Monday, April 27, 2009
weak
Two days later and I'm not dead yet. Doc says it was just a viral infection. I feel better. Still, let's all stock up on anti-zombie bullets and water filters.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Paranoia
Hmmmmm. I have a fever and chills and I am all wobbly. ? Como esta, senor Muerte?
Fortunately for me it may tend to kill the young and strong. They die of a "cytokine storm".
This is where their healthy immune systems tear themselves apart. Not pretty.
Just a silly cold right?
99% probablity, still its fun too think
Fortunately for me it may tend to kill the young and strong. They die of a "cytokine storm".
This is where their healthy immune systems tear themselves apart. Not pretty.
Just a silly cold right?
99% probablity, still its fun too think
Friday, April 24, 2009
getting back
Ok. So I finished "Pissville" as a creaking, wobbly, literary exercise. This world of Hades, as a continuation of our own is interesting to me. The idea that life continues is comforting to me on some level. The idea of Heaven is terrifying in its' stark alien unity and purity. Just like the character,Maggie thought, the idea of being united with God in a timeless mass of love etc. is almost as scary as going to Hell. At least in Hell, you are still YOU. In Heaven, you become irreducible. There is no longer anything remaining.
Here is a rhyming poem. It's totally fuckin' retarded cuz it rhymes. The count is off too.
VULCAN'S DAUGHTER
Her hands are small and strong
They grasp the hammer's handle.
From dawn to dusk she weaves her song
with her bellows and her anvil.
Sparks fly about her coiled locks.
Her eyes reflect the fire.
Her shiny skin covers smooth rocks
of muscle and veins that flow like wires.
Some men look to fame and gold,
to steer them to their bliss,
but those are far to frail and cold
to one who's known her molten kiss.
Here is a rhyming poem. It's totally fuckin' retarded cuz it rhymes. The count is off too.
VULCAN'S DAUGHTER
Her hands are small and strong
They grasp the hammer's handle.
From dawn to dusk she weaves her song
with her bellows and her anvil.
Sparks fly about her coiled locks.
Her eyes reflect the fire.
Her shiny skin covers smooth rocks
of muscle and veins that flow like wires.
Some men look to fame and gold,
to steer them to their bliss,
but those are far to frail and cold
to one who's known her molten kiss.
Monday, April 13, 2009
pissville ok already
(let it go, man)
One day, Maggie was pensive at breakfast. Mike could tell something was bothering her. He asked her what was wrong. It was at that time she told him she was quitting her job because she found a new one at a gallery downtown and that it came with an apartment. Funny thing is that Mike was the last one to know. She had already told Florian and everyone else. He felt himself retreating into his old complacency and numbness. It began to coat him like a deeply thick liquid that would harden like steel. "Well, that's great. Keep in touch. I'll help you move this weekend." The effort to say these things was herculean.
Maggie was sure that he didn't like the change, but she had no idea that he was so wounded. The dubious "good thing" is that he would heal himself almost into forgetting.
To sum it up, as the months went on, the demons got worse. There was often a crew of orcs parked at the end of the street with an old firebird and a primer gray camaro. They would blast death metal and gangster rap at all hours, then they would roar off into the night with their baseball bats and rebel flags. Everywhere he turned was ugliness. He found himself shifting from one activity to another without thinking about it. He would arrive at work. He would look up and notice that it was time to leave. Then, he would find himself parked in front of his house.
He would walk in and set the keys on the table, next thing, he would be getting dressed for work. He was a ghost.
It was on a Tuesday. His last memory was of his contemplating his socks and bare feet and trying to remember how to unite the two. Now, he was sitting at his desk. He held something, a ridiculously large red velvet heart on thick pasteboard. It was a card. there was thick lace all around it. It smelled like cinnamon. There was a downtown phone number on it and an address.
The rest of the day went far too slowly for Mike. When he left work, people who had become used to averting their eyes instinctively when he passed by, could have sworn he was glowing just a little.
He gets home and sees two tickets for the show tonight from the boys upstairs tacked to his door. He calls Maggie who can feel his struggle to break out of the quicksand of his depression.
She shows up early with a big blue box. He opens it up while she looks at his face for a reaction, It is the most lovely pair of cowboy boots in the store. He has to look at them, loves them. Throws his wingtips into the trash. Changes into black jeans and a leather jacket. The boots are the splendid platonic ideal of boots. The leather is jet black like the carapace of a beetle or a scorpion and like that they have hints of deep blue inside. There are little cutouts at the top, delicate red hearts and cacti. At the tips, Armand had insisted that there be spanish silver, mysterious and intricately worked, not too gaudy, but....
And the beauty of boots like these is that they are worn for beauty's sake. The intricate whimsical tops and sides are always hidden under fabric, but we know that it's there.
The only ones who see the whole pair are ourselves and the ones who share our lives etcetera
etcetara.
Now, they're at the show. Jenny and Horace are there too. Horace wears a black rude boy suit and a skinny black tie. Jenny wears a white dress with a red and white polka dot scarf around her neck. Maggie, by the way, is wearing her favorite black dress and a black lace shawl. Her white skin is ivory and so on. The club is vast but everywhere there are pools of light, the bar, the tables, the couches. The stage is lit only with a single red light bulb.
Long ago, the afterlife had lost love, had it taken away because it was too disruptive.
Drinks in hand, they went up to the stage and looked around. Soon, Johnny comes up to the mike and says, "Good evening, thanks for coming, we're "Killed by Einstein"....
The band begins to play the first part of their set, it's rockabilly then it slows down and they begin to play doo wop with saxophones. At this point the couples start dancing. He places his hand on her cheek and looks into her eyes.
then the band starts doing feedback and the amp that ate Mike's TV shows it's dreadful ability. That clears them and a lot of other people off the dance floor.
They find themselves outside. There is an alley. One side of it is formed by the club, the other side is formed by the wall of hell itself.
Love was banished from the afterlife. There were some wispy vestiges of sensualism. There was friendship and camaraderie, but Eros in all its chaotic destructive glory was banished. Now something new was about to take it's place and drive out the damned and demons from the afterlife.
The muffled sounds of killed by Einstein sounding like two garbage trucks mating in the distance. The screams of the damned in hell were faint and more like the ones you hear coming from rollercoasters and theme parks. There were floating wisps of burning paper and plastic soaring through the night air.
Mike felt a string running from the tip of his head down to the ground. That was what it felt like and that string was beginning to vibrate. Maggie felt sadness shake out of her bones.
Jenny had broken one of her high heels in the mad dash to escape the sudden onlslaught of noise. Horace was carrying her. He lost his bemused detachment, staring at her hair and the way it draped over his hand. She looked at him and felt like she was swimming.
embers and ashes were falling around them like snow,
That was when they kissed. kissed kissed kissed k i s s e d
True love was born into the afterlife in all its' shades with touch and warmth and the rebirth of tasting every nectar that there was to distill from it.
A rain began to fall, not affecting the lovers, not at all.
as the cool rain covered lovers all over hades,
the damned began to shout and burst out of the
afterlife and run to hell for they couldn't bear to see
what they had sinned their way out of having.
One day, Maggie was pensive at breakfast. Mike could tell something was bothering her. He asked her what was wrong. It was at that time she told him she was quitting her job because she found a new one at a gallery downtown and that it came with an apartment. Funny thing is that Mike was the last one to know. She had already told Florian and everyone else. He felt himself retreating into his old complacency and numbness. It began to coat him like a deeply thick liquid that would harden like steel. "Well, that's great. Keep in touch. I'll help you move this weekend." The effort to say these things was herculean.
Maggie was sure that he didn't like the change, but she had no idea that he was so wounded. The dubious "good thing" is that he would heal himself almost into forgetting.
To sum it up, as the months went on, the demons got worse. There was often a crew of orcs parked at the end of the street with an old firebird and a primer gray camaro. They would blast death metal and gangster rap at all hours, then they would roar off into the night with their baseball bats and rebel flags. Everywhere he turned was ugliness. He found himself shifting from one activity to another without thinking about it. He would arrive at work. He would look up and notice that it was time to leave. Then, he would find himself parked in front of his house.
He would walk in and set the keys on the table, next thing, he would be getting dressed for work. He was a ghost.
It was on a Tuesday. His last memory was of his contemplating his socks and bare feet and trying to remember how to unite the two. Now, he was sitting at his desk. He held something, a ridiculously large red velvet heart on thick pasteboard. It was a card. there was thick lace all around it. It smelled like cinnamon. There was a downtown phone number on it and an address.
The rest of the day went far too slowly for Mike. When he left work, people who had become used to averting their eyes instinctively when he passed by, could have sworn he was glowing just a little.
He gets home and sees two tickets for the show tonight from the boys upstairs tacked to his door. He calls Maggie who can feel his struggle to break out of the quicksand of his depression.
She shows up early with a big blue box. He opens it up while she looks at his face for a reaction, It is the most lovely pair of cowboy boots in the store. He has to look at them, loves them. Throws his wingtips into the trash. Changes into black jeans and a leather jacket. The boots are the splendid platonic ideal of boots. The leather is jet black like the carapace of a beetle or a scorpion and like that they have hints of deep blue inside. There are little cutouts at the top, delicate red hearts and cacti. At the tips, Armand had insisted that there be spanish silver, mysterious and intricately worked, not too gaudy, but....
And the beauty of boots like these is that they are worn for beauty's sake. The intricate whimsical tops and sides are always hidden under fabric, but we know that it's there.
The only ones who see the whole pair are ourselves and the ones who share our lives etcetera
etcetara.
Now, they're at the show. Jenny and Horace are there too. Horace wears a black rude boy suit and a skinny black tie. Jenny wears a white dress with a red and white polka dot scarf around her neck. Maggie, by the way, is wearing her favorite black dress and a black lace shawl. Her white skin is ivory and so on. The club is vast but everywhere there are pools of light, the bar, the tables, the couches. The stage is lit only with a single red light bulb.
Long ago, the afterlife had lost love, had it taken away because it was too disruptive.
Drinks in hand, they went up to the stage and looked around. Soon, Johnny comes up to the mike and says, "Good evening, thanks for coming, we're "Killed by Einstein"....
The band begins to play the first part of their set, it's rockabilly then it slows down and they begin to play doo wop with saxophones. At this point the couples start dancing. He places his hand on her cheek and looks into her eyes.
then the band starts doing feedback and the amp that ate Mike's TV shows it's dreadful ability. That clears them and a lot of other people off the dance floor.
They find themselves outside. There is an alley. One side of it is formed by the club, the other side is formed by the wall of hell itself.
Love was banished from the afterlife. There were some wispy vestiges of sensualism. There was friendship and camaraderie, but Eros in all its chaotic destructive glory was banished. Now something new was about to take it's place and drive out the damned and demons from the afterlife.
The muffled sounds of killed by Einstein sounding like two garbage trucks mating in the distance. The screams of the damned in hell were faint and more like the ones you hear coming from rollercoasters and theme parks. There were floating wisps of burning paper and plastic soaring through the night air.
Mike felt a string running from the tip of his head down to the ground. That was what it felt like and that string was beginning to vibrate. Maggie felt sadness shake out of her bones.
Jenny had broken one of her high heels in the mad dash to escape the sudden onlslaught of noise. Horace was carrying her. He lost his bemused detachment, staring at her hair and the way it draped over his hand. She looked at him and felt like she was swimming.
embers and ashes were falling around them like snow,
That was when they kissed. kissed kissed kissed k i s s e d
True love was born into the afterlife in all its' shades with touch and warmth and the rebirth of tasting every nectar that there was to distill from it.
A rain began to fall, not affecting the lovers, not at all.
as the cool rain covered lovers all over hades,
the damned began to shout and burst out of the
afterlife and run to hell for they couldn't bear to see
what they had sinned their way out of having.
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