Resolutions

1. die.

Dream VI: Unnoticed Shapeshifter

A cat I can't catch, my cat, an oddly intelligent-looking, brooding creature, larger than average, elaborate organic designs incised on its fur like an oriental rug, running off down the street hair's widths away from oncoming traffic always about to be delicately deconstructed. Why not put a cat on a leash? I think to myself, questioning common knowledge. They don't like it? But so on and so on we reach DESTINATION, as we all must reach, an enclosure where people sit and sleep. Within, a friend is moving out suddenly and it seems that I will be moving into this place as well, all the rooms are oblong in the same direction, on a bed frame rests a dozen electric guitars stacked like the layers of a cake and a drum set, won't you be moving that out? Will someone be coming for this stuff? It's not yours? All these questions arise in my mind, but I neither ask them or are answered in any form. The equipment remains as it is, untouchable. As I wander through the place further, I open a door and exclaim about it's large size, but I suddenly realize that a pupil is being taught the trombone and the instructor glares at me the way only lifetime teachers can. Shut the door, why didn't you stop me? Shrug, they do that sometimes. But more importantly is that sometime along this fragmented narrative my cat companion has turned into a purple and gold canary which flutters its wings with the veracity of a hummingbird, flitting about the house to alight on surfaces too smooth to be grasped by the legs of a cockroach. I don't notice the shape shifting, it's ever so much more subtle in a dream. I grasp the critter in my fist gently heartbeating, tail feathers sticking out from between thumb and finger. Release. It alights on a wall and I inspect it further to find that it has three eyes, two in the normal positions and one in between, but off center towards the right side (my right). All three are open. Hmm, didn't notice that one before, oh well, looks pretty cool, I must remember to show it off to people. The chattering of ghosts in the next room, disembodied voices talking around synthetic flames, inspired. Seems to be a continuation of the dream into blackness, detested wakefulness with its own set of circumlocutions to describe its reality. Something to eat, something to drink, what an endless chore.

Why I Can't Play Abrasive Music Anymore, or, The Ghosts Upstairs as I Dully Apprehend Them.

The death knell of poorly tuned voices above, turned to gray antecedents of phrase through floors too thin. Turning them outside-in, I remember the domestic issues issued out through my white fenced-in as they passed together talking, voice on voice in utter dystonic agony of cords and chords. "We've just pooled our money together..." The tone in her voice is old with its piercing affectation, her mother's, as her grandmothers, as infinity back some ape, some paramecium, some dim clump of atoms said to another, all at once, "Get away from me stay close by. (The strong and/or weak nuclear force?)" What do you want from him? I ask myself sitting supine sipping on green tea as always, purified puffs of sinuous synthetic smoke curling past my bearded lips in parody of wise men smoking pipes solemnly ages ago in Great Britain, of curtained knowledge never to be expressed but through dumb looks and pretentious expressions which really tell the questioner, "You know what to do. (You poor self-unsure bastard, you.)"  

Stamping feet above on boards on bored minds moving through the flickering pictures and sickly melodious beats of some romcom/sitcom/dramidy, undoubtedly, and these specific sensoriums are the tomb of couples, new and old, destined to find themselves again in each other's pallid arms as images and hypnotic sounds shuffle by, their embrace an expressive echo of those who begot them and so on and so on, to the original atoms. Is this packaged and distilled emotion they feel for each other the same as Romeo and Juliet? Yes, Shakespeare was sooo popular, a hack through and through. Rich before death like all our current Hollywood zombie-kin. Look to see their dead eyes interviewed sometime. And though that dead unenlightened fuck shits in our faces we take it again and again, as LITERATURE, like it's better than the drivel parceled out through the pixels of high def screens functioning more like mirrors, tuning their viewers into what everyone thinks one ought to be.

I hear the sudden scream of coitus one day and, in anticipation of the release of oxytocin, play death metal loudly, hoping that in the coupled heap of mistimed movements above somewhere in its mind, weakened though their curdling fleshly orgasm it will somehow associate harshly quick timed muffled roars with the short bliss of afterglow in each others arms animated with the motions of love learned rotely through the gently shimmering light of silver screens showing awkward first kisses, and the robotic motions of their predecessors (parents), rolling in their graves as though on stage for their progeny long after the death of their minds on their wedding day lobotomy, well, not right then but some few years after (You can see I'm a bit of a romantic). So they gently encapsulate each other like electric dolls bought at Wal-Mart, blissed out for a moment, so maybe I can play this music louder and for longer later on. It's worth a shot?!*

*No, it's not. I do it anyway.

wordserpentinegentropy

Yarns. Split it all spit it all split it all up into The Will and The Device theiritselves, spit it up. Never show the truth and hide it away between the bedsheets where the tenderhearted hatred whiles away so still, so benign, such tender grace in its embrace, in its opalescent-mother-of-pearl-lace-work-winding-interwreathing reticulations.

NEVER KNOW. Catalog the ninety-four names of the Devil and show me his true aspect sideways askance, Lucifer, bending upward rows of light. Love never, so I while away my time in the skin of a dog incarnate, cynical, raging like hard white teeth stained with yellow and newborn red slaking the succor of ripe meat slick with bloodflesh and real tasty incisors coated with it, clamping down on lost legs of opossums and raccoons, eat it all up and delight at newflesh coming into and collapsing inside the stomach like a dark star, singularity of crushing love ever becoming the leftover side dishes of the spirit's vital umbra, neverexisting life of enchanting newdeath circuit in homogeneous coils of misrepaired intestines, an illusory mobius strip-ouroboros of nutrients that when absorbed and assimilated become the exanimate matrix of... yes... the inert vector of the soul.

In Worship of Gluttony

At midnight the embryonic feast was sputtering hot oil onto the cooks clad in their ritual attire, colored brilliantly with the shades of ripened fruit, so conspicuous and appealing to the eyes of primates whose existence depended for eons on discerning those hues among the monotonous green of forest and grassland. Though passers-by might not realize it, the sharp pain of the boiling oil searing their bare skin was the provenance of their glory, for they exulted in the pain which would produce pleasure within the souls of those who would feast. Yes, their garb functioned only for pomp and, by design, encouraged the oil's sting, which was made all the more painful by the musky ganja smoke they had inhaled in private from a dragon carved pipe handmade by an expert craftsman, a man unsung except by his patrons who saw in his work the faces of gods as yet unnamed by the meticulous cataloging of their shamen. The pipe was of such intricate and lifelike design that as it made its final circuit about the ring of smokers several of them later swore that they had seen it wink at them knowingly, or that when the bowl was cached it took a deep breath and audibly sighed thin clouds as if exasperated by the goings-on. It was after this ceremony that they entered the temple trailing a bluish miasma and began to prepare the food with solemn grace, forgetting the omens they had witnessed as easily as their fire starters.

To Imagined Unknown Lovers

Lips numb with deathandlife, 

I never knew what you wanted to do to me and I wanted you to do it so painfully, 

though we met as if through one-way glass when you gave me that brief, single-sided stare of lust that I missed entirely from across the room perceiving only myself in my thoughts' reflection, 

but which pierced through the crowd, 

glissading between the napes of necks and chins like an arrow through twelve axeheads to reciprocally pierce the target of your retina, bullseyeing for an impossibly tiny instant my oblivious face. 

I tell myself now that after you've gotten over your glorious infatuation with the flesh of my flesh, I can't possibly still yearn for your chimerical cunt and salivate hungrily in the deliberate delectation of its unknown scent, 

the rosette of tissue tickling itself between your legs with firm, sanguine pressure. 

I still grasp it with my tongue and mind together like a vice of yesteryear given up long ago, 

but never forgotten, 

wistfully returning to my consideration as often as a dolphin's head crests the ocean's sloppy surface to exchange air for air. 

But on the other hand, fuck you, whore. 

And that is why, my friends, love poetry sucks.

The Gyroscopes of Paranoia I: Lecture Series; Intro: Basic Waking Procedures

Invocation:

Every day-to-day the same old, same old.

Follow these simple steps to live on carefree.

Happiness through comprehensive control.
CONTROL.

Hello all, now, in the interest of time I'm just going to launch straight into the material, trial by fire, it's the only way. It'll be painful till you get used to the pacing, but then again it'll be a lot more painful if you don't learn the material fast enough, every second counts, quickly, quickly:

MORNING:

Wake up silently and/or with use of a personal alarm, more on this later.

DON'T MOVE, IF THEY ARE EVER GOING TO ASSASSINATE YOU IT WILL BE WHILE THEY THINK YOU ARE ASLEEP.

Don't trust me though, here's an expert opinion: "Assassins 'er cowards, not big shot tough guys like in tha movies, pfft, you think that shit's real, have I got news for you, son! Real big shot tough guys get theirs real soon, real ugly, trust me. Ain't no Schwarzeneggerses goin' round killin' folks, terminator style, it's lill wiry pale faces who killed cats fer fun in grade school, tortured more like. Entisoshal Persunalidy Disurder, ever heard of it? Turn on you real quick fer a thumbtack they fancy and capreeshous too. Would wire ya thirty grand, just to take thirty grand and five dollas from ya, but like as not to take a whole lot more. What's a mind like that think? Well, what's a hyener think like when it gits itself kicked frum its cackle, an not no dumb hyener, a reeeeeeeal thinker. Them two's kissin' cousins, near enough on the family tree might as well be the same species, dog-thing and man-thing, they'd fuck for sure if they could, a pity the offspring'd be infertile, not that I'd want ta cross paths with one, but jus' ta see it do it's thing, beautiful, in it's converluted mashinashuns, crystallin' seeds uv entrupy ready ta grow, real quick, fractul destruction like crack's in yer windshield growin' out a control. Mull that one over real slow Tonto, savor the juices."

SOURCE: To remain anonymous by request.

Back on task, you! What kind of attention is that? GO GO GO GO! GO GO! GO GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!

Yelled Louder than Fuck at a Traveling Band of Creationists on the UT Campus, who were Masturbating Poorly Conceived Philosophies All Over the Children

These men, these foul men, have taken on the guise of proper Christians and relied on your own good and trusting natures in order to deceive you!

They have sinned in their hearts and with their flesh,

they have quoted scripture only to inflate their rancid egos,
they have slandered the names of honest, god-fearing citizens,
they have toiled on the sabbath to worship the false idols of greed and corruption,
they have taken the Lord's name in vain,
they have lain with women of loose morals, and that not being enough for them, they have slaked their desire with members of the same sex also,
they have snorted lines of sin with THE DEVIL himself,
and they have tried to taste the ice cream of God's love with forkéd tongue and when they could not lap it up they shat in His open arms and called Him a sucka!

And for this they are not condemned!

And I have but one more thing to tell them, here on this beautiful day given to us so graciously by the Lord our savior Jesus Christ, whose forgiveness knows NO bounds, 

KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!

Breaking News: Mom makes $379/day Working From Home

I was innocently browsing the internet when suddenly a site which I have no memory of requesting came up in a new window. It was a strange and disconcerting experience. Somehow I must have serendipitously entered the exact URL of the website and then accidentally hit enter. That, or I have a severe, undiagnosed neuro/psychological condition. So I have taken the initiative and started several correspondences with leading neurologists and other applicable medical experts to determine if it is due to short term memory loss or early onset dementia, or something far more innocuous, like Dissociative Identity Disorder, which does tend to flare up about this time every year. Anyways, seeing that the article was Breaking News, and as I am bound by the sacred laws of the journalistic code to relay this to my 32 readers, all of whom are likely myself, of this important, life changing, and time sensitive information along with a heap of unrequested and gratuitous editing, to get it juuuuuust right. (If you could see me now you'd notice the tip of my tongue sticking out of the corner of my mouth, or, if you have pilfered the IP address of my webcam, you are watching me do this in real time as you read, you sick voyeuristic fuck.)

Would I steer you wrong, you ask? Well, consider the tale of the boy who cried wolf, it was made for this occasion. There is a fucking wolf about to eat this article if you don't read it right now, no kidding, an actual, living, breathing wolf. This is why your parents told you this story when you were five to relate to you the tried and true moral of "kids suck and should routinely have their intestines ravenously devoured by carnivorous animals as they cry for their mommy while she and the townspeople look on laughing heartily and throwing rotten fruit and generally encouraging the wolf on and petting it and trying to get its number and then going back to the bar and getting too drunk and vomiting all over the new couch and end up getting kicked out of the house and getting a divorce and becoming an alcoholic just to more richly appreciate the irony of it all."

I don't remember if that is actually how the story ends, but I've done a cursory search of my brain and that is what it reported back, after it called me an asshole, psssh, she's the asshole, you know. This is journalism at its finest, but, if you don't already, you should really take everything I say as gospel, or if you're not religious, as you would take a four foot high stack of gold bars just outside the dumpster of a millionaire with long, brittle yellow finger nails, or if you're not materialistic, as the combined enlightenment of all the Buddhas that ever were or will be both on earth and throughout this universe and other universes, should they exist. Onward, you're wasting time reading all this, hurry up, tick tock, tick tock! You're nearly dead already! Fuck:

This Post Pertains to YOU, if you are from that enchanted storybookland called NEDERLAND

If you're reading this (check) and you're from Nederland, you're probably sipping on a freshly rolled spliff cut with some choice tobacco, that is, whenever you're not taking long, languid drags off your coffee cup as you sit in plain view of policemen who are standing in the street trying to help some American sorority girl tourists bearing Chinatown Gucci bags and sunglasses find some government subsidized heroin. You look past this scene across the street, where a cinema's scrolling LED screen notifies you that Lars von Trier's Dogville and Manderlay will be shown back to back, with an exclusive new preview of his upcoming film Melancholia, as is customary for any Thursday. Also, you can expect the now commonplace courtesy provided by every competitive movie theater in the country, which is that all screenings are book ended by von Trier's masterpiece Antichrist, shown in full. You almost wretch with polite snickering laughter as some Pineapple Express-looking loser foreigner kids walk sheepishly into your coffee shop and ask the barista, "Like, is it really cool to buy weed here dude? Seriously, for real like?" After finally convincing them, they buy a pound of the cheapest of the shittiest shitty shit weed from her, roll a single, thin joint, pass it around the nine of them, and promptly green-out, slumping over their table with malevolent docility. Luckily for the proprietors, they all are afflicted with dry mouth, which spares those patient folk from having to wipe up the drool which would have surely pooled on the table and taken on the familiar forms of unaimed, slapdash ejaculate.

Yet all is well, perfect really, and so you stub out your coffee mug on the counter and swirl the dregs of your spliff in the air and polish off the last quarter inch in one quick shot. You wish you could go to your job, but you're on paid vacation again, drat! There is an old American saying which I think you will find quite useful on this occasion, "When life gives you lemons, shit, why do I have all these goddamn fucking lemons!?!!! I'm fuckin' starvin' where uh mah nacho cheeze do-ri-toes at, Ma? Maa? MAAAAAAAAA!!?"

But in all seriousness, if you're from Nederland, or even just close by, please comment on this post, or shoot me an email (electricmonk500 {upon} gmail [common punctuation mark] c o m), and let me in on the Amsterdam down low. Possible I will send you something cool in the mail, if you will trust me with your address, which you shouldn't.

First come, first serve, honor system etc. etc. GO!

Also, you should read this lovely book if you haven't already, you have, haven't you? I knew it, you guys are the best!

Erabutoxin a, b and c; Ls III; Phospholipase AI, AIII and AIV

A pharmacodynamics of lauticauda semifasciata venom,

Molecules wrestling within the endothelia of stoic osteichthyes,
Nereids numbly emanating into over opening jaws eased by ophidian quadrate ossifications,
Witness the kinetic effect of myosin and actin drawn to inaction, crotamic necrosis.

Adenosine triphosphate, why have you forsaken this motility instilled in the sea?
Meanwhile long lost echinoderm cousins flaunt their pentamerism unrepentantly from tidal pools,
Neural nets anchored on anger for singular lines of symmetry stretching spines sinusoidally,
While their own just prick at passersby.

(The trials of paralysis in marigenous saline.)

Sea Snake Toxinology (Venom & toxin series)