Tuesday, January 14, 2014

1 paz



1 Paz
Blood poured from several openings. There is always too much blood and gore. The physical becomes more and more synthetic over time. The physical expands and grows into a larger and larger being, encompassing everything. The physical becomes greater than the sum of its parts. The sights and sounds of all the accessories put the poor little fool into fits. The lights and sounds spin around and around his head. And then there are the smells and the feelings that swallow him up and overwhelm him. There also is the madness of the vagaries of life that eat away at him little by little, one bite after another come for him like a school of piranha to eat and devour his little world.

You are without support, now. You are not resistant to the hegemony of the distinctive forms of the touchstones of critique. You are cynical and irreverent as you place your hopes on grimly evolved insipient solutions that no one can swallow. Alienated from the million eyes, you have become a creative installation of deviance and bogus values. With your blank bored demeanor, you absorb the impish and sweltering totality of negative choices of self-loathing and frittering your life away.

Kicker was jealous of her happy eyes. Her eyes mocked him with every twinkle. They taunted him to reach into his bag of severity. He pulled forth from his inner being all the evil he could muster. He fought back tears as he pulled the rope from his pocket. Kicker was shaking with the fear of what was about to happen. He knew that he was a puppet being manipulated by unseen strings. He coiled the rope around her neck like a snake. The rope was an inanimate thing that wanted life. The rope wanted Sushi’s life. She lived on this earth long enough and now she had to give it up to the rope. She had to surrender her life to the snake.

I wouldn’t say he is stupid, but gullible. He has a smothered flat face with a constant blank look upon it and his eyes seem almost lifeless. He always had difficulty making sense out of the larger world. He is constantly stoned on phenobarbital, diazepam, hydrocodone, and oxycodone. He has been in and out of a blackout for a good part of three years. The result of this is that his mind is pretty frayed. He is manning the helm of a sinking ship, a fool with no hope. It took him a total of nine weeks to organize his thoughts into some sort of meaningful pattern that would allow him to go on living. He couldn’t change his mind, once he believed there was no convincing him. He would filter out all evidence to the contrary. He was a stone cold believer no matter how foolish the belief.

He thought he could escape, but he couldn’t. The trap had been set long ago, before he was ever born. We can see them coming, we always do. The trick is to pick the right one. There are so many to choose from. The weak and the spineless are in abundance on this earth.

When I said that you were backward, quaint, naïve, anachronistic, I watched your eyes grow wider and wider as if they were juxtapositions of the parts of yourself. I leaned away from you repulsed by the dismantling of the clearly repressed and unifying obsessions of your face-stuffed wishful thinking that borders on the absurdist boundaries of hell wand high-water.

It’s no fun living an ugly life and to be so lonely. I’m not that bad, just misunderstood. If only I could explain things better, then maybe they would be able to see things my way. Kicker moves down lower to feel the psychic waves that are emanating from her. Each one jolts him as it hits his body and moves on. He never once thinks if someone else could feel this. You could say he lacked empathy, especially for his victims.

It was a beautiful expression of the brutal and extreme. The fools were standing at attention, composed and smiling, unaware of the evil that will soon befall them, fresh meat waiting for their rotation on the grill. They stand there almost unconscious, swelling with the unknown. They are like boxes waiting to be opened. They want to be inspired, to be filed with something they can’t understand. They come here out of boredom and just plain curiosity. They think it must all be some big elaborate joke. A couple of them look around for the TV cameras. This must be a hoax for some comedy show. Some of them are too tired to really give a shit. Soon they will be slumped over with their mouths open and their bodies twitching. Their stare will be affixed with a perpetual look of puzzlement. Death approaches like the magic of darkness, quick, simple, and effective. His is plugged in to the darkness, a complex nest of wires sprout from his body. The electric hum inside his head is the only thing that is keeping his fragile persona together. Suddenly whirling and stabbing at anything and everything within his line of sight.

1 paz



1 Paz
Blood poured from several openings. There is always too much blood and gore. The physical becomes more and more synthetic over time. The physical expands and grows into a larger and larger being, encompassing everything. The physical becomes greater than the sum of its parts. The sights and sounds of all the accessories put the poor little fool into fits. The lights and sounds spin around and around his head. And then there are the smells and the feelings that swallow him up and overwhelm him. There also is the madness of the vagaries of life that eat away at him little by little, one bite after another come for him like a school of piranha to eat and devour his little world.

You are without support, now. You are not resistant to the hegemony of the distinctive forms of the touchstones of critique. You are cynical and irreverent as you place your hopes on grimly evolved insipient solutions that no one can swallow. Alienated from the million eyes, you have become a creative installation of deviance and bogus values. With your blank bored demeanor, you absorb the impish and sweltering totality of negative choices of self-loathing and frittering your life away.

Kicker was jealous of her happy eyes. Her eyes mocked him with every twinkle. They taunted him to reach into his bag of severity. He pulled forth from his inner being all the evil he could muster. He fought back tears as he pulled the rope from his pocket. Kicker was shaking with the fear of what was about to happen. He knew that he was a puppet being manipulated by unseen strings. He coiled the rope around her neck like a snake. The rope was an inanimate thing that wanted life. The rope wanted Sushi’s life. She lived on this earth long enough and now she had to give it up to the rope. She had to surrender her life to the snake.

I wouldn’t say he is stupid, but gullible. He has a smothered flat face with a constant blank look upon it and his eyes seem almost lifeless. He always had difficulty making sense out of the larger world. He is constantly stoned on phenobarbital, diazepam, hydrocodone, and oxycodone. He has been in and out of a blackout for a good part of three years. The result of this is that his mind is pretty frayed. He is manning the helm of a sinking ship, a fool with no hope. It took him a total of nine weeks to organize his thoughts into some sort of meaningful pattern that would allow him to go on living. He couldn’t change his mind, once he believed there was no convincing him. He would filter out all evidence to the contrary. He was a stone cold believer no matter how foolish the belief.

He thought he could escape, but he couldn’t. The trap had been set long ago, before he was ever born. We can see them coming, we always do. The trick is to pick the right one. There are so many to choose from. The weak and the spineless are in abundance on this earth.

When I said that you were backward, quaint, naïve, anachronistic, I watched your eyes grow wider and wider as if they were juxtapositions of the parts of yourself. I leaned away from you repulsed by the dismantling of the clearly repressed and unifying obsessions of your face-stuffed wishful thinking that borders on the absurdist boundaries of hell wand high-water.

It’s no fun living an ugly life and to be so lonely. I’m not that bad, just misunderstood. If only I could explain things better, then maybe they would be able to see things my way. Kicker moves down lower to feel the psychic waves that are emanating from her. Each one jolts him as it hits his body and moves on. He never once thinks if someone else could feel this. You could say he lacked empathy, especially for his victims.

It was a beautiful expression of the brutal and extreme. The fools were standing at attention, composed and smiling, unaware of the evil that will soon befall them, fresh meat waiting for their rotation on the grill. They stand there almost unconscious, swelling with the unknown. They are like boxes waiting to be opened. They want to be inspired, to be filed with something they can’t understand. They come here out of boredom and just plain curiosity. They think it must all be some big elaborate joke. A couple of them look around for the TV cameras. This must be a hoax for some comedy show. Some of them are too tired to really give a shit. Soon they will be slumped over with their mouths open and their bodies twitching. Their stare will be affixed with a perpetual look of puzzlement. Death approaches like the magic of darkness, quick, simple, and effective. His is plugged in to the darkness, a complex nest of wires sprout from his body. The electric hum inside his head is the only thing that is keeping his fragile persona together. Suddenly whirling and stabbing at anything and everything within his line of sight.

Thursday, December 5, 2013


All I do is sit alone in my house and feel really bad and pray. Who I’m praying to, I don’t know. I just pray. Maybe I’m praying to myself or to the universe or to some great big nothing. It just gets my mind off the pain and loneliness of my existence. I know, it all sounds a little pathetic, and maybe I’m just being a big pussy about this, but, damn-it I am a human being and I hurt just like everyone else. A side effect of the loneliness is that I get drunk and call everyone I know. I’m slobbering drunk and call up all my friends from high school. Most of my friends moved away a long time ago when the meat pack closed and the tractor factory started laying people off. Those were some hard times back then. This old town was fast becoming a ghost town back then. Of course things have changed since then, they always do, and the economy is a rollercoaster that goes up and down and up and down, over and over again. 


I am aware of how this might sound to you. But, it has been a very effective practice. I think maybe I should create a seminar and travel the circuit teaching guys my methods. I think it would be a benefit to society as a whole. Helping people is important to me, I think we should live our life following Jesus’ example, you know, help people where ever you go, spreading love and good will. I’m like the Buddha of love. My goal is to help people make connections. Everyone is long to make some intimate human contact another human being. There are too many lonely people out there looking for a friend. I want to be your friend. Can I be your friend?

Wednesday, December 4, 2013



You find that you will do absolutely anything or say anything to convince others that you are not the person that they say you are. Still you are hurt and bleeding feeling alone and vulnerable. There is no margin for safety. You ask yourself is this it? Is this all there is for my life? I had made so many plans and time just whisked by me. Will this be the end? How will I be able to recover from this? My strength and determination are not what they used to be. There is no beauty for the generic human soul, no bond with this sickness of humanity. You become a beautifully tormented person reaching for the sides of the abyss. Your life has become like a reality show. A battle engaged completely within you by your own rules and capacities. All other things have fallen away; they have become nothing to you now. Your awareness of self becomes sharpened and intensified into a single sharp point, focused and extreme. You cannot fix yourself in the looking glass. No, you are harrowed and sad, a distressed soul in the night of darkness. The details of the darkness overwhelm you like a young rebel who is coopted into the establishment at an older age. Your former sense of self is gone. You have disappeared in the mists of oblivion. You are driving down a long dark road and have become quiet at the wheel. The darkness is your only means of establishing some kind of meaningful connection in life. This basic human need is subverted by the exultant sensation of Godlike control.