brian Greene, a good magician name, resettles his stomach by barf-farbing gluten-gluons.  The game-changing sacerdote rolls his die and contextualizes the moving mission that is less of a miracle and more of a mirage, relatively, rhetorically speaking, asking, “If Time isn’t what we all think it is then what is Space?  Does it have a beginning? Will it have an end? Where did it come from?” three NOVA wine deep into a purple fable slurry, the ultraviolet quicksand of destiny, and an x-ray diffraction of fate.  Where did words come from?  Was it an attempt to put reason to rhyme?  Does rhyme have a reason?  Does a countertenor contralto?  Logic is like a recursive simile Droste.  The laryngeal timbre of the little voice inside my head that supersedes schedules alternates on a whim so it seems to habituate choice to control freethinking.  Freethinkers fancy themselves beats, Beatniks, and those of an anarchistic clique who reject reification, not to be rebels per se, but to abide the necessity of rebellion.  Judas I, rebel to his own cause, against the merger of sinners and saints, empire righteous in his own mind, a privatized Aceldama of dreadful associations and due discursus, the son of perdition is eternally betrayed by his own misgivings.  Military torture and the apocalypse, governmentally privatized properties surveil the residual riff-raff, hell recumbent on stoned springs.

                There needs to be new fuel for old flames.  What do I keep doing always?  The self-control freak domesticates his own soul, he stays out of trouble, and he represses suppressions into recesses forever.  There would be no courage without risk.  There would be no risk without reward.  Politicians’ policy-make, police police, and sleep soundly lying guard.  But it’s convenient to blame the taxers for my personal relationship issues for what amounts to a minor yearly concern the IRS levies on my statistics to keep me humble.  Am I vain?  Am I narcissistic?  Is it wrong to not share feelings with a woman who is sick, desperate, and a wet blanket to boot?  Insecurities and lack-of-securities are unattractive.  The former is lame, the latter is dirty.  An over-abundance of preferences is more childish than urbane.  The modern neuromartyr, rent-strapped, a victim of circumstance, an ambivalent contradiction, reminiscent of former ambitions, Hello Kitty dogma, ‘shit happens’ philosophy, “No Exit” playdate, wall sartorial, how far must I ascend to reach you, (dishabille girl)?

7/21/13

                One man’s mutt is another man’s hybrid. 

                Uber-judgy, lisped-out, high-pitched queers, smokers, jokers, and midnight tokers street-debate evangelist banner-wavers.  They get excite! When they come out of dark bar show boxes and into the light of SunChip brand sweet and spicy bbq flavored great multigrain taste! On a day so sublime!  Oversexualized street slum ping-pong up out of the hizzy fo’ shizzy keepin’ it bouncy on a rolley table.  God’s so over his geometric phase, hydro-fractal Being, He’s not doing the color thing either, sending affectionate greetings through the screen din window.

                “Mom!” her son says, showing his mother a sack of un-red onions before throwing them under a passing bus, summoning automobiles to the kitchen street, hot with carrots, celery, cumin, and eggs.

                “Your father doesn’t get it, the people at church are dropping like pensive flies before stained- glass planets.”  The should-have-nots turned iconographers with a sprinkle of chaste water onto golden crosses burn opium incense, and chant, ‘candles, candles, candles…’ mesmerized, even hypnotized by the short-term goals that fill in for long-term goals to get perpetually laid by founders who talk soup. 

                One man’s mulatto is another man’s hybrid.  Hybrid Irish, green eyes, St. Patrick’s stick-to-itiveness seized the day.  He drove the snakes away with the isle’s demons while the episcopi vagantes remain.  Blinking, backpedaling on a mountain bike o’er smooth city slopes, an apoplectic whiz kid aided my dissolution. Beyond, a jetski cresting waves.  Offensive rumors spread like the legs of a stinky French whore, “Hey! Who ‘ you callin’ a French whore in my French Quarter?” she rallies slutty troops like the easy, breezy west wind. 

                Jamz be bongo, black/African corner cataracts chaw’n ginkgo quid for mnemonics.  Gay – socially licentious – petty lawbreakers make spectacles because they are opticians who think that life is but a joke.  The mote and the beam attaboy controversy.  Multimedia adds ads, not petunias.  “Outta mmy gzarden, boy!” and out pops an Irish thumbed genie, third horseman of the apocalypse, singing, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wage, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!”[DD3]  (Revelation 6:6)

                A sarcastic southern city blooms Duke blue, faithful and loyal to the devil who cleans poop out of uncircumcised foreskin in baby diapers.  Tanning on the beach with the vitamin D fish out-drying their computers in the long grass near the runes of rah-rah-Raleigh.  Not just tall but bigamist, antichrist dines with swine and wears pearls.  This is not excessive I keep telling myself.  NBC Shaekarevoletta, “drink dog’s blood and die of the plague!” Back in the lab, Soxhlet, agar plates and petri dishes, syringes, a Buchi rotavapor, the drams of the drinking bird heat engine.  A Venn diagram: Eternal, evolving, or eternally evolving? A couple cogs in an ethereal mechanism of eternal truths and temporal facts that take their place among the hetaerae and polytheistic deities.

7/24/13

I have faith that my faith will save me from self-determined damnation.
What is eternal?  Truth.
Can truth evolve?  No, facts evolve and become their own truth that takes their place as a part of history in an expanding universe.
What is eternally evolving?  The content of the medium.
What is the medium?  The membrane, shell, coating, or filter through which the message is delivered unto thee.
What is the message?  The basis of understanding.
What is there to understand?  Every (little) thing and nothing at all, one.

Pain exacts its lesson, painlessness induces forgetfulness, and discipline’s disciples remember what their teacher told them to do, “Follow me,” Jesus, not on Twitter, in the flesh and blood, part of the meaning was found in the virtual, touching Thomas’ reality during the touchable times when stone masons chiseled stories upon time testable tablets that shattered at snapchat rates, one instakilogram hit the decasecond, six colossal frames per minute at speeds approaching one ultra-broadband mobile gigabit.

I have faith that standing up for what’s right is the right thing to do.  I have faith in Grassmannian tautology – the parameter of all linear subspaces of a vector space of a given dimension – named after Hermann Gunther Grassman (1809-1877) the German polymath, not to be confused with Gunter Wilhelm Grass (1927-2015) the German novelist, members of the same vector space, but in different dimensions, Germany over time, hairs all aswarth. Also not to be confused with grass, the uncontrolled substance, orange haired lady.

                The eternal mind strives toward perfection of itself within itself, a confluence of integuments and shell game in a corky husk.  Neither porky nor husky, I’m dying a rather Cambrian death, nevertheless trite, outright, and conniving.  If I could parse the words completely they’d hang me to a ‘t’ (for tree, not to be confused with the Tasmanian ‘T’ for Tasmania, which wouldn’t make as much sense in context, although they could tie me to a Tasmanian devil, the carnivorous marsupial, not to be confused with the Anglo devil that doesn’t nurse in a pouch.) Not nail me to a cross like someone holier than me who died for the abolishment of all sins and moral vices, who paid the cost, being the boss, for nicety.  Who’d believe in ascension, bee?  How does that help me pay the day’s wages?  The skin that I’m in: balding, liver spotting, and frail ZABOUT 2B ARF-rittic!  How ageist?  Is that the gist? Ageism is still a normative belief of falling into an eternal pit of condescension as the days go by when one sits at home and judges the sins that our retired fathers have visited upon their sons, reflecting Ezekiel 18, “…the fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge?” atheistically, whereby you humiliate me and protect yourself which is exactly what makes it wrong and you should know me better.   Your dogma is: If it smells bad, kick it, father.  We get it, she’s fat and she smells bad, you can tell by the tissue damage and the emotional scarring, fiscal inconveniences, and who really gives a shit?  Not you, your ass is clean, and the asses of thou forefathers, be they ever bidet’d.  It’s nearly 4 (1557) and the dogs are barking and the Eth are reeling in their selfish catches for close quarters and tight budgets.  They know what I’m saying just about as well as the class-system elitists who won’t listen to good reason if it doesn’t line their pockets with something cold and hard like rigor mortis.  The deatheaters, the skull’n’bones, and those just dyin’ to be real-deal rich all know from college-level Ebonics, “If it don’t make dollers, it don’t make no sense,” or whatever that homeless Marine out of the red said…

               What’s mined is yours, landowner.  Land downers mine, unthinking of diamonds in the sky that can neither be privatized nor nationalized, two edges of the same earthly blade.  A broad, a blunt, and a cash crop forge the mettle.  The national government wages war on the private sector, deemed amoral, that smokes forbidden fruit from forbidden trees, which, like the spices of diversity, are good for one person’s health and bad for another’s, as a matter of perspective.  The active ingredients of marijuana extracted into oils and then baked, fried, or grilled into any infusible comestible for athletes, for those with sensitive lungs, or for those who aren’t too fatigued to follow a recipe or formula.  But smoking is so Kool and the kids gotta getit inem’ quick for fear of not fitting into a morbid social setting.  Shotgunning beer, taking bong rips, and blowing lines of not Coca-Cola while hootin’n’howlin’ late into the 20’s at 2. 

               It’s an us vs. them mentality, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em is the cliché, but joining their ranks is less a matter of real sacrifice and more a matter of gluttony, greed, pride, and the rest.

A proud look
A lying tongue
Hands that shed innocent blood
A heart that devises wicked plots
Feet that are swift to mischief
A deceitful witness that uttereth lies
Him that soweth discord among brethren

Proverbs 6:17-19

                “…adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, sorcery, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings…”  Galatians 5:19-20

Gastrimargia: gluttony: lustful appetite
Porneia: prostitution
Philargyria: avarice: irascibility
Hyperephania: hybris: intellect
Lype: envy
Orge: wrath
Kenodoxia: boasting
Acedia: dejection (sloth)

Gluttire (to gulp down) praeproperissime (most hastily) laute (loudly) nimis (animals) ardenter (passionately)

Gluttirepraeproperissimelautenimisardenter.

                Homeownership: homo nurse hip, drugs Inc. are sure rations.  Logic rationally dictates that walls be deconstructed for an opener society; may the truth be heard, be made apparent, and hurt.  Strife filled strivings of a raving mad lunatic condense what the American dream means: opportunity.  Opportunity to do what? That, “They shall not build, and another inhabit; they shall not plant, and another eat: for as the days of a tree are the days of my people, and mine elect shall long enjoy the work of their hands.” Isaiah 65:22 Shalt thou take personal responsibility for an entire community?  Thank you lawmakers, enforcers, our streets are safe, go home now, before idle hands become you, and ye order someone else to dig a ditch, fill a pothole, or plant a tree in your stead, all good work for a day’s labor that requires no ammunition.  Enforcement slaves enforce slavery.  Gentrified units collect on impoverished communities where both sides are to blame, sinners all.  Those worthy of blame enforce blameworthiness.  Cops and robbers are Hell’s allies.  Lucifer v. Belphegor; Mammon v. Beelzebub; Satan v. Asmodeus; Leviathan’s triple-header (Binsfeld, P., 1589).  And some people are undecided about the nature of unseen forces that shape our lives.

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 [DD1]‘big tooth’

 [DD2]An ornamental passage (in music)

 [DD3]Revelation 6:6

Irrational Unicorns, a Definition of Signs, and Esoteric Materialism, Etc.

I quantitatively superimpose my own superstitious characteristics on random omens or signs in order to make chance appear as though it were expected using only my face.  What did love teach me? As soon as you think you have discovered the truth, the facts change.  Just when you think you’ve had enough: the quantum parlay.  Irrational unicorns represent the unreal system of fictional characters versus the real system of nouns, things, and objects, represented by words, the abstract thing-in-itself.

Excelsior – n. fine curled wood shavings used esp. for packing fragile items. Also, “ever upward,” in Latin.

Perpetuaphoria – n. phenomenon of feeling eternal, infinite, or without definite endpoint.

Proctophoria – n. phenomenon of feeling anal, analytical, or with definite endpoints clearly established.

“Why should we allow artists, conquerors and statesmen to be guided by irrational motives, but not the heroes of science?” Koestler, A., The Sleepwalkers.

Parallelepiped – n. a three-dimensional figure formed by six parallelograms

Versehen – n. the sudden fear of some animal or object by a pregnant woman, believed to result in 

her child’s bearing the mark of it. (Jacob’s cattle)

                The noble genes of birthright were a phenotypic example of detached materialism.  There are things that are theoretically attached to a newborn being at birth that could be separated, as candy could be pried from a buggy, yet that quality of wealthy uprightness that defines a social stratum would be mathematically difficult to correlate between genes and portfolios, ported only on paper, yet no less real as a result?  Science strives to justify its supposed superiority through its worship of Hermes, Hermes Trismegistus, and the cult of hermeticism sealed in esoterica not even its adherents fully understand.  The scientific method itself was deemed fitter by its adherents, in the same vein that most subjective creations of a man can be deemed objective if based on statistics, which is the mathematics of democracy and the only true political system, so say its adherents.

                Our scientific methods, the manner in which we conduct thought-experiments establishes a provability based solely upon repetition or mimicry of a particular experimental style that leads one to an inflexible endpoint, to a particular novelty of thought by providing lucid points of containment of variables such as recipe, method, and instrumentation for harmonic intuitiveness, but discounts the land itself, or the ground it was literally based on.  Is the American race really a fondue?

                …Race, like Time and Destiny, is a decisive element in every question of life, something which everyone knows clearly and definitely so long as he does not try to set himself to comprehend it by way of rational – i.e., soulless – dissection and ordering.  Race, Time, and Destiny belong together.  But the moment scientific thought approaches them, the word ‘Time’ acquires the significance of a dimension, the word ‘Destiny’ that of causal connection, while Race, for which even at that stage of scientific askesis we still retain a very sure feeling, becomes an incomprehensible chaos of unconnected and heterogeneous characters that (under headings of law, period, culture, stock) interpenetrate without end and without law.

Spengler, O., Decline of the West p. 130-1

7/4/13   I had a dream of subjugation where I was under the yoke serving dishes to all mankind alike.  They bore down on me with their eyeballs and were filled with the holy toast!

                “I just wanted to fill your heart and soul with fairytales,” I thought wishfully, “I couldn’t break away from my weakness nor had I the power to deliver myself from the hands of my oppressors.  Surely they would catch me and beat me like a fish out of water…”  I wanted to ‘get famous’ because I thought fame would be a good reason for others, including loved ones, to love me in return…as if love needs good reason to exist.  Fame turns love into a transaction.

                She vindicates herself vindictively, making me earn every Latin penny.  Her righteous judgment teaches me things I might not have otherwise known and through knowledge I grow.  She sets me righter as a writer.  I didn’t have to say these things before and now I do.  Whenever I see the words ‘I do’ I think of matrimony, I think of wholeness, I see in my mind the combination of two distinct parts, like puzzle pieces, forming a cohesive unity.  Everything I do I am wed to and that’s a good way to look at things for better or worse.  He who denies his weakness has no penchant (save dream censorship.  She’s probably already dating my best friend.)  I have a weakness for wanting lots of friends, I also have a weakness for remembering their names.  Oh vanity of vanities, all is vanity!  Do I have the strength to call you my weakness?

--

“Is calculating in the imagination in some sense less real than calculating on paper?  It is real – calculating-in-the-head.  Is it similar to calculating on paper?  I don’t know whether to call it similar.  Is a bit of white paper with black lines on it similar to a human body?”  Wittgenstein, L. Philosophical Investigations v3364

“How do I recognize that this color is red?  -One answer would be, ‘I have learnt English.’” Wittgenstein, L. Tractus Logico-Philosophicus

Silence tells no lies.  Silence cannot deceive.

Freedom abolitionists wish to abolish freedom, or the notion thereof by redefining the traditional definition of the word, by transvaluation.  For, in our world of light-dark duality, it is altogether impossible to abolish one word, slavery, without the abolition of its counter-weight upon the Libra balance, freedom.  Am I not now free to either own a slave or be a slave myself?  To enslave myself? To submit myself contractually to a state of unremittent servitude? To be placed under the yoke with whips and chains, to be in bondage?  (Not if Sacher-Masoch had his druthers!)  In fact, neither freedom nor slavery have been abolished, only the conditions have changed, just the facts (ma’am).  Slavery has become softer and freedom harder to obtain.  It is easier to become a slave and submit oneself to more desirable conditions, and yet to attain freedom, one has to separate oneself from all desire.  Freedom is more difficult to recognize in a world where liberty is masked desire.  Here we also have a political system where to be free involves alienation of oneself from the democratic majority and from the republican representation of rule.  Slave owners have evolved into faceless entities, leaving behind two-story composite stone structures adorned with Masonic symbols in technical-colors occupied by wage-slaves all living alternative lifestyles of the poor and unconfident.  Even if these adorned structures were to be attacked, there is a vast insurance-government co-conspiracy which operates on the taxed backs of the employees therein to cover any damages to structure and relocation of merchandise to another Masonic carapace in a less violent district.  The Government Employees Insurance Company (GEICO) doesn’t pay its employees commission and passes the savings where?  With the evolution of syntactic structuralism, the system of differences that is langue erodes the axon and broadens the transmittance gap.  In a world dominated by machines designed by engineers for monkeys, the mentally disturbed, disabled, and criminally inclined are put to work with an embedded sense of nationalism.  Those with middling intelligence and the middle-class, caveat!

Nothingness is unabridgable.

At a mouth of a cave, American troglodytes can be seen emptying mouthfuls of boxed food-stuffs into the insatiable gullet of gluten-free self.  Behind these equally insatiable eyes lies a mind pre-occupied with the attainment of freedom through pleasure, on the slouch-couch, alter of Hestia – goddess of the hearth – who causes one to sate thyself through one of many salty alternatives, blessing ion channels with a hearty, well-oiled crunch from thou nearest and dearest cracker or potato chip, all whilst blessing the television channels with a myriad of occipital lobe stimuli straight to the back of the head, where all the sights are stored.  Have a nice day!

Mnemonic Devices and Pussy Blood in 711

Day-after technique, hangover Plan B, can we bend a night further?  A tribunal discussing the topic of abortion, is abortion a fear-based decision?  A win for the pro-life, anti-fear campaign.

       Whatever I did to deserve these things, let me remember, so I can do it again.  Being chucked up upon by a vain opportunist instead of being checked up upon by a hot nurse, the former thinks she can play both sides unnoticed.  There’s more to hit here than the eye can see.  Every so often I come to recall some certain piece of information that I cannot recall at the moment because my mind is just stringing words along at the speed of a second.  A second or so…it’s difficult to tell, the beat of my heart, the music in the room gives a figure.  There is music everywhere, sometimes in silence!  Composed of the world, a rest note, a life, a string, an instrument of the Lord.  Rap of God, you tick-itty-take away the sins of the whir-whir world, have mer-DUH! Mercy on us, we who are invited to His table in His name. 

       I get so obsessed wondering and worrying if I’m doing the right thing that I think that I want to do something that I know is wrong, so that by the incorrect laws that govern moral relativity, I may be more fully unsanctified!  The struggle is unreal unless you’re lifting.  Power-hungrily, the criminally-minded rape-meditate and manifest Dick Wolf scenarios on the little screen, a channel over from a Pokemon breakdance spinning on a number of broken down beat boxes.  Attached to crudity and filth, the mentally unhygienic act on the things that they think they can get away with until they think that they can get away with more and more things until they get caught, stopped, arrested, and wrist-slapped!  Shared suppositories!  An anal safari!  ‘We’re all kinds of animal,’ master geneticists presuppose and manifest (in their minds) birds of paradise.  Chronic inflammation, the stay-puffed parrot, parakeet, or lovebird shiver shakes raindrops all over the loveseat, stomach (the acid seat of Ibuprofen) risk-kay and lungs risk-bee for Baltimore Bronchioles (nevermore!).  So many painful mnemonic devices, like a dildo minefield, fucked to death near Guantanamo’s Mr. Garrison (of troops) over a basic territorial border dispute.  The world is a competitive nightmare to the unmotivated, under-motivated, or easily dissuaded.  This is a lovely day!

       Extremes of belief ripple-effect from those regarded as the highest of powers in our society; popes, presidents, kings, and all kinds of celebrity, human icons and idle idols of indolence, doling Meccas to the furthest believing tourist.  They all arrive there, big from traveler’s inflammation, or as a bodybuilder might say, ‘swole.’  Swole is me!  The best tin show’s drummer in Gunter’s marching band, brandishing twin mallets with which to strike maybe me!  This dysphoric mania Kyle Barnes keeps going on about is effecting me full of doubt, but does it matter?  I believe it all means nothing and that’s normal!  A descent into madness is fearful for possible arrests: cardiac arrest, police arrest, and resentful rest.  

       Nuke the Martians!  Musk approves.  South of Muskoka: Buffalo.  Who’s my ugly girl?  She’s a tenth out of ten! A human to a bullet swiftly kills swiftly.  Controlled enough for forensics if it weren’t for her tidy bleach solution she uses to rinse brain splatter, and her towel she uses to clean her revolver and wipe her tracks.  Her ninja black wrap outfit tints to princess white after soaking in her bleached bloodbath.  This woman’s an untormented psychopath!  She sweeps her legs, kicking my legs out from under me and suddenly her ugly, tense face covers mine with a shower of dead skin and loose blackheads.  My scream is muffled by our mingling vomit.  Dying, I’m reborn, as a virgin, climaxing, covers my head with her long hair as she covers my head with her shorthairs.  The position is her favorite, I can tell already, I’ve served my sentence, and that’s not her period, that’s just pussy pussy pussy pussy blood blood blood!!

Something Real Outside Nietzsche's for Post 60

The following is a transcription of two recordings I made on dates specified. Almost 2,500 words before 9am!  Today is going to be a good day.

9/9/15

“My husband is so fucking jealous I can’t even go to the toilet, can’t make a tinkle. My huband ran off with the poolboy.  I’ve got him by the shorthairs with a pre-nup, pay through the nose that son-of-a-bitch. Thought I could trust the man, I was wrong, for I have hemorrhoids to keep, and piles to go before I sleep, and piles to go.  Do you remember Chlamydia?  The bucktooth lady?  Ricky mohel? Is it tuna fish?  Said the mohel, ‘It won’t be long now,’ shtooped her in the tuckas with a Remington 12 ‘cause he didn’t have a Mossberg, <days money-oon>, Vidal Sassoon…”

“Can I get a cigarette?”

I get rolling papers and tobacco.

“Will it be difficult to apprehend the culprit?” speaking to a police officer.  The police officer is there responding to prank phone caller.  He needs a subpoena.

“One of my favorite shows recently has been Docs Avenue Boys on Youtube.  It’s the best show you can possibly see.”

9/4/15

Speaking of public executions, recording starts:

“…3 guys that need to be hanged, charge people a hundred bucks, sliding scale. You’re making a living, show proof of income, you know, you don’t got the money to pay…come on, come on in,”

Rick enters scene, he says, “500 to 10.”

“Yeah any word,” Jeff continues dismissively.

“Might as well give the rich people…” other guy trails off.

“Shtooped her in the tuckas with a Remington 12 because he didn’t have a Mossberg, days money-oon, Vidal Sassoon, Ralph Lauren, toe to toe, I put my money on the Jew.”

I ask, “What does that have to do with B.B. King or Paul McCartney?”

“Well what I’m talking about is a triple hanging to earn enough money to put people in good housing for the next twenty years here in Buffalo.”

“And have beautiful hair!”

“It’s a big draw!  The Arena wouldn’t hold it.  It’s an outdoor event.”

“Hangings have always been outdoor events, traditionally.”

“They rented out rooms so you could see the hanging of the three Fair brothers behind city hall in 1825, that’s all marshland back there, you have to go 30 feet down to bedrock beneath city hall, it sits on pilons.  And down at HSBC tower, you have to go 80 feet down to the Lockport dolomite.  But let’s forget topography for a moment.  Let’s concentrate on three nogoodniks.  The Fair brothers.  Nelson, Israel, and Isaac Fair; 25, 23, 21 years old respectively, known to their neighbors as swaggering toughs, named their horses Jesus Christ, God Almighty.  Now, they owed a guy money, and wouldn’t pay him, decided to kill him.  In October of 1824 they hatched a plot.  February of 1825 they invited him to a pig slaughter out at their property in the Boston hills.  Now at that time there might have been 100 people out in that neck of the woods.  It’s woodland.  And they owed John Love money, he had a lien on their property and they decided to dispose of this problem diplomatically.   So they invite him over, they have a drink at the table, the youngest slips out the back, some excuse, gets a rifle, and shoots John Love in the back.  That does the trick. He goes off to have a drink.  The other brothers pull out meat cleavers and go to work.  You’ve been in pharmaceutical life?”

Affirmative.

“(so you know) it takes a little while.  (they think) we’ve got to chop this guy up, he’s a little bit bigger than you, what do you weigh?”

190

“What do you weigh?” he asks Rick.

160

“So, in fact, it would take longer to go to work on you, there’s just more to dismember, you’re a little leaner, a little taller, so it’d be real work. Now do you see any men amongst us cut out for this kind of work?  I mean the hacking part, not the shooting in the back!  There’s all kinds of guys who’ll shoot you in the back!  Look around you, who would have the balls to…?  (Enter) Mr. Matt.  William C. Matt had performed this task upon an elderly businessman.  <And needs to falling asleep from Danamoora> sic.  Now the other guy, Mr. David P. Sweat ran down a couple state troopers, kept running them over twenty times.  He’s fit for the holy work as well.”

At this point I interject, being the drunk asshole, probably lost from that weird statement that I can’t really even decipher from the recording despite its clear quality.  “That’s what I was wondering, who would be the executioner in these types of events, like, what is the qualification to be an executioner?” Dumb question I know…

“Well, you’ve got to be good at it…”

“Efficient.”

“It’s a paying job!  It’s hard work. You’ve got to weigh the guy…they chopped up this poor guy!”

Rick says, “You’ve got to weigh the guy and then you’ve got to have the right amount of (sand)bags so his neck snaps.  The sentence was often ‘hung by the neck.’ You didn’t necessarily die. If you didn’t die you were free to go. Unless it said ‘hung by the neck until dead.’”

“In which case you suffocate…” understood.

“There were 22 capital offenses in New York State before 1816.” Jeff continues, “All kinds of stuff.  Well, anyhow, these guys ran afoul of the law, chopped a guy up, rode around on his horse trying to collect all the money he had out in the neighborhood.  People (would) ask, ‘Where’s John?’ ‘He’s on vacation.’ ‘Why are you on his horse?’ Shot the fuck down. So the cops came in, they took them down to the joint which was behind where we have the Central Library today.  Second City Courthouse is on the terrace there in 1816 they put up, it’s Greek revival.  And they were put on trial in April of 1825, went on for a month, coroner came in, and witnesses, like you see in the modern court.  You can see the documentation of this trial and because this was a famous trial, these guys were on trial for their lives, the news spread in the newspapers of the time.  Here it is newly Erie County but it used to be Niagara County, before it was Genesee County, but they carved out Niagara from that, then they carve out Erie from that.  So they’re out in Erie County there in 1825 they get convicted for their crime. And the judge says in sentencing, ‘I don’t want to do this, but I’m compelled by the law, you’re going to hang by your necks until you’re dead.  I want you to think about your mother, your father, children you’re leaving behind, people in this community you’ve harmed.’

On June 17^th 1825 these three fucks in robes, in hoods, slippers, they walk them down from the jail, down to the gallows, behind where we have City Hall, it was Niagara Square at the time, and the wealthy people lived there, so this was set up right behind their homes. The founding fathers of the city lived right there: General Burke lived there, Samuel Wilkeson had a home there…They took them down for execution.  There were 2,400 people living in Buffalo at that time, in the village, it wasn’t a city yet, it wasn’t incorporated, 2,400 by the listings. People came from near and from far to observe this event.  How many people do you think attended this?”

5,000.

Come on.

10,000. 20,000. 40,000

“They estimate the crowd between 20 and 30 thousand. Like Robert Grey came down to Lafayette Square(?), so everybody rented out the top floors of their joints so they could see this.  How many vendors at a show like this?  Come on!  Didn’t you ever go on tour motherfucker?  What did the Grateful Dead draw?  How many whores? And of what caliber?  You got some for 5, some for 50, depends how they look!  How many pickpockets?  How many overt killers in the crowd looking to rob you blind, break your fucking head open, steal your daughter…?”

I don’t answer this.  Jeff goes away. Comes back.

“I wonder about these things,” he says.

“What?” I retort, “How many criminals in a crowd (versus) spectators?”

“Look man, while we sit here, at Dannemora prison, is a maximum security prison, it’s about $100,000 a year…<recording breaks off briefly, bus> and the guys that they have there have performed such terrible acts in this world; it’s more than halitosis, it’s more than people not liking you on the porch, or having a beef with your girl. These people chop you up. They’re killers. They don’t give a fuck. Something’s wrong with their head. Comes out of your pocket. It’s really not fair. It’s not fair when these drug gangs run wild over there, you need a fucking army to wipe them out.  The local police can’t take care of this. It’s a military problem, really is.

“Well, it’s to less of an extent that they don’t require the military.  It’s not a state of national emergency (or they would hire heavy guns).”

“Look, they perform as ISIS.  What they do is recruit kids and tell them, look, you kill this guy. They pick you out of a crowd, and a 13 year old will come and plug you, and you’re ruined for the rest of your life if you survive, and you’ll discover in short order the 13 year old might spend the next 4 or 5 years in jail with children and be released and his records will be sealed. Having learned how to murder people in cold blood, he has moved up in the world, he knows more about the criminal life, having studied in prison how to get away with it, the idea is to get away with it.  That’s the idea.”

Forward again to 9/9/15

“American business was doing business with Hitler in the 30’s”

I reference Fanta, the Coca-Cola subsidiary, by singing the jingle.

“IBM did their computer work for them.  Well they’re monsters, and the Bush family is in it up to their neck. Capitalists. It’s immoral. Some people have different morals and ethics, that’s why people fight.”

“I’ve been having anxiety lately, been burning the candle on both ends.  What do you do to deal with anxiety? Sleep?”

“Well…the bicycle. And stretching, you’ve got to keep the blood flowing.  You know, because you’re going to be plagued by this throughout your existence.  It’s part of the nature. Because there really is threat to existence. Not from the people around you. Hope to God you’ll refrain from picking fights with those people, because that’s what you’ve been doing recently.  Yeah, when you get drunk, you start lashing out.”

“What?” Incredulous.

“Oh yeah.  People don’t like it.  They comment upon this. People never met you before wonder, what’s this guy doing?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’ve got to be aware of these things.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well a lot of the hostility comes out when people are drunk. See any vulnerability or anything they can pick on, especially when it doesn’t have anything to do with nothing. Has something to do with what’s going on inside of you. You see any flaw in the other, what you think it is, instead you’re going to ask them about it, you don’t even know who you’re talking to. Somebody will just get up and pound the shit out of you. (like) ‘what the fuck you talking about?’ That’s the real world!  Got to be careful with that.  You’re a nice guy, you’ve got a brain in your head, just have to find something to do with your time that you like, otherwise you’ll be miserable.  And you’ve got to make it succeed. And figure out a way to do that in the real world.  You want to spend the rest of your time pretending it ain’t?  It’s a very real world.  Look at the big business down here. The delivery of beer. Whiskey. That’s the primary function of this street (Allen).”

“I produce my own beer.”

“Self-reliance!”

“I’ve produced my own gin too at one point.”

“Good!  Juniper berries.”

“Yes!  That’s the key! Key ingredient. Tastes good too, the good stuff, the homemade stuff, it comes out of solution, it emulsifies, the chemicals, the essential oils are carried through the process.  When you dilute the solution with water it emulsifies the active chemicals in the juniper that you get from the juniper berry, it’s called the Ouzo effect.  The Ouzo effect, like if you’ve ever had a glass of Sambuca, and put Sambuca on the rocks, it gets cloudy, that’s the Ouzo effect, that’s the essential oils coming out of solution and emulsifying, micro-particles, so it looks cloudy, they’re individual chemical micelles that you’d have in your own stomach even.”

“You should get involved with some of the local brewers and makers of spirits, it’s going on in Buffalo now.  The biggest thing and the most important thing in that racket: the bottle.”

“Yeah, the packaging. Marketing.  Totally.”

“The sizzle, not the steak. It’s overweening.  He says they need a subpoena, Amanda!”

“I could be nicer to people.  I haven’t been laid in a while.  I think that’s part of it.”

“Well, yeah, but you’ve got to keep in mind any of these guys you see down here your age, you see there’s a multitude of men, and they have a variety of attitudes toward women. And many of the attitudes that they have, they reinforce in their frustration, (which in effect) drives women further and further away from them, cause they want nothing to do with this madness. All this tough guy shit.  You know, a woman’s more capable of killing you than I am. Cause she can get you to go anywhere, do anything, you wouldn’t even see it coming.”

“That’s the madness I know, that’s why keep women at an arm’s length normally because I know the risks that are involved, but at the same time there’s like this push-pull.”

“You’ve got to come to terms with it! It goes on and on and on and on… Doesn’t end.  I’ve had a hard time with these things too, believe me. But balance, the practice of the arts…will give you something to do with your time.”

“Beautiful day downtown Allentown!” Another local guy.

“Yeah, temperature’s nice today, air’s good,” I say.

“Yeah, I bet there’s been a lot of pollutants in the air the past few days,” Jeff says what I’m thinking.

“Hazy.  There was a power outage at South Campus today, UB South Campus.  They cancelled classes.  They never cancel classes, but there was just like apparently a massive power outage at the campus. I don’t know, I just heard it on the radio earlier today.  Weird things happening!”

“Lot of people on the planet, man.”