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. 

somewhere around three five past the one but really all (need to address the other thing at a future point, succumbed to hands and feet)

New morning, new day and I’m still the same loser I’ve always been.  Do you remember being told new year, new life?  We’d have to travel back to the original water writings entitled O (1-10) to really understand what that all means.  Thankfully, his hand was forced so there is seemingly no chance of a repeat performance.  Don’t kid though, there is always a chance.  The new and much needed water writing have yet to commence but they are more necessary than ever.  Regardless, I need to get more bad brains on plastic and wax.  I’m falling in love with wax.  Horrifying visions in the early morning.  My own scream terrified me.  dark awful presence right in the corner there.  damned.  Terrifying thought (or is it a realization?) that we are damned.  I love the movie Kings & Queen; what a great film.  I need to watch it again soon.  I have a hard time with a lot of Godard. Or do i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Thankfully, I found BB, what an indelible influence.  Still, the cutups were there for me long before.  They’ve always been there.  gotta be carefull when I play the William Tell games.  The Little Star (the most…but also the most…all commanded through loving strangulation) was returned to me and everything was glorious but just like that I was denied again and my world is now dark and terrible.  I can’t accomplish anything.  I’m self-sabotaging again.  I’m self-medicating again.  Demonic presence from the corner of the room.  Whatever happened to soy bomb is an excellent question.  Wax is still calling to me.  low blows.  Everything works out I suppose.  Written words making their commands.  I still don’t know anything.  My copy of earthling is translucent teal and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Pucks.  Biscuits.  Multicolored pucks and biscuits.  Never a jack fan but I love seeing his wax love and all he’s done for the spirit of wax.  And now I understand the aggressive expression of Edward in regards to spinning and all the colors combined.  Rather you than her.  but no, I’m controlled by all these compulsions.  Still I wait for true justice the jackal and that classic huntress.  All combined in shades of black, purple yellow graph paper black again.  Everything, the previous so amazing and now I just wait for this while I drink black coffee and I can’t concentrate on anything maybe I just need to put on bad brains.  Who am I kidding I need a beer.  The earliest endless column in existence is now on display but alas, I will not be able to view it.  I got to make a phone call to plan for another phone call.  While waiting for little star (the most…but also the most…) maybe I’ll have to attempt some experiments with tape recorders.  Be careful not to doubt the shear/sheer malleability of the written word (HSN videos have me, Ahh…).  Think I’ll go to store.  True to all these explosions (no longer granting me stubs but instead flimsy and useless paper) my fierce and emotionally empty ejaculation was followed by surging hot diarrhea.  He wouldn’t have it any other way.  Such rich sensations.  Such alleviations.  We were all interested in folding and trading tapes back then.  Oh to be alive again during those sweet dulcet times.  I really need to talk about something else shown today but I’ll do that later but dagnabit I’ve gone and broken the even keel I so richly worked for.  Good thing Jim Beam is so damn cheap.

 

Not sure what I’ll read next but I have many good options.  Listening to bad brains now.  Hosiery on my mind as is standard practice around here.  Think I’ll buy a deck of cards later and some black coffee.  How do I get those rich dulcet bass tones found in Jamaican arts?  It’s just Jah calling. Yes, I was granted an epilogue and the epilogue is where I will begin for the initial run of the next set of water writings and it will also represent the first link on the needed symbolic paper chain.  Denim.  Don’t lose.  I see now: CGDG. 

I’m being teased now.  The pink maple would be grand were it not for so much false interpretation.  New talent dripping into the mix in a realer iteration as a new obsession takes hold.  Black on fences.  Smaller than fences but dare not speak of aquatic life.  Feigned interest like all the almost great tricksters of the world.  You have a real chance though as seen at the end of this missive and must not blow things now. 

I’m loving these new songs that Gloria Trevi is putting out.  And this video!  Whoa!  I mean (with a used pair thrown over my head), cue the deep breathing and nearly passing out and the table movements oh!  Oh!  Oh yes!  Ohhhhh!!! 

I recently purchased a copy of Batman: Damned #1.  I specifically purchased the Jim Lee variant not realizing what a hot item it would be.  Such is the nature of wisdom.  With the lights down low I read said comic.  My review would be highly positive.  I was transported back to the days of yore, reading classic Elseworlds tales and great prestige formant miniseries like The Cult or beautiful works of art like Arkham Asylum (A Serious House On A Serious Earth).  Bermejo’s art cast a spell on me and how could I not love appearances by magical folk such Zatanna (swoon.  I keep putting off the statue fund, what the fuck I already lost the bunny) and Deadman.  And that last page. DAMN!  They went there, huh?  I eagerly await the next issue and am pleased this is only a 3 issue miniseries. 

Well, looks like the joke’s on me.  then again isn’t it always.  Yes, truly.  I am the clown at midnight.  Still, this is a tragic and glorious moment and already bred with striking paranoid ramblings and all manner of conspiracy theories.  No doubt it is a chance for salvation.  The questions remain.  Do I still need to write water?  And the paper chains.  Epilogue in the truest sense of the word.  Peanut butter. 

still need the paper chain but doing good so far and don't forget that federation goal

And as she forcibly inserted the ball of her heel into his mouth she berated him in the poetic Brazilian language while all the while he tried very hard not to explosively ejaculate into his rent trousers. 

Watched Suspiria again the other day.  what a zany flick that I love so much (a spanking is the only thing…).  Finally I’ll be able to see the rest of those files starting today.  Turkey will fry.  I was scanning my wax collection and realized there is a downright paucity of krautrock.  In other news, have I acquired all the barefoot matches available to me?!  please say it aint’s so!  No?!  oh, thank goodness.  Thank good gravy!  Speaking of that I was listening to the album Lumpy Gravy the other day.  I’m beginning a Zappa kick.  Holy shitbirds, a new slash old lynch slash badalamenti musical collab is coming out!?  I may have to bake a loaf of fresh bread to celebrate!  Thank goodness!  Thought gang.  You know, I was so skeptical about that collaboration even though the white reggae connection makes sense I listened to so much hot shot and boombastic back in the day I shouldn’t have been so skeptical but man that blue cover album is a real classic with some beautiful bass playing.

She presses her sweaty RHT pantyhose clad feet against my face, the rich aroma the accumulation of a hard honest day’s work.  Perfume of the gods.  The pressure is tremendous and her laugh is cruel.  In that moment she reveals the soles of feet conduct electricity and she begins to electrocute me  with her sweaty RHT pantyhose clad feet, laughing even harder. 

The red wine may have glass shards in it but what the hell I’m drinkin it anyway and such is the nature of wisdom.  I’m just there in the jungle but at least now I know any audio issues were not my fault.  Or something.  That blue wax.  Germs.. rather satisfying.  Soaps, bars of soap, soap shoes do we all remember the days of skaters and neon pink colors ruling all and I never did get around to the dream team. 

Cheetah print.  Leopard print.  Jungle sensitivity and then frustrated communications all resulting in connection with large electrified cable equaling sexy domination.  Scent sensitive. 

Same repetitions or something like that again.  Ball of her feel forcibly inserted in his mouth as he lays on his back.  So much berating spilling from her lovely lipsticked mouth while she stands above him, removes the ball of her heel and then re-inserts her foot toes first into his mouth, laughing all the while. 

Things merging together now.  Oh, how I love giantesses.  Vore fantasies have me.  good fetish vids are so hard to find.  Good help is so hard to find.  I pay top dollar for both.  And now I am small, a very tiny man, and she is a giantess and she is preparing a rich mound of guacamoles and I am a key ingredient.  She rolls me in the avocado (best to around 146 grams which may result in around 234 calories, though that may be for the guac as a whole).  How I long for her to place me inside her new patent leather black high heel shoes and then dip one of her massive aromatic pantyhose clad feet inside the freshly made guacamole and then crush me beneath her sole and inside her shoe and/or actually insert me inside the foot of her RHT pantyhose and keep wedged in between her sole the hosiery and properly squashed inside her shoe all day while engaging in hard day of honest work and then remove her foot from the shoe and step in a big squishy mound of freshly made guacamole and then remove me from the pantyhose, lick off the guac – taunting me all the while with threats that she will consume me – and then toss me gingerly into her mouth and, scrape me along the roof of her mouth with her warm salivating tongue and then crush me between her well brushed teeth. 

Handsmothering, eh?  Will the fetishes never end?  He desperately needs to seek some help. 

They come to help us but still skin us.  Curious.  to neverending ends, the album Low never ceases to inspire.  Cutup methods are fascinating.  Orange.  I’m keeping a similar profile.  Or am i?  the more I learn the less I want to know.  Such tiny blocks of text.  Deep in my room.  Of course it’s always electric blue and now it makes sense with the broken glass.  Pantyhose clad foot crushing my windpipe.  More derision and derisive laughter. 

And now I think I’m depressed.  I suppose I’m in a rut and my reputation is in the crapper.  That oj simpson miniseries was pretty damn good I said apropos of nothing.  Oh man, did I already say how excited I am for that upcoming release I’m going to get it on compact disc and wax and listen to it while doing something.  I love the third disc of brawlers, bawlers and bastards and now I have the call me…wax to put while I’m alone with candles though I still need to read nova express. 

Maybe I need to buy something.  Buying things makes me feel better.  I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again I really enjoyed the most recent Predator movie.  Real shit franchise though, isn’t it? 

He totally sees the error of his ways.  This is the source of everything.  Why not add another big box of nothing into the mix to pretend for a little while longer? He’s forgetting the true face.  But he had a small moment of reconnection.  And then talked to a dear friend to consider the individual meaning of everything.  And there was tenderness the other night under low light it was low light with candle light and everything felt lovely.  Sliding out of reverse.  That is the ideal.  It felt so good.  Us.  Is that the crucial rewatch?  Every wandering heart.  Coyote.  Gospel. 

battina

Neon Mary was staring right me and I walked through marble halls.  It seemed richly appropriate.  You know, I really love the movie Strange Days (don’t confuse that with the Doors’ second album Strange Days which I also love, possibly my favorite Doors album).  I’ve recently been listening to the soundtrack of that film.  Along with Frank Zappa!  And some other stuff!  Can!  Oh don’t me started on Can and cans (as in can food) and cans (as in volumptuos female asses) again because I love them all!  I’ve been thinking a lot about that movie Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead lately even though I haven’t watched it in more than a decade and my memory is that it was quite terrible.  I need to shine the meat light.  It should also be said that I’m writing this current missive on several liquid typewriters.  I keep considering Neon Mary and what knowledge is trying to be passed down here.  I love that part with the blood spreading out on the table and the stabs after the baseball bat; always such a charming smile.  My hands and chest hurt.  I read Joan Didion’s Play It As It Lays the other day.  I read it mostly on the floor.  I ordered her White Album book from Ye Olde Conglomerate and a recent electronic missive let me know it arrived.  I shall have to go there and purchase it with plastic money.  I’m out of booze and almost out of Nescafe so I’ll have to use more plastic on that.  I felt horny a while ago but it’s mostly subsided.  Or has it?  The more I learn the less I want to know.  Need to pick up Tamia’s album at some point.  If only we lived during the prohibition era.  If only I lived in Greenwich Village years ago.  I love the bastards disc.  It’s a recent love.  I need to listen while eating Chinese food and then I’ll drink a Mojito and then a Singapore Sling. Ah fuck, I forgot to order that Black Flag album because I’m such a perennial fuckup!  And where the hell can I find a copy of No New York!  Damn you Eno and your innovations!  Everything always goes back to love.  And Berlin.  What was I just thinking about?   It looks like I’ll be waiting forever on True Justice and the Jackal and the Huntress don’t be fooled by all those pronouns though.  Its okay, I’ll wait as long as it takes, longer than forever even.  Did Sean really deserve that Oscar?  I need to see who he was up against!  The Plugz were arguably the first Chicano punk band.  Hot damn, I need to get that Criterion blu ray of Repo Man amongst other stuff!  Tree. 

How many times will I watch The Vampire and the Ballerina!?  Who knows?!  But I love it.  It’s inspired so much.  Been reading about tickets lately.  One day maybe we’ll be ingested by massive clams whose ingestion process is a deeply sexual experience for us.  These alien creatures.  Need to follow up on all that jazz (not the song though a certain iteration was a big help in my adolescence) and the correspondence to ogre. 

Too much about the pants of the vicar closing.  All these words I need to use while I’m disappearing into painting after painting.  I’ve been listening to a lot of Pantera lately.  They have a particularly angular style of metal which I find quite pleasing to my sensibilities.  You know what?  I really like that album Far Beyond Drive.  Proabably even more than Vulgar Display of Power!  And I’m still jammin’ to Body Count’s last album.  Need to reread that Bukowski book and I’m looking forward to that book on Can while we’re all slouching toward Bethlehem (have a white text to assist me in this and then later I’ll be crying while looking at a voluptuous stripper; gull catchers have me, need to reread about the fourth or fifth dimension and all comes down to those painters and predictions that were lies and came true anyway and where again was that point – how many points? Three or four? – wherein the most black magic and witchcraft lies?  Maybe it’s best not to know).  You know what?  I’ve also been listening to And Justice For All lately! Probs my favorite Metallica album.  Curious about remaster?  Drank a lot of coffee to promote excrement evacuation.  And James Chance and the Contortions!  No Wave feels so good.  Great sax, vox and great great bass playing by the late George Scott III on Buy.  Need to find out more about him and learn em all.  Need to get Binaural on wax.  I love it on wax.  I love to cover myself in wax.  Yes, The Vampire and the Ballerina is such a sexy movie. And La Nave de Los Monstruos.  So unbelievably sexy.  Venusians have me.  hosiery. 

Yeah, need to watch Suspiria again while reading about tickets.  Go to Vertigo and then Suspiria.  And of course there is always more dick awaiting me.  I love luchadoras.  I fall in love with so many of them on a daily basis.  I watched The Predator the other day and really liked it.  It was Munn’s best work. 

“The proposed regulations have a very clear goal, which is to terminate a longstanding federal consent decree — known as the Flores Settlement Agreement — that sets nationwide standards concerning “the detention, release, and treatment of minors” in immigration custody. “

Is Argento really upset by the new iteration?  Don’t be so…I don’t know.  I lost my train of thought again.  I really like Inferno too, maybe more than mother of sighs.  The rats are eating me alive!  Often, the memory of something interests me more than the actual moment.  Piano keys or something now, beautiful.  That lead guy looks pretty rough though.  Head. 

Leave it to Mariah to explosively save me when I was experiencing an especially blue moment.  Many thanks. 

oneonesevenseven(good thing i bought a bag;pigs, better, system out)

I’m listening to Can while I write this.  Prime Can.  The album has a green cover.  I love cans.  I eat a lot of canned food.  I also love looking at her can.  There are eggs boiling on the oven.  It’s a crying shame I ran out of whiskey last night otherwise I’d be enjoying a good stiff drink with my boiled breakfast.  And the tears of the victim are closing!  Rataplan rataplan!  If only I were constructed of anything.  I meant to say nothing, how curious.  can I do that?  Can I just explode and suddenly remake my – all at once it occurs to me that there’s not nearly enough vitamin C in my diet! – self with different matter entirely?  What the hell is he even saying?  I think I got into Can around the time I got into Neu!  Prime Neu!  I recall asking a co-worker if she were a big Neu! fan to which she cheekily replied, “The biggest!”  oh how we laughed!  It makes sense how Frank could and would and did consider himself a Dadaist.  Or have I overstepped my reach there?  I woke thinking about pantyhose and now they are still very much on my mind albeit in several different combinations. And all this before I’ve even had my green tea!  Rataplan! Rataplan!  

Hahaha, I just ran through my posh flat screaming “mysticism!  Alchemy!  Vitamin C!”  It was arguably the most thrilling experience of my worthless fucking life.  There’s a card in  my pocket and now it’s not in my pocket.  Quite a lovely illustration.  I need to read.  I’d love to go somewhere midday for a drink and just read my stupid ass off.  I was desperately search for a big dark iteration of the weirdness which I’ve always found to be highly underrated.  I can’t find it but I know I referenced a decade or more ago in some long lost correspondence with a former future president who instead turned to, yes, alchemy!  But as always, there are grammatical alliterations to tend with and I was just having a contorting face attack right there in my seat while stale water and the muse crocodile laughed at my rich perennial misfortunes.  Would now be a good time to conjure up a flock of woodpeckers?!  I do so love the sound of water.  Babbling brook!  Very soon the time may finally be at hand for me to write water!  Could Flick of the Switch be AC DC’s greatest album?!  Either that or Fly on the Wall!  I want a whole tour where nothing but those songs are played. 

I lost my shit there for awhile but I was thankfully able to recover it.  It was hiding in the plastic bowels of an immaculate collection (need it wax once I got the scratch!) I’ll think I’ll head to cinema tonight!  I’d like to watch something perfect or something Catholic!  I need to take a minute, just break down now and go for it.  And as I was alluding to earlier, atm’s and Mexican guys and a deep ethereal voice cuts through the foggy crap and floats above a lovely anachronistic cacophony.  Ege Bamyasi is really good. Thank goodness I’ve been reading Grant’s work, endless inspiration and opening up new avenues for exploration.  I woke up with the middle on fire and with a strong desire to be berated.  I love the exercise outfit Maria Conchita Alonso uses in the otherwise piece of shit film The Running Man (need to catch up on my Bachman reading, I know, I know, I did really like Roadwork as I alluded to somewhere before and/or after).  How I would love for her to use my face as her personal footrest after a long hard workout session, how I long for her to smash my ugly mug with her luscious aromatic sweaty hosiery clad soles, all the wall berating me in English and Spanish! 

I was deeply moved by Julie Brown’s performance in Shakes the Clown, so much so that I’m considering purchasing a remastered copy of the album she cut in the 80’s!  there’s that gorgeous running water again!  Maybe I won’t fuck things up this  time!  would duff’s iteration be any good?  That’s all I can really say, I’m a human being.  Need norm’s prime and I keep confusing adolescents with descendants because I have one but not the other but I really need the other.  As absurdist decadence seeps into the frothing sandwich that has become my life I’ve know choice but the paint the town in sheepish blue and laugh like a baboon at all this unhatched tapestry laden potential. 

seven (but before five and six and now titular inaccurate).  

This is all too structured.  And that’s when I realize that I’m only a theoretical blogger and how surprising it was to learn that Eno was behind it all but in a sense I should have known.  And again, my groin is deeply throbbing with used fishnet desire.  There may be ascension and there may be jerks in my future and.  I need to track down a first printing of Thomas De Quincey ‘s classic Confessions of an English Opium-Eater!  Maybe one of my loyal followers has an extra lying around in their hope chest that they’d be willing to part with!?  The sugar gods have us all in a grand sense and I was only all to thankful that my liquid television did not try to eat my last night (ala a one five model) as I thrilled to an old fashioned imaginary literal foot and ass kissing.  Did I mention I need to buy some books on alchemy?  In a fashionable sense it all comes down to Sickert and the ripper crimes.  I think very soon a painting may try and eat me but that’s not quite right.  A painting has the answers.  Or there is something scary in the painting, something captured that deeply frightens me and I feel a strong and awful presence coming from the corner of the room.  I really liked Tamia’s last album, extolling the sensual virtues of commitment and fidelity and I look forward to her new album tomorrow. 

I need to buy something that has peaches.  I wish I had a future.  Anywhere.  Gotta keep reminding myself about the plaster fund and plastic archives!  I need that or something.  Gallons of steak sauce.  Oh hell, I don’t even know anymore.  He can’t obsessing about her can.  It all comes back to cans.  It begins where it ends.  Maybe tago mago next just keep the dream alive or shit.  I love that black flag album my war.  Top shelf shit!  Just fucking love it.  Love the cover too.  I was listening to that album outside a sushi shop, being angry and staring at a voluptuous woman’s can as she shimmied and jiggled around and bought take out sushi.  I wonder if that Lou Ferrigno movie Instant Death is any good?  Only twenty ways to find out!  I liked Marilyn Loor’s new music vid too.  I need more Herzog stuff.  Good thing I bought a bag.