Even online
Spring swells
the roots & tubers
winter starved
even online
it is Spring
Two dumb chatroom stags
lock antlers
snort anger
through their nostrils
no silver-flanked deer
will assume the position
tonight
The boys in that chatroom
polish themselves so often
they should sparkle
I have no regrets
so I can't have you
unrivaled one
You keep several profiles
just now you fucked up
You messaged one of the virtuous
from your lair of women,
cocksure Hunter
Have you ever seen a Stag
die a death by Cock
How could the lesser creature
take the larger beast
Fate is wayward
The gods sprinkle that chatroom
with ambrosia and nectar
The girls there are pierced
and love to be pierced
more
May the gods curse that chatroom
with std's, fevers, genital warts....
That's where an old liar
whose bedsheets I washed
makes new promises
tonight
Oh she is nasty
Sleep is just the thing
that Jove-cow does
between more fucking
Oh he is nasty
his tongue knows the taste
of every flavored condom
All 64 crayons
in the Crayola box
I made up a Gmail name
just for you
I knew you'd be
a splendid wildfire
but brief
Ovid surely invented the IM box
That place of magic Metamorphoses!
You are the nasty Welcome Wagon
You prefer traveling businessmen
because they already have the room
Nothing is real in a chatroom
but desire
I am drunk with the chime
of your I.M.s.!
Such lies & nectar!
Men and women who fall in love online
are like Icarus. Their wax wings
lift them from the cyber-maze
as upwards they soar
and the Unreal Thing melts
THE DIFFERENCE
Gay women in a chatroom
spinning such warm blankets
to put around each other
Gay men crusing
number crunchers
burning to close a deal
The chatroom outlasts
the rise and set of the Sun
the rise and set of the Moon
THIS IS THE OCEAN INSIDE YOUR COMPUTER
ancient waves break
people walk and let
a cold hiss
chill their toes
like the grave
Your soul is nothing more
than a handful of porn thumbs
on some free website
TO MY FRIEND'S HUSBAND
Tell us about that website you love
where he-shes stand on beaches
fonding their breasts
and you lose your way in love
I held his hand
while you broke his will
with your online hunts
now i take him
as prey from you,
clumsy Hunter
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I Googled Scientologists
...just to see if anybody who is not an actor or musician or in the entertainment industry in general is on this list.
Umm. Basically nope.
I suppose the church could survive off these people alone, financially.
But don't you think they wonder sometimes, when they look for high achievers in other fields in their church and don't see any?
Don't they wonder if this church is really just another example of Judyism.
Only this Judyism is the perfect one for the beautiful people and their needs.
I have to admit I'm shocked that Greta Van Susteren is on this list.
I almost said something pejorative by implication by talking about intelligence and credal sense but I stopped myself.
Listing of noted Scientologists
A Scientologist is a believer in Scientology. The following is a list of well-known Scientologists.
Kirstie Alley, actress
Anne Archer, actress
Jennifer Aspen, actress
Jason Beghe, actor
Karen Nelson Bell, producer, director and musician
Sonny Bono, artist and congressman
David Campbell, musician
Nancy Cartwright, actress
Kate Ceberano, actress and musician
Erika Christensen, actress
Keith Code, racing instructor
Chick Corea, musician
Tom Cruise, actor
Xavier Deluc, actor
Jenna Elfman, actress, and her husband Bodhi, actor
Werner Erhard, ex-Scientologist who founded est
Michael Fairman, actor
Isaac Hayes, musician, actor
L. Ron Hubbard, founder of Scientology
Mark Isham, musician
Terry Jastrow, TV producer and director
Kimberley Kates, actress
Geoffrey Lewis, actor
Juliette Lewis, actress
Peggy Lipton, actress
Christopher Masterson, actor
Danny Masterson, actor, older brother of Christopher Masterson
Peter Medak, director
Floyd Mutrux, writer, director an producer
Haywood Nelson, actor
Judy Norton, actress and musician
Eduardo Palomo, actor, and his wife Carina, actress and musician
Jeff Pomerantz, actor
David Pomeranz, musician
Priscilla Presley, actress
Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of Elvis
Kelly Preston, actress and John Travolta's wife
Leah Remini, actress
Giovanni Ribisi, actor
Michael D. Roberts, actor
Mimi Rogers, actress
Carl-W. Röhrig, artist
Billy Sheehan, rock bassist
Megan Shields, physician and author
Michelle Stafford, actress
Sharon Stone, actress
Greta Van Susteren, host of On the Record with Greta Van Susteren on FOX TV
John Travolta, actor
Patrick Warren, musician
Edgar Winter, musician
Umm. Basically nope.
I suppose the church could survive off these people alone, financially.
But don't you think they wonder sometimes, when they look for high achievers in other fields in their church and don't see any?
Don't they wonder if this church is really just another example of Judyism.
Only this Judyism is the perfect one for the beautiful people and their needs.
I have to admit I'm shocked that Greta Van Susteren is on this list.
I almost said something pejorative by implication by talking about intelligence and credal sense but I stopped myself.
Listing of noted Scientologists
A Scientologist is a believer in Scientology. The following is a list of well-known Scientologists.
Kirstie Alley, actress
Anne Archer, actress
Jennifer Aspen, actress
Jason Beghe, actor
Karen Nelson Bell, producer, director and musician
Sonny Bono, artist and congressman
David Campbell, musician
Nancy Cartwright, actress
Kate Ceberano, actress and musician
Erika Christensen, actress
Keith Code, racing instructor
Chick Corea, musician
Tom Cruise, actor
Xavier Deluc, actor
Jenna Elfman, actress, and her husband Bodhi, actor
Werner Erhard, ex-Scientologist who founded est
Michael Fairman, actor
Isaac Hayes, musician, actor
L. Ron Hubbard, founder of Scientology
Mark Isham, musician
Terry Jastrow, TV producer and director
Kimberley Kates, actress
Geoffrey Lewis, actor
Juliette Lewis, actress
Peggy Lipton, actress
Christopher Masterson, actor
Danny Masterson, actor, older brother of Christopher Masterson
Peter Medak, director
Floyd Mutrux, writer, director an producer
Haywood Nelson, actor
Judy Norton, actress and musician
Eduardo Palomo, actor, and his wife Carina, actress and musician
Jeff Pomerantz, actor
David Pomeranz, musician
Priscilla Presley, actress
Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of Elvis
Kelly Preston, actress and John Travolta's wife
Leah Remini, actress
Giovanni Ribisi, actor
Michael D. Roberts, actor
Mimi Rogers, actress
Carl-W. Röhrig, artist
Billy Sheehan, rock bassist
Megan Shields, physician and author
Michelle Stafford, actress
Sharon Stone, actress
Greta Van Susteren, host of On the Record with Greta Van Susteren on FOX TV
John Travolta, actor
Patrick Warren, musician
Edgar Winter, musician
I Think This Theorist of Mind is Onto Something
It's nice to see one's pathology so succinctly described.
Hagop Akiskal.
And the diagrams are pretty.
I realize it's a totalizing theory, but I think it might be pretty accurate.
I'm speaking from my experience. I'm on the right middle there. Cyclothymic.
Sometimes I attack Hyperthymics on my blog.
Because they get to be up there at the top of the diagram.
I hope I don't attack people over on the left or down below (lower doesn't mean inferior on the chart, of course, but it might mean more susceptible to injury.)
Lots of beautiful adjectives live here.
Hagop Akiskal.
And the diagrams are pretty.
I realize it's a totalizing theory, but I think it might be pretty accurate.
I'm speaking from my experience. I'm on the right middle there. Cyclothymic.
Sometimes I attack Hyperthymics on my blog.
Because they get to be up there at the top of the diagram.
I hope I don't attack people over on the left or down below (lower doesn't mean inferior on the chart, of course, but it might mean more susceptible to injury.)
Lots of beautiful adjectives live here.
the sopranos was gay today
watching the sopranos on a&e is a horrible way to watch it.
but i couldn't get to sleep.
this episode was such a waste of space & great actors.
the one where christopher takes acting lessons and has to do rebel without a cause.
the only good part is where tony's on his yacht with his young whore and the guy in the next boat tells the whore in russian or whatever to date a real man, get a russian or something. Tony jumps off his yacht, walks fast down the marina, steps on the other guy's yacht and takes the other guy's testicles in his hands and crushes them.
that part was good.
the guy's wife stood there like mrs. roper on three's company and just made noises like a frightened guinea pig.
they were both dressed like the ropers. that balkan bathrobe thing.
and this pissed off tony's whore girlfriend because then they had to leave the yacht fast.
tony's wife saw what's his name junior came to the house because a young business associate and family member from italy was there and she just shut the door in his face.
she had a great moment where they showed her face searching its conscience quickly then moving on. with junior on the other side of the door cake and all.
adrian was alive again. which was weird. unless that wasn't adrian. maybe i'm tripping. she broke up laughing while christopher was practicing his james dean hugging her legs down on the floor in their bedroom.
the "i got the bullets" planetarium scene after plato gets shot.
i always loved that one red sock one blue sock thing. because that's the doppler shift. it's all a weird science thing rebel.
director nick ray is the one you see at the end heading towards the planetarium after the astronomical event has occurred.
tony bitched about his psychological problems to friends then found out his father was the same way with anxiety attack.
tony had never known that.
the actor's studio scenes were all pretty bad.
i realize this was exposition and this is where the writers are trying to get christopher to hollywood and they can't just jump.
i think that whole move was bad.
because those scenes later with jon favreau (that his name?) and alicia witt (who i love) just Lost It.
I guess they knew the end was near and they wanted to play some.
writers writing about what they know.
the business.
but i think it was a bad move.
but i couldn't get to sleep.
this episode was such a waste of space & great actors.
the one where christopher takes acting lessons and has to do rebel without a cause.
the only good part is where tony's on his yacht with his young whore and the guy in the next boat tells the whore in russian or whatever to date a real man, get a russian or something. Tony jumps off his yacht, walks fast down the marina, steps on the other guy's yacht and takes the other guy's testicles in his hands and crushes them.
that part was good.
the guy's wife stood there like mrs. roper on three's company and just made noises like a frightened guinea pig.
they were both dressed like the ropers. that balkan bathrobe thing.
and this pissed off tony's whore girlfriend because then they had to leave the yacht fast.
tony's wife saw what's his name junior came to the house because a young business associate and family member from italy was there and she just shut the door in his face.
she had a great moment where they showed her face searching its conscience quickly then moving on. with junior on the other side of the door cake and all.
adrian was alive again. which was weird. unless that wasn't adrian. maybe i'm tripping. she broke up laughing while christopher was practicing his james dean hugging her legs down on the floor in their bedroom.
the "i got the bullets" planetarium scene after plato gets shot.
i always loved that one red sock one blue sock thing. because that's the doppler shift. it's all a weird science thing rebel.
director nick ray is the one you see at the end heading towards the planetarium after the astronomical event has occurred.
tony bitched about his psychological problems to friends then found out his father was the same way with anxiety attack.
tony had never known that.
the actor's studio scenes were all pretty bad.
i realize this was exposition and this is where the writers are trying to get christopher to hollywood and they can't just jump.
i think that whole move was bad.
because those scenes later with jon favreau (that his name?) and alicia witt (who i love) just Lost It.
I guess they knew the end was near and they wanted to play some.
writers writing about what they know.
the business.
but i think it was a bad move.
Two from Angela Genusa's NOT SO LOL
It's a great site if you haven't visited (see my blogroll at right).
I'm going to ask Angela later if I can print a few of these out the next time I need some greeting cards lol.
Grisly but good for you.
"Jennie's Lessons to Peter on How to Behave like a Cat."
More light fare.
This is Paul Gallico.
This story is creepy and funny if you read it in a book without illustrations, as the anthropomorphizing leaves you with images of mentally ill people imagining they are cats.
At times you're not sure whether these are children playing at cats (the gruesomeness would seem to belie that) or whether they are cats or whether this is just a dream.
It falls in that eerie territory between children's lit and adult lit at times, and ends up being defamiliarizing to both, really.
"Oh dear," Jennie said, dropping the mouse. "I hadn't thought of that. Of course you wouldn't know how. Why should you? But we shall be in a pretty pickle if we're caught here before you know something about it. And I don't know how much time we shall have. Still--"
Peter at last found his tongue and emitted a cry of anger and mortification. "Goodness," he said, "isn't there anything I can do? Does everything have to be learned?"
"It's practice really," Jennie explained. "Even we have to keep practicing constantly. That, and while I hate to use the expression--know-how. It's like everything else. You find there's a right way and a wrong way. The right way it to catch them without your paws, not your mouth, and of course the preparation is everything. Look here, I'll show you what I mean."
Here she crouched down a few feet away from the dead mouse and then began a slow waggling of her hindquarters from side to side, gradually increasing the speed and shortening the distance of the waggle. "That's what you must try, to begin with," she explained. "We don't do that for fun, or because we're nervous, but to give ourselves motion. It's ever so much harder and less accurate to spring from a standing start than from a moving one. Try it now and see how much easier it is to take off than the other way."
Peter's rear-end waggle was awkward at first, but he soon began to find the rhythm of it--it was almost like the "One to get set, two to make ready, and three to go" in footracing, except that this was even better because he found that what Jennie said was quite true and that the slight bit of motion did start him off the mark like an arrow.
Next he had to learn to move his paws so that, as he flew through the air and landed, they were striking left, right, with incredible speed, a feat that was much more difficult than it sounds since he could not use his paws to land on, but had to bring up his hind part in time while lashing out with the front.
His second mouse was missed by a hair's breadth due to overanxiousness, but Jennie praised his paw work and spring, criticizing only his judgment of distance and haste. "You rarely lose a moue by waiting just a little longer," she explained, "because a mouse has a one-track mind and will keep on doing what it started out to do provided it isn't disturbed; and if it is disturbed, it will just sit there and quake, so that you have all the time in the world really..."
But his third mouse Peter caught and killed, one-two-three, just like that. Jennie said that she could not have done it better herself, and when Peter made her a present of it she accepted it graciously and with evident pleasure and ate it. But the others they saved because Jennie said that when they came to be discovered*, it would be a good thing to have some sample of their type of work about them.
*The cats are stowaways on a ship about to leave port.
This is Paul Gallico.
This story is creepy and funny if you read it in a book without illustrations, as the anthropomorphizing leaves you with images of mentally ill people imagining they are cats.
At times you're not sure whether these are children playing at cats (the gruesomeness would seem to belie that) or whether they are cats or whether this is just a dream.
It falls in that eerie territory between children's lit and adult lit at times, and ends up being defamiliarizing to both, really.
"Oh dear," Jennie said, dropping the mouse. "I hadn't thought of that. Of course you wouldn't know how. Why should you? But we shall be in a pretty pickle if we're caught here before you know something about it. And I don't know how much time we shall have. Still--"
Peter at last found his tongue and emitted a cry of anger and mortification. "Goodness," he said, "isn't there anything I can do? Does everything have to be learned?"
"It's practice really," Jennie explained. "Even we have to keep practicing constantly. That, and while I hate to use the expression--know-how. It's like everything else. You find there's a right way and a wrong way. The right way it to catch them without your paws, not your mouth, and of course the preparation is everything. Look here, I'll show you what I mean."
Here she crouched down a few feet away from the dead mouse and then began a slow waggling of her hindquarters from side to side, gradually increasing the speed and shortening the distance of the waggle. "That's what you must try, to begin with," she explained. "We don't do that for fun, or because we're nervous, but to give ourselves motion. It's ever so much harder and less accurate to spring from a standing start than from a moving one. Try it now and see how much easier it is to take off than the other way."
Peter's rear-end waggle was awkward at first, but he soon began to find the rhythm of it--it was almost like the "One to get set, two to make ready, and three to go" in footracing, except that this was even better because he found that what Jennie said was quite true and that the slight bit of motion did start him off the mark like an arrow.
Next he had to learn to move his paws so that, as he flew through the air and landed, they were striking left, right, with incredible speed, a feat that was much more difficult than it sounds since he could not use his paws to land on, but had to bring up his hind part in time while lashing out with the front.
His second mouse was missed by a hair's breadth due to overanxiousness, but Jennie praised his paw work and spring, criticizing only his judgment of distance and haste. "You rarely lose a moue by waiting just a little longer," she explained, "because a mouse has a one-track mind and will keep on doing what it started out to do provided it isn't disturbed; and if it is disturbed, it will just sit there and quake, so that you have all the time in the world really..."
But his third mouse Peter caught and killed, one-two-three, just like that. Jennie said that she could not have done it better herself, and when Peter made her a present of it she accepted it graciously and with evident pleasure and ate it. But the others they saved because Jennie said that when they came to be discovered*, it would be a good thing to have some sample of their type of work about them.
*The cats are stowaways on a ship about to leave port.
This Made Me Giggle When I Read It
I was enjoying some lighter fare last night.
"We were eating Wolfman Jack Burgers, which was what Eric always made for Eric's Spicy Thursday. The institution of Eric's Spicy Thursday was conceived as a respite from the rigors and creaminess of MtAoFC. After all, Eric and I are Texans, and we had never gone so long with so few jalapenos. Wolfman Jack Burgers are the invention of a particularly fantastic burger join in Austin called Hut's. Eric made a version of them with green chiles, Monterey Jack cheese, sour cream, bacon, and mayonnaise. Once, long before the Project, Eric fed a Wolfman Jack Burger to a friend of his from college who had not eaten meat in three years. His friend vomited for two days straight, which is the kind of thing that happens when you do something stupid like stop eating meat. Anyway, we were enjoying them.
--from Julie & Julia (My Year of Cooking Dangerously) by the plucky and insouciant Julie Powell*
*Whom I love to see on Iron Chef. They should invite her on more!
"We were eating Wolfman Jack Burgers, which was what Eric always made for Eric's Spicy Thursday. The institution of Eric's Spicy Thursday was conceived as a respite from the rigors and creaminess of MtAoFC. After all, Eric and I are Texans, and we had never gone so long with so few jalapenos. Wolfman Jack Burgers are the invention of a particularly fantastic burger join in Austin called Hut's. Eric made a version of them with green chiles, Monterey Jack cheese, sour cream, bacon, and mayonnaise. Once, long before the Project, Eric fed a Wolfman Jack Burger to a friend of his from college who had not eaten meat in three years. His friend vomited for two days straight, which is the kind of thing that happens when you do something stupid like stop eating meat. Anyway, we were enjoying them.
--from Julie & Julia (My Year of Cooking Dangerously) by the plucky and insouciant Julie Powell*
*Whom I love to see on Iron Chef. They should invite her on more!
Mr. Bunny was worried that he was turning into Zach Braff...
Mr. Bunny was worried that he was turning into Zach Braff.
He was crying real tears on a motel bed.
Mr. Chilifarts held him and spoke to him in comforting tones, as though he were a baby.
"No, no....you're not becoming Zach Braff. Shhh. Hush."
Mr. Chilifarts giggled when he heard himself pronounce the word "Hush."
Mr. Bunny was staring at the wall now, and reached out for a kleenex on the nightside table and wiped away some of his real tears.
They were both extremely drunk.
They were both dressed in suits.
They had just come from a wedding.
Mr. Chilifarts wondered if someone at the wedding had said that to Mr. Bunny. About Zach Braff.
People can be so cruel, Mr. Chilifarts thought and then passed out.
Lying next to Mr. Bunny.
Both of them asleep with their danced-out wedding shoes on.
He was crying real tears on a motel bed.
Mr. Chilifarts held him and spoke to him in comforting tones, as though he were a baby.
"No, no....you're not becoming Zach Braff. Shhh. Hush."
Mr. Chilifarts giggled when he heard himself pronounce the word "Hush."
Mr. Bunny was staring at the wall now, and reached out for a kleenex on the nightside table and wiped away some of his real tears.
They were both extremely drunk.
They were both dressed in suits.
They had just come from a wedding.
Mr. Chilifarts wondered if someone at the wedding had said that to Mr. Bunny. About Zach Braff.
People can be so cruel, Mr. Chilifarts thought and then passed out.
Lying next to Mr. Bunny.
Both of them asleep with their danced-out wedding shoes on.
Mr. Chilifarts was standing on the street staring at a trash can that was singing, "I Get by with a Little Help from My Friends..."
Mr. Chilifarts was standing on the street staring at a trash can that was singing, "I Get by with a Little Help from My Friends."
The trash can sang the Sgt. Peppers song in a robotic voice.
Mr. Chilifarts was laughing and loving it and watched the trash can perform the song three times.
It was a very early Sunday morning and there was nobody else on this wide street in this ridiculously overthought metropolis.
It looked like the opening scene in Vanilla Sky.
Something the Penelope Cruz character had said in Vanilla Sky disturbed Mr. Chilifarts suddenly, but he couldn't remember the line.
The singing traschcan was still shifting from foot to foot and trying to put a good spin on the idea of codependency. But Mr. Chilfarts began to feel a horrible anxiety.
He was now looking at the trash can singing, "...would you stand up and walk out on me?"
And he did.
He walked down the empty street, trying to remember something horrible Penelope Cruz had said to a man who was now only a severed head in some icebox of the future.
He was angry at Penelope Cruz at various times throughout that morning.
That afternoon.
That evening.
Nobody would ever confuse Mr. Chilifarts with the Prudential Life Insurance company, that's for sure.
The trash can sang the Sgt. Peppers song in a robotic voice.
Mr. Chilifarts was laughing and loving it and watched the trash can perform the song three times.
It was a very early Sunday morning and there was nobody else on this wide street in this ridiculously overthought metropolis.
It looked like the opening scene in Vanilla Sky.
Something the Penelope Cruz character had said in Vanilla Sky disturbed Mr. Chilifarts suddenly, but he couldn't remember the line.
The singing traschcan was still shifting from foot to foot and trying to put a good spin on the idea of codependency. But Mr. Chilfarts began to feel a horrible anxiety.
He was now looking at the trash can singing, "...would you stand up and walk out on me?"
And he did.
He walked down the empty street, trying to remember something horrible Penelope Cruz had said to a man who was now only a severed head in some icebox of the future.
He was angry at Penelope Cruz at various times throughout that morning.
That afternoon.
That evening.
Nobody would ever confuse Mr. Chilifarts with the Prudential Life Insurance company, that's for sure.
If the Police Were Coming, They Would Have Been Here by Now
Why ya lyin?
They're tired of operatic people
dropping to their knees
& begging them
to arrest them,
to lock them up.
"Everynight, fucking Madame Butterfly..."
They realize they got shafted
and they're the new church.
They hate it when their nice clean cruisers
get turned into confessional boxes.
"Would you please stop talking please?"
they say politely every night
as men and women write Raymond Carver
stories frantically in the backseat.
They roll their cop eyes.
The funny church of Too Far.
They used to be just Catholic or Methodist.
But now they got this church gig.
They hate it when you say
"Forgive me, Father for I have..."
in that confessional voice.
Men and women both.
It's fucking unfunny because it's true.
They privately refer to themselves
as retardation specialists, but they do have some love
for a real moment in the midst of all that blood
and pre- or post-orgasmic screams. Don't ever fucking
mention donuts or they will make it hurt.
Trust me on this. Not smart.
They got your donuts all right.
Two metal donuts can cut off circulation.
They're just doing a dirty American job
and trying to do it well. You may not
believe it, but they are actually pleased
to make your acquaintance. Sometimes, they have to stop
themselves from shaking your hand
which is really funny, at 3 a.m.
they almost forget sometimes and reach out
towards a bloody palm. They pay bills.
They hate the government too.
They don't have pictures of the governor
or the president hung on their walls at home.
Are you fucking nuts?
They drink, use porn and sometimes read
books other than Joseph Wambaugh.
They can hear the sound of breaking glass
half a mile away
and they understand 3xXL divorce
is just part of the job.
Sometimes, they gotta give
some dying kid
last rites on the asphalt
in the middle of the night.
And they don't get a cent
extra for shit like that.
They know a lot about fashion
because thug life is all about the runway.
They're alright.
Be nice to them because their lives
are all like Baz Luhrman and shit.
But without the good singing parts.
They're tired of operatic people
dropping to their knees
& begging them
to arrest them,
to lock them up.
"Everynight, fucking Madame Butterfly..."
They realize they got shafted
and they're the new church.
They hate it when their nice clean cruisers
get turned into confessional boxes.
"Would you please stop talking please?"
they say politely every night
as men and women write Raymond Carver
stories frantically in the backseat.
They roll their cop eyes.
The funny church of Too Far.
They used to be just Catholic or Methodist.
But now they got this church gig.
They hate it when you say
"Forgive me, Father for I have..."
in that confessional voice.
Men and women both.
It's fucking unfunny because it's true.
They privately refer to themselves
as retardation specialists, but they do have some love
for a real moment in the midst of all that blood
and pre- or post-orgasmic screams. Don't ever fucking
mention donuts or they will make it hurt.
Trust me on this. Not smart.
They got your donuts all right.
Two metal donuts can cut off circulation.
They're just doing a dirty American job
and trying to do it well. You may not
believe it, but they are actually pleased
to make your acquaintance. Sometimes, they have to stop
themselves from shaking your hand
which is really funny, at 3 a.m.
they almost forget sometimes and reach out
towards a bloody palm. They pay bills.
They hate the government too.
They don't have pictures of the governor
or the president hung on their walls at home.
Are you fucking nuts?
They drink, use porn and sometimes read
books other than Joseph Wambaugh.
They can hear the sound of breaking glass
half a mile away
and they understand 3xXL divorce
is just part of the job.
Sometimes, they gotta give
some dying kid
last rites on the asphalt
in the middle of the night.
And they don't get a cent
extra for shit like that.
They know a lot about fashion
because thug life is all about the runway.
They're alright.
Be nice to them because their lives
are all like Baz Luhrman and shit.
But without the good singing parts.
Please Don't Make the Bipolar Guy Paranoid. We Don't Need that "Moose Syndrome" Again.
An article of food in my refrigerator seems to be addressing me through my Comments boxes.
This worries me, as I'm not sure exactly which piece of food is speaking.
It's posting ANONYMOUSLY.
(see the OBNOXIOUSLY OVERCOMMENTED BLOG POST AT UPPER RIGHT. And feel free to blatherskite some there yourself!)
It's deludedly jealous of the mayo, I see.
Dear Piece of Food: the mayo is Lite or fat free or something, so it might as well be the blandest unflavored yogurt (or yoghurt if you're turkish or something).
Don't be hatin on the mayo.
Hate the dark chilean grapes. we push each other around in the night. it's nasty and torrid.
I don't know which food friend of yours told you I made linguine last month, but your gossip is deluded.
I don't like Italian food that much or that often.
is it cold and dark when the light goes off when i close the door?
do you feel like you are reading a milan kundera novel on the moon when you think in there?
are your food thoughts kunderaesque?
I will eat you soon if that will make you happy.
but you said you are going to mold yourself to spite me.
maybe your mold will have culinary hence economic potentialities.
then you may be too good for me.
some cheesemonger may take up your plight.
and then where are we? i mean you and i?
you will tell me that you will always have "rinds" for me.
and we will part.
and after a while somebody will even lose the photographs.
they'll blame it on a fire though.
lies.
lies and a grief.
to quote ms. plath.
This worries me, as I'm not sure exactly which piece of food is speaking.
It's posting ANONYMOUSLY.
(see the OBNOXIOUSLY OVERCOMMENTED BLOG POST AT UPPER RIGHT. And feel free to blatherskite some there yourself!)
It's deludedly jealous of the mayo, I see.
Dear Piece of Food: the mayo is Lite or fat free or something, so it might as well be the blandest unflavored yogurt (or yoghurt if you're turkish or something).
Don't be hatin on the mayo.
Hate the dark chilean grapes. we push each other around in the night. it's nasty and torrid.
I don't know which food friend of yours told you I made linguine last month, but your gossip is deluded.
I don't like Italian food that much or that often.
is it cold and dark when the light goes off when i close the door?
do you feel like you are reading a milan kundera novel on the moon when you think in there?
are your food thoughts kunderaesque?
I will eat you soon if that will make you happy.
but you said you are going to mold yourself to spite me.
maybe your mold will have culinary hence economic potentialities.
then you may be too good for me.
some cheesemonger may take up your plight.
and then where are we? i mean you and i?
you will tell me that you will always have "rinds" for me.
and we will part.
and after a while somebody will even lose the photographs.
they'll blame it on a fire though.
lies.
lies and a grief.
to quote ms. plath.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Menudo?
You are eating Raymond Carver food. That story. That painter. That cover of A New Path to the Waterfall. When he finally became Russian before he died. As he wished.
I Seen Jeff Heiskell at Bearotic
C'mere Sweetness.
Can you still do a Tennessee accent?
I love that.
I guess that's long gone.
Here's what some guys were dishing at Bearotic...
By Richard Simpson on Jan 10, 2009 4:24:54 AM | Reply
Great I checked out his myspace loved his version of Dolly Parton classic, “Jolene”. I always wanted to hear a man covering this song I loved it.
By Joshdarrr The Destroyarrr on Jan 11, 2009 9:59:41 AM | Reply
Great article, Jeff is a great guy and a talented artist. The only thing is, he drinks at The LONGBRANCH Saloon, not the Lone Star. There isn’t even a Lone Star IN Knoxville.
Sincerely,
Jeff’s Bartender,
Joshdarrr the Destroyarrr
whatever happened to...
james blunt?
because he was, like, so hot.
i loved a lot of songs off that album.
and he vanished.
did you know he is ex-military. read his wiki. he was a soldier for quite some time.
it's spring i need to go to IKEA again
i broke a mylonit the other night
i put a blue mylonit where the red mylonit was
i also broke a boddhisattva's head off
but i glued it back on
with this weird glue that looks like hot asphalt
dead philip whalen is mad at me.
because he was, like, so hot.
i loved a lot of songs off that album.
and he vanished.
did you know he is ex-military. read his wiki. he was a soldier for quite some time.
it's spring i need to go to IKEA again
i broke a mylonit the other night
i put a blue mylonit where the red mylonit was
i also broke a boddhisattva's head off
but i glued it back on
with this weird glue that looks like hot asphalt
dead philip whalen is mad at me.
you always make me lol. i want to be japanese in france too! I'm jealous lol...
Hello!
yes, writing a story is a good solution as a voyage!
Nantes is a birth city of Jules Verne.
Stupid me (I like to say I am stupid... it seems european people
are shocked that I say this, but I am ignonrant day by day!)
I could not wait for M____'s English check about my English haiku
and I uploaded them online. I got a very kind comment from someone who
added that he didn't understand what I said! :)
"Splendeur et misère" d'être la minorité langagière :)
And I have to forget that I am from Osaka and get used to the
slow life in the Moon.
______
yes, writing a story is a good solution as a voyage!
Nantes is a birth city of Jules Verne.
Stupid me (I like to say I am stupid... it seems european people
are shocked that I say this, but I am ignonrant day by day!)
I could not wait for M____'s English check about my English haiku
and I uploaded them online. I got a very kind comment from someone who
added that he didn't understand what I said! :)
"Splendeur et misère" d'être la minorité langagière :)
And I have to forget that I am from Osaka and get used to the
slow life in the Moon.
______
In My Experience,
United States Marines make great lovers.
I'm just sayin.
They are often surprisingly literate and can talk books better than most civilians.
They have the best tats.
They are always gentlemen.
They will figure out what you want and need and they will mission it.
They will hug goodbye.
They are clean and they shop for things like cumin with impunity.
They are the ultimate metrosexuals, except they kill people.
They won't talk about killing people because they want you to be comfortable and to cum.
They kiss.
They are so happy to be back in America.
They keep in shape.
They don't care if you're a little sloppy.
They are not sloppy.
They give you faith in America's limberness.
They are 21 even if they're 33.
They are the modern version of the Argonaut.
They hug goodbye.
Did I say that already.
I liked that part.
That's rare.
I'm just sayin.
They are often surprisingly literate and can talk books better than most civilians.
They have the best tats.
They are always gentlemen.
They will figure out what you want and need and they will mission it.
They will hug goodbye.
They are clean and they shop for things like cumin with impunity.
They are the ultimate metrosexuals, except they kill people.
They won't talk about killing people because they want you to be comfortable and to cum.
They kiss.
They are so happy to be back in America.
They keep in shape.
They don't care if you're a little sloppy.
They are not sloppy.
They give you faith in America's limberness.
They are 21 even if they're 33.
They are the modern version of the Argonaut.
They hug goodbye.
Did I say that already.
I liked that part.
That's rare.
i am besieged. and beset.
i am besiged. and beset.
i am in the War and i am the War.
((((((((Evan))))))))
(((((((canadians)))))))
i am in the War and i am the War.
((((((((Evan))))))))
(((((((canadians)))))))
Ovaltine Poem
i've only ever
written damned homosexual
love lyrics
to 3 poets
in missoula, maryland
and chicago.
these poet have
commented upon my psychosis
sometimes favorably,
but usually unfavorably.
if i were aaron spelling
i would so buy
these poets dangerously appealing
things and then
fuck with their heads
so they ended up candy spelling
with 10,000 dolls
in a room. then i would
die and they would wonder.
they would wonder
how and why.
staring at the dolls.
in their icelandic beauty
and strangeness.
beautiful american male poets.
nature please stop
making those things.
they irk me
and my new found
concentration.
written damned homosexual
love lyrics
to 3 poets
in missoula, maryland
and chicago.
these poet have
commented upon my psychosis
sometimes favorably,
but usually unfavorably.
if i were aaron spelling
i would so buy
these poets dangerously appealing
things and then
fuck with their heads
so they ended up candy spelling
with 10,000 dolls
in a room. then i would
die and they would wonder.
they would wonder
how and why.
staring at the dolls.
in their icelandic beauty
and strangeness.
beautiful american male poets.
nature please stop
making those things.
they irk me
and my new found
concentration.
I find Claire Donato completely lovely...
I'm not sure how we started talking on goodreads but we did.
And we found out how friggin small the world is for literate people.
We are both duly Waldropphilic (see Burning Deck Press) and it turned out oddly enough we have friend in common in pittsburgh...go figure!
So today I googled her and found she has a NARWHAL FETISH!!
Witness these rock star poems at SHAMPOO....we all come together at SHAMPOO, don't we?
del ray cross you are loved!
Girl, you iz my type if you iz down with the monoceratops type.
Narwhal is the new unicorn.
Here, if you like great poems check out this quartet of deliciousness...
Narwhal, you are my ain true love!
And we found out how friggin small the world is for literate people.
We are both duly Waldropphilic (see Burning Deck Press) and it turned out oddly enough we have friend in common in pittsburgh...go figure!
So today I googled her and found she has a NARWHAL FETISH!!
Witness these rock star poems at SHAMPOO....we all come together at SHAMPOO, don't we?
del ray cross you are loved!
Girl, you iz my type if you iz down with the monoceratops type.
Narwhal is the new unicorn.
Here, if you like great poems check out this quartet of deliciousness...
Narwhal, you are my ain true love!
i have a taste for blood
right now..i imagine i smell blood...and it smells so good...because i've been eating so many vegetables (my other great love) and boca lasagnas and things like that..but then if you're a total carnivore to the bone like me...you get to a certain point and you're just so ready for blood again...i mean today i'm ready for it friggin "bleu" as the french say, which is so much nastier than "sanglant"....well in sushi i like it the same way...don't get me wrong i'm not into like eating live things that sort of sashimi and don't believe in cruelty to animals and don't eat veal ever and try to be moral but animals don't really know what death is...well most don't and not very well...we don't really either but they taste good...and they would eat us if we fell down first...many of them lol...ok not if they're herbivores with cellulase enzymes in their stomach but.....i try to eat less meat...i do...i keep smelling blood right now...i have a few cuts in the freezer i will have to get busy...and pull out some portabellas...i can't spell that anymore...animal rights people there is no such thing as time to these animals...whether they die sooner or later they don't really know...they don't think "well i got my fair shake" like humans do...they don't!....and if they get killed quick and merciful to become food it's better than a long protracted death that nature brings through age...you're really looking at this from the wrong end ethically...you are anthropomorphizing too much...you are just realizing that death always sucks..yes it does but it's inevitable..so the time thing has got you all hung up...they die slowly later..they die quickly now and become food....everbody wants to be god and restructure this universe i understand...even a four year old with a crayola could do better...right...i'm with you...but it's too late...here eat this steak i cooked you...it will make your blood sing...a song your fathers' fathers' fathers' fathers' x 347 sang....
Charles Jensen,
Do you Google yourself?
I have google alerts but I delete them unread. Why did I create them?
A whim? Vanity?
Boring.
Charles Jensen, do you have new words for me to read?
I think it was cool you went to the shore and got a motel to write.
That's a movielike thing to do.
I like movielike things.
Yes, I think so.
I mean crazy.
Today, a great book came.
Charting the Here of There.
I can see what my translating brethren and sistren have been up to.
It really appears to be a great book.
And peeps I have mad respect for are in here.
Okay, sorry nobody talks like that anymore.
Guy Bennett & Beatrice Mousli.
This book is beautiful.
I saw O.blek in here. Already historical.
That's so proper.
Charles Jensen, I tried to add you as a friend on Goodreads but I think maybe my psychosis intervened.
I hate it when that happens.
It's like tripping on pants too long.
Cuff them.
My sister-in-law would cuff them for me.
She looked like a porn star.
She was too beautiful.
To marry my brother.
To produce beautiful children.
Then leave like a myth.
We all remember.
How beautiful you were.
Charles Jensen, you have no bad angles, do you?
Charles Jensen,
do you like Patrick Wolf?
Charles Jensen,
does anyone pronounce your name
with a soft J
like Y....
like scandinavian?
I have run out
of Charles Jensen thoughts.
You watch cute television
then you blog about it.
You have good hair.
You have good bone structure.
You are an American poet.
I liked the Maribel thing.
I liked the lightning bolt line.
I am bored with typing now
about anything.
I believe this is called
a social etude.
I will think about imaginary people now.
They will respond to me,
and fill me full of...oh...
the charge of the soul or something.
How much is that?
I have google alerts but I delete them unread. Why did I create them?
A whim? Vanity?
Boring.
Charles Jensen, do you have new words for me to read?
I think it was cool you went to the shore and got a motel to write.
That's a movielike thing to do.
I like movielike things.
Yes, I think so.
I mean crazy.
Today, a great book came.
Charting the Here of There.
I can see what my translating brethren and sistren have been up to.
It really appears to be a great book.
And peeps I have mad respect for are in here.
Okay, sorry nobody talks like that anymore.
Guy Bennett & Beatrice Mousli.
This book is beautiful.
I saw O.blek in here. Already historical.
That's so proper.
Charles Jensen, I tried to add you as a friend on Goodreads but I think maybe my psychosis intervened.
I hate it when that happens.
It's like tripping on pants too long.
Cuff them.
My sister-in-law would cuff them for me.
She looked like a porn star.
She was too beautiful.
To marry my brother.
To produce beautiful children.
Then leave like a myth.
We all remember.
How beautiful you were.
Charles Jensen, you have no bad angles, do you?
Charles Jensen,
do you like Patrick Wolf?
Charles Jensen,
does anyone pronounce your name
with a soft J
like Y....
like scandinavian?
I have run out
of Charles Jensen thoughts.
You watch cute television
then you blog about it.
You have good hair.
You have good bone structure.
You are an American poet.
I liked the Maribel thing.
I liked the lightning bolt line.
I am bored with typing now
about anything.
I believe this is called
a social etude.
I will think about imaginary people now.
They will respond to me,
and fill me full of...oh...
the charge of the soul or something.
How much is that?
Pole Position and Mozart
I can't leave this remix alone lol.
Patrick Wolf, you are the limit.
And you are the limit's crackhead brother who had a nervous breakdown.
Mika and Mozart and Pole Position.
My day can't get any better than this sonic density.
Patrick Wolf, I love you.
Patrick Wolf, you are the limit.
And you are the limit's crackhead brother who had a nervous breakdown.
Mika and Mozart and Pole Position.
My day can't get any better than this sonic density.
Patrick Wolf, I love you.
Audience
This is also Mei-mei...
again, go to poets.org for the correct lineation...
1
People think, at the theatre, an audience is tricked into believing it's looking at life.
The film image is so large, it goes straight into your head.
There's no room to be aware of or interested in people around you.
Girls and cool devices draw audience, but unraveling the life of a real human brings the
outsiders.
I wrote before production began, "I want to include all of myself, a heartbroken person
who hasn't worked for years, who's simply not dead."
Many fans feel robbed and ask, "What kind of show's about one person's unresolved
soul?"
2
There's sympathy for suffering, also artificiality.
Having limbs blown off is some person's reality, not mine.
I didn't want to use sympathy for others as a way through my problems.
There's a gap between an audience and particulars, but you can be satisfied by
particulars, on several levels: social commentary, sleazy fantasy.
Where my film runs into another's real life conditions seem problematic, but they don't
link with me.
The linking is the flow of images, thwarting a fan's transference.
If you have empathy to place yourself in my real situation of face-to-face intensity, then
there would be no mirror, not as here.
3
My story is about the human race in conflict with itself and nature.
An empathic princess negotiates peace between nations and huge creatures in the wild.
I grapple with the theme, again and again.
Impatience and frustration build among fans.
"She achieves a personal voice almost autistic in lack of affect, making ambiguous her
well-known power to communicate emotion, yet accusing a system that mistakes what
she says."
Sex, tech are portrayed with lightness, a lack of divisions that causes anxieties elsewhere.
When I find a gap, I don't fix it, don't intrude like a violent, stray dog, separating flow
and context, to conform what I say to what you see.
Time before the show was fabulous, blank.
When I return, as to an object in space, my experience is sweeter, not because of
memory.
The screen is a mirror where a butterfly tries so hard not to lose the sequence of the last
moments.
I thought my work should reflect society, like mirrors in a cafe, double-space.
There's limited time, but we feel through film media we've more.
4
When society deterritorialized our world with money, we managed our depressions via
many deterritorializations.
Feeling became vague, with impersonal, spectacular equivalents in film.
My animator draws beautifully, but can't read or write.
He has fears, which might become reality, but Godzilla is reality.
When I saw the real princess, I found her face inauspicious, ill-favored, but since I'd
heard she was lovely, I said, "Maybe, she's not photogenic today."
Compared to my boredom, I wondered if her life were not like looking into a stream at a
stone, while water rushed over me.
I told her to look at me, so her looking is what everything rushes around.
I don't care about story so much as, what do you think of her? Do you like her?
She's not representative, because of gaps in the emotion, only yummy parts, and dialogue
that repeats.
She pencils a black line down the back of her leg.
A gesture turns transparent and proliferates into thousands of us doing the same.
Acknowledging the potential of a fan club, she jokingly describes it as "suspect".
She means performance comes out through the noise.
5
At the bar, you see a man catch hold of a girl by the hair and kick her.
You could understand both points of view, but in reality, no.
You intervene, feeling shame for hoping someone else will.
It becomes an atmosphere, a situation, by which I mean, groups.
In school we're taught the world is round, and with our own eyes we confirmed a small
part of what we could imagine.
Because you're sitting in a dark place, and I'm illuminated, and a lot of eyes are directed
at me, I can be seen more clearly than if I mingled with you, as when we were in high
school.
We were young girls wanting to describe love and to look at it from outer space.
again, go to poets.org for the correct lineation...
1
People think, at the theatre, an audience is tricked into believing it's looking at life.
The film image is so large, it goes straight into your head.
There's no room to be aware of or interested in people around you.
Girls and cool devices draw audience, but unraveling the life of a real human brings the
outsiders.
I wrote before production began, "I want to include all of myself, a heartbroken person
who hasn't worked for years, who's simply not dead."
Many fans feel robbed and ask, "What kind of show's about one person's unresolved
soul?"
2
There's sympathy for suffering, also artificiality.
Having limbs blown off is some person's reality, not mine.
I didn't want to use sympathy for others as a way through my problems.
There's a gap between an audience and particulars, but you can be satisfied by
particulars, on several levels: social commentary, sleazy fantasy.
Where my film runs into another's real life conditions seem problematic, but they don't
link with me.
The linking is the flow of images, thwarting a fan's transference.
If you have empathy to place yourself in my real situation of face-to-face intensity, then
there would be no mirror, not as here.
3
My story is about the human race in conflict with itself and nature.
An empathic princess negotiates peace between nations and huge creatures in the wild.
I grapple with the theme, again and again.
Impatience and frustration build among fans.
"She achieves a personal voice almost autistic in lack of affect, making ambiguous her
well-known power to communicate emotion, yet accusing a system that mistakes what
she says."
Sex, tech are portrayed with lightness, a lack of divisions that causes anxieties elsewhere.
When I find a gap, I don't fix it, don't intrude like a violent, stray dog, separating flow
and context, to conform what I say to what you see.
Time before the show was fabulous, blank.
When I return, as to an object in space, my experience is sweeter, not because of
memory.
The screen is a mirror where a butterfly tries so hard not to lose the sequence of the last
moments.
I thought my work should reflect society, like mirrors in a cafe, double-space.
There's limited time, but we feel through film media we've more.
4
When society deterritorialized our world with money, we managed our depressions via
many deterritorializations.
Feeling became vague, with impersonal, spectacular equivalents in film.
My animator draws beautifully, but can't read or write.
He has fears, which might become reality, but Godzilla is reality.
When I saw the real princess, I found her face inauspicious, ill-favored, but since I'd
heard she was lovely, I said, "Maybe, she's not photogenic today."
Compared to my boredom, I wondered if her life were not like looking into a stream at a
stone, while water rushed over me.
I told her to look at me, so her looking is what everything rushes around.
I don't care about story so much as, what do you think of her? Do you like her?
She's not representative, because of gaps in the emotion, only yummy parts, and dialogue
that repeats.
She pencils a black line down the back of her leg.
A gesture turns transparent and proliferates into thousands of us doing the same.
Acknowledging the potential of a fan club, she jokingly describes it as "suspect".
She means performance comes out through the noise.
5
At the bar, you see a man catch hold of a girl by the hair and kick her.
You could understand both points of view, but in reality, no.
You intervene, feeling shame for hoping someone else will.
It becomes an atmosphere, a situation, by which I mean, groups.
In school we're taught the world is round, and with our own eyes we confirmed a small
part of what we could imagine.
Because you're sitting in a dark place, and I'm illuminated, and a lot of eyes are directed
at me, I can be seen more clearly than if I mingled with you, as when we were in high
school.
We were young girls wanting to describe love and to look at it from outer space.
This is My Favorite Living Poet
She is so quiet. What a kind presence. What a gift to letters.
Just thinking of her or her books makes my day better instantly.
I found this at poets.org I think.
Maybe go there to see the correct lineation as Blogger might break this oddly. Apologies.
Red Quiet, Section 3
Our conversation is a wing below my consciousness, like organization in blowing cloth, eddies of water, its order of light on film with no lens.
A higher resonance of story finds its way to higher organization: data swirl into group dreams.
Then story surfaces, as if recognized; flies buzzing in your room suddenly translate to "Oh! You're crying!"
So, here I hug the old person, who's not "light" until I embrace him.
My happiness at seeing him, my French suit constitute at the interface of wing and occasion.
Postulate whether the friendship is fulfilling.
Reduce by small increments your worry about the nature of compassion or the chill of emotional identification among girlfriends, your wish to be held in the consciousness of another, like a person waiting for you to wake.
Postulate the wave nature of wanting him to wait (white space) and the quanta of fractal conflict, point to point, along the outline of a petal, shore from a small boat.
Words spoken with force create particles.
He calls the location of accidents a morphic field; their recurrence is resonance, as of an archetype with the vibration of a seed.
My last thoughts were bitter and helpless.
Friends witnessing grief enter your consciousness, illuminating your form, so quiet comes.
Just thinking of her or her books makes my day better instantly.
I found this at poets.org I think.
Maybe go there to see the correct lineation as Blogger might break this oddly. Apologies.
Red Quiet, Section 3
Our conversation is a wing below my consciousness, like organization in blowing cloth, eddies of water, its order of light on film with no lens.
A higher resonance of story finds its way to higher organization: data swirl into group dreams.
Then story surfaces, as if recognized; flies buzzing in your room suddenly translate to "Oh! You're crying!"
So, here I hug the old person, who's not "light" until I embrace him.
My happiness at seeing him, my French suit constitute at the interface of wing and occasion.
Postulate whether the friendship is fulfilling.
Reduce by small increments your worry about the nature of compassion or the chill of emotional identification among girlfriends, your wish to be held in the consciousness of another, like a person waiting for you to wake.
Postulate the wave nature of wanting him to wait (white space) and the quanta of fractal conflict, point to point, along the outline of a petal, shore from a small boat.
Words spoken with force create particles.
He calls the location of accidents a morphic field; their recurrence is resonance, as of an archetype with the vibration of a seed.
My last thoughts were bitter and helpless.
Friends witnessing grief enter your consciousness, illuminating your form, so quiet comes.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Travis Jeppesen Versus John Updike on Michel Houellebecq
I enjoyed reading both these critical assessments of various novels by Michel Houellebecq.
I was fascinated by how two very intelligent readers could come to such wildly different conclusions about the intention, meaning and worth (or lack thereof) of Houellebecq's writing.
Both of these critical pieces are a few years old.
Jeppesen is reviewing for an organ in Prague and Updike is lamenting in The New Yorker.
I think the title of Updike's multi-novel review is much more snide and dismissive than his actual review of these several novels by Houellebecq is.
It's interesting to focus on Houellebecq's depictions of women, say, and see how Jeppesen and Updike are at antipodes on that.
To be fair, Updike is reviewing the career, not just a single novel, so he has a lot more to talk about, and is possibly able to see trends emerging (Updike wrote this in 2006) in the writer's books and see where possibly themes are being recycled and ideas are wearing out their welcome.
But I have this nagging suspicion reading John Updike on Michel Houellebecq here is what it would be like hearing Bob Vila on Robert Venturi.
He might dislike the structure overall, and choose to talk about the beams and girders, the nuts and bolts.
Both Vila and Updike.
Because that is exactly what Updike does, ignoring the vitriolic, sociological critiques. For example, when a member of the psychotherapy industry grills a Houellebecq protagonist-patient, she accuses him of sociological maneuvering to avoid confronting personal pathology.
Updike takes that encounter at prima facie value in his review, and misses something vital.
That is exactly how Updike reads Houellebecq's work, the way that imaginary psychoterhapist reads her imaginary patient. And, in an extension of the authorial fallacy, this is how Updike reads Houellebecq's life.
European readings of Houellebecq also vary wildly, but the dismissals tend not to be so much along the rather moralistic lines Updike predictably pursues.
Salman Rushdie, for example, has a much higher opinion of Houellebecq than Updike.
Perhaps some of this disparity in critical thought is due to the fact that Houellebecq, like Rushdie, became the target of a Muslim backlash after his condemnation of Islam. (This contretemps is discussed in detail elsewhere online, and I won't go into that here.)
Europe, in general, seems to "get" Houellebecq. His books get made into movies in several countries over there, and people see his writing as relevant to present day political struggles, and to the way human beings, their relationships and even their sexuality are being redesigned by technological and medical innovations. His futurism doesn't sound very futuristic at all.
I think Updike's biggest mistake is reading many passages about our current world as futuristic, is being overliteral. Even if these events he excerpts are set in the future in the novel (the passages about the clones shooting pregnant human women through their barriers for example) these passages could just as easily be about conflicts in several stalemated wars, in several different countries occurring today.
Didn't it occur to Mr. Updike that Houellebecq's introduction of these clones (these technologically-produced, thoughtless killers) able to survive without eating, without shitting, who redesigned themselves in an ultimate act of selfish immortality, could really be a way of indicting the Ultimate Killer Difference always created between Us and Them: namely, that we are simply not they.
Updike thought that the bomb was aimed at the future and not his present-day address, his hemisphere.
But probably Houellebecq's European readers don't read him as literally as Mr. Updike does.
It's pretty ugly stuff. It's supposed to be...
Updike's moralizing summation, in whch he laments that there is no place in Houellebecq's novels for the gentler stuff of human relationships is particularly sophistical.
If an author believes dominant cultures and religions are often just switch-off totalitarianzing cousins, his or her novels are probably not going to be as domestic and suburban-normative as Mr. Updike generally preferred.
But then, to be honest, those things may never be in Houellebecq's novels. Because he does seem to have a nihilist's heart.
Sometimes nihilists have a clear, brilliant focus. They can be useful for what they see on their death-trip.
The French existential novelists served a purpose like this, I think. We all have certain things we take away from that still required reading, and certain things we reject. I never meet any 100% pure existentialists, really. They are creatures that exist more in books than real life, that serve better as characters than roommates or lovers.
Yes, I believe every single one of us has that component in our psyche and it emerges to varying degrees depending on circumstances. But very few live at that "pitch that is near madness."
And I think it is the same with Houellebecq. A writer worth anything is a strong distillation of ideas with strong emotive and confrontational power. She or he may throw books like grenades into the marketplace of ideas.
That's doesn't mean he's a terrorist. It just means he's a writer.
Houellebecq does seem to be a shambles in interviews often. Maybe he is a mess. The interviews he gives are often exercises in self-destruction.
But there are still the books to negotiate.
Probably Orwell's 1984 was the antidote Updike was holding in his head against Houellebecq's much darker dystopiae.
And he's right. Orwell managed to show humans we are able to love at the center of nihilistic structures of the sort Houellebecq is indicting in his books.
Houellebecq doesn't.
Either you can negotiate that difference or you can't.
The good news? There's always Hello Kitty.
Jeppesen on Houellebecq (older)>
Updike on Houellebecq (2006)>
I was fascinated by how two very intelligent readers could come to such wildly different conclusions about the intention, meaning and worth (or lack thereof) of Houellebecq's writing.
Both of these critical pieces are a few years old.
Jeppesen is reviewing for an organ in Prague and Updike is lamenting in The New Yorker.
I think the title of Updike's multi-novel review is much more snide and dismissive than his actual review of these several novels by Houellebecq is.
It's interesting to focus on Houellebecq's depictions of women, say, and see how Jeppesen and Updike are at antipodes on that.
To be fair, Updike is reviewing the career, not just a single novel, so he has a lot more to talk about, and is possibly able to see trends emerging (Updike wrote this in 2006) in the writer's books and see where possibly themes are being recycled and ideas are wearing out their welcome.
But I have this nagging suspicion reading John Updike on Michel Houellebecq here is what it would be like hearing Bob Vila on Robert Venturi.
He might dislike the structure overall, and choose to talk about the beams and girders, the nuts and bolts.
Both Vila and Updike.
Because that is exactly what Updike does, ignoring the vitriolic, sociological critiques. For example, when a member of the psychotherapy industry grills a Houellebecq protagonist-patient, she accuses him of sociological maneuvering to avoid confronting personal pathology.
Updike takes that encounter at prima facie value in his review, and misses something vital.
That is exactly how Updike reads Houellebecq's work, the way that imaginary psychoterhapist reads her imaginary patient. And, in an extension of the authorial fallacy, this is how Updike reads Houellebecq's life.
European readings of Houellebecq also vary wildly, but the dismissals tend not to be so much along the rather moralistic lines Updike predictably pursues.
Salman Rushdie, for example, has a much higher opinion of Houellebecq than Updike.
Perhaps some of this disparity in critical thought is due to the fact that Houellebecq, like Rushdie, became the target of a Muslim backlash after his condemnation of Islam. (This contretemps is discussed in detail elsewhere online, and I won't go into that here.)
Europe, in general, seems to "get" Houellebecq. His books get made into movies in several countries over there, and people see his writing as relevant to present day political struggles, and to the way human beings, their relationships and even their sexuality are being redesigned by technological and medical innovations. His futurism doesn't sound very futuristic at all.
I think Updike's biggest mistake is reading many passages about our current world as futuristic, is being overliteral. Even if these events he excerpts are set in the future in the novel (the passages about the clones shooting pregnant human women through their barriers for example) these passages could just as easily be about conflicts in several stalemated wars, in several different countries occurring today.
Didn't it occur to Mr. Updike that Houellebecq's introduction of these clones (these technologically-produced, thoughtless killers) able to survive without eating, without shitting, who redesigned themselves in an ultimate act of selfish immortality, could really be a way of indicting the Ultimate Killer Difference always created between Us and Them: namely, that we are simply not they.
Updike thought that the bomb was aimed at the future and not his present-day address, his hemisphere.
But probably Houellebecq's European readers don't read him as literally as Mr. Updike does.
It's pretty ugly stuff. It's supposed to be...
Updike's moralizing summation, in whch he laments that there is no place in Houellebecq's novels for the gentler stuff of human relationships is particularly sophistical.
If an author believes dominant cultures and religions are often just switch-off totalitarianzing cousins, his or her novels are probably not going to be as domestic and suburban-normative as Mr. Updike generally preferred.
But then, to be honest, those things may never be in Houellebecq's novels. Because he does seem to have a nihilist's heart.
Sometimes nihilists have a clear, brilliant focus. They can be useful for what they see on their death-trip.
The French existential novelists served a purpose like this, I think. We all have certain things we take away from that still required reading, and certain things we reject. I never meet any 100% pure existentialists, really. They are creatures that exist more in books than real life, that serve better as characters than roommates or lovers.
Yes, I believe every single one of us has that component in our psyche and it emerges to varying degrees depending on circumstances. But very few live at that "pitch that is near madness."
And I think it is the same with Houellebecq. A writer worth anything is a strong distillation of ideas with strong emotive and confrontational power. She or he may throw books like grenades into the marketplace of ideas.
That's doesn't mean he's a terrorist. It just means he's a writer.
Houellebecq does seem to be a shambles in interviews often. Maybe he is a mess. The interviews he gives are often exercises in self-destruction.
But there are still the books to negotiate.
Probably Orwell's 1984 was the antidote Updike was holding in his head against Houellebecq's much darker dystopiae.
And he's right. Orwell managed to show humans we are able to love at the center of nihilistic structures of the sort Houellebecq is indicting in his books.
Houellebecq doesn't.
Either you can negotiate that difference or you can't.
The good news? There's always Hello Kitty.
Jeppesen on Houellebecq (older)>
Updike on Houellebecq (2006)>
I Have Created Pseudo-Twitter
My therapist and I were talking about my Twitter anxiety.
She suggested I create a safe environment where I can model Twitter before actually doing anything so temerarious as entering The Beast Itself.
So I created Pseudo-Twitter.
I have no idea if I'm "doing it right."
I will glean little bits of Twitter from the Great Oz Google to try to make my run-throughs and simulations a little more convincing.
But I'll be honest.
Some things I saw today (like the illustration of Twitter I posted) have really soured my stomach on the idea.
Maybe given a few years...
Twitter-virginal stumbling, groping, trepidation...
For those of you who are Twitter Olympians...here is an article I found supposedly giving you cool ideas on how to maximize your Twitter experience (i am shilling Twitter enhancement like those big-titted girls at 1 a.m.!) go here. There are also blog-Twitter interface ideas or something. I have no idea what they're talking about and, frankly, I'm not yet prepared to use the word "tweet" as a transitive verb.
But here...
I have no idea what the hell you are talking about.
She suggested I create a safe environment where I can model Twitter before actually doing anything so temerarious as entering The Beast Itself.
So I created Pseudo-Twitter.
I have no idea if I'm "doing it right."
I will glean little bits of Twitter from the Great Oz Google to try to make my run-throughs and simulations a little more convincing.
But I'll be honest.
Some things I saw today (like the illustration of Twitter I posted) have really soured my stomach on the idea.
Maybe given a few years...
Twitter-virginal stumbling, groping, trepidation...
For those of you who are Twitter Olympians...here is an article I found supposedly giving you cool ideas on how to maximize your Twitter experience (i am shilling Twitter enhancement like those big-titted girls at 1 a.m.!) go here. There are also blog-Twitter interface ideas or something. I have no idea what they're talking about and, frankly, I'm not yet prepared to use the word "tweet" as a transitive verb.
But here...
I have no idea what the hell you are talking about.
Mr. Bunny and Mr. Chilifarts were in Peru, Indiana...
page 41
Mr. Chilifarts and Mr. Bunny were in Peru, Indiana.
A ten foot tall fiberglass model of Hello Kitty had been said to grant miracle wishes.
They had stopped to see it.
People were arriving in all sort of vehicles to visit the fiberglass idol.
They came from all fifty states, Canada, Mexico and several South American countries.
A few had flown in from Japan and there had been a talkative Norwegian group just that afternoon.
Gladioli and roses and daffodils and snapdragons and even pussy willows were strewn at the feet of the fiberglass Hello Kitty.
She was dressed in beads and long garlands of flowers which some of the older Christian women thereabout had sewn for her.
Children sang songs to Hello Kitty in school groups bused in.
"She looks like a total whore," Mr. Bunny said.
"Dude. Shhh! I'm having a Deepak Chopra moment," Mr. Chilifarts said.
The power was said to reside in her pink bow tie.
This bow tie had to be retouched almost weekly from all the hands touching it and rubbing off the paint.
You had to climb a set of improvised stairs to touch the thaumaturgic bow.
For those who could not walk, there was a crane with a bucket seat that would lift a poor body to touch Hello Kitty's bow for a nominal fee.
The stairs were free but the crane required an operator so people understood.
Nobody was whoring God in Indiana.
Mr. Bunny and Mr. Chilifarts both touched Hello Kitty.
But each did this surreptitously, while the other was using a public restroom.
They both thought they were being sly.
Mr. Chilifarts saw Mr. Bunny reach up to touch the pink bow.
He was coming out of the bathroom and kept back, staying in a glass foyer.
He took a picture of Mr. Bunny touching the magic bow.
He looked like an eight-year-old reaching up.
Mr. Bunny did not know that picture was on the digicam until later that evening.
He got mightily pissed.
At seeing his atheism laid bare for a fraud.
Mr. Chilifarts also took a picture of an angry older man who arrived and beat the Hello Kitty idol with a crutch until they dragged him away.
"I would hate to think what's gonna happen to his karma now," Mr. Chilifarts said.
"Not to mention the charge of lese-majeste against Hello Kitty," Mr. Bunny said ominously, thinking of Thailand.
He was lying on the bed in Mr. Chilifarts room and smoking a joint.
He was making it difficult for Mr. Chilifarts to lie down, and lazily enjoying the feeling of creating discomfort.
They would not hear that one week later Christian fundamentalists dynamited the Hello Kitty Idol to save the souls of their fellow Indianans who had clearly found a new Golden Calf.
That Golden Calf sermon had gotten serious podium-play in all the churches around those parts.
The fragments of Hello Kitty were auctioned on EBAY.
Because they clearly still held spiritual power.
Her pink bow was never found.
There are families in Indiana who still talk about it.
Like the Holy Grail.
Mr. Chilifarts and Mr. Bunny were in Peru, Indiana.
A ten foot tall fiberglass model of Hello Kitty had been said to grant miracle wishes.
They had stopped to see it.
People were arriving in all sort of vehicles to visit the fiberglass idol.
They came from all fifty states, Canada, Mexico and several South American countries.
A few had flown in from Japan and there had been a talkative Norwegian group just that afternoon.
Gladioli and roses and daffodils and snapdragons and even pussy willows were strewn at the feet of the fiberglass Hello Kitty.
She was dressed in beads and long garlands of flowers which some of the older Christian women thereabout had sewn for her.
Children sang songs to Hello Kitty in school groups bused in.
"She looks like a total whore," Mr. Bunny said.
"Dude. Shhh! I'm having a Deepak Chopra moment," Mr. Chilifarts said.
The power was said to reside in her pink bow tie.
This bow tie had to be retouched almost weekly from all the hands touching it and rubbing off the paint.
You had to climb a set of improvised stairs to touch the thaumaturgic bow.
For those who could not walk, there was a crane with a bucket seat that would lift a poor body to touch Hello Kitty's bow for a nominal fee.
The stairs were free but the crane required an operator so people understood.
Nobody was whoring God in Indiana.
Mr. Bunny and Mr. Chilifarts both touched Hello Kitty.
But each did this surreptitously, while the other was using a public restroom.
They both thought they were being sly.
Mr. Chilifarts saw Mr. Bunny reach up to touch the pink bow.
He was coming out of the bathroom and kept back, staying in a glass foyer.
He took a picture of Mr. Bunny touching the magic bow.
He looked like an eight-year-old reaching up.
Mr. Bunny did not know that picture was on the digicam until later that evening.
He got mightily pissed.
At seeing his atheism laid bare for a fraud.
Mr. Chilifarts also took a picture of an angry older man who arrived and beat the Hello Kitty idol with a crutch until they dragged him away.
"I would hate to think what's gonna happen to his karma now," Mr. Chilifarts said.
"Not to mention the charge of lese-majeste against Hello Kitty," Mr. Bunny said ominously, thinking of Thailand.
He was lying on the bed in Mr. Chilifarts room and smoking a joint.
He was making it difficult for Mr. Chilifarts to lie down, and lazily enjoying the feeling of creating discomfort.
They would not hear that one week later Christian fundamentalists dynamited the Hello Kitty Idol to save the souls of their fellow Indianans who had clearly found a new Golden Calf.
That Golden Calf sermon had gotten serious podium-play in all the churches around those parts.
The fragments of Hello Kitty were auctioned on EBAY.
Because they clearly still held spiritual power.
Her pink bow was never found.
There are families in Indiana who still talk about it.
Like the Holy Grail.
point by point
this is addressed to someone i've never spoken to, never exchanged two words with, and we have never sent or received emails, etc...
perhaps what i posted was perceived as hurtful or intended to injure, but it was not. probably it was just stupid. if it was hurtful, i apologize. i deleted it.
i saw what i figured was a riposte (ripostes can really only be ripostes if there is an injury or slight but you know what i mean.)
probably you will never read this.
but when people say hurtful things to me i try to assay them, usually throughout a day; i decide if there's any merit and then i let it go...completely go...
but point by point....
raping my conscience?
yeah a bit. what can i say? i'm augustinian like that. that's actually my ethical oversight committee.
they are busy a lot.
but just the act of looking at all the mental documents keeps the Prime Agent out of trouble.
nothing to say?
and sometimes saying it well, i'm told.
you must be young. you'll learn that actually this is true for everyone, across the board, even your heroes you have right now. but style is a good way to blind people to that fact. poets and novelists don't introduce that much new really. other than fashions. the ideas and the way the discourse plays out pretty much stay the same. free will versus determinism, these various selves and whether they're mediated by society, language, something as silly as desire or fate, yadda yadda. whether it's austen or banana yoshimoto. what keeps it interesting of course is the images change and the cities change and people reveal more with each century of the real complexity inside themselves. whereas in the past this complexity or multiplicity wasn't allowed because of societal constraints. (isn't it sad to see how long it took human beings to begin telling the whole truth? and we're still lying. that's where people like foucault are truly interesting.) but most of what is seen as new in literature can be traced to antecedents at least a century old. there are people i think of as geniuses writing today, but none of them are astonishly "new." they just have enough timeliness and timelessness to make it work. and that's a beautiful thing. but so is a pretty dress in a museum. i am not an absolutist so i can't say the novel or the poem is more important. that dress could change a life too. you know? this is all very first year college but you started it lol.
homosexual?
yeth.
crossdresser?
no. that's a trope sweetheart. i mean everybody loves halloween right? but...
i have to shave twice a day when i'm working.
i had manly hair all over my greek manly body when i was ten.
i loved making the straight boys jealous.
nature has a great sense of humor.
under the freeway hooking?
well i guess that's a good way to metaphorize blogging. can't deny it. whether you're straight or gay or whatever.
but in real life i prefer a warm bathtub and a zune.
after all that defensiveness, i must say your poems are showing a remarkable upturn. there is a ferocity and an economy that make me think of my heroes of the ancient world. i prefer that cleanness.
what's that one unforgiveable sin in the bible? to see god's work and lie and say it's not?
well i'm like that with poetry. even if i think i don't really like someone if they are writing great poetry i'm not going to deny it. you go to poetry hell for that.
i'm not sure if the other poem was attacking me.
if so, you're wrong.
i never mix alcohol and pills.
that's judy garland.
your poems are really getting great.
keep up that edge. i don't mean like suffer or think about degradation only.
but that luminous quality in fucked up things that's in the concrete parts of them.
that's the ancient greek thing.
i was gonna say something nasty back like do you get all teethy when you're blowing your boyfriend when you think about having to grade papers or thinking about something that somebody's said about your blog.
but then i decided to take the highroad.
that's not really nasty at all, is it?
it's processual.
okay.
my conscience is raped.
where's the reset button on this fucking bowling alley?
don't tell me there isn't one or i'm leaving.
this is the 21st century.
perhaps what i posted was perceived as hurtful or intended to injure, but it was not. probably it was just stupid. if it was hurtful, i apologize. i deleted it.
i saw what i figured was a riposte (ripostes can really only be ripostes if there is an injury or slight but you know what i mean.)
probably you will never read this.
but when people say hurtful things to me i try to assay them, usually throughout a day; i decide if there's any merit and then i let it go...completely go...
but point by point....
raping my conscience?
yeah a bit. what can i say? i'm augustinian like that. that's actually my ethical oversight committee.
they are busy a lot.
but just the act of looking at all the mental documents keeps the Prime Agent out of trouble.
nothing to say?
and sometimes saying it well, i'm told.
you must be young. you'll learn that actually this is true for everyone, across the board, even your heroes you have right now. but style is a good way to blind people to that fact. poets and novelists don't introduce that much new really. other than fashions. the ideas and the way the discourse plays out pretty much stay the same. free will versus determinism, these various selves and whether they're mediated by society, language, something as silly as desire or fate, yadda yadda. whether it's austen or banana yoshimoto. what keeps it interesting of course is the images change and the cities change and people reveal more with each century of the real complexity inside themselves. whereas in the past this complexity or multiplicity wasn't allowed because of societal constraints. (isn't it sad to see how long it took human beings to begin telling the whole truth? and we're still lying. that's where people like foucault are truly interesting.) but most of what is seen as new in literature can be traced to antecedents at least a century old. there are people i think of as geniuses writing today, but none of them are astonishly "new." they just have enough timeliness and timelessness to make it work. and that's a beautiful thing. but so is a pretty dress in a museum. i am not an absolutist so i can't say the novel or the poem is more important. that dress could change a life too. you know? this is all very first year college but you started it lol.
homosexual?
yeth.
crossdresser?
no. that's a trope sweetheart. i mean everybody loves halloween right? but...
i have to shave twice a day when i'm working.
i had manly hair all over my greek manly body when i was ten.
i loved making the straight boys jealous.
nature has a great sense of humor.
under the freeway hooking?
well i guess that's a good way to metaphorize blogging. can't deny it. whether you're straight or gay or whatever.
but in real life i prefer a warm bathtub and a zune.
after all that defensiveness, i must say your poems are showing a remarkable upturn. there is a ferocity and an economy that make me think of my heroes of the ancient world. i prefer that cleanness.
what's that one unforgiveable sin in the bible? to see god's work and lie and say it's not?
well i'm like that with poetry. even if i think i don't really like someone if they are writing great poetry i'm not going to deny it. you go to poetry hell for that.
i'm not sure if the other poem was attacking me.
if so, you're wrong.
i never mix alcohol and pills.
that's judy garland.
your poems are really getting great.
keep up that edge. i don't mean like suffer or think about degradation only.
but that luminous quality in fucked up things that's in the concrete parts of them.
that's the ancient greek thing.
i was gonna say something nasty back like do you get all teethy when you're blowing your boyfriend when you think about having to grade papers or thinking about something that somebody's said about your blog.
but then i decided to take the highroad.
that's not really nasty at all, is it?
it's processual.
okay.
my conscience is raped.
where's the reset button on this fucking bowling alley?
don't tell me there isn't one or i'm leaving.
this is the 21st century.
We Said to the President, We Did
Will you please stop speaking
just get back on the Arbus bus
and go back to Arby's, Texas now?
just get back on the Arbus bus
and go back to Arby's, Texas now?
Saturday, March 28, 2009
I Like This Original But...
I think I prefer Georgie's smooth cover...
don't get me wrong. i love naked voices...
don't get me wrong. i love naked voices...
Donald Fagen is amazing...
It's like he imagined he was writing this song in the 1920s, then performed it as though it were the forties...
this will get yanked fast...
Warner Bros ain't playin'....
now I must be hallucinating because while i was enjoying this i saw off to the right bjork's name over this song...it would be too freaky if she covered this....
this will get yanked fast...
Warner Bros ain't playin'....
now I must be hallucinating because while i was enjoying this i saw off to the right bjork's name over this song...it would be too freaky if she covered this....
Before Morrissey There Were...
other depressing people, children, and we got our depression from them.
Edith Piaf was a very gifted unspooler of depression...
Chassez les papillons noirs...
Edith Piaf was a very gifted unspooler of depression...
Chassez les papillons noirs...
Most of His Songs
make me think of a giant precious music box covered with (mostly gay) suicides.
Often he sounds as though he got into the Nembutol.
do you think the goal was to be a man trying to sound like a tranny trying to be a woman who ended up sounding like a man anyway when she sang?
cause if so, he achieves the result brilliantly...
Still, there is a certain fondness...sigh...
oh role models sucked and was funny.
i fell asleep a bit. i like the actor who's stereotyped as the dyke. comic gold. for me anyway. the one from the 40 year old virgin and other movies. she needs her own movie.
Often he sounds as though he got into the Nembutol.
do you think the goal was to be a man trying to sound like a tranny trying to be a woman who ended up sounding like a man anyway when she sang?
cause if so, he achieves the result brilliantly...
Still, there is a certain fondness...sigh...
oh role models sucked and was funny.
i fell asleep a bit. i like the actor who's stereotyped as the dyke. comic gold. for me anyway. the one from the 40 year old virgin and other movies. she needs her own movie.
ok i am gonna go watch role models
i love paul rudd. and this movie looks fucking funny.
pizza is on its way.
guess what. the hockey game was sold out. i thought they had tickets.
dumbasses!!
lol
omfg they used my card to order pizzas online
they needed everything but my fucking blood type.
good evening to y'all.
i don't think i've ever seen a movie where i didn't buzz and glow fron seeing paul rudd in it.
he's great in the final episode of strangers with candy: "fran back!"
with winona ryder lol.
his best movie i've seen is the chateau. sometimes ifc runs it.
according to tao lin's blog he was in a sketch with him as an extra on snl one weekend.
that's too cool.
paul rudd is funny in that movie with michelle pfeiffer. it's not a great movie but it's fun. in the car on a date she admits she's not really 39 she's 42 or something and he says that's okay im not really 32 im 29.
the discomfort in that scene when she slaps him is very funny lol.
overall the movie is a little kibbles n' bits.
he does good small parts in movies.
he's the ultimate non-gay actor.
i remember craig conley sending me some great classic paul rudd metrosexual quotes lol.
he's totally queer for a straight man.
he's a good dad who loves disney with his kids.
just one of the sweetest hollywood has.
so i'm gonna go watch him be like a total dick now i think.
i think he is in this movie lol.
nighters blogger phreaks peeps and you who live in Evil Planktonia.
fuck y'all with your albatrosses.
take that stupid motherfucking bird off
and go fuck or watch tv or something.
pizza is on its way.
guess what. the hockey game was sold out. i thought they had tickets.
dumbasses!!
lol
omfg they used my card to order pizzas online
they needed everything but my fucking blood type.
good evening to y'all.
i don't think i've ever seen a movie where i didn't buzz and glow fron seeing paul rudd in it.
he's great in the final episode of strangers with candy: "fran back!"
with winona ryder lol.
his best movie i've seen is the chateau. sometimes ifc runs it.
according to tao lin's blog he was in a sketch with him as an extra on snl one weekend.
that's too cool.
paul rudd is funny in that movie with michelle pfeiffer. it's not a great movie but it's fun. in the car on a date she admits she's not really 39 she's 42 or something and he says that's okay im not really 32 im 29.
the discomfort in that scene when she slaps him is very funny lol.
overall the movie is a little kibbles n' bits.
he does good small parts in movies.
he's the ultimate non-gay actor.
i remember craig conley sending me some great classic paul rudd metrosexual quotes lol.
he's totally queer for a straight man.
he's a good dad who loves disney with his kids.
just one of the sweetest hollywood has.
so i'm gonna go watch him be like a total dick now i think.
i think he is in this movie lol.
nighters blogger phreaks peeps and you who live in Evil Planktonia.
fuck y'all with your albatrosses.
take that stupid motherfucking bird off
and go fuck or watch tv or something.
My Internets is Broked
But it's all good.
I got rid of some Evil Plankton today.
I feel like I got a facial.
No, not that type of facial gay bois.
The other type.
Bob and weave.
Bob and weave.
Then duck under the turnstile.
You can do this.
You are buyoant enough.
Your bones are the bones of deer on the moon.
Don't let the Zombies get you.
They come in all shapes, ages and sizes.
You will know them by the verdigris under their fingernails.
And sometimes their scrota.
They will live for the comment box of cannibalism.
Or the Count Blogula poem of rabbit spittle.
They do that too.
I got rid of some Evil Plankton today.
I feel like I got a facial.
No, not that type of facial gay bois.
The other type.
Bob and weave.
Bob and weave.
Then duck under the turnstile.
You can do this.
You are buyoant enough.
Your bones are the bones of deer on the moon.
Don't let the Zombies get you.
They come in all shapes, ages and sizes.
You will know them by the verdigris under their fingernails.
And sometimes their scrota.
They will live for the comment box of cannibalism.
Or the Count Blogula poem of rabbit spittle.
They do that too.
Brooklyn's Beauty Secrets
I had to link to this because...
1) I can't tell if her new avatar is a topless one cut off discreetly...
2) she's beautiful so this is prolly good advice
and
3) she touts witch hazel.
i love witch hazel.
astringent is good.
it has all that louise glucky goodness in it.
dickinson's is good
also, i haven't had a hemorrhoid since the early nineties but i remember reading online witch hazel was better than anythinig else for that and it was right. i never had another one.
sorry for the TMI.
witch hazel is good for other things.
witch hazel = magical
oh..here's the link...
the Brooklyn makeover
1) I can't tell if her new avatar is a topless one cut off discreetly...
2) she's beautiful so this is prolly good advice
and
3) she touts witch hazel.
i love witch hazel.
astringent is good.
it has all that louise glucky goodness in it.
dickinson's is good
also, i haven't had a hemorrhoid since the early nineties but i remember reading online witch hazel was better than anythinig else for that and it was right. i never had another one.
sorry for the TMI.
witch hazel is good for other things.
witch hazel = magical
oh..here's the link...
the Brooklyn makeover
People of Dahomey...
I stand with you and feel with you.
But I can't get there right now to, like, physically stand WITH you.
Because I don't have the airfare.
And I'm not sure what shots I would need.
On the lighter side, my passport is still good.
But maybe I want to go to Antarctica instead.
When it's like spring again.
But I can't get there right now to, like, physically stand WITH you.
Because I don't have the airfare.
And I'm not sure what shots I would need.
On the lighter side, my passport is still good.
But maybe I want to go to Antarctica instead.
When it's like spring again.
lol okay..i can see i am in need of the Serenity Prayer...
The Serenity Prayer
Blogger grant me the serenity
to accept the assholes I cannot change;
courage to delete angry alcohlics as I can;
and the childishness to enforce the difference.
Living one IM at a time;
Enjoying one cyber-fling at a time;
Accepting reciprocal links as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful blog
as it is, not as I would emoticon it;
Trusting that He will make all intoxicated postings right
if I surrender to His Live Feed;
That I may be reasonably blog-ranked in this life
and supremely happy with my Statcounter
Forever in the next.
Amen.
There, I feel much better after reciting that.
DRINK!
DRINK MORE OVALTINE!
(from now on when i have lost it or become chagrined with a blog post you will see this three word advertisement because the EDIT feature is too slow for my liking to actually delete.)
(from now on when i have lost it or become chagrined with a blog post you will see this three word advertisement because the EDIT feature is too slow for my liking to actually delete.)
how it is in harrisburg tonight
i substituted "vagina" in a few sentences earlier today to see if anyone bristled or noticed, but they were too good.
they didn't indulge me lol.
i am alone now.
i just misted my walking sticks. in case they are feeling reincarnative.
they need a little help getting out of that old skin.
one of my favorite non-poetry books is a technical manual on "insect morphology."
it is a paragon of lucid writing and filled with fascinating info on how creatures shed their bodies. the hormones and other triggers.
the bedroom didn't feel like vietnam any more so i turned the space heater on for them.
they sleep right next to me in their happy aquarium. on the floor next to the bed.
sometimes dru or i hear them moving but mostly they are silent as leaves they perch on.
little gay buddhas.
all female forever.
nobody turned on the red mylonit in the second floor hall.
my fiber optic easter tree i decorated in the foyer is lush in the dark.
it glows like an alcoholic in reykjavik.
the drunks' capital.
i clapped my hands to make my bird automaton sing.
i nearly tripped over a big fake rubber cicada on the kitchen floor.
the kids had been throwing it against the wall i guess.
it walks down the wall.
and they film it with my video camera.
and they put it on youtube.
the cicada. while they sing.
weird kids.
sometimes they throw them up against the ceiling. there is a pig too.
and i walk in the kitchen and they fall from the high ceiling
and you nearly jump out of your skin.
and then they laugh.
and then you laugh.
assholes.
lol.
i am listening to a very long very gay beck song.
it's like 10 minutes.
and a gay man tells his fears to his boyfriend at the end of the song.
it's very comforting.
and scary.
it's so 1974.
and yet 2088.
i don't know.
they didn't indulge me lol.
i am alone now.
i just misted my walking sticks. in case they are feeling reincarnative.
they need a little help getting out of that old skin.
one of my favorite non-poetry books is a technical manual on "insect morphology."
it is a paragon of lucid writing and filled with fascinating info on how creatures shed their bodies. the hormones and other triggers.
the bedroom didn't feel like vietnam any more so i turned the space heater on for them.
they sleep right next to me in their happy aquarium. on the floor next to the bed.
sometimes dru or i hear them moving but mostly they are silent as leaves they perch on.
little gay buddhas.
all female forever.
nobody turned on the red mylonit in the second floor hall.
my fiber optic easter tree i decorated in the foyer is lush in the dark.
it glows like an alcoholic in reykjavik.
the drunks' capital.
i clapped my hands to make my bird automaton sing.
i nearly tripped over a big fake rubber cicada on the kitchen floor.
the kids had been throwing it against the wall i guess.
it walks down the wall.
and they film it with my video camera.
and they put it on youtube.
the cicada. while they sing.
weird kids.
sometimes they throw them up against the ceiling. there is a pig too.
and i walk in the kitchen and they fall from the high ceiling
and you nearly jump out of your skin.
and then they laugh.
and then you laugh.
assholes.
lol.
i am listening to a very long very gay beck song.
it's like 10 minutes.
and a gay man tells his fears to his boyfriend at the end of the song.
it's very comforting.
and scary.
it's so 1974.
and yet 2088.
i don't know.
derby, i am
home alone tonight.
lee went to a hockey game.
i was invited i just didn't.
you look like hugh grant.
sometimes. looking for a blowjob.
though you are too young for that.
you are gay.
you don't know.
oh things.
he left me
half his subway
sub.
are you back
from connecticut yet?
did you get tired
of connecticut
like i said?
i am negative
like a postmodern bridge.
lee went to a hockey game.
i was invited i just didn't.
you look like hugh grant.
sometimes. looking for a blowjob.
though you are too young for that.
you are gay.
you don't know.
oh things.
he left me
half his subway
sub.
are you back
from connecticut yet?
did you get tired
of connecticut
like i said?
i am negative
like a postmodern bridge.
derby, let's
have a gay affair. without sex. meet me at the christmas tree store down the street and we'll hold hands. ill bring my movie camera and ill just film our hands and the christmas tree store. i love the hundred stacked bell of bird automatons in plastic cages from china. i gave them as gifts at christmas. mine hangs between my dining room and my kitchen. i almost typed drinking room.
and we will meet in the christmas tree store and film our hands holding and talking. it will be short poorly edited clips of like sixty-three days and at the end you will say you can't do this anymore. like a lifetime movie.
and only then will i show you on camera derby.
walking out.
your back.
nice.
i like.
and we will meet in the christmas tree store and film our hands holding and talking. it will be short poorly edited clips of like sixty-three days and at the end you will say you can't do this anymore. like a lifetime movie.
and only then will i show you on camera derby.
walking out.
your back.
nice.
i like.
Herman Schouwenburg
I love his paintings and drawings, gouaches, whatever.
There's a broad sample on his Flickr Page...over a thousand works!
There should be a Schouwenburg Museum.
Just killer-good stuff!
The one is titled "Lezen" which I'm guessing is "To read" in Dutch?
More Herman Schouwenburg
I went back again today and was enjoying his Flickr gallery again.
There's so much world-class art there.
It shocks me that he's obscure. Or seems to be when I Google him.
The one with all the guys is called "Daughters Departing."
Some Things it Would Be Funny to Have the Order Speaker Play at the Burger King Drive-Thru
I was just thinking these are things which would be funny to have play through the ordering speaker at Burger King when a customer pulled up.
1. Stephen J. Hawking talking about blackholes. For about like ten minutes.
2. "fitter, happier" by Radiohead
3. Exhortatory shouting speeches by Hitler in German
4. "Meat is Murder" by The Smiths
5. Recordings of Jeffrey Dahmer discussing cannibalism.
6. Slaughterhouse sounds.
7. The last few minutes of the Herzog documentary where the grizzly bears eat the Grizzly Man and his girlfriend.
8. "Warm Leatherette." Grace Jones's version
9. Tom Cruise's anti-psychiatry tirade
10. "I Seen Beyonce at Burger King" played backwards to release Satanic messages.
1. Stephen J. Hawking talking about blackholes. For about like ten minutes.
2. "fitter, happier" by Radiohead
3. Exhortatory shouting speeches by Hitler in German
4. "Meat is Murder" by The Smiths
5. Recordings of Jeffrey Dahmer discussing cannibalism.
6. Slaughterhouse sounds.
7. The last few minutes of the Herzog documentary where the grizzly bears eat the Grizzly Man and his girlfriend.
8. "Warm Leatherette." Grace Jones's version
9. Tom Cruise's anti-psychiatry tirade
10. "I Seen Beyonce at Burger King" played backwards to release Satanic messages.
my blogger counter is busted. like a canary in a weird scientific experiment...
my blogger counter is busted.
like a canary in a weird scientific experiment who has been denied nest building materials, i begin to remove my feathers and build a nest with them.
what cruel scientists are toying with me to put me in this cage like this.
see. isn't my nest pretty. it is made entirely out of me.
see my yellow feathers.
i did my best to weave them into a nest.
now i am a naked canary staring at my yellow nest
nothing computes.
i hear the scientist voices as though they came through stephen j. hawking fast food order boxes at burger king.
just kidding.
i'm fine.
i usually only get a couple hits on my profile a day and rarely even look at it. why? i know what it says.
but i saw it jumped up to 3000 a few days ago then froze.
now it won't change.
and i don't know where to fix it. i looked in layout but i can't see the blogger counter.
i just think it's weird it just stopped working after jumping up.
it's a pretty number. i mean if you have to stop at a number.
it has a lot of roundess in it: 3000.
it's like clover or something.
at least it wasn't all jagged like 2774.
That would have been awful.
That would have denied me sleep.
i'm not kidding.
but 3000.
you can almost see haloes.
it's like shopping in a christmas tree store for ornaments in march.
you feel you can secretly alter time.
all these haloes made out of bird feathers.
it's ancient roman and not.
like everything american.
like a canary in a weird scientific experiment who has been denied nest building materials, i begin to remove my feathers and build a nest with them.
what cruel scientists are toying with me to put me in this cage like this.
see. isn't my nest pretty. it is made entirely out of me.
see my yellow feathers.
i did my best to weave them into a nest.
now i am a naked canary staring at my yellow nest
nothing computes.
i hear the scientist voices as though they came through stephen j. hawking fast food order boxes at burger king.
just kidding.
i'm fine.
i usually only get a couple hits on my profile a day and rarely even look at it. why? i know what it says.
but i saw it jumped up to 3000 a few days ago then froze.
now it won't change.
and i don't know where to fix it. i looked in layout but i can't see the blogger counter.
i just think it's weird it just stopped working after jumping up.
it's a pretty number. i mean if you have to stop at a number.
it has a lot of roundess in it: 3000.
it's like clover or something.
at least it wasn't all jagged like 2774.
That would have been awful.
That would have denied me sleep.
i'm not kidding.
but 3000.
you can almost see haloes.
it's like shopping in a christmas tree store for ornaments in march.
you feel you can secretly alter time.
all these haloes made out of bird feathers.
it's ancient roman and not.
like everything american.
How We Bumped into Each Other: my favorite search terms today...
lol straaange...top poets searched were harryette mullen (she gets a LOT of hits here), joe wenderoth (ditto)...wallace stevens, joe brainard, cyril wong, yoko ono, neil gaiman...in fact they were the ONLY poets that brought people here in the last 24 hours or whatever...some fiction writers too but none american..oh and hadrian...he's always searched....
fucked up poems on aids
anal cunt breaking the law blogspot
why is your penis darker
morrissey homophobia
martenot art method
air popcorn popper in boulder
oh, oh fuck gay
first time blood sex
little miss sunshine pyjamas
whulc
abigail folger nude
hispanic bukkake
sinus problems uncried tears
school anal
fon people of dahomey, fairy
????? smurf
fucked up poems on aids
anal cunt breaking the law blogspot
why is your penis darker
morrissey homophobia
martenot art method
air popcorn popper in boulder
oh, oh fuck gay
first time blood sex
little miss sunshine pyjamas
whulc
abigail folger nude
hispanic bukkake
sinus problems uncried tears
school anal
fon people of dahomey, fairy
????? smurf
Munchkins of the English Literature Ralston-Purina Mill
Can really piss me off sometimes.
I like Troll dolls but i like to burn them sometimes too.
Every new style brings with it the curse of people who overindulge.
It's like the clear lucite commode top.
I don't care if there are seashells embedded in it.
It's still shit swirling down there.
Thank you for letting me visit your HOME DEPOT.
I've seen enough.
Now i'm gonna go play with all the various doorbells.
And giggle.
I love doing that.
I love the pretentious designs for the speaker inside.
I would love to visit a museum dedicated to the history of Doorbells.
It would be really fun and really gay.
I think.
I like Troll dolls but i like to burn them sometimes too.
Every new style brings with it the curse of people who overindulge.
It's like the clear lucite commode top.
I don't care if there are seashells embedded in it.
It's still shit swirling down there.
Thank you for letting me visit your HOME DEPOT.
I've seen enough.
Now i'm gonna go play with all the various doorbells.
And giggle.
I love doing that.
I love the pretentious designs for the speaker inside.
I would love to visit a museum dedicated to the history of Doorbells.
It would be really fun and really gay.
I think.
Two by Kim Kielhofner
She posted a new video but I can't watch it yet on this puter.
I will have to use my faster runner later.
Here are two drawings I was just admiring to console myself.
"Ca va?" and "jump the turn/style."
delusional poems
delusional love poem
I childishly walk beside you IN EUROPA EUROPA:
We have to say everything twice there.
"Look look at at the the gay gay swans swans."
We twin like a cocteau mirror marriage.
it's all it is all it is is about boys on the street all tastes like chicken.
Mispronouncing love
I am not even a little bit Camus
delusional love poem
J'adore les lapins de chocolat!
You eat all his features, one by one
Eat...it is the habitude of of "amour"
Maybe I flowers... it flowers.
But I said yes to the air strikes today.
delusional love poem
This paragraph of the Goodreads reborn ones
I am spring, I am what comes,
I think a café trop chaud.
Only one of us is America, really,
and will kill the other...
delusional love poem
It's funny like 200 live chicks in a mississippi art gallery
Art that campaigned against people briefly in the 80s
I heard Radiohead muzak in an elevator today
In the end, The Ocean is gonna win
I just know it
delusional love poem
I likes my milkshakes in a bucket
I am a bit "sportive"
Je crois supermarket
I felt very often and very intensely
It's your turn to riot about the spring here
Buddhism is not a reason for anything
It isn't, stop lying shut up!
delusional love poem
Oh, so tomorrow starts again
that how we're gonna play now?
a boyfriend is there to say that
"Calm the Fuck Down"
it's the boyfriend mantra
just like
"maybe Venice?"
"no, he's too yoshi oshi for me"
"you're cute in knee socks"
or
"i'm dying again"
delusional love poem
Pro geek pro green john mayer
HAHA,
in plaid. why not a panda
brushing your hair?
(yes, i'm horrible)
panda poem
The perfect love song
would just tell people
to wake up, get dressed up
wake up, dress up
in your new heart clothes
and they would play it in asylums
where the panda victims of love
loll about
pulling on the venetian blind cords
delusional love poem
in love
we quote neither blowjobs
nor angels
Don't even try to speak our language
we will mock your mispronunciation
we will bring the wrong food to your table deliberately
delusional love poem
It's funny, I was quoting your blowjob to a stuffed panda
in france in a thrift store not sure
the correspondence is a bit fuzzy
tiny they were colorful tiny
they would be upside-down like my heart
which is really a sort of france...
Probably they would commit suicide (les frogs)
if they saw me frying cheese
in my boxers at 3 a.m.
American as Godzilla or Mothra
we will steal anything that looks even vaguely like us
then ignore your angry historical emails
delusional love poem
There were sheeps heads like Paschals
all over the McDonald's
You were holding my hand and drinking a Shamrock shake
and I thought maybe it was China
but i don't know
do they have seagulls in China
seagulls kept sewing your eyes
to the clouds where I followed you
out back and the same kid was throwing shit in the dumpster
just like american ten million miles away
that dumpster kid
has the same headphones
probably eminem or juliette greco
delusional love poem
you am lazy
love
you am lazy
delusional love poem
very tired mes pensées, may I have yours?
he's too pro people anyway.
his lyrics come again like spring tho.
i just worry about the shoulda safetybelts
leaving welts and all
delusional love poem
a gay love. deep no kids here
...probably pink yarn....alternating human spirits...
is japanese a woman speaking through a seagull?
i don't Hello,
I was impolite. american.. somehow.
delusional love poem
Kraftwerk like
So I tutoyer you,
Feel better!
to détourner then went
delusional love poem
a morning
yes, very clever judge them. and contact
3 pigeons face... how les deux those things facedown dead or ready
to be fucked who can tell really that position?
people in bunny masks digging some love this very rangy.
is like start salivating.
if he's read between and links all the traveler lol.
buy me.
will you please stop speaking
& just get on the Arbus bus with me?
or shorter prob. better
delusional love poem
will you please stop speaking
& just get on the Arbus bus with me?
delusional love poem
don't put likes umbrellas, so adorable. to find.
in our bedrooms
safari the rain.
like a zebra yoko ono?
that sounds okay.
MY FRIEND american.
Hi _______, soda.
They say
________ said move little,
I admit
Camus is America
is is like
Haha _______, crois que
a toi, chocolate is a dream
I was walking a dream, (human being progress).
Love, your pronunciation too.
wings in your mouth like a candy bar wrapper.
delusional love poem
you said so HAPPY
It's like fear and content.
Your ugly (sic)
Graphiti (sic)
lipstick written on mirror
Women why?
urban legends.
Man it sometime.
oh spring?
just send the bill
delusional love poem
this is so guy uneven shit.
it's appropriate the just lovely
sea me on that. floating you
please excuse my undiplomatic countries
sending these bear ambassadors
rampant with blowjobs
& diplomatic immunity
delusional love poem
"there's no more elf"
"we're completely out of elf"
"i thought i could trust you on things like this"
"get your own damn elf"
"what am i, your elfin mother?"
delusional love poem
that's no self and don't drink sweet tea. there.
The called.
We will own your Vikings.
delusional love poem
be a car :) monsieur Nietzsche.
something understandable. that it might _______:
How like sa declaration.
Hello!
yes, to a Japan.
________
I childishly walk beside you IN EUROPA EUROPA:
We have to say everything twice there.
"Look look at at the the gay gay swans swans."
We twin like a cocteau mirror marriage.
it's all it is all it is is about boys on the street all tastes like chicken.
Mispronouncing love
I am not even a little bit Camus
delusional love poem
J'adore les lapins de chocolat!
You eat all his features, one by one
Eat...it is the habitude of of "amour"
Maybe I flowers... it flowers.
But I said yes to the air strikes today.
delusional love poem
This paragraph of the Goodreads reborn ones
I am spring, I am what comes,
I think a café trop chaud.
Only one of us is America, really,
and will kill the other...
delusional love poem
It's funny like 200 live chicks in a mississippi art gallery
Art that campaigned against people briefly in the 80s
I heard Radiohead muzak in an elevator today
In the end, The Ocean is gonna win
I just know it
delusional love poem
I likes my milkshakes in a bucket
I am a bit "sportive"
Je crois supermarket
I felt very often and very intensely
It's your turn to riot about the spring here
Buddhism is not a reason for anything
It isn't, stop lying shut up!
delusional love poem
Oh, so tomorrow starts again
that how we're gonna play now?
a boyfriend is there to say that
"Calm the Fuck Down"
it's the boyfriend mantra
just like
"maybe Venice?"
"no, he's too yoshi oshi for me"
"you're cute in knee socks"
or
"i'm dying again"
delusional love poem
Pro geek pro green john mayer
HAHA,
in plaid. why not a panda
brushing your hair?
(yes, i'm horrible)
panda poem
The perfect love song
would just tell people
to wake up, get dressed up
wake up, dress up
in your new heart clothes
and they would play it in asylums
where the panda victims of love
loll about
pulling on the venetian blind cords
delusional love poem
in love
we quote neither blowjobs
nor angels
Don't even try to speak our language
we will mock your mispronunciation
we will bring the wrong food to your table deliberately
delusional love poem
It's funny, I was quoting your blowjob to a stuffed panda
in france in a thrift store not sure
the correspondence is a bit fuzzy
tiny they were colorful tiny
they would be upside-down like my heart
which is really a sort of france...
Probably they would commit suicide (les frogs)
if they saw me frying cheese
in my boxers at 3 a.m.
American as Godzilla or Mothra
we will steal anything that looks even vaguely like us
then ignore your angry historical emails
delusional love poem
There were sheeps heads like Paschals
all over the McDonald's
You were holding my hand and drinking a Shamrock shake
and I thought maybe it was China
but i don't know
do they have seagulls in China
seagulls kept sewing your eyes
to the clouds where I followed you
out back and the same kid was throwing shit in the dumpster
just like american ten million miles away
that dumpster kid
has the same headphones
probably eminem or juliette greco
delusional love poem
you am lazy
love
you am lazy
delusional love poem
very tired mes pensées, may I have yours?
he's too pro people anyway.
his lyrics come again like spring tho.
i just worry about the shoulda safetybelts
leaving welts and all
delusional love poem
a gay love. deep no kids here
...probably pink yarn....alternating human spirits...
is japanese a woman speaking through a seagull?
i don't Hello,
I was impolite. american.. somehow.
delusional love poem
Kraftwerk like
So I tutoyer you,
Feel better!
to détourner then went
delusional love poem
a morning
yes, very clever judge them. and contact
3 pigeons face... how les deux those things facedown dead or ready
to be fucked who can tell really that position?
people in bunny masks digging some love this very rangy.
is like start salivating.
if he's read between and links all the traveler lol.
buy me.
will you please stop speaking
& just get on the Arbus bus with me?
or shorter prob. better
delusional love poem
will you please stop speaking
& just get on the Arbus bus with me?
delusional love poem
don't put likes umbrellas, so adorable. to find.
in our bedrooms
safari the rain.
like a zebra yoko ono?
that sounds okay.
MY FRIEND american.
Hi _______, soda.
They say
________ said move little,
I admit
Camus is America
is is like
Haha _______, crois que
a toi, chocolate is a dream
I was walking a dream, (human being progress).
Love, your pronunciation too.
wings in your mouth like a candy bar wrapper.
delusional love poem
you said so HAPPY
It's like fear and content.
Your ugly (sic)
Graphiti (sic)
lipstick written on mirror
Women why?
urban legends.
Man it sometime.
oh spring?
just send the bill
delusional love poem
this is so guy uneven shit.
it's appropriate the just lovely
sea me on that. floating you
please excuse my undiplomatic countries
sending these bear ambassadors
rampant with blowjobs
& diplomatic immunity
delusional love poem
"there's no more elf"
"we're completely out of elf"
"i thought i could trust you on things like this"
"get your own damn elf"
"what am i, your elfin mother?"
delusional love poem
that's no self and don't drink sweet tea. there.
The called.
We will own your Vikings.
delusional love poem
be a car :) monsieur Nietzsche.
something understandable. that it might _______:
How like sa declaration.
Hello!
yes, to a Japan.
________
Mistress Squares, I Had a Dream About You
I just woke up from it but I can't remember it all.
I was watching an experimental film you had made in which you starred.
You were bowling barefoot in a league at one point, in California.
You were sort of dressed in Marlene Dietrich drag and your mannish suit displayed your prominent cleavage prominently.
The camera POV was from the pins and we watched you bowl while some music played but I forget what it was. Incidental skitzy type music.
Then the film jumped to this house in the suburbs and you were at war with Arnold Schwarzenegger, domestically. You filmed yourself having several zingy arguments with him (your husband?) but the viewer could barely hear the words because again the funny galop of the music was louder and made the film funny.
Then he vanished and at the end of the film you walked out onto the porch of your house in I think a blue terry cloth bathrobe and you had slippers on.
And you looked up and you said "Oh shit" because you realized he was now in his role of The Terminator and he was aiming one of those heat seeking missiles at you.
And we saw from your POV as the missle came streaking in at you standing barefoot on the porch. And then I woke up.
Presumably to avoid having you get hit by the missle, Mistress Squares.
See how nice I am.
I have no idea what to make of this dream.
The only thing I can think is how devious he was to argue normally as himself inside the house (Arnold) and how he ran from the house to assume the persona (Terminator) which allowed him to do truly horrible things.
In this, he's like everybody's pet cat.
The bowling came from an episode of Wife Swap last night, I think, where an unhappy family became happy at the end of the show and went bowling together to prove they were all in love with one another again.
I have no idea where Arnie came from.
Or Marlene.
Oh, you were very short when you wer bowling. Like four feet something. But that just accentuated the sexiness of your image.
In that fetishtic way.
Like that guy who does those paintings where he creates sort of porn painting versions of the Venus of Willemdorf?
Or gal?
I forget.
Watch out for men who change when they leave the house.
I was watching an experimental film you had made in which you starred.
You were bowling barefoot in a league at one point, in California.
You were sort of dressed in Marlene Dietrich drag and your mannish suit displayed your prominent cleavage prominently.
The camera POV was from the pins and we watched you bowl while some music played but I forget what it was. Incidental skitzy type music.
Then the film jumped to this house in the suburbs and you were at war with Arnold Schwarzenegger, domestically. You filmed yourself having several zingy arguments with him (your husband?) but the viewer could barely hear the words because again the funny galop of the music was louder and made the film funny.
Then he vanished and at the end of the film you walked out onto the porch of your house in I think a blue terry cloth bathrobe and you had slippers on.
And you looked up and you said "Oh shit" because you realized he was now in his role of The Terminator and he was aiming one of those heat seeking missiles at you.
And we saw from your POV as the missle came streaking in at you standing barefoot on the porch. And then I woke up.
Presumably to avoid having you get hit by the missle, Mistress Squares.
See how nice I am.
I have no idea what to make of this dream.
The only thing I can think is how devious he was to argue normally as himself inside the house (Arnold) and how he ran from the house to assume the persona (Terminator) which allowed him to do truly horrible things.
In this, he's like everybody's pet cat.
The bowling came from an episode of Wife Swap last night, I think, where an unhappy family became happy at the end of the show and went bowling together to prove they were all in love with one another again.
I have no idea where Arnie came from.
Or Marlene.
Oh, you were very short when you wer bowling. Like four feet something. But that just accentuated the sexiness of your image.
In that fetishtic way.
Like that guy who does those paintings where he creates sort of porn painting versions of the Venus of Willemdorf?
Or gal?
I forget.
Watch out for men who change when they leave the house.
The Artist and His Wife
Peter Humenik and his lovely wife.
Aren't they both too beautiful for Hollywood lol?
Peter and the Mouse
I found this forum where Peter contributed and people analyzed him...
Natalia Lemeny Makedon and Natajoga Bratislava.
What about the Danger 10/02/04, 17:35
0
Had realized within year will never have a girl or want to have a children as me is feeling irresponsible for this... had played a keyboards in music shop and by the way the japan mouse had died by having no air to breathe, as my guilt... The name of Natalia was conncected with Natalia Lemeny Makedon, who had died in 1998 year after car crash, so this mouse had died similarly as NL and in the day of baptism of me...had used the Church of Mercy Bros, MB 1000 of Skoda making this possible, had feeling the mouse was she incarnated in 101 dalmatians black white spotting fur...true horror... i am kindly asking the buddhist and hindu theorists is after second dead of her incarnated as nice jewish thus japane mouse of high ordered PHenotype so she have to come back to earth after purgatory in JERRY type of existence if T.O.M. is Tyrant Of Mouse and JERRY is telling this to HIM...will she had used the symbolics of WHITE DOVESS or FELICITY or making WHITE COLUMBA of WC common link to...we have SKODA FELICIA, white colored of 1998 year, nice similarity...http://petkohumenik.szm.sk/jpg/9.jpg the car photo, the WHITE PH ELI CITY...
AM MAKING AT LEAST ONE WEEK PAUSE ON THIS NET DUE TO LITTLE MOUSE HAD DIED OF LOOSING AIR AND HAVING NOTHING TO BREATHE. RIP. DEAR NATALIA, I AM YOUR MURDER, NEVER WILL HAVE SO NICE LITTLE SMILEY MOUSE...SO NEVER WILL HAVE CHILDREN...DEVIL PETER HUMENIK, DPH...
Ummm... HUH?
Does he mean he suffocated the mouse because he thought he could resurrect it? But now it's reincarnated as a dog?
The incoherence makes the crazy look sane by comparison.
Umm . . . what I got was that he had his rat in his pack back (or some other place), and stopped to play with a keyboard in a music store, during which time, the rat died . . . by having no air to breathe.
Also: I think he's asking if somehow the rat (that was the reincarnation of Natalia Lemeny Makedon), could be reincarnated as a symbol . . . the symbol being the white car shown at http://petkohumenik.szm.sk/jpg/9.jpg.
Also II: Apparently Natalia Lemeny Makedon was the translator for a book that was written by a certain Natajoga Bratislava. The author exists, so I'm assuming that Natalia exists (existed) as well . . . which is kind of creepy.
Here's the google search results for Natajoga Bratislava. Can anyone read any of this stuff? The stuff is mostly Czech, I believe.
Previous - Next Reply - Reply With Quote
A Crazy Man and His Mouse (codehappy) 10/01/04, 17:26
RE: A Crazy Man and His Mouse (Wildman) 10/01/04, 17:50
Natalia Lemeny Makedon and Natajoga Bratislava. (What about the Danger) 10/02/04, 17:35
"british media in London of personal Brain May strike against me" (Helium Rat) 10/03/04, 09:05
RE: A Crazy Man and His Mouse (Asterix) 10/01/04, 20:39
It's like a randomizer of unrelated bits of crazy. (tanystropheus) 10/01/04, 20:55
RE: It's like a randomizer of unrelated bits of crazy. (Wildman) 10/01/04, 23:27
Also, as far as I can tell, he tried to get into the music business... (Ronnie James Devo) 10/02/04, 14:23
Natalia Lemeny Makedon and Natajoga Bratislava.
What about the Danger 10/02/04, 17:35
0
Had realized within year will never have a girl or want to have a children as me is feeling irresponsible for this... had played a keyboards in music shop and by the way the japan mouse had died by having no air to breathe, as my guilt... The name of Natalia was conncected with Natalia Lemeny Makedon, who had died in 1998 year after car crash, so this mouse had died similarly as NL and in the day of baptism of me...had used the Church of Mercy Bros, MB 1000 of Skoda making this possible, had feeling the mouse was she incarnated in 101 dalmatians black white spotting fur...true horror... i am kindly asking the buddhist and hindu theorists is after second dead of her incarnated as nice jewish thus japane mouse of high ordered PHenotype so she have to come back to earth after purgatory in JERRY type of existence if T.O.M. is Tyrant Of Mouse and JERRY is telling this to HIM...will she had used the symbolics of WHITE DOVESS or FELICITY or making WHITE COLUMBA of WC common link to...we have SKODA FELICIA, white colored of 1998 year, nice similarity...http://petkohumenik.szm.sk/jpg/9.jpg the car photo, the WHITE PH ELI CITY...
AM MAKING AT LEAST ONE WEEK PAUSE ON THIS NET DUE TO LITTLE MOUSE HAD DIED OF LOOSING AIR AND HAVING NOTHING TO BREATHE. RIP. DEAR NATALIA, I AM YOUR MURDER, NEVER WILL HAVE SO NICE LITTLE SMILEY MOUSE...SO NEVER WILL HAVE CHILDREN...DEVIL PETER HUMENIK, DPH...
Ummm... HUH?
Does he mean he suffocated the mouse because he thought he could resurrect it? But now it's reincarnated as a dog?
The incoherence makes the crazy look sane by comparison.
Umm . . . what I got was that he had his rat in his pack back (or some other place), and stopped to play with a keyboard in a music store, during which time, the rat died . . . by having no air to breathe.
Also: I think he's asking if somehow the rat (that was the reincarnation of Natalia Lemeny Makedon), could be reincarnated as a symbol . . . the symbol being the white car shown at http://petkohumenik.szm.sk/jpg/9.jpg.
Also II: Apparently Natalia Lemeny Makedon was the translator for a book that was written by a certain Natajoga Bratislava. The author exists, so I'm assuming that Natalia exists (existed) as well . . . which is kind of creepy.
Here's the google search results for Natajoga Bratislava. Can anyone read any of this stuff? The stuff is mostly Czech, I believe.
Previous - Next Reply - Reply With Quote
A Crazy Man and His Mouse (codehappy) 10/01/04, 17:26
RE: A Crazy Man and His Mouse (Wildman) 10/01/04, 17:50
Natalia Lemeny Makedon and Natajoga Bratislava. (What about the Danger) 10/02/04, 17:35
"british media in London of personal Brain May strike against me" (Helium Rat) 10/03/04, 09:05
RE: A Crazy Man and His Mouse (Asterix) 10/01/04, 20:39
It's like a randomizer of unrelated bits of crazy. (tanystropheus) 10/01/04, 20:55
RE: It's like a randomizer of unrelated bits of crazy. (Wildman) 10/01/04, 23:27
Also, as far as I can tell, he tried to get into the music business... (Ronnie James Devo) 10/02/04, 14:23
I Found Peter Humenik's Analysis of E.T. Iconography Interesting...
Peter wrote: "P.S...The final word the picture of SLIM to FAT hand compare is the comparison of ET.hiopean and Suddan negro hungry children to those in Europe or USA...this is the next E.T. of ET.hiopia African land problems of dry desert weather...but rotating 90 degrees clockwise yow will got letters of EZ or ES, or EAE characters of ... 5th little Albert Einstein... But I was told, that Dalailama Of Tibet...DOT his name is the real E.T. with this long shining finger, means bright brain...thus flag of tibet is a star named as himalaya peak, and there is K2 and Chomo.lun.gma...Controlling Homo Lunae Guru Master...but next idea is Epsilon Trianguli star of E.T...."
I Found this Biography of Peter Humenik Online
Somebody should publish this.
Exactly as it is.
Maybe the Paris Review.
It was one of the most interesting things I've read in months.
THE BIOGRAPHY OF PETER HUMENIK
"Peter Humenik born on 3.30 AM on 23rd of June of 1972 year in Bratislava, Slovakia, form Czechoslovakia, Europe. His younger years up to beginning of elemental education was in average typical suburbia family of woman of having only grammar school and father having the same. Father was lazy, so he never finished Electrical Engineering on University, but was good in solding and basic architecture of electronic devices. By his own he had made a TV, Radio receivers, battery chargers, had helped me to resold wiring of first electric guitar made in CZ. Than he helped me to repair preamp of Ovation type electroaccoustics guitar. He was very skilled in high frequency broadcasting and field emg theory, and after was responsible for tv cable networks in Slovakia. He had lots of smoked but never was drunkyard, except last years, when he started to drink a daily beer. He was very loving life, animals and plants. I was no of this type. I had never any animal to take care of, never had raised up a plant or vegetable. Was totally theoretical, except few devices...I had made my copy of KORGs fuzz distortion stomp box, soldered it and made a functionable. The schematics I had found in Hungarian Radioelektronika magazine, but I really do not understand hungarian. Nem irtem. The sister and father of mine were very skilled drawers and painters, good in geometry and modelling, Their esthetic feeling is missing in me, because I was very Cubic, carthesianic math brain, lots of psychedelic musical feeling and lots of wilderness of indian of suburbia in me. My mother had divorced with father when I was 007 years old. She had found a new husband and left for South America and Austria. She had experienced there in Venezuela terroristic attacks by local terrys of stealing of all the property of car and house and furniture there. She had felt newborn after having pistol on her head and had survived. The real situatio of my mother was she left former socialist Czechoslovakia for better life and better sex. The father was very hero. He had never married again. Up today. In 3rd class of elem. school I had started to learn russian language and in 5th class english. The story had made finale in 7th class, after being tought about basic difference of sex between males and women. The story of those time was about nice feeling with literally no problem with school. After I had chosen a gymnasium, or grammar universal school of second level where I had learned about machinery and physics and biology and chemistry and so on. I hated literature , because I had hated grammar knowledge. The continuum was to university of Slovak Technical. There I had selected microelectronics and in 5th class I had switched myself to biochemistry of genes, nerves and biological sensors measurements. I had lessons of quantum physics, astrophysics, and all the basic subject as forced to have. The study was very strange. As up to 4th class I had no girlfriend, and I was 22 at all. The others had told me I must be gay or buzz or eunuch or autistic syndrome suffering child. I was very close to be fired from college, because of no mating in EMG field theory, passing on just the second attempt with only successfull result, not excelent. The another problem was economical education of me, where I was totally failer and have only social feeling of ELOHIM of RAEL.ORG but no righteous capitallistic education after. The word of CAP.ITAL is about ITALian CAPo...of maffia driving the right wing of money making. Ever I was very weak in money making, and I had lost more than I had gained. So I am ever feeling looser of myself, just for non able to be winner of money making. Just I was no able to drive others to earn money by business. This is mistaken in me. The real nature of me is very all mankind thus noone loving man. The feeling of equal persons on planet is the problem of different view of the others on me. I was Johnny English of primitive idiot of Rowan Atkinson played aka BOND of comedy, as I had spoken with everyone without differing. The real problem is I was forced to accept capitalism by the real man of money flow on the planet and real advisor of vision of alien being showing me my future.
My jobs of listed:
Slovak Radio tech advisor.lef for taking money and shut up
SITA.int tech installer. left for stupidity of mine
Audiosales.at sales manager.fired
AutoImpex.sk tech for network system.leaved
HTcomputers sales manager. left for non economical thinking
EDIVAN.sk for comm engineer. fired for monetary maffia of found leftist
Slovak Telecom, network supervisor, left for buying ST by Dutsche Telekom
SWAN.sk, helpdesk man, 2days of job, left for buzziness and lazyness in me
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The maxiumem ever obtained sallary was 27.000 slovak crowns in SITA, but minimum was free charged gift of social insurance of 1.450 slovak crowns, on which I had existed for one year. The worst employment I had felt in EDIVAN of making electronic business because of bank loyalty and common marketing policy in Slovak Republic. The maximum work time was 72 hours without break. The best job is playing my guitar and playing it like making masturbation on guitar neck. This is me. Truth.I had suffered several diseases. From bronchitis of throat and lungs thru broken knee muscle thru broken bone of chest thru broken skull of being attacked by neofascist guy of skin. The worst injury I ever made was razor injury by shawing machine blade of deskinning and bleeding of thumb of left hand. The real most problem I had made commatic death alike experience for several times. I had seen white tunnel in year of about 20 yearsm but this year I had undergone comatic state again and had seen blackout screen. The difference is about proximity to hell more than to heaven for me. The real visions of mine are driven by opium drug that is making me half sleep. In half slept state I am able to undergo screened hypnosis. But after several problems with responsibility and behaviour with officials and army generality of proud and stupid heroic nature. The autistic problem of me was treated in S.O.S. sanatorium for worst cases of non educable people. I had there met a girl which I had made pregnant, she had undergone interruption and said be kickout. The real after show of me was to climb up the chimney of the highest in Bratislava and had tought of 5 minuts to jump or not for commit suicide. After downclimb I felt very glad because I was saved by god and my fear. I was treated for panic disorder lots of. The diagnosis said to was schizoaphrenia after masturbation experience lasting lots of years. The connection between onnania and mental disease is about to tell the others. The need od MDs is to screen the liaison between. After all I was treated for mania having done damage of my only accoustic Seagull guitar and lots of pottery of my father, including breaking of CRT tube of PHILLIPS TV. The overall pity was about 50 to 100 tousands of crown I had made to my father. And the real need to do this was to demonstrate testosterone and adrenaline problem of warm man withou basic hygiaena knowledge. They were felt the epileptic story, but real was a panic only. I was said the real is psycho affective psychosis. Psycho for onnania and affective after being black and weak thus impulsive after onnania tale, which is my white cross. They had offered my Zyprexa by EliLilly...but problem was this drug is for mental problems and not hormonal. The problem is about with acethylcholine and dopamine mediators and the real consequence of emptying the testes lots of often. The judgement day of church thru italian medicine blocation of this common story is about the advantage is on the younger people, and I was one of the lost not told generation.Thus I am about to enjoy Iceland Reykjavik island to find warm springs and cooler climate there, thus loving Bjork.com for Violoently Happy and Hunter tunes having double impact on me My sexual life had started in age of 16 when I have got first other feeling.In year of 20th I had made first girlfriend touch the hand, her name was Katarina Hrdlovicoa. In 22 I have met Katarina Chuda, which was my first sexual partner for damned years of very affraid of sex. After divorcing I had met Katarina Siricova, onlz my classmate. Deserting army service I had met Zuzana Vaskova, which was made pregnant by me not loving condom wearing. I am loving skin touch instead of latex. But the latest latex condoms are feeled to be good, I am ashamed, not you.After being lived nonhappy life I had found 3 call girls paid for sex on open airy nights, the final was gypsy girl, which had gave me infection of having non protected sex, and this was found in my blood. I had never known, which disease it was, but from that time I had no sexual intercourse affair at all, for 3 years. I am hating my sexus of non evolved testes and non standing ovations of the pennile muscles there. The geometry was deformed in my earlier years of having problems with laudry making pressure on the genitals and having lots of akes there. The defformation is non reversive so I am not able do vertical sex for example, only horizontal common and simple...continues. I am just starting to do business with my semen and DNA code for rehearsal inseminator needs of hungry women, who wants cloned frankenstein able to be genius..."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hypotéka bez obáv.
Získajte prvú hypotéku s protikrízovým balíčkom.Burza forex -e kurzy doma
Ziskové stratégie, obchodujete z domu. Zdarma diažková ukážka.Zarábajte aj Vy.Menšie sťahovanie
Sťahovanie bytov, kancelárii, klavírov, odvoz a likvidácia starého nábytku
Exactly as it is.
Maybe the Paris Review.
It was one of the most interesting things I've read in months.
THE BIOGRAPHY OF PETER HUMENIK
"Peter Humenik born on 3.30 AM on 23rd of June of 1972 year in Bratislava, Slovakia, form Czechoslovakia, Europe. His younger years up to beginning of elemental education was in average typical suburbia family of woman of having only grammar school and father having the same. Father was lazy, so he never finished Electrical Engineering on University, but was good in solding and basic architecture of electronic devices. By his own he had made a TV, Radio receivers, battery chargers, had helped me to resold wiring of first electric guitar made in CZ. Than he helped me to repair preamp of Ovation type electroaccoustics guitar. He was very skilled in high frequency broadcasting and field emg theory, and after was responsible for tv cable networks in Slovakia. He had lots of smoked but never was drunkyard, except last years, when he started to drink a daily beer. He was very loving life, animals and plants. I was no of this type. I had never any animal to take care of, never had raised up a plant or vegetable. Was totally theoretical, except few devices...I had made my copy of KORGs fuzz distortion stomp box, soldered it and made a functionable. The schematics I had found in Hungarian Radioelektronika magazine, but I really do not understand hungarian. Nem irtem. The sister and father of mine were very skilled drawers and painters, good in geometry and modelling, Their esthetic feeling is missing in me, because I was very Cubic, carthesianic math brain, lots of psychedelic musical feeling and lots of wilderness of indian of suburbia in me. My mother had divorced with father when I was 007 years old. She had found a new husband and left for South America and Austria. She had experienced there in Venezuela terroristic attacks by local terrys of stealing of all the property of car and house and furniture there. She had felt newborn after having pistol on her head and had survived. The real situatio of my mother was she left former socialist Czechoslovakia for better life and better sex. The father was very hero. He had never married again. Up today. In 3rd class of elem. school I had started to learn russian language and in 5th class english. The story had made finale in 7th class, after being tought about basic difference of sex between males and women. The story of those time was about nice feeling with literally no problem with school. After I had chosen a gymnasium, or grammar universal school of second level where I had learned about machinery and physics and biology and chemistry and so on. I hated literature , because I had hated grammar knowledge. The continuum was to university of Slovak Technical. There I had selected microelectronics and in 5th class I had switched myself to biochemistry of genes, nerves and biological sensors measurements. I had lessons of quantum physics, astrophysics, and all the basic subject as forced to have. The study was very strange. As up to 4th class I had no girlfriend, and I was 22 at all. The others had told me I must be gay or buzz or eunuch or autistic syndrome suffering child. I was very close to be fired from college, because of no mating in EMG field theory, passing on just the second attempt with only successfull result, not excelent. The another problem was economical education of me, where I was totally failer and have only social feeling of ELOHIM of RAEL.ORG but no righteous capitallistic education after. The word of CAP.ITAL is about ITALian CAPo...of maffia driving the right wing of money making. Ever I was very weak in money making, and I had lost more than I had gained. So I am ever feeling looser of myself, just for non able to be winner of money making. Just I was no able to drive others to earn money by business. This is mistaken in me. The real nature of me is very all mankind thus noone loving man. The feeling of equal persons on planet is the problem of different view of the others on me. I was Johnny English of primitive idiot of Rowan Atkinson played aka BOND of comedy, as I had spoken with everyone without differing. The real problem is I was forced to accept capitalism by the real man of money flow on the planet and real advisor of vision of alien being showing me my future.
My jobs of listed:
Slovak Radio tech advisor.lef for taking money and shut up
SITA.int tech installer. left for stupidity of mine
Audiosales.at sales manager.fired
AutoImpex.sk tech for network system.leaved
HTcomputers sales manager. left for non economical thinking
EDIVAN.sk for comm engineer. fired for monetary maffia of found leftist
Slovak Telecom, network supervisor, left for buying ST by Dutsche Telekom
SWAN.sk, helpdesk man, 2days of job, left for buzziness and lazyness in me
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The maxiumem ever obtained sallary was 27.000 slovak crowns in SITA, but minimum was free charged gift of social insurance of 1.450 slovak crowns, on which I had existed for one year. The worst employment I had felt in EDIVAN of making electronic business because of bank loyalty and common marketing policy in Slovak Republic. The maximum work time was 72 hours without break. The best job is playing my guitar and playing it like making masturbation on guitar neck. This is me. Truth.I had suffered several diseases. From bronchitis of throat and lungs thru broken knee muscle thru broken bone of chest thru broken skull of being attacked by neofascist guy of skin. The worst injury I ever made was razor injury by shawing machine blade of deskinning and bleeding of thumb of left hand. The real most problem I had made commatic death alike experience for several times. I had seen white tunnel in year of about 20 yearsm but this year I had undergone comatic state again and had seen blackout screen. The difference is about proximity to hell more than to heaven for me. The real visions of mine are driven by opium drug that is making me half sleep. In half slept state I am able to undergo screened hypnosis. But after several problems with responsibility and behaviour with officials and army generality of proud and stupid heroic nature. The autistic problem of me was treated in S.O.S. sanatorium for worst cases of non educable people. I had there met a girl which I had made pregnant, she had undergone interruption and said be kickout. The real after show of me was to climb up the chimney of the highest in Bratislava and had tought of 5 minuts to jump or not for commit suicide. After downclimb I felt very glad because I was saved by god and my fear. I was treated for panic disorder lots of. The diagnosis said to was schizoaphrenia after masturbation experience lasting lots of years. The connection between onnania and mental disease is about to tell the others. The need od MDs is to screen the liaison between. After all I was treated for mania having done damage of my only accoustic Seagull guitar and lots of pottery of my father, including breaking of CRT tube of PHILLIPS TV. The overall pity was about 50 to 100 tousands of crown I had made to my father. And the real need to do this was to demonstrate testosterone and adrenaline problem of warm man withou basic hygiaena knowledge. They were felt the epileptic story, but real was a panic only. I was said the real is psycho affective psychosis. Psycho for onnania and affective after being black and weak thus impulsive after onnania tale, which is my white cross. They had offered my Zyprexa by EliLilly...but problem was this drug is for mental problems and not hormonal. The problem is about with acethylcholine and dopamine mediators and the real consequence of emptying the testes lots of often. The judgement day of church thru italian medicine blocation of this common story is about the advantage is on the younger people, and I was one of the lost not told generation.Thus I am about to enjoy Iceland Reykjavik island to find warm springs and cooler climate there, thus loving Bjork.com for Violoently Happy and Hunter tunes having double impact on me My sexual life had started in age of 16 when I have got first other feeling.In year of 20th I had made first girlfriend touch the hand, her name was Katarina Hrdlovicoa. In 22 I have met Katarina Chuda, which was my first sexual partner for damned years of very affraid of sex. After divorcing I had met Katarina Siricova, onlz my classmate. Deserting army service I had met Zuzana Vaskova, which was made pregnant by me not loving condom wearing. I am loving skin touch instead of latex. But the latest latex condoms are feeled to be good, I am ashamed, not you.After being lived nonhappy life I had found 3 call girls paid for sex on open airy nights, the final was gypsy girl, which had gave me infection of having non protected sex, and this was found in my blood. I had never known, which disease it was, but from that time I had no sexual intercourse affair at all, for 3 years. I am hating my sexus of non evolved testes and non standing ovations of the pennile muscles there. The geometry was deformed in my earlier years of having problems with laudry making pressure on the genitals and having lots of akes there. The defformation is non reversive so I am not able do vertical sex for example, only horizontal common and simple...continues. I am just starting to do business with my semen and DNA code for rehearsal inseminator needs of hungry women, who wants cloned frankenstein able to be genius..."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hypotéka bez obáv.
Získajte prvú hypotéku s protikrízovým balíčkom.Burza forex -e kurzy doma
Ziskové stratégie, obchodujete z domu. Zdarma diažková ukážka.Zarábajte aj Vy.Menšie sťahovanie
Sťahovanie bytov, kancelárii, klavírov, odvoz a likvidácia starého nábytku
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