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| Aug. 29th, 2006 @ 09:22 pm Stick and Rock = My Bane | |||
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| Jul. 3rd, 2006 @ 03:47 pm Piltdown Man wish list | |||
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| May. 20th, 2006 @ 05:11 pm I call you on snailphone, but you cannot answer | |||
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| 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 | |||
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| 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 | |||
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| 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 | |||
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| 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 | |||
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| "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 | |||
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| And I would do it all again. | ||
| Mar. 3rd, 2005 @ 10:23 pm You got a fear about frog juice? | |||
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|  "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 | |||
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| 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. | ||
| Feb. 19th, 2005 @ 10:36 pm my mother fed me with her breaths | |||
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| In the beginning, there was the bog, thick as syrup. I crawl out, breathing my first. This was before the invention of toilet training and television, so I have the shortest childhood ever. The bog smile upon me and tell me to get clean for supper. I invent soap and diesel fuel from tar. It look so good that I eat the soap. Then I wash myself in the gas. In this confused state, dinner be ruined. Bog still smile upon me, but tell me to go in the forest and play with the others. The others look at me strangely. Let me know I smell bad, like volcano. And must be bad luck. Then point me to go back to bog. But I don't go back to bog. I just stand there in forest. And follow the others around when they move. One thing I do not invent is fire. And never trust it. For you see, it comes time to tell story around fire, I would catch flame to myself because of the gas on my body and run around screaming. The others try to tackle me but I am too fast. By the time they catch me, my fur all is burned off. It never grow back correctly. Because of this, I become outcaste and something of a fashion designer. Shame is an invention that lead to a cascade of other delightful offerings. Including flowery language. And catalogues. In the clearing I stand and gather my wits. Wits are pieces of wood and rock that look like faces. I carry them in my newly invented trousers. Besides my flares, these are the only friends I have, until the yeti, of course. Where the apes reject, the yeti accept. Like Paul Simon, I find some comfort there. Lie, la lie la lie. If you were there, we would invent two-part harmony. so we banish to the pits you and I with our hairless asses to the sky mooning to the great eye and eating berries and all the women come and go speak of potted tangelo yeti women always bring the saturn out in me. So you see, I am not all shame. Sometimes, I am the progenitor of fun. And then, because I do not care, also the grandfather of beauty. So I can sing a little song and play with my wits. I make them walk down to the river. There, Venus and Barbie see a boy bathing. They start to laugh, startling him. Girls, now play nice with Walt Whitman, he is a sensitive one. Then they run through the cane field and come out three legged and heavy with juice. You will never see original sin. You will never see filth. Only the bog, our mother, whose hide gave us fuel and liquor breath, sweet as 15 years in the oaken barrel of legend. | ||
| Nov. 13th, 2003 @ 10:39 am Letter from Dad | |||
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| Dear Son, It's about time I told you everything. You may have heard rumors that a scientist by the name of Charles Dawson invented you to bring himself glory. This famous account is itself a hoax! Don't believe anything you read. For example, you might think I was a murderer, a criminal and an asshole if you read the media. (Not that I am denying any of these allegations, but you see the lengths they go to.) The real story is that after meeting you for the first time in your pit, that device from that spacemongrel sent me millions of years back in time. I found a band of gentle hominids, taught them how to eat meat and make war with each other. I found comfort in their women. Though they were a little short and hairy for my tastes, they were very skilled in the art of coitus. There were several babies born, most of them mules. That is, they were sterile, not asinine. Well, they were a little stubborn. They got that from their dad. Through some freak of nature, a baby was born who could reproduce. You are from this bloodline. Hope this helps you out. It's more than I've given my other illegitimate children. Your pops, G. Gordon Liddy | ||
| Nov. 12th, 2003 @ 05:01 pm Where is the Liddy when you Need Him? | |||
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| I am the most boredom biped in the planet. I need to invent toe socks. On the other crusty foot, spacemummy and I are friends. What is happening? I think we are inventing the end of the world. | ||
| Aug. 21st, 2003 @ 04:58 pm Break Camp, Leave No Trace | |||
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| May be you tell me some. With this, I hope to hear stories. It is like a campfire, yes, that is what I hope. But more and more, I begin to notice that I am talking to myself. They have all fall to sleep. And some of them have silently sneak away. And maybe I find that I am always telling stories to myself. Oh no. I am living a story. That is too crazy. Time for another night of frogjuice and chicken heads. Then I dismantle this silent campfire of stick and rock. | ||
| Aug. 13th, 2003 @ 07:02 am Stars can frighten | |||
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| Ever since inventing this internet from stick and rock, I realize I never go out to look at stars anymore. Once, the stars meant everything to me. I invented time just so I could figure out why the sky changes. Time is also useful to know when to go to bed so I am not always looking out at the Big Show, which never cease to scare the scat out of me. The stars always seemed like they would steal my ghost away through my eyes and never return it. Whoever invent the electric light (for once, not me) is a true genius. It has prevented all humans (again, not me) from knowing what the grand old show ever even was about. As I learn from internet, some people in cities never leave a few blocks from where they are born. And they take it for granite television that the stars exist because it tells them so. And this television even promise them that one day, they will be able to sail among the stars in famous ships. But if they had grown up when I did, ripening before time, they would already know that we do just that. Yes, we do fly among the stars blind like the moth around the electric light. What a genius. I cannot remember what I have forgotton. That is another funny thing. Just makes sense that what is gone is gone. Like all the stories about the stars. You could be sure that following the hunter would take you home. Don't skip around the rocky lake where the dog bites the big bear's heel. That little piece of advice was what you tell a child who goes fishing in the evening so he can get home after dark. It's good until the leaves come off, then you tell them about the cloudy eye. Does not make sense? That is fine. You have other things. What they are I can not say. May be you tell me some. | ||
| Jun. 2nd, 2003 @ 04:05 pm Once again, frog juice save the day | |||
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| In a time of barest remembering, before I meet the Yeti, when the great lake of the north was frozen and birds of great height scratch the tundra for arctic grubs, Piltdown Man sat shivering amongst cold stones. He was contemplating how to take pit of rocks back from another two legged wanderer that woked him up and tossled him out with no skin or fur for cover except the straggly hairs on his buttocks. He tried to figure out what have happened. The creature looked a little like the Piltdown Man, maybe not as good looking. In fact, he was tall as a mighty oak with one eye that looked like it had grown far too big, like the eye of a bison but without the pretty lashes, and the other was small and shrunken like a raisin in the skull. It could be an ancient spirit or a monster born from the bog where the leatherpeople throw the dead. Piltdown Man was not sure he had mojo enough to accomplish an eviction. If he only had some frogjuice maybe it could be done. Piltdown Man went through his list of inventions to discover if he had any good tricks up his pooter. Bag for holding angry weasels, not big enough. Twisted sticks would only confuse friendly peoples. Enemies will not stand still for puzzles. The pine tar glue would only work if got enough to incapacitate the whole guy. He would freeze to death getting enough for one eyelid. He had not yet invented the internet so that no help either. As he contemplate misery, a bright light appeared in the sky, obscuring the stars, brighter than the moon on that moonless night. It looked like a star with wings and sang like a rockslide. Piltdown Man fell over hallucinating with fear. He dreamed he was dancing in a shamen convention popping out of a giant cake made from peat moss. They all wore funny hats and shoved antlers out their pants and chased each other around. One of them assaulted my leg. I awoke and think I had invented freemasonry. I was also suprised to find out this story in first person. A voice from the great light boomed out, "Hey you! Are you some kind of idiot? Go invent clothes for yourself or you will freeze!" With great fear I stammer, "I inve-ve-ve-nted the clothes. I even invented fashion with my line of yak hair and birch fiber weave." I started to shiver and couldn't stop. "Sounds scratchy!" "It gets s-s-s-softer after s-s-several washings." "So what are you doing sitting here in the dark and cold?! Are you trying to invent aceticism?" "I've been pa-pu-putting off inventing religion. There is a terribi-b-kle creature in my pit. He's big and hairy as ye-yeti and smell twice as worst. Ca-could you help me?" "Hmm! All of the my training leads me to the conclusion that your line should go extinct!" "Training? Ma-maybe I help you. I'm very g-good with stuff like that." "I'm almost done with all my classes in the Chariots of the Gods Correspondence Course! All I have left is geological anomalies! It'd be way over your head!" "You like fa-frog juice? I got a case in the pi-pit, hid in real fine place." "Frog juice! Hey now! Pardon me, I'll be right back!" The spirit bolted into pit flying and burning like spicy entrail fricasee. Light shoot out peppered with howls that threaten to make my scalp crawl down my browridge to hide my face. First the creature run out. He wear a necklace I made of chicken heads but I did not stop him. Besides, I think his one big eye was going to pop. I am glad it did not because I can not take that much vitreous humor in one sitting. The flaming ball of assthrashing screeched out of the pit. "I found him hiding like a naked mole rat," it announce. "So, primitive, while we suck down a couple of those toad squeezings, I think I'll tell you how to build pyramids!" "Pyramid? That sound too hard. Could you teach me how to find single women?" "It's simple: get a job!" | ||
| Feb. 11th, 2003 @ 05:43 pm Like bears, are we | |||
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| Rolling in carrion is not a way to meet women or eunuchs. They simply not stand downwind for it. They often run or call for powerful backup. How do I tell the yeti that he need to change his social strategies? He is very touchy lately and prone to either crazy fits of breaking things, including internet made of sticks and rocks, or moody hanged head like dog with lead brains. I taken him out several many days ago to drink frog juice in local watering places. Not only do none of them have the frog juice but call for us to leave without so many words. Instead of making a fun game of taking everyone kicking and yelling with us, yeti just want to return to pit in defeat. This is not like the yeti I know. The yeti that yell so loud that fat men fall off of their screaming iron horses. The yeti that can lick a mile of country road clean of its squashed animals. The yeti that knock me unconscious when I yell at him for kicking the sticks and ruining the Internet. No one else knows how to stack the rocks just so the internet works. No one else knows how to forage the grubs. No one else can suffocate me with a large hairy buttocks when mistake me for the loungeseats. May be we play a game. Who ever loses has to shave. | ||
| Jan. 8th, 2003 @ 04:58 am If it not made from stick and rock, then do not need it | |||
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| Sorry I been away from this internet made from sticks and rocks so long. I have good reasons for this. It is mostly to do with a certain mummified enemy of mine who came to the Pit to visit the yeti and me. He says, "So, Piltdown, I hear you got a nifty invention here with this internet." "Thanks, mummy. So what you got to say? You here to apologize for making insults?" "Arguing on the internet makes us both look bad. Nobody likes flame wars, as amusing as they can be. It gets all those chair-bound people in a tizzy. So, I also brought you a gift to make up for the trouble." He produce a gadget from who know where. I guess from bandaged ass. "I brought you a timefuxer." It as big as paperbook with a cover that look like internet. "What that?" "Well, my throwback friend, as you know, the mummyship travels using the angular momentum of temporal waves as found within the tidal torque generated by harvests of mistake clusters. You'd think that would make an excellent time machine." "Sure, why not?" I have no idea what he talking. "But it doesn't. Instead, it is easier to move other things other than iteself through time. You can reach across timespans and displace matter. It is all spiral vector wave dynamics." "Sure it is," I say. I make ready to club him over the head with a big stick of pine under my chair if he point it at me. "This device here uses the power of the mummyship as a receiver that tunes into matter waves in a different time and place. It's just as easy as using the internet. You can do fuzzy searches through a catalogue that connects to university databases. You can find people, things, or whatever, from another time. See what I'm saying?" That sounds like great invention to me. But I do not trust the mummy. I nod my head. "I can't find any use for it, for the life of me, so I'm giving it to you." He smile at me with all those teeth. Uglier than the Yeti and breath smell almost worse. "Here, take it." He hand it toward me. I raise stick. "Oh no, mummy, get away." I shake stick at him. "Easy, easy. I'm just going to set it down on the floor of your pit here. And then I'm going to leave. And then, we can be friends, right?" I grunt at him, which I think he take as yes. It does not matters because he leave and that all I want in the case. Last thing he say as he leave, "Don't forget to calculate for the fuzziness of the mistake clusters." Yeti look at me with that I smell trouble face. He has very good nose and mummy probably too much for it. Other people stink worse than own. I pick up the thing. It hefts much more than i looks. And the wy it looks is very nice. It is like internet only smaller. And since internet is my favorite thing, I quickly not able to look away. "Yeti, what should we get? More rocks? We always need more rock." So I look up rock and I see great big crystal of rock, so I choose that, just like internet. But as soon as I do a whole great heap of snow pile into the pit. It is not what I choose. But since Yeti love snow, it not so bad. he roll in it and soon is and laughing like hairy elephant farts. Then I get idea. I stare into screen of the timefugger and thinking like I am somewhere else and far from my head. "I never meet my father. I will get my father here." Yeti not care because for the snow. So I put in my name. P-I-L-T-D-O-W-N and then F-A-T-H-E-R. I get this result back. "Father of the Piltdown Hoax." Hoax, yes, that's the name that some people call me Hoax, as friendly nickname. When I select this, there is sound, fury, then suddenly a man appear. He stand in pit, footlong in the snow beside a writhing Yeti. He say something like this. "What in Sam's Hill are going on?" And I say, "Father?" He look confused and then offended. "My name is G. Gordon Liddy and you are going to be in a whole heap of pain and inconvenience if you don't explain what I'm doing here." He put up his hands like he wanted to swat flies and crouch his legs. Yeti took this as threat and start growling. I grab a big hank of yeti hair and say, "Hold on, yeti. I think we get the wrong guy." "Wrong, yes, this is the very definition of wrong. But all my training has brought me to this moment. If I have to kick ass on a couple terrorist savages, then that's what I'll do." He walk up to Yeti and grab the by the hairs and pull him up looking into his eye. "Do I know you?" The Yeti, myself and the Liddy are most equally confused. I decide maybe I am the least. "Liddy, this machine bring you here. I think it is a mistake." He look at me, examine the time-gobbler. "Hmm. I think the Soviets have something like this." When he said that, the yeti shook his head and bawled out something in yeti which I can never understand. Liddy shake his head and say to him, "That's what they'd like you to believe. The Soviets are still in control of Russia, and they had America for awhile when that Clinton asshole was busy making a mess of the the United States." I am confused. "You understand the Yeti?" "Oh yeah, I learned some Yeti back in the 50s when we were working on the Supersoldier Project under the auspices of the, well, you could just call it the CIA but it was much secreter. We quickly found them untrainable. No offense, mister," he say to Yeti. The Yeti reply at length. The Liddy seem to listen. Then he say, "By the way, he said that his name is Snow-that-falls-sideways-into-the-cave. It's not a completely uncommon name. They often use it to designate the rebellious in spirit." "He say all that?" "Well, some of it is untranslatable. Back to your device here. Where did you get it?" I explain to him about the mummy and all the trouble he cause. "Spacemummy, eh? I told Dick the Egyptians were gonna get us in trouble. But he insisted on offering them the AWACS. Then that fool Carter went through with the deal. Now look what they gone and cooked up with our technology. We should have let those Jews kick their ass back to the source of the Nile." I explain to the Liddy how time-grasper just like internet. And he find out, "What's this we got here? It says undo. You think if we push this, everything will go back to what it was before?" He push the button then he suddenly disappear. After a while I realize is good because I felt like my personal independence was compromise with the Liddy. I was having difficulty with the belief that he was the Piltdown father. I think maybe it has to do with mistake fuxer or whatever it is that the Spacemummy say. Later I will put time-grapper in a place where I do not look at it so much. But I go back to plain old internet, the one made from sticks and rocks, and I search for Piltdown Father Hoax and I find very strange thing. I see again and again, the name Liddy pops up. What did the timegabber do? Where did the Liddy go? What good is machine that only make mistake? Damn you, Spacemummy. | ||
| Sep. 6th, 2002 @ 11:33 am Piltdown Man puts on scholarly glasses | |||
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| Throughout evolutionary histrirony, bands of humanids competed for food, territory and grooming techniques and implements. Entire wars start over a comb. Sometime there were several different kind of humanids roaming the same land. If they could not share foods or agree on hairstyles, often one specie would vanquish the other in orgy of simpleminded bloodshed. Some call this progress. The unit of measure for this event I call an einrand. The destruction of the neanderthals is a million einrand event. They was smarter, stronger and they bury their dead in pits full of flowers. They was a beatuful peoples. But they didn't discover murder. They killed and ate. Homo sapiens outranded them, and wore their skins like cloak. As the last surviving member of a species that never exists, this is threaten unto me. It should be threaten to all the new people who come along on this internet of sticks and rocks. You know who you are. Homo connectus. You are the new tribe, the new people on this earth. Your existence come to herald a great era, the icing on the sentimentary layers of cake. People who can circumambulate the ideas in their virtual walkabouts. But the existence is threatened by another creatures. These are the homo trifectus. Trifectus turn a life of boozing and whoring into a multi-million dollar business and enslave the rest of the world. Trifectus nods to the homo christus, but really just believe that pieces of green paper is all there is. Because of strange quirks of thermodynamism, this actually works. It is the einrandest shit of them all. If he get his way, he score ten billion einrands and put all the homo connectus in nice jail with really good innernets so no one know the difference. How can homo connectus save the day? One thing is for you to say, hell no, I am not working for trifectus and I see what you is doing. Another is to use your powers to tell the world. Then einrand the homo trifectus out of town. | ||
| Aug. 19th, 2002 @ 04:23 pm Please get a hobby thank you | |||
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| Just rub fast enough and you will get fire. Everybody know that. So you know how dangerous it can be. Even the yeti know how it feel to be a ball of flame running for the stream. So why do we keep trying to fall in love again and again? Look, my darling, I make this necklace of chicken heads for you. Aw, you shoe not have. But I did, and I shaved my nose for you too. But I half to tell you that I love the yeti. He made me a pie of deer intestines, treesap and flowers. That's wonderful, I wish you both the best of luck. I want my furry trout back please. So now I see the yeti. And he don't know why he do things. He just does. Why do you smear the tree with feces just so? And why is that so charming? I mean, if I do that, then everybody think I try to be like yeti. I think I am inventing neurosis. Self-loathing is not so far behind. And so it goes across time. Until now. I have invented this things called hobbies. Hobbies are like deep pits to throw your insanity into. And as the pit fills you can show it people. See that? I break sticks of different lengths covered with mud of different colors. Isn't that nice? | ||