catrabbitfishcaf

Hashtag domination is a lovely thing.  Nobody’s paying attention to a fucking thing these days. 

Man, I am loving this new remaster slash remix of the Never Let Me Down album!  Overall quite a fascinating period in his career.  From a very different artist I also really like the album Shadows Collide With People.  How many roses, I gotta go around asking that as soon as I figure out how to function as someone besides who I are.  damn, but I am really not a good looking guy!  Still, looks aren’t everything!  No, they’re the only thing!  Fuck, who fucking said that?!  It now has future and past elements from Outside though I just relate everything to Outside.  It’s funny how secrets travel.  The highway again.  I’ve been slave to flesh recently though I’ve also been drinking in excess recently!  Still, the work is going well.  It’s always the work. ah, Reeves’ involvement makes perfect sense.  It is such a beautiful feeling this gift has provided, thank You so much.  Its complete revisionism.  It’s completely adding a new context or something to something else.  It’s repositioning every odd inflection.  It’s fucking audacious and fucking brilliance and drawing out the brilliance which was always present.  It’s surgery in reverse and I may have to reconsider everything I’ve ever written and said about steaming feline intestines. 

She grabbed my head and slammed it against the door and I was deeply turned on.  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about submitting to loving authority and all the glories therein.  I spent the better part of my morning listening to Polish night music and reading about nausea.  Or did i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  I will always lament the retiring of that Brazilian female body builder.  Will that perhaps be the biggest lament of my miserable life?  Only time will tell.  Time, patience, the right berries.  I drank a lot last night and fell asleep at some point.  I’m probably going to be sweating soon.  Speaking of that thing I mentioned before (I think it involved a Korg synthesizer laying down a beautiful bed; nothing synthesizes like a Korg) I need to pre-order something or something.  Wax and no wax.  Those numbers will run through my ears and I reflect on an utterly lush not quite classic which brings to my mind deep shades of purple and turquoise and I also think of rocks, lovely painted rocks.  Or something.  Who the fuck knows?  Ah, but now I will feast upon that gloriously ugly digital iteration and realize it was telling me to seek that empirical information from within.  Or something.  I don’t know.  It all became blue.  Consequences.  Spilled a lot of ketchup.  I see now all the spoken words I’ve ignored.  I need to blow my brains out and then be temporarily re-animated by voodoo (who do?) in order to consume said brains (in classic cuisine brains are chilled before preparation). 

I was having a philosophical discussion with a humanist and then I asked for cheese for dessert.  Then I watched a video a Brazilian female body builder torturing a guy with headscissors.  I’m going to eat a piece of fruit here fairly soon.  There are so far three sides of the Polish night music I enjoyed today.  I enjoy the concept of sides.  And don’t even get me started on walls!  Oh, I love walls.  I always love hearing about other people’s favorites.  In the comments below feel free to provide a list of your favorite albums!  I need to exchange money for conceptual clown killings soon.  My eyes need to traverse more black and white stranger oriented iterations but this time explicitly based in philosophy.  Who dares enter the dark labyrinth of the human mind?!  Tee hee, I always crack up (pisses pants!)!

You go where they take you, that is the glory; leopard on top and black on bottom and in between the sun drenched country shade.  Admonishments therein, berating.  Humiliation.  Oh the sweet suffering. 

I now I am wondering about the imaginer.  I’m on London time of course (I hope they use quartz).  What is taking so bloody long?!  Ah, but I’m used to do a different method is all (one which may involve conductors).  Don’t be so anxious.  I prefer to get my grimy hands on the previous ones.  They just feel so much more comfortable.  And to think I was in the zip code and didn’t even have the common courtesy of a home invasion?!  The famous photographer accompaniment. 

I like my ice to be waffle flavored.  Make no mistake: it is me.  the female gangster on Venus.  Of course he would not realize until much later on (if we were talking about past) the extreme sensual impact of that all-encompassing mask.  Sweet ivories offer the comfort right now.  Of course, we can all richly recall the days where she would tickle the plastics in the early morning sun.  things drowned out eventually but I take solace in the fact that it was all my own damn fault!  What a terrifying number but I won’t remember which soon enough. 

Different techniques were necessary to properly handle the nausea.  And after all the searching last night he came up empty except for bad meat and bad cream.  Of course (not)electronic Klaus was well within sight or is it grasp but the lights were all out, the streets barren.  Anthropomorphizing is not precisely what’s taking place but somewhere he was a bit too memorable and all the while he lunged to viciously kicked into those massive live wires.  Of course now he sees the true cost of the cells (not the cells) and the scope but this is all only richly the very beginning and somewhere there is a phone ringing but he dare not answer. 

You know what?!  I already brought it up but I’m going to fucking mention it again because that’s just the kind of prick I am: I fucking love the new remaster slash remix of the Never Let Me Down album! 

Of course the correct answer twice in a row is that it was an aesthetic change between a case of want and a case of need. 

one oh oh four (outside image, decade later, all the same, heart on fire)

Blood red flowers in the hair and a muse is reborn.  Such an arrogant word from my lips.  I truly am despicable.  When will I stop writing these words?  I can remember everything.  He was desperately looking for a replacement; such a hopeless fool.  And what he found was so far beyond his comprehension.  In a spring dress as true journalism arises (he would of course later learn that true sailing is dead).  And nothing else besides.  Every thought in every moment and then an encounter later on after the fact and I was so very wrong about everything.  What have I done?  He sees another life and another chance encounter he knows will never come.  Out on the patio, no, out on the deck.  Or something.  Some fucking thing.  Good grief, where is she?  But out there on a cool summer evening, glass of wine in hand.  What have I done?  Why does he still feel anything?  He takes so much for the numbness to kick in.  I am nothing.  The doctor is in.  the voice was too low, I never understood a fucking thing.  I need to have some hot tea or something.  I see it all now through a prism of joyous obligation.  Please forgive me.  I so long to kill myself.  I see this, I look back and see you and I often wish a loaded gun would materialize in front of me that I could stick in my foolish mouth and promptly blow my worthless brains.  What was this so close approximation to love he was feeling.  He should have gone out dancing that night.  I’m such a fool.  I’m such a worthless individual.  He will dedicate that song and many others to you.  Perhaps one day there will be true success on the table and then something else could be organized and that would be a blissfully dishonest and cherished moment.  Dishonesty from whom?  I don’t really know.  My feelings are my own and they are not.  I could never be deserving and that is so utterly proper (I think, as my head goes light).  My heart bleeds and my spirit sings a sad song.  There are so many likes.  He should extinguished everything a long time ago.  Let’s not beat around…I should have extinguished everything a long time ago, starting with myself.  Reading over the same words again and again and realizing I have always been and forever will be nothing.  Let him torture himself.  It is deserved and it all amounts to nothing in the end.  Spring dress.  And blood red now.  Kissed by the moon and stars.  I see the error in everything now and I was always wrong. 

Do you see them at dance now?  Do you them embracing?  The talks.  Always those were everything and now they continue about anything, about all, already hundreds of thousands of words dedicated; her appearances and pieces of all his nothing in everything that’s been written down. 

Flowers again and a desire to be embraced.  Happened once.  He is less than nothing.  To be the center of your attention.  To have you favor.  To have your love.  So hard to be so open.  Mysterious watcher.  No one knows who is on the other end of the glass.  In words he finds misery and solace.  Only in fantasy does he find love. 

I’d like to look through your things.  such a pure and natural desire.  And this case found in the midst of precious thievery.  These gorgeous memories are not my own.  He felt real love.  For once he believed he could be happy.  He attended every event.  This was all so brief.  That’s when I realized, just right now in this moment.  I want to be with you everywhere.  He laughs a bit now at the happy thief but the hearts knows it to be true.  Somewhere with music and water and words spoken in a mysterious language and a tone of such loving wonderful comfort.  Squeezed so tight and tender.  Days of abandon, days of love and devotion. 

All these soft evenings that never came true.   I feel the breath of the sunset and I know it’s a lie but such a glorious lie and there are tears in my eyes because I want it so bad.  He knows exactly what music would be playing and at least there is one dance for which she will always be present. 

I’m so fucking worthless, nothing I do matters.  It was always going to be this way.  Of course the only sane option was to leave him behind.  One mind is always somewhere else.  Ah, I see things so clearly now.  I don’t know anything.  I don’t know anything. 

Things cease to make sense and cease to matter.  I suppose that’s okay.  She never let me down.  he wonders about the physicality of it all and about the possibilities.  Absolutely nothing could ever be different but this does not stop him from wondering.  Delayed communication.  What help?  Do you remember celebrating the holiday and the desperation on raw display.  Don’t try so hard to make someone laugh. 

Zero really is my number.  Lets laugh and talk about torture.  Lets run and fall down.  she listened to his meaningless words and for a brief moment he was in her favor and that was everything.  It was all that could ever matter.  If only he’d extinguished soon after and that could be the only lingering sensation.  Or even better, if he could somehow eliminate all traces of himself, present and past and that she could not even recall even the faintest hint of his visage, voice or utterly worthless feelings and desires.  He now asks forgiveness for all those things. 

Please never settle.  He had nothing to worry about.  It was one of the only beautiful things he ever felt.  Warm embrace and warm invitation.  Everything so undeserved. 

I cackle as I realize there will absolutely never be a limit to how many words he can spill in her name. 

pre-to-g(oneohfiveoh)

Could Load be the definitive Metallica album?  Only time will tell.  Time, patience, the right berries.  Still, my passion is equal to the task.  For now, I just wait.  But what I’m waiting for has very little to do with rock music.  Or does it? The more I learn the less I want to know.  No, nothing is really true but even that statement is false.  I’m making light of something to hide the fact.  My heart swells each morning and I am so grateful. Thank You.  But yes, now just the waiting.  Maybe it’ll never happen.  But that’s okay too.  At least I’ll know.  You made it. 

I may have lost something here but I suppose I’ll never know.  Doesn’t really matter.  I need to drink some café.  Thought gang makes sense right now though it somewhat simultaneously lamentable and not lamentable that I missed out on the monkey fur.  No need to indulge in that avaricious side of myself so frequently.  Or is there?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Still, I am looking forward in time.  didn’t realize the true origins at the time as I was walking backward into the school after she gave me a little smile.  The horrors of suburbia would haunt me forever more afterward. 

Poppies.  Of course, now I understand.  Lethal flower.  Lethal flower was the means during one of the most recent times.  There was a pink addition, no, a pink substitute and that made all the difference in the world. I’ve been indulging in all the awful parts of myself lately just as I make this lovely rediscovery.  You know, I really like that movie Out of Time with Denzel and Eva.  I never get tired of that movie.  That’s a classy little sunny noir. 

Read the books.  Sartre.  I know nothing!  Need to slick the hair back.  It took the partner to realize what the three sides meant and the slick coordination taking place in front of it.  All seeing eye.  We must be careful of what we read and what we set down on flat surfaces and turn over.  Need to invest in the hawk iteration, figure out what’s going on that micro level.  I’m going to head to the book store soon.  I’m constantly thinking about hosiery.  I recently had no choice but to delete a repeated word.  The raids are masterpieces of the arts.  The sentence links in with something else. 

And as she orally raped me with the heel of her very fashionable high heel shoe, my heart sang with joy.  Oh to lie down with sweetest sin. 

I know nothing.  You’re going to show me what I am.  And now the favorites are in play.  He has real magic. 

I see now the queen of truth.  I am traveling to these regions.  Her skin is infinity.  The rich compensation taking place.  I understand all about our damnation and the seduction inherent inside infinity.  Blood sacrifices all around the merry table. And still we dance the capricious choreography of dulcet sin. The aroma of sex hangs over us all.  And we smile and have another cup of red wine. 

I see things clearly now.  No, that’s just another terrible sentence.  I’ve run out of things.  my life was with lemon and salt.  I see an alternate path.  There’s an entirely different place…with me somewhere there.  what could have been.  Did he let things go too easily?  Did he renege on his responsibilities?  Does he need to ask for forgiveness?  Yes, that much is certain.  All these worthless individuals taking up his time.  where is the morning?  I think…is there a dream of her’s which never really came true?  I don’t want to cry anymore.  In front of the…number five on the second of Sign.  Do you remember approaching while she read from a book of prayers?  So much to say.  These memories.  They can live again.  Forever.  That was the promise.  Please let there be another chance.  The mornings at the church.  There was no understanding anywhere.  A desire never fulfilled.  Everything is so simple now.  Break away.  Make a path.  Leave and rediscover.  This was the alternate which could never work, yes?  No one knows anything.  Please be happy.  If there had been some way. 

My belly full of fresh liver and blood.  Ah, the inaugural sin.  And now these violet streams of midnight.  And I’m afraid of the light coming in through all the openings.  We are in touch with the ancient ones now.  Read the books, he said.  we’ll have to take it out to lunch.  Some shit.  I see the source of comfort amidst the terror, her hands around his face.  Don’t describe the dark eyes. 

Well, I don’t know so far but there was interruption.  Unconvincing growth of plant life.  First need the florida box and then to be pelted by gamma rays from the seventies.  Brazilian domination has me.  Good corning, I unexpectedly have to be out of crown and am in nowhere today and tomorrow.  I will be returning late tomorrow. 

My local conglomerate did not have Elvis Costello’s new album which means I’ve no choice but to order it online.  Still, my passion is equal to the task. I’ve been reading a fair amount of King and Barker lately.  Burroughs has me.  Those evil flowers on my horizon. 

Better team?  Maybe never. Marks the spot.  Still, was all appropriate in the end.  The skinned alley.  Named after but I just don’t know.  Preferred the before iteration with candles.  This one has never been good with the conclusions.  Despite all the sides of the square there was still too much speed.  I weep for my attachment.  They had the opportunity.  I can be comfortable with this.  Should be said that regardless of the period (punctuation) some of the very best was had right near the end there. 

This detachment is no good.  So many things happening in such a short amount of time.  Please give her the strength. 

I bought a couple books yesterday.  I recently drank coffee.  I’m disgusted by own existence.  The glass prison.  I’m looking forward to something tonight.  Apostle.  Need to fill in the hitching hawk iterations today.  Holofoil has me. 

No answer necessary.  Please be happy.  All with love. 

3m3c2 (though numerically probs wrong as other mentions elsewhere before and after or some fucking thing)

Andrew W.K.’s most recent album.  I was slow on the uptake as I often am but I greatly like.  I cried the other day.  it’s helpful to have a good long cry.  I’m reading The Talisman now.  I’ve never read it before.  What did I watch the other night?  I watched Hold the Dark after eating Lucky Charms cereal.  I love the cereal.  I loved the movie too.   Read a Burroughs book the other day and loved it.  I gave in to sin recently and loved it.  Even now I scatter as I am terrified of everything. 

Oh wow, I recently read Brian Azzarello and Cliff Chiang’s entire 35 (plus 2 bonuses) issue run on Wonder Woman.  It’s a truly beautiful piece of work.  And man, Chiang’s art really set it apart.  I’ve also been going through Grant Morrison’s classic Doom Patrol run.  It’s increasing my brain power.  And soon I will be able to blissfully combine a couple of those things again as volume 2 of Morrison’s Wonder Woman Earth One trilogy is released.  In terms of post Crisis stuff I would now place Azzarello’s run alongside that of George Perez and Greg Rucka.  Will Morrison’s completed run stand alongside those as well? Only time will tell.  Time, patience, the right berries.  I think I told the truth.  I try.  I don’t really know much of anything anymore.  I had to spit out a little bile to one so kind.  I don’t understand what’s happening.  Swimming in braille.  Something along those lines.  In a circle. 

Like we’ve always known each other.  Tales of ice cream and escalators; feared descending (oh don’t be so dramatic).  Little walks here and there and the desire to swim with nothing in between us.  Laughter.  A confession made out of fear as everything you (me, I) do stems from fear.  I am a coward in the truest sense of the word.  I am an awful person.  necessary and unbridled confession.  I crossed my arms like an X at an entirely unrelated function.  It felt lovely, the waiting.  Form and free.  I understand that now.  And indeed there was quite a blissful shadow for some time but all good things must come to an end.  A question mark there.  anything good in this has absolutely none of me in it.  I am human, that is definitely true.  No disrespect.  That was a complete lie.  It feels good to let go of everything but he’s run out of any inventive ways to display.  Could not possibly be in that moment, not with the rampant paranoia.  It went by so quick and ended but with the loveliest of close calls. 

I am completely tainted.  I look in the mirror and see an ugly face, how disappointing that it never changes.  I open my mouth and all my words are clumsy and meaningless. My hands are now useless.  I don’t serve.  I understand what that means.  Any good feelings given to me are sadly misguided.  At  many times during the day I found myself saying out loud things like I want to die and I wish I were dead but of course those are all merry jests because I am nothing if not a happy trickster.  I drank coffee today.  Your warmth felt awful.  Your compliments felt awful.  I hate to that look of tenderness directed toward me.  please don’t waste such beautiful emotion on little old me.  you have very much the wrong impression.  Everything is so superficial coming from yours truly.  All like astronauts.  Asking questions that it would be best not to answer though the answers would not really change anything.  Get out of your own head and realize this elaborate drama is just more nothing coming from your second rate mind and worthless spirit.  Please forgive me.  do you remember the color of my room (where I will live)?  It’s an electric shade of blue.  The flowers wilted.  I drink a glass of nothing.  We’ll never come in with the tide.  There is no meeting at the costumed ball.  I don’t know anything anymore.  Words, I can’t even.  Must disguise everything with farce, eh?  That’s so you, so worthless ugly fucking failure you.  No use in complaining though.  Hell, it’s my own damn fault.  Miss universe, eh?  Though of course I did not quite say that in the proper language.  no flattery from lips.  They only spoke the truth of the other as they denied it of myself.  I am truly awful.  Yeah, the horn deep in the braille.  Irish legends and stone mermaids have me.  or some fucking thing.  I need another drink.  Always.  He doesn’t want to kill this but…oh jeez, there he goes being so dramatic again.  What a fucking baby!  yeah yeah he doesn’t want to kill this but he must!  It’s the only right thing to do.  And once a plan is properly in place he’ll never be heard from again and everything is so melodic now and again death is found on my lips but please forgive me that’s not what I really want or I mean what he wants or something there is just so much conflict and I’m not a good person I’m an awful person and why are these emotions coming at me don’t direct anything at me, nothing makes sense anymore.  Blue jeans, hahaha.  Or something like that.  He saw black too, a window looking out on black.  And under the black?  Someone must know what I’m trying to say and I’ll probably keep fucking saying it for a good long while. 

At one point I may acquire that bumper book of magic but gosh the possibility does scare me so. 

And The Little Star returned to me.  I cried again.  I’m so worthless.  I don’t know what makes me happy anymore.  Does that really matter though?  Probably not.  Lying in sweetest sin.  Jackal.  On top and arms raised triumphantly. 

Oh, that Prince Piano & A Microphone 1983 album?  Just lovely.  It was such a necessary and intimate experience to light a few candles and just listen.  The presence right there in the room.  Lovely immortality. 

I now know that Martian Time Slip will be the very last Philip K. Dick book I read.  I’m saving it for dead last as I brazenly work my way through his entire bibliography.