goddamn the social nemesis.
a stream of consciousness tale of drugs and the mind-bending situations that go along with their indifferent motions.
2008 March
Fates of the Meat.
a psychotic killer with no past finds herself with nowhere to go after the last murder, but inside an old woman’s house, she realizes that some things are revealed that should be left buried.
the crass insight.
I am a fury riding the gilded attitude of consumption. Manifestation of life and then will out of self-awareness. A child is always born with the animal instinct to make a stable environment for itself. This is revealed in the actions of relentless, nameless things that approach the absurd. Shameless self-discovery that no one seems to want to fess up to. I will be the scapegoat, and their exit from the blame during duress. my hindsight affects your foresight, and the passion you forsake becomes a shroud that betrays no shadows. Merely flashes of memory for the sake of progression. Towards goals that few will ever realize now, but that may one day permeate the abundance of society. styles and fads are the conditioning that surrounds our occasional instances requiring our presences in forms channeling instinct into the furnace, …
a spectacle gruesome
a nightmare tale of harrowing transformations as the various survivors play out their struggles, revealing people in their most base forms of terror, and how they deal with the eminent demise of their world as they know it.
who is the man called Zappa Xero?
the beginning story of Zappa Xero, and some idea of where he comes from before the change into his present incarnation. a background story revealing some of the things in his past that lead him to discover who he really was to be.
pieces of dream.
the wall was built to protect the advantages that others kept to themselves…the rot was more of a side effect than anything else…the excitation was diverting distraction’s edge…blunting the blade, as it were…laughter fills the air with the knife in one hand, and a reasonable doubt within another grip…the alibi fell short, and my friends feel the pressure…the intestinal fortitude scared my sensibilities…the stylized rhythm filtered through the air, the particles and the space betwixt those, but came to settle further into the ear of the madman…the altars are a swollen place…the fusions losing all form…the suckers have rowed ashore for ages since…the functions lost tales long ago…forgotten…turned into those short phrase situations…the ones where a dull silence pervades the sickness, greasy and matted over the conversations they speak of in the dimly-lit rooms…hair flattened and dense in the …
licking the wallpaper free.
Wonka had nothing for my case of lead-based paint ingestion, and neither did the doctors, who said i would be mentally-deficient for the rest of my life. It sucks to be considered a retarded person when you don’t happen to be one. As kids, we see ourselves in a completely different way than we seem to when we find how adulthood has changed us, inside and out. Heavy thoughts like stagnant water sit still in my brain, with my mind held captive, and my body fearing for its’ life. Progress is free for those can afford it, and you have to stick to the regimen they create for you. If you don’t abide by their rules over you, then you might be labeled some kind of slippery slur that will raise the personal defenses, and then you will have …
the Bastard Brainchild of a Personal Perspective…
the unstructured self, the laughable scaffolding that underlies the raw formation of random material, and all the drama that leads us to our futile self-representation. the weakness is our strength, and our ignorance lies in being/allowing ourselves to be enraptured by whatever we may choose to call beauty, what may be more correctly pronounced as distraction. the inhale-exhale of energy spent, through years of practice, made into the powers of speech. there to behold is the paradox of interpersonal communication as a whole. what do we create within ourselves that needs to possess more than the form, but that indeed forces us to view the function of those forces that be. the growth became a cancer of intelligence, the single-minded instead of the single-celled organism, and began a plague of toxic shedding of darker pieces of swirling shards of …
in defense of the morons…
and so I am sick of it all…the filth has humanized me into distress, but beyond that, the tears are gray…pallid marks in self-pity, and where the form ends, the microcosmic conundrum displays a fresh rendering for the viewers approach…abstracted inane, the pain of brain, thought permeated…the marked are the bearers of a cavalier attitude, the banners wave in flippant parade, and yet the question of pride comes into play perhaps…the thoughtless repose for the blank generation around us…the slate cleaned to help subdue an anatomy of rebellion…we yield for no entity that doesn’t look something vaguely familiar to us…therefore, it must replay against a field of natural surroundings again and again until the lesson is universally learned there…the first level of learning by trial and err is the serious frustration that lies just under the surface, early perfectionists …
Quote of the Day
“It’s like you made a poorly worded deal with the devil to be a rock star. Instead of fame, fortune and groupies, you stand in the shadows plucking one note for ninety minutes while the lead singer picks out a trio of co-eds from the front row for a post-show pansexual trapeze act. Even worse, you’re expected to room with the drummer.”
~ Steven Colbert on bass players.