steak matrix...

... It's rare to find a tendon this tasty in the steak matrix. We had to go all the way to the wallfloor of the space colony. Captain Kidd came along of course. How could he not? He morphed into himself early on, and we made rotini from nebulae. Yeah, I kid you not.

The steak matrix was said to limit freedom, but I felt that in doing so, it made what remaining freedom there was that much richer. Kidd said there's no such thing as a free lunch or automatic correction, but I'll be damned if I didn't feel as if I beat the devil that day in the wallfloor dungeon, even as I lay behind iron bars, building my character to monstrous proportions like some sedentary Heracles on sabbatical.

There's debris still floating out there you know, quarkhorse and sucrets and equations and starlight piercing steady, more steady than what you see as the "lesser lights", that are nonetheless quite bright, I'll give yuh that. And damned if I don't still feel like I'm paying 0% compound interest on that loan the devil granted me. It's not grace and it's not disgrace, it's a slomo shipwreck so we got plenty of time to bail, can even enjoy the view before we hit the rowboat and paddle against ocean currents with a goat. The steak matrix will allow this, iron rebar reinforces the businesslackumen furnishings that could boost productivity in a thousand needy offices. The steak matrix will be here for a while. Form, function, health, wealth, cancer,,, information in formation, domino stopper, arterial plug.

My reaction to all this is that, yah! Uh! Duh! Ohmygod... La la la laah, I can't hear you, IV drips sure are interesting, Benjamin Franklin sure was smart, i wish there were more things left to invent but I'll take a free ride on the wheel and coast til I hit the inlet, bloom schlackalaka, it'll all come out in the wash, my music is sarcastic you just didn't hear that, and my writing isn't aaaalways sarcastic, it just echoes from plugin abuse, superinflated currency for freakonomicists, and if the hotdogs don't kill you than the botulism will. Jerry Garcia got a lot of drugs done and that wasn't nothing in the scheme of things. All people ever focus on is the music, there's so much more! There's cancer and death and samurai warriors and a wardrobe that leads to narnia. There's Christmas cake and Christmas cheer and engine oil and pseudo ephedrine and hydromorphone and Latin mass and won't you sing along? Will you not? You know the words, you own them, I metabolize the mortgage, my mightiest mitochondria sees this smugly on a cellular level from his backyard, surveying his goober domain, cause he'a a male mitochondria and thus given to flights of farandolaeic foolishness, like he's "solving the worlds' problems", the whole bloody solar system's, when really he's just rubbing up against a membrane and creating enough friction with proteins on pistons to allow a macrocosmic life to span the chasm from this second to the next. Decay doesn't read as something so terribly nasty in a mitosis yard, it's a drama, and a denouement. And the broth has been spoiled twenty times over already, it's got a few more spoils left in it. It's simply sweet and then sour, in ten high thirty international flavours. That's how it remains in the steak matrix for the foreseeable future.

Placating Imps

of Pavlov's slow mutant variety. Synesthesia was push-button easy in a dream, and the fretboard was an open book with a deep index, so easy to cross reference. Creative names for courthouse corner offices. We could have a league of our own here on the Celtic generic sportsfield. Too bad about the goldfish memory, but it isn't that bad, worry is worse, absence could make a beautiful woodcut, even against the grain. Cats, sex, nazis, and Mr. Happy... BRING IT, said the void. Scrotum shaved with a razor sharp to the nanoscale and not compromised. There's always a craft to man and ship and when it's ship ing you can rake in an obscene hourly wage for a working stiff. Yeah, the more money you have, the harder it is to keep track of, but try

Gurgle. Glurgle. This is my life now. It'll go good with gray stubble. Maybe eventually with national geographics, my "cadillac hour". There're whole flakes of fragments flying by, I'm gonna buy them wholesale, sell them to the highest bidder, the one with the top scores in the blood said one owns, or is perhaps on loan from God (MA), a wholly-owned subsidiary of Natura Covalent Bonds and PolyAtomic Ion Conglomerate.