Friday, August 10, 2012

And to all the corruption in my hands

Caution: contains electric guitars.

No Beard of Wisdom? Fret not, mon frère:

Spouting out some philosophy like it means a damn thing. 
-- Jack the beardless barkeep 

Anyone can be s-m-r-t. Anyway, replace philosophy with phantasm -- not this one, scram, Scrimm, but cavalcades of soporific F sounds that dream of landing oft in Nod, F off. Those who are lavish in happiness: the abnormally lucky, the terminally oblivious. For the rest, we float where the waves aren't relentless, nor even choppy. Still the boat bobs & weaves & you can even pick out moments of old leather comfort: paying the controlled lightning bolt bill in order to type this crap & spelunking in the freezer for the fabled pizza roll. Reflective powers, activate(d)! Alter a word or a line of a long-dormant corpse, & see it in a whole new necromancy, at least until it's dragged into the light. Brand spanking fresh is just a trick of the Kafka.

Banalities foreign & domestic, notebooks & pathways of mock Technicolor explosions of those few hundred tubes of the same hue; clearing away this logarithmic logorrhea is the Chance card to clarity. These last few pages are a motherfucker, though, blank & ogling me with a sneer as I try to collect & Go away. Once upon a time I think I composed over a photo of berries. Displacing the beast of gawked hack, that was nice. The possibilities are as endless as my easily distracted zest for legerdemain -- for is not the blood the phantom zone to the intellect's General Zod?

[ed. note: those of you inclined towards prayer, tear someone's heart out for the Duchess, who, as the only other permanent member of the Esoteric Order of St. Drogo's security council, is cursed to occasionally be within earshot of my outerweb self-absorptions; you fools can simply stop reading & furthermore, if you parse this only literally, you know what you are. Qualifications are long-winded, thus, boring; ask the members of CONCACAF]

Complexities are birthed in fictions' bubbling trouble, yet attempts are increasingly too tired to design anything of candor; think 4e v. the elegant simplicity of old school stat blocks. So, an overdue reevaluation: if here & there weren't just charades -- driving, a driver, dancing, no, diving underneath flying clots of darkness, no, it's hopscotch, stupid -- & the lint don't forget the lint, maybe it would mean a damn thing but like the Important Things, it's unimportant. I blame Loki, you measured bastard, you.

Caution: contains really loud electric guitars.

Instead of Vertebrae on the Ruun, I'd rather be on Eld.

Badoomboom, tumbleweed. HUMOR IST KRIEG.


ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

Anyone can be s-m-r-t.


Prunella Vulgaris said...

Someday the muse will return to you, homie, and there are far worse fates than having to personally suffer through your brain drippings.

Randal Graves said...

if, you fucking bastard.

duchess, eh, more than just penmanship issues, but 'tis nonetheless appreciated.

Anonymous said...

I am sOmErAt! Rattus norvegicus, in fact!

Demeur said...

Graves you existential nihilist!

Not to be confused with the knights of Ni.

100 monkeys typing might have better luck.


(Tengrains temp. replacement)

Beach Bum said...

Times like these I just put "Inception" into the DVD player and start emptying beer bottles.

susan said...

A wise man once said, 'All is naught but ennui'. I think that was you having your way with words again.

Anonymous said...

my hands

Anonymous said...

my hands

Randal Graves said...

karl of the österreich, is that some obscure punk reference? Hey, there's my new punk band, Laboratory Rat. They can open for Headless Pigeon.

demeur, uh, shrubbery please, one that looks nice.

BB, don't forget the one bourbon and the one scotch.

susan, since I think myself a fool, does that mean I'm actually wise, but, in acknowledging this wisdom, do I then revert back to a jester state?

Everybody just clap your hands.

gamefaced said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
gamefaced said...

pace is the trick kills me erry time

Demeur said...

Poses an interesting question. Which came first the scholar or the village idiot?

S.W. Anderson said...

You're doing with words what Jackson Pollack did with paint. Interesting but strange, yet with much less cleanup required afterward.