|About this Journal|
|Aug. 29th, 2006 @ 09:22 pm Stick and Rock = My Bane|
|Jul. 3rd, 2006 @ 03:47 pm Piltdown Man wish list|
|May. 20th, 2006 @ 05:11 pm I call you on snailphone, but you cannot answer|
I do not know how I slip. I move from here to a very old age. My face covered with soil. I think I invent humic acid coctail to drown all my sorrow, for I am far into the fossil record tonight. Keeps skipping like Billy Holliday saying, good morning heartache, sit down. My every self is covered. There are grasses on my head. A most precious tiny fernlet grow on my eyelid. Moss space. I cannot shift.
|May. 6th, 2006 @ 09:05 pm Pilty Does the Metamorphic Resin Wince|
Frog juice is not always the best of friends. Sometimes it leads you out into the wildernesses and laugh at you as it stumble you home. Maybe never get you home at all.
Yeti and I back kick many of those little froggies out on Moon-by-the-Hill which is over from Star-Crusty Bog, a place terrible and some wonder by night. This night was no differently. Yeti wisely stop his drinking early. He decide to go look for women and beautiful eunuchs to practice what he call “prolly more amorousness” only in his language of grunt and screech. I know exactly how he mean.
Me, I stay to drink the last twelve of the frog. Oh my lady of the swamp. I get blind as if the sightless prophetic fish of the Forgotten Grotto were frozen for grocers freezer. More dull as stone tablets covered with accounting mistakes. Yes, and smellier than the navel of the world before spring introspection.
My thought take flight to highest tree and cannot sing its way down. I think I eat the cans to gather strength for the walk home to the pit. I still fall down and invent macular pain. It become cold for me suddenly.
I stumble in strange area where industrious types make things. One structure have the letters “Hygienic Dog Food, Inc” describe in peeling paint. Of the moment, I believe it to be the savoir of me. When I bust inside, a woman angrily inform me how wrong this is. I tell her all I want is food made from the hygienic dogs to make me strong enough to journey. When her hasty explanation of “live/work space” and “condominification” get lost on me, she resort to painful armlock and forcing me to the street. With the threat of further wounds and violence, I make retreat.
Staggernuts run to another building. What was the “Woolsey Glass Factory.” I stumble and fall into the place if not from distress but from the sudden crisis of intestine which may be from gamey chickenheads ate earlier. I roll without feeling what lacerate my every skin, for what was made there was now broken everywhere.
If it was coconuts, then I am ultimate macaroon. Of the gooiest proportion. In that agony, I do not see the crossing of cuts for the fallen asterix I have become. The blood, the every seep inside, come out to form a coat, mingle as it did with the frog juice already trickle from my pores, a musky, sticky, second skin from hair to toe.
Oh would a tree laugh at me, spilling my sap, soft as an algae bed. “You bark is worthless at night. Roll in stone, gather no mass.” Out of the factory, I stumble with the imagery laughter of trees who skins never suffer so.
A harder crust I sot. Blunder many footfall to tiny stony beach I find with shells and many crusties. I rut like a warm chocolate in chopnuts. A comfortable weight settle into my limbs. With sharps of glass form a new suit like armor stony under pieces of sea creature. I stand to astonish if to rise among the trees.
Confident and secure, I felt less freedom to move. In actual, I move not at all. With the dawn of light, I stand like monument to all night revelry. Around me I can now see piles of rock with drifted wood arranged by peoples. I fit the scene and passed as early walkers with dogs who saluted my glory with their hindlegs came to see me new addition. A young couple who dragged a cloth looked like they enjoyed the night sleeping nearby in sand stopped to press a tiny starfish on a bare area where the sap still oozed. They fled my moaning.
Many more pass. Some left coins to see my eyes move. No mention was make to free me from that composite bondage. How quick we become used to be the strangish example. And I would be so forever if it were not for the Yeti.
He go looking after the days when he was done with the many partners, fur matted from their endless fluids. His costume was flexible as the women and eunuchs he had found. Mine was stiff like fear and old potroast.
Of course he recognize me. Of course he laugh like a hemorrhaging whale arse and just as foul in my face of a mask. He also imply with his exhorcrations that I look good, even kind of fancy. Bidding me not to change a thing or move a rigid muscle, he stuff me under his arm to take me back to the pit. The extremity of musk knock me unconscious for the voyage.
When I wake, I find that I decorate my own ditch. The Yeti feed me peatmoss soup through birchbark funnel. One by one, I feel the pebbles fall. The skin spits out shapes of glass. When I move, it is for a scabbed slug whose trail returns from collage and crisis.
|Nov. 18th, 2005 @ 02:28 am TERRA PING|
THE TURTLE ON TRACKS ARRIVED, USHER IN AGES OF AERODYNAMIC CARAPACE WITH GOOEY APE CENTER QUASH THE SAGITTARIAN IMPULSE FOREVER.
|Nov. 3rd, 2005 @ 12:33 am Early Man|
Have new favorite from internet of heavy rocks. The singer sound like he invented scrotal trauma. Thong sling catapult pain. Yeti can sing almost so good. Whoever they get for cover model is goodlooking fellow. Someone for with I like to go looking for women and eunuchs. Good wing man for two gallon of frog juice and bucket of chicken heads.
|Jun. 3rd, 2005 @ 01:59 am Who owns the rock, rules the internet|
"Rock stick. Stick stick stick rock. Rock rock Stick. Yeti, move over. I need to put more rock down. You standing in the middle of my program. Good. Rock, rock, rock. Oh and. One more thing. If I walk into pit to find that ragged sky beggar talking to you again, I get very angry. OK?" Yeti make sound to wonder why. "I just not want him around the pit. He like to play tricks. I know, I know. He say something like, 'I need to hide.' Fine. He hide somewhere else. Get me a frogjuice and get one for you self."
|Apr. 29th, 2005 @ 12:35 pm Alas, nothing|
|Mar. 3rd, 2005 @ 10:23 pm You got a fear about frog juice?|
"Let us drink frogjuice together, good people." But as you see from gent's face, sometimes hospitality not enough. So hostile. Heh he, the yeti fella looks like he already had a couple. He already got Mr. Rugbyshirt in a Nuhala leghug.
|Feb. 26th, 2005 @ 05:51 pm in a gadda da heada|
First place was lightfilled center of timeless dimension. Infinitely small, the first inventor watch it through a special keyhole called inevitabilty. There was the tiniest show ever. And hot breath and sputum nourish the place. It was the petri dish of the first experiment. It may have happen before, but this is how I learn it.
There was two peoples there, which exist before yetis, before me even. And, as the bog tells me, there was also a snake. I know, you about to stop me cause you already heard this one. But I got something I bet you never hear before. Something that the inventor not want you to know. Because knowing it might make you aroused, inflamed and otherwised agitated. Why? I think all inventors are jealous that nobody appreciate what they do. I can tell you first this is true. And if you check on timefluxor, seaching on word inventor, chance are that you can read about a guy who went around electrifying animals to make people scared not to honor him. Go ahead, look it up.
The two peoples lived there. There may been more, but they must had been boring and never did anything. Cause, really, nobody ever did anything except eat fruit and engage in heterosexual coitus in the missionary position. Those are not my words. I read them somewhere. And I include them in my story to best explain what happen. See, the bog really sketchy on details. And whenever you have question, it just smile and shrug which involve landslide and open up pools of quicksand which you have to jump to avoid, so you stop asking question and figure out answer for youself.
I read somewhere again that eating an apple is what got them kicked out when the creator of it all get angry. But it wasn't that shame what got them kicked out of garden. It was something entirely different. And the fruit that they eat was not containing of seed with knowledge of sex and death, the carrot and stick of life as a human beings. It was different kinds of fruits.
This is the way I figure. What happen is serpent look around. He see all the sex and realize that pretty soon, there be too many babies. Then the infintely small place get too crowded with people. So the serpent he showed them something they to do endless with no fear of ceaseless reproduction. First, he showed what we can call Adam, by flicking his forked tongue around space of his own coily body. Then he showed Eve, by swallowing his own tail. Adam and Eve must been pretty smart. Because they know exactly what the snake mean. One turn to the other, "We don't have to only bump the nasty and eat the fruit. We eat each other's fruit!"
The Creator looked through one-dimensional whole and what he saw make him very angry. "What?! Sex without reproduction? This is the first and greatest abomination. What did I tell you about eating the forbidden fruit?"
But he had say nothing of the kind. He only make that up because the beings he make think of something new and stop experiement in overpopulation. The inventor was a tumult, but also very excited. So excited was that he have a very big orgasm, flooding pinhole space with so much matter that it explode, creating time and echoes of euphoric screaming that formed many dimensions which distended so fast that the expectation of more glorious expansions caused a contraction which collapsed the universe into an exhaustion of only three obvious and many extremely tiny prolapsed dimensions, much like the original one including the two particulars, behaving as one, eating the other's fruit in cumquat entanglements.