Hanging There

"Minus the 'g'", said Tim quietly to himself as he watched the corpse sway in the cold New Jersey breeze. "I was telling you to 'hang in there'. Not hang yourself." Where did this initially go wrong? He didn't even know if it would be morally acceptable to shake his head in dismay. But surely some kind of expression was requisite?

At age 22, a girl had told him he was a manipulator, and, well, shit just exploded after that. He'd tried to reason with her at first, foolishly.

I mean, in an Homerian sense, it was foolish. Like, if you actually found Homer, sitting down and writing something, the words would probably be an enactment of the 'foo' archetype. A side-quest. Not the one who will attack the Medusa. But has a harp.

"Wish I had chosen some better words," he reprimanded himself. Then there was this slow shifting of the eyes, and he was like, "Who you kiddin'?"

Doing Lazy Diva Poses In Front of 24 Inch LCD

if only i could be with every pixel

couldn't i only with them all say 'if'?

such simple juxtapositions of course

are off course and such simple horse

shit.

lazy poseur frontin' new 3D teevees

making some more compelling content for me.

this story could be told in another dimension,

of course that's what they said in my sessions

with a psychiatrist.

no, i cannot leave the couch, so highly

irregularly cannot actually make me know

how watering leaves leaves a lot in circular patterns,

with some herbs. and fiddlehead ferns, what ho? slightly

smiling.

i hope you're smiling :)

Sentience In The Square

After placing his cup of tea in the lower quadrant of the lecture stand, Ferdinand achieved sentience. If only, now, he could break out of his norm and simply evoke it in all the students.

It was a very lucid feeling. If, years from now, he could capture it in words, in the form of some books, perhaps, he already knew that the critics would dissect this 'lucidity' of his experience. Within two dimensional boundaries, of course, perhaps to them, he might seem like a 'glider', but this was the problem. Hegemonies had already been expounded, and Ferdinand feared his awakening in this amazing midst would only amount to exploration within these 'two-dimensional' boundaries.

Who wants to be the Queen Bee Shuttle, or some kind of pulsar, when you could just go ahead and tell the audience that you're divorcing your spouse? The kids? Okay, they were cool when they were developing, but now that they've transformed into their respective (teenage) patterns? They pretty much probably should get along without any external help.

One of the students raised a hand. "Are you fucking serious?" said Ferdinand. "Ok? What?" He said this with a lot of impatience, he noticed. It was just that despite the fact that his recent epiphany basically indicated there was nowhere to really go, apparently someone had a question.

"What if the child continues to require attention?" said this woman.

"You mean despite all boundaries of existence already laid out in explanation? Is it disabled?"

He heard her deep breath. "No, she is not disabled. What if she still asks to come and sleep in your bed, because of the ghosts?"

Ferdinand became exponentially lucid. "The ghosts?" he said, searching the sea of people for the one hand that had dared to provide such a bruise unto fabric. Reverse psychology was an old tool of his, but this -- this was remarkable. "I'm sorry, I can't see who asked the -- ah, yes. You.

So," said Ferdinand, looking past the faces of the crowd, "so I just told you I am flinging my entire life away." He placed his hands upon the stand, "and your response is some bizarre question about some kids believing in ghosts?"

The Long and Short of It

Dennis awoke to the horrible sounds of some kind of creature, just munching. Just munching away. He hoped that he could escape via a gully or otherwise appropriated physical conduit, from that crazy sound, but knew in-hand that such levity might be impossible.

"What am I going to have to do to make you go away?" he asked.

The creature raised its head in its age-old way, in its cross-dimensional double-seeing and triple-talking way. "You tell me, Dennis," said the creature, menacingly. "You tell me."

"I cannot just delete my actions in history," said Dennis. "It would be a farce. It would be a joke. It would only result in me looking like a fool."

"Who grew up and made *you* a slave? Btw, I like how this is somehow 'all about you'."

Dennis stared at the creature with profound confusion. "You mean -- you mean I can actually rewrite history?" he uttered. Antagonists in dreams never use acronyms, do they?

"Who do you think is writing this very dialogue?"

"No way! Nobody loves me *that* much!" cried Dennis.

There was a deep laugh. "Yes. Nobody."

Introspection Via An Extrovert

Close examination of the self
is one of the only things
that will save you from
the Virus.

No, don't cry,
I come not bearing ill news
but excellent, fantastic details
regarding this plight who finds you so alone.

In your desperation to survive you took it
so comfortable to kill me, ending up
in some strange 'fiction'
of existence.

I am here,
I am here to remind you
I am here to help you recollect --
I am here to aid you in the reconstruction of my new self

from those bones you shattered aeons by, by just looking at me.
And I am also there, and could do three extra lines,
but you get the idea, and I've never suffered
repetition. Intonation, inflection, perhaps --

but I will not suffer repetition.

I suppose that one of the reasons I'm in New York is to go and visit the Museums.

What I like best
is when my father wraps me
i'm like 'who you rappin? fool?'
but he just contains me.

we go to the museums.

he shows me art made by people.
he says 'this is the reason they made this.'
'does this visit have a trolley, daddy?'
'yes, it does. hell, it does!'

'One of the works I would like you to visit is a piece of history, by Anselm Kiefer.'

'lol, shit, this really is a piece of history.'

'How can you just laugh at the past?' the being demanded.

this is going to be the most beautiful poem ever

Lodge in your nose, enlarge your nose.
Oh so want be Pinnochio? You wanna be Dumbo?
You want to say to lovers that you have found their
discarded noses? You want to be William,
Shatner?

How nerdy does it get? Oh it gets nerdy, girlfriend.
To the point where all my lives blend, all my lives blend.
And I find it kinda funny, when the artichoke is produced
I find I find the record skips when I'm good bloke.

Watching British production about a crazy woman called Primeval
how many names can I make fun out of that?
Guess she must be the primal Eve. The evil woman?
Why are these people being given licences to flaunt their little banter?

They need to give me the licenses.