today it became clear to me that i have found myself in a paradoxal position. shit. let me explain.
i tend to read a certain set of postings by a woman, in a near-by state, that i ABSOLUTELY enjoy. i can honestly say when my RSS feed pops up and there is a new post i tend to get a little giddy inside. it's not because i'm crushing on her, or like her or think about her: it's because the writing is wonderful. with that idea spent: the fact of the matter is she is getting in the way of her writing...in my eyes. this may sound stupid, even i must admit it, but this is the truth. it would seem more depth is needed. fuck me running, full speed backwards, while taking a shit.
if there is one thing i can't stand about blogs in general its the lack of substance and new material. if it's fresh: i can dig it. if in fact, it is well organized and intelligently written (which her's is), i would buy that blog a coffee and stare into it's frame with eyes wide open, just gazing in awe. the certain blog i speak of has me cursing it to the depths of "written like a childrens' book" hell.
this woman who write this delightful batch of hilarious and mind boggling things, is intelligent (to say the least), has a quick wit (which i adore so much), can debate like a pro (also a turn on) & generally has a splendid grasp of the usages of the english language. to me there isn't much to complain about. HOWEVER, as i am the eternal asshole, i have indeed found that small amount of something to complain about.
the persecution complex, lack of trust issues, desire to stay free, constant replay of..., and over use of the same subject(s) has begun to make me wish she had been one of the many victims of John Paul Knowles. for the love of literature (L.O.L)...(stop lol-ing at L.O.L) pick something absolutely uncharted to yourself. please, just once act like an adult and stop buying the store brand tampon words that you're so in love with!
if i get 100 people to read this blog i am referencing i can 87% guarentee that 95% of them will see the "life stuck on repeat" tessalational crap that is being recycled over and over and over again.
i know what's coming....wait for it...."if you don't like it, don't read it!"
THAT IS THE FUCKING PROBLEM! I DON'T HATE IT!
i love the insight and depth, but i'm tired of the topic(s).
i am infatuated with the drive and word use, but again, tired of the same topic(s).
the color scheme, comment to comment debate and shut-down: SUPERB. topic(s): DONE TO DEATH.
i would almost consider this woman a writer if it wasn't for the vile, redundant, petty, high-school-esque, garbage that fills every post.
her blog is like a snowcone: no matter what syrup you put on it, it's still a fucking snowcone.
again, I LOVE THE WAY SHE WRITES BUT I HATE HER GETTING IN THE WAY OF HER POTENTIAL. everyone has the same issues that she has: insecurity/persecution/doubt/longing for freedom/wishes for an easier tomorrow. EVERYONE feels the same way, at one time or another, so SHUT THE FUCKING VAULT on the overdone, boring, childish bullshit you're spewing and try something TRUELY INTERESTING AND NEW...AS IN YOU'VE NEVER ONCE COVERED THE TOPIC BEFORE.
if this well read, word vixen continues to play the same cry baby card about the same issue time and time again, it will be a waste of the following:
time, space, internet capability, dictionary content, writing time...etc.
so, if the ghost of Hunter S. Thompson is listening:
GO SMACK THAT FUCKING CUNT SWINE IN HER WHORE FACE, MAKE HER WRITE LIKE THE STRONG INDIVIDUAL SHE COULD POSSIBLY BE. IF SHE WOULD BOLDLY GO TO ANOTHER SET OF IDEAS, CUT THE BULLSHIT & STOP DWELLING ON HER CHILDHOOD MOLESTATION PERIOD, SHE COULD BE BETTER THAN KING JAMES.
enjoy your night, day, life.
Rants, Stories, Abstract Observations & Cruel Humor
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Abyss: Quintessence (Part 2)
my eyes opened to a sight i remember from my childhood, a scene i knew i had seen only once before this day. the circular room in which i awoke was the "starting point" of my journey to the Great Divide. here in this room are numerous book cases, housing what seems to be infinite books, each appearing to be just like all the rest: bound in aged leather much like the color of grassless soil. my bare feet move toward one of these book cases, as i walk i see that the floor is devoid of dust, decay & traffic. the substance under me is marble, beautiful marble in all directions. the pattern is that of tessalations, organic tessalations rather than the geometric ones of mc esher. they spiral out from what i assume is the absolute center of the room. something wants me to stand here and speculate on the floor, something wants me to stop asking questions. i can't say if this paradoxal or not, however, i dare not spend too much time on the idea or the room itself, i must continue on.
i turn toward the only exit out of this room, i see the candle lit hallway that will take me to that abyss, that wonderous and endless place from my youth. in seeming silence my bare souls make their escape into the hallway. the textures and views here are much more soothing. this floor is carpeted and soft, it feels like walking on skin that isn't attached to bone, gentle epidermis spans the floor from wall to wall. i know this isn't normal or whatever you wish to call it, however, it is much more relaxing than the carpet in the living world. my movement continues forward as i glance from side to side at the walls. i reach my hand out to touch them and i get a shock of amazement: the walls are papered in tongues; thousands of warm, pink, damp tongues. as i cast my hands over them they reflex and make waves, waves all the way down the hallway in both directions. the ripple of speech, before the end. this must make the floor the crawl of skin as the last breath exits the body. this was much more terrifying as a child of only ten years, now i find myself spellbound, aroused even by this collection of last minute lifeform. in expectation i look up to explore but fnd nothing: form, light, colors. a void.
i stand before a set of double doors at the end of the living hallway, they are also alive and they alone stand in my way of this path to the place i seek. these doors are a collage made entirely of several cirulatory systems. a mass of various sized crimson blood filled tubes, arranged into mind boggling designs, run completely through the doors. veins have been braided into the moldings and door handles. capalaries create a wood-grain effect. this should be vulgar and nauseating but it is more beautiful than anything i have every seen crafted by mortal beings. these doors are a masterpiece. i focus on my arms, lifting them slowly, gently even, and place my open hands upon the grand design of these living door handles and grasp them as one would grasp a delicate flower. i feel the blood still pumping within them, warm vibriant blood, swaying through them and into the rest of the doors. i push with all my might and open them to face what i faced so many years before: the Great Divide.
there, beyond the living tissues of those no long dead, i stand at the edge of an abyss the likes which can not be explained, it is something that has to be seen in order to fully understand. i know that you can't step past the ledge of this place unless you are meant to, i made that mistake as a child, trying to adventure into unknown territory without thinking twice. the last time i was spit out of this place, back to my still waiting body, i was ejected without explanation. so now i have returned to observe the Great Divide, this endless nothingness at the end of the living hallway, outside of the marble room. it is peaceful here: no sirens, no birds chirping, no unwanted audio anywhere. vast emptiness stares back at me and now i make my move: i will try my luck with speech, i choose to speak into the complete blackness. "is anyone or anything there? am i in the company of another?"
there grew a symphony of noise, a tremendous rumble of ear splitting sound that was everywhere. i looked from side to side, up and down, i found nothing and no one to make this happen. i felt uneasy for the first time at the foot of nothingnesss, shock & awe overtook me in that instant. again it came, the rumble and then from that came a million screams mixed with, what could only be described as, a million sighs. a unification of voice or voices, as it were, bellowed out of the blackness. every tone, pitch, language combined to form a small pinprick of light in the distance. it shot toward me like a bullet, closing in on me in a split second and stopping, from what i could tell, 100 feet from me hovering above the Great Divide. it began to pulse with color, a light crystal blue, and pulsed more and glowed ever so slightly. my mind was at full alert now, i had gained the attention of...something. then shock took over again, as it spoke.
"Il messaggero non e importante"
i was left speechless, my voice was missing in action, i was unable to respond at that instant.
"Il messaggero non e importante"
i didn't understand. i knew it was latin but i had no idea what it meant.
"you're right on time, it was known that you would come back for answers. speack now, you have little time, do not hasitate."
this is what i had waited to experience, so i tried again to speak but to no avail.
"your voice is of the living. this place is devoid of life, use your soul."
my mind concentrated on speaking from within, from what i could only assume was my soul. i spoke with my entire body, or the projection of it i can assume. "i know i can not approach you or i will be ejected from here so i wish to ask this: what are you?" there came a million laughs from the ball of blue pulsing light and then it spoke again to me.
"a collection of quintessence left behind in the Great Divide as those who were have gone to their respective points of being. complete nothingness. a paradox. all and none. you are done here, you will return again but only when your time is finished."
this moment was what i had longed for and with that i felt the ejection. the charismatics' timer had reached zero and i was brought back from the abyss, the Great Divide was lost again.
i turn toward the only exit out of this room, i see the candle lit hallway that will take me to that abyss, that wonderous and endless place from my youth. in seeming silence my bare souls make their escape into the hallway. the textures and views here are much more soothing. this floor is carpeted and soft, it feels like walking on skin that isn't attached to bone, gentle epidermis spans the floor from wall to wall. i know this isn't normal or whatever you wish to call it, however, it is much more relaxing than the carpet in the living world. my movement continues forward as i glance from side to side at the walls. i reach my hand out to touch them and i get a shock of amazement: the walls are papered in tongues; thousands of warm, pink, damp tongues. as i cast my hands over them they reflex and make waves, waves all the way down the hallway in both directions. the ripple of speech, before the end. this must make the floor the crawl of skin as the last breath exits the body. this was much more terrifying as a child of only ten years, now i find myself spellbound, aroused even by this collection of last minute lifeform. in expectation i look up to explore but fnd nothing: form, light, colors. a void.
i stand before a set of double doors at the end of the living hallway, they are also alive and they alone stand in my way of this path to the place i seek. these doors are a collage made entirely of several cirulatory systems. a mass of various sized crimson blood filled tubes, arranged into mind boggling designs, run completely through the doors. veins have been braided into the moldings and door handles. capalaries create a wood-grain effect. this should be vulgar and nauseating but it is more beautiful than anything i have every seen crafted by mortal beings. these doors are a masterpiece. i focus on my arms, lifting them slowly, gently even, and place my open hands upon the grand design of these living door handles and grasp them as one would grasp a delicate flower. i feel the blood still pumping within them, warm vibriant blood, swaying through them and into the rest of the doors. i push with all my might and open them to face what i faced so many years before: the Great Divide.
there, beyond the living tissues of those no long dead, i stand at the edge of an abyss the likes which can not be explained, it is something that has to be seen in order to fully understand. i know that you can't step past the ledge of this place unless you are meant to, i made that mistake as a child, trying to adventure into unknown territory without thinking twice. the last time i was spit out of this place, back to my still waiting body, i was ejected without explanation. so now i have returned to observe the Great Divide, this endless nothingness at the end of the living hallway, outside of the marble room. it is peaceful here: no sirens, no birds chirping, no unwanted audio anywhere. vast emptiness stares back at me and now i make my move: i will try my luck with speech, i choose to speak into the complete blackness. "is anyone or anything there? am i in the company of another?"
there grew a symphony of noise, a tremendous rumble of ear splitting sound that was everywhere. i looked from side to side, up and down, i found nothing and no one to make this happen. i felt uneasy for the first time at the foot of nothingnesss, shock & awe overtook me in that instant. again it came, the rumble and then from that came a million screams mixed with, what could only be described as, a million sighs. a unification of voice or voices, as it were, bellowed out of the blackness. every tone, pitch, language combined to form a small pinprick of light in the distance. it shot toward me like a bullet, closing in on me in a split second and stopping, from what i could tell, 100 feet from me hovering above the Great Divide. it began to pulse with color, a light crystal blue, and pulsed more and glowed ever so slightly. my mind was at full alert now, i had gained the attention of...something. then shock took over again, as it spoke.
"Il messaggero non e importante"
i was left speechless, my voice was missing in action, i was unable to respond at that instant.
"Il messaggero non e importante"
i didn't understand. i knew it was latin but i had no idea what it meant.
"you're right on time, it was known that you would come back for answers. speack now, you have little time, do not hasitate."
this is what i had waited to experience, so i tried again to speak but to no avail.
"your voice is of the living. this place is devoid of life, use your soul."
my mind concentrated on speaking from within, from what i could only assume was my soul. i spoke with my entire body, or the projection of it i can assume. "i know i can not approach you or i will be ejected from here so i wish to ask this: what are you?" there came a million laughs from the ball of blue pulsing light and then it spoke again to me.
"a collection of quintessence left behind in the Great Divide as those who were have gone to their respective points of being. complete nothingness. a paradox. all and none. you are done here, you will return again but only when your time is finished."
this moment was what i had longed for and with that i felt the ejection. the charismatics' timer had reached zero and i was brought back from the abyss, the Great Divide was lost again.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Abyss: Explaining Further Ahead (Part 1)
bizarre title. even more bizarre happening. transmission begin.
with a small sect of believers, the host of the evening's events who we shall name Reinhold, made his way down the concrete steps into the basement underneath the beautiful victorian house that stood several blocks from this city. in the small rectangular windows there was little visble of the ouside world, just the sporadic flash of headlights, momentary and then darkness took over again. in this damp, dismal, poorly lit space was the aroma of stale air, dirt & rubbing alcohol. all in attendance was hit full force by these elements and were left wondering, daydreaming, about what was about to happen and what the outcome would be. triumph or tragedy? completed observance or udder loss? the night was young and the fun had not yet begun.
the last of the sect down the steps faced a wall and flipped up a switch to the overhead lights. the entire place was bathed in eye crushing flourescent light, ferocious angelic white glowing illumination, crackling from one side to the other. everyone shielded their eyes from the harsh reversal of the blackness, with the exception of Reinhold, who lacked the self serving humanity to deny any feeling he could experience. this may be the last time this could happen, so it was important to take it all in and grip what his life has been until now. within this sect three followers began to spread out, each heading in a different direction, to a different area. for the first time it is strangely appearent that this basement has been turned into a makeshift hospital or surgery center. metal tables, computers, medical monitors and other equipment was scattered around the room, which by now, seemed as eerie as it was vast. this entire victorian under world was to be the center of what could only be called an experiment.
Reinhold's head slowly turned in all directions, taking the scene in piece by piece. he stood next to an over sized shower curtain, behind it something was shrouded from view, something sinister in it's own way. his hand extended, gripped the curtain and quickly slid it as far as he could. the claw-footed tub awaited him. the sect memebers pulled all of their equipment toward the grand masterpiece in the center of the room, wiring was being plugged into countless surge protectors, power was being flooded into the electronics and the time had come to begin. the countdown to crossing the divide had begun.
the following is a mass journal entry, as written by Reinhold himself. this story is his and his alone.
the room is colder than i had originally expected, i suppose it is for the sake of the computers and monitors, the machines that will track my entry and exit from the Great Divide. i began to take off my clothing, folding it neatly and stacking the pieces on a steel cart one of the "charismatics" has provided me. these men are bound by an oath to watch - record - ressurect or in the worse case, dispose of me when this done. another of the charismatic wheels over a dolly stacked with bags of ice. they look like crystals, those used to tell fortunes or heal the ill. fear is tapping my shoulder now, however, i shall not gaze into him. i have much to prepare for. i have much to do in order to survive.
undressed and awaiting the sign to strike out on the journey i stand in a thin robe, concentrating on every memory i can muster, every ounce of humanity i have and have witnessed. my sanity is a tool i will need to return from the void, it will protect me and guide me as i wander the wasteland. i am not permitted to eat or drink, my stomach is now reminding me of this fact and i must ignore it's cry for satisfaction for now. several monitors are being fitted with cords, each with an electrode that will be placed, glue even, to my body. it as if a swarm of pit vipers has decided i am dinner, it is a small comedic moment that swells up in me, i will not speak of this now, later perhaps.
with my new found tentacles in place the ice charismatic has filled the great claw-footed tub and has added water as well. this ice bath will cool me down, slow my heart and lead me into the hallway to the Great Divide. fear again taps vigorously at my shoulder, i find myself swatting at the air behind me, the charismatics take notice and give questioning looks to me. i assure them it is nothing, stating, "we should make haste, fear is lonesome and wishes that i play." they all nod and move at double speed, getting into position to open the channel to the wasteland, the abyss before me. with everyone except me seated, i am given the sign to step into the tub and lay down. so it finally begins.
shock shoots through my skin and nerves, every single hair on my body seems to beg for heat at that very moment. goosebumps spread like the plague all over me, leaving me looking as if i am being pulled in infinite directions by tiny threads from beneath my flesh. i can alread feel the all consuming hallway being lit by the candles of time, i am nearing the endless realm that i wish to explore. i am under the icy surface, with the exception of my head, and my vision is opaque like foggy glass. i focus on my life before now, reliving every scent, taste, caress, color and shade of light. i try to say that i'm ready but my face is numb and shaking uncontrolably. fear stands at the head of the tub, just behind me, and he finally speaks to me in a tone that no one else seems to hear, he says, "your disreguard for me is rather annoying. if you do make it back, we will be having a chat at length, do you understand?"
i attempt to nod in agreement but that is when i finally go under completely, the monitor has stopped.
with a small sect of believers, the host of the evening's events who we shall name Reinhold, made his way down the concrete steps into the basement underneath the beautiful victorian house that stood several blocks from this city. in the small rectangular windows there was little visble of the ouside world, just the sporadic flash of headlights, momentary and then darkness took over again. in this damp, dismal, poorly lit space was the aroma of stale air, dirt & rubbing alcohol. all in attendance was hit full force by these elements and were left wondering, daydreaming, about what was about to happen and what the outcome would be. triumph or tragedy? completed observance or udder loss? the night was young and the fun had not yet begun.
the last of the sect down the steps faced a wall and flipped up a switch to the overhead lights. the entire place was bathed in eye crushing flourescent light, ferocious angelic white glowing illumination, crackling from one side to the other. everyone shielded their eyes from the harsh reversal of the blackness, with the exception of Reinhold, who lacked the self serving humanity to deny any feeling he could experience. this may be the last time this could happen, so it was important to take it all in and grip what his life has been until now. within this sect three followers began to spread out, each heading in a different direction, to a different area. for the first time it is strangely appearent that this basement has been turned into a makeshift hospital or surgery center. metal tables, computers, medical monitors and other equipment was scattered around the room, which by now, seemed as eerie as it was vast. this entire victorian under world was to be the center of what could only be called an experiment.
Reinhold's head slowly turned in all directions, taking the scene in piece by piece. he stood next to an over sized shower curtain, behind it something was shrouded from view, something sinister in it's own way. his hand extended, gripped the curtain and quickly slid it as far as he could. the claw-footed tub awaited him. the sect memebers pulled all of their equipment toward the grand masterpiece in the center of the room, wiring was being plugged into countless surge protectors, power was being flooded into the electronics and the time had come to begin. the countdown to crossing the divide had begun.
the following is a mass journal entry, as written by Reinhold himself. this story is his and his alone.
the room is colder than i had originally expected, i suppose it is for the sake of the computers and monitors, the machines that will track my entry and exit from the Great Divide. i began to take off my clothing, folding it neatly and stacking the pieces on a steel cart one of the "charismatics" has provided me. these men are bound by an oath to watch - record - ressurect or in the worse case, dispose of me when this done. another of the charismatic wheels over a dolly stacked with bags of ice. they look like crystals, those used to tell fortunes or heal the ill. fear is tapping my shoulder now, however, i shall not gaze into him. i have much to prepare for. i have much to do in order to survive.
undressed and awaiting the sign to strike out on the journey i stand in a thin robe, concentrating on every memory i can muster, every ounce of humanity i have and have witnessed. my sanity is a tool i will need to return from the void, it will protect me and guide me as i wander the wasteland. i am not permitted to eat or drink, my stomach is now reminding me of this fact and i must ignore it's cry for satisfaction for now. several monitors are being fitted with cords, each with an electrode that will be placed, glue even, to my body. it as if a swarm of pit vipers has decided i am dinner, it is a small comedic moment that swells up in me, i will not speak of this now, later perhaps.
with my new found tentacles in place the ice charismatic has filled the great claw-footed tub and has added water as well. this ice bath will cool me down, slow my heart and lead me into the hallway to the Great Divide. fear again taps vigorously at my shoulder, i find myself swatting at the air behind me, the charismatics take notice and give questioning looks to me. i assure them it is nothing, stating, "we should make haste, fear is lonesome and wishes that i play." they all nod and move at double speed, getting into position to open the channel to the wasteland, the abyss before me. with everyone except me seated, i am given the sign to step into the tub and lay down. so it finally begins.
shock shoots through my skin and nerves, every single hair on my body seems to beg for heat at that very moment. goosebumps spread like the plague all over me, leaving me looking as if i am being pulled in infinite directions by tiny threads from beneath my flesh. i can alread feel the all consuming hallway being lit by the candles of time, i am nearing the endless realm that i wish to explore. i am under the icy surface, with the exception of my head, and my vision is opaque like foggy glass. i focus on my life before now, reliving every scent, taste, caress, color and shade of light. i try to say that i'm ready but my face is numb and shaking uncontrolably. fear stands at the head of the tub, just behind me, and he finally speaks to me in a tone that no one else seems to hear, he says, "your disreguard for me is rather annoying. if you do make it back, we will be having a chat at length, do you understand?"
i attempt to nod in agreement but that is when i finally go under completely, the monitor has stopped.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
While The Sun Is Still Up...
yes i know: "rather early for you to be posting paul, are you okay? drunk? falling prey to dementia?" alas, no, none of these are the case. rather i have a brief post i felt the need to make.
we ALL know that what you say can "cause problems" or even "make people hate you". no need for fireworks, this is all common knowledge. also, to tell someone to mind their words is great advice, which i, will now trample all over like a horde of angry bow-legged soccer moms.
we ALL know that what you say can "cause problems" or even "make people hate you". no need for fireworks, this is all common knowledge. also, to tell someone to mind their words is great advice, which i, will now trample all over like a horde of angry bow-legged soccer moms.
DISCLAIMER & ADVANCE NOTICE TO ALL WHO CONTINUE:
i do not claim to be a saint, a role model or even generally a nice person by any stretch of the term "nice". i also DO NO CONDONE violence as a first response. second or third, maybe. fourth and beyond: ABSOLTELY! what you are about to read is GUARENTEED to piss someone off. thats just a fact. the person or people who get pissed off will be in the wrong because they will have skimmed this, not read it completely. so, get offended and on with the show.
as i'm sure you all know there are people in the world who, even having met them only once, make you want to punch the tartar off their fucking teeth. you still with me? good. now imagine knowing someone like that and being unable to make that spiffy little daydream a reality. you could be within arms' length, ready to extend the bitchslap, and find yourself without ammo. these ravenous twats will give you dirty looks (i.e.: the evil eye, stink eye, grit on you etc.) and generally hate you without actually knowing dick about you. like weezy has said (yes, lil wayne is one of many advisors in my life, oddly enough) that "haters be hating but them bitches ain't nothing."
this is a terrifying and completely realistic situation that has happened more than once. sad, but so so true.
in my case it isn't because it wouldn't be fun or a huge load off of my mind, it's because my mother raised me not to slap the dog shit out of ignorant people and especially women. yes, i still follow my mother's advice and i will until the day i die. single mom knows best, most of the time. so fucking bite my american mutt ass.
so now you see where this is going, right? i'm not a domestic abuse advocate but sometimes i can understand why it does happen. especially when someone has beat the breaks off of some loud mouthed cracker broad who thinks she can run her jab from here to next year and not EVENTUALLY have to pay the price for it.
NOTHING IN LIFE IS FREE, NOT EVEN DEATH. want proof? go to a mortician and ask about cremation/burial. its not cheap.
now, it was brought to my attention that a certain person (some of you know this person) was a victim of domestic abuse, probably many times, in the recent past. at first i was ready to call upon the powers that be, take a road trip, and serve up some good old fashion street justice. woot woot, lets go whoop a motherfucker. HOWEVER, now i'm not so sure that it was ALL THE FAULT of the aggressive piece of shit that did cross the line and go physical with the whole thing.
again, i DO NOT CONDONE domestic abuse but i DO UNDERSTAND. understanding isn't a crime, yet.
this person in question proceeded with an extreme amount of small talk with me while giving not only the evil eye but also having, generally, a shitty attitude toward me for no current reason. fuck that bullshit. not only did i hold my tongue and speak only in a non-threatening tone but i was chipper and pleasant to this person. there were no malicious actions/words/tones used on my part at any given time.
now i see why this trick got her face handed to her on several different days.
if you have nerve spasms, emotional disorders or tourettes and can't control the muscle movements of your face or the tone and firing of your mouth, fine, let it be known that this is the case and i'm sure people everywhere will understand and overlook this, without prejudice.
if you don't have any active physical/psychological problems and still continue to be a blatant ass-hat to the people around you then you get zero sympathy and understanding. you are open season and probably the target of some kind of physical/psychological/emotional abuse. sucks to be you, stop being a cunt.
with all of that said i would like to reiterate:
I DO NO CONDONE DOMESTIC ABUSE/VIOLENCE!!!
i said nothing rude (used no profanity, name calling, sneaky tones)
i was polite (said "thank you" and "good-bye")
didn't rearrange my face (shoot them a dirty look, stare, glare or throw the evil eye)
kept my cool (didn't swing on, knock the fuck out or spit on them)
so, the next time you find yourself about to drop a bitch for being rude to you just remember the following:
i have a low thresh-hold for stupidity/ignorance/bitches and i can keep my cool and so can you.
A PSA About White Girls
so as we all know there are SEVERAL types of white girls. we've all seen them strolling around and taking up sidewalks, cafe tables, bus seats, floor space at a show & even in movies. they are fucking everywhere. now i'm not going to go into extreme depth of all the variations of this swell of pastey delight. i will outline a few, but i will focus on two VERY DANGEROUS types of white girls. lets explore this, shall we?
skinny: the kind that think because their pants are on the low-end, divisible by 2 they are some how sexy and should be treated as such. WRONG: you're built like an asian boy and that should be punished with extra servings of Taco Bell and PURE BUTTER, melted and funneled into your tummy box.
over-weight: this kind either eat too much because of multiple rejections or eat too much to bypass rejection and skip straight to depression. yes, some have SERIOUS gland problems and some ARE FUCKING LAZY, you be the judge of the situation.
faux-hood: also known as a HOOD BOOGER because this type sticks to anything and everything deemed "gangsta", "hood" & "urban". these ridiculous broads hastily conclude that because they spew out a black baby they are now an honorary black person. wrong trick, you're wrong.
faux-asian: this variety study too much,party too little and play head games with suitors until the day comes where some brave rapist drops Ketamine into their Sleepy Time Tea, after which, that Kung Pow Hymen goes Ha-Do-Ken right out the window.
hollywood: the fake & bake, root touch-up, twitter styled vocalizers who wear too much britaney spears perfume in order to cover the every growing stench of unwashed vaginal discharge that still clings to their legs. we call these girls "the next big thing" or "bonus scene".
boot camp: watch your ass fellas! these aren't what you're thinking; this type has a girlfriend who's dick is much larger/multi-colored/battery operated and deadlier than your dick. rest assured, this girl will lure you into a dorm room where her partener will be waiting to show you her "chauvanist pig...in a blanket".
as i said there are countless variations and combinations of white girls. have you ever played any form of Alchemy? yeah? it's like that except worse because these people exist and unfortunately murder & assisted suicide are both crimes. i think stupidity is a crime, then again, thats only me....right?
okay. now for the main event: the 2 VERY DANGEROUS WHITE GIRLS categories as chosen by me.
(any and all complaints and suggestions for a change in these can be submitted to no one. F-Y-L...2 times.)
keep in mind the following have been observed by me personally, either up close or from afar. i went the steve irwin path and gathered as much information as i could before i attempted to pounce on the targets in question. unlike steve irwin, i took precautionary measures, not to be staked like a vampire by a creature that packs a sharp object (either connected to their body or carried as a form of protection).
skinny: the kind that think because their pants are on the low-end, divisible by 2 they are some how sexy and should be treated as such. WRONG: you're built like an asian boy and that should be punished with extra servings of Taco Bell and PURE BUTTER, melted and funneled into your tummy box.
over-weight: this kind either eat too much because of multiple rejections or eat too much to bypass rejection and skip straight to depression. yes, some have SERIOUS gland problems and some ARE FUCKING LAZY, you be the judge of the situation.
faux-hood: also known as a HOOD BOOGER because this type sticks to anything and everything deemed "gangsta", "hood" & "urban". these ridiculous broads hastily conclude that because they spew out a black baby they are now an honorary black person. wrong trick, you're wrong.
faux-asian: this variety study too much,party too little and play head games with suitors until the day comes where some brave rapist drops Ketamine into their Sleepy Time Tea, after which, that Kung Pow Hymen goes Ha-Do-Ken right out the window.
hollywood: the fake & bake, root touch-up, twitter styled vocalizers who wear too much britaney spears perfume in order to cover the every growing stench of unwashed vaginal discharge that still clings to their legs. we call these girls "the next big thing" or "bonus scene".
boot camp: watch your ass fellas! these aren't what you're thinking; this type has a girlfriend who's dick is much larger/multi-colored/battery operated and deadlier than your dick. rest assured, this girl will lure you into a dorm room where her partener will be waiting to show you her "chauvanist pig...in a blanket".
as i said there are countless variations and combinations of white girls. have you ever played any form of Alchemy? yeah? it's like that except worse because these people exist and unfortunately murder & assisted suicide are both crimes. i think stupidity is a crime, then again, thats only me....right?
okay. now for the main event: the 2 VERY DANGEROUS WHITE GIRLS categories as chosen by me.
(any and all complaints and suggestions for a change in these can be submitted to no one. F-Y-L...2 times.)
keep in mind the following have been observed by me personally, either up close or from afar. i went the steve irwin path and gathered as much information as i could before i attempted to pounce on the targets in question. unlike steve irwin, i took precautionary measures, not to be staked like a vampire by a creature that packs a sharp object (either connected to their body or carried as a form of protection).
CATEGORY #1. THE DUMB SMART-ASS
(Deeper Than A Kiddie Pool, Shallow Enough To Drown In A Teaspoon)
this type is best described as the sentence above, but for the sake of "what does that mean" i shall expand upon this a little more. she's cute, she's adorable, HOWEVER, she isn't going to be the next top model or miss america, because we all know the Q & A section of that is to keep women from going absolutely ballistic and rioting...the truth hurts. along with that she comes factory with a low amount of intelligence (most of which is book smarts, no complaints here) but lacks a great deal of common knowledge and street smarts.
she can be found shopping gagues at hot topic early in the day, before the trendy fucks come pouring in like a heavy-flow day, with their parents' credit cards and hard earned cash. after that you will spy her in a book store (or two) searching for Kafka-Mass Philosophy-Medical Training-Paranormal books. this is followed by either a job/classes/coffee shop on her way to the afore mentioned places. her demeanor is calm, cool & collected aside from this she looks forward to mild to medium partying or maybe some dating.
her "moody-brooding-dark" facade cloaks the valley cunt that she truely is. another high end twat slumming it so that her caste is well hidden from the simple guy she longs to decimate. she will turn you upside down, inside out or backwards with psycho-babble and useless trivia and knowledge that would get the average person cock-punched like a Mormon selling Tupperware. her endless yapping about things she considers "left field", "pre-mainstream" and "obscure" she longs to be seen as Daria but in the end looks more like Clarrisa: explaining it all for a few seasons then gets cancelled before the ratings go into the red. she will make you wish for "buy a bullet and rent a gun" day. her heart has been crushed before, much like the rest of us, and to ensure it doesn't happen easily again or ever again, she will talk you into a coma and hope you're still paying attention. if you make it past her disertation on life she will more than likely be your girlfriend soon and if you don't choke her the two of you will hump like meth-heads in a condom commercial.
after this shared moment of genital high-fives you will learn very quickly that she is much like you: already bored, ready to go through the motions with another guy, as soon as she can find a way to seem less robotic and more like the hormonal wreck she wishes she could be. her tools include; random crying with no tears, bi-polar outbreaks in the food court, ignoring the world during crime shows, suggesting CD's you absolutely hate & finally just cheating on you. sadly enough, the surgeon general still hasn't deemed her actions a health hazard like second-hand smoke or drinking while pregnant.
CATEGORY #2. THE INTELLIGENT CERVICAL NIGHTMARE
(When The Abyssal Mind Meets The Sumit of Slutiness)
her type is three things combined to irritate the fuck out of anyone: sheer beauty, absolute intelligence & a total lack of the concept "true love/true romance". you can spot her from a mile away, walking confidently with the air of "yes, i'm mouth-watering and i can read in two or more languages". i admit, this is the subject of many erections for me. intelligence does it for me every time. i like looks, much like any swinging dick, but a truely well-read woman gives me goosebumps-makes me lightheaded-boils my juices. this category of female isn't for the bottom feeding, jizz splashing, frat bastards of the world. nope, scratch that. this woman eats those guys alive and shits out handicapped people. a singular phrase comes to mind: SEXY NURSE. just because you're not a doctor doesn't mean you can't do his job, it only means his kinko's printed degree looks better with a "world's best dad" mug his secretly gay son bought him.
a female of this caliber can out think you before you know she's even there. she has you figured out no matter what you're wearing, where you're hanging out (because she is a social ninja), what you're doing OR EVEN how you're attempting to be something you're not. her senses are sharper than any weapon you've ever used on WOW/Call Of Duty/Bushido Blade. all you see is a bombshell that you would like to plow like so many untouched fields. her sexy is deadly, it reaches out and fills your joe boxers with dude caulk. you swear when you see her that you've NEVER seen ANYONE sexier, she is the hottest-most smoking-aboslutely perfect specimen of erotic goodness there ever was/is/will be. so, you have to go try your hand at the goddess, the siren who sang a song of "come tear these clothes off me, throw me into anything and fuck me so hard you break my pelvis". so you do and you happen to be like the sperm that makes it to the egg.
good work. now down at the bottom where it says "the deceased", sign there. you're a corpse, a soon to be cadaver of copulation. you play the role of the testosterone man-beast, put on your best shade of suave and proceed to act as her ticket to bliss. she PERMITS you to play her vag like Bon Jovi plays ANYWHERE. sold the fuck out and rocking every single fucking time. then after a week or so of constant lap-rocketing you ACTUALLY become bored (at least for the time being) with the physical part of all of this. your mind wanders to her words, her book shelves, her cd collection and that when it kicks the taint right off your body: HOLY SHIT THE SEX GODDESS IS ALBERT EINSTEIN'S SLUTTY, SUPER SMART SISTER!! now you know see the perfect woman, the golden chalice, holy grail of the female world: the insanely intelligent sexy woman of your dreams. it's better than the lotto!
wrong again dude piston, you've been played. the smarts are real, the sexy is something completely different. while she SEEMS sexy and beautiful and down right perfect, she is indeed a succubus feeding off of you in order to replenish her so-called gorgeousness. a disguise that hides the damaged goods under the surface. this type has problems with TRUE CONNECTION. while she may secretly long to be happily ever after with one of the poor fools she has suckered (no pun intended) into being her fall back plan when she fails herself. there is sad, lonesome, never to be understood little girl in the depths of this all consuming blackness of a "person". what started out as awesome ended in some BIZARRE, FUCKED UP TRAGEDY!!!
do yourself a HUGE favor: find a way to embody her words & intellect...then WRECK THAT MOTHERFUCKER LIKE A STOLEN CAR!!! you would be best just reading a shitload of classic literature then masturbating franticly like a crackhead.
this has been your PSA About White Girls. thanks.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Celica: The Succubus of Ridgefield
i know i said i was going to finish the trilogy of my screwed up dream this evening, however, i have decided that tonight i stray away from that final piece of the story if only to prolong my goosebumps and night terrors. call me scooby doo because i'm acting like i saw a ghost and i'm making a run for it. don't worry, by the end of the episode i will catch the old farmer scaring off kids and developers who want to turn his quiet land into an amusement park.
so i was being nostalgic today (IN MY MIND) and i started thinking about some things that helped turn my tides long, long ago. some of these things were good, some were bad and some were split down the center. nothing says "you need therapy and medication" like bi-polar life experiences and the characters therein. wth that said let me assure that this is the early portion of a bad experience, thus it is good, more specificly, wonderful & blissful.
the following was an actual event, described as best as i can possibly remember. also: harlequin romance called and they want their sweat drenched, quasi-pornographic paragraphs back. my reply was "no, you eat a dick".
i still find it amazing how very mouth-watering the shadows cast by bodies in front of televisions can be. the technology that was built to draw us in can, with the right kind of eyes and mind, negate itself by creating simple new things for our senses to drink in. become drunk with these so very life-like movies we now refer to as memories.
there we were again, glued to the plush leather sofa that was deemed as "ours". over stuffed, mocha colored, slightly worn due to the sporadic clawing of her ankle height dog. this was the last ship that would set sail on the sea of uncertainty in a darkened room that was vaguely decorated in the ever glowing light of the TV in the corner, angled from the left of the room toward the modern kitchen and dining area across the vast room. with our sneakers stretched out onto the ikea inspired coffee table, just in front of the bizarre taxidermied cow seating, we let our soft bodies sink back so that the pictures could lull us into a zombified state that only stoners can appreciate. the sounds blared, the pictures kept coming, our minds were being squeezed of their juices.
she loved to be nancy drew on those evenings together. the seemingly endless marathon of law & order would start and she would sit, without attempting to converse in any known way, and try to solve the crime before the script had run out and we all got clued in to the grand plot of that particular episode. to say that boredom was begging me to go kevorkian was an understatement. my restless mind began to wonder and bounce from topic to topic, idea to idea. inside of my noggin the swirl of the most random things danced a ballet to amuse and save my minimal intelligence.
thats when i noticed it. the shadow cast by her earlobe was far more interesting to me than benson & stabler busting a perp for hiding his dead girlfriend in a playground sandbox. i was indeed struck by the innocent appendage just jutting out, as if to say to me "so you're shit wrecked bored out of your mind too? join the club buckaroo." there sat a single flap of hearing gear: alone, neglected, full of sorrow. i knew that in order to clean my hands of the growing stupidity being pushed at me from the idiot box i would have to switch my attention to this taunting and delectable body part.
with all the stealth i could channel, i made my cloaked attack on her soft earlobe. adjusting my right hand to her thigh and leaning in ever so quietly, i opened my now watering mouth, and wrapped my teeth and lips around the shadow enveloped lobe. in a split second my upper teeth were clenched into the inner crescent and my tongue was gently lapping at the back. with eyes closed and mind as focused as it could be i felf the hot blood coursing through her, pumping at resting speeds to begin with, then accelerating with each passing second. at the same time my left arm shifted around her mid section, pulling her back to my chest, spooning her tender frame to me, pushing the two puzzle pieces together. it had only just begun to be fun, the stakes were going to rise higher and higher, i was sure of it.
the show she was watching was becoming less important to her, those beautiful lungs of her's were changing their depth and rate of breathing. slow and deep, abyssal depths of oxygen went into her veins, through her heart and rushing into every inch of her ever warming body. i could taste the mounting lust growing below her clothes, i could smell her passion and desire clawing their way to the surface. now my right hand was gripping the flesh of her leg intently, finger nails were being dug into the meat of her get away stick. let me crush her under the weight of this, allow me to show her why i'm testing her waters. her spine was pressed full force into my ribs, a mixture bone and flesh grinding into each other without apology, without remorse.
a light moan escaped her velvet lips and floated helplessly in the air around us, the sound of her wall coming down and her inner most animal rising up awaiting the moment when she herself could return the attack. i would not let that happen tonight, this was my opening to show her how cruel and vile i could be. i let my mouth drift down the side of her neck, spattering soft kisses and light bites on the skin the trailed to her shoulder, bread crumbs left behind just for show. my left hand, by now, has left her stomach and migrated up to her supple little breast. millimeters of cotton and synthetic fiber shielded her hot skin from my naked hands, i plan on keeping it that way, for now. i cup her in my hand and squeeze slightly up and gently roll the flank of my thumb over her hardened nipple, softly stroking the erect flesh. just so she isn't left comfortable in this moment i, in that very instant, drop my teeth completely into the back of her shoulder, clenched in deeply, willing to draw blood if thats what it takes.
her previous vocalization was executed by the newest sign of her pleasure. this sound was part moan part scream, a chorus of agony and ecstacy fist fighting their way through her throat and into the room. every muscle in her body tensed up. those little vertabre of hers pulled up and forced her chest out, arching into a stunning curve. the cupped breast now fought back against my gripping hand, her thighs tightened up and pushed her hips back into my lap, she was now sitting inside of me, wishing for freedom but showing every sign that she wasn't ready to leave. i left her thigh and moved my right hand to her right breast, as not to play favorites and allowed my left hand to wrap around the front of her left shoulder, pulling her even deeper into me. in this moment i felt it was only proper to attend to her left shoulder, thus releasing my death grip of teeth and repositioning them into her again. another jump of her frame. another primal groan escaped her and this time she began to pant, mouth agape.
well, shall we call this part one? yes? no? too bad, i will continue this tomorrow along with the final installment of "the PG porn night terror that wouldn't die". good night all. enjoy tomorrow.
so i was being nostalgic today (IN MY MIND) and i started thinking about some things that helped turn my tides long, long ago. some of these things were good, some were bad and some were split down the center. nothing says "you need therapy and medication" like bi-polar life experiences and the characters therein. wth that said let me assure that this is the early portion of a bad experience, thus it is good, more specificly, wonderful & blissful.
the following was an actual event, described as best as i can possibly remember. also: harlequin romance called and they want their sweat drenched, quasi-pornographic paragraphs back. my reply was "no, you eat a dick".
i still find it amazing how very mouth-watering the shadows cast by bodies in front of televisions can be. the technology that was built to draw us in can, with the right kind of eyes and mind, negate itself by creating simple new things for our senses to drink in. become drunk with these so very life-like movies we now refer to as memories.
there we were again, glued to the plush leather sofa that was deemed as "ours". over stuffed, mocha colored, slightly worn due to the sporadic clawing of her ankle height dog. this was the last ship that would set sail on the sea of uncertainty in a darkened room that was vaguely decorated in the ever glowing light of the TV in the corner, angled from the left of the room toward the modern kitchen and dining area across the vast room. with our sneakers stretched out onto the ikea inspired coffee table, just in front of the bizarre taxidermied cow seating, we let our soft bodies sink back so that the pictures could lull us into a zombified state that only stoners can appreciate. the sounds blared, the pictures kept coming, our minds were being squeezed of their juices.
she loved to be nancy drew on those evenings together. the seemingly endless marathon of law & order would start and she would sit, without attempting to converse in any known way, and try to solve the crime before the script had run out and we all got clued in to the grand plot of that particular episode. to say that boredom was begging me to go kevorkian was an understatement. my restless mind began to wonder and bounce from topic to topic, idea to idea. inside of my noggin the swirl of the most random things danced a ballet to amuse and save my minimal intelligence.
thats when i noticed it. the shadow cast by her earlobe was far more interesting to me than benson & stabler busting a perp for hiding his dead girlfriend in a playground sandbox. i was indeed struck by the innocent appendage just jutting out, as if to say to me "so you're shit wrecked bored out of your mind too? join the club buckaroo." there sat a single flap of hearing gear: alone, neglected, full of sorrow. i knew that in order to clean my hands of the growing stupidity being pushed at me from the idiot box i would have to switch my attention to this taunting and delectable body part.
with all the stealth i could channel, i made my cloaked attack on her soft earlobe. adjusting my right hand to her thigh and leaning in ever so quietly, i opened my now watering mouth, and wrapped my teeth and lips around the shadow enveloped lobe. in a split second my upper teeth were clenched into the inner crescent and my tongue was gently lapping at the back. with eyes closed and mind as focused as it could be i felf the hot blood coursing through her, pumping at resting speeds to begin with, then accelerating with each passing second. at the same time my left arm shifted around her mid section, pulling her back to my chest, spooning her tender frame to me, pushing the two puzzle pieces together. it had only just begun to be fun, the stakes were going to rise higher and higher, i was sure of it.
the show she was watching was becoming less important to her, those beautiful lungs of her's were changing their depth and rate of breathing. slow and deep, abyssal depths of oxygen went into her veins, through her heart and rushing into every inch of her ever warming body. i could taste the mounting lust growing below her clothes, i could smell her passion and desire clawing their way to the surface. now my right hand was gripping the flesh of her leg intently, finger nails were being dug into the meat of her get away stick. let me crush her under the weight of this, allow me to show her why i'm testing her waters. her spine was pressed full force into my ribs, a mixture bone and flesh grinding into each other without apology, without remorse.
a light moan escaped her velvet lips and floated helplessly in the air around us, the sound of her wall coming down and her inner most animal rising up awaiting the moment when she herself could return the attack. i would not let that happen tonight, this was my opening to show her how cruel and vile i could be. i let my mouth drift down the side of her neck, spattering soft kisses and light bites on the skin the trailed to her shoulder, bread crumbs left behind just for show. my left hand, by now, has left her stomach and migrated up to her supple little breast. millimeters of cotton and synthetic fiber shielded her hot skin from my naked hands, i plan on keeping it that way, for now. i cup her in my hand and squeeze slightly up and gently roll the flank of my thumb over her hardened nipple, softly stroking the erect flesh. just so she isn't left comfortable in this moment i, in that very instant, drop my teeth completely into the back of her shoulder, clenched in deeply, willing to draw blood if thats what it takes.
her previous vocalization was executed by the newest sign of her pleasure. this sound was part moan part scream, a chorus of agony and ecstacy fist fighting their way through her throat and into the room. every muscle in her body tensed up. those little vertabre of hers pulled up and forced her chest out, arching into a stunning curve. the cupped breast now fought back against my gripping hand, her thighs tightened up and pushed her hips back into my lap, she was now sitting inside of me, wishing for freedom but showing every sign that she wasn't ready to leave. i left her thigh and moved my right hand to her right breast, as not to play favorites and allowed my left hand to wrap around the front of her left shoulder, pulling her even deeper into me. in this moment i felt it was only proper to attend to her left shoulder, thus releasing my death grip of teeth and repositioning them into her again. another jump of her frame. another primal groan escaped her and this time she began to pant, mouth agape.
well, shall we call this part one? yes? no? too bad, i will continue this tomorrow along with the final installment of "the PG porn night terror that wouldn't die". good night all. enjoy tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Seeking The Asylum
okay, so to continue putting the pieces from yesterday's post let me first say that i tried, to no motherfucking avail, to force the dream to play out and show me what came after the ever so pleasant tummy chewing that i previously described. it seems that my brain is leaking as little information as possible, taking the political approach it seems. damn that noise, damn it indeed.
this is my fictional romance, a great gatsby dream sequence, styled toward this made-up love affair that haunts me like an angry spirit. so tonight i will recap the prequel portion with a soundtrack that captivates me in so many ways: physically, mentally, sexually & creatively. dax, send me some magic love, send me some soul for this little adventure of keystrokes. alright, so the lead in looks a little like this...
multi-colored autumn leaves dazzle the entire field of my vision, oranges-red-yellows-browns, all slow dancing to a waltz that is beyond my ears. if beauty could kill you, this fall would be the greatest un-named assassin the world would never have the pleasure to tell others about. their ballroom is every street i walk down, every alley i find myself taking pictures in, their ballroom is neverending yet always full to capacity. today the breeze is sweetly caressing these haggard cheekbones and forehead. softly seductive and ever teasing my laugh lines into display, surely i love to be taunted by these gusts. fall has fallen, just like i have, ever so much over what seems like forever. an eternity in several weeks, a lifetime in no time at all.
cobblestones have led me to the river's bank, the spot of summer that is now long left to the sweetest sliver of chilled air currents. i raise my camera up to focus on the usual lone fisherman on his shitty boat, casting lines to fill his stomach at least today. some asshole is in my way, some ignorant beast wants to ruin my shot. this beast, as it were, is crouched down knotting laces in it's weathered chucks, low top chucks no less. i slip in a small chuckle and snap the shot anyway, a picture today is better than no picture at all. it stands, turns, takes notice of me standing stupidly with two handfuls of camera and starts laughing like a headcase. i can feel the red flush my face, the breeze becomes obsolete against my new found thermal climb. it approaches slowly, sizing me up like a predator to prey, taking in the bounty my guts will be for it's pride. the heat is climbing higher and higher inside of me, i know this figure, this beast. i have been infatuated and struck dumb by it several times before today. my dirty secret, my crush. hold back the garbage bag of words, don't you dare spew anything from your face.
"you know, you have to stop popping up like this. if i didn't know any better i would swear that you have me low-jacked."
it speaks to me like we're old friends, like we know each other. i've seen this beast at a distance, noticed it noticing me. i noticed back. i blushed for no reason, like some damned fool in middle school, getting giddy for no good reason other than the fact that this beast was enigmatic to me. today is the day i suppose, at least the weather is my saving grace, it has cooled my face back to it's natural tone of "blends in well with crowds".
"i saw you at the farmers' market wednesday afternoon, it seems you're terrible at waving back with that second set of eyes clogging up your hands. give it a rest already or at the very least get a neckstrap, saves time, trust me."
i just kind of nod, taking in it's rather worn leather jacket, boot-cut charcoal jeans, slayer shirt and triple toned knotted bun of hair. i think right about now i've been caught in a parallel dimension, stuck motionless, drinking in the absolute beauty of it's sheer existence. i nod again, it eyes me strangely and chuckles then turns and heads for the steps leading up to the parking lot. a single pause of movement and an explosion of a siren song from it's throat:
"okay, well just don't be late to the show. i'll be near the merch tables, trust me you won't be able to miss me, i'm going with a poison green theme up top this time. you know i've had it out for you for so long that i think you could take me in 10 minutes if you try, see you then, okay gilligan?"
another spellbound nod, another slightly frozen jerk of my head joint. i took it all in and fell to the sandy plain of existence i hoped was reality and not some sick sad, torturous dream. tonight: the show, poison green theme, merch tables. got it. the rush of blood flooded my head again, the swirling leaves foxtrot around my feet, up my legs and torso then cascade into the now darkening sky above, so this is what it feels like to be struck by lightening. next time it will kill me, i know it will.
in an instant i'm re-capping the camera, trotting up the steps into the parking lot and i head toward 5th street, just past there my cluttered and well shared apartment. my dirty secret has a voice and a fucked up sense of humor telling me to come to the show tonight. i can't help but feel like this is a joke that i'm the punch-line to. every foot step sends more leaves flying into the air, decorations for the moment i've been shit-wrecked nervour about since the first time i saw the delightful beast. a crush, a fleeting-giggling-ridiculous like for someone i don't even remotely know. fuck it, its only a crush, right? oh damn, i can't stop smiling, i look like an idiot, i am an idiot, i'm the one who blends in not stands out. things change.
the night sky meets the streets that are now filled with obsidian remnants of those wonderful leaves from before, no more colors can be seen, just undertones of deeper and deeper blacks-blues-greys. if being a lush for loving the simple lack of technicolor is a crime then throw the switch. this darkness that now climbs my running legs, is guiding me to my beast, evolving my desire to be on time into a sex crime doing somersaults in the lawns i speed past. if i make this mad dash alive i can fall over on the curb and bleed out of all my pores just because. i think this crush is killing me as i see the lights of the city streets where the fun starts and lives end.
the opening band is mid set when i make it to the top of the steps inside the show. they suck, i know their bassist and he's a serial douchebag. the green halo's of my eyes dart around the bar, past the groupie cunts to the merch tables. looks like a stood up kind of night, no surprise: plenty of feeling stupid though, both of these i'm quite used to by now. screw it, i'll enjoy the next band up, i shot their pictures for the netpage. luckily this wasn't at an art gallery or a resturant, that would be just like last time. it's simple: i'm easy to toy with, simply put. douche-boy's band is loading out when it hits like a sonic boom:
"good, you're here gilligan. dig the poison theme? thirsty? i'll get you a drink, PBR okay?"
i swear i melted into a puddle of human nerdgasm. i try to pull it together and end up with my tell-tale nod. fucking shit, i really have to fix that zombified nod. i know that wasn't just a single question. so now i like the 4 toned green hair dyed to perfection, i am indeed thirsty and yes i'll have a PBR. she's back in no time double fisted with sweaty cans of cheap beer. holy shit, i'm not really a drinker. it's the perfect day, drink up dumb ass you've earned it. the can clears my throat and chest of anything i ever thought i wanted to have inside my body. it takes everything left inside me to keep the smiling to a minimum, this crushing is crushing me. someone save me from myself.
"hey, the rest of these bands can eat it, want to ditch this and go roaming? come on, it'll be more exciting than a pointy stick in the eye, i promise."
without a reaction she grips my free hand and drags me back into the delicious night air and straight up 18th street toward the trendy spots and horrid low-rent places just beyond the last of the functioning street lights.
AGAIN, DVD ON SKIP. i keep gettting chunks of this story-dream-romance-fantasy-fucked up head trip. tomorrow night i'll drop the ending to this whole thing. i woke up from this part today with the scent of pumpkin spice everywhere around me. weird. slightly sexy but very weird considering i'm the only one who digs that scent here.
so until tomorrow night, i bid you all i wonderful sunrise soon enough.
this is my fictional romance, a great gatsby dream sequence, styled toward this made-up love affair that haunts me like an angry spirit. so tonight i will recap the prequel portion with a soundtrack that captivates me in so many ways: physically, mentally, sexually & creatively. dax, send me some magic love, send me some soul for this little adventure of keystrokes. alright, so the lead in looks a little like this...
multi-colored autumn leaves dazzle the entire field of my vision, oranges-red-yellows-browns, all slow dancing to a waltz that is beyond my ears. if beauty could kill you, this fall would be the greatest un-named assassin the world would never have the pleasure to tell others about. their ballroom is every street i walk down, every alley i find myself taking pictures in, their ballroom is neverending yet always full to capacity. today the breeze is sweetly caressing these haggard cheekbones and forehead. softly seductive and ever teasing my laugh lines into display, surely i love to be taunted by these gusts. fall has fallen, just like i have, ever so much over what seems like forever. an eternity in several weeks, a lifetime in no time at all.
cobblestones have led me to the river's bank, the spot of summer that is now long left to the sweetest sliver of chilled air currents. i raise my camera up to focus on the usual lone fisherman on his shitty boat, casting lines to fill his stomach at least today. some asshole is in my way, some ignorant beast wants to ruin my shot. this beast, as it were, is crouched down knotting laces in it's weathered chucks, low top chucks no less. i slip in a small chuckle and snap the shot anyway, a picture today is better than no picture at all. it stands, turns, takes notice of me standing stupidly with two handfuls of camera and starts laughing like a headcase. i can feel the red flush my face, the breeze becomes obsolete against my new found thermal climb. it approaches slowly, sizing me up like a predator to prey, taking in the bounty my guts will be for it's pride. the heat is climbing higher and higher inside of me, i know this figure, this beast. i have been infatuated and struck dumb by it several times before today. my dirty secret, my crush. hold back the garbage bag of words, don't you dare spew anything from your face.
"you know, you have to stop popping up like this. if i didn't know any better i would swear that you have me low-jacked."
it speaks to me like we're old friends, like we know each other. i've seen this beast at a distance, noticed it noticing me. i noticed back. i blushed for no reason, like some damned fool in middle school, getting giddy for no good reason other than the fact that this beast was enigmatic to me. today is the day i suppose, at least the weather is my saving grace, it has cooled my face back to it's natural tone of "blends in well with crowds".
"i saw you at the farmers' market wednesday afternoon, it seems you're terrible at waving back with that second set of eyes clogging up your hands. give it a rest already or at the very least get a neckstrap, saves time, trust me."
i just kind of nod, taking in it's rather worn leather jacket, boot-cut charcoal jeans, slayer shirt and triple toned knotted bun of hair. i think right about now i've been caught in a parallel dimension, stuck motionless, drinking in the absolute beauty of it's sheer existence. i nod again, it eyes me strangely and chuckles then turns and heads for the steps leading up to the parking lot. a single pause of movement and an explosion of a siren song from it's throat:
"okay, well just don't be late to the show. i'll be near the merch tables, trust me you won't be able to miss me, i'm going with a poison green theme up top this time. you know i've had it out for you for so long that i think you could take me in 10 minutes if you try, see you then, okay gilligan?"
another spellbound nod, another slightly frozen jerk of my head joint. i took it all in and fell to the sandy plain of existence i hoped was reality and not some sick sad, torturous dream. tonight: the show, poison green theme, merch tables. got it. the rush of blood flooded my head again, the swirling leaves foxtrot around my feet, up my legs and torso then cascade into the now darkening sky above, so this is what it feels like to be struck by lightening. next time it will kill me, i know it will.
in an instant i'm re-capping the camera, trotting up the steps into the parking lot and i head toward 5th street, just past there my cluttered and well shared apartment. my dirty secret has a voice and a fucked up sense of humor telling me to come to the show tonight. i can't help but feel like this is a joke that i'm the punch-line to. every foot step sends more leaves flying into the air, decorations for the moment i've been shit-wrecked nervour about since the first time i saw the delightful beast. a crush, a fleeting-giggling-ridiculous like for someone i don't even remotely know. fuck it, its only a crush, right? oh damn, i can't stop smiling, i look like an idiot, i am an idiot, i'm the one who blends in not stands out. things change.
the night sky meets the streets that are now filled with obsidian remnants of those wonderful leaves from before, no more colors can be seen, just undertones of deeper and deeper blacks-blues-greys. if being a lush for loving the simple lack of technicolor is a crime then throw the switch. this darkness that now climbs my running legs, is guiding me to my beast, evolving my desire to be on time into a sex crime doing somersaults in the lawns i speed past. if i make this mad dash alive i can fall over on the curb and bleed out of all my pores just because. i think this crush is killing me as i see the lights of the city streets where the fun starts and lives end.
the opening band is mid set when i make it to the top of the steps inside the show. they suck, i know their bassist and he's a serial douchebag. the green halo's of my eyes dart around the bar, past the groupie cunts to the merch tables. looks like a stood up kind of night, no surprise: plenty of feeling stupid though, both of these i'm quite used to by now. screw it, i'll enjoy the next band up, i shot their pictures for the netpage. luckily this wasn't at an art gallery or a resturant, that would be just like last time. it's simple: i'm easy to toy with, simply put. douche-boy's band is loading out when it hits like a sonic boom:
"good, you're here gilligan. dig the poison theme? thirsty? i'll get you a drink, PBR okay?"
i swear i melted into a puddle of human nerdgasm. i try to pull it together and end up with my tell-tale nod. fucking shit, i really have to fix that zombified nod. i know that wasn't just a single question. so now i like the 4 toned green hair dyed to perfection, i am indeed thirsty and yes i'll have a PBR. she's back in no time double fisted with sweaty cans of cheap beer. holy shit, i'm not really a drinker. it's the perfect day, drink up dumb ass you've earned it. the can clears my throat and chest of anything i ever thought i wanted to have inside my body. it takes everything left inside me to keep the smiling to a minimum, this crushing is crushing me. someone save me from myself.
"hey, the rest of these bands can eat it, want to ditch this and go roaming? come on, it'll be more exciting than a pointy stick in the eye, i promise."
without a reaction she grips my free hand and drags me back into the delicious night air and straight up 18th street toward the trendy spots and horrid low-rent places just beyond the last of the functioning street lights.
AGAIN, DVD ON SKIP. i keep gettting chunks of this story-dream-romance-fantasy-fucked up head trip. tomorrow night i'll drop the ending to this whole thing. i woke up from this part today with the scent of pumpkin spice everywhere around me. weird. slightly sexy but very weird considering i'm the only one who digs that scent here.
so until tomorrow night, i bid you all i wonderful sunrise soon enough.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Thought Bubble
i don't know if it was the nyquil and lack of sleep or my sheer over-active imagination that caused this post. in either case i woke up in a heated mess after, what i'm about to describe, played out in my head.
no names/physical descriptions will be expanded upon due to the fact that this is a prelude to my next post, which will be soon, if i can muster the lexiconal spirits to help me scribe, what can only be refered to as, a fictional romance and heartbreak. i'm going tarentino and starting with the fun part.
every last blood cell inside of me was chanting for it, begging this assailant to do me in with all the power they could wrench from within their volcanic loins. i wanted it all: the pain, pleasure, desire, carnal knowledge & pure hatred for the silence that surrounded us. put a bullet into the forehead of this quiet night, spill its blood and splatter its brains all over this room.
all i can see is the plain jane, off-white ceiling. the rotating shadow of the fan casting circles like five geometric buzzards, waiting to dine on the left over rotten flesh that we would soon be shedding all over the bed and floor. i'm breathing like i've had too many strong drinks, the skin covering me is putting off heat like i've never felt before, this is what i've been longing for. the form hovering above is slender and without definition, yet it is somehow luring me. just let it happen. gentle kisses coat my cheeks, lips, neck, ears and chest. soft hot pedals of satisfaction are floating down from within this form, teasing my mind into a false sense of love, a fictional romance. their hands are pressed firmly into my shoulders, keeping me in plain view, settled into position for an assault of physical pins & needles. these hands are on fire and scalding the epidermic nerves into submission.
gently, the form runs the tips of its eyelashes across my throat, a spring breeze style of torture that no one would ever wish to stop. another wave of slow, soft kisses and eyelash beatings are unleashed upon the screaming pores of my skin. this form lifts itself up and back, straddling my waist while still forcing my figure into the same position. the arc of its back grows longer and more defined, each vertabre showing the connection from skull to small of its back. something so sinister has never been so completely seductive and sexual to me. awestruck and spellbound, i am powerless beneath the divine spectre that is toying with me on a cellular level and beyond, i have given control over to it and now the fun is about to start.
in one swift motion the figure presses its entire self into my naked, now sweat soaked, chest and whispers into my mind, with whatever mouth it has, and says:
"look but don't touch. touch but don't taste. taste but don't swallow."
one of its hands slides under the nape of my neck, cradling the connection between my skull and my spine. the deep cold of the hand against me causes my skin to flood with goosebumps, widens my eyes to their full capacity, makes the jewelry in my nipples scream for release and crams an arctic breath into my lungs. this full reversal of temperature is as sudden as a high speed car crash, my psyche is left mangled. this beautiful blank body holding me still purrs ever so slightly into my right ear, its warm breathing tingles over my earlobe and down my collar bone. the goosebumps keep coming in tidal waves all over me, a constant ripple effect of bizarre pleasure. the air of its mouth moves slowly down to my chest, the heat of its lungs finding its target. in some strange way i know that i could be cut to ribbons right now and have no regrets about what may or may not ensue.
the form lowers itself down to my ribcage, resting their left ear to where my heart resides, listening to the valves pump the lifeforce inside of me. the purring starts again but only for a moment. it rises again to arch its back, several pops release the pressure from having been locked in a lowered position. its voice echoes inside my mind again, this time with a spritely tone:
"don't mind me, just don't be surprised if you never have it better."
its head dives like a bolt of lightening and latches onto my stomach, warm saliva concentrating on a single spot, then it hits. its teeth have dug into the skin and muscle tissue, injecting a sharp barrage of blissful pain into my torso. as much as i long to scream i can't. i can't speak any audible words, the only sound coming out of me is a whimper coupled with a sigh of release. this serrated, aching pain is candy-striped with an unexplainable delight of pure ecstacy. a long island iced tea of feeling from both my mind and body. its not even close to orgasm, but it sure as hell could play out that way.
THATS WHERE I WOKE UP! what the fuck is wrong with me?!?! it never gets past this point! i have some of the greatest PG sex dreams, i swear!
so, that is the fun part of my fictional romance. this is one of four parts, that when combined, make for a fictional romance that ends in heartbreak. it keeps happening, lets say, 5 times a week for about a year now. does anyone have some insight into this?! i could use some info on how to make this thing finish itself or fuck off, permenantly. seriously.
as i said, i will try to muster the rest of it another time, in another post.
geez, this phantom pervert is twisting my brain and lighting un-needed fires in my no no parts.
someone help. lol, someone saves me from the phantom tease!
no names/physical descriptions will be expanded upon due to the fact that this is a prelude to my next post, which will be soon, if i can muster the lexiconal spirits to help me scribe, what can only be refered to as, a fictional romance and heartbreak. i'm going tarentino and starting with the fun part.
every last blood cell inside of me was chanting for it, begging this assailant to do me in with all the power they could wrench from within their volcanic loins. i wanted it all: the pain, pleasure, desire, carnal knowledge & pure hatred for the silence that surrounded us. put a bullet into the forehead of this quiet night, spill its blood and splatter its brains all over this room.
all i can see is the plain jane, off-white ceiling. the rotating shadow of the fan casting circles like five geometric buzzards, waiting to dine on the left over rotten flesh that we would soon be shedding all over the bed and floor. i'm breathing like i've had too many strong drinks, the skin covering me is putting off heat like i've never felt before, this is what i've been longing for. the form hovering above is slender and without definition, yet it is somehow luring me. just let it happen. gentle kisses coat my cheeks, lips, neck, ears and chest. soft hot pedals of satisfaction are floating down from within this form, teasing my mind into a false sense of love, a fictional romance. their hands are pressed firmly into my shoulders, keeping me in plain view, settled into position for an assault of physical pins & needles. these hands are on fire and scalding the epidermic nerves into submission.
gently, the form runs the tips of its eyelashes across my throat, a spring breeze style of torture that no one would ever wish to stop. another wave of slow, soft kisses and eyelash beatings are unleashed upon the screaming pores of my skin. this form lifts itself up and back, straddling my waist while still forcing my figure into the same position. the arc of its back grows longer and more defined, each vertabre showing the connection from skull to small of its back. something so sinister has never been so completely seductive and sexual to me. awestruck and spellbound, i am powerless beneath the divine spectre that is toying with me on a cellular level and beyond, i have given control over to it and now the fun is about to start.
in one swift motion the figure presses its entire self into my naked, now sweat soaked, chest and whispers into my mind, with whatever mouth it has, and says:
"look but don't touch. touch but don't taste. taste but don't swallow."
one of its hands slides under the nape of my neck, cradling the connection between my skull and my spine. the deep cold of the hand against me causes my skin to flood with goosebumps, widens my eyes to their full capacity, makes the jewelry in my nipples scream for release and crams an arctic breath into my lungs. this full reversal of temperature is as sudden as a high speed car crash, my psyche is left mangled. this beautiful blank body holding me still purrs ever so slightly into my right ear, its warm breathing tingles over my earlobe and down my collar bone. the goosebumps keep coming in tidal waves all over me, a constant ripple effect of bizarre pleasure. the air of its mouth moves slowly down to my chest, the heat of its lungs finding its target. in some strange way i know that i could be cut to ribbons right now and have no regrets about what may or may not ensue.
the form lowers itself down to my ribcage, resting their left ear to where my heart resides, listening to the valves pump the lifeforce inside of me. the purring starts again but only for a moment. it rises again to arch its back, several pops release the pressure from having been locked in a lowered position. its voice echoes inside my mind again, this time with a spritely tone:
"don't mind me, just don't be surprised if you never have it better."
its head dives like a bolt of lightening and latches onto my stomach, warm saliva concentrating on a single spot, then it hits. its teeth have dug into the skin and muscle tissue, injecting a sharp barrage of blissful pain into my torso. as much as i long to scream i can't. i can't speak any audible words, the only sound coming out of me is a whimper coupled with a sigh of release. this serrated, aching pain is candy-striped with an unexplainable delight of pure ecstacy. a long island iced tea of feeling from both my mind and body. its not even close to orgasm, but it sure as hell could play out that way.
THATS WHERE I WOKE UP! what the fuck is wrong with me?!?! it never gets past this point! i have some of the greatest PG sex dreams, i swear!
so, that is the fun part of my fictional romance. this is one of four parts, that when combined, make for a fictional romance that ends in heartbreak. it keeps happening, lets say, 5 times a week for about a year now. does anyone have some insight into this?! i could use some info on how to make this thing finish itself or fuck off, permenantly. seriously.
as i said, i will try to muster the rest of it another time, in another post.
geez, this phantom pervert is twisting my brain and lighting un-needed fires in my no no parts.
someone help. lol, someone saves me from the phantom tease!
Friday, March 18, 2011
"Cross Contamination"
Everyone, this is Mamimi. Mamimi, everyone. Now that we're all friends, let the games begin.
in the short, nanosecond sized span of time i have spent here in the vast cosmic clusterfuck we call our world/galaxy/universe etc. i know so very little in the grand scheme of things. i'm okay with it, are you?
it would be safe to say that words are valued, for the most part, much less to most than say MONEY, SEX, POWER, STREET CRED. i find this little disaster we have made for ourselves to be udderly insane and sickening. we as a species have lost touch with what words can and will do to the path in which we head. look, i'm not preaching or trying to indoctrinate you with my own failed ideals, i'm just stating the obvious in order to set up for yet another rant about how fucking stupid the majority of humanity really is. face it: we all do what works for us, for me, it's ranting about the lack of intelligence that thrives on the microwaves of our electronic BDSM styled "devices" that we all cling to in order to let Johnny know, via facebook/twitter/myspace/AIM/skype, that today was "OMG, so effin' shitty!" we have played into the world's sick fantasy of cyber control...yet i sit here oddly enough, posting on a cyber based notbook page, instead of actually writing. like i said, MY FAILED IDEALS.
SO...
let me begin by saying that no matter what you do in life, you will eventually fail. not just fail but rather fall from the sky with your wings of wax & feathers scorching your well maintained body as you do the mythical "skydive of exploding death". your ass will meld with the inside of your empty skull, mash your insides into an organic rubik's cube and then, without incident, dry anal prison bitch date rape your life with a broken broomstick named pedro. trust and believe: it will happen.
it's not the end of the world, i swear, not yet anyway.
when you fail you are taught to get back up, dust yourself off and try again. does this always apply to your failure?! is this a cardinal rule for an "epic fail" or even a "super fail"?! can it only be applied to regular everyday fails?! no. every fail is different, just like the 2% of people in the world who don't/won't/refuse to buy into the bullshit that is fed to all of us by the news media that ravages this planet. this age old piece of "wisdom" needs to be revamped for the world of today, it needs to be sent to the editor's desk so they can laugh at it, scribble all over the page in red pen and then hand it back to you and state that "you are fired from life for being a stern believer in garbage your sickly grandmother told you when you were a child".
side note: my grandmother never spoke those words to me because she knows that life sucks, you will fail but you have to cling to the good parts. she's a bi-polar-diabetic-ex drunk who outlived her husband and 1 of her children. she has a heart of gold and a mind like an uncleaned gutter, may she laugh for all eternity, or whatever comes after this clusterfuck we have entitled "life".
so, we need to rewrite the slogan of positivity. easy, right?! fuck no! slogans are accidents from a stoned mind, ask anyone who has made their own t-shirts...(mine were "chode", "twat-waffle" and "oedipus rex & the momma's boys"). if you didn't get that joke, you are only mildly educated and need to go back to english class and read up on your little known greek tragedies. so the old slogan is out and the new one has yet to be slapped onto the bumper of a bondo-colored VW bug. fucking super, another fail. i have tried for years to replace this haggard slogan, tried and...you guessed it...FAILED. so tonight i try again: feast your eyes on...
"When you fail: get back up, dust yourself off & do something else you know you can't complete...for fun."
no good? shit, i knew it. okay, try this one on for size...
"When you fail: give the fuck up and get plastered!"
okay, ALMOST there but almost only counts for JACK SHIT...almost is a prettier word for FAIL.
"When you fail: pull a Ryu and HA-DO-KEN the shit out of whoever or whatever made you fail."
getting better, right? come on, i made a pop-culture reference and added a dash of violence! no good? fine.
"When you fail: eatt shit, die, get ressurected and pass judgement on everyone else."
oops! a bit sacreligious i assume. too bad, the freedom of speech goes hand in hand with offensive references, profanities, violence, sex, drug use and the letter "F & U" and the number "13".
i think this time i may have an answer, or at least, my favorite remastered version of the words of wisdom.
"When you fail: don't be shocked, don't give up but try something a little more your league."
see! it's vaguely positive, lacks violence/sex/profanity/offensive language/drug use.
all i'm really getting to is the idea that failing isn't as bad as everyone makes it out to be. without failure there is no victory. the balance of the world is inevitable.
good & evil. happy & sad. sour & sweet. failure & triumph.
personally, i don't buy into religious books and their delightful tales of poorly drawn characters who listen to the wizard of oz, or at least the man behind the curtain. it's not that i'm agnostic or an atheist. i'm a realist.
plain. simple. not buying the scriptures. not preaching the "good word". just a realist.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Wasted Talent
someone asked me why there hasn't been a post since the last big judeo-chrisitan, holes in the hands blow-out special.
easy answer: i'm lazy and was doing more people watching than actual writing...sad but true.
with that expreessed and imprinted on the small amount of naked flesh left on the web, i can now venture forward into the next slab of textual retardation that will now follow:
THE COLLECTIVE INTELLIGENCE OF RICHMOND VIRGINIA IS FAILING.
when you work at a HUB of travel, where the people flow through your city like an unwanted heavy period, you tend to keep several notebooks and scratch pads of observations that detail the ridiculous portraits of these walking ejaculations...moving punchlines in suits and haggard casual wear. however, in the grand scheme of things at the HUB, the employees are the embodiment of what is indeed wrong with the fucking world.
baggage chuckers (handlers implies care for the bags, so fuck that), gate workers, gift shop peddlers, pilots, flight attendants (those pretentious nom whores [men & women]), skycaps, rental car desk cunts, etc. the people who are depraved enough to work in an airport are the darkest, sickest and most unbalanced pricks on the face of the earth. all of these people are the ones put into circulation to fuck your travel package into a bloody mess and potentially give your would-be happy memories a chronic case of memory AIDS. what should've been happy thoughts are now, no doubt, images of faces you'd absolutely love to beat the immortal shit out of. airports feed off of misery, depression, just missed boarding rituals and the ever present stench of babbling children shoveling stale animal crackers into their non stop talking chatter holes, while the so called parents are dicking around on their blackberries instead of keeping their mentally challenged-walking wasted potential from getting shredded into taco cheese by the escalators.
annoying children are only half of the problem people, their "parents" are the hot zone for shitty attitudes, poor home training and lack of respect & fear of strangers. what ever happened to parents scaring the next generation into a state of perpetual paranoia by telling them that "strangers will snatch you up and fucking kill you"?!
public places, as we all know, are full of elightenment and danger. its a 50-50 shot of having a boss-as-fuck memory made OR being traumatized beyond all recognition.
so, when you come to richmond virginia, with your kids, remember this:
WE ARE NOT GETTING PAID TO WATCH YOUR WALKING TAX RETURNS.
IT IS YOUR JOB TO PROTECT YOUR CHILD FROM BODY SNATCHERS.
OUR AIRPORT IS NOT GOING TO BE THE SCENE OF A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION.
YOU ARE NOT REALLY WELCOME, WE JUST LIKE MONEY, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE.
easy answer: i'm lazy and was doing more people watching than actual writing...sad but true.
with that expreessed and imprinted on the small amount of naked flesh left on the web, i can now venture forward into the next slab of textual retardation that will now follow:
THE COLLECTIVE INTELLIGENCE OF RICHMOND VIRGINIA IS FAILING.
when you work at a HUB of travel, where the people flow through your city like an unwanted heavy period, you tend to keep several notebooks and scratch pads of observations that detail the ridiculous portraits of these walking ejaculations...moving punchlines in suits and haggard casual wear. however, in the grand scheme of things at the HUB, the employees are the embodiment of what is indeed wrong with the fucking world.
baggage chuckers (handlers implies care for the bags, so fuck that), gate workers, gift shop peddlers, pilots, flight attendants (those pretentious nom whores [men & women]), skycaps, rental car desk cunts, etc. the people who are depraved enough to work in an airport are the darkest, sickest and most unbalanced pricks on the face of the earth. all of these people are the ones put into circulation to fuck your travel package into a bloody mess and potentially give your would-be happy memories a chronic case of memory AIDS. what should've been happy thoughts are now, no doubt, images of faces you'd absolutely love to beat the immortal shit out of. airports feed off of misery, depression, just missed boarding rituals and the ever present stench of babbling children shoveling stale animal crackers into their non stop talking chatter holes, while the so called parents are dicking around on their blackberries instead of keeping their mentally challenged-walking wasted potential from getting shredded into taco cheese by the escalators.
annoying children are only half of the problem people, their "parents" are the hot zone for shitty attitudes, poor home training and lack of respect & fear of strangers. what ever happened to parents scaring the next generation into a state of perpetual paranoia by telling them that "strangers will snatch you up and fucking kill you"?!
public places, as we all know, are full of elightenment and danger. its a 50-50 shot of having a boss-as-fuck memory made OR being traumatized beyond all recognition.
so, when you come to richmond virginia, with your kids, remember this:
WE ARE NOT GETTING PAID TO WATCH YOUR WALKING TAX RETURNS.
IT IS YOUR JOB TO PROTECT YOUR CHILD FROM BODY SNATCHERS.
OUR AIRPORT IS NOT GOING TO BE THE SCENE OF A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION.
YOU ARE NOT REALLY WELCOME, WE JUST LIKE MONEY, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE.
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