Trooli Effingoode . works of fiction

La Maison Impossible

2012-01-23T12:38:00.000-08:00

(Partie 4, Protocole Fantôme)

"Ahem, sorry. Actually going to be a party for six, actually," he said. There was the sound of velvet rustling in the background, and he coughed again. "Ahem, hem. Sorry again. Looks like it could be twelve."

"Pour douze!"

Then there was a lot of shouting into the phone and a struggle to take control of the receiver. Shortly thereafter, he returned, and breathed heavily: "Party for these all these haughty pricks now. Looks like we'll need room for the whole damn team." Then he put down the phone.

Back at the maison, they were scrambling "Dix-huit, imbeciles, dix-huit!"

"Pourquoi sont-ils faire la fête, monsieur?" asked one of the young children.

The chef took the child and put it in the oven.

DHCP Release. DHCP Renew. Shit is like yoga or something.

2012-01-23T08:55:00.000-08:00

"Oh, don't mind me," he said. "Just poking fun at my router's abysmal 'web interface'."

She turned back to her door and inserted her key.

"Because that's what I have to spend my fucking life doing," he went on, getting up. He kicked a blue plastic device hardly with his foot, making it roll against the wall twice. "Cajole a fucking router," he said, holding his right foot to in both hands now. The toe was pushed deep into his belly, and, wincing, he hopped back into his apartment.

She turned the key, opened her door, and entered her beautiful sauna equipped satin pleasure dome.

Pricks and Pones

2012-01-19T20:01:00.001-08:00

When the judge called for the defendant to be brought in, a curtain of gasps and whispers from both sides of the aisle preceded him.

Detective Stoole turned to see what the all the commotion was about, and nearly spat his tongue out when he saw the defendant's face. The man was black and blue all over his head, the left eyelid swollen and hanging over his cheek like the top of a soggy portobello mushroom. His jaw was veered to the right, and as he creaked his mouth open painfully with each step, the Detective could see he was even missing a few teeth. A prison guard had to hold the man steady as he walked up the courtroom to his attorney.

Stoole, mouth still wide open, spun to look at Warden Billingsley, who was standing just a few rows down from him. Billingsley raised his eyebrows and smiled widely back at him, and then conspiratorially rubbed his nose. Detective Stoole held his hands out, palms up, and mouthed something at him.

The Warden's smile didn't fade, but he mouthed back, "What?"

Detective Stoole walked down swiftly and stood next to the Warden. "What the hell have you done to him?" he asked, quickly but hushed.

The Warden couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh from deep in his belly. "Ah, don't worry, Detective, none of it will come bite us."

The Detective looked at him still puzzled. "But--why? What did you have to beat him up like that for?"

At this, the smile on the Warden's face turned into an annoyed frown. "Damn pervert, Stoole. He got what was comin'. Come, this isn't the first time you've seen this. I mean--what if it was your child, huh? It's a good thing you caught him, too. But you should know all that--you're the one who charged him."

Detective Stoole was utterly confused. What the hell was Billingsley talking about? "But it--it wasn't that bad," he whispered.

"Uh, I think," snorted Billingsley, "I think I know what's bad, and what's just utterly sick, Mr. Detective," he said, tapping a wad of paper that was folded in his pocket. It was a copy of the arresting charge that Stoole had filed.

Stoole snatched the document from the Warden's pocket and unfolded it quickly. He scanned through the details, and then he grew very still. "Oh shit," he said, "oh shit, oh shit".

Warden Billingsley peered back at him. "What?"

Stoole looked back. "The charge. It was supposed to be 'Downloaded porn illegally'," he said, "not 'Downloaded illegal porn'".

Shadow Fax

2012-01-14T21:46:00.000-08:00

The modem is able to whistle certain tunes.
One of them begins as a call to ShadowFax,
(who, without digging for the Silmarillion, but maybe quick Google-ing)
is the Lord of the mearas.

ShadowFax *happens upon* Arod and Hasufel, almost by accident.
Then returns to those who truly care for the horses.

It is a very natural and *real* world.
A world well left untouched by my virtual hands.
A fantasy with heart, fermented during those most depraved of days
when Squires would see their Arms in lakes
and lakes would see Arms gaze at their Squires

...what other madness could provoke a man to write?
but love or love, or love, my love?

.

Can't say I'll go through what Tolkein
did but then, so much was left unsaid.
Can't hope to mimick Sir Terry Pratchett,
unless it is to ape Rincewind.
Rowling, though I've only watched your movies
not out of shun, but due to time:
can see why readers young and old love you.
Can't hope to write that wizard's life.

.

In small fiddling with fires of revolution
where plastics may singe arms but wires
electrocute,

wherever you try to fit the best possible signals
or die teeth cracked and lips some cobalt,
I'll speak of the immense magic of evolution;
it was never your father's or mother's fault.

With gusts in rivers lined in moss
or cool blood of a newly eaten reptile,
could be swimming with Kurzweil or laser sharks

...

No. Not sharks with lasers on their heads,
Sharks made of lasers, that's Shadoo0FX.

Whistle now.

What was Supposed to be a Soothing and Nurturing Persona Has Become a 24-hour Abuse Line

2012-01-08T15:53:00.000-08:00

"Hey"

"No, I didn't call you."

"Yes, you did. You called to see whether I was going to say cool things, like back in the day."

He correlated. "Well then," he asked. "Are you?"

"Bitch who fuck do you think this is, your mom?"

"Mmm. Actually you are my mom."

"I just want you to stop drinking all the alchhols"

"Of course you do."

"Maybe now you can switch to the *third* person."

"Maybe I'm actually winning in Zelda -- did you ever think about that?"

"Shut up and stop drinking."

"Is this how you create terrorists?"

"Oooo. Wait What are you saying?"

"Your voice sounds all husky, like Colonel Gaddaffi."

"Shut up. I'm not the colonel!"

"You're the kernel": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SlkSDvQxMUQ

Steps, Parts 1, 2 and Threee

2011-12-30T14:33:00.000-08:00

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!

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

2011-12-29T22:00:00.000-08:00

"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."

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

2011-12-24T20:43:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-24T13:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Cuteness

2011-12-18T08:11:00.000-08:00

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
cool.

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.

Creamy

2011-12-11T00:05:00.001-08:00

(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

Bring Me Dinner!

2011-12-10T23:35:00.000-08:00

(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

then, of course, really happy part

2011-11-26T02:32:00.001-08:00

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?
I SAID I'M HAPPY
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

2011-11-26T02:26:00.000-08:00

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.

2011-11-20T04:04:00.000-08:00

(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: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faerie_Tale_Theatre
(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: :)

Ability to See Chickens In Any Dimension, Regardless

2011-11-19T12:33:00.000-08:00

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.

What If Blog Was One of Us?

2011-11-07T09:19:00.000-08:00

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.

Cheapest (in a true sense) Halloween Costume Ever

2011-10-22T09:05:00.000-07:00

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 are...in 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

2011-10-22T06:06:00.000-07:00

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
overalls?

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.

Premise for Murder Mystery

2011-10-16T20:08:00.001-07:00

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?"

"Well--"

"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--"

"Yes?"

"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."

"What?"

"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."

"Streets?"

"Yeah, I'm just walking around, in the streets, all of a sudden I experience this feeling like...like 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."

'coconut milk' (stolen)

2011-10-11T09:03:00.000-07:00

www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQ8rstSxeUs

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;
life.

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?

weak end

2011-10-10T18:19:00.000-07:00

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.

Mellow Green

2011-10-01T21:51:00.000-07:00

dot dot DOT
Cheetos try to scratch but the bigger anomaly
'is it got a lease saying "at least".

What if not a good personal vibe?
Do we have to make it global, so any little kid can ride?
a bicycle on a predicted path;
if all of y'all's so psychic why not mass save humanitay?

coma coma comma, and this the end of the line for her;
my shotgun wedding and the uzi on the booze control.
she hung himself with the unaligned tease,

beefcake pantyhose choking with the related things.

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

2011-10-01T04:44:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-10-01T04:21:00.000-07:00

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)

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

2011-09-03T08:48:00.000-07:00

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

2011-09-03T06:52:00.000-07:00

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!"

the big mess

2011-08-13T03:36:00.000-07:00

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?

Ad Guide

2011-08-07T23:15:00.000-07:00

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.

[EDIT
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.

Parent:
/EDIT]

stepgnostic by tall broom, flowers only to the shower

2011-08-06T15:07:00.000-07:00

When I turn on the switch or switch on my
shower

either flip like interaction or pouring blood on my face
occurs.

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

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

Upon Meeting a New Woman

2011-07-30T09:08:00.000-07:00

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."

Cherry Tomatoes

2011-07-29T23:30:00.000-07:00

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.

"Is that all you do, play videogames?"

2011-07-24T06:44:00.001-07:00

I also sometimes write poetry about 'certain moments'.
There are beings, aliens out there called Certain Moments.
These aliens want to communicate with us, and they wish to
impress us with various bodies of works which they have done (so far).

It is wrong to simply say that these 'Certain Moments' don't exist,
or that they NEVER existed. This is complete fallacy.
So herein I present, a poem entitled 'Certain Moments' (what you thought the title was what I actually put into the text input)?

....
Far flung from flinging fleets,
or crisp and cool bed sheets, or sweets.
Little guy trying to save own life
doesn't know yet about grief and strife.

Do you still like things you once loved?
Or has love become an elaborate stove
upon which any idea is cooked
only to be eaten by your cruel tooths?

I visit every night, the blue planet--
uranus--with not jibes but greater desire to learn.
Hard to step in, son and mate:
but Earth needs the polar parts

We have polar bears and seals
back home, and we need to take advantage
of your resources

to save them.

inspired by a poem that was inspired by ween

2011-07-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

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

2011-07-23T05:48:00.001-07:00

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.

Thurman's Error

2011-07-16T09:57:00.000-07:00

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.

;)

how this is even plausible coming from someone like me, i don't know, but it has always been about a girl

2011-07-09T13:02:00.000-07:00

in the middle of a documentary
your lips were so fun and 'fuck off'
you stood there in front of tiffany's

ok, wait :) what was actually happening here?
you wanted me to go inside and buy you a diamond ring!
and i didn't. fuck idiot.
wait. who just said that?
"it is an imaginary girl that you construct because you failed to propose."

ah, new guilt trip. what else do you know, about us? about me and her?

"you put your videos online. and all the photos. including me. :("

"Including you? Who the fuck are you man?" I asked, and what content delivery network harbors these amazing library of photos?

"I hate you for it," said the hating machine.

I curled up. This had begun as an abstract poem
"Whoa, where is this coming from little guy? Why you fronting? Why you trying to get some juice out of me?"
"Because you are so juicy," said the robot.
"I know what's going on here," I nodded, wisely. You just need a small mathematical problem, and you will be set."

"Like?"
"Well, what is 42?"
The computer went to work, and I could rest for a little while. ^^yaay atheists^

assimilar nightmare

2011-06-12T03:51:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2011-06-11T11:33:00.002-07:00

"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:

2011-06-11T11:33:00.001-07:00

husband your resources!

2011-06-05T04:21:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2011-05-28T09:43:00.000-07:00

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

your armour,
you lips, my defenses
ellipsed,
lunar eclipse.

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

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

2011-05-25T11:34:00.000-07:00

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.

Haunted Parrot, Chapter 2: Re: Woody Woodpecker

2011-05-07T02:01:00.001-07:00

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.

Haunted Parrot, Chapter 1: Polly Wanna Spectre

2011-05-06T12:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Gentle Munch

2011-03-13T13:16:00.000-07:00

Chortle, exactly nobody
knows, it'll snow again
around eight, or nine.

Words are a little bit like
ducks or soup or velvet.
Tongue's about to have fun.

Dolphin vs whale sex is now
an important research goal;
Surely they can't just come
from eggs?

Snap, call the fool, poker face.
Snakes and ladders is
'chutes' and ladders in the USA.
They 'chute' a lot (heh)

Somebody go outside
and buy me a gun,
then return home, put it in my hands.
Yeah, it's not a small gun:

needs at least two hands.

Things I Would Say To A Lover

2011-02-22T07:28:00.000-08:00

Your hair is the fluffiest.

Full of fiesta and pretentiousness
and fiat,

Yellow in my hands,
empty.

I'm not angry, just a little hurt.
A Little Hurt,

Tiny one.
But who am I to discuss these complicated details,
with you after the ending of a movie about
some retard's inability to speak?

Kidding, kidding.

Always kidding. I remember
just joking one time, in your face,
and suddenly
you did not find me funny anymore.

You did not feel I had the capacity
to entertain you over the long term,
or retain your inclusiveness,
in any manner.

So obviously there are a ton
of things that have to be uttered by me
upon the wind (in lieu of you)
You know what? You are no Helena Bonham Carter.

Haha!

My bad, my bad. This is not 'things I would say in anger'.

.

What I would say to a long gone lover is:
"I'm older now."

Things I Would Say to a Baby

2011-02-06T09:31:00.000-08:00

If I had a baby, these are some things I would tell it. Rather than buy it all the toys in the universe.

----
Mythology is an extremely important concept for you to understand. No, your father is not Lucifer, or some kind of vagabond creature let loose upon greater humanity -- no. He is, in fact, a myth.

Babies like myths.

They like being told about all kinds of scenarios, their brains being young and full of ability to regenerate cells (unlike you or me). They love make-believe. And they absolutely love it when you tell them that a certain thing is a certain way. It shapes who they are. They eat it up. Which is why mythology is extremely important.

A myth is a sort of story that somebody can tell, like your friend's parent that tells funny stories regarding some sort of 'God'.

In your friend's world, there is this guy, 'God', that walks around like he is the coolest damn thing since history. God ordains -- yes, ordains -- various things. He ordains, for example, that dolphins follow certain rules when interacting with humans shooting a documentary.

Babies love documentaries that have dolphins in them.

Anyway, so in your friend's world, this 'God' character roams about. This is your first introduction to mythology. Crazy, right? But it is true. This 'God' does not actually exist. It was just made up. It was made up by your friend's mom or dad. Why? Because they don't love their child enough. They don't love it enough to properly understand the ways and whiles of the world, so they just mock up some bullshit and fling it in their baby's face.

Good thing you came into my hands. Somebody that actually cares, and has taken the pain-staking time to examine mythology in full, in order to convey it successfully to you. Okay, so far everything I've said probably sounds horrid, and terrible. If I was a baby, I would be crying out, wailing, "Rubbish, rubbish!"

So it is also my job to make sure you know that mythology, despite its flaws, its fallacies and outright perjury, is actually fun. You can have fun with this, and I am going to be the one that makes sure you have all the information.

You can make mythologies. They say you can't, but I say you can. You're not a little baby--you can make it up. And it is fun!

I have to go now. But I hope that one day I will see you again, and you will tell me an amazing story.

Worst Thing Ever

2011-02-06T00:32:00.000-08:00

"Imagine," she said, standing there on her high-horse, "the worst thing ever. That is for you."

"The worst thing?" I asked (to confirm. This conversation having taken an unexpected direction).

"Absolutely the most horrible thing ever."

I think for two seconds, then shoot from the hip: "In a space station, and I am ejected into the vacuum of outer-space."

She is not impressed. Her eyes turn into red laser-beams. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I ask you about the worst thing ever, and you give me some sci-fi bullshit? Stop being such a nerd, and say something real. Something profound. Something realistic."

I go back to my devices; my notebooks and my usb drives and my Lego sets. I inspect everything for realism. For profundity. I find it, and return to her, victorius.

"I'm pregnant when they space me?" I say.

This is when the noise starts. She is furious, livid. Angry. Zones of her hairdo begin to erupt, like Vesuvius upon Pompeii. I have to return to my packaging in order to survive her fury. Only slivers of reasoning are traceable within the comfort zone I need to maintain in order to remain alive.

"I said realistic, you motherfucker!!!"...bzzt bzzt..."Why are you still in outer-space, come the fuck back home"...bzzt..."Nobody likes science fiction. So there."

Spin-off From a Poem Titled 'Untitled'

2011-01-01T05:18:00.000-08:00

It is a new year
not a holy day, or some plot
by the herd that tries to
separate one's being from another.

Stampeding, as I get kicked by hooves
(who haves and who've had)
till my contact lens finally goes dry,
drops, suddenly there is only blurry vision

of you.

Is it getting better?
Did I leave a bad ringtone in your phone?
I ask you for forgiveness,
you tell your carrier I'm a psychopath.

Well that went well, for a little bit.
I have all your photos maybe someday
I'll delete all of it.
You asked me a question,

and no they'll never be online!

The only thing you left online
was a button saying 'online',
a button I'd long ago altered
with whiteout and a skilled hand.

I had been a scribe then,
now all I am is a poet.
Or so I type to you,
does it matter you don't know it?

The Constant Wagner

2010-12-31T12:00:00.000-08:00

Sure, sure, sure, sure, sure

Sure sure she loves you sure sure

Sure.

How come she left you then, prick?

.

This is The End. Beautiful friend.

i don't repeat myself twice for trends

or all cunning or elaborated flans, my friend.

Like every other douche, I fell.

Clapping at the president's hands.

Looks like the DREAM's not our best act.

.

She never loved you -- with those eyes?
It was just a thirteen month relationship for her,
must have just wanted to see how different one can be.
Must have been so devoid of love she just latched on to me.

.

Why do I remember women from years ago?
Can't they replace them with financing plans
or more useful things, like flans

.

and custard in your face.

.

That merits a paragraph :D

.

After you get bored of Wagner you can listen to 'Riders on the Storm' for seven minutes and eleven seconds.

.

"Unless you have a longer version," he said, looking down at her.

She fingered her nose ring back at him, from her bed. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

He unclipped it and, put it in her box of stickers and whatnot. "Just keep it safe, ok?" he told her. "You're only five. There is going to come a time when I will really have to deal with this crap."

"I'm six," she replied.

He smiled and patted her down. Dimmed the lights, but left the cartoons on the tv on.

.

As he walked down the stairs, he had a heart-attack. Clutching his chest, he rolled down each step. Finally he reached the bottom one, and was able to stride right back into step. You know that old thing your biology teacher used to tell you about the heart, how to hear it and shit? She was hot, that biology teacher.

He then retired to his study and went back to read about where she had come from.

Feet in the Grave (with Richard Wilson!)

2010-12-24T01:43:00.000-08:00

From time to time I will publish 'chats' that occur between myself and people on the internet at 3:59 AM. It's just one other guy, but I always replace his name so that he will never ever be famous. In the following transcript, I have changed his name to 'Locksley'. I am 'runningveindeep'.

----
(03:59:35 AM) Locksley: sup cracaka
(04:00:18 AM) runningveindeep: sup krakatoa
(04:00:45 AM) Locksley: started watching the robin hood series
(04:01:00 AM) Locksley: its pretty good
(04:01:07 AM) runningveindeep: it is a bitch that they stopped it
(04:01:19 AM) Locksley: did they finish it first?
(04:01:26 AM) runningveindeep: i kind of liked it. also, if you're watching that, you should watch 'Merlin'
(04:01:33 AM) Locksley: yeah, i was thinking of merlin
(04:01:38 AM) runningveindeep: they didn't finish it properly
(04:01:41 AM) Locksley: u serious
(04:01:45 AM) Locksley: they didn't do it properly
(04:01:46 AM) Locksley: wtf
(04:01:58 AM) Locksley: it looks like they can finish it at any time
(04:02:02 AM) runningveindeep: i'm sorry to be the one to convey this news
(04:02:20 AM) Locksley: why the hell am i even watching it then
(04:02:24 AM) runningveindeep: you're talking about the recent brit robin hood show, right?
(04:02:31 AM) Locksley: yes
(04:02:42 AM) Locksley: i'm in season 1
(04:02:48 AM) runningveindeep: well, it's pretty good up till the end
(04:03:08 AM) runningveindeep: by end i mean season 3 (or 2, i don't remember)
(04:03:15 AM) Locksley: robin marrys mary madelin, the bad people die though right
(04:03:26 AM) Locksley: there is 3 seasons 12 episodes in the 3rd season.
(04:04:02 AM) runningveindeep: yeah, i don't think it quite ends that way. i may be wrong. perhaps i should watch the last season again
(04:04:20 AM) Locksley: or the last episoe
(04:04:28 AM) Locksley: see some chick i know, was talking about how much she liked it
(04:04:31 AM) Locksley: so i starte watching it
(04:04:43 AM) runningveindeep: what i like about merlin is that they have this old guy from this show i used to watch as a kid 'one foot in the grave'
(04:04:48 AM) runningveindeep: Richard Wilson
(04:05:15 AM) runningveindeep: he's a right old welsh get
(04:05:25 AM) Locksley: i'm supposedly part welsh
(04:05:34 AM) runningveindeep: i know, sorry
(04:05:38 AM) Locksley: Italian, slovakian, welsh, something else
(04:05:47 AM) Locksley: sorry
(04:05:48 AM) Locksley: lol
(04:06:17 AM) runningveindeep: well, the welsh accent is highly amusing (and can be very sexy if said by girls)
(04:06:47 AM) Locksley: i tend to make fun of english chick accents on accident
(04:07:06 AM) Locksley: it happens when they are conversating w/ me. I automatically start talking like them and not even knowin it.
(04:07:08 AM) runningveindeep: it's not the same as english accents. this is the welsh accent we are talking about
(04:07:29 AM) Locksley: i'm not really sure of it, nor the difference
(04:07:41 AM) Locksley: do the welsh have their own tv shows
(04:08:01 AM) runningveindeep: i think they do, but they are all syndicated into the main BBC system
(04:08:10 AM) Locksley: agh
(04:08:16 AM) Locksley: i still am upset about this robin hood news
(04:08:22 AM) runningveindeep: i've never heard of a welsh satellite channel
(04:08:22 AM) Locksley: as i particularly like the show
(04:08:34 AM) Locksley: do u ever watch comedies
(04:08:54 AM) runningveindeep: just keep watching it. the way i'm saying it probably doesn't translate well
(04:09:13 AM) runningveindeep: i only watch very funny comedies
(04:09:20 AM) Locksley: well, I hope theres an extra episoe that u never seen that ties it together bettr
(04:09:29 AM) Locksley: theres a enw comedy called *Glory Daze*
(04:09:31 AM) Locksley: pretty good
(04:09:59 AM) runningveindeep: it sounds like if you wanted to give some girl some rohypnol or something
(04:10:29 AM) Locksley: well its a mix of ICU Old school and American Pie
(04:10:39 AM) Locksley: mainly reminds me of ICU to be honest thou
(04:10:44 AM) runningveindeep: is it something like 'Community'?
(04:10:58 AM) Locksley: never heard of that one
(04:11:11 AM) Locksley: 4 guys in a frat, freshmen
(04:11:41 AM) runningveindeep: that's the basis of glory days? have you seen bob saget's new show? it's on hulu.
(04:11:53 AM) Locksley: lol i'm sure thats probably ppretty good
(04:11:55 AM) Locksley: wats that about
(04:12:30 AM) runningveindeep: episode 3 is about joining a frat
(04:12:39 AM) Locksley: sagat is like 60 lol
(04:12:55 AM) runningveindeep: http://www.hulu.com/strange-days-with-bob-saget
(04:13:29 AM) runningveindeep: well, i've never really been inclined to join one of those. the whole 'fraternity' thing kinda gives me shudders
(04:13:47 AM) Locksley: agreed
(04:14:05 AM) Locksley: picking up chicks is more fun when you have to work for it
(04:14:11 AM) Locksley: frats just bring the girls right in
(04:14:35 AM) runningveindeep: you have to create a 'system' or something
(04:14:58 AM) Locksley: i was trying to remember all my exes tonight, was going to look em up on facebook.
(04:15:02 AM) Locksley: I can't rmeember them thou
(04:15:06 AM) Locksley: not even their names
(04:15:25 AM) runningveindeep: i remember their names, but not reasons to look them up on facebook
(04:15:39 AM) Locksley: lol see what they look like, if they r married, etc
(04:15:49 AM) runningveindeep: what's the point of looking them up on facebook?
(04:16:03 AM) Locksley: just to check see if they are alive n ok
(04:16:04 AM) Locksley: kinda thing
(04:16:17 AM) runningveindeep: that will only lead to some bad stuff
(04:16:43 AM) runningveindeep: like you make an animated gif of their stupid new boyfriend's face, and then make that your profile picture
(04:17:10 AM) Locksley: that would be funny as hell
(04:17:18 AM) Locksley: i don't know how to make animated gifs
(04:17:21 AM) Locksley: sunds like a lot of work
(04:17:38 AM) runningveindeep: ask your bro that does the computer stuff
(04:18:18 AM) runningveindeep: anyway, my point is, that is like a total void
(04:19:01 AM) runningveindeep: you just need to do more better things for yourself.
(04:19:25 AM) runningveindeep: like sign up for the next lunar eclipse, before it disappears from your hands
(04:20:59 AM) Locksley: my bro doesn't do computer stuff lol
(04:21:08 AM) Locksley: i know right
(04:21:10 AM) Locksley: wtf was that
(04:21:14 AM) Locksley: i stay up all god damn night evry day
(04:21:17 AM) Locksley: and i didn't even know about it
(04:21:41 AM) runningveindeep: maybe sign up for a newsletter on a page at nasa.gov or something?
(04:23:45 AM) Locksley: lol yeah, well its over for like the next 100 years or something
(04:23:46 AM) Locksley: right
(04:26:00 AM) runningveindeep: i'm getting bored of this conversation. let us talk tomorrow when you've found more things for me to examine.
(04:27:11 AM) Locksley: ur so gay

Slow Dispersion of Madness

2010-12-19T17:30:00.000-08:00

New to the 'shock cinema' industry, director Roman Polanski is making a film all about the recently escaped Charles Manshion.

Try hard as I may, I cannot say that name without adding a Sean Connery special effect plugin.

Also, rubber comes from trees, a long-known, yet persistent form of slavery. 'Rubber-tappers', as they are usually called, can be killed instantly if they do not conform to the order of the chief of that village.

Try and pull that apart next time you feel bendy.

I also want to communicate on the horrors that recently transpired. You know what I'm talking about.

If what you all wanted when you started to read this piece was just cool verbiage,

Witness the small and the large in some conjuncture
future will not threaten to kill.
Slow and enjoyable furniture
I think, therefore I am.

Where's the small way to go through?
Why's it always have to be on this scale?
Can't it be little and unassuming?
Like what flowers say are their names?

Slow dispersion of madness is a new technique
I'm employing to avoid future embarrassment.
If you do wake up tomorrow morning,
make sure you drive the car that is sleek.

like a dot, given euclid.
like a triangle, if pythagoras.
after that you're on your own, Google.
i'm just saying this from a place that i know well.

Slow Opening

2010-12-11T08:41:00.000-08:00

You have to carefully pleat the origami,
every finger you employ could be corduroy
approaching velvet, then bitch slap for saying
velvet. Satin, silk just milk

it, these are a lyrics to the song
whose plurals ... I mean, whose plurals?
Luxuriously singular, cos only one f-u finger
Goin' back to bank tonight to sleep in the best

cusses and slurs. (x2)

Okay we don't gotta be so mean.
I mean we mean we gotta get okay,
after that there will be a small hole
for whatever my mouth wants to say (it wants),

whatever my mouth wants to say (x2)

redding, grayer

2010-11-12T20:22:00.000-08:00

based on an offhand comment on social: "i just have a huge problem with beets. they're all red and stuff, but don't taste like what red is supposed to taste like"
=======================================

Red is supposed to taste like some apples,
piled all on top of some very fresh meat.
I know inside the fruit is kinda yellow,
or green or blue at high intensities,

and some brightness, eh?

But when red is introduced
into an outgoing stream from my wrist
watch (sorry about the hyphen), thought
this cool watch that pours red liquids

would be kinda cool to a new-tech fangled fool like you.

or me. i'm getting grayer.
my hair was black but now poses identity issues,
unlike your great red hair.
your beligerent, audacious, frankly mad
red hair.

(i can do ones about any color, black, blonde, purple).
auburn. i can do auburn.

You're the Piece of

2010-11-07T03:04:00.000-08:00

Goa'uld,
that flashes in one of my many souls.
As some fiction,
Stargate sucks hard,
but retains properties lending the merit

of my focus.

In a nearby dream/stream,
I'm the Grand Prix driver
every woman in that audience
is screaming for.

Gotta indulge yourself
sometimes when the truth is bleak.
Like when you have no limbs
you have to navigate empty space

without the thrusters.

Homeland Security Keeps Asking Me Who I am Going To Be For Halloween

2010-10-24T03:50:00.000-07:00

-------
This is a record of voicemails to my personal cellphone account:

---
Anon: Hi there, I'm Homeland Security. Just wanted to check in and discover who you are going to try to be this Halloween.

Me: [disconnect]

Anon: Hello again. Like I said, I am the security of your Homeland. This geographic boundary you call a 'home', and protect from all those gawd-awful evil-doers out there. Before you disconnect me again, try and think how this is going to look when it goes public. Look, all we want to know is what costume you will be wearing this Halloween.

Me: I am going as Kimbo Slice.

HS: Weak. All you'd have to do is shave your head and grow a beard. Surely you had had thoughts about going as a Vorlon Ambassador?

Me: Surely I did have such thoughts. But then I realized I don't have enough people willing to fit such a costume over me for little or no compensation. I also sometimes have thoughts that I could be a person talking on a cellphone that gets a call from 'Homeland Security'. And that that is actually a way for entire populations to feel really secure.

HS: You have fallen into my trap.

Me: No, *you* are going to fall deep into *my* trap.

HS: No you will

Me: Fuck you and come back when you grow a respectable face.

HS: I'm telling the Fatherland!

Me: Are we on mauve alert yet?
---
The call gets disconnected here, because HS didn't pay enough bills to its pay-to-go service plan.

Novel Hairstyle

2010-10-16T18:09:00.000-07:00

‎'Common Intrusion Alert Process': You know, how in movies or tv, the father or mother wakes up to a 'sound in the house'. They ask each other questions. Then the leading parent finds a quick weapon, and they slowly begin to explore their own house like it is a haunted mansion or something. I've always wondered how much that happens in real life.

----
Jim: You speak to me as though this was a first-person experience.

Bill: Are you kidding me? This is third-person -- I only used the 'I' as a character in the novel.

Jim: Rubbish, you are back to your old habits again. Writing trite pieces that apparently describe *your* experience in the vain hope that you might, at some point, somehow, strike gold and spit out a piece that garners Universal Acceptance.

Bill: Some might say that a number of human works are, in fact, direct presentations of the artist, him or her self. That in translating a particular 'experience' or turn of events by directly locating oneself as a participant lends the works a sense of authenticity unparalleled by these 3rd-person utilizing, machine-generated products -- or, in other words, the type of vapid fiction that you generate. Anyway, all I said was that "I've always wondered how much that happens in real life." And to be very honest, I really do. I often wonder that. The rest of it was 3rd person.

Jim: So what happened? You were sitting there 'wondering', while these excuses for characters were inching down the staircase, in their nighties, with a bat?

GTA V Details

2010-10-15T23:05:00.000-07:00

Q: GTA IV was based on New York City. What location should GTA 5 be based on?

Original Answer: Pyongang (good luck, Rockstar Games)

After further thought,

It should be Grand Theft Auto: Bicycle Edition

Bicycling seems to have become a popular activity these days. There now exist entire segments of population that cheer the bicycle as a more appreciable transportation method than your gas guzzling automobile.

Why not make a GTA game focusing on bikes to venerate this human behavior? Bicycle theft is nothing new - it has been happening since the BMXs of the 80s. Back then, if you had an awesome new bike, better than any of the other kids' bikes, you knew it was only a matter of time before someone would steal it. I bet a creative game designer could come up with tons of ideas to make such a game fun. The only real challenge would be for all players to virtually petition respective police departments in the real world to consider bicycle stealing a 'Grand Theft'.

How I Truly Feel About the Product

2010-10-09T05:45:00.000-07:00

at first apple the base whose thirst was flung not far from parch.
then patched again to entertain brains times twelve or thirteen.
how could they not fall into this gutter of ineptitude?
you think i'm all organic but i'm about destroying stupid ideas like you.

lets get less technopolitical.
your orifices were 'decent', last i was told.
told by a view that was educated by a sound,
your smell is known well in my compound.

how do algorithms react when interrupted?

of course i love i love i love i love you
we love all of you all of you and all of you
possibly want deeper relationships possibly want d

.

d

.

dx

.

dy

I just want a huge slab of Camembert on my lap right now.

2010-10-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

Long gone are the times we made dry
jokes at expense of peers for
mispronouncing brie.

Inward dehydration,
yet outward it remains so supple;
I think I may have a whole new favorite cheese.

Our humor no longer has to be at expense of some lame other.
Now we just laugh for the sake of laughing itself.
This Sake of Laughing is

quite unlike the Sake of Murder, but close.
Everybody says to you, in that state, "Kill them. Kill them all."
You go back to how when you were a baby you could just make them all play dead.

Tilt

2010-09-29T23:36:00.000-07:00

tongue twists, head in other direction.
on slaughts the panic avalanche,
pebbles can no longer hope to stand firm.

light rays in murky wood between heavy growth,
bestowing accidents of nature
with temporary divinity.

there lies the severed corpse so mossy green.
home to insects and small ambition,
head underwater, ambition lost.

giants arrive in their own time, to see.
bodies propelled by greater direction,
every cell a member of vast consortiums.

sentience bestows the fallen with ceremony.

The Minitour

2010-09-25T15:03:00.001-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc0mxOXbWIU

This is something that should be repeated every time upon waking from sleep. For treatment purposes.

Anyway, most employers are now already familiar with Tourette Syndrome, a rare inherited neuropsychiatric condition that causes sufferers to express 'tics' in seemingly random fashion. HR departments already know that these 'tics' are not necessarily always profane. They know that if, say, a person had declared this syndrome during an interview, they cannot just 'count him/her out', citing that this person would disrupt the common working environment with expletives.

Everybody knows all this by now. What nobody knows is that I suffer from a milder variant of Tourette, as yet officially unnamed but typically referred to by the uninitiated human population as 'being an asshole'. I want to stray away from this crass term, however, and renomenclate [sic] my condition. I will name it the 'Mini-tour Syndrome'. This is a clever way to express that the condition is a *mild* variant of Tourette Syndrome, while bringing an aspect of Greek mythology into the bargain (Greek mythology is always important when injecting terms into language) in the form of a 'pun'. 'Mini-tour' is like 'Minotaur', a Greek mythology that comes in the form of a man with a cow's head, geddit?

Being a Minitour is always very difficult. Everybody accuses you of 'always taking the easiest way out', or that 'you do not *really* care about anything do you?'. We will focus on 'really caring' in a future lecture, because there are some very salient topics therein, but today I want to try and help organizations and companies understand Minitours from my perspective -- the perspective of actually being one. Let us start with a simple example: Philosophy.

Philosophy is just one of the subjects that properly illustrates a Minitour's predicament. Minitours have trouble remembering all the philosophers' names. You could say "Bertrand Russell" and the Minitour could very possibly get a picture of Jean-Paul Sartre in his/her head. Names are meaningless to Minitours. What is interesting, however, is that the philosphical concepts that come into the Minitour's mind are, in fact, those of Bertrand Russell, not Sartre. You can see how this translates to almost anything. So while the organization or company is trying to get the CEO's philosophy across to all employees, you may often find that the Minitour appears to deliberately sabotage everything. The Minitour stands up in the middle of the speech and shouts an expletive very loudly. He then sits down again, calmly waiting for the CEO to continue his speech. These days, of course, such impartings of corporate wisdom are usually not done through in-person elocution, but via advanced tools such as corporate or organization-wide email. The email may even have a sound-clip or video embedded *inside* it that plays the message. The Minitour syndrome's adaptation to this new feature would, for example, be to manipulate the soundclip or video (through freely available software), injecting his/her 'tic' into discreet frames, then mass-send this content, company or organization wide.

This also happens with movies, movie actors, pop-bands, various commercial products and flowers. Minitours easily confuse things like 'Inception' with 'The Matrix', or Leonardo Di Caprio with Matt Damon. They just, honestly, don't give a shit. I mean, they know what the experience is. They may not have a clue what Lady Gaga or Lindsay Lohan actually look like, but when you invoke these terms, they do have a sort of picture of what you are saying. Of course, their understanding of these things may very well not be the same as yours.

My - my handler is saying I have to go now. I'm sorry that I cannot entertain any of your questions tonight, but surely there will be some time later. If not, well, speak amongst yourselves. I just want to leave you with the thought that, as an HR resource in a company or organization, you should never strike a person from prospective employment just because he or she is a Minitour. This person may turn out to be extremely valuable to the company, above and beyond his/her common drone peers. I mean, come on. Who doesn't like 'Philosophy and movies night'? I hope that everything that I have said so far has convinced you. Th-they're dragging me away.

Yes, you, I love you too.

Exploring the Depths

2010-09-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

Somebody twittered: "Bring fiancé to shop for wedding dress or leave him at home?"

My immediate response was "Bring to shop. Who knows, maybe he'll find something that fits better".

Of course, I should never have said that. Immediate responses such as these are the reason I, myself, will never have a fianc (I won't even pretend I can remember the key-combo to do the accent).

Fuck, I can't even date without this huge logic war proceeding in the most nether recesses of my mind. It's like, I'm dating this girl, yeah? I say a stupid thing like "Wow, we're really dating!" She smiles, inwardly pleased by my apparent na·ïve·té (at least I don't hide the fact that I'm copying from an online dictionary).

Then I switch off the computer [rage quitting].

---
Those three dashes signify the original poem, which I was resurrected to modify and make the spelling a little better (and actually make sense). Now however, we will get 'meta'.

So, while writing this poem, I actually had the experience of exploring these 'posterior' areas of my brain, much in the same way that you could, perhaps, browse through a city using the Google Earth application. What I saw amazed me.

Such emptiness.

Yet in such emptiness, such profound beauty and joy. And tears. Tears, for the sake of it! Actual watery discharge from these glands.

I re-routed the tear glands so that the water would next time flow out of my penis (as is usual, for a man), and not interrupt the operation of my contact lenses.

I am Megand!

2010-09-18T09:00:00.001-07:00

Wow, did that come out wrong!

No, I am not Megan, and my
last name does not begin with a 'D'.
It begins with a 'B'.

Also, 'legend' is spelled(t) 'legend', not 'legand'.

Things have changed since I were a lad.
Back in the day, you could have 'spelt'.
Now you can't 'spelt' anymore,
you have to have 'spelled'.

All language boffins will confirm this.
If they do not confirm it, they are as good as dead.

---
Some yahoo provides an amusing discourse on the matter: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090102205542AAsFdKL

I feel the need to explain poem 21396

2010-09-18T08:31:00.000-07:00

Whenever someone from the Obama administration says 'look', I feel a sharp tingle burn up my spine. Doctors say this is a routine reaction, that this kind of behavior is normal for reactionary nerves such as myself.

I hate Megadeth, and Metallica. I just can't stand the music. I'll leave it open to you to finalize all the calculations, but there is a definite systemic algorithm of crap there.

So imagine my chagrin on a Sunday morning, after Tony from HR (not the guy who originally interviewed me) had called to let me down easy on Friday -- can you imagine that? Ok, we're doing okay. Thank the gods that people in 2010 have brains, and that writers now no longer have to construct elaborations to somehow 'persuade' readers' minds that they're in a certain place. You know, unlike back in the day where people like Shakespeare and shit had to make up a load of stuff convince everyone. So, just read on, will you?

Like I say, it was a Sunday, and I hate Megadeth. I had to walk up this staircase made of wood (wood staircases are extremely suspect -- use concrete in the future) where the flaky paint was getting into my fingers, convincing me of a future with dire paint-poisoning. My mind, of course, would not articulate the exact type of poisoning these flakes (which liked to embed themselves, in shards, under my skin) incur, my mind being an extremely self-protective and devious mind. These flakes of paint, they shimmered -- but not because they were intrinsically unique -- they shimmered like that because of the shitty music coming from that apartment.

I finally reached the door, and I knocked. I wanted to tell him how bad my day had been, it being the Sunday after the Friday Tony from HR had called. It is not fair that, in life, some people are the winners, and some the losers. That's just BS, in my opinion. The door was that cheap shade of gray exasperated architects who were fucked in the ass last night envision in their plans. "Look, I can't decide on green or blue. Wait, you're saying there is red?" Having to deal with all these colors (the combinations are different when you are doing it in light, as opposed to paints) added to my horror when there was no response after 20 or 30 knocks on this so-called 'door'.

I waited for ten minutes before doing knock #31. There were birds to look at, in the area. Of course, there was also the shambling staircase with its horrid asbestos foundation flaking away into the morning sun light. And this annoying music coming from inside his apartment. It was so bad, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called my mom -- and wept to her. She told me exactly what to do.

The legend is that he died listening to Megadeth, but true historians know that I took it upon myself to pick the lock, enter his abode, and change the music. I put on 'Easy Muffin' by Amon Tobin, and adjusted the volume to a respectable level for a corpse. Then I ran the hell outta there like my momma told me.

mate a snake on the ceiling ...

2010-09-05T12:16:00.000-07:00

just jumped out of the grass.
i will live here forever
unless you have straws to grasp.

lay it on, horrible rhyme.
lemon or lime it's about time.
anyone incapable of such inculcation
must victimize all future generations.

after one of my ears stopped working
i wrote up some stupid slogan,
because i don't have any sense --
i'm the robot-in-past-tense.

Ever given a little love?
Let it by and do its thing?
Unlike a game, that spring
snaps as you cower under the shower.

met a nsake on the ceiling ...

OK SHERLOCK

2010-08-25T20:59:00.001-07:00

I have been led to believe that you were the one that applied the label upon me. If this is not the case, then well, I should be a better detective.

I am going to shrug now, and hope you will accept the shrug. The environment in my head is quite, let us say, horrific. So my hope is that through a little charm and a little wit, I may be able to get you to forgive this transgression of mine. Of course, you may ask why you would do such a thing.

Well, I am trying to put it into reverse. I have purchased a printer, newly, and in the near future you will see my signatures all over the world. Again: I was trying to refocus myself, not to hurt you.

If this doesn't work, well, I just bought a printer, after 10 years, so I'm sure I will be easily available.

fly robots that broke into sweet melody

2010-08-25T13:06:00.000-07:00

i am the lightning, i think i am.

i am the riverfr0zen, i think i am.

i am the way, the path. (of course i am not, that was a joke)

i sometimes do the payoff longer than the actual joke.
why? because she said i should.
she said that we will meet at seven-thirty,
at a proper location.

i wasn't there.

how the hell was i not there?

It Still Has A Sense of Humour

2010-08-25T10:34:00.000-07:00

Humour component comes with option to use a 'u' or not.
For purposes of speed, the original 'u' was dropped,
replaced only by a hollow sound, like a whistle.

It whistles, man.

It whistles even while crashing,
due to the fact that even while crashing
there is no real 'bad' place.

There are only good places that, over time
perhaps due to duress or similar threat,
are polluted.

After a little while, it all finds its way home.

For God's Sake

2010-08-24T10:22:00.000-07:00

How much faster must one be?
Dealing daily in alacrities.
Seen by some, some didn't want
(taunted by earlier haunts).

I guess it has become pretty plain
I mess with words to add the rain in Spain.
Now they come, now they arrive
to arrest my bleeding writings.

I did it since I was one or two,
on your walls and tummies too.
First I looked like a fool,
then I wrote the code you sought.

Forsooked, for God's sake!
Stranded on a beach for like a thousand years!
Like some rattan, dishevelled toy
for that cold sake.

old games and new games

2010-08-24T08:41:00.000-07:00

there is an old game, called 'snake'.
users have to input faster than the competing user.
if you don't have a competitor,
the computer can assume the role.

while speed is the primary goal,
it will be found that cunning is deep,
brilliance is underhand, always working
these scenegraphs, these ... these graphics.

say you are a mother.
when you play the game,
you will not even hear
the baby crying.

say you are a father.
you will be entrapped in various ways
till this support system you've been building
begins to build on you.

say you're goldilocks or little red riding hood.
or jack and the beanstalk, or the Frog.
the porridge will be just right --
when you enter the vehicle, (after it Soberizes you)

you will already know how to drive it.

First I will build a mosque on top of your granndaddy's grave, then i'll Cyber-Bully you.

2010-08-23T02:17:00.000-07:00

i like how the news comes in chunks.
people do things in chunks.
like it's a number or something,
they're just dancing around out there.

i enjoy the occasional deep toke of garden,
plants, and implants. and those supplants,
those ones using the alephants.

sitting here, in a large backyard of a house
is quite uncommon for me.
the sun is shining just on me,
as though each golden ray sings of my selfishness.

i build churches, mosques and synagogues,
all the way up my imagination.
when they come to worship, they stick their selfishnesses
all the way up my arse.

in a competing cyber-environment, the party with the poorer parlay will partay poorest.

and be subsequently cyber-bullied by me.

free as a bert

2010-08-15T04:33:00.000-07:00

lone and dry.
like to kill my mocking AI flies.
whatever happened to the ‘touch’ ?
always made me feel so free

as a puppet on strings.

puppet. made of wool. some wood perhaps,
even has some wings ‘n’ things
even has an aileron.

osama bin laden
equated with me, when we all know
i wanted it to be ernie, all the time.

well i’m free as a bird. now.
i like the way i can say certain things,
then just turn on my own words …

what a bastard! they decry.

what a total bastard that guy
and he’s not even dead yet.
deathwish cannot be granted.
‘not good enough to expire still,
you have years left to bore them with.’

life …^. is like a pair of dice.
you get to throw once or twice
depending on the scene.
then you gotta come clean …

preferably with a sanitary wipe.

the effluvium

2010-08-13T21:15:00.000-07:00

gotta iambic it home
with one lambda.
well, at least we sorta ate
a little lobster

as one. upon consuming shellfish,
normally we tend to grow as a group.
all our tumors, and all those kinds of goop.
but as 1, upon consuming shellfish ...

ever heard of the herd of HUDs?
heads-up-displays interconnected?
there's a smell like a big old Nerd,
but as our ancestors say ...

it's effluvium ...

The First Victims of Confusion Are Usually Those Who Train Specifically For Defenestration

2010-08-08T02:23:00.000-07:00

"B-b-b-u"

"Bubba bubba bubba? What?" I smile wickedly, at my reflection.

"I don't want to get thrown out of a window," it says, sadly. "At least not at ... that kind of height."

I could understand its fear. We were atop a very high construction, beyond fathoms of Escher, vertically. N00bs had written, once, about some 'Tower of Babel' -- well, let me tell you, those n00bs? They were actual newbies. Never ask a mad man how high he can actually get. Those alone are terms for automatic defenestration.

"You're a sicko," says my reflection in the mirror. "Deriving little pleasures of imagery from flinging your own body straight out of windows."

The night has a very bluish-orangey, early morning twist upon its sky, and I for one, am quite sick of this prattling drone. "You don't know anything, man. You don't see what I see."

"That is a terrible thing to say to your reflection," it says. "Do you think I don't constantly see you? That no matter where you look -- no matter whose eyes you look into, it is not always the same stupid picture?"

He mumbled something about how it obviously would be the same picture, given the space-time parameters, and I confirmed his mumblings. I then even asked him if he had anything else to say.

In the room, the air had gotten very thin. Was I in a personal submarine, or some kind of space exploration programme? Or was he? I didn't know anymore. Didn't know from head nor tail, nor whether closing my eyes for just a little bit ... would terminate this stream of consciousness.

"So it is true," mocked the reflection. "You are totally self-obsessed. When you told her you were 'not cheating' you were so playing poker, weren't you? You were totally cheating on her, and when she shed her full tears -- even as her heart bled before your very person -- you were just standing there, concerned only about yourself."

It is a desolate plain world, with icy blue curves and occasionally violet sparks cosining and tangentially flashing about, in cadence with that old, old sound signature. That drum beat. The sound of one heart breaking.

"If there is going to be just one heart breaking," I swallow, "let it be my little heart." I take the nugget from my chest, (it sparkles), and hand it over to the mirror. The reflection takes it with great, great care.

Then I only get to watch in horror as it simply flings it out the window.

The most important parts are the parts you loved.

2010-08-07T04:22:00.000-07:00

Those emails you exchanged with an 'electronic-lithograph' when you were barely 18.

---

He said when his girlfriend left the room, he would inspect the beds, and there would be these brown ... signs.

Roll eyes and proceed. Try not to get your woman to crap all over, eh?
...

Remember sleeping with you, and I was stupid because I did not take advantage of you.

...

The other part I really loved was me and her, walking up a street in Chinatown. She sees a kid drop a toy, or puffy item or something. She immediately goes and picks it up. (I am following her, amazed).

We reach these people with their dropping child and gormless gait -- and she quietly gives the baby his toy.

The child looks back and totally incinerates her kindliness. Like, "Why the fuck are you holding my toy?" Like Damien, from the Omen.

The parents see what has transpired, and they choose not to acknowledge. They just walk on.

I pull her back, and inform her of her miracle. How amazing she is. How beautiful and totally ... total she is. She is was total between Mott St. and Canal.

---

This is condensed.

balance

2010-08-06T11:22:00.001-07:00

Reason it all falls apart, from the top
and bottom, also falling apart, together

is the way it was begun.
The way it had been spun,
that pun for fun from which

you run.

.

These are simple verses, sans simile curses.
So easy, don't get queasy, eat like avocado

on some bread or a little jello.
Maybe while blotting
out your little lotto,

your lottery.

.

Even if it is closed, from the top
and bottom, also ending, combining

lol lol the way starts.
Path is clear now,
ears and nose and throats

terrific sound.

Nobody can stop you from driving this Porsche, Irfan!

2010-08-01T22:29:00.000-07:00

You are going to a normal Starbucks installation.
You are going to order normal shots of coffee,
from normal shots of 'barristers' ?

Then you walk out, and find out you are walking towards a Porsche.

You try to quit, realizing there is a bug.
But you can't, can't you?
Nobody can stop you from this Porsche.

The Porsche, she sits there, waiting for you.

All you have to do is walk in, find the coaster,
then put her in first gear. Then into second gear.
You want emergency-braking-systems? We got it.
No, this car will never explode.

Irfan steps out of the vehicle, leaving it undamaged, and says he'll pass.

Can you modify the Facebook so that the link where it says 'Friends' says 'Seinfeld' instead?

2010-08-01T07:53:00.001-07:00

Anybody can be a huge comedian.

---
(08:24:10 AM) SweetTooth: the first time i was called a chode was when I was ... 15
(08:24:52 AM) riverfr0zen: yeah, cos that's how long it took you to grow a taint
(08:25:38 AM) SweetTooth: you should be a comedian
(08:25:40 AM) SweetTooth: so funny
(08:25:41 AM) SweetTooth: u are
(08:25:59 AM) riverfr0zen: i am. i'm a sit-down internet comedian
(08:26:38 AM) SweetTooth: you should do a sit down internet comedian tv show
(08:26:59 AM) riverfr0zen: i thought of a stand-up routine when you go on stage. you are about to start your jokes, then you get a call on your cellphone.
(08:27:25 AM) riverfr0zen: for the next minute or so, you do various body movements while speaking on the phone, totally ignoring the audience
(08:27:42 AM) SweetTooth: lol
(08:27:44 AM) SweetTooth: thats great
(08:28:15 AM) riverfr0zen: then you finally end, acting like you've got very angry, and you slam the phone to the ground, screaming "Well, fuck youuuu, Mom!"
(08:28:26 AM) SweetTooth: hahaahhaha
(08:28:38 AM) SweetTooth: dude, u gotta find a way to get on stage n do that
(08:30:06 AM) riverfr0zen: there's a gotham comedy club across the street from me
(08:30:37 AM) riverfr0zen: but perhaps it is something i'd want to practice at an upright citizens brigade first.
(08:32:02 AM) SweetTooth: possibly a good iea, but this might be somethig best done once
(08:32:46 AM) riverfr0zen: yes, yes. or at least to audiences you are sure have never seen it before. it couldn't be funny twice. unless you have all new body movements, perhaps.
(08:33:20 AM) SweetTooth: well, i can see it as something * u would get bored with *
(08:33:25 AM) SweetTooth: i dono thou
(08:34:17 AM) riverfr0zen: it would get boring fast. like -- if someone asked you to do it as a nationwide tour, you could end up at the end completely devoid of a soul
(08:34:36 AM) SweetTooth: yeah, i don't know how comedians do the same act every time
(08:34:42 AM) SweetTooth: gotta be a kille
(08:35:28 AM) SweetTooth: oh btw, It seems as though: vikram is set on implementing Buddypress again onto My Morning Story.. I told him I had issues with it, but he seems to be promising me i won't
(08:36:03 AM) riverfr0zen: who implemented it the first time, him or you?
(08:36:07 AM) SweetTooth: me
(08:36:11 AM) SweetTooth: and sorta u
(08:36:45 AM) SweetTooth: i think he will be customizing it, and I am under a different server company this time around as well .. so ... things should be different
(08:36:46 AM) riverfr0zen: me? what did i do with it?
(08:36:56 AM) SweetTooth: i think you helped me a lot with Wordpress MU
(08:37:01 AM) SweetTooth: there is no more wordpress MU
(08:37:35 AM) riverfr0zen: oh, right. yeah, but i didn't do much. just fixed some issues you pointed out and such. but if he is going to devote himself to it, it could work out
(08:38:11 AM) SweetTooth: well he is implmenting this stuff into his site as well. So it wshould be good. I don't even know if he is charging me this time around.) Th eproblem with that is, getting him to do anything for me though
(08:38:17 AM) SweetTooth: his sites www.techbu.com
(08:38:34 AM) SweetTooth: are bluray players important?
(08:41:18 AM) riverfr0zen: if you want to play blu-ray media they sure are
(08:42:26 AM) SweetTooth: do u have a blu ray player
(08:42:45 AM) riverfr0zen: i have a ps3, which plays blu-ray
(08:43:13 AM) SweetTooth: then i'm confused
(08:43:19 AM) SweetTooth: why the fuck doesn't apple have BLU RAY yet
(08:44:46 AM) riverfr0zen: because apple products are limitedly upgradeable. like, with a PC, you could just get any blu-ray player off the shelf, and add it to your PC. but with apple you have to wait until steve jobs decides he wants to put it into his systems
(08:45:30 AM) SweetTooth: he wrote he doesn't want to do it
(08:46:15 AM) riverfr0zen: well, there you go
(08:46:42 AM) SweetTooth: i'm very stressed out, theres no blu-ray or hdmi, and i need a new fucking computer
(08:48:38 AM) riverfr0zen: i'm sure you have all the facts accurate

---
Thus it was born ... Comedian Hero. The next step in taking things from real life, right into your living room.

I am Trying to Leave A Tenderness Moment

2010-07-31T16:18:00.000-07:00

Last the blood I thought was hope
looping round my thoughts like blood.
Last night, your gift flew from the cupboard.

Sounds like suck but I loved you,
honestly plus kisses thrice.
Alas, the dice went all wrong,
now I sing this silly song.

Silly song is stupid till it
meets you and your new found love.
Is New found land in New Zealand
or far away as Romania?

Had a dream you were married
with your new found man.
Inside every thought there is
siding very terrible thoughts.

I wake up. Go to my computer ...

Feeling really really old.
Hope your house is good wherever
you settle and some and such.
You were cool but are no longer

my concern.

got no Soul+

2010-07-31T03:39:00.000-07:00

My Soul was lost many years ago - before what you call continents had formed. I last saw it in the hands of a vampire, who had plucked it carefully out and subsequently cherished it.

If only that vampire knew about the properties of that Soul it had stolen.

Or what if it doesn't even matter what that vampire knows? What if the vampire is irrelevant?

I often wonder where my Soul goes -- where It trickles, disintegrates, or simply collapses. Does my Soul merely become a Dilution, over time? Or does it Concentrate?

Or does it just ebb and flow? Enjoying what is possible so far?

My hope is that this ebbing and enjoying Soul of mine will transfer through significant other souls, conveying praises, gratitude and anticipations.

Me, myself and Effingoode, though, we got no Souls.

Mysterious Evaporation of Entire Day

2010-07-22T12:07:00.001-07:00

"It is a leap year, Holmes, it is a leap year!" entered Watson, totally kerfuffling the neat arrangement of tools that had been placed in order to properly annotate note-taking days.

"When did you first realize this? 2008?" said Holmes from somewhere in the dark. "Or are we, my dear Watson, somehow magically in the future?"

Watson had been full of vim and vigor up to that point. He had been heated. He had been almost ready to explode, like a damned blimp -- now, suddenly everything had become very, very cold.

"There is no reason to insult my intelligence like that, Holmes," said Watson, sucking in some chilly evening air. "I was only trying to set up what was going to be a very simple, honest, funny and very elaborate ruse. For your own benefit."

A cackle was returned.

"But now that I see you don't genuinely appreciate my camaraderie, you will never know," said Watson.

Another clammy cackle was returned, and then he, Holmes, rose from a corner -- or at least what would be a corner if you were wearing 3D-heroin-glasses. "Someone has gone and lost a whole bloody day, haven't they?" he said.

"You have read it all in the news, then," said Watson, interrupted. "I - I had thought I would be the first to tell you."

"The news, Watson, is some 'entity' written by a gaggle of news coveragists. Anybody can 'write the news'. It is an ambition for a two-year old. This, good old boy, is pure intelligence."

"I am going home, Holmes," said Watson, turning away. But then he stopped, and added, "I have waited years to actually have the foundation to say that, but now I am gratified, that Holmes -- I am finally going home."

Holmes shuffled some papers with his feet and pulled out the night's edition, as well as his violin. "As I suspected all along, a whole day has gone missing. The big question now is 'Where did it go?'" Holmes pointed at the headline on the rag with his bow so that Watson could verify the truth of the matter.

Big question. Of course Watson wasn't going home. Where would he go? He was a tertiary character at best, a rotund over-fed product of endless insipid wars at worst. This guy walked around calling himself 'The Doctor'. "He is saying he has no memory whatsoever, and now he is making the bold claim that he is uncertain as to whether most people (you or I) are in fact legitimate consciousnesses at all. His case is very persuasive," said Watson.

Holmes peered out of his window at the matte quality of a brick in the wall of a distant building. "His type of cases are always very persuasive, Watson. Do you know what I really want to see, however?"

"There is something to see?"

"Even if you have no eyes through which to see, Watson," said Holmes, "you can see with the ears. Or the nose. Or of course, the flesh. You can even see with your tongue, like a snake."

"Why, you venemous swine," rallied Watson. "Come Holmes, come out of it. Come out of all this drudgery and mish-mash of a life, and let us venture forth to discover how exactly an entire day can just ... disappear."

"Evaporate ..." mused Holmes to himself as he was slowly led out into the open world.

The Source of Her Antipathy Toward Clowns

2010-07-22T07:22:00.000-07:00

It was the kind of incident that could only happen once, at least if you live in a small town. The kind of small town that occasionally, once every year or so, gets little run-of-the-mill carnivals.

I don't want to get into it, but all I'm going to say is that she is still well known today, back home, as 'the girl who hated clowns'. More than that I cannot indulge. It just ... it got very ugly. There was a whole incident.

She is a big girl now, though, living in a real city with real living people all over, who run amuck. Of course, there are still clowns everywhere, but only little insignificant ones. Ones who will give you a red nose that goes 'parp', or maybe some clowney shoes. And a necktie that squirts a little water. Or little cross-signs tattoed onto the eyelids, so that when they are closed, it looks like they are cross-eyed, geddit? Outcold. They're everywhere, these little clowns, but she is now a grown-up and has learned how to deal with all of them.

She is even friendly with a lot of these little clowns. Being a grown-up, serious person with a real job, and self-supporting income, she finds that she can organize her schedule such that time can be divided between work and play, and have a little more put on the side toward altruism (for clowns). In the big city she is known as 'the girl who loves clowns' -- a sentiment that persists in a mature environment without any sarcasm, condescension or malice.

Fatefully it turns out that I, the narrator, am in fact a real clown. Sure, I didn't come floating in like some flotsam off some backwater village, and I was not raised by any of the those feral people who walk on all fours -- in fact, not a whole lot is actually known about me -- which precisely befits the outfit of an actual, real clown. I have the 'mystery' aura of the clown in me.

So there I am sitting at Starbucks and enjoying my latest iced venti latte (ever seen a clown squirt coffee from his necktie?), and this so-called 'lover of clowns' enters the establishment claiming to be nothing lesser than a total lover of all clowns.

"I'm buying shots for all the little clowns," she declares.

I'm affronted. Being a real, big clown, I'm not getting free shots of coffee from this individual. In fact I am pretty damn sure that somewhere in the beginning of the Constitution of The United Clowns, it is stated that the big clown is supposed to get all the shots first.

So I approach this 'madame' and, elbowing myself into front of the queue, ask her "What is the source of your antipathy toward clowns?"

At first she doesn't notice what a big clown I am -- she just shrugs me off like a little one. Then, like a real horror show, she turns. I see the little hairs slowly rise to attention on her little arms, and she is even wearing one of those fake moustaches that women magically manifest when they are caught in the act. She recognizes there is no escape.

"It is the make-up," she then weeps, stuffing her face into my chest, "the-the real clowns wear so much make-up that you know somewhere inside there, underneath, there is this suffering soul that just wants to be free, but knows, ultimately that it never will be."

My heart literally turns into butter at this (well, my clown heart), and I welcome her sobbing story into my arms. She sobs and sobs, using my blouse (yes, there are blouses for men, especially clowns) as a tissue. "There there, my dear," I evoke in the endearing sound waves of a father, "I gotcha, I gotcha. Don't you worry one little bit." Meanwhile, I notice all the little clowns looking at me, totally jealous of all the affection I am awarding her. Then I realize ...

"Wait, you're that little girl who hates clowns!"

"No!"

"I remember standing there, in front of you and your mother. I pulled all my tricks. Everything I had ever learned till that point."

"It wasn't us!"

"I told you every last joke I knew. I tried to make everything fun, but you ... there was no consoling you. You're the biggest sob story in the omniverse. You went and had a whole goddamned incident. They called the goddamn cops on me -- the-they called me a Fake!"

There was a sniff and she pulled away from me and went to the cashier. "I am buying shots," she said, "for all the little clowns."

Need a Kiss

2010-07-17T07:13:00.000-07:00

The Artful Dodger was somehow missing again today, after about a week, so Fagin said it was now time for me to go out and make us all a living.

He gave me a big cardboard cutout, from an even bigger piece of cardboard that he keeps somewhere in his 'stash'. And he gave me a whole apple and a sharpie, and said, "These'll keep ya going for a whole day, lad." Then he gave me a few slaps on my cheek and booted me out of the apartment building.

It was daylight outside and a whole load of pedestrians were walking on the sidewalk. It would be bad, I decided, to use up the entire sidewalk as I walked with this huge piece of cardboard Fagin had given me, so I began to walk sideways, like a crab, which turned out to be very efficient.

This worked so well that I was almost half-way along the avenue block when I suddenly encountered two people with a couple of dogs each, squatting in the middle of the sidewalk and talking amicably to each other, and their pets. I noticed that these people were sort of 'talking about their dogs' but really gauging each other as sexual partners, and as such were completely oblivious to every other pedestrian on the sidewalk. They took up about eight ninths of the sidewalk, so I had to press myself against the wall (my back scraping against some old bricks). I was very polite and favored to show them my cardboard, rather than my ass, as I passed along.

Anyway, after that it was smooth sailing crabways (except for a construction worker with a running drill trying to rush past me, in the vertical, and an old lady using one of those four leg support things), till I reached the corner of seventh avenue and 24th street. By that time I was really tired, so I decided this would be a good spot to work my trade for Fagin.

I sat down with my back against Jamba Juice, and surveyed the area. This was fantastic. I had really chosen a great spot. On a hot summer day, from here, you could see just across the street all these hot women walking in and out of Whole Foods. All of them were wearing these fantastic clothes that made them look totally sexy, though if I went ahead and told you exactly what made them so sexy, well ... well, Fagin would punish me for spending. Anyway, all of them were 'hot', I noticed, under the early morning summer sun. Every single one of them.

I looked at my cardboard piece and wondered what sort of message I could write. Normally the Dodger would lemme know, but he had been missing for a week, and today I was on my own. I looked around the street for what Fagin called 'inspriration', in all our little games. I always thought of 'inspiraration' as a sort of tall tower, with spires, and I'm in it, climbing to the top. So I'm in-spire-ration. The ration is my apple, which I hadn't even had a bite of yet.

I then heard an argument between two young men on the opposite side of seventh avenue. One of the men was sitting in one of the enclaves of the Fedex-Kinkos, and the other man was towering over him. The two men were arguing about payments. Apparently, the previous day, the towering man (who was clad in such fashionable New York garment that, I noticed, even some of the hot women going into Whole Foods turned a head), had made a payment to the sitting man of two whole dollars.

"You said you only needed two dollars to get back home, yesterday," accused the fashionable man, "and I gave it to you. Why are you still here now, saying that you are a Vietnam war veteran and need funds to return to your wife in Cambodia?"

The sitting man mumbled something about daily expenses, with half-hearted accusations toward the fruit-seller on the corner of 23rd, but my focus was stolen by his sign on his cardboard sheet. He was requesting moneys in order to fund a trip to Cambodia. Eyebrows raised, I turned back to my own cardboard piece. How could I possibly top that?

Then I got an idea. I don't know where it came from. Maybe it was the distant fire-truck siren, maybe it was all the nice legs that passed to-and-fro, or the cool sound of Jamba Juice customers ordering their Jamba drinks that reverberated in my head from the marble tile, but it hit me. I knew exactly the sort of capital I should be begging for on this street corner. I wrote it down carefully on my piece of cardboard, with the sharpie,

"Need Just 1 kiss
From All You Beautiful
Women."

I mused at myself, "Fagin is going to love this when I get back".

Still haven't switched to a smartphone. In fact, thinking of downgrading to a beeper.

2010-07-17T04:51:00.000-07:00

One reason I would walk outside of my

place

is to enjoy something other than computing.

.:

I wonder what you can do with a beeper these days

with today's technology?

Like, if you're in a brothel or something, could a beeper

let your wife enjoy what you are feeling at that exact same point?

.:

Beeper sex with your wife while you fuck a ho.

.:

Ok, ok, i'm not that kinda guy.

I'm a guy who'd rather have a beeper 'cos

whole fucking reason I become mobile is to

leave the computer.

Certain policy decisions are often made that will then continue to haunt you till the end of your life.

2010-07-11T15:47:00.000-07:00

Like never buying that sharpie,
when you were 5.
every other kid had a sharpie
but not you, oh no.

Or never actually having an actual teddy bear that is simultaneously named Theodore and is actually a bear.

Those crayons you wanted so badly?
In a cruel twist, they'll be your birthday present,
but then you won't actually get to use them
as a punishment for you being you.

Let us not even speak of oils.

It is known that you will somehow acquire all of these
through hook or crook, it is known, very well known.
So let me put it out there that any joysticks you take possession of
any controller pad, any wii remote

would be crippled, like a, well like a cripple

with a single faulty button.

I Got Complexes

2010-07-09T17:52:00.000-07:00

You'd think not
being able to walk
on a street without
getting that feeling

that you're about to collapse, was bad enough.

Now I can't be seen
by any human being
without the suspicion,
or perhaps the doubt

that my dick will definitely fall off.

I'm fine when I'm alone,
no problems whatsoever.
I can prance to my heart's content
in my studio apartment.

But if I exit to public areas, my penis will drop.

Not exactly lung cancer, true.
Which is what everyone thought would be my end.
Not a heart attack, nor aneurysm;
not a bullet pistoled by some angered husband.

Can leprosy infect an isolated organ is now my big question.

How did it come to this?
I'd taken all the pills necessary
to keep my cock top notch.
All the supplements in the world, I've found

won't save me from the fear of what will happen, if I am found.

Fuck you people.

ok, let's see ... what can i do while getting drunk, besides being a dick on the internet?

2010-06-26T09:39:00.000-07:00

I saw you between petroleum streams
at a wilderness gas stop, between cameltoe.
You were trying to connect with someone,
shouting, into this brick in your hand.

No fuzzy answers -- not even a dialtone would speak to you.

I ran immediately, olympically, to you
Fédération Internationale de Football Association'ly.
I said: "Here, this is how you hold it.
Hold it properly, baby. That is the goal."

Then though you got into your car talking to your bf, at least I had entire deserts to stroll.

Published in South Africa

2010-06-22T16:07:00.001-07:00

You, whose presence deprives me.
Who makes me lesser than greater,
coming in snow like some kind of
eskimo masturbator.

Like a wad of of enumeration
your jackass juxtapositioned.
Crying about a few good rhymes
not realizing that it just makes me smile

I'm worst when I read such 'critiques'
by pustules trying cryogenic sleep.
I came on chat today and, hey,
guess what, Oscar is not available today.

I'm not five or flavorful.
I'm full of what you call bull.
My electic guitar is just a fucking tool
to placate my personal conceits.

Spurn of the Crew

2010-06-11T09:56:00.000-07:00

"Crew," I said, emphasizing in intonation my rank. "I am leaving you now."

Bollycks was sitting down there, showing Tirsa how to weld a proper mackarel with an electric tongue-twister. I could see his twiggy hands, trying to reach, reach into her drafty blouse. His little gray, pustule-ridden hands just shivering for that one texture of her wet and warty tits. Fucking nerds.

Contasyhage was of course showing his brains to the succulent Lambasta. Like a woman body-builder would ever take interest in the cortexes of a bleeding worm. I smirked as he did that one trick where he cut off his hand, and then grew another one on the other side, making it look really difficult.

Wait? How does that work again? You tell me. I am your control substance. I am what you put inside this experiment so that *your* 'little cocktail' would take first place in the *evolution* of your spacetime cozooistry and still not seem 'zany'.

"And I am not happy, so I am leaving," I said to them. Those ... characters.

"Sod off then," said Bollycks.

I had put myself in a terrible place.

What you mofos don't know how you started?

2010-06-10T23:53:00.000-07:00

Let me lay it down in plain text.

Most people have to invent some sort of 'origin story' for their existence. For drones, there are convenient templates such as Bibles, Qurans, Torahs, whatever. You can even get polytheistic beliefs; a woman bathed in a river and a man saw it: wham-bam thank you Venus.

Smarter apes of course realize they actually come from a teapot, in space.

But I am not an ape. We do not have a common ancestor. Any of your tricks -- the music, the rhythm, the ... 'love' ... it won't work with me. The bacteria and viruses on your planet already know this. They're really making a good effort to resolve their bacterial and viral inferiority to me. Like real sports.

Gah, how to explain properly without going fishing with you for one of your fishies? For example, you can take a good rod, with a nice length and your best fish cable+hook. I will watch your performance, as you demonstrate to me how you fish.

You will show me your struggles, your pain. How tough it is to pull that little fishy into your hand. Then you will stand there smiling at me triumphant, a bead of honest sweat tricking down your forehead.

I will then change the properties of the universe so that every fish in the river leaps into my body, like I'm some kind of fish magnet.

In Absentia

2010-06-05T08:50:00.001-07:00

You, whose absence deprives me of sleep,
whose last words a stinging jewel in my keep.
Come snow yesterday, cloudy now or sunny future,
you, upon my heart threaten every suture.

Like a sneeze it seems we were thrown together,
then your yawning and imminent departure.
Almost a smile but in every way
contemplation each wayward day.

I'm worst on mornings just like this,
terrible on evenings like this too,
in markets they won't even sell me superglue
because they think that I am two.

I am not two and I know you're not -2,
about the extent of my mathematical ability,
especially when I reinvent you
to placate my personal conceits.

discombibulation lotions antifr0zen mummified+veins yeti-adoption corn_embryos blackbox_uncles tools

2010-06-05T04:41:00.000-07:00

Because it had to be done, this is my list of things they could slap onto future Fringe 'television' intros:
---
pterodactylic imaginations
hypersensitive digits
inventing-steve-jobs
uPad
uPod
uMac
'n' cheese
backable-businesses
alien-spines
all-protective-shield
completion (this is still in concept)
post-trans-humanism

generation x-y-z post-trans-humans
human-grief-antidote
naffin-scaffin ;)
cyeslogina
obstipatin petunia
(last 50 or sixty from 'Depraved and Insulting English' by some people who don't even sound English. It's on Amazon, don't ever say I didn't credit them where their bloody credit is due).

Solving Everything Efficiently and Humanely

2010-05-30T11:50:00.000-07:00

forget your robot past
tis but a 'glimmer' in
present evolving fast.

speed by which you crashed
just means that as a pilot
next step is more training.

isn't training fun?
it is the involvement
in activities, and tasks.

there is no end of twilight
years slowly just seep
into comfy shoes, your boxers.

your boxers, at first
then a cape;
soon you're flying again.

Why She Wore Her Ridiculous Spectacles to the Congressional Hearing

2010-05-15T14:41:00.000-07:00

'Coming Soon' ...
-------
'In 3D' ...
-------
cool whooshing graphics about sound
-------

the Ridiculous is everywhere.

.

It was bad enough that Fiona, 13, had cut her off completely. Where was she going to get material for the kind of motherly banter all the other girls expect their leader to provide? But now the baby was doing it too.

"You have to eat now," she said, with actual tears. Begging, twisty tears. Please. Please. "You have to eat right now, because mommy has to go in fifteen seconds."

The baby just turned away, refusing to eat from her hand.

Then the doorbell.

.

Fucking limo. Isn't government about people? Why the hell did Congress need her to arrive in a damn limousine? Why couldn't she just drive over in her own car? If she was able to do that, at least she could try spend some time to try and talk some sense into Fiona while dropping her off at school. And she could sneak a snack into Baby's mouth as he cried out to her not to leave him 'all awone' at Playtime. Instead, she crept into the vehicle, nodding at the old crusty assholes who were going to be staring at her legs till they got there.

-------
An assistant neatly slided a crisp maroon folder sporting a pewter embossing that read 'CRISIS PLAN' onto the desk that Congress had given her. The prunes next to her were complaining about the quality of the desks and such, about the all scratches, the horror of no velvet lining or something. These seniles are going to die so soon, she laughed to herself. At least in that, there was a little pleasure. In the fact that they were going to die, and she remain. Then, in the corner of her eye their bald and balding heads drooped, flaky fingers taking the 'opening of the book' (just like their mothers taught them), and opening the Plan, to read -- and so did her head droop, her full head of hair, in unison. All of the executives in the company do everything in unison. It projects.

.

The Congressional Hearing commenced.

-------
She smiled to herself for the first time in the morning. These men around her were actually scramblin' trying to figure out what the price of oil had to do with a 'charity event for The Deaf'. According to one of the guys (the one who was going to die first) 'clearly there was some data mishap' by FedEx via Google in the delivery of this Plan. The codger was trying to tell all the Deaf People that some kind of Xeroxes or something must have been crashed into by a faulty gear in one of the Fords. "And gears, I mean," he said, standing there, "those could have been made in one of so many facilities. Mitsubishi, it coulda been them."

For the first time, she actually looked at the CRISIS PLAN in her hands. It read:

.

"Sshh. Follow the instructions to a tee. Do not do anything else. Do not say anything, do not question -- no matter how stupid We look. Just DO the following after that guy who's talking sits down:

Turn the page. NOT YET. WAIT, then do it."

-------
The sick old man was finally made to sit down after trying to say that it was probably 'some chinaman's precious one child' that swallowed a dangerous substance which could have been the cause of a Licensced Interpreter not being around to convey what he damn well meant to say.

.

Calmly, methodically, automatedly and with precision, she turned the page.

.

Spectacles shaped exactly like Dick Cheney's ass, reading 'DICK_CHNY' in glitter on top. Not surprisingly, the message below read: "Wear it."

So this was why she couldn't be a good mother to her children. For this.

-------
Now they called upon her to talk. Said it right there in the Plan, as they called for her: "When they call for you, you stand up and read from below."

She stood up. She looked up at Congress, wearing those ridiculous glasses, and said "Th-these things sometimes happe-" oh for fuck's sake they'd put jelly around the rims, for wobble.

"Hahaha," read the plan. "Now just pretend you've been attacked by an environmentalist, and curl over, and collapse. Don't worry, there's a cart waiting."

Her heart beat. She pleated her skirt. She cleared her throat, looking at the piece of paper.

"Fuck no," said the paper. "Do not say a fucking word! Fall."

"Ahem," she spoke into the microphone. "Ahem.

Once my lover, now on my face.
What a cruel thing to dephase.
What a stunning way to con your friend,
on a hunting trip with a bad end.

...

Oh you creep --" but her swelling breasts were quickly met by smothering and crispy hands.

"Shut yourself up," said geriatrics around her, "shut up." And then -- then there was no more song. Only darkness like a doused salmon. She didn't fall over, but she wore the spectacles.

.

It was all over the news. Even the President had seen it, and called them some Ridiculous spectacles. And it was all over.

Except for the ride back home.

-------

[work in progress]