27 Sep 2010


hedonic exhaustment – oh, hedonic exhaust ment – now, time for a mint, a melatonin mint - pop it under my tongue and let it dissolve, slowly - the flavour pervades like a fog - melamints - why do i take them? to help me sleep, or more likely to help me dream, because tonight in particular, i need dream therapy - i've exhausted options for waking life, having focused maniacally on pleasure to the maximal sum possible when sober - materialist mechanized gratification ad abdurdum - i struck an oil pipeline, found out it was flammable, warm and somehow chilling at the same time, i tapped in like there was no choice, mainline, i didn’t know stuff like this existed, i was so lucky, so so lucky, it was so good, so fucking good that it had to be the devil and i had to make a deal, i still don’t know what to do with that incendiary stuff except get more and more and more, there will be blood, i guess

mint-flavoured melatonin, though i mostly sleep in the dark these days, but it doesn't hurt and the peppermint stings a little, cool burn, and i like the taste - so, there's any number of temptation gauntlets in the future but i can't think about them - i only figure i won't have to pay the piper for this sort of pleasure, it's as empty as anything else, as substantial as chemicals, as disgustingly real as that, and as fleeting as an artificially induced serotonin spike, but it hasn't got the same cruel neurological aftermath, this digital indulgence

still, i feel abused, like i used myself, which i did, in a lot of ways, and the world used me, and i grabbed ahold of the world’s giving hand while the other took from me, pride for pleasure, as i collected, collated pleasure, categorized beauty, aesthetized in a big crunch, conditions similar to the birth of a universe, second time farce, could scarcely breath, pumping blood like a muthafucka, and i used the world as a way, for narrow will and no purpose, just a metabolic sub sub-routine, pathetic and inhuman and i'm still a lil buzzed on the caffeine or maybe some dealer fifteen floors up flushed a kilo of blow down the drain and into the sewers where i swim and that’s why that thing is whatever it is

there's fucking knobbing beauty popping out of every grate, goddamn cocksucking beautiful blossoming metal hoops and body piercings, nose-rings and clitoral chandeliers, cheeseball beauty i could never think of myself, a glut of style, style inside style, chintzy VR utopia - when i finally got to the ultimate junk of that product line i wasn’t even consciously looking for it, i was just looking looking looking, in every direction for the next thing which i didn’t think existed and it was called SPH, it was a thing - a full body orgasm, localized, but it wasn't crack

it did remind me a bit of that, though, and in a way it’s just as blunt - but i declare i MUST possess a vice of some kind, i demand to have one, and if i can't get down and dirty and disgusting and sleazy and bad and bent in the conventional way, i'll do it in some mediocre and pathetic way that doesn't fry my brain in the blatant upfrontal lobe way, and buzz on that for a while, and then take melatonin to steady the mind a bit, and facilitate dream therapy which is truly nature's medicine - and that’s almost enough for me, but i’ve been known to add synthetic sprinkles for inscrutable exhortational flavour

so, what have we learned, anything? consummation of consumption is not actually a con game, only fair trade, but this is why i’m writing, hence, producing something, instead of taking and faking and faking and taking, and using, and spending – i need this, to feel anything again, i need to piss in the wind, 0s to 0s, 1s to 1s, i’ll never be done

if i was really that tied up with the CHUDs, i wouldn’t be writing this – even though i used them to get my cheap thrill – and they used me to make money – and we’re mutually low, we’re in the same abysmal bracket, even if you two are in a chasm above my pit, what used to be a dishpit - i never called that pit a dishpit but “they” did, and they still do – so we’re basically low and attached to that sleazy system, consumers and abused producers, aren’t you? haha, that makes me laugh, cause i’m in a tragicomic mood and things are dark through the life frequency modulating algorithm i’m seeing in everything – but the system didn’t count on this explanation of it, did it? so, i’ll call it elevation, and actually feel elevated writing that, even as i’m hedging my bets by self-deprecating with sarcastic inflection, via the “i’ll call it” classifer

19 Sep 2010

Symmetry is Redundancy

the path of least resistance.

Low Torso Guy is listening to Pantera. He's got five quadrillion funbucks in his pocket. They talk trivia in apparent enthusiasm. On obvious enthusiasm, like it's a plane that Evil Kneival is about to surf, but it's through the camera lens of a FOX special. Anyway, it's all part of the International Airport Arrival Concourse that envelops the earth in a spherical shell. It's less than meets the eye, and it treats them as equals, and there's room for a sequel.

Economy is for shoemakers.
Meditation is for the drowsy.
Making axioms rhyme, making rhymes axioms passes the time, channels duress stress, the long-lasting fume run.

Remember when? Of course I remember. And I feel nothing for it, of course. The money will roll right in, so no matter, no problems but solutions, soul-selling solutions, like paper money for gold bullion, if you like that sort of thing. I'll just sit and grinnnn, as the money rolls in.

Tell yourself:
I wish I could be brainwashed. My thoughts are so unclean.
I wish I wish I wish...

Ring of empty, tint of empathy, clueful stupidity. That's me. Full of clues, a whole rolodex full, a tautological cycle, like a Wagner opera.

Then there's the soft voice with the hard edge, plus it comes in fifty thousand flavours and RGBO quadroptic display - offer expires when cockblocked by a peacock photographer, it'll happen, trust me.

Remember when, how many times we gotta white knuckle it? How many times we gotta define it? Pressure point, self reinforcement, life-line in a diamond mine, leitcontour following:

(easy = sunday morning) > broken clock righteousness

Hoping for nothing
that I know of, surprise me Nemoy,
black pools of KGB deadness.
Cuticl, the 120 proof placebo.
No faith except in fate.

Clyde Kennedy, who is he, a "Big League Hypocrite"? Not sure, better look back... and proceed to stagnate, make a date with stagnation, blind naturally and still born.

I'll be your mirror
God has no mirror
Jewelry is gay
The mind creates context
where none exists.

11 Sep 2010

it's punch up time!

when you're wearing a cedric bixler t-shirt

we're all the same, more or less

i'm strong when i'm in the other end of the cycle
give me anaesthetics and i'll go to the moon - with some fishing line and iron will
it's not nice to burn the table, even though it feels nice to burn both ends of the candle
but it's not nice, especially when the table supports you

3D vision and the california blues
time-clock warrior

nobody knows, anyway
it's all up for grabs, the truth
even after all this time, i'm not sure
waiting for the counter evidence
if you think you're sure, you're deluding yourself
or eluding yourself, or, something i haven't thought of yet

anyway, typing in a rhythm

i'm sharpening my teeth, not with intent to devour another
just to get by
i guess i won't annihilate the check and balance
i guess i won't strangulate the check and balance
but i would like to forsake the check and balance
it's a lot of wasted time, and it fucks up the rhyme
cause it's punch up time!

bobbing mah head

the small stuff
that is everything

wish i could shrug it off
but i would need to be in
a very different place
of my own making
then i could fully detach
from the consequences

"looking healthy"
they say, today
because i'm not on the verge
of a death stumble
a pseudo-suicide tumble
no more get out of jail free cards for me

so tired of solemnity, such crushing seriousness
i played so hard i forgot how to play
i want to own my own irresponsibility

the grass is greener on either side
here is black crossroads, scorched earth

haven't i cried and confessed enough?
it hasn't impressed on anyone
least of all, myself

7 Sep 2010

ok, there's been too much negativity

enough with that, there might even really be this thing called peace and serenity - and i have things to be thankful for - i've got to calm down - i will

1 Sep 2010


oh, it hurts so much
to see you again
and i'm sure it's so awkward for you, poor girl
oh, so awkward, but it's fucking painful for me

so just pretend you don't see me
i'll pretend i don't know you
as i run a rack of glasses to the bar
enjoy your meal
just keep on pretending
you're so practiced at pretending
it's not a lie if you believe it to be true

oh, i'd love to come by and say hi
but it's so much easier to lie

and it's my right to live in the past
you can't take that from me
but it won't impinge on your healthy new life, i guarantee
so savor your recent tragedies
they're not for me to share

cause i'm in the ancient guild of dishwashers, still
old school shenanigans