Friday, June 5, 2015

Woof! said the puppy. I woofed back, then dropped my bottle.

I once knew a girl named Leah
Who's true love I wanted to be-ah
She turned me down flat
And then shit in my hat
Then she flipped me the bird
And said "See ya!"

Thursday, June 4, 2015



Here, imagine this scene and put yourself in it... It's night, of course, and overcast, but it's leaning toward the bright side of dim. Exactly not like an overcast day. At night when it's overcast, especially when the clouds are low, it's a lit up night time, different from a full moon because a full moon is stark and casts shadows which delineate the sharp borders between areas of light and dark...

...but on a night like this, light is shared and passed around and poured from here to there, transitioning softly and gradually. There aren't any lines; just fuzzy borders. The shapes of things seem much larger, which gives them more meaning. Huh? No, that's not quite right...

I think what it is, is that the shapes of things matter more. They're more present tense... they make a deeper imprint upon the moment. I don't know if that actually means anything, but things definitely give that impression of being something more than normal. Just the regular shapes of things soaked in the strange, diffuse un-light of the cloudlight.

Then... just now, only a few moments ago, I saw something that made me inhale sharply, and then...




That is, uh...


I'll try to describe it as if this 'event' were giving me precise commands on how exactly to react. Here goes...

Inhale quickly and deeply, then involuntarily close your throat with a glottal stop; abrupt and important, fixating the act of breathing upon one enduring moment. Then really remember it the way it was...

So there I was, watching a column of low, bent over clouds of a bright orange-ish pink color march across a background of dark burnt umber. Then the farthest horizon beyond that orange procession was suddenly lit up with this hellish, unearthly and terrifying stroke of light, a narrow band that seemed to be only a precursor to the possibility of much more of itself that remained hidden beyond the horizon. Above, it was cut off by a relative darkness consisting of higher, closer clouds that formed an abrupt ceiling to the light. And inside that narrow, squashed place of orange where this was happening, it was... it was Armageddon, as it would look from a thousand miles away. It was a white lightening, with an orange afterglow that lit up and touched... geez, from my point of view... about a third of horizon. It may not sound like much, but it's all and more than I could see. It spread out through the fading orange expanse even further with white filaments like tree branches, or blood veins, or like an ancient river of ice on Mars reflecting the sunlight. A blinding electric fractal that scored the sky, leaving a complex afterimage of dancing purple furrows.

I stop my remembering now to remember why I wanted to describe this. And so I stop, and look up, and... there it is, all over again. Beauty, indescribable. And now I realize that I insult it by attempting to record the experience by shaping the memory of it with words, but I'm compelled to do it anyway.

Chaotic shapes form lines in three dimensions to a vanishing point, and the experience of watching this thing that I've been trying to describe here is just so satisfying. I'm seeing it, and it's talking itself to me the way that I wish I could be saying this to you.

A bunch of innane drivel shaped exactly like bullshit... or, A whirling device of intricate metal comprised of razor blades and salt shakers.

Okay, so I'm wandering around aimlessly at night after work as I'm wont to do, and I'm reading some retarded crap that took place on Facebook the other day - a back and forth between myself and another mutual moron regarding some incontestable data of a factual nature acquired by the NASA Dawn probe, and just recently released to the public concerning the functional dynamics of a primordial wormhole connecting the dwarf planet Ceres to an alien quantum spaghetti maker/booger zapper/high power laser launching facility/bagel toaster and cream cheese, via the 11th dimension, and I'm guffawing my stupid head off.

So, as this was happening, I was of course ambulatory and not necessarily paying any attention to anything whatsoever. This being the case, I was just about to step off of the curb and into the street. Or the boulevard, actually. Carroll Blvd. Who knew Carroll was a boulevard? Did anybody know that? To me, it's always been just Carroll. Like... take a left on Carroll.

Hey now, wait a second... I do believe that my android phone just displayed some remarkably intelligent initiative! You know what happened? Well, lemme tell you. Firstly, I'm using my phone's voice recognition thingy instead of manually inputting all of these words. I mean, swype typing is really cool and all, but talk typing is even cooler because you're using vibrating molecules of air as your input method. Anywho.

What happened was that the first couple of times I mentioned Carroll, my phone spelled it 'carol'. So I had to go back and manually type in the way it's spelled as the street name. Pardon me... boulevard. But what was really cool was that after typing it in a couple of times, it started to spell Carroll the way it's spelled as a street name. Carol! Wait, now it's retarded again...

What was this about in the first place? Oh, the curb! So anyway... yeah. I would have stepped off of the curb and right onto the road, or into... which is it? Onto or into?

Hang on. You can't step into a road, can you? You can step into the path of something ON the road, and you can step into the path of a truck, for instance, which is ON the road. You can even step INTO the truck, thus commandeering it's use for your own purpose, such as swerving out of your own way as you step onto the road and into your own path... that is, the path of the truck. The same truck that you're driving upon the same road upon which or onto which you're stepping... that is, the same road which the path (of the truck) into which you are stepping, and (the truck) which you stepped into (it's a stepside dually) lies upon, making a single moment comprised of simultaneously stepping into the path, into the truck, onto the road, and onto the path (at the same time), in the form of stepping, concurrently necessitating the stepping of (that is, the stepping of that which steps) onto a path, as well as into a path, which naturally and inevitably and logically leads to a series of descriptions (in the brain that is, via a neural highway system) a series of descriptions describing the connective properties of certain (purely imaginative) time-like events, all of which serve to demonstrate that the purposeful act of merely, yet forcibly, acknowledging that the existence of a concept pertaining to a hypothetical idea regarding the unlikely probability that, given an elementary basis which supports a fundamental proof of any given idea which - hypothetically speaking, and having been given a proper impetus, naturally exacerbated by the motive characteristics of an operandi - may (or may not) lead to several identical postulations describing the same notion (or notions), erroneous and unassailable, that the mere thought, concept, idea, plan, suggestion, intention, or even the factual, physical ACT of stepping INTO a road is just about not exactly the same as impossible. That is, rarely. And only from a few extremely precise and inherently unlikely points of view. But the basic premise regarding the logical possibility that all the shit I just said, simultaneously conceptualized and singularly executed, may illustrate the pure nature of the pristine thought... never wrought yet forever sought, taught for nought, then caught, fought over and bought, and finally shit on, shat on and shot... will forever stand on a beautiful pillar of corroded sauerkraut.


Here are some actual real things that actually exist that you can really step into in real life, other than whatever the heck all that shit was up there that just got through being said.

A hole, of course. You can also step into a pile of dog shit, or a whirling device of intricate metal comprised of razor blades and salt shakers.

An awkward situation. A new identity, or a new skin. Figuratively or literally.

You can definitely step into a parlor, or an office. You can step into a wall, or even through a wall, via the stepping of into a doorway... but one thing I know for sure that you definitely CANNOT step into is a threshold. You also can't step into things which are necessarily under a certain size, or impossibly out of reach or motile. I mean, there has to be some kind of limit to all of this bullshit, or else things will just get really stupider and stupider.

Carroll Boulevard (it spelled it right that time, heck yeah!)

Oh yeah! Here's what I originally wanted to say way back at the beginning, before things got out of hand. So, as I was saying... there I was, laughing my butt off and just about to step right into the big ass middle of the road, and then I heard laughter off to my right. I stopped and looked, and there was this car full of girlies that I hadn't even noticed, parked right next to me and with all of the windows down. The girlie in the front seat was looking at me with this puzzled looking smile, like she wanted to be let in on the joke. That made me laugh some more, and then she started laughing, and then the entire car full of girlies started laughing...

So that's the way it was for about five seconds, with all of them just laughing and smiling and looking right at me, and me laughing and smiling back. And then I stepped right in front of an 18 wheeler and got scrubbed all over the boulevard.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Those mother f'íng sonofabitching stomach greeblies

Yesterday afternoon as I was getting ready for work, and about half an hour before I had to be there, the stomach greeblies decided to pay me a little visit. It's been some time since they last showed up en masse, and I'd begun to think that maybe they'd gotten tired of the same ol' duodejunilium, and had up and moved on to greener pastures. Or smoother muscles or whatever.

'Tweren't the case though, because they just barged right in and commenced to making noise and breaking things and cuttin' up and being downright ornery. They weren't just kidding around either, because they'd brought their favorite toys with them, and by 2:00 it was party time with knives out.

This doesn't happen very often, and even less often at work, but when it does happen at work I'll invariably turn into a real son-of-a-bitch and take it out on the customers. Which naturally pisses everybody off, because I don't particularly like myself when I'm being an incredible shit heel, and they (the customers, that is) don't deserve or particularly like to be forced into having to deal with one. Pardon my French. Which tends to happen at work when I'm in an especially bad mood, or you know... in the throes of mortal agony.

For two hours, whilst enduring a relentless onslaught of knife-wielding stomach greeblies, I delivered a stalwart cavalcade of mindless, half-intended insults disguised as honest vocabulistics bubbled through gritted teeth to an intermittent procession of occasionally confused, sometimes frightened, mainly oblivious 7-Eleven patrons. It was at some time around then thereabouts that I convinced myself sufficiently that the simple act of standing up at the register was is and has been always and forevermore a minor heroic deed, so I did everybody a favor, except for Chiy (sorry Chiy!), and went home. The heroes journey. Home. Heroes inevitably give up, you know. Just nobody writes about that.

So I stumbled home and kind of deflated into a withered heap onto my bed, on my back. I felt supremely motionless, I felt sweaty and cold, I still felt the knives too, and I felt tired, but mostly I felt relieved. But underneath all of that, under each feeling equally, I felt like a real piece of shiznat for leaving Chiy there to deal with the mudholes I'd stomped into everything... you know. Eventually I fell asleep.

When this kind of thing happens, and at this intensity of pain, I find that if I lie perfectly still on my back, it helps a lot. Usually I'll do this and wind up falling asleep after about an hour, and I'll wake up an hour or two later, sweaty and exhausted, but pain free. That's what happened yesterday afternoon. I finally fell asleep at about 5:00 and slept until 7:00. When I was pretty sure that the pain had gone for good, I got up and sat on the edge of my bed for about 15 minutes. After that I'd decided that I was feeling well enough to give work another go, so off I went.

Anywho, all of that is just a lead up to this thing that happened later, as I was sweeping the parking lot. What happened was, I was sweeping the parking lot...

I gotta get to work, I'll finish this tomorrow.