This is done in loving memory of Kian...
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Now, before I finish I think we should set down a few ground rules. Number one, if you ain’t seventeen or can’t keep your mouth shut, then leave this post now and no questions asked... I'm not kidding! Number two, if you offend easily or have a weak stomach, then get the fuck out. Number three, if you are a “girl” then you might not care for the following much. You have been duly warned, so don’t come bitchin’ at me. The above words, or those that follow are not those of the managing consciousness. But he’s such a puss that one of these days… Meet Raistlyn my brothers and sisters.
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Pray for the courage, Pray for the strength,
Pray for the dragon that lives in the sink,
The keeper of secrets, the keeper of fates,
He grows with the darkness, he says his name’s Jake…
Now Jake says I’m dreamin’, But Jake likes to lie,
Jake ponders the Mysteries, I think he wants me to die.
I can’t shake the feeling, But he calls me his friend,
Soon he is whispering, he says I’m alone again.
Sing down and rescue me
Between the ice and the dawn
In the end we see everything
And I’ve stayed here too long…
Too damn long
No matter what I do it’s always there, this craving going unsatisfied. I have left it to you to help me understand, understand this need for meat. A soul lies buried in here remember, and you’re fucking with eternity. A focus held brings lucidity, but try as I might the focus blurs, and I’m not sure why I came. There’s a shadow down there in my gut. It’s hiding something, something I’m not suppose see. I see it sometimes though, but it’s not me that’s seeing it. The me that sees it, and the me that’s blind refuse to discuss the matter. It’s like when I was a kid I saw a movie. In this movie the lead character commented his deed was like watching someone else, and he felt he was just along for the ride. I’m beginning to understand that statement. But the ride is all there is.
I’m looking at you now, and you know who you are. I hope you don’t mind me using some of you in here. There’s a question in your eyes, and I can hear it like a whisper. The pieces fit together so well, why is it so hard to see? The truth of things lies before our eyes, but we hang onto demons in our sleep. The sleepers will never know what it is to sit here and listen, riding the waves. Thoughts flowing like an ocean carried on by music. Moods leading unto perspective tainting and coloring the observations. The outcome, you see, is what you believe it to be. Plotting. Keep the fantasy; after all, it’s all you’ve got… You plant your feet and realize there’s nothing there but that sickening lurch as you join the gravitational river.
Where does it hide? The direction… Direction? Goddammit, it makes me want to vomit that it’s not obvious to me by now. I should have figured it out already. You should have figured it out already. But it has been so very obscured. Nothing is real because real is only what you think it is, and on and on and on ad infinitum. I can see it, take it out and look at it, it’s not about the outside… it’s about me… Fear. I don’t want an end, just an end to this. And no I don’t mean I’ll look for you bastards on the other side. There is only one I’ll look for or wait on if she’ll still have me after the ride I’ve taken her on. Let the dog out of The Pit so he sees I’m ok because I can’t bear to look.
Equilibrium is difficult at best to achieve … but what is an anti-photon?
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There are times when the voices inside scream at you to stop a second and listen. The direction is not simplicity, but the removal of distraction. The end would of course be the same with minute variations due to the difference in the perceived goal. To seek simplicity for it’s own sake could still lead to distraction for the ultimate goal; i.e. understanding. Example: Male fascination with women’s breasts. We waste a lot of time being sexually preoccupied. How much more can we know… I mean hell we are constantly interrupted by a nice set of boobs. The ass has to be above average to really break a train of thought, but tits… oh man. And breasts can be in all shapes and sizes to still be considered “a nice set”, so it’s easy to see why they make me top 5 list for reasons why Mankind hasn’t progressed farther than he has.
Number one on the list is a double-edged sword. Religion. Religion helped bring about modern society, but at the same time took a very narrow view of reality. Without it’s temperament we would have never climbed out of the dark ages. Without it’s arrogance, piety, and general priggishness we might have made it to the next star by now. The second might be climate/disease vectors as points of slowdown for technological and cultural development. The third is a tossup between war and titties. I mean, yeah war is bad and all, but Cripes… You think about it guys, how much time you spend looking at, watching, thinking about, and fantasizing about any, and I dare say most, women’s glandular outcome. I’ve lost like six years so far… And now back to Ted and Sue in New York.
Switch to 2
Ted on 2: That was channel six’s own Rodger Nemachek live from Hooters. Thanks Rodge… Today there was another terrifying terrorist leaflet attack in Ontario. Citizens huddled in doorways, as what was described as, twelve Mediterranean-Anglo-Arab-near Eastern-Euro-Native-African-Asian-American immigrants from Brazil tossed thousands of flyers into the Canadian wind.
Switch to 3
Sue on 3: The hardcopy spam slingers stood atop four separate buildings dispersing illegible, badly written leaflets. The leaflets were written in Arabic so that very few Canadians could read them… But they gave about 400 people bad headaches reports say. Eyewitnesses and Police say the message was translated quickly and spoke of a threat of dirty leaflets. The message also spoke of a device that could deliver enough high quality, three color, printed in English booklets to blanket a city the size of New York. All this unless Cuban nationals were allowed to tour the Turkish Baths while looking at nude photographs of Fidel Castro in and around Moscow. At the bottom it reminded that flossing is just as important as brushing.
Ted on 2: The Police were forced to shoot the men and one was even cut apart by the blades of the patrol helicopter. When the pilot was questioned about it later he replied, “Jacques bet me we couldn’t do it, I bet him we could… so we did. Nearly crashed from all the blood on the windscreen, but we got her down okay. Bet they make me wash it though”. At a press conference earlier this evening Police officials stated that “something just ‘felt’ funny, so we figured it was easier to just shoot ‘em… oh and the chopper pilot will be washing his helicopter”.
Sue on 3: Of course, this poses a serious threat to the very fabric of our society. That many high quality booklets would almost certainly cripple the logging and paper companies for the next fifteen years. Not to mention the housing industry. I don’t know about you folks, but I don’t want to live in a recycled milk jug. Keep up the good work you boys in blue. Kill ‘em all. Teehee
Switch to 1(wide view)
Sue and Ted on 1: Sue: “Jacques bet me we couldn’t do it, I bet him we could… so we did”, Sue holds her sides in mock guffaws.
Ted: Yeah, those French-Canadian redneck chopper pilots really crack me up.
Sue: Oh Ted…
Anybody found the point?
I can’t put it down, I can’t fight it, I CAN”T MAKE IT SHUT THE FUCK UP. Drives you on like the need for sex. The smell of pussy after a dry spell. The hunger, like a vein for a needle. The force draws me to leave it all behind. You know, just between you and me, I think I’m really beginning to loose my mind. I have given up this life… for what? Where does the obsession lie? Is it the need to go back? Or the longing to go back? Why am I so dissatisfied? It’s the quest? A knight-errant or some such shit? I just realized that Lancelot lying with a hot queen takes on a whole new meaning since the late twentieth century. We reside in the flux. We dwell between before and after like a living snapshot. I am a frame of film… It’s so close… I beat myself on the head with my fists trying to force revelation. The structure below reality hides the answer. Where do we go when we die?
Switch to 2/cue tape
Ted on 2: CyberFire again made headlines today as Germany became the latest country to fall victim of the malicious virus developed by the Central Intelligence Agency. Alan Bruce has the full story.
Switch to tape 1/roll tape
Alan on tape: Just barely nine months ago the President gave the go ahead for the CIA to use CyberFire to seek out and procure hidden terrorist bankrolls. And what has happened since, some say, could have been averted.
Roll 2/ Dr. Rachel van Horne: The Aggressive nature of the core code filters coupled with the deep paths the target funds take to obscure their origins led several of us on the project to voice our concerns. We were always shrugged off, being given frivolous science as an excuse. Now who’s frivolous. Assholes.
Tape 1/Alan: Now Dr. Van Horne’s statement is being echoed throughout the scientific community, in that this virus is so very singled minded in it’s task along with it’s unique camouflage algorithms make it tremendously difficult to stop or even trace. That and they don’t like the assholes very much. It has already cost Europe, Southern Asia, and North Africa some six hundred billion dollars with crippling results.
Sue and Ted on 1: Ted: Easy to see why those terrorist are resorting to leaflets now…
Sue: Oh Ted…
Ted: Another macabre scene at the Connecticut, as it seems the Bunghole Bogeyman has claimed another victim. Stay with us, more after this…
Fade to black:
Fade to commercial
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Caucaegro-hispanic
Breed IT! Suck IT! Feed IT! FUCK IT! A mad man bred in his/my gaze. The sight of the inner eye distorted and askew from the misconceptions and the ignorance. The view of the self-perceived self never seems to match the reality we’re faced with. The real is so frighteningly real, and unshakable in its abstraction. A self-reinforcing perception compounded on itself by mass agreement… yes to both questions. A mote on a river we are. Unobservable on the scale of the river we create quantum eddies in our desperate efforts to stay afloat. Changing merely the outlook but not the future, because the future influences the past. How do I bring it into focus?
Far down below he sits in a dark basement alone with the damp and the must like an addict and his fever. Full and bloated his grubby stumpy fingers hack maliciously on the keyboard dreaming together somewhere that mattered. Mattered more than he, for he created it, and therefore mattered more than he himself did. Greasily he wiped his foreheadskin with the back of his hand. Looking up from the screen the lump filled his throat, and the void opened inside his chest. The hollow grew and threatened to envelop his soul, but it never would, the fucker.
Gets right up in your fucking face and you pray, this is it, I get to go now… I have done all the right things, or enough right things, or few enough bad things, or whatever to be excused. But nooOOOOooo. If it made a… What does it all mean? This claustrophobic smothering life. Like waking up one day and realizing you live underwater, and you can’t breathe; but you never have. What is being bought with this? What is being secured? Parenthetical highlights adorn an otherwise suffocating march of time. Not knowing how long you’ve got, that’s the kicker. I mean you may have to endure years and years more of this. A whole new life stretches out before you… Oh god, not another one.
It’s nearer to home than you might realize. I remember standing at the start, and I looked over at the Wolf, and I told him, “I don’t think it’s a good idea, but ok.” I knew this was going to be a bad idea. A palmist told me that this is definitely the last time I have to be here. Anything else is your problem. You will have to carry on without me after this one.
In 3… 2… 1
Cue Brenda/footage
Switch to 3
Sue on 3:The five Boroughs were again rocked as another grisly murder was discovered late this afternoon in the lower western Upper East Side. The body of twenty-eight year old Gerrod Miller was found in the wine cellar of the Connecticut Hotel with his intestines missing. Miller is believed to be the eighteenth victim of the so-called Bunghole Bogeyman.
Roll footage Brenda Wheellin
It’s been three months now since the reign of terror began. People glance over their shoulders as they walk home, the parks are all but deserted as no hour or place seems safe anymore. The Bunghole Bogeyman, as he has come to be called, seems to have no preferred hunting ground, no set place from which he chooses his victims. The common thread lies only in the gruesome nature of the murders. The victim is taped hands and feet like a calf in the rodeo, and his or her clothes torn away. Tape over the mouth usually insures a minimum of noise, and as everyone knows the victims large and small intestines are brutally ripped out through the anus. The unfortunate’s buttocks are duct taped open and the rectum outlined with nearly half a dozen vicious cuts. The five incisions around the anus allow the monster to actually insert his hand around the rectum and grab, tearing it free with the bowel still attached. Police now believe this is done with a ritual five bladed dagger known as a Sphincterclaven; the “ass parter”. Which is, in essence, a handle attached to a short cylindrical guard about three inches in diameter, and five razor sharp blades extending some five inches further. The victim bleeds to death over an eternity of just a few minutes in agony or asphyxiates. When questioned, Police officials simply stated they were still collating.
Brenda Wheellin, channel six news.
Dreams of the dolphins that’s all we are. We make that much difference. We are still a universe unto ourselves collectively speaking. Everything we do is simple social interplay, no content whatsoever. Hell, the only people that really matter on this whole damn ball are mathematicians, in all their incarnations. They are the only ones unraveling the wires in any meaningful way. The rest is just eye candy. Except CPA’s, all CPA’s should be shot, as they just became my random bastards. Any CPA’s out there? Please write me and let me know how unfair you think that is so I can ignore it. Man I smoke too much. I put one out and light another.
Loose lidded and heavy-laden it all comes down to one more important than the rest. Beyond lies the void and new beginnings or not. Finally it may not matter, one thinks… The desperate clawing away at his guts tearing him apart from the inside out. If God wasn’t gonna bring up his kids like a proper daddy, then we should get some sort of benefits. You think about it, we throw people in jail for shirking their parental responsibility We’ve been praying to the wrong thing brothers and sisters, we should be praying to the Other Plane Welfare Office… someone secure me a solicitor.
And there was nothing but the sound of the wind.
For months I sat in a dark red room, with deep red crushed velvet drapes covering windows that looked nowhere pretty much alone, you just pick something and latch on. Nothing makes sense and everything makes sense, and there’s everywhere to go and Nowhere to go. Open system or closed system, quantum bubbles notwithstanding. It may not matter, nothing may matter, eternity may not matter… I just didn’t want it to end like this. Warm and supple her back arching soft and gentle against my naked side as she breathed in deep. It really fucking pisses me off that none of this may matter. It should matter. I know I know, life should matter for it’s own sake, if it matters for nothing else. Maybe that’s a valid statement, or I guess I should say it’s valid for those that feel that way. For them there need be no other point. The miracle that is life is a gift, or a wondrous product of evolution, and must be experienced to the highest level. The greatest sin is to squander it; to not live it to it’s fullest. Unfortunately for me Life is a real pain in the ass, screws up your whole day. Life with no purpose is pointless, and in the end there is no point.
“So what do you do for a living”, she asked as he opened the door to his apartment.
“What’s that?” the shapely woman asked pointing to a small black box with a little hand crank on the side.
“Oh that”, he laughed, “you know those old phones you see in really old movies. The ones you had to crank and ask for Sarah.” He laughed again.
She eyed the box for a moment longer, noticing the wires coming off the small screw terminals, and the malicious looking alligator clips on the ends of the leads.
He eyed her again and she took off her coat. She was a high dollar whore that was for sure. Tits the size of melons, and gorgeous legs running up to make a perfect ass of themselves. God, he couldn’t wait to plunge his face in her crotch. He drew her close and slowly exhaled a hot breath on her neck lightly letting his hands caress her shoulder. He let his hands gently fall down her arms. He breathed on her neck again and lifted his mouth up her jaw and finally to her eager mouth. Kissing her deep and long he let his hands find her breasts. The silk shirt slid erotically across the red lace bra beneath and he felt her nipples rise to his palms as they fought for more intense contact. Hands still on her pinup chest the ivory button on the shirt slipped free. As he put his hands inside her shirt she got busy with his zipper.
Seconds later found the whore across the end of the bed with the man standing before her. She gasped as she got a good look at his tool. It simply lay there limp and flaccid.
“Are you gay?!” She asked incredulously.
With a wink and nod to the unseen camera our hero goes and gets the little black box, and attaching the alligator clips to his Bust of Balzac gives her a night she won’t soon forget…
Tree lined front lawns hide the bodies buried in the back yard.
Downstream it will all end. It’s inevitable, short of circumventing the laws of thermodynamics. Even if we solve our social problems, rise up and spread throughout the galaxy. Even if we defeat death, and live indefinitely happy and healthy, the heat death will claim all. The heat death is when there is no energy left in the universe to the point that nuclear forces fall apart. Electrons will cease to orbit their nuclei; the nucleus itself will fall apart as the last of the protons decay. In the end all things cease, and brother if this is all there is…
And don’t get me wrong, for the most part this is a pretty neat place, a lovely place to visit. It’s just the every day part that gets me down. What I’m looking for is complete freedom, for good or ill. You know. There’s a scary thought. I’m in someone else’s realm of “complete freedom”. I tell you if I were God, and who knows I may be, if I were God I would have ... You ever get the sensation you’re in a dish in some lab being marveled over and ogled. Even when I was a believer I could never find rhyme or reason, and I wanted to so badly. God, I would give a nut to just believe unflinchingly, right or wrong. And I’m so sick of that shit that you got to have the bad to know how good the good is. Bullshit. Besides I really don’t care about the level of my contentment, just the contentment. Rabid yellow bastards came and stole it desperately away.
How do you stop the questions? How do you stop the voices? Stop them without losing your soul to lithium, or some anti-psychotic. Could someone please buy me some quiet time without me becoming a drooling vegetable in a huggy jacket sitting in a wheelchair by the window… again. You go in, but it’s never you that comes out, and sweet Jesus don’t try to harm yourself whilst you’re there or your turning an awful lot of pages with your toes for an awful long time.
I heard a thousand cries as darkness closes in
For all the times I stopped and stared and counted all our sins
What does it really mean…
I asked the questions but not the right ones
And always too late the answers would come
What does it really mean
What can I say
I’ve walked alone too long
I turned out the lights
And I ran away
I heard the message but I could not believe
With so many contradictions the truth was too hard to see
But I see the faces of those I left behind
And the tears they shed for the fallen reflect the ones in my eyes
Tried of living for yesterday but had to say my farewells
I tried living for tomorrow but where it is no one can tell
Tried living for what was left but the will to fight had gone
So I made up my mind and rushed through the door never to return
Carry me over the threshold, or do I need permission? Is a rhetorical question still a question since normally when one asks a rhetorical question he or she already knows the answer? Is a question still a question if one already knows the answer?
Looking here I see the smile in your eyes. You felt you whored your soul to be what they said you should be. You could feel. You could express. But she brutally shoved you into a cookie cutter and the parts it savagely slashed were the bits keeping you sane. I miss you, and I hope I haven’t caused you too much unrest with it all. If I have, I’m sorry. You could have been happy, if life hadn’t gotten in the way. I don’t know how you did it… keep the faith that is. You looked deeper than I did, but you came out with faith. I need your arguments now, though not even you had peace. But I don’t blame you, I’m consumed… or is that consum`e-ed. And I could only stand, rooted as the ugly smashfaced little dog gave him a good rogering. It rips my mind how it’s dangled before us. The dream is provided with no way to get there. You find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow only to find there’s nothing left to buy with it. All your prayers are answered just in time to be too late. What’s the fucking point? Even if they do come true, even if they can. And don’t get me wrong, I could give a rat’s ass if there’s a point for you. Is there a point for me, that’s the question. Do I have meaning? There’s the argument; billions of individuals not knowing what the fuck is going on. Lives shaped by ignored hysteria ebbing and flowing like tides in the collective unconscious. Its no wonder people insist so vehemently that their way is right. To be wrong would be to give into the madness. This is the disease that has so unbalanced me… Everything you think you know is wrong. I gave into the madness long ago. Embraced, and took it as lover. The walls began to fall soon after as reality hazed to perception, and perception on into abstraction. Abstraction lends itself to the construct…
Raist
