Timely drippings

Here is that emergency entry that you have all been craving...the one disjointed pleading, desperate and yet still the most sensible thing that you have ever read in you entire life..All it is is honest emotional expression. Not that I have anything to say today. Are things getting better, or are they getting worse? Have I lost all fragments of imagination, due to karmic gas leaks, or have said leaks merely purified you beloved, yet defiant author into a ghastly, molten Stepford Hunter S Thompson. Only time will tell, and of course its not talking. So what do you have to say? I seem to do all the talking here, due to the possibly irrelevant fact that this happens to be my blog. Not talking either, eh, well that just suits me fine..Perhaps it must be time for some poetry then...when all else fails, try poetry, or WD40...or maybe a little of both.

Soul Mate

Blush red
When I try to see you
Turing away from the promise of soul
Made in heaven for each other
Or at least for a match or a mate

I am exhilarated when I think
Of all the possibilities ahead
Then there is nothing in the future
And I wonder will I continues to live
On this flat emotionless imageless plane

If only this reality were stocked with everything
We need only what we think we really deserve
Love and all its expressions
Laying on shelves in an orderly fashion
What could that mean? Could it be a person?
Or only God- what a let down
Or nature, beautifully consuming itself for the amusement
Of all living beings.

I am smiling and laughing
As my soul cries and stabs itself
Opening another dimension
Exactly the same as this one
But almost imperceptibly darker

I drag myself to the temple
Collapse at the altar
Not of sacrifice, but of relief
Love lives, after all!
But, just for a moment, do some dark lines
Creep along your smile, behind you eyes?
I do not know.

I Have Nothing To Say

But I couldnt help it Ollie...whine cry...well here we are in a post Bin Laden world. Take a nice deep breath, and enjoy the Serenity that is dripping from the atmosphere. I had some very powerful flashbacks to the pre 9/11 world the other day. I dont know if this is because I miss the feeling of relative safety, the absence of these constant reminders or TERROR- aghh!!!! run for the hills!!!!....its the abomination of desolation!!!!....eeekkkkk!!! in every day life, or whether I am just getting close to the end of my life,and trying to grab my Rosebud with both hands and avoid splinters. At any rat, I am getting sick of this stupid place. it seems like everyone is a jumpy aggressive shell of their former shell. Those that were talentless before now radiate pure bestialty, and those that were talented before are trying desperately to alchemize the sublime from the absurd. The only bright spot in the world of intellect, broadly speaking, is in the Sciences, and even then it is moving very slowly, because of all the bureaucratic hindrances these days: basically they can all be summarized as having to be the lap dog of multiple insipid parties in order to got from point A to point A point 000000000000001. One example- there are many- would be in Archaeology. To make any progress, your career is really based on people pleasing, rather than the originality of your ideas. If you slave as a grad student, doing your Mentors bidding, then you may be fortunate enough to find yourself in his or her stultifying position, many eons in the future.

And then there are the creative arts, the most heartbreaking of all. It is money, and nothing else, that guides here. And who pays the money? Well the producers, publishers, record industry folk for starters. But they are controlled by these evil animalistic dregs otherwise known as consumers. What music do these evolutionary dead ends want to listen to? Beiber. What movies do they want to watch? Apocalypse 14. Another depressing situation is the previously mentioned flaccidity of formerly potent artists. They strive mightily, but those patrons with a brain can always look back at their masterworks, and say why would I bother spending a fraction of a rand on this thing when I already own something of greatness? It could indeed be time for these formerly great artists to donate their fortunes to some appealing Bill Gates charity, and commit themselves to vanaprastha.

Where does all this leave me? Well maybe I am actually fortunate to be an absolute nobody, a non participant in this darkening age. In Hinduism there is a triad of gods, Brahma, Vishnu and Siva. They represent a fundamental cycle that applies to everything in the material universe. Birth, or origin, maintainance, continuation, including plateau, and destruction, sometimes referred to as regeneration. When everything has reached a point of utter valuelessness, then it has to be completely cleansed before new creation can begin. I sometimes wonder exactly how close we are to this point. There are those talking about the birth a wonderful new age, but how can we have a new age populated with unregenerate reprobates?

best of luck.

He said Captain, I said Wot.

If there was any real kind of logicy order to my brain, I would now of course begin to extol the virtues of that fabled song listed in the title. While it is true that that song is worthy of all possible praises, the real reason I decided to write this thing is to announce to the world that I am once again being poisoned. or if anyone can come up with another reason why I am experiencing a vibration in my head, cold hands and feet, a slow weak pulse and so on, that would be great too.

So that was all I really had to say, I am sure that I can enjoy the juicy irony of furiously typing a plea for help on a a dead site on the internet. How are you doing today? Few poisoners in your life. Ok fine I can fully accept any explanation, provided it is the correct one.

Ye gods,this must be about the gloomiest post I have posted in years. What is the point. Help, I am not creative or funny anymore! Save me!!

DIary of a Celebrated Personality, Volume Closed Head Injury

I hope that you enjoy the title, because it will be all downhill from there. God I hate editing. Maybe it is because I hate editors. And I hate the word "because" I can never type it correctly. But the real reason I have gathered you all here today, is to announce that I have ow idea why I invited you all here, because I didn't. Well here is an informational short that I stumbled across recently, it was made some time ago by a self made trillionaire named F.F.F Throckmorton Dimpoleberry, and even though it is a bit old, I think that it is as timely as ever. "Then my Mother told me to go to Flint and Saginaw, and Bay City, well I had become a fine salesman of great renown by this time, and although Mom was an edgy labile ignorant wench, I decided to follow her advice, just so as I could fling the embarrassing wreckage of the results back in her face. Never the regardless, I pursued my sales career with a renewed vigor, having of course prudently paused to recharge my batteries, something lesser entities, or salesman, never take the time to do. Obviously these weak asses end up lining the ashcans of history, while persistent sociopathic pests such as myself stand reveling in the glory that is so richly deserved. My Edsel careened into the spacious parking lot of the firm that I had previously contacted and notified that I would be arriving at within the hour. As usual I was quite satisfied with the performance of my automobile on the highway: it was a high acheiver in regards to mileage and handling, the latter fact which went greatly towards boosting my self esteem, as I had developed the habit of manually filling the tires of my vehicle by mouth daily, as well as of course according to the standard specifications that had been justly arrived at my the succession of teams at the weights and maysures bureau. And so, having dusted off my garments and preened a bit in the rear view mirror, I jauntily angled my self towards the entrance, insurance policies in hand. I was met by a rather large fellow with a protruding jaw at the entrance of the company. I told him that I had made the necessary arrangements for the appointment which I was confident that I would soon be taking part in, and he naturally gave me access to the to door to the room of the designated meeting place. I will take the opportunity here to point out that this corresponds rather directly to point number 456 on my list of Simple Principles of how even the most basic village idiot can induce the Universe to do his petty bidding,if he but faithfully follow these 1,762 clearly delineated principles which are clearly outlined in my series of handsome brochures entitled "How Even a Jellyfish can Wrap God Himself around his Middle Finger, if he but follow faithfully these 1.762 clearly outlined Principles that are Contained in this Series of Brochures, Provided all of them are Purchased, and Read Thoroughly, and followed completely, for only 17.99 postpaid plus SASE." And I will continue to reiterate, that anyone, even if they are limbless and acerebrate, can succeed with these principles, provided they follow them carefully, and in sequence, and send me the money.

Well to make a long story short, the President of this firm that I had previously contacted, and in a pleasing manner, arranged to have the meeting with that was about to take please, or so I expected, asked me to take a seat. Now here is another crucial juncture where salesmen of the average variety and mentality make a critical mistake. They don't take into account the 342nd of my Principles: "Don't Let Anybody Else Tell You what to Do, Even if it is in the Form of a Suggestion, or an Offer". Taking charge of the situation, I confidently smiled and said "I will stand, you sit down" He refused to sit down and gave me a puzzled look. Here I applied one of the 27 General Keys to my Principles: Animal Magnetism. Assuming a very pleasing appearance, I stared deeply into his eyes, and began to softly growl. I took full advantage of the diaphragm, avoiding shallow breathing of conventional growling, and growled deeply, while continuing to maintain the most pleasing expression on my face that I possibly could. Naturally, my adversary slowly assumed what is commonly called a sitting position. It was at this point that I recognized, based on the postulate of Previous Accumulated Experiences, that I could sell him as much insurance as made me contented. He was quite pale, sweating, and generally exhibited a constellation of signs that indicated that he had swooned considerably down the evolutionary ladder. This was the story of how I made my first million, and I sincerely hope it will of great benefit to you as you slowly yet surely mold your life to the expression of these 1,762 Principles. Please try these ideas and you will surely find that you will be richer and more confident than you had ever previously dreamed possible. Thank you and have a pleasant day."

What can I add to that, really....

Wither Assurbanipal?

For those of you who might even know what that is about. This entry is just being entered to let you know that I haven't died yet, and that the latest theory of what I am dying of is encephalitis, which just recently edged out vaccine reaction. A coward dies a billion deaths would be more accurate. One problem with this "slogan", like many others, is that it overlooks something. It overlooks the fact that most of the "deaths", however frightening they might be, are quickly over, and never as frightening as the real one, which even non-cowards encounter, and which is completely horrific.

But there must be a more pleasant topic than death or debilitating illness. And there is, but it would only be a way of ducking reality. Do you have anything to say? It is your turn. I didn't think so.As usual, I have to do all the work.

At least I can take comfort in the fact that an especially lame blog has the capacity to attract legions of followers. Unfortunately that doesn't mean EVERY lame blog. It seems to be some kind of perverse lottery. But I will keep trying, as every attempt I have had at an interesting, perceptive website has plummeted by the wayside. Wall gotta go now, it is time to take my temperature.

The novel is almost here

What novel, you rasp? This one of course. See you are expecting some boring piece of garbage filled with boring predictability like characters, plot, meaning and other related drivel, but I have really outsmarted you this time! According the the painstaking H Q Picadilly Strunket rules of style, all you need for a novel is 200 hundred straight pages of words, be they composed on paper, papyrus, velvet, cellophane, baseball cards, hummingbird skins, or whatever medium you happen to have hand at present. SO I am almost there! I really never thought I would do it. Of course I now have to dedicate myself to the arduous task of knitting all this sewage together into a single handsome collectors edition format computer file, but this task should be a mere basket of baubles compared to the work I have already completed. I may just rent a hamster for a weekend and let the beast exercise her lily paws on the keyboard to finish this thing off. The only difference that cold possibly noted could be the sharp erudition of the hamster.

Burroughs cutting method? Hah! For sissies! This loot is numenally cut! Saves loads of labor! I can pad it out with rarely seen Bazooka Joe strips and no one would be any the wiser...

Onthe subject of cutting, I think that it would have been better if the cutting had only been the beginning. He should have then buttered it up, put it in a blender, and fried it on an open flame before lovingly ladling it onto his editor' red pen.. It would have been similar nonsense, but at least it would have been delicious. Another book that is cutting resistant: The Bible. no one can mess with the transcendental cutting techniques obviously in operation there...Who would believe me if I plead that this shining parchment was the result of randomly collecting scattered typeset that had been skydiving the night before... I didn't think so...

Well anyway, here is the editorial for today, to try to bring you back to reality. You evidently have trouble controlling your imagination. Haiti. Need I say more? What can be done for these poor people. Of course they are just acute sufferers of the human condition. BAH! you snort behind narrowed eyes, overstuffed in your armchair. What the duat is he talkin' about now? You sit there, satisfied and self-possessed, encaged by your seductive mistress extra sodium pork rinds, and sincerely believe that is could never happen to you, as you shrewdly plotted to live in a locality that hasn't experienced an earthquake since the time of North American mountain building, that is, well before you were born. And you are right. But as you reach in satisfaction for the the last lonely rind, you are seized by the pain representing your accumulated pork rind slaughtering karma, and dissolve into a fine goo on your living room rug. Food for thought.

The Month of Virgo

Here they are, those relished readings of the stars, put into plain language that anyone can't understand.. ANTIMATTER ASTROLOGY for the Month of Virgo...

Aries, the Active Loafer. You feel sick this month. You are. But that doesn't mean that anyone gives an asteroid chip about it. Calm down. Do you think that you are the only person who has ever been sick? Maybe it is all in your head. Actually it is a malignancy in your colon. It could also be that your heart needs filtering after all the junk you have poured into it. Get organized.

Taurus, the Stolid Knit Picker. You just love this time of year. Sure everything and everyone is still as disorganized as ever, but this month you are feeling righteous and having a blast kicking them and life to pieces. Who cares? Why don't you come up with an elaborate explanation for your own worthlessness instead? You could fall in love with a specialist this month, but if they vary a fraction from perfection they are ashcanned with cheerful insouciance. The human race has been destroyed and you have the dump to yourself! Have some more candy!

Gemini, The Vacillating Mass of Confusion. You really hate this month. Everyone is using their intelligence, and you seem to have less of it, for some reason. The secret is that your brand of intelligence is unpopular right now, and I won't tell the world that all yours amounts to is spinning quick circles going nowhere and putting down others that can't think as fast as you can. Then when they carefully consider what you said later they realize that you don't have a clue. A good time to make an exhasutive list of how to die, or research your fussbudget family roots.

Cancer, The Wishywashy Worrywart. You are actually one of the sharpest tongued memers of the zodiac, and that will amusingly boil to a head this month. You feel you are making constructive criticism, but who cares? Don't you think others have as leas as much brains as you and can figure out their own problems? Why don't you write it all down, and then burn it as offering to the ineffable Goddess Kali. Beter yet, just be quiet. Silence is prudent and golden this month. You are at your most exciting when you are not saying a word anyway. You are beyond words.

Leo, The Arrogant Valumeister. You know it all, that is you own it all. If only everyone else had the same values and priorities as you did, then we would all be the same kind of pain in the neck. but of course we are different kinds. You are very discriminating in what you have. It is the best and nothing else. If you have nothing at all you spend your time roaring about the foolish things that others have and value. Thanks. Why don't you buy some medical apparatus this month, and then test it on yourself. Good kitty.

Virgo, the Modest Perfection. Happy Birthday! You are the center of all of our troubles this month. Imagine taking ego satisfaction from tearing others to shreds. That is what the colon, your ruler, does, and that is what you do to us. You digest us and excrete the waste. But it is always waste. You ultimately want to destroy everything. You don't like anything, you certainly don't like people. So you are the nondescript engine of change that will grind the material universe like hamburger. Have fun.

Libra, The Pretentious Fraud. I call you that it in the most loving way possible. What are you coverting up? Well your dreams will tell you this month as you have black and white renderings of lives spend as little orphan annie, and mother therasa's sister, and similar folk so forgotten they were never known in the first place. What does it all mean? First of all you eat too much wurst before retiring. Second You were some of these people and you try to conceal it now. Whoops it just leaked out again.

Scorpio, The Vengeful Organizer. Not very impressive, is it? Well it isn't easy to tie together arbitrary ideas on short notice. Your friends will come up for a good appraisal this month, and what a bunch of worms they are! Lazy, disorganized, stupid, vain, silly... what to do? Better edit them right out of your life! Then you will gradually get the weird sensation that maybe you are...lazy, disoragnized...etc...

Sagittarius, The prim Blue Whale in a China shop. YOU and this month.. HAH! The only thing more foolish to imagine might be a Pisces and this month.. you ought to drink each other to death for the hell of it...well if you didn't exist, Virgo might have to concede that there was no reason to live.. when they feel depressed when water and earth signs are showing signs of not being utterly flawed, you tramp in, whinny and deposit a gift on the carpet. Stimpy! I love you!!!The love that Virgos feel for you if you allow them to thoroughly hate you is really unlimited. Needless to say your extra restlessness this month will allow you to be a bigger creator of confusion than average. Have fun!

Capricorn. The Steely Ideal. Are you sure that you aren't really a Virgo. Nah, you have too much ambition. And you really don't worry. They say you are pessimistic, but that is all about others. They are doomed and it is so pathetic. You tower like granite above it all. But I have to say that I feel you are one of the most miserable signs in the zodiac, because you truly are heartless. You find ripping others to shreds funny actually whereas Virgos cease to be if they stop doing it. You also feel that it is a measure of philosophical genius to complain and criticize. Get bent.

Aquarius. The Indifferent Iconoclast. For you this month is power, just make sure it is power that YOU use, rather than that which is used against you. You could die this month, but only if you haven't paid attention to your health for a billion years, which is possible, because you let it build. A great month to have sex. Try the maid. If you don't have one, hire one. Your critical whiner within has the power to destroy, so everyone, look out!

Picses. The General Target of Virgo Wrath. Good time to move back to Neptune til the Sun goes into Scorpio. You argue by turning sideways and sulking, but this only allows Virgo to critique your debate posture. It is hopeless, I wasn't joking about swapping planets. Why does anyone come to this dump anyways? Of course there are aliens they just don't want to bother with this heap. Would you want to visit a sanitation plant on vacation? Common. Ok if you stay , try to strike an accord with your partner, and allow them to dip you briefly into the sulfuric acid tank for laughs. Whatever keeps them happy...

Antimatter Astrology

Yes I want to apologize for the recent wave of positivity that had swept over me.. also for the pretentions at novelism and poetryishness, done unfaithfully on the side. They belong here, the only place on Earth where you can find the actual truth- not the delicious varnished version with seductive theories of illuminati hamster shape shifters plotting the evil whimsy from the future pyramids that we will build on Mars in the unsettling year 16 billion...reality is alot more boring than that, but an be up to five times as funny. With exactly the right amount of ado, here are the vilest and most accurate possible horoscopes that and entity could come up with. Sorry, no smut, just hilarious cosmic accuracy that will through you into an inconsolable depression, forcing you to embrace the Hare Krishna movement.

Antimatter Astrology- The material world is for whining factory seconds...forecast for Earthbound losers of all Zodiacal description...

FOR DE MUNTH OF AUGUST MAN.

Aries, The Supreme Superbaby- You are here, everyone else can just get out of the way! But even more so. You like to have fun, and this month is no exception. So get out there and shake it on the dancefloor. That is if there is still one left in this psycho derelict world. Pow. That was it. Show of your ego until people politely vomit under your breath.Wasn't that hilarious? Not really. Get some cluse as to what actual fun is, and then others might have fun around you as well. Come on.

Taurus, The Big Fat Loafer- You reign supreme in your home, even if it is only a brown pasture covered in layers of your own defecation. If they don't like it you can flare your nostrils, snort and give them the impression that you might ram them with your mythological horns if you were not so fat, and there weren't acres of potato chips in the way. Isn't it splendid to be encaged by all this glory? Nah. Blast furnace the tarnish off your home both metaphoric and otherwise. Ask a gemini what metaphor means. Get over it.

Gemini, The Twisted Schizo Freak. You are an amusing freak, I will grant you that. Real bright too. But a titanic pain in the sacrum that is lacking wisdom unless he/she/it cheats by looking at the test of the Sagittarius. That is if the Sag was sober. You will be trying to bask in the glory of your sparkling wit, but try to put a stop to that. You think it is a roof of genius to be able to spin fast dizzying circles of logic that you yourself really understand, but you are all wet. Learn restraint of tongue and pen, even if you have to roll your tongue around your en. Babble to yourself in private if you must, but refine that babble until it yields something that at least seems to make sense. Or just show off your new hotrod doing wheelies in your driveway. Great.

Cancer, The Homesick Vicious Crybaby. You like to display the loot of the ages in your home window, but no else really gives the merest of flying figs. Now I hurt your feelings again, but so did my complimenting your beauty, so the whole deal is bloody hopeless. At least I gave you some good motivation to plot my untimely death. Try to value things that are actually great in life(whatever they could possibly be), and quit trying to show off and cover your emptiness by name dropping greatness. If Greatness bumped into you on the street it would have nothing to do with you.

Leo, The Arrogant Self Important Pain. Happy Birthday! You are so easy that probably made you forget the first part. You really can't hold a grudge because you are so self- absorbed that you aren't even really aware when people are putting you down, and even if you are it is like the nuisance of insects anyway. Well time to launch another year of vain self-promotion. You can mask it in the guise of helping humanity that is always good for a giggle, and tres chic these days. You can start another new age suicide cult... oh the possibilities are endless... well when the Sun enters virgo in a week we can all back to ignoring you again. MEOW!!

Virgo, The Fussy Hypercritical Martyr. Great news for you and the rest of us. Stay in bed for the whole month and analyze your dreams of all the important personages that once never were... write it all up with standard university references and footnotes, then tear it into orderly pieces when you realize that no one has any interest in something so silly, and blush like a maiden when you yourself realize that you were acting like you had an ego for a moment. You do, but it just involves criticizing people around you til they either commit seppuku or seppuku by proxy on you, and microrganizing stuff that you should have just left alone.That will come next month Get back to bed and take your temperature.

Libra, The Phoney Metallic People Pleaser. One thing you don't realize is that all that blather you lather on your pals and other tools you are using to get your own way is that they really see though you like a mirror to the center of the Earth, and only laugh at you because you are funny and it beats crying. You take pride in your friends, to the extent that you can use them, and this month that may work ok. On the other hand, they may get sick of your vacuous wacky brand of "creativity" and just tell you to hit the highway. Oh well only billions more to choose from. Time to move to another town.

Scorpio, The Secretive Sociopath. Ok maybe sociopath is a bit strong ( although Manson is a Scorpio). but you are a mean and vengeful person, and to the extent that you manifest this, I can't stand you and think you are wasting your time. Loosen up for the love of Satan, and have some fun, unless you still think moody loner is heroic, Yeah the Unabomber, what a heart throb..Your all is vanity is shown through your career tactics. Try to be fun, rather than egotistical always right ,and just a general pain in the corporation..you never know ... you are more powerful than average, but you are not immortal. You never no when the peasants will start choking on the cheap cake you are disdainfully flinging from the turrets...

Sagittarius, The Source Of All Wisdom. Well, since this is my sign, I really don't know what to say, I ... Of course it was facetious...You actually can be the model loser in the zodiac, and I know this from personal bizarre experience. When you aren't busy frothing at the mouth about some meaningless esoteric topic you may know less about than you think, then you are exploring countries you can't possibly understand, and "mastering" the language and culture, while causing international incidents with your every breath.. Ok you mean well, but you are a supersized pain in the cervical vertebrae to everyone else.. you want to travel this month- get lost! ( and this means me!)

Capricorn, The Cold Corporate Henchman. I don't even want to write a horoscope for you. I know few Capricorns well, but the few I am acquainted with scare the intestines out of me. They seem to be the most calculating people on Earth. They may do good in some ways, but I am happier never seeing them. If you are an exception to this I am sorry. The energy drives me crazy. At any rate, now is a good time for your power trips, but recall that mistakes in the 8th house can cause you to slip into the recycle bin. You can make fortune buying micro sell stocks, that are sold in between ticks of the clock as the market tumbles into the Duat. Have fun!

Aquarius. The Aloof Eccentricity. Not very personal sounding is it? That should make you happy. A horoscopes for robots section is coming soon. This is the month for you to dispose of personal enemies with cold detachment for being too egotistical, when really both of you are nuts. You don't like people anyways, although it is part of your ad campaign, but you really would rather not have interactions that bear any resemblance to emotional experiences. Unfortunately when you give the cold shoulder this month, you will get the hot shoulder back. Who cares, right? Not you, and that make life easier...

Pisces, The End of the Line. And the end of these for the month. You will be sick all month mainly from dramatizing events at work. It is all in your head. As is everything with you, so boo hoo. You take too much pride in your work, who cares about being a cashier in a department store? You do, but it doesn't make you Lord Byron. You take pride in being average, so that trend should continue. Everyone is always picking on you? Of course, it is a built in part of your identity. If you are not employed, get a job...

Lord Gaga

Hi everybody! Here are some pictures I took on my last vacation! My friends and I partied!!! I wore the best lip gloss, but I had to be hospitalized because of a stale batch of botox. I don't know who I am, but I will succeed, because my wig is the right color and religion!!! Common... show some genuine emotion and then your creative effort might possibly have merit. I have heard Lady Gag-uh has been compared to Madonna, and I never thought the day would come when I find myself defending her, but whether you like Madonna's music or not, she is a better singer, and at least pre-cones had the sense to perform decent pop music. I mean pop music is not like constructing a symphony, just learn how to do it right. "puhpuhpuh poker face", my stars and garters....

Whatever the actual reason, ( and I have one that invloves astrology), the great artists of today have not produced anything that I would invest tuppence in. When Kurt Cobain died, there was a graudal dieoff of pop music, some of the talented performers continued on, but by 2000, they were more or less washed up. Movies might well have vanished at some point in the 80s, at least those coming out of Hollywood. TV was finished in the early 2000s, although I have never really expected much from TV.

I am too tired to get inot the reasons now, go read my other posts if you are interested.

Great Quotes: "That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger; that which kills us, kills us"
-or- "That which doesn't kill us can still pitifully demoralize us"
"The early bird catches the worms"
"haste makes paste"
"a penny saved is a penny saved"
"do well unto others regardless of what the hopless self-centered SOBS do to you"
"early to bed, early to rise, makes a man one hell of a boring automaton"
"every cloud has a silver lining, and every silver lining is contained by a cloud"

Cauda Equina Syndrome

Yes, I know what you are saying- one of the greatest bands of the 70s and what a shame they had to die choking on each others' vomit. But what great creative output until they were so cruelly taken away from us. Actually this is just the alarming notice of the week, and I just wanted to let you know in advance, if the next time you see me I am in a wheelchair or whatever. I hurt my back, and of course I am worried about the worst possible thing, even though the symptoms don't exactly fit. I guess the thing that is bothering me the most is that both legs seem to be involved, which suggests to me that the spine in being compressed, or that two discs went nuts at the same time, which doesn't seem too likely. Anyway I will keep you posted, because I know that you care deeply about my health.

Could this be any more fun??? Life is just designed to frustrate, or maybe you are just luckier than I am. It is like pulling teeth to get anything done, you wait and wait for something to go the way you want it- finally things look great. But there is always a deception.. if it was as good as you thought it was, then something must intervene to prevent it from happening- something horrific with your health as an example. Someday you will be happy on this planet, won't you? I am so sure that I will be accused of being a pessimist, but this comes out of long hard thought an experience. I sometimes wish I could forget this point of view, and go back to basking in the glow of the latest excitement, but I can't, and looking back at those times they were short, and always interrupted by miseries of various flavors.

I guess we are just very unfortunate animals. We have the brains to fully understand exactly how damned we are. It would be more fun to be a waterbuffalo. But God will comfort me as I die. Only if he is kind enough to let them shoot me full of Morphine

Abdominal Adhesions

I don't know that this is what I am going to write about, it could just be a marketing ploy. It will have very little to do with abdominal adhesions. I just wanted to let all of my fans know that I think they are forming as we speak, embracing me with their icy tentacles. So if you don't hear from me for a long time, it could be that, or something else.

I found a small lizard the other day. I didn't try to catch him just watched him as he pretended to be a scorpion. He was small and fairly docile, so I left him alone.

I found her on that afternoon we had both expected we would get along. Instead we stayed for dinner. She wouldn't eat anything, just stared at the whole time. What did that mean? What did any of it mean? Could it it be pressed into poetry that she pulled from my core? Now nothing feels beautiful although I can still see beauty. Nothing feels wonderful although I still wonder about everything that you said, and why I was in love with you. There were many others who were better looking, who had a better voice, who even liked me a little. But I loved you, and I always will, no matter how many gods and men tell me I am damned when I see you even in my mind we are always together, no matter who holds you tonight how can I change my very being?


Eyes meet for the first time
Just like the last time
See castles in ruins by the seaside
Four princesses crying for princes
Who have never lived
Or was it in Egypt I held you close
Radiating the warmth of the sand
Close to the life giving river
Drowned in our bliss
We kept returning
And once it was on the hottest day of the year
Sky purple and cloudy
Smell of rain round your ears
I kissed you knowing we would die together
Over and over
In every corner of the universe
Looking for a home
In the unlimited emptiness.


Your turn.

I Need a Lover who will Tear Off my Face

Actually this refers to a crude rehashing of his own song title that John Cougar Melonhead dashed off in an 80s concert that I wish I couldn't remember. To be perfectly frank, well it is easier to be perfectly Phil actually.. I really wanted to write this about two pressing issues of the day 1) Chimps who tear the faces off people, and of course the logically connected concept of racism.

I will start with the second one. I am sorry, but I in no way believe that that silly cartoon was supposed to have any racist connection. I feel I am pretty sensitive to this issue, ( not oversensitive though) and I think this is another one of those real stretches. The outcry is over it having some connection to Obama I suppose, but where? how ? Congress wrote the bill, and I think the comparison was supposed to be between the keen insight of a rabid chimp and the deep thought behind the stimulus bill. I have to say that I am a lifelong democrat and support the efforts of our new president (who is a decent hard-working man) and congress until they prove unworthy of that support, and maybe even beyond that, because the alternative ( The Pure Evil Party) is something I don't even like to think about, and the rancid damage that it has brought to us all in the last 8 years has been abundantly evinced.

For the cartoon to be connected to Obama via a means other than fearful delusion, there would have to be something more obvious, like the old fashioned editorial cartoonist's trick of writing the words "president" or "Obama" on the character. You know editorial cartoons regularly caricature and twist humans of all descriptions into gargoyles and every zoological species imaginable, and I suppose that is ok, just so no one with a (in my opinion) sweaty overactive imagination can construe the evil of racism being intended. Sure its ok to compare him to a gerbil, that is much more flattering. I really think to find intentional racist lampooning these you would need to embark on a subscription to Nazi Reader's Digest ( there is a fine oxymoron.. and oh no, I might be injuring the delicate sensibilities of Nazis!!!.. and THAT comment might make someone think am Hitler's love child.. Help!!!!! It never stops.) This whole PC business needs to get a job/life YESTERDAY. If someone is breaking the law, arrest them. If they are just being ignorant, or silly, or even deserve the benefit of the doubt- IGNORE them. Really a chimp comparison hits all of us directly in the evolutionary tree... well I'll be a monkey's uncle! No, but maybe a grrrrrrreeeeeaaaaat grand nephew of a Miocene ape. Going back further in the family reunion we all are a kind of a son-of-a -tetrapod. Who cares.

NOW onto the most pressing issue of all, Chimps who rip peoples' faces off. 1) DON'T buy a chimp as a pet, visit him in his natural habitat, the circus. I mean, how could that woman be so silly- sleeping and showering with him? She is a NUT!!! And this brings to mind the general category of people who donut really understand animals: they treat them like substandard humans, or cute li'l kids.....They are animals! Not subservient to you, they have their own right to live their life as they choose. Now if we have a humane, long standing relationship with a species, I think that there is not animal cruelty involved. Dogs got sick and tired of ripping our faces off around the time of the dawn of civilization, and now they milk us ruthlessly for the gravy train that we are. Really it is a kind of mutually rewarding "partnership" and that is ok. SO are humane zoos. I haven't made up my mind about circuses yet. I left gnawing on bones for my breakfast by the wayside myself, so eating my friends is no longer an option. You should cut down on the carcasses too if you are ready to make the decision. Keep it low fat too. I found out vegan doesn't really mean 3 gallons of soy ice cream a day.

ANYWAY, here are some stories we will be reading soon. Man killed by pet Gila monster brushing his teeth after a feeding; Komodo Dragon lashes owner's legs off, while he was trying to change the lizard's lip stick...; Woman rushed to hospital trying to put ballerina outfits in her pet black widows...maybe the worst insult is to compare someone to a human being...

" Everybody's got the right to speak their mind.. so don't shoot me for sayin' mine.." R D. Davies, The Kinks

Are You Kiddin' Me?

Thought that that would be a great eye grabber.. well let us test out the astrological theory that Jupiter entering the solar third causes profuse communicative outpourings. Of course if you are a behemoth sea sail or similar, than maybe it would just cause you to enthusiastically ( I hate the band whine about the machine, btw) explore the other side of the aquarium, leaving a pleasant muddy residue as your satisfaction. This one seems to make no sense at all, just like the others, although I just noted that the others were fairly well constructed. The other posts I mean. It was hard for me to catch a glimpse of meaning through the veil of poison. They always say the more of a Faulknerian Christ like character you become, the more gud since you think you are makin' while in reality you are not even using words anymore. I will check this tomorrow to see if I actually wrote something. If I find anything I will put a virtual match to it.

Well how is everyone enjoying the new year? It is an 11 btw and those psychotic occultists among you know what I mean. Not that there could be anything supernatural in numbers in a calender- something like that that is covered by the likes of astrology, but that the loonies out there obeying their evil master, which in reality is probably the Spoiled Brat Within, will find some way of getting our attention this year. I was dabbling out of astrology when 9/11 took place, but thwn it happned I immedaitely though of the waxing and waning tension as Saturn tickeld the evil belly of Pluto with a stony scythe, and of course the Sun bronx raspberrying from the midpoint. How could it have not happened during that period.. but after reading some compelling schizophrenic insight about numberology, I am convinced that WHOEVER is behind some of these terrorist events lulls themselves to sleep with visions of explosions, number and evil Easter bunnies and the like... here are some numbers to chant for liberation ( so many I am bound to hit one right, even if it is the bombing of the capital of NWT).

Here they are, miss america: 3/3, 3/6,3/7, 3/9, 3/11, 3/12,3/15, 3/16, 3/18, 3/21, 3/24, 3/25,3/27, 3/29, 3/30. Some dates in 6;7;9;11;12. The rest of the year we are safe and frolic nakedly. We are only in tremendous frantic peril ninety days out of the year. Be sure to be vacationing in Iraq on those days. I will add that there are few in the group that are EXTRA tough those are 3/3; 3/7; 3/9; 3/11 ; 3/16; 3/21; 3/25; 3/29; also in the other months. They evince doubling, and/or resolve to a single evil figure. with Pluto in Capricorn, government or business targets seem likely.

But onto more pleasant subjects. Maybe the terrorists will run out of gas or something. Well that is all I have to say right now. How have you been?

Ok, maybe it isn't lead poisoning

Poor nutrition due to a lazy hypothalamus. The quick burned fox lept o'er the lazy hypothalamus. Wordsworth? Maybe my poison has been poisoned. Fat up against your will. Til the sick and slim...She floats like a swan grace on the water. Tell me the band that writes stuff like this. No, not Ohwasteis. The Brits should have left grunge to the Americans. Nihilism is something we can do well. Sometimes when we believe that we are making constructive progress. Hah. Well my life may be a hopeless morass filled wasteland, but then I can take consolation in the clear fact that Buddha loves me. None of this matters if I can just firmly maintain the image of my bedroom when I was a child. In the dark the furnace sounds the same. The bed, the walls, the floor.. who knows? Well I had nothing else to say, so good night.

Lead Poisoning

This will serve as the official notice of the fact that I am being poisoned by some fiend who is using some kind of heavy metal, most likely lead or Led Zeppelin. So if this thing seems more unreal and disjointed than usual, that will explain it. The real title of this should be Love, but I suppose that those of you who are comfortable working with universal symbols should have no trouble understanding that when I write a journal entry about lead poisoning, I am in fact writing one about Love.

I guess what got me started thinking about the subject, apart from the slow pulse, lethargy and constipation, was the fact that I watched Last Tango In Paris last night. I think that some denizens of the modern world will not enjoy this movie, except for one critical infamous part, but I really enjoyed it, and I think that it shows many of the things that hate about modern movies. First of all, there was no expression of comical irony in the form of " phh yeah! yah think? duh??" or whatever snappy means one can attempt to demonstrate superiority over another. Right there it earns a ticket to the movie hall of fame. Their performances were understated which was nice, giving you the feeling that you were actually watching two (or more) persons interacting. This was one of the points of the movie. The two central characters were only in love when they were not dealing with the outside world. They were actually being themselves without the phony trappings, and while there were hints that this would only be a world of nothing but lust (such as the creation of the primitive names), they really grew to know each other, without knowing the details of their previous lives.

Their love becomes cheap and cliched and debauched only when they are no longer living in the womb of the apartment. It strongly resembles the sappy version of love that was supposedly being filmed as reality by Jeanne's boyfriend. She wants neither the phony marriage nor the phony version of Paul, and puts and end to him and his suffering. The world of the "adult" triumphs.

The Paul character, while accepting heavy contributions from the actual life of Marlon Brando, is very well done. The two best scenes he has are when he confronts the corpse of his ex wife who has committed suicide, and , believe it or not, when he has his beloved do a proctological exam on him. I think this was lifted from Romeo and Juliet.

With his ex wife, we first see him sitting in a room of what looks like only flowers. Of course they are all cut flowers and the the camera pans to show us the perfect body of his ex wife, Rosa. When Paul say " Why did you lie to me?, that was the worst thing that you did to me!" this may have been one of Brando's best moments on the screen. I think if you are not moved by this you are either at least a little dead, or you have never been lied to. At least you THINK you have never been lied to.

The prostate check is a great scene not because it is at all titillating (at least I HOPE no one thought so) but because it is a great spontaneous expression of what true love is. It really means that you are willing to suffer whatever you must to be together, that you MUST be together I think this idea would be ridiculed by today's audiences who figure if they can't get it at Hertz, it must be at Avis. We are all interchangeable, and you see it through the homogenization of society. Advertising and they way we are all processed in everyday life reinforce this concept. For a brief time, these two people are really in love, even if the difficult to define length of that love is only this one scene.

I have read that some people ( I am sure they are terminally infected by today's world) find the exposition in this movie to be difficult and so they find the pace boring. They need to relax and realize that Marlon Brando is not going to get caught on a runway Metro train, and PAY ATTENTION. The cinematography here is very effective at setting location (Paris??) and mood, and if the viewer really follows the movie everything is revealed. It is linear too, just not broadcast to a brain dead Hollywood audience. It is interrupted as well because of the need for Jeanne and Paul to not talk about their lives. An example of the natural way the story is explained is when Paul meets Marcel for the first time in the movie, there is a reference to the fact that he was Rosa's lover. If you were paying attention when Rosa's copious blood was being mopped up as the cleaning woman recites what she told to the police, you would understand what is going on. The movie is quite clear- it just starts with no back story, and an Eisenstein like moment.

And finally the main reason that I decided to write about this: I thought it's point about love transcending everything else, or needing too was still very powerful. Would any movie today dare to make this point? There are all kinds of love stories, but do any of them show so explicitly that if love is real, NOTHING else matters- the condition of the body, the amount of money, the social status.. of course Last Tango finally folds to the inertia of society- that all these trappings are SUPREMELY important. So when I finished watching this movie, other than feeling like wanting to wander the streets of Paris like Marlon Brando, I gained some calm and some sadness when I realized that I am not loved. No one is with me. My family really loves me out of obligation, and I don't say that as a negative, just an expression of reality.

If she loved me, she would be here with me now.

Monk

I just watched a video about some monks in Italy, and was struck by how happy they seem. According to today's world, they should be miserable, because they have no great wealth, no three marriages (and divorces) no Jaguars, mink stoles, they can't watch Seinfeld over and over again til they vomit, and most horribly they cannot be paleontologists. This seems extremely unfair, and makes me wonder if the video was somehow faked. I don't think so, because I had just previously watched a video about some other monks in NYC and they also seemed genuinely happy. They were very actively helping others as well- offering food and comfort to the homeless and other unfortunates.

Why don't I join now? Well there are several reasons. I don't want to give up this lavish infested paradise that I now inhabit; some days I don't believe in God; They might put a damper on my lusting after women; They might curb my Ren and Stimpy viewing; I might have to take instruction from another person. These and other reasons radiating from these key points cause me to cling tenaciously to this husk of an existence.

But then I really paid close notice to something that the last monk on the second video tape said when he was asked about the difficulty of staying celibate. First he said that it was not very difficult at all, which I expected him to say, but the second was maybe the most real and intelligent thing I have heard from anyone's mouth in a long time: "In enclosure, I learned real love of women" I think that this is the point: REAL love, rather than the onslaught of fake loves that are saturated with the poison of pain and then are gone altogether at some point, is the only thing that matters.

Just keep writing

I just read a letter that had a closing line: God wants you to keep suffering to draw you closer to Him. I must have gone through the other side of Him then. I guess the idea is to have you beg for mercy. Well I have done that repeatedly, but it seems like I recover very quickly, and the next thing I know I am off and running in the Miss Goethe Da Vinci cerebrum swimsuit competition, engorged with my own will that has nothing to do with God. The meek shall inherit the Earth? Do they really want it?

Christ suggest that you should be humble, and of course the world shows that if you are talented in one respect or another, you will succeed. Reminds me of the Ministry line- " The way to succeed, and the way to suck eggs" I have said here before that I don' t think that all of us can succeed, life doesn't work that way, there just are not enough openings, and some of us define success in impossible terms, or like me they have talents that surely backfire every time.

I can write, but what is the value of it? I don't think I have ever helped anyone- maybe some of my crazy ideas have helped them laugh a little, or maybe they have just been shaking their heads and thinking that they are glad they are not me. One of the themes in my life is that people are rarely direct with me, and when they are they go way over the top. I don't take criticism well and they sense it I suppose.

Anyway to return to my talents, I think I can very very creative as a writer, but my writing is extravagant, bizarre, disjointed and dark. My music is very similar. I often wonder why God gave me this kind of "gift" I should have kept the receipt. Maybe I am not supposed to succeed, but am supposed to keep banging my head against the wall until I give up and turn to Him alone, There are alot of passages in the Bible that support this idea. I then wonder how so many billions of people seem to be comfortably getting away with violating His rules, but maybe seem is a powerful word here. Maybe my talents need to be put into His service, but then where is the Glory for me, eh? I think the idea is I might get genuine enjoyment even if and because the situation is not inflating my egomania.

All gone.

NYA NYA NYA NAYA NAYAAAA!!! THIS MEANS YOU!

I will vanquish young, old, fit and infirm, from single cells to complex organisms, all shall kiss and lather my lotus verbage. Victory once again. I thought I would take a break from the mediocre Burroughs -induced visions of middle class existentialism, to write this. I really have very little idea what I am going to say, but am getting a kind of urinary Uranian urgency to write, and since Venus is reposing her beautiful curvy posterior in my 3rd house, of ritin, readin and rithmatic, you get the idea. If this doesn't work you can blame it on the gas leak from nearby Neptune, or rash inducing contacts with Saturn or Uranus. If it works, you can still blame it on those sociopaths, or laughingly credit it to support from the friendly planets in Sagittarius.

Really this is fully intended as a challenge to a series of death matches with all dissatisfied residents of time space. We can mud wrestle our way to the career bilger post of Chief Executive Big Medicine Lord Supreme Philosopher, the winner going comfortably to an ornate tomb kept warm by the recently slain bodies of a slavish retinue. How does this translate into journey to the center of the learning curve- ese? Just do it, Nike. I hope that all are spellbound, kurued and edified into submission, but if this is not the case, you know where my email lives, and feel free, regardless of sentiments, to express yourself, pre-Madonna. Of course if you tiptoe beyond the bounds of basic criminality, I will be forced to let the appropriate authorities execute you in a dark comfortable place of their own choosing.

Let me say also by way of explanation that I am the frailest and meekest of helpful neotonous souls, and want in no way to incur the wroth wrath of anyone. However, I am not a coward.

Most importantly though, I think that I have fallen in love with Rachel Ray. Maybe I need incarnations of overpriced therapy, but I get sizzling hot when I hear her speak, and especially when she waxes lyrical about how she is not good at something. Ok I admit it I need help. That is the first step.

How about that new president eh? He has still to take office, and the press are getting ready to craft his biography including obituary. Give him a chance! He himself said that if we don't like what he has done after four years, we can vote him out and install Sarah Palin's ... moose, or whoever the Republicads(TM) have conjured up for the next election. The attention on Obama is understandable but the slant is not. Some of the critiques are coming from the usual hosers who lament the fact that Barry Geldwasser never established a Republican House of Hanover, but there is also criticism from some slight radicals who are " in a mood" because Obama refuses to transform our republic into a Gay/Feminist/Green oligarchical Eden before even taking office. I hate to let these poor souls know this, but not all of us have that severity of utopian vision. Verve Pipe sucks, btw, someone should but a stick of dynamite up their verve pipe, except they might enjoy it.

ON A NEW TOPIC Here is an almost exhaustive list of the decent bands from England during the 90s: Bush. Ok I might include a few "tunes" by some other bands. Was Elastica in the 90s? Even if they were in the 80s, they were a decent 90s band, like the Cranberries. No they don't count there is a difference between England and Ireland, you Americans....

I wonders if there were any great German bands that we were not aware of due to our deficiency in fluent German. Here are the Great German Pop Bands, as I understand them (Official Chief Executive Pol Pot of Music Stamp of Approval)1) Kraftwerk. To be honest, I think the term Kraftwerk could easily include all new wave bands. Pretty big roster I guess. Some are more closely and obviously affined (new word- take that you idiot spell check!) like Gary Numan, but even something like REM has uncoagulated Krafwerk spewing forth from gaping wounds. Sure, Joy Division, but weren't they an interbred combination of Krafwerk and the Sex Pistols, themselves a British version of the 5 Iggy MC Popp??? Well?? Sorry, I need to lie down. But where does Tambourine Dream fit into everything???!!?? I mean it, I need answers and I need answers now!!

2) Nena. Not very influential, but quite cute and their one song was a lot of fun. And penetratingly political. There must have been some other intelligent cutey saturated bands from Germany that could have made trillions in the musical conquest of the male Australopithecus Robustus hoards in the US in the 80s... I hate to be mean, but a good Langenscheidt could have been a one way ticket to stardom.

3) Rammstein. But we already have Ministry. So who needs any other band at all? Still Du Hast was good and pinched the threshold limit of the ability for the average American to digest a foreign (or even indigenous) language.

4) And of course.. "We Gonna Sting Ya!!!" Guys, you still need some hint of the auxiliary, otherwise it sounds like a two year old's first attempts at language. Actually their one ballad is fine.

That's All !!!

How To Be Yourself, Get Rich And Retire Before You Are Seven!!!

It seems like there is so much self help out there on the Internet, and yet still there is not enough. So I thought that I would contribute my addition. I saw one definition of one's self as the clothes you wear, and how you should insult someone if they don't like what you wear, and if that doesn't work, you should ignore them. The first thing that I thought was: if you are naked, do you lose your identity? I guess this would really be a problem when you are in bed with someone. You are madly in love, but after all the clothes are off, you don't know if you are yourself, Errol Flynn, or a porcupine. I will never have to worry about this, not because I don't know who I am , which I don't, but because I will never be naked.

After the wardrobe equals identity part, there was a more serious treatment of the issue. The first step was to find yourself. I can usually be found in the trash after all other possibilities have been exhausted. The article talked about what you like to and don't like to do. I like to sleep, maybe I am a narcoleptic. I also like to have sex, so maybe I should be a porn star.. of course I do like to do other things as well, as long as they don't resemble work. I have an interest in ancient history, which is why I have pursued graduate studies in the subject, but if it will ever pay even a plug nickel it will be a miracle. Who you are seems like it must be tied together with making money, even though this is not my choice at all. The alternative is to do something, anything that will give you money, so you can later quit your stupid job and do what you really like to do. By that time you are retired and may have moments left to live, if you are lucky. Another problem though is that you are too enfeebled to enjoy doing what you really like, and may not even be able to remember what that was... So I say start doing what you like to do now, even if you end up starving to death. It will make a great romantic story for someone else's successful movie.

Headline point number two was to stop worrying about what others think about you. This is easier said than done, It seems like those who clearly never worry about what others think about them are sociopaths, and end up living the dream in prison. These cards are as free as birds, they could care less what anyone thinks about them, unfortunately they are relegated to being themselves within prison walls. You have to worry about what someone thinks about you I think or you cannot succeed. Everyone has some kind of audience and you are allowed to offend the common "enemy" of you and your audience, but if you lose the audience, you are doomed. Even a solitary person like a scientist or inventor, can not just be after their intellectual objective. They have to please some boss or bosses, or they can never market whatever they produce. Again if the goal is righteous starving obscurity, you can eschew all public opinion.

Number four was be open and honest. So I would like to say that all humans are hopeless hypocrites, who have artificially manufactured a junk filled society, that either long ago stopped being a civilization, or never was one. I will accept all accolades at the stage door thank you. I can be honest about myself as well. I am never really honest, as I like to hide my true self which is something that I am inexpressibly deeply ashamed of. Another wonderful statement to add to my resume. Well I can tell you all that I am saturated with ego, fear, lusts and everything else, and am enough of student of history and biology to know that this is no real revelation. It is also not liberating, acceptable, or a ticket to gold plated stardom.

I am getting tired of these platitudes, so I will finish with the last point I read: Develop your individuality. Have your own sense of style, until you realize that it is a slavish imitation of the style of someone else. Part of my style is liking to talk to myself, as I feel that there is no one around me that I could have an interesting conversation with. I am sure I could find either shallow or caustic, but I don't think that I could find interesting. This habit makes people think that I am a lunatic, and I am, but it really is not very satisfying, it is just another wonderful maladaption to a maladaptive society. Even though I often enjoy my own witticisms, I think no one around me could possibly get them, not because they require an iq of 400 to penetrate, but because they are so weird. People are getting weirder, but not intellectually weirder. They just seem to get more and more aggressive and paranoid, and less and less cerebral, and more and more conformist. Well good luck to them all anyway.

So the grand conclusion to this essay is to suggest that you imitate someone interesting from the past, because it is impossible to discover who you are anyway. Society in the past just required more phony and elaborate personalities than it does now, so choose one of the classics. Have fun....

10 second cure for the Great Depression!!

Well, as you can tell from the previous post l, I will never be published as a fiction writer, that is, I will never make any money at it- in fact it seems as I may never make any money at anything again! I realize I am not a very good fiction writer. My fiction highlights all the great qualities in the great writers, in a reciprocal kind of way. My writing is disorganized, with fluctuating characterization: vistas of boredom punctuated by moments of genuine poetry, again engulfed in seas of boredom. I like my poetry/lyrics better, at least the stuff that I used to write. I will plop some here one of these days. I may give you a speed poem at the end of this thing if can force it from my emotional pores. Nah, good at bits and pieces. Fairly original, I have read alot of crazy garbage in my day, and never seen anything like my crazy garbage. Of course their stuff is often better. Or used to be. As mentioned here before, there is NOTHING current in the arts and media that interests me now, unless it has some accumulated deposition of the past.

There you can't be depressed after reading this- your life couldn't be 1/10 as rotten as mine. I want to insert a disclaimer here: If you don't want to know what I think about issues near and far DON'T READ THIS! This is not part of my resume, and is intended only for those who have a sense of humor and WOULD LIKE TO BE ENTERTAINED. If you have a weak stomach, go to Harry Potter dot com. Better yet stay away from that too. THOSE NOT INTERESTED NEED NOT RESPOND (Stan Laurel in "Going Bye Bye")

No one does anyway. If they only tracked my own visits, an appalling lack of interest in this site would nonetheless be evident. Tell your friends! Warn your enemies! Teach your children so they can avoid this kind of perdition! What can one write when the moon is in the 6th house.. everything feels like work, and gives you a a scratchy throat. We should be out there joining plumbing and washing the surface of the Earth, mopping the trees, polishing the stars, and still feeling guilty, because we are not working as hard as we did in our past incarnations as mentally feeble hospital staff. Unless I go to some job that forces me to wear clothes I would rather not own, act like a demi phoney for 8 plus hours and then go home and try to reduce the facial swelling from having a fake smile plastered on my lips by retreating into a primal cocoon of infantile cartoons... (STP just came on!! WOO! "And I feel at times a ways to go.. and I see that these are lives to come, so would you even care.. Where you going with the mask I found. I feel when the dogs begin to smell her (Faulkner) where she stands alone GREAT I complain alot so I will say that the best songs byt this band are GREAT!!!! ");"?> NEW SUBJECT- even if the lyrics are only close, some great lyrics are written with the poet him/herself only being subconsciously aware of some meanings. We can clear some things up for the writer.. and even if we are "wrong" it is an interesting lyrical Roarshock test.

I wish AOL's smashing pumpkins station would only play stuff from Gish, Siamese Dream, Mellon Collie, or P Iscariot. This Chief Executive Stalin of Music has spoken. Nothing wrong with a CES if they know what they are talking about, and I do with regard to music, Egyptology, literature, dinosaurs and a few other things, so stop squirming.

On to the title of this thing. If any of you are suffering from depression, before you rush off to be wrongly diagnosed and medicated, try these simple steps first, if you are not too hypomanic to accept advice. 1) Get out of the house. If you walk outside and it is an overcast winter horror land with angry banks of clouds shutting you off from the Sun God Ra for fortnights at time, then jump on a plane to California, or Florida, or Hawaii, and negotiate a lucrative contract with Anything at all Megainc, and make sure they give a door to your office and a nice window. You will be able to feel your brain drinking the nectar of the beautiful Sun as you become more content, creative and tolerant by the second. Bullies can spit in your mouth and stretch your bones like rubber, and you will giggle. By the end of the week you will have generated so many insanely wonderful ideas for your own business that you will be able to kick over you boss's desk and tweak his bulbous nose and cackle your way out into the windy liberation of free enterprise. When you come to terms with black reality in your weekly rented motel room, you won't care much. It will be peaceful and you will have 3000 channels to choose from. Find old newspapers with undated Domino's coupons and you can live like royalty on pizza and tap water for some time to come. Open the drapes at least once a week.

2) If getting you out of the house only lands you in another more disreputable house, then you must become an Internet Robber Barron. Simply stay in whatever squalor is now your natural state, and bask in the glory of the sunshine (You MUST live in a sunny place). If you have anything to sell, sell it on the Internet. Even if you are only able to sell vintage dust mites, it is a start. Become the finest, most reputable Dust Mite Vendor in the Multiverse. If you are so disgustingly untalented that you are unable to even sell allergens, then you might want to manufacture a talent to entertain the sagging unemployed masses of humanity that want to cling to impossible fragments of hope in the form of an overpriced high speed Internet connection that constitutes their sole piece of furniture, foist material possession, and dearest votive object. You can be writer for example. Even if you are a brachylocomoting orange haired misfit who flies into a rage when deprived of bananas, you can be a success. Just keep typing if everything else fails, you will run into an idea. You could modify Burrough's cutting techniche, and snip random words out of color circulars, toilet paper packages, summons, archived post it notes, knitting them together in stanza form and capitalizing as many words as possible, possibly even using an Olde English font, and given the size of the Internut (TM) and the sea of cranial capacities less than 1400 cc, you should be a billionaire in no time, without suffering anything more than acute callouses.

If the above ideas fail, and they assuredly will, you could always marry a sexy rich nymphomaniac who is slavishly devoted to you. You could try the trillionaire presonals, but that is really too pedestrian. Melt your material "wealth" into a glass of gold, and then buy a first class Sears suit or gown, and the hangout in the places that the Rich and Disturbed haunt. Psychiatrist offices are great places. If you have bit of fake brains you can use this is good, but not necessary. If you can hold a magazine right side up, you are in business. Don't talk- most people are egomaniacs and love to talk about themselves. Ask one question about them and they will tell you everything including bathroom habits. Smile ALOT, keep nodding your head no matter how insipidly the conversation drifts into art, exotic pets, or right/left wing politics. Focus on the attractiveness of the person, and you will be eating out of their hand in now time. NOTE: you may have to put up with nauseating inconveniences like cellulite, odd body hair, or rubbing imported lotions on their back, but you will have more loot that J Paul Giddy, so who cares.

When the preceding fails, and it will eventually, you have two remaining fallbacks. One is monastic Buddhism and the other is suicide. You could combine the two if you like, but focusing on Buddhism may force you out of the material universes so you no longer need to repeat the cycle of Birth/Taco Bel Trainee/Dead End Office Job/Impossible Entrepreneurship/Gigolo to the Elderly and Rich/ Death. Nothing is better than this.....At least open a window and enjoy the Sun, or Sunlamp...