january 31, 2002
squarepusher - come on my selector
its true gnome chomsky said so. haha and i agree pussymunch that more people should be named "gnome" and that more people should blame the way they are on jesus christ. he builds us, tests our temper, makes us look to him in times of lack of fulfillment.
oh yes i found that i-spy record for 4 bucks, with (from l to r) a pair of olive, brown, and pastey white buttcheeks shitting long strands of shit (which resemble sausage links) and smearing it on the pope's face. this made me laugh and i made those two rock boys standing at the counter laugh by blaming perversity (the world's biggest problem) on the internet. i think he was looking at me an awful lot, but i figured it was 'cause i probably had a big ass shit stain on my face.
(it was the goddamn pope)
the results were negative once again. i was pretty much freaking out with nervous tension sitting in that car for 10 days, i guess you can create both miracles and hellish environments just by closing your eyes and using your imagination. i think i should join the ymca keanu plugged under christmas lights that one night, so i can fuck the shit out of a large underground room of punching bags. they laugh at you, you fucking killfuck destroy them and tell them they're fucking faggot scum like mike tyson.
tyson chicken meat is really yummy though. amid all those hamburgers i try to sneak in a fresh red granny apple. apples are supposed to wake you up pretty well in that temporary way, even better than coffee i hear. of course i remember to rinse each apple product under tap water before consuming. i dont usually scrape off the wax coating on the outside (which makes it shiney) 'cause hey it's the closest i'll ever get to eating birthday candles. oh yeah by the way happy birthday fucking horse bitch. dont forget to water your ugly rotting flowers. they're fucking starving.
> 7 reactions
january 14, 2002
/drained in other ways
burnt by the sun - blowjob city
a sort of cleansing haircuts be. i kinda liked the extended appearance, but i didnt like it tickling on my forehead. byebye. i stole some napkins as a toilet paper substitute until my next paycheck arrives. the burn on the top of my right hand at the wrist joint came from the hot dog machine and has the appearance of a maroon baby banana.
two plastic bottles of 2 month old rotting milk in the fridge, somehow i have the courage to open the one with less liquid. wait thats not liquid thats fucking sludge. its not mine its hers. thank the lourd for the cold virus and the temporary loss of the sense of smell it sustains until the bugs leave your body through various openings. for i could barely smell the sourness of the milk. on top was a thin layer of oily white substance that, when shaken, stirs itself in a hypnotic circular pattern.
wow what an amazing stand youre taking against the atrocities of living with me, by oh so strategically turning up that fast angry song in which the guy screams fuck you (wait i'll give you a little time to find the right compact disc in your 3 cd changer, no not that one, nope, ok here we go, man i feel naughty!!), loud enough so i can hear it with my door closed and a dark blue towel blocking the citrusy shit stained air from entering my room through the rectangular crevice at the bottom of the door.
i respect you. in fact i have so much godblowjobbingtits respect for you that i replaced the flowery, polleny scene (encompassed in a dusty brown plastic wood frame, oily smudges on the glass covering) with a photograph of andy warhol getting covered in plaster for a cast of his upper body. his hair is grey concrete and his eyes are barely slit open, as if he is routinely checking to see if the photographer is still paying attention to the process of masking a human being. just the outer shell, dont fucking touch the insides.
> 3 reactions
january 6, 2002
john zorn - snagglepuss
oh thank you thank you for coming here you scarf wearing bastard. and sharing the superheroesque laid back approach, the subtle wisdom.
we sat there one night looking through middle school yearbooks and laughing harder than jesus christ's jenny craig buttocks. my dad used to call us beavis and butthead. h uh uh uh uh u h. i guess thats quite applicable to us. and as i found out, it still is. in 7th grade his yearbook entry ironicly told me (through sobs of ancient laughter):
the three condoms:
1) thou shalt not suck
2) thou shalt not suck wiener if thee is male
3) thou shalt headbang
and so i raise my right hand in the air, index finger and pinky extended toward the devillish serpents of a fiery hell, and nod my head in a rapid, violent motion. if i raise my head even after a few seconds of it, my vision is blurry and the sky seems to be spinning.
last night we smelled like a boy scout campsite. my apartment smells like cat shit covered grapefruit slices. thank you for making your cats shit on top of their own shit for a week. oh wait thats always. i imagine what the creatures think when they look into their covered plastic container, the pyramid of their own shit in the back, a greenish yellow hardened form of their piss in the front. so what do creatures do in this situation? well lets shit and piss somewhere else. how bout the ground, the carpet. it soaks up your carefully sculpted hair quite well.
so back to the russian candy. probably brought me a couple pounds of chocolate. he convinced me that it wasnt too hard to jump to the other rock. i mean, how bad could it be if i fell? i guess i could crack a couple teeth or shatter a few bones. thats ok though 'cause the body has trillions of em.
lots of caffeine. the only one drinking a beer while we sit there in sinking seats and i go around the table with the question, "what are you afraid of?" i finally got an answer out of him. the other mike. it was a solid answer, but as i was telling her last night in the white soccer mom minivan, i wish we could communicate better with each other. she tells me "communication is so important." it is. i cant force him to open up, or anyone. but i wish he would.
> 5 reactions
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