Primarily at Ends with a Doubletake.

[Music: John Vanderslice]


A Silver Bird Slanders Me.

My fundamentalist basic foundation has to be watching but accepting lies, slander, confusion, beliefs with patience steady until friction by confrontation, not competition to persuade. When converted into irrefutable no contrary evidence can be given because everything comes with an intention now we're so smart.

Reminds me of an old sci-fi movie I saw on TV when I was nine. This guy flies the fastest plane ever and in doing so he breaks through the time barrier. When he lands the entire world is frozen in the moment he broke the barrier. He travels around seeing people in all these circumstances for example about to be hit by a bus, he has to choose what to do about it all. Slipping around between the plates of need and desperation like that supersonic pilot, obviously.

--

Bringing harpoons to graveyards?

--

Father Sky and His Recumbent Tactics.

A glass tower offshore reflected white light through my bedroom window in the captain's cabin of my grandfather's boat, Saw of the Sea, splitting a looming wraith named Xeri (I think), whom I owed a bussel of skullflowers, in two without an effort. I bolted up and my head struck 11 o'clock reversal of dawn hour, setting off a witch brigade in which my sister strongly despised me for until I had the chance to save her life (which is a ways off from this point). That singular bus of space origin that resembled a tortoise with spikes protruding from its shell levitated downwards adjacent to the seavessel and landed on a group of jellyfish, that screamed like young, stillborn mandrakes and made my ears ring like church bells were inside my head. They wanted my sister (this was before the Klassening process and the temporary loss of her abilities).

A storm began to brew and the Visitors from the tortoise ship broke holes in the side of Saw of the Sea, to which a notice was posted on main mast to "Run from someone who have not seen before", which only resulted in more deaths. My lance with the cloth Loracill had swen for me of her own golden fabric tied to it seemed to fall out of a cloud; it was random and cold like new rain. The Visitors were easy enough to kill, with the spirit of the sky running through me I almost felt like I was flying the whole time. Pretty soon I was swarmed, and that's why I got stabbed. I do not remember much afterwards, except for the fact that my sister casted Dissentia on the tortoise ship and sunk it, which caused a tsunami and sucked up all the remainding Visitors.

My wound was healed by Polwe, the lead rider in Aersynth who assisted me in becomming one with the sky. He told me my cloud (who I had not yet named) saved me from drowning. I never found out what happened to my sister. Later on in Idiorave, Kytu said he had seen her tossing boulders into the air and blowing them up with a type of magenta magic he nor his brothers had ever seen before.

I am sure that was her, because she is the best witch I have ever seen. I at least owe her that recognition.

Squalid Elk.

[Music: Flotation Toy Warning]


Seconal Stovepipe Puke.

Hey, sometimes the human lie detectors in rank fuck things up together. But what's all that got to do with dog-whistle affairs and such? Here's the point: we don't be ill with people. It’s very clear. In the typical style missed the point by a mile. It might have been nice if they'd sought some advice. Reprieve fiasco making unanticipated secrets seem almost comprehendable. I heard this before. Right on, Red Revelator. You understand it comes from where Pace Piquante sauce is not made? And let's see: suspend by the neck, command the house, their own cabarets were pretty weak. Efficient, Effective, Competent, as long as they think that compulsion will not become more intense, let them run around a little before lobbing in the grenades.

--

I miss Windmill Island.

--

Bid Me To Live (Coastal Completion).

A luminous fish plopped itself upon my concrete stoop as the sun rose from its bed of darkness. Casted from a hedious heritage, the specimen engulfed itself in outwardly jutting scales and bones, a blanket of seaweed rapped around it like a swaddling infant. The tarrot card stuck in the spokes of my back bike wheel read like something about an aquatic malfuntion simmering out of the collpase of The Mountain of Fire and the downward entrance (the only entrance) into Muspel being toppled over by a string of High Heart sword-jockeys and their black stallions with halos of ivory. This all got me thinking more than usual; the High Heart fuck-offs mainly executed vivid descriptions of wandering and sex within the confines of Aelfrice.

As my brain turned itself around to face anti-reality, Skai laughed and down showered leagues and leagues of soularrows to scrape off my identiy like limestone and rust from a leaf-swarmed gutter. By the Moonrider's rare and gleaming appearance, a giant pale squid, who was luckily furociously battling an adult sperm whale, intersected the rain of quiver projectiles. Yet another unlikely was taking place before me; there is no aquatic life in Muspel. It's all smoke, doom, gloom, crazy half-human dragons with heads as tongues and massive red sky that extends through the inside of old century canyons shaped like cannons. Snapped back to home court, a flopping luminous fish's light slowly dying out, gasoline found the extention of my body and I slathered it on the sealife associate by means of rubbber gloves. I quickly changed gloves, lit a match, and gave the fish back its light.

A Mouse in a Lava Lamp.

[Music: Wolf Parade]

Pff.

Wayward lifeforms dancing through concrete dreams, does it go hand-in-hand with the inferior musings of a weak and incompetent child? Scoring the boredom that prolongs silence is simply an automatic and head-first route into a doom filled frontwards with frozen blossoms and animals trapped in time, black and white for eternity. A light organ slowly sweeps through the background, the yawning of an elderly man wakes his wife and startles her into a heart attack which gives him one as soon as he opens his eyes and discovers the scene is teeming with death for his entire soul. But what about everything else that does not care about maintaining an image? What about the sky and the trees and the wildlife and the tiny molecules of existence that link everything together like legos? Waiting to find out takes forever; but forever is all we really have.

ImPuReAlBaTrOsS: define incompetent.
SmarterChild: Terrorism!

Yes, he did that shit. And it frightened me. But also, it made me smile.

eva 03prototype: she felt like that she couldnt give up on him
eva 03prototype: she felt like he had potentiol
eva 03prototype: and that she could bring it out
ImPuReAlBaTrOsS: Potential.
eva 03prototype: oh no
eva 03prototype: dont you feel good
eva 03prototype: correcting the kid who cant spell

--

Look at Justin's Face.

Full version out in 2-3 days. Hopefully. If McKenna lets me edit at home.

--

Extended Forcast.

If you've ever seen a crackhead trying to cross a busy street you'd believe that reality wins in the end. Though if I saw that I wouldn't write it down and instead try and warn the passing cars until the street had been crossed. Since willful suspension is such a big motor in our economy the wild and self-destructive are now just a little pussycat one can ride. This I believe. Calculated loss of millions from induction jolts and stuff won't slow it down; a simple annoyance. Yet, the most important distinction is that I invest real hope in growth. Before I can do that I must challenge to change, must decide. Tonight I have to say: for 12 years I slept pretty well and they had it theys' way, your chance--and it didn't work.

No Winters, The Way Is Not Paved.

[Music: Broadcast]

A Paper Sparrow For Your Inner-Child.

The upstate regions glance starboard undercover, a lion becomes dandy and her snakes recover ghosts and flowers from the sonic library. They destroy it, no less of what constitutes an opt microcosm of Ikea stores and clockshift heathens that trees cry over within a gust of a spaceshuttle fuel blast. One cannot believe in themselves without the affectations of former models like angels slice satanspawn mouths and feed the ill will conclave, premptively, atop the perch of the ark of the sky. To solve the problem, you cannot become "X", you must make everyone else the subordinate variable and then account for excess reactions forcing themselves from Jerusalem. A kitten initiates altercations with dragons, through preset visions the towns freeze themselves to avoid flames, and queens and kings have a plethora of new pets for the fuel range. Rotations stand still for a war, one-hundred and eighty point five seven nine equals the square root of nothing minus itself added to everything. A man still is a man even if Native American rusted knives and hatchets meet the air inside his brain. Reservations do not contain their own arrangements for victory. White ribbons will always, always grace the stingers of scorpions. For the insect kingdom is sung backwards, like every other phylum except humankind. We'll come out of it. When the living shake hands with the dead. Boxes of beats. Aim for the target that isn't straight in front of you. Because when you turn around, nothing that was there will be the same as it was when you were just looking at it.

Fall forever, and you'll eventually turn yourself upright.

Cough, cough.

It is a myth that Twinkies "last forever." Like the myth of tabula rasa or the myth that chivalry isn't dead this myth keeps coming back to every generation of Americans, revived, it seems, as mournful counterpoint to the enduring suspicion that "all that is is natural" and as well that all true human interaction, is in the end, illusion, due to the impenetrability of human nature. They can and will continue to deny that fear is somehow consistent with the will to survive. They will continue to assert the primacy of transformation, purge and correction so that humans may begin to know true empathy. They will continue to beat the stuffed body of a stillborn foal until it needs to be restuffed and restuffed it shall be.What a coincidence it was then to find...

http://www.twinkiesproject.com/

--

Corpse Bride was...

Well.

It was like Tim Burton fell asleep on the toilet and had someone else climb inside him and force the shit out and Burton woke up a day later was like, "That's a wrap".

There was this obese woman behind us who proceeded to laugh extremely loudly at every part of the film that was not funny. I had the wildest, unhumanly (depends on how you think of us) urge to sprint up there and stab her in the throat with my car key.

--

"I was stalked yesterday, LOL."

Embedded Thermos Fire.

[Music: Echo & the Bunnymen]


Siberia is better than I expected. Ian and Will can still rock out circa Crocodiles, Porcupine, and Ocean Rain. Recommended, even to skeptics.

Went to the mall today, picked this up. My weekend is gone. Do not even try to pry me from this, because I will not leave it. You are welcome to come over and watch me play, though.

Expressing his frustration for a guitar soloist. Pre-Justice Leauge dubbing, last night was a waste. Pat Miller should stop trying to get into good collges.

Gluesticks and Golden Anvils.

I poured some coffee and went through last week's newspapers looking at obituaries. I found what I needed: a memorial service scheduled for today. From the newsprint epitaph I learned that the deceased had lead the right kind of life for my purposes.I armed the security system and changed the passcode to one-six-one-zero, Hoyt Wilhelm's lifetime strikeout total. As I walked past my gate, into the early morning street, I popped a quarter atop one of its rails. A quick look when I returned would let me know whether someone had opened the gate. In these big estates you're far away from your neighbors. People don't really watch out for each other. I didn't even know who my neighbors were.I hit the main street and got the bus at Fairlea heading north. At forty-seventh I got out and walked a few blocks crosstown until I came to the address I had found in the obituaries. In the driveway of an empty house matching the address in the death notice there was a gold Dodge Dart. In a few minutes I had the car up and running.

Now I'm off to play Burnout Revenge.

They Sail Quietly On Ice.

Nice sunset tonight.

Doesn't that group of clouds near the bottom look like a rowboat with oars sticking out of it?

Macintosh Classic II > Nano

M: These pickles are the bomb.

T: The bomb is these pickles.

M: Oh shit.

[SKFL]

Your Own, Personal, Flaming Skyscraper.

Best picture I took today. Crazy flower/sky symmetry.

[Music: CocoRosie]

I'd wear your black eyes. Bake you apple pies.

With all the intense build-up of "Are you raw?" and other Copeland-insipred meanderings, I'm left with one non-provacative piece of draftwork as much as birds hold flags and fly straight up. Yet, the times are changing and wine continues to boil through bearclaws of subconscious and painful rountines that pry moons freely. Skipped the hop-scotch and dove line-first through sophomore sex in a bathtub filled with her jumpropes and spoiled mindmilk. Needless to whatever, her parents died at this moment.

[SKFL]

Calamitous Aggression Undermines Salvation's Enterprise.

The prize: mock dissent and suicide. If you can't tell the difference why pay less?

Porn skanks poolside, moonshine on the moon. No one knew you. Detachment just kindled worship and romance. If you can't tell the difference why pay less?

In a court-ordered self-imposed exile backed by 4 out of 5 dogs that prefer the taste of their own balls to the love of another. Mock dissent and suicide threats. If you can't tell the difference why pay less?

[HHX]

And the last thing was actually the first, only shifted lightly because the skin was burnt and dark. Getting to the top, rough, makes one want to wear sunglasses or welder's glasses or something. Setr was there, and that one man whose name is impossible to pronounce and even stranger to spell like it was originally written before he changed it. He saw me squinting and wanting to jump into the golden water, and I knew it from the first hundred steps. I kept going and so did time. It wasn't the end, and it would not be until I was far, far older. Hannah racecar, dad. She does it quickly and loudly, and the slightly mawkish tall-tale-telescoping compositional lens is put to similarly whimsical ends.

Other saucer pilots crave being introduced by way of a visual cartoons to assist in overcoming a mostly unfair initial appraisal of the burning based on its novelty overtones – the fine line separating a host of typecast character actors from a carnival gathering of the magically real, so separated it from me, but they continued eating cake.

What death at sea establishes here is a landscape of fairytale pastiches only to subvert and surprise down the road(!). What is remarkable is the way that they have made a mountain that can remain deeply shallow and slumbery(?) engaging, resist becoming background, even while leaving you with the nagging sense that it was about nothing but the act of wildlife reference itself. When was the last time you danced upon a work of hyper-textual fiction and actually enjoyed it?

OMFG TODAI WHUZ SON KNEE!!1

Crane was brought in this morning for the nearby school assemblance.

To the head and backwards and inside and sideways.

He has also written a book.

Electro-shock for cast-iron airstrikes; vert it, call.

Using flash in broad daylight makes the sky shine pale.

Shadowtree path.

<_<

Unrelated:

(Hind)Quarters.

Pit of fire.

Green of putting.

Q: Is the effect in one of theater or pageantry to deploy pragmatic and magnanimous billboard psychiatry?

A: Thursday.

Interview Inside Howling Hex's Mind.

Q:I Hope for U SO much and feel so eaegr FOR U fel I canot WATE taht teh exp3ctation on3e more 2 c ur faec agane macks me fel F3V3RISH and mah haart bats so fast-- I go 2 slep at night and teh first THNG I KNOW IM SITNG THEYRE WIED AWAEK CASPNG MAH HANDS TIGHTLY AND THINKNG OF U11!!!!1!???

A:OMG most honors mah styla who learns under it 2MOST D3STROY teh da nuh BGINNG INHARENT IN BIRTH can maek itsalf falt in da workd only B/C DA n3wcomar pos3ses teh CAPACITY OF BGINNG SOMETHNG AENW TAHT IS OF ACTNG!!!!111 LOL

Q:Is this s3nsa OF INITIATIEV an alement of action?

A:THEIR NATALITY IS INHARENT IN AL HUMAN ACTIVITEIS11!!1!! OMG LOL MORAOV3R SINCE action is teh poltical activity PAR EXCELANCE natality and not morality may b teh central CAETGORY OF POLITICAL as distinguished from metaphysical THOUGHT.

--

Yet unbound enough to look beyond the priment rose
Spent with six decisions to be seven-legged into creeks
One leg left behind to mourn the journey
Mourn the wading over shelves descending
The eighth please leave unstepped.

Get two birds. Kill one. Dip the live bird in the blood of the dead one. Kill a couple doves and burn them. Crickets, well cooked, are to be matched with Pinot Noir and never Pinot Gris.

To me the word professional begs something or someone a bit more extraordinary: the ability to step inside the client, to share dreams, quirks and idiosyncracies...to become the customer. Left so duly unimpressed, I've ended up very inclined to do the job myself. This was my mindset, until I happened upon YOU. And now it occurs to me...if all could be like YOU, I'd call them all professionals.

-HHX

(Head)Quarters.

-SKFL

Dry and Hyper On the Stair.

[Music: Sigur Ros]

Some of the fish down there had teeth like big needles, and a lot had spots or stripes on their sides that glowed red, yellow, or green. I saw an eel that looked like a rope on fire, and some other scary things, and finally I asked the Aelfmaidens if this was where they lived, because it did not seem to me that anybody would if they could live anywhere else.

--

Gradually all the noise trailed off into a sound like a giant asleep, like Gilling dying down there in a bed as big as a lot of people's houses. The rock stopped flowing up and got hard. We went up to look, and it was a whole island of rock with a sort of basin in the middle. Some seabirds had started nesting there, and the sea lapped at the gray-rock beach all around it like a cat laps cream.

--The Knight by Gene Wolfe

Beautiful Spot For a Power Converter. Thank you, city council.

Saw sights afterschool today.

At least twelve full-grown turkeys at the park by my house.

Was difficult to get a good shot because they kept running away. They're pretty fast, too.

King of Thanksgiving. No one ever thanks him.

Sunshinebrushfire by my cousin's house. Actually quite pretty.

Blogs make you want to start taking pictures of everything.

And one more. Composed during Women's Literatue; on a sheet of lyrics for a fucking Tracy Chapman song. Eeek.

Avoid a Void

Garage cats ignite the sky,
counseling collegiate comets into admission.
So why slay?
Upon impact, flow of oil is severed guided towards the cabled tier
and ashen volcanobirds.
She said, "Let the minotaurs prance freely through their artificial shadows."
Lightblade cannot guide without the withering roar and roam of colossi.
So why slay?
The hexing howl of warlike mice slicing kings on rain pavillions,
spawns carved sea caverns as lands of tides launch leviathans
through bomb-clustered clouds.
So why slay?
Tone of voice, quivering through soundblasts of screaming flowers
and jetstreams,
crested within the loud heat of the Mojave.
Solitude.
Unkempt.
So why slay?

Eyes Filled With Fog Seeing Beyond Brick Walls.

The Flying Fish: God's Hangover

[Music: A Hawk and a Hacksaw]

God sat calmly and quietly upon an ever-looming cloud, circling omni-presently above the green paradise known as Eden. This day was different than God’s usual days as creator of the world; he felt almost lonely, and desired to create a new type of physical specimen that he may observe and pass judgment upon. So, God summoned up his powers, or whatever he used to manifest certain objects, and created the first Man, whom he called Adam.

Adam lived happily within the Garden of Eden; simply lounging around the heavenly brightness while time seemed to stop dead. But after some time, Adam grew lonely just like God had when he decided to create Adam. One day, Adam spoke out to God, “Oh Lord! Much boredom and solitude has taken toll upon me, may you craft me a companion so that we may share this paradise together?” At this, God removed a piece of Adam’s rib, and spawned the first Woman, whom he called Eve.

When the two united, God appeared and said unto them, “I have given this paradise to you so that you may live happily amongst my other creations. I have but one thing to ask of you. Do not converse with the serpent, for he is far craftier than any other living within this garden. Do not listen and do not follow his instructions. Above anything, do not eat the fruit of the forbidden tree. And I’m out. Peace.” At this Adam and Eve went to the forbidden tree to examine it.

As they approached it, a serpent appeared. Adam and Eve looked at each other, then back at the serpent, then at each other, then the serpent. “This is all too familiar”, said Adam.

“Yes, you’re quite right”, replied Eve, smiling.

The two nodded, the serpent began to slither away, but was too slow. Adam jumped upon the serpent and began stomping with his bear feet. Eve summoned a shovel and sliced off the serpent’s head. Adam and Eve then gave each other props and dusted off their shoulders. At this, God spoke from up above, “You have killed one of my own creations. For this, you are banished.”

And Adam and Eve sat outside Eden’s gates; cold and naked, seeing winged serpents crawling all over their brains for eternity.

This is the birth of heavy metal and tattoos. And sodomy. And microwaves. And mankind.

Bright Leaves and Spirits.

Slow Dancing Under Cherry Blossoms.

[Music: Mission of Burma]

When left in a situation that requires the appearance of a personal “spirit” to assist in guiding me to the place I need to be, I am left without a sense of companionship. The human “spirit” is something that acts as a guidance tool to make up for personality aspects that do not exist within that person. The same could be said for the human conscience. I believe that my spirituality makes an appearance when I least except it to; when I am in such a deep state of self-involvement that the world around me collapses I am the only individual left standing. My spirituality aids me in executing proper self-reflection that eventually leads me to finding out who I really am and how the people within my life shape features that culminate to form my personality.

I also find my deepest connection with my spirituality to take place in the bright-leafed confines of local nature. I try to partake in a wandering stroll a few times a week across the park/field adjacent to my house, it assists me in obtaining the necessary calm attitude needed to adequately deal with the stresses of school and work. When I am walking through the crisp afternoon air, all thoughts of burdensome activities become swept out of my brain by a wind of tranquility. Nature is very much an essential point in having my spirituality show its true form to my mind, because it offers a unique experience that many young adults forget about during the shift into adult life. School and work can easily slip out of reach. Nature is always there.

Go outside and let the spirit soar amongst the trees.