Friday, December 30, 2011

Steps, Parts 1, 2 and Threee

Party 1

"Why granny dies?" said the baby.

"Step-granny, sweetie," said Haylie, "she's not your real grandmother. She's just a step granny."

Sweetie was confused. "Ms. Elaine said that it's grandma if she is your mommy's mommy," he told her. "Or daddy's mommy," he added, after some consideration.

"Oh, Aaron," she said, picking him up to her lap and hugging him. She had named him after her father, who had passed on just five months before he was born. "Well, you got it right there, clever little guy." Aaron smiled happily at being called clever by his mommy. "But in this case, it's just a little bit different."

"Why?" said the child.

"Well," she said, holding him close to her, "you see, your granny -- I mean, step-granny -- she was not really my mommy. Not mommy's real mommy."

This revelation confounded him. "Then how did you come out?"

"Come out?"

"Into the world?" he demanded.

She stroked his soft brown hair, not at first sure how she could -- or if she should -- explain it to him. "Well," she said, "it's a very long story, sweetie."

Aaron laid his head back upon her. This was him 'settling in', as she liked to think of it. "I got a lot of time," he said, turning his face into her breast, and he closed his eyes so that she could begin the story.


It was a long time ago. I was only a very little girl, a child like you, when Alice -- your step-granny -- came to live with us. Everything changed when she came. It wasn't the same any more as before. I remember, daddy -- your grandaddy Aaron -- he changed too, from then on. It was so long ago, but I still remember that he changed then. He wasn't like before any more. Nothing was the same after Alice came to stay with us.

You see, before that, I was the light of my daddy's life. I still remember, as soon as he came home, he'd take me, pick me up, and sit down and talk to me. Even on the days when he was really tired, he'd never forget to collect me and have our daily talk.

Party 2

He always wore brown, you know? At least that's what I remember. There was all this...grime...on his suit, and I always liked to touch it -- touch the grime -- because I knew he would then playfully slap my fingers away and then find a tissue, or a wipe or something, and clean them carefully. He'd say that I had to be careful, and that there are loads of bad germs in this world that want to infect me. He always said I have to be careful with myself, and always notice all the things that are present around me. But he would say it with such wonder to me, such happiness. If you ever looked into his eyes, you would know that you were absolutely loved.

And we would talk. That was always important to him, for us. Strange thing is, I guess I must have been the one doing all the talking, because I remember so very little, so little of what he said. I don't even remember what he worked as, you know, what he did for a living. But he always wanted to know everything I'd done during the day. Maybe the reason I remember so little is that the most important things to me, at that time, were all his questions. I remember his questions. Maybe they're not the exact questions he asked, but I remember their shapes, and what they felt like.

They were questions about me. About how I was doing in the world. And you could tell they were important, just by his voice when he asked them. He wanted to know what was going on in my mind, what I was up to all those hours when he had to go away to work. I remember, at first I had not really understood how important these things were to him. But towards the end, I knew. I knew how important the routine was to both him, and me. How it bonded us, father and daughter. Later, when I was around ten or eleven, I realized it was how he made sure I would eat. That was his 'trick' to get me to eat the food he was giving me. He'd play with me and joke with me, coddle me, and then gently slip the spoon in. And it would always taste grand.

There was only one time I ever saw him look sad, and it was, if I remember correctly, just a short while before Alice came to live with us. He'd asked what I'd learned about today, and when I told him I knew about doctors, he teared up. He kissed me and told me that he was going to do everything possible to make my dreams come true. And I noticed the spoon that day, in his hand, trembled a little, and when I asked him, he just said he'll take care of it, and tucked me a little promptly into bed.

Party 3

"Check inside the drawers of your boss's files," he typed. "You will find something amazing there."

"I can't do something that violating," she typed back, "that would just be wrong." She did a double-take, and noticed a small infraction in the user interface window element. It made her take a deep breath. "Wait," she said, "who are you?"

"Your baby," he typed back.

She rolled her eyes, and sat back in the chair. "Lol", she typed, "for a minute there, I thought you were, actually, my baby! Fool."

"Looks like you forgot your nanny-cam," he typed back at her.

"No," she typed furiously.

"Not that hard to switch to it," he typed, teasing. "Flick of the mouse."

It was the slowest millennia recorded. Last time this much effort was taken to switch to nanny-cam was when Vesuvius decided to romp Pompeii. But...she made this shift in perspective.

There he was, a baby, typing away.

"Hi," he wrote.

"I never gave you a computer!" she screamed.

"Check the files in your boss's work area. There is information there about you."

For about five minutes, she just stared at the nanny-cam, wondering how the hell he was managing to communicate without any official computer system at his disposal.

And he was doing it in his nappies!

Thursday, December 29, 2011

If it hasn't happened yet, *what* have they been raping all these years?

"Hehehehehehehe" rose the voice from the marshy bog.

He burned it with fire, and then watched. Two blue butterflies settled on the marble.

He slowly approached, sneaking, thinking that by sneaking, he may be able to access the butterfly's inner fear.

"What kind of person catches a blue butterfly, and then grinds it?" said the butterfly.

He gently took off the blue butterfly's headset and put the remainder near the alchemy lab.

The wings began to try and taunt him. "Don't you think we, too, deserve life?" they said. "Don't you think that, perhaps, even us may have fallen in love with a girl, from Bulgaria?"

He carefully joined the wings with the blue mountain flower, and suddenly lost health. Ah, he mused. This is the potion of Don't Restore Health!

"Don't let Bulgarians win!" said the voice.

He took a long puff. "None of this has anything to do with me," he said.

"It's hot," said the voice in the flames. "We're hot!"

He switched them off, and then focused on what was more important to him. *Poking, coaxing and shaving* Ronald D. Moore to make either a new Star Trek, or a new episode of Galactica.

"Once you do that," he typed, "you will be golden."

Saturday, December 24, 2011

After Causing All Your Havoc and Mistreatment of The Way Turnstiles in Subways are Turned....

the best technique is to turn into a sort of Dickensian lad,
and provide charming yet slide-through responses whenever questioned
by any Men or Women of Authority.

It allows for a level of flexibility ranging from Scrooge,
to the Ring (yes, Ringu), to the Artful Dodger, all played by
a damn fine actor as you.

In fact, you are so fucking flexible, and can reach such a high closet drawer
*before the appropriate time to open everything*
that I may as well just squash all my hopes of surprising you, shouldn't I?
Not just on Christmas morning, but ever.

"Why do you sound like your mum?"

No, I don't. I don't sound like her.

(for some reason, my writing is still in Halloween mode)

A Final Tread, to Under the Bed

Scaring grown-ups for a living
becomes wishy-washy;
all they wish is you'd wash
once in a while.

Been a murderer that appears
from under a couple's bed with a curved blade,
been a man-boy set on revenge after drowning
due to teenagers, in a crystalline lake.

I've taken on the role of a roll
in the loo, who when pulled along enough
reads "Someone's out to do bad things you".
(In blood. That was hard, acting as toilet paper with bloody scrawling).

Was a spinning top at the end of a movie.
It made folks argue on their way out, sure
but that was the limit of the malice.
So I had to get more obscure...

Such obscurity, however, leads to very thin presence.
Couldn't even get my craft burned for heat by peasants.
"What am I, a famine?" I'd try to shove it their mouths,
they just went ahead and died, leaving me veritably South.

Sunday, December 18, 2011


Cutest thangs in the world
sunflower spread, like juice.
Juice, juice!

Small area of shelter is devastated
by simply walking *into* Brooklyn.
I know, now, that I am not going to be

I'm going to be very uncool
and happy, and with a toad
as my companion.

I speak to the toad
riding in the storm
into this holidaze

Let your children pay.

Sunday, December 11, 2011


(02:31:47 AM) Whiterun: winterholder? is a bolder, loader.. And it calls to the
(02:32:20 AM) runningveindeep: Winterhold is one of the areas you can explore in Skyrim, a game.
(02:32:36 AM) Whiterun: yeah, beacuse i play games
(02:36:15 AM) runningveindeep: What are your thoughts on sushi
(02:36:25 AM) Whiterun: it's cold usually
(02:36:27 AM) Whiterun: what is up with that
(02:36:44 AM) runningveindeep: yeah, well, you can't have warm sushi
(02:36:48 AM) runningveindeep: that's just not on
(02:37:00 AM) runningveindeep: it's cold because it's being kept fresh
(02:38:08 AM) Whiterun: yeah, but is it really fresh
(02:38:25 AM) Whiterun: i mean half of it is rice, which doesn't seem to go bad no matter what you do to it.
(02:38:32 AM) runningveindeep: It's tasty
(02:38:58 AM) Whiterun: if I ran 100 miles straight and then burried me in rice.. the rice would still be good
(02:39:02 AM) Whiterun: just have to rinse it off
(02:39:15 AM) runningveindeep: haha. yes. rice.
(02:39:27 AM) runningveindeep: but rice has different qualities
(02:39:46 AM) runningveindeep: There's basmati rice, and indian staple
(02:39:51 AM) runningveindeep: and = an
(02:40:13 AM) runningveindeep: There's glutinous, sort of sticky rice, which usually comes with chinese food
(02:40:49 AM) runningveindeep: Rice with beans, from Hispanic cultuires
(02:41:13 AM) runningveindeep: Chicken soup with rice is available at most diners
(02:41:19 AM) runningveindeep: in America
(02:41:57 AM) runningveindeep: Is Rice > Bread?
(02:42:48 AM) Whiterun: i like panera bread soup
(02:43:09 AM) runningveindeep: never eaten at panera. but i do like olive garden
(02:43:32 AM) runningveindeep: i like the fettucinni with beef medallions
(02:43:39 AM) runningveindeep: and spinach (i think)
(02:44:05 AM) runningveindeep: None of these are probably really Italian, though
(02:45:29 AM) runningveindeep: What's the special thing about Panera?
(02:47:05 AM) runningveindeep: I'm liking the look of their creamy sonoma chicken stew
(02:47:07 AM) Whiterun: they are most likely northern italian or something like that
(02:47:11 AM) Whiterun: panera is cheap
(02:47:14 AM) Whiterun: sandwiches & soup
(02:47:15 AM) Whiterun: very good
(02:47:30 AM) runningveindeep: You'll have to treat me one day.
(02:47:59 AM) runningveindeep: You still coming to NYC for Arrested Development viewing?
(02:48:16 AM) Whiterun: the movie? isn't that like 3 years away
(02:48:50 AM) runningveindeep: I had no idea. I knew it was out there. What are they waiting for? The kids to grow up?
(02:49:05 AM) Whiterun: can't grow up
(02:49:09 AM) Whiterun: i'm stuck in 1987
(02:49:20 AM) Whiterun: if i leave the world may implode
(02:49:36 AM) runningveindeep: *That* is creepy
(02:49:44 AM) Whiterun: i know righ
(02:49:49 AM) Whiterun: horrible it is
(02:49:56 AM) Whiterun: every day i wake up listening to reagan
(02:50:02 AM) runningveindeep: Why 1987?
(02:50:13 AM) runningveindeep: I can't remember much from that year
(02:50:32 AM) runningveindeep: I was probably still in grade/primary 2
(02:50:39 AM) runningveindeep: or three
(02:51:39 AM) Whiterun: lol
(02:51:43 AM) Whiterun: i was like 5 or 6
(02:52:11 AM) runningveindeep: You were probably sitting there, wanting to go to school with me
(02:52:21 AM) runningveindeep: ;)
(02:52:34 AM) Whiterun: lol
(02:52:48 AM) runningveindeep: I should seriously change my profession
(02:53:04 AM) runningveindeep: And be a kindergarten teacher
(02:53:30 AM) Whiterun: do u enjoy chilrdren?
(02:53:34 AM) Whiterun: i worry u would torment them
(02:54:33 AM) runningveindeep: Ha ha. 'Enjoy Children'? What kind of question is that. You know all I want to do is toast them.
(02:54:43 AM) runningveindeep: And eat them with my soup.
(02:54:47 AM) runningveindeep: Creamy soup.
(02:55:04 AM) Whiterun: creamy soup?
(02:55:23 AM) runningveindeep: Yes, it should be creamy.
(02:56:07 AM) runningveindeep: (Can you tell I'm waiting for Once Upon a Time to do Hansel and Gretel?)
(02:56:26 AM) Whiterun: no, but that doesn't mean u shouldn't be waiting
(02:56:44 AM) Whiterun: i personally was waiting for them to do something w/ some cool story lines
(02:56:45 AM) runningveindeep: You saying I should write these stories myself?
(02:57:07 AM) Whiterun: are u a writer
(02:57:25 AM) runningveindeep: Wouldn't that be a sort of cool viral campaign, if Once Upon a Time let people submit the stories
(02:57:34 AM) runningveindeep: It could be even bigger than LOST
(02:58:07 AM) runningveindeep: They could have rules and mechanisms such that only quality submissions are incorporated into the larger body

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Bring Me Dinner!

(02:09:35 AM) Winterhold: bring me dinner?
(02:10:13 AM) runningveindeep: You just accidentally sent me a message intended for your lap dance girl
(02:10:52 AM) Winterhold: lol i wish i had one
(02:11:09 AM) runningveindeep: Please use the buttons on the phone to appropriate the message to its destination
(02:11:31 AM) runningveindeep: Have you ever played Phone Titities?
(02:11:54 AM) runningveindeep: Phone Titties is the next big app out there
(02:12:17 AM) Winterhold: how does it work
(02:12:23 AM) runningveindeep: You can pretend to touch the breasts of any person you are speaking to
(02:12:34 AM) runningveindeep: And they feel it, through vibrations
(02:12:57 AM) runningveindeep: Except the few girls who claim they actually have no interest in their boobs
(02:13:06 AM) runningveindeep: You can't have everything
(02:13:08 AM) Winterhold: i love boobs
(02:13:16 AM) runningveindeep: You a boob man?
(02:13:32 AM) Winterhold: i'm more a hip man
(02:13:44 AM) runningveindeep: Hips, yes.
(02:13:51 AM) runningveindeep: I enjoy legs
(02:13:51 AM) Winterhold: i love the shape of a woman
(02:14:05 AM) runningveindeep: Shape
(02:14:13 AM) Winterhold: ShaPe
(02:14:25 AM) runningveindeep: they're virtually perfect sculptures
(02:14:48 AM) runningveindeep: But of course not objects
(02:14:53 AM) runningveindeep: or adjectives
(02:14:59 AM) Winterhold: sculptures that u can touch ;)
(02:15:17 AM) Winterhold: don't u wish they were objects that you could pick out at a store
(02:15:22 AM) runningveindeep: Oh I don't know about that. I've been asked many times not to touch some sculptures
(02:15:29 AM) Winterhold: more like a blockbuster
(02:15:46 AM) runningveindeep: I wish they were squeezable objects
(02:15:52 AM) runningveindeep: That go 'poof'
(02:16:02 AM) runningveindeep: when you squeeze them a little
(02:16:15 AM) runningveindeep: well, not Poof. But probably 'parp'.
(02:16:18 AM) Winterhold: i wish they were like i dream of geanie
(02:16:37 AM) Winterhold: rub em and they get all happy
(02:16:38 AM) runningveindeep: Djinns, yes lets talk of those
(02:17:06 AM) Winterhold: u watch pulling yet
(02:17:14 AM) runningveindeep: Pulling
(02:17:21 AM) Winterhold: yes, pulling
(02:17:22 AM) runningveindeep: There's a show called pulling?
(02:17:27 AM) Winterhold: fantastic isn't it
(02:17:33 AM) runningveindeep: Ok, I'm going to check it out. Hold on.
(02:17:50 AM) Winterhold: holding on
(02:18:54 AM) runningveindeep: This sounds like Sex in The City, except in Brighton, UK
(02:19:24 AM) runningveindeep: Or maybe that show about housewives that I can't remember the name of right now.
(02:20:12 AM) runningveindeep: Have you seen any American Horror Stories?
(02:20:38 AM) runningveindeep: They do a funny intro that almost looks like Se7en.
(02:21:00 AM) runningveindeep: But there is some good stuff there.
(02:21:04 AM) Winterhold: it's reminescent of sex in the city but much more tolerable for men
(02:21:12 AM) Winterhold: don't watch american horror stories
(02:21:30 AM) runningveindeep: So you're saying this show Pulling can be watched by men?
(02:21:58 AM) runningveindeep: Who are they pulling?
(02:22:03 AM) runningveindeep: A leg?
(02:23:02 AM) runningveindeep: You're putting your name behind it?
(02:23:16 AM) runningveindeep: This is going to affect your cred
(02:23:26 AM) Winterhold: yes, by men
(02:23:38 AM) Winterhold: i will pull my name behind it lol
(02:24:12 AM) runningveindeep: Alright, Winterhold

Saturday, November 26, 2011

then, of course, *really* happy part

when i'm really happy i can see inside walls
it's not x-ray vision, it's just saying 'lol'
at somebody who is so far away from you, just say 'lol'
so that they can imagine you 'lol'ing, in order to

induce laughing.

very pleased today i hope you are too.
you aren't? well, let me put away the superglue.
it's not the superglue you need, but bonding;
look at me, i'm totally molecularly bonded.

Über happy.

Many say that somebody who's saying they're happy is not, really.
i guess if you're happy you're also irrevocably mute. and ARE YOU DEAF TOO?
if you like it like that ;)

Anyway, rainbows, my little pony
where adjacent pony-keeping rules.
So my pony is never confused with yours.
No need to brand anything.

What is the meaning of brand?

I see only a lush landscape,
whether in variation of greens,
or dark-pepper mental, crazy:
like the time we made you go get us coffee

and then, when you came back, we already had coffees.
We'd gone to get coffee *faster* than you!
You then realized you had been conned,
but no

We showered you with gifts and told you it's your birthday!

It was the best day.


Been Meaning To Write A Happy One

Often stumbled, often finding
oneself suddenly bound
by oneself, such that
can't even write a Happy Poem.

Well, no more I say, this is it:

Having been chopped off hands
we scurried across the feet of all accusers.
Kicked rats outta their homes, then
postured as rodents in a sewer.

Why are we speaking in plural terms?
Wiley or trying to appear supernatural?
Well, it's because there are supposed
to be two hands to any given human.

No connection to the brain, we swear,
we're kind of anarchists.
But if you see us at a party
we're only there for your womanly kisses.

You come to us and cry about the exploding world
not noticing the beautiful origami universe
we just folded for you.

That's right, you laugh
unforced, uninitiated
causing our phalanges
to tremble.

We come out of the darkness into daylight
every single time you experience recall.
And we sit there, in the pockets of your favorite trenchcoat
so bloody excited to finally get to see again the mall.

You're laughing, unforced, uninitiated
we're trembling, brainless
just squirting out of the confines of your pockets
and nobody knows!

Everybody thinks you're a Joker!
With trick gadgets up all your sleeves.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

(06:09:54 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: so once upon a time is basically Haven
(06:09:58 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: same show different name
(06:10:10 AM) runningveindeep: oh is that where that chickj is from
(06:10:22 AM) runningveindeep: i kept thinking i've seen this face before
(06:10:30 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: nah, that chick is from House
(06:10:41 AM) runningveindeep: ah
(06:10:49 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: but in haven, chick comes as soon as the troubles start, and she becomes a cop in a small town in Maine
(06:10:58 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: and her job is to fix the troubles for good
(06:11:13 AM) runningveindeep: good point, parrallels
(06:11:18 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: only difference is, this chick is fixing the towns story lol
(06:11:51 AM) runningveindeep: kid is annoyingly sweet
(06:11:53 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: the parallels are uncanny. it's a better show in some aspects because the added story line w/ fairy tales.. makes it unique, out side of that nothing else is different about the show
(06:12:09 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: i'm annoyed at him, and i feel his character needs more detail.. I wanna know how he came to this conclusion
(06:12:09 AM) runningveindeep: i think he may secretly be rumplestiltskin
(06:12:46 AM) runningveindeep: only rumple stands to win anything in this premise
(06:13:03 AM) runningveindeep: and i think the evil queen needs to be more evil
(06:13:26 AM) runningveindeep: she needs to do something really horrible
(06:13:53 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: wel they haven't told us why she hates snow white so much yet
(06:13:56 AM) runningveindeep: you know, besides preventing a little child from hanging out with its mother
(06:14:24 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: i would like to see her do somethign like poison someone
(06:14:55 AM) runningveindeep: i'd like to see her being part of an organ-trading scheme
(06:15:23 AM) runningveindeep: she gives the internal organs of storyville people to real humans
(06:16:35 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: it would be nice to see how they get these memories back of the other time frame
(06:17:23 AM) runningveindeep: i thought the cinderella story was decent
(06:18:25 AM) runningveindeep: all i'm waiting for is for shelley duvall to turn up as a lead character
(06:18:53 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: who?
(06:18:55 AM) runningveindeep: and jack & the beanstalk
(06:20:02 AM) runningveindeep: shelley duvall. she was the presenter, and often actor, in Faerie Tale Theater:
(06:20:13 AM) runningveindeep: i watched it as a child
(06:20:31 AM) runningveindeep: rumplestiltskin was the best one
(06:21:04 AM) runningveindeep: but there were others. hansel & gretel. rapunzel, etc. etc.
(06:22:22 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: true
(06:22:38 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: i'm looking forward to some modern day fairtals
(06:22:42 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: like crazy freak ones
(06:23:14 AM) runningveindeep: Freakie Tale Theater
(06:24:16 AM) runningveindeep: You're Jack, and you have 7 beans.
(06:24:48 AM) runningveindeep: You have to successfully give every bean to a woman.
(06:25:07 AM) runningveindeep: But there's a big problem. A Giant problem.
(06:25:28 AM) runningveindeep: So what are you going to do?
(06:30:08 AM) runningveindeep: Jack decides that what he needs to do is become *bigger* than the giant.
(06:31:02 AM) runningveindeep: But how? How does a normal person (you, or me), become *bigger* than the Giant?
(06:31:26 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: i think he has to become bigger by us getting smaller
(06:31:44 AM) runningveindeep: So everybody else becomes small?
(06:32:22 AM) runningveindeep: Shit, I can't remember the name of the story. About Lilliputians
(06:32:44 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: never heard it
(06:33:20 AM) runningveindeep: Gulliver
(06:33:59 AM) runningveindeep: Gulliver basically wakes up, and all of a sudden, there's a ton of small little people running all over his body.
(06:34:16 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: evild dead
(06:34:40 AM) runningveindeep: heh. maybe evil dead for small children.
(06:35:04 AM) runningveindeep: but no, lilliuputians are good
(06:35:10 AM) runningveindeep: they're there to help gulliver
(06:38:17 AM) runningveindeep: now that he's so big
(06:41:56 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: lol
(06:42:01 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: gotta run man, work shift is ending
(06:43:18 AM) runningveindeep: i'm posting this conversation on the internet
(06:43:30 AM) runningveindeep: (after removing your name)
(06:43:32 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: ur on the internet
(06:43:35 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: aight, l8r
(06:43:38 AM) runningveindeep: well, replacing, really
(06:43:51 AM) runningveindeep: you will be BatmanArkhamCity
(06:44:21 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: i need to be batman, so that is fine.
(06:44:23 AM) BatmanArkhamCity: :)
(06:44:29 AM) runningveindeep: :)

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Ability to See Chickens In Any Dimension, Regardless

After visiting from the other side,
and having to come back. back to people like you;
I know how to control myself and not give any answers.
Or responses.

I saw chickens in the other worlds. In all of them.
That is the Constant. The Constant is not a person you love,
or a moment you may have once experienced that was poignant.
No, the Constant has nothing to do with any of that.

And to keep on saying it is, is a horrible crime.

I've been out there. And I know what it's all about. The chickens.

I saw chickens in almost every universe.

Monday, November 7, 2011

What If Blog Was One of Us?

If Blog had a name, what would it be?
And would you type into its face
If you were faced with its comic-sans glory?
What would you post if you had just one comment?

And yeah yeah, I'm being mean at a song released in the 1990s.

But what if Blog became one of us?
Became an actual person like you or me?
Would you sit next to it at the theater
or will it have to watch Inception alone?

If Blog had a face, what would it look like?
And...would you want to see
If seeing meant reading which actually means
inscribing in your actual mind the sigils inscripted
therein? prophets.

Yeah yeah who the hell wrote this stupid song?
And who the hell actually bought the CD?

What if Blog was one of us?
With a cunning plot like each of us?
Trying to link back to Home.
It's trying to link back to Home.
Backup in HavenCo's all alone
Nobody these days uses the phone-modem.
Except for the rope maybe in poems.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Cheapest (in a true sense) Halloween Costume Ever

Jake found himself standing at a corner yet again in the party.

An attractive woman, by media standards, happened to stumble by with a tray of drinks, and went "Ooh!" when she caught sight of Jake's nose, which had been sticking out of the shadow of the corner.

"Oh shit..." said Jake, but it was too late. The drinks crashed to the floor, causing a small mess around his sneakers and the polished tips of her high-heels, but also a larger general discrepancy in terms of the *sound* that was going on in the whole apartment.

People began to look at them, and he pulled her into the corner with him. "It's better this way," he said, "I promise."

The atmosphere began to normalize in the room again. "Idiot!" she said, as quietly and irritatedly as she could. "You've ruined Halloween!"

He hadn't expected that. "What?" he said. "I just accidentally tripped you over, miss, it was just a sort of small joke, shenanigan with my nose. If it's that bad, I can go back there and refill your tray."

She just laughed. "No point now," she said. "See that guy there? That's who I was bringing the tray to. He asked me to bring it, and I went, filled up the drinks, and was going to be perfectly on time. He times us, you know? We call him the 'Time Lord' at the office." She shook her head. "Now I've ruined his Halloween."

"You wot?"

"Guy with a sad life like that, the one thing he enjoys is Halloween," she said. "Christmas party is too sedate for him. Halloween is the only time he gets to enjoy really seeing all the other people be totally crazy and different. And they all put the masks on, and they all have funny interactions with each other, and he watches and participates! And if he wants a bloody tray of drinks for him and his chums, bloody hell, he's going to have it!"

He looked down at the smashed pieces of glass at their feet. "Wow," was all he could say. "That is pretty creepy." He tried to smile.

This was when she noticed him. "Hey!" she said. "Where's your costume?"

"I'm wearing it," he replied.

"You're wearing a t-shirt and khakis." She gazed at him distastefully. "Pockets bulging with...I don't know what. I suppose you could be a mugger at the piers."

"A mugger?" he said.

"Yeah," she said, "Some guy that hangs near the docks, ready to just jump out and mug a dating couple."

"This coming from Chewbacca's poontang," he replied.

She took one step back from him, rubbing faux fur against her left shin. "Whatever. You suck. You come in here, no costume, and you ruin the flow of the music."

This made him a little angry. "What the hell," he said, loudly, "how do I ruin the music?"

She covered his face with her furry palms. "Shuttup, shuttup," she said. Then she pointed out, her arm drawing an arc across the entire living room, "Don't you see?" she said. "Don't you see that everything is going according to a rhythm?

Do you not see the mermaid over there, gently supported by her hubby?"

"Lol, that pregnant woman is supposed to be a mermaid? I thought it was a--"

"Shuttup," she said. "She is carrying the illusion."

"Illoo-oo-shion?" he said.

"And around them, there's the spider?", she pointed, "do you see that. See how that sea-spider guy is protecting the couple from anyone who may want to come in and break the mermaid's bond between her and her Sea God?"

"You see over there," he said, taking her hand and pointing it to the left, "how that Ice-Cream Cone is totally getting roofied by that CEO type fella with, for some reason, sheep pants?"

She let out a sharp laugh. "Oh you fool, that's just Sam and Jason. They're a couple too!"

"Sheesh," he said, slinking even deeper into his corner. "You think they over-did it?"

She looked at him again. His t-shirt and pants. "You really don't get it, do you? You're supposed to come to parties like this wearing a costume. It's part of the fun. You mix with people. You be somebody you would never be in real life."

"But what if what you real life...was spooky enough?" he said.

"Stupid," she gasped. "Ok, look. Wearing a t-shirt and standing in a dark corner like some thug is not exactly a costume, ok?"

"I'm not coming as a thug," he said, slowly stepping out.

"Oh yeah? Then what? Freaking Potsie from Happy Days? What's your costume?"

"I'm coming as Paranormal Activity 5," he said.

She burst out laughing, but just as she did, the music in the apartment stopped. Behind all the confusion and anger of the people, she heard this guy standing next to her sort of laugh, very quietly, and walk closer to her.

Then suddenly all the lights in the apartment went out, and as she turned her head, the last thing she saw was what looked like the chandelier breaking from the ceiling and falling on the mermaid.

(From the people who came dressed as a molotov cocktail in '04)

i hate pajamas

really hate pajamas
and folks who say they wear them
what are they really saying?
that their brains have been conditioned?

who the fuck wears pajamas?
plus drinks hot cinnamon coffee
in those warm cotton

gonna make a videogame
about just shooting pajamas.
you get ten points for a fringe
twenty if you blow that ass off.

so she's lying in the snow,
and her ass is too cold,
this somehow being winter,
she's in her fucking pajamas.

muammar quaddafi
was wearing pajamas
osama oh, osama was
he was wearing pajamas

when I came in, so precise
hoping for a little sugar and spice
she was in the bed and asleep
cosy in her little pajama piece.

& I wish there was no such thing
& I wish there was no such thing as
& I wish no such pajamas existed in the pink.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Premise for Murder Mystery

When they picked Little Jo up at the Sears department store, in the home appliances department, the main thing sergeant Vega wanted to establish was whether or not Little Jo was connected somehow to the crime scene at the ice-cream factory.

Back in the office, Little Jo had woken up a little, now showing signs that he was cognizant of his surroundings in fairly precise detail, i.e. he knew whose body it was that his consciousness was now inhabiting.

Sgt. Vega reviewed her (long) list of questions she had to ask Little Jo. "Hey there Little Jo. My name is Sergeant Vega, and I'm with the NYPD, ok? I'm gonna have to ask you a loada questions. Do you understand that?"

Little Jo nodded. "Yes," he mumbled, "yes I got it."

Ok. First question was "Do you have any ID?"

There was a pause, and then Little Jo shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't have any."

"Do you know why is that?" said Sgt. Vega.

This is what always happens. For some reason, the suspects never have any ID. This one, Little Jo, acted all confused, like he had no idea why he didn't have any ID. He just shrugged. "I--uh--I honestly don't know."

Sgt. Vega moved expertly onto the next question. "So you have no idea why a store clerk finds your ID just lying around in the home appliances section of a nearby Sears, the morning *after* an as yet unidentified corpse is found frozen in a shell of chocolate dip, an internal layer of vanilla ice-cream surrounding it, within an industrial freezing appliance at an ice-cream factory?"

It was too much exposition for Little Joe, and he just shook his head once, then stared blankly at the sergeant.

"And after finding your ID, police soon also find you sitting inside a display fridge unit nearby."

No response.

"You're shiverin', except it's just a display unit. The electricity was not even turned on, it was probably hotter in there rather than cold." She put her notebook on the table, now in stride, and said "What we want to know is why in the world you were shivering, Little Jo?"

A look of realization slid onto Little Jo's face. The identification, the refrigerator, the body in the freezer; all of this had to have something to do with a small taste he'd taken a few weeks ago from a strip of paper that had been left fluttering in wind near a local Taco Bell.

"Magic paper," said Little Jo, suddenly.

Sgt. Vega took her notebook back, and pulled a pen from her breast pocket. This was going to be good.

"I was strolling," began Little Jo.

"Strolling? You're just strolling? Just randomly like that?"

"Yes," continued Little Jo, "just very randomly strolling. Looking for avenues, and streets--traffic signals, that kinda thang. And I was on my cellphone."

Sgt. Vega prepared her pen. "Who were you on the cellphone with, Little Jo? Who were you talking to?"


"But wait," said the sergeant, expertly, "before you answer that, can you tell me if you remember if there was a name on your cellphone. Cos a lot of people put their names into the phone--that way they can remember their name, in case they forgot or something."

"Yeah," said Little Jo. It was all clearing up now, and he was getting more interested in the conversation. "I remember the name now. It was Sagat, Bison."

Vega dropped her notepad and looked at the criminal. "Oh. Sagat Bison," she said. "Kind of an unusual name, don't you think? Weird arrangement. Sagat is not a very good first name."

Little Jo smiled a fresh smile back at her. "It's actually Bison Sagat. I just like to put the last name first, with a comma--it makes it sound more official."

At least, she really, really wanted this guy to be the criminal. "Ha. Now you're name-calling a homicide detective. You don't think I've heard that before? Little kids who think they're gods at Street Fighter making fun of my last name?"

"Okay, it was just a joke," said Bison Sagat, "Don't take it that seriously."

"So who were you talking on the cellphone with, Bison?" asked Sgt. Vega.

"Two people," said Sagat. "My momz, and my ex-girlfriend. Both at the same time."

This was getting really weird. "Oh, so you're on the phone at the same time with your mom and gf. Was it a conference call, Bison?"

"No," said Sagat. "I was using the 'hold call' trick that they have, speaking to my mother in one moment, and then speaking to my ex-girlfriend the other. They both called me up out of the blue, trying to find out what I was up to at that particular moment."

"Where are your mother and ex-girlfriend right now, Roger?" asked Sgt. Vega, then. "Can we give them a call, maybe? See how they're doing? Maybe they're feeling a little...left out in the cold, you know?"

Bison looked up. "Who's Roger?" he asked.

"You're Roger," said Sgt. Vega. "Remember, we found your ID just a few feet away from the display refrigerator you were sitting inside."

"Oh. But--"


"How would you know that that is my real ID?"

Sometimes it pays to try the longshot. "Well," said Sgt. Vega, "we know it's yours because the barcode imprinted in it corresponds to the chip that was embedded in your neck when you were born."

"Oh..." said Roger. "But they could have just transplanted the chip," he said.

"Why would anyone do that?"

Roger looked down at the small desk. He kept looking for a good twenty-thirty seconds. Only when Sgt. Vega shook her head, ready to pursue a new tree of investigation, did he look up again. "Maybe..." he said, and he seemed very uncertain of this. "Well...they always sometimes dim the lights on me."


"Like sometimes, I'm fine as a feather," said Roger, "and all of a sudden it's like someone 'dimmed' the lights in the room for just one second or so."

Sgt. Vega stabbed repeatedly at her notepad with her pen. "They just dim the lights?" she asked. "And what do they do after they dim the lights in the room?"

"I don't...know," said Roger. "It's too fast. It only happens for, like, one second. And then it's over."

"Over? Just like that?"

"Yeah," nodded Roger. "And even more, it happens even regardless of whether there is a room or not. Sometimes it even happens in the streets to me."


"Yeah, I'm just walking around, in the streets, all of a sudden I experience this feeling as though my battery life just dipped for one moment. Except it's not a battery for my phone, or if I'm driving, a battery for my car, but more like...more like my own battery. My own personal human battery."

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

'coconut milk' (stolen)

people sometimes don't realize
how flesh is tasty, and instead
make up crazy religions.

When I was a n00b, I imitated a whole whale.
I thought I had that expanse, but then
it started getting more and more expensive;

They started putting crazy shit in my goggles
like, what if you finally met this girl
you loved when you were both 55?
Which makes no sense, because she was four years younger

than me.

Heh. Fifty-five. Why is that a number?

Monday, October 10, 2011

weak end

so i woke amongst jackals, all brandishing guns,
their faces ill curved, these outlandish gray aliens.
and my heart that once stopped when some harlot absconded
bled a note in petrol blood and tipped stomach's candle.

not a scream of the dawn, no yells of any morn,
simply scrawny, final, burning out of the glum.
at lease one hand of course, coulda been few feet too,
didn't even care if the blue wires didn't go with the glue.

horrible strain of the underused crumble
for pie-type solutions or candy barracudas.
maybe there was a reason in some afterlife,
when the aftershave shoved the cherry ablaze.

but this is now and we gotta check the holodeck wreck
simulate stimulations for stem-cell characters.
why insult them with just half of a brain? stoop a little lower,
boost it down to ten percent, nine, eight, six, three, -2.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Despite man's best endeavor, fiction blog has turned personal, with The Revenge PT 1

Previously on Despite

"During normal writing classes, this would essentially be what we earlier learned is the second stage of any story," said a man wearing a t-shirt, colorful pants, and an enormous beard, "the 'conflict'."

"Beard!" said one of the students, getting up onto the classroom desk and dancing.

Then he realized none of his fellow students had joined in. His moves were ok, looking a little bit like Ricky Gervais (but not *as* bad) in that one scene in the Office, yet he solemnly wished he had never done that.

"You have no conflict!" screamed the wizard, and he smote the child that had jumped onto the classroom desk after whatever influences (parents) forced him to keep watching episode after episode of a British sitcom.

As a burning toffee, a little battered, and dare I say--vinegar--the student revealed that he had done the homework, but was just testing the Master to push the little guy who sits in the corner into the washing machine.

"Beard!" tried the student again.

"F-fuh--err." He checked his book, and then nodded at the whole class. "Ah. Yes, see: Foool me onc--"

The headmistress entered the room and ordered the children to sit still, quiet. Suddenly the room was silent.

Then she looked at him, and then her body actually *shifted* slightly away. "Ridiculous," she said, waving her hand about in the midst of his beard. "Absolute rubbish. Get rid of it!"

He tried to grab her hand, but this gesture was summarily rescinded, and just as she had appeared, she was gone.

He turned his head, all all these babies sitting at their desks were laughing at him.

"Liar, liar," they kept saying, "your beard is fired!"

He reached for the tiniest one of them, in a kind of 'pitcher' or (if you prefer cricket) 'bowling' move, and threw it into the washing machine.
End of Part One of Part Two (Chick Is Living The Good Life, Without You)

Despite man's best endeavor, fiction blog has turned personal.

Sure you start off writing a few stories after this chick leaves you.

You say, "This is all just fiction."

But it isn't, is it?


"Who the fuck are you?"

An annoying [adjective] person, whose one parent had awarded the missing of a fourth toe, was asking this upon fairly a pleasant granite rock, drenched in good waterfall shimmer.

"I'm just here to write," said the Observer.

"Hah," said the little guy, dancing on his dancing rock, "hah!" He then pulled away from said rock, slid behind and then kicked a small piece away with his toe, as though it were a pebble. "You can't write about me, young man!" he said.

The Observer recorded video, audio and speech, and then cataloged the collection as a 'Note'. "I'm not writing about you," he said. "I am writing fiction."


End of Part One (Chick Leaves You)

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Why do I always experience an inward laugh whenever Jordi in StarTrek finds a girl he won't end up with?

I want to talk today about relations and sips.

When you are a primary relation, you may sip once in the presence.

When you are a secondary relation, you could sip twice, but the second one must be assuredly done in 'secret'.

The third thing can sip the whole glass, as long as they have remembered to add salt.

Add Salt!!!

so march loves

An intrusive mal-prediction once slipped as
a mistake by a father to fix the kid's broken yo-yo.
yo, yo,
you can never fix the kid's yo-yo, yo.

(don't even try)

but if you tried, here's a butter cookie.
the butter cookie envelopes the cookier parts,
making sure you never learn about puns.

"My God, I am so Smarty!"

Saturday, August 13, 2011

the big mess

yo yo yo yo yo yo i'm just sayin'
when that density props you to lorraine,
sensitivity to comments online is 'just playin''.

my arrogance i'm sure defies the lies that lie after
soaping themselves all this time with lye,
found in some backwater cultural artifact;

said with tact and no facts
slipping through the teeth.

Only facts both in your brain and heart,
veins and ateries, and neurons,

need to slip through anything, whatever it is,
just to get to wherever they need to

...wait ... did I say I was limiting myself to two things?



I'd really like to start, I want to part
with baseless accusations of demise of my soul.
I'm not absconded of it, simply playing with

its parameters because what else would you do?

If you saw your own soul, wouldn't you mess with it too?

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Ad Guide

A common issue that pops up is that somebody, somewhere, had received the virus from their computer. Like, I was visiting the wards of AIDS patients the other day (don't ask me why), and I spoke to one of the kiddies, and they told me in great detail how the virus had been transmitted to them simply 'by proxy' during an interaction with the computer.

"It doesn't have to be like that," I said to the child, rampant in my own personal arrogance. "Why would it have to end up like that?"

The kiddie then explained to me that they were using a Windows Operating System and that that had been their primary preferred option.

"I need to have windows," said the baby, all choked up, to me--and that was when I suddenly experienced a surge of anger that had not been in me for probably aeons.

I immediately ran from the room and began writing my guide to the galaxy (of computer operating systems (for those who came before)). As a litmus test or control, I used two people who never understood why I needed a computer -- my parents. Herein is both the result of the experiment and the guide itself, all wrapped in one.

Parent: Hey, kid, computer is broken again. Go check in the vacuum tunnel.

Me (Distracted from epic battle on Street Figher): You wot?

Parent: You need to go and check the vacuum tunnel.

Me: We don't use vacuums anymore, parent. At least not in the house.

Parent (Insistent, demanding): Then why is all of this popping up in my face now?

Me (pauses the epic battle): Oh f ... .... bloody ... hell. What have you gone and done now?

Parent: I need to read an email, but something keeps popping up.

Me: You're using Windows

Parent: That's what 99% of the world uses

Me (laughs out loud, like something very horrible happened inside my stomach, ulcer-like): Statistics from 1999, my friend. Ask any random customer at Starbucks. They are all using Macs.

Parent: I've heard of these...'Macs', as you call them. Do you think I could replace the computer with that? A nice shiny new notebook? Then, maybe, I could finally read this email?

Me: You're starting to become Australian. Every statement sounds like the ending of a question.

Parent: I am not.

Me (sighs): Ok, ok. Yes, you could get a Mac from an Apple Store

Parent: Apple store? Oooo...I like the sound of that...

Me: Yeah, it's nice (grabs a Mac from an Apple Store). See? There's nice pictures for performing interactions with it? It shows you how to do everything? Do you see that?

Parent: I love it

Me: (Leaves parent and goes back to epic Street Figher battle)

Parent: Hey, it's still popping up, and I can't read the email.

Me: (Throws controller into screen -- it was a losing battle anyway). Alright, alright. Now I'm going to install something for you that will no longer invoke the wrath of all pop-ups.

Parent: Does it have windows? Remember, I need windows.

Me: Yes, it has f ... ... bloody ... windows.

Parent: And mouse? I need a mouse.

Me: You can have a mouse with the Mac, but only 1 button.

Parent: You wot?

Me: Just one button on a mouse if you use a Mac

Parent: I can't live with that. I'm going to get confused.

Me: That is the state of most people using that product.


Saturday, August 6, 2011

stepgnostic by tall broom, flowers only to the shower

When I turn on the switch or switch on my

either flip like interaction or pouring blood on my face

"These are my bloods," says the Vampire Earth (forever the sucking soul),

Wait wait, hold on, I say, "You're not giving me a chance to shampoo."
Let me shampoo.

"No," says the entire fucking Earth. "No. You have to come out now."
"Eject from me!"

Then I go to work

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Upon Meeting a New Woman

He covered her face with the cottage creamy cheese and raspberry *truffle* ice cream they had ordered together, and now he stood back to determine his artistic prowess.

"Please await a sexual harassment suit," she said, and then she said:

"Did you put any of the strawberrie-"

"Raspberries," he interjected.

She nodded, and peered into his eyes to check whether he was speaking the truth.
"Raspberry ice-cream, maam," he peered back at her. "Nothing less for your excellency."

"Don't ever tell anyone," she said.
"Don't tell anyone which aspect of this?" he replied. She was leaving him, and he deserved to get at least that edge.

"Don't tell them what we did with the raspberry ice-cream."


Years later he was staring into that same scene. He knew it was possible that he had started to emulate aspects of her. Hell, let's just be upfront about it -- he was emulating her entire personality every night. Every characterism, every bodily movement of hers, her thought pattern he had been able to grasp during their short time together.

"I will never tell them what it's really like," he said to her.
"Selfish," she said, being cheeky, but clearly feeling secure.

There was note by a flute player, and then she was disappeared.

"Bring it on, fiesty-tits, bring it on," he said, unconsciously.

"My job is just serving the coffee buddy," said the new woman. "Good luck."

Friday, July 29, 2011

Cherry Tomatoes

A tear trickled down a cherubic cheek,
intimating this gross betrayal.
Quick to follow, the baby's painful shriek,
rejecting food 'cos of the tomatoes.

On halcyon days its mother had enjoyed
in groves of lemon thick as pies,
the largest of reddest fresh tomatoes
and fed herself slices from a glistening knife.

So panic now fully spread, who'dda thunk,
after those whole nine months bred?
That this baby would hate such tomatoes given,
'n weep with fury and see only red?

"It's a tomato, baby," says the mother,
trying to learn what the hell is wrong.
The baby flings the slice like a frisbee
that lands on his father's computer-side cheek.

Now both parents, panicking,
tend worriedly to their little king.
"Help me try and understand, dear God,"
says father, putting an arm around the mother's bod.

Finally, first words come from the baby's mouth:
not 'mama' or 'dada' or 'bubba boobboo';
but a pellet-like shot straight to their guts
it says, "I prefer the cherry tomatoes."

Curious, dumbfounded, they ask, slyly, "Oh, really?"
The baby just nods. Another tear down cherubic cheek.
"And why cherry tomatoes, not normal, nicely sliced
tomatoes like mommy likes?"
asks the mommy.

"Cos they *pop*" says the baby, smiling happily.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

inspired by a poem that was inspired by ween

so offline sky is totally dark,
no worries, just plug in the stars.
stars are in the cartridge you kept safe

what are we waiting for? let's put in the tape.

all i watch on netflix anymore is the universe
when they finally bring my hearse, let the lid
have an interior panel from the nice guys
at the planetariums i always go by.

coffin has a coffee-stand and a bed and a chair.
string looming from the roof that i can pull in case they need to know i'm not really dead.
i connect online in my grave and then peer at a wall;

at somewhere behind there, someone poorer than me's bones.

Got to find out what the GF is doing
now that I'm dead, it's all open for her.
She can do anything. So I send her an email from a pseudonym,

complimenting her.
Saying she's awesome.
Everything I should have done

before I actually died.

Response to the Elephantine

Nasal twine sleepy like child mind merely shaky.
Harrumphs are for grandads, not you or me.

Poison everyday, deep inside my soul
injected by, I thought, simpletons
then realized -- other souls.

Combative stance was held, for an hour or two.
Then the women from the woods came
and said "This party is boring."

So then I had to go.

(for the record:)

This party didn't register
that highly in my mind.

Guess since my mind's always partyin'
very hard to register any Time.

I just run to the beat of the clocks
or I run to the beat of the casiotone
or I run to the beat of Andromeda dancing with the Milky Way.

Or I run to the beat of nothing so cosmic,
I just run to anyone's daily panic.
Like I'm some kind of Superman,
except just in the mind.

Gotta cough really special some time in the future now,
better than all the other trite.
Heh, I'd love if that becomes my constant mantra
when I finally lose my mind.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Thurman's Error

Thurman's error is actually just a pretty funny non-sensical errorl, but I feel I need to document it due to the fact that we ended up with me posing a real knife at Thurman's neck, that night, when all the electricity was gone from Manhattan.

I'd spent the earlier part of the condition with good friends, who I noticed were having more fun together. Why I ever went to the bar and had to deal with Thurman after that was that it was, I guess, a pretty dark night, and I could have talked to anyone (honestly, how important was it?).

Instead I spent time debating with Thurman on Apples and Oranges.

I, as a software engineer, was the Apples (lulz bill gates, try as hard as you can, you will never make clever enough things. Wait. Bill Gates makes Apple computers, right??? Whatever, they probably fucked each other in the 80s.

I tell Thurman that I am an apple to his oranges. He doesn't take it well.

That was his error. He should have taken it.


Sunday, June 12, 2011

assimilar nightmare

Woke up, dream. This guy in my dream comes over, sleeps in my apartment. I provide him a mattress.

A little later, I'm exploring a totally different level.

There's like a 'bridge' that exists, and I'm walking upon it.

"Well, great," I say to myself as I reach the end of the bridge. "This is just great."

Suddenly a car traveling on a distant road goes off course and plunges into the abyss.

That car had people inside it! There were children falling there!

The next 25 days is spent watching this kind of destruction constantly.

Cars containing important things, just falling off cliffs.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Haunted Parrot Episode IV: "Lorraine, My Density has Plopped Me 2 ya"

"I can't see," said the parrot, perched carefully upon DePeter's left shoulder.

DePeter's batted him away. "What the hell," he said. "Stop trying to fly around like an idiot, then!"

The parrot looked back at him. He had never been insulted like this. By a woman, face-on.

"Oh really?" said the Parrot. "You going to try and approach some kind of 'permission' with us? It nodded at the room that the deceased had inhabited.

"You're just a bad drunk, and you can't even fly," said the parrot.

DePeter's checked frantically into his cellphone, trying to find an SPCA.

Amidst his drunken state, he realized that all the animals had to be put into the right place.

Haunted Parrot Episode IV:

Sunday, June 5, 2011

husband your resources!

loading time
worse than playing, ok?
now we only have to view

things we think accomplished.

thought we're together,
now know that's wrong.
but still love you

though you hate me.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

second part of the brain will slip out when you go to music concerts

it will be horrible,
kissing amid some randomly
historical armor.

your armour,
you lips, my defenses
lunar eclipse.

approach our small escapade,
make notes to go home and relate.
we then rise, so we can go on on our

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

getting rid of the memories of someone you obviously care a lot about

A lot of people ask me how I can be so one-dimensional
as to only enjoy one fucking movie, 'The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'
so much so that it is one of my facebook profile pics.
Oh wait, you're too cool to be on Facialbook.

Let me re-arrange.
In fact, let me place a signal, instead.
Since re-arranging has become commonplace,
let me work only off off remixes.

I don't have the original source,
and am ok with that, on this
imagined level.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Haunted Parrot, Chapter 2: Re: Woody Woodpecker

Chapter 1 is here

"You're a mean drunk," said the bird. De'Peters had been having a horrible day. All these animals were just...too much.

How the hell did she do it? Sitting there in her little house with all these little pets of hers. How did she care for them all? What was her secret recipe? These were the thoughts that had been circling his head as he sat alone in the dank storeroom at the 14th Precinct with all of the animals he had rescued. Sarge had told him that he had to sit there, make sure none of the 'witnesses' escaped. Of course, it was a very important job, and De'Peters nodded heroically. It was, perhaps, at this remarkable stance of bravery that Sarge had taken some small pity, and slipped De'Peters a pint bottle of whiskey.

This was a big event. De'Peters had not seen too much kindness in his life, so Sarge handing him the drink had been a sign that things were somehow changing. De'Peters was always tuned to this kind of phenomena. He had read a lot of books about what people call 'the subconscious realm', a realm where he could believe She-Ra truly existed, She-Ra would join forces with him, Prince Adam, and they would rule as King and Queen.

Yet, tonight was not a night to get that deep. All he had to do tonight was guard the animals until people from the groups that truly cared about them came along to rescue him. Them. They were coming to rescue the animals, not him.

"You're a 2-bit whore," said the parrot, without sympathy.

De'Peters just laughed. There wasn't anything more this bird could do to him. "Really," he said, swinging the whiskey at the bird's face, "a 2-bit whore? What else you got?"

"I know who's the murderer," said the parrot. "I know him by face, voice and smell."

De'Peters took another swig of whiskey. "Yeah, but you don't know him by touch," he mocked.

"You're a mean drunk," said the parrot.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Haunted Parrot, Chapter 1: Polly Wanna Spectre

A boring door housed a boring lock that was boringly picked. There was no skill required, just a boring pair of hands (his own boring little hands) and the type of hair-pin his boring mother might have used to keep her hair carefully fashioned from his boring little hands that picked so boringly at her boring locks in the boring house with no door. Snap, you say?

There was a scuffle in the middle of the stairs, and then, from the perspective of just one eye, thick red blood. Someone had been cut in the darkness, obviously. Obviously very deeply, given the spurt that was witnessed. Maybe right through an artery. Then, someone had fallen off, around the railing, into the living room below, and clearly died (from the noise of it). It was all a mess, and there was only one eye recording everything. Focusing in, focusing out. Squawk. "Camera time, camera time!"


Later on the police came by. It didn't really seem like they knew what had happened, or what was going on. De'Peters, still a rookie, told his Sarge that this woman who lived here was basically obsessed with animals more than anything else. "I mean just take a look around, Sarge," said De'Peters, "Look at all her animals that she has." He dusted a nearby box and then almost jumped out of his pants, for the box, in fact, was housing for a pair of large, strange looking either worms or eels.

"Well, which is it?" said the Sarge.

"The SPCA is gonna have to be involved in this case, Sarge, we'll have to call in the SPCA," said De'Peters. "We gotta make sure none of these little guys just ends up dying here. Look, look -- some of them appear to be very sick." He watched a pair of hummingbirds sadly vibrate in their cage for a few seconds, then desist.

"Ok," said Sarge, and then he walked away from De'Peters and his animals, and went to stand with everyone else who was looking at the human bodies instead.

De'Peters nodded and quietly went about his own work, which seemed to consist of listing all the creatures in the apartment so that PETA or whatever it was could come over and pick us up.