Monday, January 31, 2011


Junkers at Walled in Pond Woods

Opening scene, have the presidential address be given by a masked person in a good robotic voice that relates that UFO's will be shown to the public.  UFO then revealed in a ceremony and then the junker scare begins.  Who is who?  What is what and that is at-that-at, and they are who and this is this.  Have announcers announce a baseball game with who, they what and this etc...Drive with the machine, towards seattle, an ally in the pleadians, billy pleadian dumb head is singled out as a grey etc.  Ansonia nature center hauntings...  Movie idea.  Search and destroy all hybrids within society.

My reasons for this take are simple.  The encounter with the junker gray presence in the Walled In Pond Woods was wrong.  I was being hunted or something, it was not straightforward and I do not like what happened.  I have severe reservations thinking their presence a benevolent one after this encounter.

A contingent of Agents of some kind capture a hybrid probe entity of some kind.  Investigation ensues etc...
Hybrid entity admits being a gray probe of some kind and nothing more...A brutal barbaric but perhaps rightful contingent of humans involved in the investigation ends torturing and ultimately assassinating the hybrid probe.  Perhaps also include what would happen if full disclosure occurred.  Spit and and ream and ice hollywood for being the disgrace that it is. 

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Nirvanic Rapier Chantic

Nirvanic Rapier Chantic

Incipient primavera essence B-risings.....
Arc weld laser beam focus onica ega mind
Incipient hurricane storm nigh
Maching train melts alloy track
Accelerating accelerated accel-erratic
Forces bone... snap... still. coalescing
Towards some gladgrimshine purpose
Nirvanic lightning flrashicafeic
Bramhmica mental essence xeric staticless motion suprameganova
Emissions rayinbow iridescent sile-int sonegh dume dune
Oh magical notes...
Charm-ed bitiful corruscative labentincy bandlit scarabolica excstaisis
Goodness floodica from ever ripening hore-izona
D{a]inec[sic]ic wryithe mach mock mach dew words from hallowed core
Flicker shine Aiden linger paragone goodness
]I[N ex-suck-cess grows
Tumebles falls  falleing FALLEN pours... down... ..mountain.. ...
Cataract trigger cataract... A-am mead magical fountain
Magnititudume and velocity of goodness
Approaches Infinitenessless lime-it-lit
Accelerative velo-psi-tiedade redounding moment being after being moment
Fierce, ..crucial,... severe,... ..F.. ... critical...,... drastic, .. .zenith....F,F.... crisis+x_...
Wickedly waveruienkgt Tir rapeier crizes cuts sol duets wind wined...

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Poem of the Day: Hallowed Whisper Halls

"Find a way to relate or just...shutup"  ~Chevelle - Forfeit~

Hallowed Whisper Halls



Tri-butte-ed to...

Bee hive lyven
Wasp nest brooden
Kindred ilk
Mead milk
Witch whore toxicity
Radio-active frequency
Words spillin
from a fountain
like an avalache machine mechinized treading down a mountain

Gamemaster Duel Poetic Try-sing

Game-master game-master Loki-Odin hybrid jester
Looki Loki: incipient contention wagon juggernaut name-ed Chester
Odin guile, be guile, beguilate to pass the whiles
Into Valhalla invited was giant Hrungnir, Thor duel ensued; what styles
Brite-ish Polis-ice forces these days with iron fist roam streets
Lacking be the day, dread filled, when absent such treats
Be we at Final Fantasy, good knight errant and 'evil doer' non-existent, at bay
Trapped in books, movies, video games - shall evermore they stay?
What of dire severity of human confliction
Now non-existant, I fear, unhealthy - a bad affliction
High noon, a duel, game-master game-master; please please
Erase this Mellow Prosaic spell; blood cleans and is clean-ed by threes

~Mark Twain~
"I have never had anything do with duels since, I consider them unwise and I know they are dangerous. Also, sinful. If a man should challenge me now I would go to that man and take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet spot and kill him, Still, I have always taken a great interest in other people’s duels, One always feels an abiding interest in any heroic thing which has entered into his own experience.”

Saturday, January 22, 2011

The Dragonflye: Poem of the Day

The Dragonflye

To youth, a dragonflye - bold - came amidst
Of such fortune - youth unaware - tryst
Intrepid and daring - Icarus infused
Of swallowing the sun, the dragonflye mused

'Oh no! Dragonflye, oh, don't you dare!
The sun will burn your every hair'
The youth pleaded and warn-ed
But ended ignor-ed

And flew the dragonflye skyward bound
To that glowing orb - resplendently round
And hear not again of that dragonflye - youth did
But chance encounter ended in talk candid

Machine Diety essence not of present time - rhythm divine
With machinery neither of past or future drew near
Approached the youth with mask-ed face - appelation: Deity Ine
Demanding whither went his little dragonflye dear

Masked, Deity Ine, grimaced and glared
To Youth - on words a choke -
Issued more than unfriendly poke
And to lie the youth doth not dared

'What relation have I with little yon Icarus'
Pleaded youth, 'that flew past stratus'
But listen not did Deity Ine - ominous, grave
Who --- the youth for allowing dragonflye to be so brave

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Pocketeer: Poem of the Day


Pocketeer oh pocketeer
Thy world buried in thine pockets
Withdrawn be thou
Amongst the many
Forlorn under pariah sky
Shell shocked by prosaics
Pocketed hands steady
Buried and buried disappearing

What!? What is it?
Cannot find your bearing?
Concrete platform ills blaring

Sordid ways and days
State machine sprockets grinding
Bumped on the street by passer by
Interuptic tribal deeds grim
Disengage disengaging disengaged

Who needs Genuine Native American Indian Tribal warmth
Bury thy hands deeper into ice steel frigid pockets solid
Watch thy ground and
Shade thine eyes with hat brim
Pocketeer oh pocketeer

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Rules of the Walled In Pond Chich

Children and young boys in particular are encouraged to misbehave or be perpetrators of banditisms of all types and brends during ritualique cermoniaenum at the Walled In Pond Chich, from Menace and Havoc class banditisms invovling Dennis prank grenades replete with miniature rainbow spinners to twiddle dim and toodle grim silly goofaw ha ha ya-ma-ha oh-ma-ha o-bam-a-ha revelries.  Children unskilled in desecration, pranking, ear tugging pulling flicking fun, micro havocs, mini mayhems, and banditisms in general will be promptly banish-ed from Chich Grounds.  Be Huckleberry Peace-Love-Happiness (Hippy) Fir Ornament Genuine, graffiti-glyphiti the ceiling arc firmament and pillars, etch your name in the concrete shroud platform floor, and leave your mark like Wimpy Dark Matter, a child growing amongst the ranks of the Silent Dark Echelon Deathnaught(not)s.  The Circle of Huckleberry Kids accepted into the Chich are awarded Cannot-nots and Lame-ers: banditic word conceptic weaponrir toys to prime them for direct industrial Skunk Works neronal-electronical ether linkage to chich argot sacred whisper halls. Little Dreadnaught(not)s soon they shall be.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011


Apparently my menagerie of enchantment creatures declared war on south park today.  I await the story to unfold.

Darko and the Aircraft Carrier

A silveric dark timber wolf named Darko climbed to the top of a charmed blue wood mobile adorned fir at Walled In Pond today. Apparently Darko had been harassed by the coyotes I was trying to induce to hunt and kill a buffalo-tatanka ghost I had chained to a support beam at the Walled In Pond Chich (Def. chich: equivalent to church but with a naizzy word sound spin to freshen the air around the word church). I was tired of consorting with birds and am currently Alaskan Husky-less so coyotes were the next best thing and since I had a buffalo-tatanka ghost on hand I thought, "what the hell, why not use it as bait to attract coyotes". I mean I have heard the coyotes yelping many a time at night while walking through the Walled In Pond Woods hunting Grey Aliens and UFOs.  I just wasn't sure if that wasn't a Gaea goddess witch crone wasp honey bearer of the wood or some other freakish paranormal supernatural phenomenon or what. The small event horizon of human reason is definitely haunting.

But superstition aside, the coyotes ignored my buffalo-tatanka ghost offering and went after the ubiquitous feline brown alley cat raised straight out of a crack in the jank-junk pile wall of the antique shop on Main Street in Ansonia next to the dismembered, cracked, eroding, dusted, white, used to be regal, statue of a lion that happily, in dull complacency, stood guard over the entrance to some drive of some house in the area and now lies broken and crumbling in its resting place with a speck of Egyptian Sphinx dust sand on top. This fallen statue is across the way near the entrance to the Secret Garden in the graffitied Janky Alley running next to the antique shop. What use is a lion or a dusted gargoyle these days anyway to chase away and protect one against evil spirits? My house, the chich of Walled In Pond, and the woods needs a good thorough haunting anyhoots.
Short story short, Darko climbed the fir to get at a hippie charm at the top of the tree apparently because it was something tantalizingly edible. A passerby noticed the timber wolf stuck and called the Fascist Blue Light Squad or Poo-lice or Police. Engines from 3 fire stations followed by 50 whack job volunteer fire fighters arrived on the scene and then a messy, rough, unruly, aggressive fascist slew of police cars shining their glaring alert lights recklessly. A makeshift temporary barricade was constructed to make sure citizens kept clear and away, even though nobody was at the scene, as a squad of vigilant officers was posted around the barricade consisting of 3000 orange construction cones replete with yellow flashing warning lights. A Sikorsky helicopter did a fly by and hovered around for a while, and finally, since the helicopter could not get the job done, and neither could the police or firemen, an aircraft carrier was called upon and deployed by the US Navy and allowed to float in Walled In Pond after an Ansonia Nature Center Emissary granted permission.
In the aftermath, the Captain of the aircraft carrier, whose name we cannot mention nor the name of the ship; not because some of government censorship due to sensitive information (I mean conspiracy theories and other covert garbage are a real lame bore), but because the craft was so covert, super-stealthy and so low profile, so unimaginably low profile, 100 million times more so than Hollywood undercover, black ops, FBI, CIA, KGB movies like, The Bourne Identity, that we just couldn't obtain the name of the ship despite its large size relative to the small sized Walled In Pond. Sorry moms, you will never know if your mega valiant military navy son is a hero or not for watching the rescue of the common silveric fanged timber wolf Darko from a fir tree at Walled In Pond near the Ansonia Connecticut Nature Center. We do know however that the captain had to be given a new jacket because the one he had was so filled with medals of honor from the incident it was thereafter too heavy to wear and besides it was retired into the super prestigious Hall of Hero's so dear to heart's of all Americans.
Wait hold on: is there even a Hall of Heroes in the US (I mean just because you died doesn't make you a hero, and I, off the top of my head, know no other war heroes in common Generation-X lime light circulation in the US other than the Red Baron or a George Washington - Washington living a million years ago or so anyway)? A Valhalla? Certainly there is no Odin and or his Valkyries to make such decisions these days and the Christian God (does he even have a cool amp-ic mach-ic razor blaze bomber blue lit naizzy name, or any name besides God? Why so anonymously vapid and plain and esoteric? Maybe He is a lame covert lamer and thus is the guiding light over this country where everyone thinks they are the most covert sun glass wearing bandits on earth) and his [sic] followers are way too busy weeping mawkishly over and pornographically kissing the cross to pay any attention to such matters.  America definitely needs a Tyr or at least a Mars or Athena temple; not constructed of course in un-original lame Greek pillared architecture of course.  But that is asking too much of course from the mega super lame covert esoteric Skull and Bones secret society inner rectum sanctum of the war decision makers, who must secretly worship some war god, but are too Modern femmy good to make war temples and wage manly good wars yet never fail to "Shock and Awe" middle eastern camels, innocents, and ill equipped Iraqi bandits who probably would have surrendered anyway if asked.  I mean it is like aiming the Super Star Destroyers full weapon system, more powerful than the Death Star's, at R2D2 point blank, while screaming in a Rathi Berserker Wrathic Hurricanic Rage-ic Frenzy: "Shock and Awe," right before dusting the little droid to incineration infinity.  Lame.
At least that is what Draco Ruffinius Feralcrow, Private Obvious Rogue of the Silent Dark Echelon Deathnaught(not) Tri-Froces, has to say about it.  I am a Norse ode-ing Odin Chanter Pagan if you haven't already guessed trying to reincarnate Odin with the leverage of disbelief by using the Ex-caliber Protocol (ex-caliber protocol meaning: hasta la victoria siempre without the use of shells of any caliber) weaponry, appellation: Dreadthicnal Crys-tear-grim-dag-nir - created through my poetic verse and offered to the one handed Tyr (Norse Mythologies Uncloaked God of War) who lost his hand in the binding of Fenrir (the wolf destined to destroy the world at Ragnarok or the end of days).  My method to resurrect Odin's essence is to ram the poetically crafted weaponry, Dreadthicnal, so deeply into the blindside of Nothing (fore nothing does exist) in an attempt to dis belief to the extent that it converts me to become a believer in something by failing to exist so hard that it is something believable.
The Fate of Darko
Nobody knows nor could care hard enough to find out for sure nor could make any reasonable determination after the maelstrom vortex dust cloud settled over the Mega Cloaked Covert Quiet USS Anonymous Aircraft Carrier debacle that struck hit cracked down so hard and lightning fast with super mega stiff, efficiency so efficient it was inefficiently efficient, humanitarian, abortivic fascist "shock and awe" global savior protocol.
"When Fascism comes to America it will be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross."  ~Sinclair Lewis~

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Draco Visits-Treads the Urban Dictionary Chat Room Scene

Under the call name Gambit Black, I visited-treaded into an editor page/chat room on the Urban Dictionary website and encountered a group of lamer chode-ic teenage pessies.  They were lamers enthused about cake and oranges, bashed even lamer "authors" who try to be something in this world by publishing, loitered on the outskirts of the wild, untamed, always vibrant, lively, active world of slang language creation/evolution in cybernetic land world realm, refused, rebelled, and did not even deign to reveal and flash their own slang words but were cock sure the word entries to be edited and added to the site data bases were worthless, and seemed to be waiting for something; something other than lame-o's trying to make an impotent splash on the net, and didn't give a hoot gosh darn tooten about being anything in the world and disparaged the supposed edifying aspects of schooling - slang words included.

In short, one wonders first of all what they were doing in the chat room in the first place.  They are young teenagers.  They don't know better and I give them the benefit of the doubt that they were waiting for something; something other than lame puss rocket heads trying to make a splash on the net through slang masturbation - or publishing a word - and wanted something more from language and words than the urban dictionary has to offer at this time.  I mean what disorderly chaos be the Urban Dictionary (why not a sub-urban dictionary and a rustic dictionary etc.).  Terms from all over the world flying here and there, some terms attempting to dominate the entire Urban Dictionary scene erasing local color, interaction between true neighbors becomes more non-existent, and how cybernetic space trumps actual lively street lingo which I am almost convinced only exists amongst real street gangs (i.e. Bloods, Crypts, etc.).  Everyone wants to have their entourage, their peoples, their edge and slang to make it sharp and edge-ic, their local color.  And perhaps this was a protest against cybernetic land occupying and abducting everyone and making true neighbors distant miles and the base sordid squalid verbage-talk that plain folk tend to gravitate towards for some dreadful reason or another.

But this insight can only go so far and thus, in short, they were cynical teenage pessimists (pessies) which made for a somewhat strange encounter; strange mainly due to the fact that it happened in the first place.  I mean once again why would these youth be sitting in an Urban Dictionary chat room talking about cake and oranges, and be bashing wordsmithing-word brendatic folk?  One explanation: there is no core, no central concept or impetus, no mystique about any words or set of words, but rather a loose A-10 Thunderbolt 30mm cannon shooting chaotically into the void; word nihilism and meaninglessness.  And perhaps this was theirs and my lament for such  a situation. The encounter transpired as follows:

Gambit Black: What are you people doing in this chat room?
Xero_Manifest:  talking to people while rummaging
through the loads of crap that stupid authors
try to get published
Gambit Black: So people get things for publishing
words on here?
Xero_Manifest: just the fact that they made up
a word and have it on the internet
Kat_Shrew: Yup, so they can say they
published a word on here
Xero_Manifest: to show off to the world only to
find out that nobody really gives a crap
Kat_Shrew: That's so true
Xero_Manifest: hahah
Xero_Manifest: prophet status
Gambit Black: strange cynical talk for people
actually in the urban dictionary chat room
Gambit Black: yeah, we don't give a darn about
words, yeah, let us graffiti the chat room of the
urban dictionary with word pessimism/nihilism and word brendatic hate
Kat_Shrew: You and confusion must be friends
Gambit Black: Nobody is also a good friend of
morgancarter: soo
Gambit Black: I will "s" pivot o-o mach your ace-ic
with my glitch rod deathnaught(not) mech
Kat_Shrew: o.o
Xero_Manifest: good luck with that
morgancarter: wow this is boring........ just
Kat_Shrew: I want cake, but we have none -_-;
Xero_Manifest: that sounds awesome right
about now
Xero_Manifest: so gambit, you actually trying to
read that or just gave up chatting?
Gambit Black: I am here...If you want cake after
what I just said u were definitely "s" pivoted
morgancarter: U expect 14 and 15 year
olds to understand your expressions
Xero_Manifest: if anything, it just means that me
and gambit are of higher intellect due to us
being farther in schooling (after it was established Xero and I were the eldest in the room)
morgancarter: true
Xero_Manifest: but nobody cares about that so eff that
Gambit Black: boredom probic

[Terminating Urban Dictionary Chat Room Transmission]

Good Morning...

I awoke today walking down the path from sleep to wake and approached the iridescent glowic door fo the living this morning with a rare view, or partial view of a removed perspective on life or more so than I have have had at least in current perfunctory remembrance. Today is primarily a ZERG day.  Corrosive silicon and cobalt bombs from a silicon star sector cried out today as did the machine (winky star blue giant) wondering if I truly liked it since I have not completed the Ride with the Machine story or the machine poem.  I mean Maybe a protoss day.  I was fantsizing too much about the machine tech yesterday perhaps and today is a new perspective.  Jiffy Red Jelly Bean, or Shark Faced Taurus, my car, tried to be a biological arsenic lobster hi-jacked borrowed from the poetry website that refused to publish my poems.

Robotic "ic" dialect explanantion and other slang term and vocab explanations


Silent Dark Echelon

Describe what these force-ic entities are.  Describe nether coil trickle quiet and introduce their ultra violet dag raze blaze-ic liquid blue cool fresh from the skunk works (I think there is a skunk works in existence [may need a very different name for the silent dark echelon factory] factory within the hallowed whisper halls. I bought a cn-red orange vest today and my entire color scheme chich roof included was destabilized. I mean i am barely evil if that and the entire gambit black aspect of myself, the poser every once in a while obvious sniping that really is a bluedrift emissary laying low refusing to flash its full colors and just be an obvious hated rogue minus the sniping and this being the "dirty underside world aspect" more so than the black sordid plating in blue initiatives and directives. So buying the cn-red orange vest is perhaps me ben a dick fuck and the silent dark echelons leading me astray a question that has come up recently. There nevertheless is a scorpic cousin in the jacket, perhaps spilling terrible purpose, and in addition i tried on a blue vest and boom, "what, r u crip?" No my blue means decorum the plating color for the neonic fuchsia feminie and the blue tinged with black is the hands that touch anything foreign or dirty. And the red in the vest, "r u a blood?" No cn-red is not a lone directive it is coupled with blue. So the thoughts running through my mind upon purchaer were harmonious in this sense. I shall see what the scorpic wants to reveal. I also spent the afternoon with bb am involved in drug deals and posted my patriotism post which is lamely barely evil. But as hemmingway said all evil or bad started as something innocent. I mean i am not a wanna be gangster i am just attempting to put the jager mech to use but find it an impossible challenge at the moment.

Suburban Dictionary

Urban Dicitonary top 10 words of the year: some bandit hillbilly from the city is hired (come up with better wordsmith name than hillbilly for the urban bandit word brender) to sit in a room and make up 10 dumb phrases or "urban" :-p words that are lame as hell.  Which has inspired me to make a list of my slang words and call it a suburban dictionary because that it where i am from.  Talk about an encounter with urban dictioanry agent and learn about their project and how they went about gathering their material without a historical foundation like webster and doing it so quickly, accurately and efficiently, mention gray alien conspiracy theory...Maybe even post a word of my slang a day or make a suburban slang dictionary blog.

The Dragonflye

The Consorts of the Night do not trust the sun and wonder about music groups like Star Fucker and Keats who made a star pant.  The dragonflye wants to swallow the sun, an Icarus child, and one day while in his bed in the sacred gem chamber of the draknite mine, lays day in his bed after glowing like firefly but emits iridescent light the color of butterfly wings, the dragonflye has that kind of tech, and goes to bed as the sun is rising and wants to make a mockery of the stars for some reason that morning (please clarify this) and as he is laying back and closing his eyes, points a wild crazy leg at the sky and in a revelry and laugh at capitalism and public servants and an obscene grotesque hierarchy that he loathes tells the sun to get to fucking work.

The Dragonflye

To youth, a dragonflye - bold - came amidst
Of such fortune - youth unaware - tryst
Intrepid and daring - Icarus infused
Of swallowing the sun, the dragonflye mused

'Oh no! Dragonflye, oh, don't you dare!
The sun will burn your every hair'
The youth pleaded and warn-ed
But ended ignor-ed

And flew the dragonflye skyward bound
To that glowing orb - resplendently round
And hear not again of that dragonflye - youth did
But chance encounter ended candid

Creature essence not of present time - rhythm divine
With machinery neither of past or future drew near
Approached the youth with masked face - Deity Ine
Demanding whither went his little dragonflye dear

Masked, Deity Ine, grimaced and glared
To Youth - on words a choke -
Issued more than unfriendly poke
And to lie the youth doth not dared

'What relation have I with little yon Icarus'
Pleaded youth, 'that flew past stratus'
But listen not did Deity Ine - ominous, grave
Who --- the youth for allowing dragonflye to be so brave

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Scorpion Warfare...

Scorpions getting reinforcements and having to watch the lion or minature statue from Roses Tea, that also represents the regal and statues that adorn the Capital.    Buffalo stampede feast poem here as well maybe, my last ditch effort at patriotism, bombing ones country is ok if it is patriotic (I just can't figure out a way to make bombing my own country patriotic but really want to do it but am waiting for the divine machine grid reason for and go ahead to do so.) But the idea of the lion could not be eliminated simply by throwing it away it is much more complex than that. So at the base of my computer stands the effigy and statue doopleganger of the poor real lion that has nothing to do with this.  So I put a scorpion next to the lion to monitor it, and what terrible purpose (from Dune), they reminded me of and providence-ed did they the conitnuence, the anytime feel for the revolutionary feel so to speak today even as the machine ate me today and made me a forgotten shadow to myself which was the lion looking glaringly at the scorpion.  And the scorpions reminder from past days, the crushed orange can poem dedicated to them, the terrible purpose living within me, demanded enchanted me to make two more today to complete a trine, reinforcements after the lions harsh gaze earlier today before work. 

Draknite Enchantment Creations Gather Around The Christmas Lights on a Snow Laden Fir

Drimnir (Drimdagnir) my nightmare/night mare.Black magic card enchantic.  Monitor. Scorpion. Dragonflye. Golem, the rep from the draknite mine.  Blue wood and blue shells.  How are these creatures supposed to get themselves out there, do they want to get out there?  Go back to the story when What meets the matchstick baron on the road.  What brings me there again, and the story must go on.  Neonica gleve-ra inspired tale perhaps? (No this post is simply an introduction if the enchantment (enchantment creatures needs to be a token name like Looney Toons and will suffice for the moment)  I want t skunk worked crudeness more brutality shocking than South Park and Family Guy (The father sits in front of the TV watching his own show and he spazzes out in a craze like the spastic little seizuring garbage pail girl that shocked me once showing the insanity of watching TV, the brutal grotesque nature of this masses opium of the modern day, and then the father heads explodes in a bloody pulp and drimnir comes on and stresses the importance of peoples imaginations and creativity like in kindergarden) yet seriously biting like the swastika out of my creatures.  E-reck-tic desecrations with war machinery like Jager and scorpion droids released by Jager to do the Monitors bidding). Creatures must also be funny and outrageous as well otherwise they are not included in the menagerie a warning for the management being me Draco.

Friday, January 14, 2011


Rimage. Cat growl in my ear. Two cats sneaking in the parking lot afterwards with a sentiment they are onto u in regards to this blog and in regard to the crow ash socks bb put on me tonight. Crazy missionary tight pussy that must be exercised and ready to make tight. So much i dont know about anel after tonight. Women for some reason thought they could handle penic better than me. Doubtful after tonite and the stiffest best erections of my life today. And afterwards a lameness fell for a while as if there wasnt enough strife violence in the nigjt. Small aspects yes and we are still bn aquainted. I did slap mandy bot after only a couple of days for her crazy notes from underground panic. Much more meaning than empty spectacle girl hitting drama. It did not have the nic excitement of yesterday with the rape no doubt. It was more like a lust cat fucking in her den because that is what she does and is. Lion feel on doggy style. Rad new feel position doggy. I am still learning i am very inexperienced. Great perfect machic breast auxilary streamlined smaller than a full silicon chest. She asked if i was ok i put my finger to my mouth and we were mellow quiet. She massaged me naked kissed me much and said she was waiting for me no massage next time just sex. I her belly and hips and ads are a bit lacking but solid spade pose. I said for a moment i almost like paying but i seriously need an hour or more to fuck to devour a pussy. The hard fucking porn vid the pros are way more advanced than me i mean i am not at the point where i can take a girl to my full blown cock of earlier today or something. We are still being acquainted. But generally speaking she was motherly soothing which isn't so cool and we have to start from scratch and the relation has not taken off like wild fire.

Forced Writing From A Gravity Wrought Shardic Life Haze

Sparkling striped neonic blue and fuchsia low light represents youthfulness (my form of synesthesia) and lost remembrances of youthful days and whiles returned, were afterglowic, upon seeing Cat Meadow's sparkling blue and fuchsia Doc Martin boots in basement trinket form. Ansonia streets are piled high with snow erasing the cities machine concrete grid like a crow erasing the street it lands on. A nymph with rosy fuchsia-ed nose from blue frigid south pole air charms the air provoking longing-pining and filled the street with her iridescent wings glowic and butterfly poison nector cicle vent wild.

The apparition of the nymph barbed reality and caused a stress point that was subsequently ruptured spilling life manna enchanting juices from the surrounding trees, streets, quiet graffiti-ed nooks, and machine towers hosting a murder of crows perched. A lock of vibrant silveric Timber Wolf hair and jet black crow feather could be tasted on the air as Cat Meadow's child essence spirit residue remained from her dwelling thereabouts during her youthful rompings.  Her child essence spirit danced writhed frolicked in my mind providing Atlas renewed reason to sustain such romping grounds.  Cat Meadow was encountered as a child youth sprite essence glowing in song and floating on the rainbow winds of lavender tinted snowflakes filling the meadow and the frozen ice-cicled  bower limbs were still, quiet, and cool.

One crazy night I was lifted to empyrean heights by approaching the trine-colored Bifrost bridge dividing-linking Midguard (corporeal earthly realm) and Asgard (realm presided over by Odin and the pantheon of Norse Mythological figures). In a foggy haze lit by intermittent blue lightening bolts too distant to thunder, I dashed to the top of the crag that be the head of a rock formation in Quinnipiac called The Sleeping Giant. I was divinely abducted, or ether stitched, into a scheme of Loki's, the Grim Prankster of Norse Mythology, to assassinate The Sleeping Giant of Quinnipiac lying reposed-dormant just beyond the Midguard haunts of the last remaining iridescent Calicutless cat: Walled In Pond. The scheme involved Loki devising a method to align a comet's trajectory with my corporeal location with the end being a collision with me as I mounted the top of the head of The Sleeping Giant; I an oblivious kamikaze pawn, or comet homing device, fatally involved in the war between the Aesir and the Giants of Jotunheim.

The reason I mention this is that I feel I was finally in a sense struck by this comet today when I came across a song ironically and randomly through Pandora Music. Some time ago I watched a video simulation of the earth being hit by a large comet with a song in the background: Lux Aeterna; the theme for the movie Requiem for a Dream. Every leaf that blooms that is worthwhile will return in some form or another again: my faith. And so this lost leaf of a song returned to me today apparently beaming from the Harkness "Dread Spire" of Haven (New Haven but no longer "new") glaring dreadfully skyward as I sat listening enraptured by the aggressive fantasia of musical notes and arcs.

And listen I did from outside the rampart-ed gates of the gothic Yale, or Yule, citadel; the dread spire enclosed within the walls. And there I sat with my neonic blue celestial ether arc welder attempting to graffiti-glyphiti the citadel walls with a master-mind-ic symbol, propoganda, virus-esque concept idea that would be a legitimate new cuss word-slang idea that would have the weight of the red and black swastika in the minds of people today minus the holocaust-war stigma aspects. I just wanted a brilliantly insidious, devious, aggressive, superlative symbol brand-brend or iconic logo that carries the same weight as the Nazi swastika, again minus the stigma. A youthful, roguish, subversive refusal, akin to the scene from the movie Dances With Wolves, when the character Dances With Wolves realizes he is no longer a white American man and kicks his food dish at the U.S. soldier while in captivity in essence sealing his fate. And so I sit on the outskirts of the metal concrete city shard platform of Yule (Yale)/Haven (New Haven), my fate not yet decided, dreaming of my Skunk Works factories of desecration-consecration in its spawn-ic or infant stages.  An imaginary Desecrator machine mech from Mech Warrior computer games arrives at the gates of the citadel (The Citi Dell: coorporate sponsorship of The City; The City - painfully vague and spoken by people with bad nomenclature instincts; How about: The Fat Apple, New Yore Yuck un-amerika York) serendipitously, named Jayger, armed with a naizzy glitch rod - graffiti-glyphiti weaponry designed for the end of creating a brand-brend symbol idea that falls on people in a Draconian severe manner for their own good - and attempts a protocol programmed by my whim to desecrate the face of the gate and asks in a bionic droid voice, "Is it possible to desecrate this place?"

Perfect interrupted blessed moments: including lost conversation threads, incomplete or forgotten shards-fragments-shrapnel of ideas ejected from the bore hole of my life force drill with inexorable, busy drill bit, driving into the core of the matter creating an exotic network of tunnels, channels, and caverns laced with forgotten and marred gems. A lifelong saga of mining-hashing-carving the self into the foreground-existence - self actualization for the laymen - by way of the template of the soul which is used as a lathe.  The foreground, reality, existence is inserted into the lathe and my spirit essence grinds, carves, interacts with it essentially carving my face-hand-spirit print glyph trademark brand-brend into reality-existence: T.H.I.S.
Existence itself lacks perfection. The idea perfection is tainted not by a fall, but by necessity, and, trith and bitty (truth and beauty) drop naizzy yellow blue whats the anti-matter fragmentation grenades to shroud themselves like a coy doe. The process, excelsior, life, demands imperfection by necessity, yet remains apparently seamless and is adorned by the figurehead of the word: prefect-perfect; an active verb, always invigorating and causing strivence. Yet the background mechanisms themselves behind the seams are a frictionless streamlined seamless process as far as I can tell.

Yet the masses never can acknowledge the imperfections and incongruity of life, and are always in disbelief things are not "perfect" in a nagging ill humored way: "That's unbelievable," they say.  I have no idea what their reactions would be if things were in fact perfect notwithstanding that T.H.I.S., existence, the excelsior process is as close to perfection as it is going to get.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011


Forget what is below, the affliction that most women suffer from must be due to the strange intentionally doped chemicals put into nail polish and other manicure ointments.

Dick the misogynist  says - Don't you just hate how women go off with some mysterious cameraman and act all peachy flowery smiley to paint the walls of the world with their picture.  In a public setting around an actual woman one only receives a cold ice blizzard shoulder and eyes and oblivious ignore-ranting demeanor.  Artificial smiles, forged gazes, counterfeit charms.  Don't get me wrong, looking at a pin up of a girl is superlative to actually being in the presence of the girl.

Their form is undeniably machic raze blaze bomber streamlined ultra violet neonic pink nirvanic hyper rapid hip blitzing ether essence striped candy cane from the white south pole.  The only thing of importance about them further than this is their baby factory instincts.  I am not a machismo and have no problem with the feminist movement.  Rule the world if you want but allow that most females are a feminist joke monkey that refuse to stop behaving like women in the slighted anti-feminist sense when in the presence of men even though they be at work or in a public bi-gender setting. 

The whole reality of the process and situation of the creation of a pinup picture, as the daze of fantasy lifts every now and then, and thoughts which bombard your mind causing it to ceaselessly wonder: "These camera men have so much mystique, they find all of these women, so many women, I didn't even realize that hot women like that existed in real life. And that many of them!  I didn't realize I was such an anti-babe magnet.  Hell I don't even get to see a hot women in real life but maybe once a year for a second or two if I am lucky.  The disparities of which eyes see and what are alarming and crushing."  And a realignment life always demands at this point; one is held responsible for such matters no matter how much or little they care and even though they have no answer and will never have an answer.

 I dislike and am skeptical of photography and large scale canvassing of the world with their images and think it the devious, evil, sinister core of what makes women women.  Some may say porn is trashy, which very well may be the case, but what occurs with porn is the basic paradigm or strategy however refined, elegant, beautiful and however you want to describe it, of women in general.  Women have a mental advantage over men due to their physicality.  I heard a rule once from the pen of a Casanova in his own right: "It is the place of man in the grand scheme of things to initiate contact with women."  I fight the rule but am not prompted to do so from any impetus provided by the rule.

I just cannot believe women think they are majestic little beautiful crystals hanging in sunlit windows to be adored and cherished and primarily because they think only their half of the human race is deserving of this classification.  I mean I am dumbfounded that that is the accepted societal perspective impressed upon us by women.  I mean I am dumbfounded that men approach women at all.  I mean how was this battle line established and socially accepted?  Arranged marriages are a thousand times more likable than women's wrath of an icy cold shoulder generally speaking as they walk the feminist line by being out in public yet retain just about all girlish tendencies.  I mean cover the damn creatures up.  Men are disgustingly entranced by pictures of the women who walk all over them.

Most women are feminists monkeys but cannot even behave civilly and with propriety in regards to friendly relations with a member of the opposite sex from a chance meeting in public akin to two men greeting each other in passing on the walk.  Women generally speaking amongst the masses of males sure can tell most men a few things about general sexual restraint although this obviously is a grotesquely exploited superiority complex female mind distortion exaggerating the caliber of an attribute it be.  A challenge for men:  why not every guy give women a cold shoulder, completely ignore them at all costs, just to see what would become of things, to re-establish the battle lines.

Women and their cold shoulders, eyes always looking away from you which is the equivalent of cold darts being thrown directly in your face, almost induce in me a spirit for sport.  And sport not within the realm of courting games.  A game, a sport that is the equivalent to the women's tactic of the cold shoulder or total ignoration.  A bit of revenge and sport from the blizzard and ice storm I lived through while growing up in a woman's world seems like it would be in order.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Christ-X-mas: Anarchist Style

I am a modern day witch.  I have been hospitalized for hugging a tree along a city street and arrested by the cops for trying to frame my dad for attempting to murder me.  Except people today are no longer witches; they are mental health badlam warders gone awol.  My quasaric time warping-traveling mind has been reintrouduced to the earth atmosphere formally by Poison Tooth Heads or the orange skinned bio-hazard toxin breathing wearers of white coats parading down steralized chemical halls lit by the light of ghastly phosphorescent bulbs; patients of their own lives no doubt.

I realize the title of this writic sketch cartoon post is more Jack Frost and Wintertide-ish with Norse yule logs and evergreen trees on top than Hallows Ween.  Nevertheless, the masks, horrors, and costumes gleam and shine more brightly, annoited by whole-lye-oil of the Row-man Cat-o-holic Chich, during these whiles accompanying the paganistically tainted event of the winter solstice.

The Walled Pond In  meadow, part of a random sliver shard of wood, adorned with organic and natural grass - no mangers and straw made of petrified whole-lye-oil - not an uber-richness of sacredity that is bound to destroy any good set of spiritual bowls.  The woods are haunted by multi-dimensional UFO's treading the earthen turf as well as by black robed humans who fancy themselves Terrans.

The confederate flag was found by one of the robed Terrans and brought to the Blackline meadow for other black robed Terrans to see.  "Glory," spoke the leader of the Terrans.  The other robed ones were speechless and didn't know what to say or how to respond as the concept 'glory' simply did not register in their minds.  "Rebel, rogue, trickster" spoke the leader.  Understanding vaguely but still much in the dark the remaining robed Terrans remained silent.  "We are barely evil," spoke the leader a last time.

Eventually an evergreen tree was brought into the center of the meadow and three tires in a triangular pattern were arrayed around the base of the tree and lit afire to billow clouds of black smoke.  Under their hoods every Terran wore a gas mask and carried a stick; tip alight with napalm (gasoline and styrofoam).  A Star crossed X confederate flag (south pole will rise again) was placed at the top of the tree along with the red and black anarchist banner.  "This is a mystique building session," spoke the leader again as an angry strobe light was attached to the tree reminiscent of the strobes on tall power line pylons alerting airplanes of their presence that pierce the blackness sharply and harshly with their flashes. 

"The confederate flag is dead.  Buried in history leaving its skeleton behind to be reincarnated by new spirits.  Let it again live.  May a splash of dash from this resurrected banner grace us.  Let us be barely evil.  Allow us a splash, a tinting of life force from the genuine rogue concept that must exist outside of a movie screen or a terrorist or drug lord plot or intrigue.  And so, this is why we inspire thee bandit flag with the red and black banners of anarchy."

As the robed meadow enchanters attempted honesty and looked upon the scene and words with their napalm lit staves in hand, a large cross in the back ground was set on fire for video purposes.  The strobed tree with red, black, and confederate flags on top, robed gas mask wearers with napalm torches, triangle patterns of burning tires spewing out clouds of black smoke were video taped and uploaded to the internet entitled: "Attempted Incarnation of the Loki Spirit."

Giant Blue: The Mechanical Cores of Happy Glowic Stars

The earth has a sky blue domed hood.  I saw a compartment door of the then apparently solid sky open once while reading a scene from one of my favorite books: Giant Blue - The Mechanical Cores of Happy Glowic Stars.  When a robotic sky crew actually does physical maintenance on the mechanized sky, solid compartments are opened that appeared seamlessly blended into the 3-D foreground previously when viewed from the ground or appeared to be simple atmospheric gas.  Often times dead shipwrecked musical artists who were attempting to kiss the sky blue tent hood are extracted-removed by routine robotic assessment and protocol maintenance droids due to the fact that they didn't realize the sky was a solid piece of matter..

Fossil shards from black oil-petrol-gasoline engine exhaust residues dance in the wind and every once in a spontaneous while will, from some strange supernatural coalescent force or another, settle like volcanic ash into a solid, complete form of a dinosaur skeleton.  People have wondered about the spontaneous death of a thousand red tipped black birds or even the apparent apparition of the Virgin de Guadalupe on a stained wall.  But never have the people wondered, much less appreciated, what the bone collector of spontaneous formed dinosaur skeletons hides:ce novel species of skeletal reptilian specters that auto-coalesce spontaneously around polluted urban areas with ample and enough fossil fuel fragments floating in the air for the formative process.

I was riding in a spaceship once while reading a sci-fic book.  A portal of the space ship opened and a nebula came into view: Bluedrift.  And back lighting the blue gaseous mass were millions of youthful blue giant stars.  Special moments special.  This memory of space is my fondest.  In places like the Bluedrift nebula galaxy, blue giant star cores are machines-factories producing a million different celestial ether star dust charms.  Blue charm-ed be the gravity wells inhabited by these noble blue happy giants causing sustained fussional neuronic charmic excelsior reactions to occur in the minds of creatures residing in the blue lit realm. 

The glowic machine reaction core of each star produces an celestial ether field of emitted charms which is the equivalent to a radio broadcasting center here on earth emitting music laden signals.  Being spawned in that realm, Bluedrift nebula galaxy creatures have mechanical-organic devices in their minds that make them charm channel receptoric.  From where the machine cores of the blue giant stars incipient their charm used to accompany blue glowic light and happy enchanted ether, only Nobody, a maiden of the muses, knows.  Studies have been done on Bluedrift creatures and apparently there exists a "spiritc vertebra" that is characteristic of these creatures back bone from this blue giant star core engineered realm which is responsible for their blue neonic charm-ed happy lives.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Happy Helium Enchantment

Mechanic Naturic Abstractic Chantic: Hallowed Electric-toxin-tonic
(Nirvana Rapier Chantic: Afterglow brend burn)

A happy poem for Walled In Pond, Cat Meadow's ear enchantment:, an ode to Blue Giant Stars, Sky Blue, and Sapphires glowing in the dark.

Mechanic Nature-ic Abstractic Chantic: Hallowed Star Tonic
[Nirvana Rapier Chantic Afterglow]

Face painted of yellow petal dye
On finger sky blue gray ring glowing
Mead fire blazing in mind's eye
Innocent blue giant ultra indigo x-ray ray laughter on wind blowing

Dance-prance-tread do I; quantum mechanical abstraction
With axles and rubber feat; machine head reaction
Shards of yellow tire fire fly - daffodil romancing
Rocket trajectory arc flare into dark sapphire midnight void glare - moon glancing
Body a sprocket, finger a rocket - a word array
Fiery photon, star cast, to moon dust - a twinkle ray

Raking dark celestial gardens does lunar dust claw
Frozen helium, oh blue noble gas, welcome to the thaw
Machine reactor burneth thee - for blue enchantment say
As happy chemical breathing machine gods sway

Oh neon electric blue mechanical celestial mead ether lamp
Evanescent life manna blazer reactor sighted
Father earth protocol: swallow an amp
From tonic tit of Gaea Goddess Witch Crone

Green sun rising down from blue mechanical cloud towards horizon
Brief light - darkness harking
And crescent - awol orbit
Mechanized pendulum of dread

Emissary hornet from nectar cicle vent
Bearing Gaea Godess Witch Whore Crone brew scent
Spoketh of the mechanized quantum mechanical bower
Dire dire, sayeth bee, by the hour

Awaken-ed daffodil from winter sleep
Memory it did noth keep
Blue helium moon scarred through the ages
As history rages

But what to city machine eyes be this bitty
Meets mine eye: quantum alien daff-a-lune-clover

Meadic draught shall thou stay
And light lit yellow flower and blue silver crescented orb again some day

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Ash I just fell in love with canada for a moment.  I mean I was toting around the passport but just realized why.

Ash conspiracy theory time.  I think the greys are responsible for the urban dictionary.  I dont think that cool of a thing and massive of a project could be done and recieve so much non-attention and to gather from the street and not written sources.  Possible?

Ash what the hell are hackers doing?  I mean really?

Found a new favorite place yesterday.  Replaces the lost mural at cosi.  Cannot express the beauty seen with my own eyes like I opened them for the first time.  Television and other screens dont do the retina justice and I just learned this yesterday.

Revolution is caught up in music just everyone is ignorant of what the revolution is.  Much unrest in youth in music tonight fighting the machine.  Ghandi, eye opening tonight comes to mind with the  mention of Napoleon.  And of course the quote by JD Salinger from Franny and Zoey, why does everyone insist on goig forth and making a big splash.  Couple this with myether blazing greatness disappointment desolation field burnout and I dont know where I stand tonight.  A maelstrom of inner turmoil and longing and subsiding...

I am following youth movements in music.  DO your anarchist friends have their own tunes?  Ash:  Not that I know of but maybe that extended crew does.  Also.  U cant be glorifying this scene cuz everything sounds better on paper/in theory.  Many of these anarchist kids r way 2 young 2 have true and working and lasting handle on anarchy and sadly, it is just a fashionable phase...

I am not glamorizing.  I am interested.  What makes the kids this way interests me and even what makes them change.  I mean there is alot of energy expended on thinking in this manner.

I mean the reason it is a phase is because there is no serious initiative, no vein to exploit, no traction in the political world.  I mean how does one highjack order is what it comes down to and nobody knows how to do that.

Call me magnolia silverfin today.

I have to say I like the anarchist radicalism not that I know what it means all of it but simply because it is a stand away from regular politics and is like waving the dukes a hazard confederate flag.

Ash: "U could do linguistics you know."  Draco:  Linguistics? said in the same manner as the cowboys in salsa commercial surprised it came from new york.

 Ash I totally have a project.  I want to do a documentary on anarchists.

Ash Ive been abducted by jewishness.  I always thought it would be grays.

And do you remember the triad party decorum flash ur friend uttered upon me mentioning the urstatt?  (Freedom and responsibility- NOT freedom from responsibility)  It is a breath of fresh air spartic to speak your virtues so openly and matter of factly in this fascist stressed industrial mindic playing field.  They the anarchists are citizens in my country.  Almost a too laid back effrontery,  mocking patriotic loyalists, and clear duty sighted with responsibility in mind saying what is on the tip of everyone's lips but cant see because so inundated with fascist bullshit.  I mean we pitiously argue about whether to do the pledge to allegiance. Yet it never fails to here the national anthem at a football game or even to have an exessive celebration penalty for a errant wrong military solute after a touchdown.  This laxity coupled with absolute overkill outstounds me.  I mean I like the Hitler salute personally, there just isn't a place for that these days.  I mean I hate the wave and handshake and the pit and pendulum feel of the adjusted tie.  I mean why not be spartic.  I like sparta much these days. And how rediculous am I being?  I hate the military boot camp way of life.  HA!

The security guards at Koffe? looked me over.  An innocent, dumb, protocol blank, ignorant scan.  If I were a crip I would have shot them scum fucks dead.  If I owned the shop I would have booted the fools out and stamped a barcode on their foreheads.

My winter anarchist Christmas celebration:  have three tires burning in a triangle array at base, wear gas masks and have torches dripping napalm put intense strobes on tree like a tower pylon signaling  airplanes put a red and black flag on top then burn cross.  Publish on you tube and be cool.

I was wearing my army medal that u attached to the backside by the polar bear and asked the lady if the security guards would kick my ass for wearing it because that is what my boss said at work.  And I told her about the kid in the football game who lost the game for his team for being penalized for excessive celebration which was simply for a military salute.  So harshly fascist.  That is why I wear my medal today.  She said it was safe to salute today and I liked it on the day of the dawning of my spartic responsibility. It reminded me of the anarchist coffee shop in Portland,  I so wanna arsh.  If I had cancer the make a wish foundation would send me there.  The garbage pail kid feel of america.  My dashing rebel dukes of hazard flag.  Man fort isolation with this flag forvever until death my friend!!! LOVE Draco.

Koffee was a good suggest.  I love the silverware holder with forks followed by a question mark?  Responsibility in honesty of the absurd coldness, of things not a perfect perfecting of this with american enthusiasm that is fascist in demanding that forks without fail terminate in the right bin, the forks bin.

Smoking officially stopped for three days and counting.  THis day is Janus  infused and the first glint of the dawn of the janaurius year.  May the temple gates remain steady as i joy in religious hokey pokey cross bashing trash talk heard on HBO.  I needed it openly for a moment or the memories.  To live in front of the veil on the foreground for a long time being haunted by the church bells and then, to run across a bottle of water saying fuck god in the middle of the desert.   That bottle is the same as looking behind the veil and realzing, oh that was nothing, just a spark, just a reminder that the church will have had its day one of these days.  That shit is primed lock and loaded and on autopilot to auto-trifriculate its dumb ass of the planet one of these days.  One elegant stroke in the dessert says more than a million angel adorned trees and legit hail marries.  I think I just heard the artillery barrage ballistics in which perhaps I come closer to realizing or seeing the death of god as I know it.  Or not that could be wishful thinking or lusting after Nietzschean nonsense.  I am a mensa boycotter remember and Nietzsche is the origingal blue drift emissary vessel that annihiliated the majestic longness way of life.

Def Geoff inspiration day after a few calibration days of disengagement from the breast of the ether induced manna nugg milk spiritual weather patterns.  I walk the streets of Haven today outside of my metal machinic cave and what fresh air I smelled today.  A thousand and one thanks for the koffee? recommendation.  Reco. Recon officer Jafe aryan verengen was stoked today by the outing.

The bombardier pilot in me loves u for being an echo base target.  I need a place target to aim my shrapnel ash. I told a yalie grad student today that I am a graffiti word sketcher brendatic.  He said he approved.  I told him I am was shy of the academic grindstone.  He said it was good to be producing and I wished him well on his way back to the cybernetic factory.

There is no grinch or santa.  The two forces together form a hybrid: the dread jester.  With diamond heart teeth and staff adorned with broken dream lamps and festivle neonic bulbs.

Wicked Mobile Enchanting Chantings

Walled In Pond of Ansonia-Narnsia Center haunted by neonic green croaking sounds of batrachians by night, and still, algae infested surface waters by day veiling the lurkers of the depths.  On the shores of Walled In Pond are several evergreens with blue needles adorned by ornaments hung over the prickly branches on hemp strings.  Orange peels, oat rings, berries, holly, pine cones, hippic charms with "peace, love, and happiness" etched into their sides, all hung from the blue spiny limbs like season-less flowers emitting shimmering organic charmicked photons not even a five minutes caper from Walled In Pond  sunshine dappled-laced meadow romp.

Walled In Pond of Ansonia-Narnsia Center was attributed its name due to the mortar bricks and metal walls one feels when one follows the wooden walk way as if the machine heart of concrete shardic sky scraper platforms insidiously breathed down one's neck at this particular locale.  In order to prove to purist Thoreau readers who claim nature is always peaceful, tranquil, placidic and medicine for the soul, the chimerical Council of Dragoons of Narnsia, imagined itself into the real Ansonia Center and built lightning bug lantern trails during orange industrial sunset twilit vernal hours that impress the sensation of neonic lit gridded city streets.

The quantum mechanical abstractic bower at Walled In Pond - grass waving in the wind echoing the sounds of the concrete plain of the city metal shard platform - is a charmic, engineered, electronic dew drop with twinkling iridescent LED lights and serves as a mobile to adorn a rib of the earth rock buried in the shining resplendent yellow bosom of the sun.

Oh Cat Meadow, where be thy mellows and your rainbow umbrella sun shade. The stress static of machine city cores permeate like the American Language rift-hold on the tongue of the world.  Let you me hang your mobile here; pine cone, blue wood, garlic, dragonflye and all - an intergalactic earthen charm fabricated by crow feather oil and sticks from the woods haunted by egg shape domed UFOs - and may your soothing, capricious, musical, mellifluous thoughts lead you down the path of these words to pass the whiles...

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Private Spliff Vacant Head

One Draco Ruffinius Feralcrow visited "Battlezone" an army and navy surplus store.  The store name rings with the essence of the video game Contra for original Nintendo featuring superlative, slightly roguish jungle marines running level to level with exotic weaponry, red smoke signals, helicopter landings, "Shock and Awe" if you will, on a green beret, Hollywood, two loyal good friends save the world type of scale.

And I approached the owner who was wearing a dark pair of aviators, not mirrored, a hat denoting some veteran affiliation or another, and a shock and awe humble army smugness, with my A-10 30mm cannon aflare, replete with angry red toothed mouth and pleasure to war angry eye decals, bombs active and tremblical hot,  and I asked, "did you ever see any action pops?!"

The return fire was a silently whistling anvil colliding with a plate of metal, full of minted honor and duty and righteous patriotism, amounting to him ignore-ranting the question away.  Battlezone.  Shock and Awe.  On the one hand: "They" be ultra good; best men ever in history.  On the other:  "They" have nastiest weapon systems ever.

"Excuse me sir but I don't like how that Excalibur hangs at your side.  The blade looks a modicum or more crooked," Draco spoke to the old vet upon leaving the store with his purchase of 40 years service patches.

After the 40 years service patches had been sowed onto the stock buffalo jet black jacket, Draco visited a Crow at a stone tower atop a hill..  The details of the rendezvous-tryst-encounter will not be published here.  The next recordable scene is of Cat Meadow adjusting the pins of an actual military private badge unto aforementioned stock buffalo jet black jacket and asking Draco, "Who is Private Spliff Vacant Head?"

"Blue mach-ic pulses, white gamma rays, and red stars glowic.  That is what the colors of the badge signify," Draco replied.  "Private Spliff Vacant Head is: asleep behind the wheel in a windowless cockpit, a scar over a wound-less wound, an artificial mirage, a posed poser kissing infinity, and seamless thin low dim.  His mind be blanker than blank voidic with blind autopilot, static static fuzz cuz, Nothing forsaken, divided division with a pack-less entourage, a nether-coil blindside, whiteout glitch, blacken blacker black, highjacker of ideals, photonic fraud, absolute control with a counterfeit shroud, backward backside, forfeit gambit."

The current en vogue military fashion confounds.  Nevertheless proudly, with his military private badge attached to his metal military issue green jacket with the name "Hillman" emblazoned upon the front, as Draco mans Fort Isolation on Battered Hill - the locale of the Walled in Pond Chich - he retreats and sojourns at his fort with so much nothing in his head that it is a surprise that the void does not create such a rift with its vacuum state that the entire area is not sucked in by the black hole of his mind.

And whilst at the edge of the pond under the surreal beauty of the Walled in Pond Chich awnings, ethereal beauty glows smiting the pixels of second and third and fourth hand reality recorded by electronic photon capture devices.  Natural beauty smiles, caresses the retinas, stills and graces.  The veil of the foreground, everything immediately visible, then drops and blinding blue giant stars being eaten by black holes appear.  The massive mammoth glowic stars enchant as orbiting iridescent pterodactyls, wings outstretched, drop shardic charms that can be tasted by neurons and smelled on the tongue.

And this be not the first time the veil has dropped before Private Spliff Vacant Heads eyes and thus the 40 years of public service badges denote this fact sewed onto the shoulders of his stock buffalo jet black jacket.  And the "blue mach-ic pulses, white gamma rays, and red charms glowic" of his private badge denote simply some of the effects that occur when the veil drops - the effects of the muses swinging on swings suspended from the blue giant stars; both singing beautifully.

Friday, January 7, 2011

The Dream Boat

Second in line at Koffee?, out of sight line with register yet voices audible. Free coffee overheard. I approach counter and electronic register gently lean forward and make an inquiry regarding free coffee. After ensuing noises, koffee? house proprietress snarls, and ding bat cob webs being cleared, a laminated warning sign is thrust towards me along the counter:

Warning! Every abandoned child will receive three shots of espresso and a puppy. I pleaded with the proprietress on the matter, my mother, the Gaea Goddess Witch Whore, had just dropped me of in front of the shop like orphaning a child in front of a church in a basket whipping me with a bark coated neonic blue glow stick tree branch.

I continued on and had the audacity to ask for an Alaskan Husky with two different colored eyes. The proprietress was taken aback for a moment and again with her sardonic koffee house snarl said she only wished for the most hated dog for me as she began to lose her patience and demanded to know what my impertinent presence continued to do loitering in front of her dormant hungry register.

I swiftly told her I wanted some whack! She promptly imformed me that their shop Koffee? has whack a plenty and that I will have plenty of whack in my koffee, because, well of course, it was Wednesday - Odinsday.

Wimpy Dark Matter, a cartoon hybrid with a physical appearance somewhere between the Pillsbury Dow Boy and the Marshmellow Man, mellowfied stilled on the black wall of the men's bathroom ornamenting the florrid graffiti writ above the industrial sewage pipe dream squatter: Make Your Mark.

As I returned to the main floor from the basement, who could it be but Wimpy Dark Matter himself, 4 inches in stature living in a magical pencil and paper Toon Jank Town style hybridized with actual 3-D retinal rendering, pacing the counter with a taciturn, sanguine demeanor and chatting quietly with the proprietress.  Wimpy obviously was caught up on weighty matters being the creation of a non-tech-n(not)aught cartoonist who knew nothing of cosmology, thought dark was shady and matter street secrets, and lived next door to a Yale cosmology PhD student for a brief bout.  Thus the stormy osmotic storkdom stemming from Wimpy's origins, who is now reside-ence-ic at Koffee?

As one Draco Feralcrow approached, it could be overheard that Wimpy Dark Matter had been recently marooned on a small tropical island with a Gecko. "And see this here card? Abandoned Andy? That was my self portrait drawn during my time on the island. Too much toxic raspberry crab cobbler mind-o-fuct. Then just like at the end of Lord of the Flies, a Man arrived on the island by boat, took one quick, sure, look at the Gecko, pulled out a gun..."

"Whacked koffee," spoketh the proprietess to me with a rosy cheeked smile as I neared the counter and read the black writing on the side of the mug she handed me: "The Dream Boat."

Thursday, January 6, 2011


"Cat Meadow! Answer your phone I say to ye, my tummy be a rumblin for some koffee? and I forgot where koffee? was and I didn't know where to go find some anarchists."

To make an anarchist documentary: the thought of the day.

"And your new Chemical Industrial nickname Cat Meadow, due to your vinegar bandanna tear gas story about Old New York, or the Citi-Dell (Corporate sponsored denotation of citadel), is: seeing red - CN Red - cyanide red. This name was of course directly inspired by contact with the silver jaguar head door knocker that without doubt appears to be wearing a chemical breathing apparatus or gas mask on Cat Meadow's front door.

And Cat Meadow is also dabbling her paws in chemicals and hybridactic theories like why red stars glow in the dark and how the iridescent feline of Calicutless went extinct giving the throne away to the common brown alley cat. So therefore, an option it not be, but a necessity, to word glyph her here with a chemical word brenditic nickname: cyanide red.

"Seeing red" is originalated from the Main Slate rock music conception of anger: a raging pulsing red laser beam biting into the ethereal lead of Brahma, a 1000 sided societal tug of war. Easy Company 353 has interviewed and evaluated many red heads, red laser beam neuron sour pusses, red wired short circuit fried heads, and jumbled grungy concert goer Kinked Neck Red.  The conclusion of Easy Company 353 was a question:  Why are rock musicians screaming so much? Talk of the metal grated streets, rioters, and black nihilist grenades in the streets of the Fat Apple sparked flared Cat Meadow's memory to recall a tip she had capriciously learned to avoid the detrimental effects of tear gas: dowse your bandanna in vinegar and place it over intake breathing holes ports.  The third shard of impetus for appellation: cyanide red.

The foreground is of course the riot and one could claim to be seeing red in the background. Aside from drug banditry and ignoble guerrilla warfare there is no other war these days and thus Tyr, the Norse god of War, inspired folk demand one to throw on the gas mask or vinegar-ed bandanna and march with nihilist shardic shock grenades at hand. Cat Meadow's small mention of a home remedy for the Rioters Tear Gas Blues does not mean to impress the fact that she is a wicked little fire cracker with red photons fuming from her pupils locked and loaded and trigger happy on points of authority. No no no.

So originally "seeing red" was a search and destroy all resistance vibe infused into riotous, revolutionary rock music junkies running around like chickens with their heads cut off and being nick named "Anyway: the headless chicken," by the Garbonzic Blue Stripers of Arangon. Little Cat Meadow on the other hand was dissecting shards of the red giant star Betelgeuse in chemistry lab and needed a lit little razor phonetic alteration of the original word designation "seeing red" to CN-Red.

Not to be confused with Agent Orange of Vietnam; that is chemical that has already destructivicated jungle foliage or water under the bridge. Cat Meadow just needed a chemical nickname for chemistry these days and her moment of riot savvy enchanted the gas mask essence muses.  An iridescent feline of Calicutless that haunts Cat Meadow's meadow, the last specimen in the world, which the Universal Animal Rights Organization refused to allow scientists to clone "for its own good," glowed pure red.

And so CN-Red, chemical green apple kisses to you under purple acid rain.

"I must find anarchist newspaper gas masked leopard door handle of Cat Meadow...and so off to Koffee? it is..."

Android: Incredible - Word Tech-nic

I used to play Mech Warrior 2; a computer game. There existed a giant clan mech with the call name Awesome. The expansive wide front side and large number of PPC's (particle projection cannons), slow marauding gait, evident massive plating and shields,  as well as an overpowering awesome power generator core that maintains the mech integrity and solidity.  Its prime directive is to trample resistence majestically-beautifully by treading-assaulting with bomber jet mach-ic mechanized music from jagged gauss anti-dark-matter-atmoizer atlas shardic platform weapony cannons.

Super string theories and thong dreams - the ultra indigo frequency of the  joint system is supported and reinforced by the intergalactic blue giant star cluster, the 
Pleiades, by mechanical black hole gravity tunneling stabilization and shielding.  Movement of the Awesome, by design, creates a jet mach frequency ripping space-time to the extent that gamma rays are high-jacked by a photonic absorption system.  These gamma rays are gathered-collected, re-engineered, and equipt with Star Wars X-wings.  The Awesome then emits these novel gamma X-wing equipped rays as a quantum mechanical shroud that enshrouds the Awesome for cloaking, defensive, and offensive purposes. I have an Android Incredible phone.

iPhone's are for nerdy yuppies. Their commercials and devices are aimed at nerdic yuppies; the modern "techy bread and butter" urban livique. Their yuppie taste generally infiltrates-seeps tech-spawns into the rest of the consumeric mass in erratic and unpredictable ways: from a simple dim head that blindly lusts over any old shard of tech without adequately thinking and surveying the field and thus a de facto yuppie spawn to a suburban pot smoking chain restaurant waiter, recently engaged, driving a trendy Japanese transport fancying himself classy when saying "There you ar" while delivering a plate of food like a Fed Ex boy.

Or a film director-ographer on the mainslate seeking a small film festival bid that watches sports center like a child sucking his thumb to sleep and guzzles booze as if when a babe he was suckling on more than ample chest apparatus directly following child birth.  He allows his iPhone to play in pig piles and other phone orgiastic dances at human social gatherings as if he were taking the phone for a walk or play hours akin to a neighbor dog.

My Android is super hyper-rapidic advanced, reminiscent of the Awesome name from Mech Warrior 2 with the droid protocol operational mark: Incredible. Android commercials are razor mach-ic future-tech replete with solid mellifluous machine droid voices verbic. I am all about the droid vocals.  The vocals for the iPhones on the other hand bring to mind a jaded yuppie nerd with glasses desperately wanting to be the monopolist but instead is fighting a goner lame nerd ball representing monopoly.  I mean why even bring the nerdy into the picture and make a consistent brand show of it?  Droid doesn't.

The word "droid" is originally from Star Wars.  And I am a Star Wars dreamic jedi force-ic child that meditates to the sound of light saber battles. In this sense the fusion of Android: Incredible and I was seamless, pure, genuine affinity, auto-fate-ic-matic and streamlined. I use the droid as a cutting edge advanced clock-watch that would have impressed every previous human from history if I went back in time and I pulled it out of my pocket because someone asked me for the hour today.

I have a no wrist watch policy. Think of the droid in a dreamy imaginative high tech sci-fi manner with time warp style and it is like pulling an R2D2 out of your pocket.  My phone is a sun dial (double talk): ancient  hour keeper as well as a sci-fic dream of owning a sun star or buying one at the local Stardust Brothers Inc. and controlling its heat and color settings with a dial. I am a Droid phone poser too by the way.

My droidic Android Incredible sun dial phone is re-teching and re-generating generation-X in my little corner of the corner in cybernetic land and has an exotic, elegant, hieroglyphic kaleidoscopic panel screen that pushes and pushes to be purer and clearer than actual or at least that is how minds these days are high-jacked by the television.