Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Cyclops Had Three Eyes

Of course I don’t expect you to believe me until you meet with my collective.

Relativism: Can you be against something that is uniquely good for everyone?

How Not To Be Successful For Idiots

1. Find people that are successful
2. Figure out how they do it
3. Imitate them


Arrogant Angel

Arrogant Angel
Plastering his audacious presence into us all
Everyday parading his myrrh carnival
To tender moments with our humanity
He brought us joy
Taught us that there were no limits to his confidence
Rescuing others was his expertise
Rescuing himself his undoing
He loved men and women without discernment
He never took the liberty of patience with life
Recklessly fulfilling himself in every moment and every being
We all wanted to be contaminated by his spherical firecracker soul
His blooming octopusian arms
Oh the mastering life agility of his
Meeting us all without shame
Challenging himself
See the world
Love the world
Feel the world
Dance the world
Fuck the world
Crack infusions
Bisexual deity surviving with our isolationists hearts
The aids challenge finally brought mortality
Unable to work
Taking thirty pills a day
He cashed in his life
An investor bought his life insurance
Gambling that my little brother would sooner die
To his fortune our misfortune
But my little brother refused to surrender to pity
He would not live trapped in the cage of futile treatment
He would not live a life that was not a constant funny insanity
A constant lovely dance embellished with friends and lovers
I have never met anyone so gifted at the art of living
So prepared to surrender it if it failed him
It was always I that wanted to die
He called us to say goodbye
I let the phone ring
And ring
He curled himself
Covered with warm blankets that would not cure the cold his flesh would suffer
Trapped his heart cold
And slept a life away
I never understood why he believed in god
But then I think a deity as he


Dangerous Dreams Ahead

Sucking the bone marrow from a broken leg of lamb, I must now confess to you that I owe my existence to denial, crabtitude rectitude, “How do you want your lamb?” I am still alive and ever grateful to denial for it.

Did I just kill another bottle of wine! I love to keep the impossible alive. I don’t take any credit for creating the impossible it was just mad passionate love as I remember it. Regale has too many definitions.

Moodiness is a monster that swallows sword swallowers. Eat me calls out the precipitous valley of emotions, flooding every barnacle, tossing away concern for the treacherous emotional explosions, I am here to consume you whole while alive, please stay alive for me, if you die it would kill me.

Perfecting subversion, nausea.

The nightmare question: Are you an anarchist? Don’t tell me you are free! There is no freedom, only idiots believe in freedom, a nightmare it is when more than a million people believe in freedom. Gastronomical absentia. I hope that you do not suffer gastronomical absentia, terminal childhood, you can never grow up if you believe in freedom, you have to remain your child self for ever. Gash me! Gash me! NOW!

You can be an anarchist, my most dear friend Russ became an anarchist at the age of fiftyfive, but not content with that, he later opted to become a rebel; (I know this because I gave him both books.) you are always an anarchist first, and wisdom makes rebels out of all decent human beings. Anarchists’ fight with exorbitant daggers, ever self-inflicting externalize wounds, rebels fight with dreams. Go to sleep. NOW!



8 millimeter film black and white running through my brains, women’s faces, still photographs perforating entranced motionless endurance, I have found my voice and have nothing to tell. The luminous screen trashes and scars its edifice of perfection, I am reaching for meaning behind the veil of illusions, my theater darkens, my illusions shine visions… visions...

The man behind the projector utters words from behind the interrogating refracting light, tells me that he has an insight into the psychic of men, “I know what they don’t know.” My shower finished ages ago I don’t dance with strangers, now suffering visions of a dead man in an African savanna, his companions escaped only to destine themselves to the vultures the next day.

Off to a good start I think my self a vision suing ideas had by others, taxing the benediction of a humanity that does not imagine its own condition, silent pawns in their own masquerade ball, I trounce into their existence, record the movements, rewind them, play them out into the ridicules, rewind then, play them for inspiration, I pick instants that reflect their eternity, I don’t seek out their more frequent mortality, I collect their infinity, trickles of infinity. A little girl is born, recalling for mother a night of mad passionate love.

Easy and entertaining, we lunged around the weather, we are all in speaking terms, blaring out reparations of mighty sounding speech therapy. I know how to hide from them, how to lose myself in their inability, hibernating in their reign of distance and separation; undiminished.

“Don’t touch me, I like it when you touch me.” I have to go back to their insanity, I feel safe there, it is their ability to reason that scares me, known positions are aspirants of danger, quiet now, quiet.

I will steal this night to confirm the directions my soul must travel, the winds of my sleep to tell you my tales.



It is an art to perish.

To cease to be in being or in the mind of family and friends, to painstakingly subtract one’s essence from the universal map, scratch, you are not here, sniff, you are not here, search, no one found. Who were we searching for? What was it that was lost, nothing is missing, everything is well, search for what?

The universe never forgets shadows, it may forget you, it may forget your feet and your legs and your torso, and more it may, and want to do so, forget your calumnious brain, but the universe will always be able to trace its own composition from shadow habitations, everything that exists is supported by the souls that perish.

Existence imagines the future but its guidance is not vision but history, and the problem with history is that it retards the future, but history is the only knowledge of the present; even the present is an unknown, only the future will know us truly as we are; we don’t exist now, won’t exist till then and then we will be dead.

Samba dancing the body relishes the taste of, red wine, (only red wine,) tomatoes, avocados, garlic, (garlic is an entire food group,) olives, wasabi and red hot chili peppers are as close as we can experience the joys of hell, avocados are a thousand symphonies or/and oral sex; wine seductress immaculate, never to bleed, always to pronounce lip bleeding, repeat after me, “My lips indiscriminately bleed.” Is bloodletting a wine? No. Bloodletting is the joy in pouring a wine. Surely you are aware that the cork is pricked with salivating joy? I forgot cheese and mushrooms to irritate you. Prick me with your soul.

“I am going to be something some day!” Sure whatever you say. Game time: I will let you think on your own if you want to; go ahead try it you might like it; but you can’t try to be something and think at the same time, sorry. If you want I will even make it easy for you to think on your own.

Just follow these easy instructions:

Murder for your country. Eat cereal for breakfast and dine out more than once a week. Pay your taxes. Visit church on Sundays. Read the headlines. Have opinions with academic approbation. Watch a movie. Study and Work hard. Never be happy with yourself, constantly ask yourself: How can I improve? How can I be more intelligent, more rich and more happy? Let us take a break now for I am exhausted with boredom, meanwhile you can watch a national sport of your choice, and hey have yourself a beer. More free thinking after these commercials from our sponsor.

I did not add, to my thinking exercises, that you ought procreate because once you have children they are the cause; you are merely the one that has to react and suffer the effects of their, thinking that they think. You and I know, that they will not really be thinking until they follow all of the above listed steps.

Statistics consistently show that over one million people in the world think that they are free. Angels are free to be good too, they are just not allowed to be bad. But why would anyone want to be a REBEL in heaven, specially after what happened to Beelzebub.

And deus commanded the angels: “Go forth and think what you will, and say what you will, and do as you will.” And the angels accepted that as the providence of god, more REASON to have almighty faith.

I like devices that have power buttons, gauges, you know things that I can control with my hands. This is false.

There will be a class on reprogramming later. Reprogramming, for those that don’t know, is what you have to do when you don’t get it right the first time. Most people spend their lives reprogramming themselves. For example: the bible is a debugging book that allows you the freedom to be self correcting. To reprogram yourself according to the master plan, which was corrupted by YOUR limitations and YOUR freedom of choice. Lack of built-in safety features, if god had to do you over again there would be fuses, set to go off at the slightest touch, all around your erogenous zones; which we now sinfully know as erroneous zones. A simple typo can cause a creation to go awry. “Don’t touch me there!” would have more merit if we weren’t busy performing a search algorithm for erogenous zones. False Positives as feedback also cause a problem for god’s creations, “No don’t… oh god…” can sound like “…yes more… you are almost there… hold a steady course…” and so on, false positives can lead to date rape, a simple misunderstanding of god’s programming language, due to a human preference for the spirit of the words not the letter of the word. Hence the reason why there are so many interpretations to the testament of debugging.

“Existence is a distasteful art.” “Is that really your soul’s judgement?” “Yes, that is why I attend church.” But all that is nonsense church is not a metaphysical escape, church is like golf, a place you go to do something boring so that you can meet potential business associates. Church is for the here and now, cash today. Amen. Next.

Are you bored? Let me just answer that for you: If you are the fortunate citizen of one of the top ten economies, or call them nations of the world, you are by association bored, very bored. If you are living in a developing country, you are on your way to boredom, though right this very instant your struggle for survival in a third, or almost second world economy, forbids you the recognition of your old new boredom. Boredom is the leading cause of tragedy, war, bad political decisions, affairs, and the leading cause of laws, laws are created because we are bored, bored stiff. Headlines are created to arouse us from our boredom. You can admire yourself for being truly bored if you know all the fine places to dine, are a wine connoisseur, and have time to go to the doctor when you have the flu. You are really bored if you think that gambling is fun, and you are bored galore if you think that you can learn how to have sex from a therapist or a book. If you see a therapist, a psychologist, or if you can afford a psychiatrist, in any order, you are suffering from a case of severe boredom; there is no cure for you, you are really sick, and if you happen to find yourself while undergoing therapy, the world will suffer for it.

“Am I bored?” Well how dare you ask me that question, definitely I am bored. Every thought, and every idea, and every invention has been thought, invented or experienced by somebody else, I am just a non participant in this civilization, of course I am bored.

Boredom, is the leading cause of heart disease. Boredom is the leading cause of drug abuse. Boredom is the leading cause of white collard crime. Boredom is the leading cause of all circus and sports attractions. Boredom! Our entire modern civilization is bored with its existence!

Why? No magic.

…one moment please.



There is no self!

Gone in search of self and found nothing. Searched every angle of our universality and found no self to be found. Always thought all fools who had not found themselves, now I come to know that it was I that was the sooner fool. Know thy self, I think therefore I am, Knowledge is power, come to find that there is no center, no self, no fundamental essence, zephyr! Found an absence of fundamentals, the self, or what we know as the self is merely a hemorrhaging funnel of what we gather through existence. The self can be filled with anything, depravity, vacuum cleaners salesman, church icons, emeralds and Rosemary’s hardened nipples.

There is no self!

Containment, a vessel to selfhood. Here I am: what I have gathered with honor, and with sweat, and with fear. But now I am none of those apparitions; I have no self to find, my search in vain will make me vain. There is no me but for my vanity.

There is no self!

With no genuine self within me to know you intimately, fictional. I am nobody that can get close to you and kiss you and sleep with you and know you as I ought know; I am what I hold in my hand and for that long. I seek to know you because you make me, and not because you are a you.

There is no you!

Creative people tend to disappear because they have the absence of mind to do so. If you can think yourself persistently an engineer your engendered. Creative people have to be open to the impossibility of ephemeral existence. That is what allows the birthing of new ideas, stubborn creativity has to deny the existence of everything to allow for that which is not here now. If something here dies something new will come along. Creativity wants to destroy nonfiction. There is no you.

There is no you!

There are advantages to your nonexistence, the nonexistence of the self, when you die you don’t know that you are dead. Its just not you. Death only hurts those that cling to being. Death despises dogmatism. If you keep your socks off, your heels always cold, death on a leash.
There is no me.

Now that there is no me my brain is larger. It grew last night, I used to be a demon, then I became a sadistic dentist; there were many in between apparitions, but now I am a pig with a large brain. Bigger than my skull, my brain. There is nothing I can not move or change through concentrated mental indifference; even blank blackboards speak to me now, everything is somehow connected to my brain. When your brain exceeds the girth of your skull everything floods within, in; your nullification becomes of exorbitant importance to the universe. I am going to sign my death warrant: There is no self.

The universe sinks into manic depression. It wants me to interrupt the price on my head. The universe knows there is no self. My terrible knowledge propels the universe to promulgate the fumigation of my soul. If you care about yourself you care about the universe because there is no self, discover no self and you have the universe and all of its immense animosity by the balls.

Your being is a magical apparition, something to think about: abracadabra.

The zero is the only number in the universe that was not invented, everything equals it and it squares with everything.

If your heels are cold


Legitimize Intimacy

I only see panoramas where there are people. Fantastic grand canyons, the black forest and mesmerizing sea escapes are an abundant emptiness. I don’t have the ability to see beyond humanity. I need you all!

Aware that there is no self I need you more. Climbing into the obscurity of being without personal identification is an impossibility. Having no self the “I” is born to make a self of another portion of the universal. The universal is always alone. Always alone until it divides itself so that all of its fragments become loners too; estranged the universe attempts to reunite with itself as it expands to be more. Fattening layer after layer of detaching flesh so as to keep within warm grasp universal perdition.

Each day that passes my fatal reunification increases in proportion; vanishing apparition of self, I am less the more joined I am to all those beings that are not me; at zero self you are indistinguishable from the universe. Zero self and you don’t know where the universe is, zero self and you don’t know where you are, at zero self you can not bother the universe, the universe erases your division and forgets to ask your whereabouts.

Perishing within extinguishable immensity the universal fumigates my soul. The universal is an atheist, there are cold nights for you and I but not for the universe. The universe screams: separation freezes. The universe is not expanding into space, it is expanding within. Space is within, stomach cramps are reflections of universal augmenting contractions.

Living is difficult, dying is easy. To stay here with you I am willing to endure much pain and labor. Love me or perish, warning, there is no self. The encumbrance of life is that you have to want to be here with me, you are not alone, remember my dear Hemorrhoid there is no you.

Nothing equals the beauty of a new born child. Flowering youth is precious and endearing with its libertine temerity; as body cakes from the perils of surviving existence, fossilized recalcitrant ideas, wrinkled medals decor from forfeited struggle, glory remembering futile victories, nothing is uglier, uglier than the unequaled fault of death.

We bury our dead together. Practice. To me a cemetery without human corpses is emptiness.

My desires need you.


Perishing Eternities

If you believe that everything is temporary you are murdering infinity.

Your mortality attacks me. I feel that you must die and that I will die with you. All of our ancestors are death convictions. Believing death alive murders an eternity. We are chained to our finality.

Don’t hold hands, succumb to your immortality, arrest the tormentor, deprive the finality, marry your infinity. We are down to the last meter of existence, last meter of existence, birds scare children.

I believe in incredulous things, I harbor within the impossibility, I have seen that you can triple your salvation by avoiding terrestrial pedestrian momentary sterility. Tomorrow is a dreaming vision, the infinity is not economic, the infinity is irrational and exorbitant beyond estimate, don’t ask the infinity to be sensible, extract the wrinkles off your face through elasticity, get hardware heart; purge yourself whole with artificial blood, plan the dreams of tomorrow yielding merely to your immediacy, if you are prepared for the future you are dead. DEAD! Triply dead upon the topology of the infinity. There is no tomorrow for the infinity. Measure your existence and you have found your limitations.

If the universe had done the mathematics it would have never brought itself into existence, wow! Trigonometry how many suns geometry? Thermodynamics where am I going to get all that helium and hydrogen? Fission, fusion, thermonuclear all that sustainable? The universe would a walked away from itself just with one thought, black-holes will eventually eat everything, in the final analysis the universe is not a sustainable long term proposition, universe does not have to plan for retirement. At what rate do I have to produce supernovas? The equations that bring a universe into existence don’t exist, don’t need to exist, and even if they did, they would not bring the universe into order. It is possible to imagine equations, that is the problem.

My friend Rosa once told me: “Don’t tell us what we are doing wrong just give us the solution.” Rosa always thinks that I am to critical, a nuclear reaction is critical, but she never measures my criticality vis-a-vis to the criticality of a chained reaction. Chained reaction does not mean restraint. Regardless I am not just being critical I am giving you the solution.

Cease searching for yourself, you keep on doing that and you are going to die a lonely and perishable death. The universe decays alienation, alienation decays automatically. Wild beasts do not devour rotting corpses, the only way that you can live forever is if you can fool the beast of desire to desire you as prey. Oh to be desired by the appetites of the universe and yet escape. Recognition, association inseparable similarity. Increasing your life expectancy magnifies your mortality.

I don’t know that you exist.


Pig Is Dead

Pig has died within me. The last possessor of my sacred chalice that has hosted souls through their tempestuous perpetuity. Chalice home of the reckless and inconsiderate, now emptied every drop of foreign oils, foreign smells, foreign desires.

Squandering squanderers, molesters and tormentors, crafty criminals, mind bending rules, in this dimension having broken infinities barriers. Blocks of ice warmly kept within me, wrote their fantasies and destroyed mine. Blocks of ice disregarding and salivating over my capacity to exist within mortal being, but none of them wanted to die their immortality, the trade was mine to trade. Accepted because I knew not then that there was no self, and hoped in vain, that they would guide me to me. A denial of self interest of unexpected and unfathomable proportions. But now, some how they are all gone.

Gone a selfish dentist, gone a squirming child molester, gone a suffering poet, yes there are poets that have not suffered, agonizing more, distasteful sight, vanished a philosopher, least real of them all, disappeared a spiritually metaphorical physicist, emptied chalice, disappeared two monstrous demons, dark figures, black as black discernable through reddish fumes, came to gripe within me, went against my will, dug a grave and shoved me into it, dancing and cascading laughs as they did, fought my way out, gone I think, quiet ever since the pit; gone too is a lovable and heartless martini drinking monkey, gone, gone. Now it is just I, Chalice and there is no self.

One of them drank darkly roasted coffee, now gone, taste horridly like dirt from my dug grave, they gone, never really liked wine or hardier spirits, used them to deceive myself into silence and sleep, but now that too taste unpleasant as the unpleasant extraction it once was, same, marijuana once bought me happiness, only sours my saliva. All these changes lacking an adjustment period, Chalice emptied and preoccupied, stuffed with magna, Chalice a finely furnace, melted into the obscurity of the universe by to much heat, what truly burns must darken, all brightness enlightens future zeroness.

Chalice in hand, Chalice I am, and now emptied of all other souls that once inhabited me, I now feel blossoming existence, I feel myself dying.


History Is Our Posterity

Immortality is a dangerous lure, fishing everything that craves it. The impossibility of living forever means that we have to try to sketch ourselves into the fragile fiber of humanity.

Masking plastic surgery can extend a youthful appearance, proper health care can lengthen our mortality. But neither will save us from aging or death.

Jesus Christ and Pontius Pilate are inextricably immortal, if Pontius had decided to free Jesus Christ we would have little cause to remember the world’s most renown condemnation. Banished would be the mind-bending drama of the crucifixion and the miraculously unforgettable resurrection. Christ, planted in our hearts by our guilt-stricken humanity, ever in need of forgiveness. If we had been the mighty Roman governor, crucifying the son of god would have been a tempting election. The opportunity to crucify the holy son of a divine trilogy instantly immortalizes. There is only one Pontius Pilate, there will never be another!

There is something remarkably immortal in being able, as a mortal, to destroy something that is held to be eternal and divine.

Hitler is etched in history because of his atrocities, his inability to judge enough hate as enough. Napoleon too, etched into the wood of history, carved in because of his incessant desire to over-accomplish. Both dictators immortalized by their unique abuse of power.

The Marquis de Sade will always be remembered for his lavish cruelty towards virtuous Justine. Vladimir Nabokov immortalized by his colorful abuse of Lolita. Both authors and characters thriving on the fertile ground of masculine and feminine perversions, immortally harvested through every literary generation.

The immortality of an act requires a high degree of abusive originality. It is not the lofty or dismal moral-mindedness of an act, rather its mind-spiking, tattooing magnification.

Historians, in their attempt to expose and enlighten fanatical behavior, will continue to immortalize republican senator Joseph McCarthy. The senator blacklisted himself into the historical record while blacking-out the genuine future history of his blacklist.

The United States has suffered 106 congresses. Most of them, mostly forgettable, impeachment guarantees uniqueness and immortality. The weight of one’s name on the plates of history is more important than the judgement placed upon the historical record.

Our collective and individual histories surpass biological confines impose by our DNA, reproducing and swelling our mortality through historical posterity.


In Evolution Best To Be Last

It is good to be first, god is at the top of the spiritual food chain, best in his class, the president, leader of the nation, top of his profession, it is good to be first, it is good to win, being second or third, or last is not good. I have never been last, but I have never been first. I don’t excel at anything, I am what is known as an outsider, the world changes without me within the quandary of its trying hours. Wars may feasts on young male bodies, success craves balding old men, but nothing craves my substance. Don’t get me wrong I am not complaining, there is a great deal of disbelief in my personification which accomplishes much in my favor. I can’t be blame for any of the world’s problems, I have not started any wars, thought urge I have yet never been able to muster an army of fanatics to find me their leader. Revolt! revolt I scream but no one hears me. No one can blame me of any and all crimes for I am not large and mean enough to truly stick it to some one. There have been plenty of people I have wanted dead, a number of them my bosses, but even as I cursed them with what ought have been a most fatal of curses, “I hope nothing terrible ever happens to my boss but nothing ever goes my way.” Even with that fatal curse nothing ever went my way; the damn fools survived my every chicanery. I don’t think I ever wanted to kill an ex-lover, I hear about people that want to hire assassins to care for their ex-lovers, but me, I just get suicidal. One time I lost a lot of weight, almost subtracted myself from existence; another day I actually put a knife’s blade to my left wrist, left is so personalize, then I binged on sleeping pills using a whole bottle of whiskey to usher them down my esophagus, but nothing ever goes my way. Advice for you, don’t drink an overdose of sleeping pills with alcohol, you will just vomit it all out throughout a hellish night. Some people are lucky, I once shared a hut with an alcoholic that choked himself to death from vomiting; more evidence that nothing ever goes my way.

Killing yourself is hard to do, I think that is why people murder others instead, it is so much easier to accomplish, even raping someone or abusing a child, surely people bare children and own pets so they have someone to control and abuse; it is a way of channeling angerishness perpetrated upon us all by the social culture that imprisons us. Still killing oneself is hard, hard to do, easier to fight a war, to kill a dog, to hunt a deer; murdering something anything is a good way to express out connectivity to death, we are always there, I know the feeling of wanting to kill me something, I killed a pig spirit that once used to reside within me, that was hard, it hurt me more after the act, I horribly felt his absence. But pig lived with me, so I guessed I had grown attached to his pork, imagine if hunters had to expend a weekend retreat with their prey, deer feeding one day and target deer tomorrow, go and hunt. Might be easier though to put the family dog to sleep, a wonderful satisfaction in having to make a cruel decision, sleep you dog. But I don’t want to get away from my main point, so just know that of self afflicted, mutilation, of this self that I am, shall not be taken lightly, yet I am not anybody, I am not first, I am not last, will not be missed by you, nor by the world at large; my family will have a difficult time with it, but death is a part of life. I know.

I think you are beginning to get my point, I don’t know why I think that, I don’t know you, I know I don’t know you, which is another way of saying that you can’t hurt me and people can understand better those that they can not hurt. I never see the other side of someone that is arguing with me, I recommend that you don’t argue with me, you can’t win, even if I don’t know you, you can’t win! Comfort your self with knowing that you comprehend my madness and that it does not touch you in any way, you are sane, that is not an insult!

In evolution it is good to be last, in fact all the successful species are last, but they don’t know it when they are, that is they don’t know that they are going to be last, the dinosaurs were thriving and successful and I ma sure that they were happy with their success but when they were thriving they got their grand extinction. Humanity adapting and modifying its own environment, from transgression to transgression, eventually became very successful, but humanity had no way of knowing that it would be successful, it is only now that Homo sapiens can look at Neanderthals with an air of superiority. See if you know you are the best you are about to born your extinction. Every damn thing in the planet, gets charcoal cooked at the peak of evolutionary success. Think of it this way, do you think that horses, that served us so well, for so many years, do you suppose that they ever imagined that they would be surpassed by the automobile. Of course not, horses were so arrogant at the height of their evolutionary success, they had after all bettered the Indians in acquiring acceptance from the white men, they were so damn arrogant though that they used to race against the automobile, proving endurance and speed, and now what, horses are dog meat. A horse jockey is a small man.

But really I don’t want to insult anyone but in evolution it is good to be last, the last to arrive is the best to arrive, but I am not last, what I worry about is that I am somewhere in between the mesh of craziness that produces tomorrow, but get this, since I am no one in particular, not a spike or spoke or a pulley in the wheel of progress, what if I am the successful species of tomorrow.

Soon I might be last.


The Match

At a football match, watching from the top of the bleachers soon to be loser and winner slugging it out, a warm pneumonic smile snuggles into my chamber, caressing old violent moments, hot dogs enduring their way amidst clamor and brew, I touch her gentle sphere, driving happiness with definition, blaring as each and all cross the blurring trampled finish line.


My First Period

A trance A sleep A dear memory A gargantuan project gone awry A shared lunch A brevity of meat and bread and cheese, explicate, but how, a collapsed project of sweetness, passionately and masterly and purposefully constructed, now squandered, everything once in place and now nothing works together, passive walks through massive structures, huddle with her eating expressions, I rushed to the restroom, door ajar, had my first blood spitting period.


Puzzle Battleship Sorrow

Endless massive fragments of failed project everywhere, a mall of shops selling products that could not be bought, a gallery of ideas overbooked with failing expectations; I stole her car keys, sat in it going nowhere, my apprehension relieved by her post-forgiving approval; transudation blurring finishing lines, walked around a corner of emotions, stumbled into her irises once more, hiding a florescent makeup bag, not hers, not mine, smiling reflections of a match once played, insights failing, innards gaining relevance, a warm exchange, I returned her cars keys, unsure if I had done that right, lingering holes all over her negligee, back to work.

Fiends urged me to go play Battleships with her, “go on…” “go play Battleships with her…” I hesitated yet went, daringly dreading my exploding anxieties, puzzle fragments without a photograph, gave her a game of Sorry.


Snares With A Vacuum

Receding as she walks into the room, rang her silent serenity, vacant gone her stares; amidst boisterous mingling chatter she sits alone keeping company with her solitude. Can anyone see her magic breathing life into them? Breathing zest into the room of life but is herself regretfully and painfully alive.

In the presence of all she recedes to allow room for their inner personalities to obviate restraint; she walks into the earth, walks into the earth all the while receding from it, feeling all within, deigning weakness so that we may dare be strong.

She has jurisdiction to change the self of others by flagrantly exposing each, and all, to more of themselves; a cognac of yourself she pours forth you, Cognac pour yourself forth, before you have a chance to prepare a rearguard you have overflowed yourself all over the floor and all over the walls, spilling blistering yourself into a density of subtracting air, you poured yourself out and now layer her vacuum atmosphere, gasping so your Domaine doesn’t suffocate, you yell louder to hear her better, your hand busying canvas, painting exorbitant possessions so that she can still feel herself inside of the drama earth, earth… Domaine fainting from your exorbitant presence, yelling as you barely have enough oils to cover the vastly blank canvas “You are because I am!” and to confirm it you have poured yourself all over the floor and over the walls, magnifying you, a you to the tenth power diluting to touch her inaudible voice, her language scarcely reaching your earlobe, before her reaching recession becomes unobtainable by your diluted cognac, this cognac you, engulfing everything only to be nearer her… inebriated Cognac stupor… Receding as she walks into your life.



My darling Goddess of unfulfilled devotionI trounce upon myself for believing that my quenched passions would twinwithin your heart
That thy heart bleeding for devotion could ever be fulfilled by this heart
Why thy infinity commands incessant dissatisfaction
perhaps to break my heart would please thee more
where I ripened with my prayers and devotion,
Will be flung out from all creation into the spiraling black hole
where I will be disappeared for being unfaithful
a crime committed by my mortality which could not equal thy infinity
I shall beg but all finality will curse me
I shall prove the purity of my sanctity by biting coils of charged copper
And shall seek to not sleep but pray your adulation
Fenced in by the acid reality that consumes my corpse
Raining blistering holes into my heart


Queen Empress of Immensity

Oh my dear Immensity
That you are reddish everywhere and all overI know indeed
Where thou hears all but has no sound
Where thy quest
Intense and might
Has no greater equal
Where thy passions inundate our seas
And how thy greatness lessens us
How fortunate I to love the Queen Empress of Immensity
Where thou has wed me
Simply because none other will please thee
Where thou has only to live with dissatisfaction
I kneel down and bed thee
And count each time I kiss you as a blessing
Aware I that where my desires are being met
That thou must live with such impossibility


You Love Fat

Fat is the excess of life, it is also what tells us that we will live longer for fat is the biological battery of existence, without it, we would have to eat like birds. Mexicans love fat people, husky, women with big butts and big torsos and big thighs, and big bodies, and beans and rice; there is just something about many Mexican women that tells you that they could work the fields and wash clothes and gestate babies while harvesting a crop, and not be in a beauty contests. Mexican men intuitively know that a beauty queen will not make a good tortilla nor good farm labor, an ugly woman is less likely to cheat, even by choice; now a woman with a big ass, there is some fine woman indeed.

Sumo wrestlers present a serious problem for Japan, Japanese are the fat Orientals, fat and Orientals are politically incorrect, but by Orientals standards that is still not really fat. Don’t ask me why but it is a lot easier to find a fat Japanese than it is to find a fat Chinese or Filipino. You will take notice that without the fat, a race seems to stay younger looking longer; it is almost impossible to discern the aging process in Asians, age is very kind to Asian women, and less interesting, to Asian men as well. But sumo wrestlers seem odd, it is absolutely a worship of fat, the temple of fat, the muscled calories, moving and sating like a giant earth attempting to keep orbit against another equally massive planet, generating gravity waves to circular victory.

Americans love and adore fat, they will never admit it, no that would be taboo, their fact filled scientific community has assured them that fat is a bad thing, that it gives you heart disease, high blood pleasure, and no pleasure. Fat people are less appealing though by the laws of relativity that seems to be a contradiction. And in a world of more and more fat it is more likely to be hypocritically loved. Fat is loved! People love fat, subconsciously, secretly, it is a sign of plenty, of more than enough, of stored prosperity, it is a sign of lack of want, chocolate is loved because of its caloric exorbitance, meats, ice creams, pies, all loved because of their caloric insanity. We homed in on cows and pigs because they looked fat. I am here to tell the pigs and the cows that they don’t have to worry about extinction, as long as they keep that fat for us to gloat.

Can we really say we like fat when the rational world is telling us that fat is a bad thing? So we create the most abominable contradiction imaginable, more than plenty is good, but if it is a bad thing then it must be obtained by process of denial. We will eat more but say that we are attempting to eat less. Most restaurants in America or any other continent are fat metropolises, most cooks in America or any other continent are experts on pouring lard.

Frozen dinners are preserved fat. At the movies, popcorn, candy and soda, fat inspirations; at the football games hot dogs and beer, fat stimulants; at the bar, happy hour, chicken wings and popcorn, and fries and nachos; at work there is the snack machine with sweets and potato chips and pop corn; and the real favorite pasts time is eating, eating everything and everywhere; even socializing with despicable people is made tolerable by dinners, when dining out the food is the center of attention, makes lots of people tolerable and tolerant. Anywhere you turn in America there is food fat farms, Ms Piggy frequents McDonalds, and Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Taco Bell, and Dominos Pizza Hut, and Denny’s and 31 flavors of ice cream, all fat farms. While to be fair to the Rational Institute there are an equal number, if not actually a greater number, of dieting farms, working out gyms, pills that kill calories, food that starve themselves of every ingredient, except artificial colors, all armies designed to counter the effects of fat and fact. As long as you are fighting your fat you have not lost… surgeons liposuction money out of fat.

Humans might not admit it, but regardless of what the logicians tell us, fat is adored and worshipped, and the human psychology has no shame in countering the statistics with wanton abandonment to the swine and the spirits. We are not winning the war on fat, because we are not at war with fat, we are at war with skinny! We are endemically afraid of malnutrition, we fear to stare our cadaver! Flesh and more flesh hides our cadavers, AIDS fear rises our desire to be fatter if only to prove our health; yes the more flesh, the less cadaver like, the less dead; and the greater our prosperity the more flesh, a disregard for appearances, is a pure sign of prosperity, the fatter I am the more likely it is that I don’t care what society thinks, autonomy, or call it thick skinned. Women find husky men more attractive, football players are fat, boxers fat, successful businessmen, lawyers, politicians, fat lard all of them!

The more wealthy and powerful a country is, the more girth, the more fat its people are, in the future we will all be blubber queens, self sufficient agglomerations of lard, where others will be able to feast among us with no danger to ourselves. Eat a leg, it an arm, why not go ahead, hell we will replenish, fat regenerates with ease, don’t worry I am on a heavy stem cell diet; God is density bloated.



Connect me to her world, sink me warm humid armpits, connect me to her world, her oxidizing body, decaying accompanying me, I want to occupy one by one her pores all completely, her pores sole inhabitant, working struggler with her dilations, no Sundays off, her every pore my dwelling cave, that she enjoy a sunny beach, havoc in my hotel for life, my grave death supplications, nastier of all her holes, hive for my death born worms, crevices for my swelling souls, raptures nesting flesh, thrilling, morphing, exhuming, wetting soaking bathing me, moisten salty exterior underground of her exotically intolerant expurgating volitions; kissing my gradually soaking aspirations, kiss me sparkling generosity of minerals! rinse me every million oscillations! every turning twisting coiling expression, eat me flesh! eat me! Moist, wet, slippery caves, I in all of Domaine’s surfaces, eating me her consummations.


Black Forest

Metallic slivering pussy, halo auction, fuck me carving agonies, tie me, rope me, gag me, gang me, hurry… rotting peaches, rush… needed extra barb wire, whip me eat me beat me; keyless rusting chastity belt for sale, virtues gone to flea market, a dozen orations for only a penny, you cant fantasize this huge, you can’t imagine her black forest, gelatinous rivers of soothing avalanches, boiling hot black forest of mucous desires; you don’t know how to desire that high, your peaks her valleys, gorging her, spiting distances, every inch your failing economies, every meter spiting distances, withering expansions-bridging endless endings, reproaching her engulfing dimensions, her accretion tempo gorging more than your diameter, one-hundred-and-fifty-one-thousand penises, more than fifty percent insufficient capital to explore her. Hello echo? How are you my dear twin? May she confuse her excoriating reverberations for your vandalizing screams. Hello echo?


Dead Brain Cells

I have lost control of my Toenails
They are growing into my Toes
Blossoming beyond them
Splendid manifestations of innate and inane willpower
Silver clippers in hand I labor upon them
The feet are a far off land
The toenails are the most distant point in the human anatomy
Foot fetishism is kissing, sucking, and loving stinking foreigners
Toenails are a hostile land
The skeleton has not yet evolved to chop off toenails
Vertebrates leading cause of injury
Toenails do not dare grow on snakes
Introverted Toenails burying themselves into me
Extroverted Toenails curling out into the vast horizon
“Honey you need to cut your Toenails!”
Most marriages break up from prostrate injuries caused by prickly Toenails
Filing Toenails is an undisputed act of war
I cut mine this way and that way
An attempt at limiting their power
You have to understand strange symmetry to chop your Toenails
Jewel cutters are not up to the task
A Toenail is symmetrically chaotic
It follows a pattern that it incessantly violates
Cut them straight, cut them in a V shape, half moon angle them, your doomed
Eating docile fingernails, is nervous aggression towards our unperturbed toenails
Toenails, cut them off more growth they born
Expressing greater deformity to utter their dissatisfaction
I clip away with ruthless insanity
They bludgeon my big toe into submission
Slow bloodletting is their method, prick, prick,
Endemically ingrown they know you have to walk
Is there a podiatrist in the house?
Doctor! Doctor! I feel my dead Toenail
Insensitive, they feel through my toes
My toes proactively communicate with me
My toe will have to be cut open
The clippers cost me the scalpel
Re-constructive Toe surgery
My sister visited me in the hospital
She told me that Toenails were dead brain cells
My, painted manicured Toenail aunt, a confessed lover of toenails, came too Demanding to know if I would you be willing to have all my Toenails removed to secure prosperity in South America?
She assure me she would never!
A true measure of her humanity
Painted finger nail pervert
The pain born me nose hairs
I have lost control of my nostrils


Consumer Report

Things To Consider Before Purchasing Vanilla Ice Cream.

I was at the store the other day and I stumbled into a bargain for ice cream. Ice cream at the bargain price of 1.99 per gallon, and it was my favorite brand and not just my favorite brand but also my favorite flavor which, if you happen to care, is creamy vanilla. That is right, vanilla, I know what you are thinking of all of the flavors out there, vanilla is considered the most mundane. It is overused in banana splits, milkshakes and hardly as mesmerizing as chocolate praline, but nevertheless it is my favorite flavor. And it is so because of its simplicity, because it is excellent at being the average flavor of ice cream. Not only does it excel in averageness but it also makes itself the default flavor for all ice cream companies. Regardless of what any one tells you no ice cream company would ever dare to call itself an ice cream company without having vanilla as a flavor. Some companies might not produce chocolate praline, caramel chocolate almond or even more exotic flavors but they will all produce vanilla.

So hate it, think it too average but you’ve got to admit it, Vanilla is central to the very existence of ice cream. If you wanted to examine the reason for the popularity of something so average as vanilla and not just accept it as a neutral ice cream flavor, neutral meaning not an overly powerful ice cream, in a sense not overly ice-cream-like, vanilla is as close to being another food as ice cream can get, so it quenches many hungers. It is a fair compromise; you don’t have to want ice cream to eat vanilla ice cream, but you certainly have to want ice cream to eat rocky road.

It is this supreme mentality of self indifference that vanilla ice cream suffers that allows it to be so successful. Vanilla ice cream does not care if you really like it, it is not out to impress you, it will not wear Oreo cookies to get you exited about licking it. Go ahead, treat it badly, throw it on cake, churn it in the blender; in the end vanilla will accept such indecencies and quietly melt into your mouth without calling on more than the standard number of taste buds. Some ice creams are really trying to make every taste bud wake up but definitely not vanilla.

Vanilla, then, is the perfect ice cream for a democracy. It may be the heart of the republic. We may even find, though no substantial research has been done, yes we may certainly find that the closer a country is to dictatorship the lower the vanilla ice cream consumption rate will be. And this is so obvious that a fair index could easily be created wherein Most Favored Nation status could be granted based on the volume per capita consumption of vanilla ice cream. It would be impossible for a country to lick the greatest quantity of vanilla ice cream and not be average, I mean democratic, I mean a Friend of the United States. The real nice thing about tying Most Favored Nation status to vanilla ice cream consumption is that it would make the certification process fair, and if America really wanted to be hard-ass about it we could make it so that the ice cream would have to be purchased from the United States. Of course NAFTA partners would be certified to produce their own vanilla, but it would be heavily monitored by Congress and enforcement could be handled by the, ever searching for a success story, ATF.

Even at a philosophical, artistic and religious level vanilla is sort of the minimalist’s ice cream, a dadaist ice cream, and perfectly puritanical. I don’t know what the archeological record shows but I think it fair to assume that the stoics were cone fed vanilla ice cream. It is easy to be a stoic when you eat vanilla ice cream, it is perfectly satisfying but not overbearing, as much as you need but not too much, you can imagine eating vanilla ice cream and eating something else afterwards, in other words, vanilla ice cream does not claim to be the end all, the complete meal, it is just something else that you have on your plate. That kind of humble attitude is so amazing that one cannot even overdose on the stuff.

Which leads me back to what I really wanted to say about this amazing thing that I found my favorite vanilla ice cream at a great price, a price that was so good I could not even use any other coupons with it, it was so good that it had an expiration date as all good things must expire, a price of such dismal proportions that I was sure that if I bought more than a dozen the manufacturer of this ice cream would go under. But they had foreseen this economic fatality, this incredible price leader was being sold under actual production cost, so there was a limit to three gallons at that price, if I wanted more at that cheap price, stealing it would cost more, I would have to cheat the system, I would have to dash to another store like this one, with the same sale price, and pray to god that my picture was not being scanned and propagated throughout every major supermarket as having already purchased my allotted amount. I suppose if I was an idealist of sorts I could have demanded that I be permitted to buy as much as I wanted, I mean this is a capitalist country, I should be able to buy as many gallons of vanilla ice cream as I can consume and more, but in the end the supermarkets could get revenge by removing my special discount card causing me to lose the gross monetary equal of a senior discount. I mean some supermarkets have already eliminated coupons because people were using them to save more and more money by buying more and more of the coupon discounted product; and so all those savings were piling up, it’s a dizzying formula buy more save more. So if they can take coupons away as far as I am concerned they are unstoppable.

But as so often happens in my life, whenever I finds something completely irresistible something makes it resistible and so it was the case here. Right before the Oracle of vanilla I found myself anticipating the increased girth that would be the product of my consuming all the gallons of vanilla ice cream that were theoretically now affordable and thus available to me. Is it possible that capitalism is so self-destructive that it would allow for me to find loop holes in purchasing quotas so that I could over eat myself to death. And, I being profoundly productive labor would be subtracted from production capacity while increasing my chances for coronary bypass surgery. Was Malthus right, in a way, except that it would not be the number of people that would increase exponentially and disproportionately against production capacity, but that the populace would increase in size. So, because of foods like vanilla and bacon, made affordable by capitalism, we would each become the equivalent of one and a half people or in some cases two people. And if the average mass of a Human Being is being doubled, is that not the same as doubling the population of an entire country without doubling its tax revenue? And, if so, why would any decent government not take actions to correct such deviant behavior or to tax it appropriately? And all that can also lead one to conclude that the zero population growth figures cited by certain first-world countries need to be revised to reflect the gross girth of their people.

And the thoughts of this disproportionate self kept on eating at me and kissing me and licking me, and I found myself dreading the thought of eating vanilla ice cream. I thought, “how can this ice cream company ever compensate society for all of those pounds that it was selling to its customers?” Imagine how many people have been unknowingly sent to their grave by something so presumably innocent as vanilla ice cream? Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? How could anyone measure the cost to a nation? Impossible! It struck me, I don’t mean a brain stroke, but it struck me mathematically (and trust me, for me mathematics is a mental stroke) that from the weight I would gain, the less productive that I would be, and this being an unsustainable proposition, I would need to consume ever more ice cream in order to maintain my newfound mass. And you know love of the self being what it is, the more of you there is the harder it is to become less of yourself; losing weight is difficult because you lose a part of yourself, losing weight is grotesquely partial suicide, and that is why it is so difficult to stomach it.

So I looked at that bargain price and thought to myself, “Is that company willing to compensate me for all of the futile weight loss courses that I am going to have to take? Are they going to increase my salary and reduce my work week so as to compensate for my new found laziness?” In other words, who would pay for all the added health risk? Who would cover the cost of psychoanalyzing a depression from my not being content with the over abundance of flesh? And it was during this incredibly lucid moment that I made the decision not to buy because I had considered all of the cost and it was definitely not a bargain! Damn it, price those gallons of vanilla ice cream higher than the queens head, price them so that they cover all of the hidden costs of eating them, and then I will buy it at the right price, but never before then!!!


I Magic

Spartan life of mine, lending magic to my words, they repay me unkindly, I think back of the life of friends past me, a history of revolutions, I Magic at the memories, sparking dangerous ambitions that would soon suffocate within my negatively mortgaged heart, quell, quelling, there is danger lurking in the repetition but I dare risk the carbon paper of my thoughts, why would anyone dare to risk so much creating where no one else will bother go, toiling building, building foundations that have no heart and song and dive, that connect not to the divisions, that link no chaining resolutions, that sing out of tune, that muster themselves incoherently together, cacophony is such an ugly word I don’t dare use it here, but it applies, you can’t buy originality, you can make yourself an original, it is a crime and a perversity to try, my sister Liz told me I was trying too hard, but what if I let go my grip, ahahahhahha… abysmal dreams collapse and fall me deep into their chasm, I only have to last with this mad dream a few more living years, then I am dead, then it won’t matter, hold on to your dreams son, just a little longer, let them last until you die, then let them fall apart, it won’t matter if what you envision only lives until you die, it wont matter you prodigious progeny of atrophy.

Drifting away from my stream so many alluring illusions, so many deceitful experiences, so many mysterious calls with no mystery, curiosity harboring all of my instincts, erring negativity, aberrant corrections, my soul weighted down by pounds of silver coins, I reinvent myself to many times and none of the inventions turn out to be me, gooey thick fingerings go, retreat to your sperm and smagma, the “s” is not silent but loud like the Mafia, crawl unevenly back into myself, a foreign land now, an unexplored territory, I know philosophy better than I know myself, I know how to fix god and a computer better than I know how to fix myself, the computer and god came with instructions, and I was never afraid of knowing or losing either ; I know the character of some politicians better than I know my own, even my friends I know better, I know how they want me to act, I don’t know how I want me to act; I don’t dare ask them who or what I am, I tell them, I Magic! I Magic!

Crawling unevenly into my magnificent limbo atrophied self, hey I didn’t know that I could read minds, and dance Salsa, and sing with the wind sweeping songs, swooshing wind and I; I did not know that my flesh was see through, that my bone marrow tasted so suckingly I Magic good, yummy, slurp, life is gentler inside of myself, whew no insurmountable mountains, you don’t have to climb the mountain if you are the mountain that you are climbing, fresh torrid air raining inspiration everywhere, yeah, I want to tunnel through Mt. I Magic now! Glorious, all this unknowns and yet I am not scared, the wolves that inhabit me I can subdue with sweet tender avalanches, jewels eroding from me everywhere, a loot of gold, I hoard it all; when you are the mountain where the gold makes its nest it does not weight you down, amazing that once I had dared travel outside of myself, amazing that at one time I found the world and you more fascinating than Mt. I Magic, amazing and perplexing. I tunnel deeper into myself, wow it is dark within but what I may not see I feel with greater clarity, and yet see things blinded by vision, wow a chasm jumps into me, I Magic, I witness Cyclops with three eyes, hey I am hearing myself rebelling in the hailing me blood makes as it curls and twists and rolls and sucks its way through my veins and arteries; I think the arteries are the ones that carry poisonous blood, harmlessly transported inside of me, purged from all my organs right smack into my heart, and I Magic swallowing with gluttonous desires, would hate for there to be a clogged artery that would prevent me from drinking my daily poisons, which inside my very heart I turn into life blood, filtering transfusions, here is some for my liver, some for my kidneys, some for my carnal desires, some for my muscular ambitions, I Magic!


Reengineering The Perfection

While the human body is a remarkable accomplishment I think it could use some improvements that time and use have made evident. Immediately let me first agree with the Christians that the human body is proof positive that there is a god, a woman’s body in particular is stellar in every expression; one must never question that there is no greater drug capable of surpassing that addiction, addiction that is instigated and managed well by female wearers of this luxury good. Women love it, men love it, I have seen dogs and elephants love it. The worship of the feminine body lures us to bondage her, so that body might not escape us, lures us to torture her, as punishment for our dependence on it, spank her as proof of our lording liberty over her, and punishment for her coquetry; we piss on her as proof obsession that she births our disgust; and finally we rape her, while prodding her with a knife, to manifest our complete delusional disregard for her existence. Yes a woman’s body as an addictive aphrodisiac, a carving nest of passions, aesthetically there is no improvement to be made upon that labyrinth of perdition, where never aware us men remain forever lost.

I wish that we could say the same about the male body, but outside of looking like a jackhammer that serves no other purpose than to ram and ram hard, the male body has an industrial design, more defined by purpose than by aesthetic concerns. The male body is designed for hard labor, for endurance, for harsh environments, for harsh environments that require emotional and physical insensitivity, the male body rips with no allusions of internal pleasure, a rock with a cucumber sticking from it would serve the same purpose but be more sensitive. Still we ought not be harsh upon the utilitarian aspect of the male body, sensitivity is not necessarily a good thing if one is to tolerate a wife; and aesthetic curves, instead of the standard-issue blockiness are not conducive to sharpening the definition of aggression. Males are designed to seem menacing, there is no need for their silhouette to look like the impressionist oil on canvas feminine.

The result of such diametrically opposed physicality has to do with the manufacturing house: A woman was created by god, a man by evolution.

Aesthetic differences aside the general physiological operation of both bodies are very similar with the exception of the sexual organs and the reproductive functions. A man has of course a penis which is extroverted, and woman a vagina that is introverted. The penis is a very visible object whose condition of desire is constantly exposed, men are knowable they suffer no privacy, a vagina is intimate, it is hidden, not subject to prying eyes, a woman remains a sensual mystery. Woman is creator of desire, men performs to satisfy her insatiable desire. The man believes himself in control because he has to prove himself worthy, interesting indeed. In keeping with appearances the design of the sexual organs optimize the psychology, woman must allow penetration males must acquire access; a woman is a lure, the vagina is a trap, a child is a trap for life; a male is bated and hooked, but his dysfunctional psychology and the environment convince him that he is in control. A woman is, fragile and subject to abuse, subject to drowning a man with her tears.

A side note: Early in the womb we are all technically females, something goes genetically wrong and you get a male.

The proposed changes to the anatomical structure, based on the above observations, are strictly designed to make minor improvements so as not to altercate the nurtured balance that has been acquired over the ages.

First it is disgusting to think that the sexual organs and the waste disposal organs need to be one in the same. An economist can immediately appreciate the cost and dual use manufacturing benefits of having the penis serve for the dissipation of urine as well as for sperm release. But anyone who has had to lick a turtle-head penis oozing urine stink, might prefer a separation of the two functions. The same is true for the vagina, serving as urine showerhead center, and tragically with no flow-directional control, while also handling access to the egg and hosting the monthly bloodletting, an admirable triple use functionality, which might be a manufacturing marvel but also causes much disrepair, that is, when one thing breaks they all break.

It is therefore here suggested that the functions be made autonomous where ever possible. All men should come with two penises and no foreskin/turtle-head. One penis apparatus having generous width and length, correcting the current insufficiency of nine inches when penis is fully erect, an evolutionary oddity that defies historical and present demands. Anyway that thing would be attached to the testicles to serve as abysmal dweller and sperm donor; while a secondary penis, smaller and underneath the larger penis, would serve as urine discharge head. Both penises would no longer have incorporated foreskin. The immediate advantage being hygiene and of course Jewish children would no longer have to endure the painful removal of their foreskin. An yet another added benefit being that the secondary smaller penis could be simultaneously inserted into the vagina, adding girth, though such use would be discouraged; or this secondary penis could be inserted into the anus during normal intercourse, again to be discouraged with proper moral training, particularly because of the financial damage that it could cause to the dildo industry. If the conservative lobby refuses to agree to the secondary penis, a compromise maybe possible by engineering a butterfly-hammerhead to the tip of the penis, chemically triggered to induce the tip to gorge if exposed to feces, anyone practicing sodomy would be locked in an uncomfortable position until the swelling head subsided, expected to last no less than four hours.

I propose that the vagina and clitoris plus the urinal tract be separated completely. The Clitoris to be relocated within the belly button, so that a lover could, with certain accommodation, suck and lick the clitoris while penetrating his mate. The vagina will be left in its current position, only that a very slim hose like tube, would run the arch of the female ass ending short of the anus, and from that point the urine would be vomited. Running this sort of hose solution from the vagina would require the least amount of reengineering, so while it is not a perfect solution what it lacks in perfection it makes up in workability. The immediate advantages to be gained from these changes are readily obvious, woman could masturbate with their arms crossed, and if wearing a bikini a man could glimpse at a hot clitoris. The rerouting of the urinary tract would eliminate urinary tract infection as a reasons not to have sex. Particularly important because usually this are actually caused by extramarital undertakings. There would also be an immediate cost benefit to companies that make mechanical masturbators because they would be able to use infrared signals instead of wiring to control the device. And for those that suffer form eschatological adoration, plastic piping could be sold that would reroute the urine back into the vagina or wherever new fetishes call.

The anus is really, I think, the most evidence that we have that there is no god. It is just a bad thing, from large intestine all the way down. Aside from the pornographic market supported by eschatological lovers, there is not much good to be said for our master waste disposal system. The asshole is a shit hole, kissing it can be erotic, and fucking it avoids the concerns of pregnancy, teenagers should be encouraged to practice sodomy, there is no safer form of sex. That aside an asshole is an asshole, hard to clean, impossible to see what is going on down there, specially during diarrhea, splatter city; hair grows around the orifice and shit sticks to it, and you wipe the shit into the hairs, and those hairs behave like a radiator, keeps your ass cool as air rushes in and delivers the offensive stink to your friends. If god does exist, and he did indeed design our waste disposal system, he is either incompetent or imperfect. Assholes, even Christian assholes, are as far from a perfection as you can get.

We will not bother suggesting that it ought be all together scrapped and redesigned from scratch. That would require too much sniffing time and effort; but it should be easy enough to change the disposition of delivery, so that for instance diarrhea will not be a sustainable probability. The suggested solution is to create a vacuum chamber, within the last stage of the large intestine, this vacuum chamber will be heated by the body, and vacuum suck and compact feces, in its final stage into pellets, these pellets are never to be more than an inch long and a quarter of an inch in diameter; they will be solid upon ejection from the body, and because they will be mostly dry relatively smell free; they may be handle by hand, the subject would just be able to reach out and grab them as they are coming out, as many as are required to dispose of waste, and they may be discarded at will. The immediate benefit is that flush toilets will become completely unnecessary, a simple plastic bag will contain them and you can drop them off at the nearest garbage can; or if you fancy, coat them with chocolate syrup and chew them. Hey don’t complain people eat hotdogs.

Farts are a bigger problem, because all rotting waste can generate gas, it is recommended that we induce a re-circulation of the internal gas so that it can be exhumed as a burp. There is no way around gas, the body needs to balance its internal air pressures so you cant eliminate it, but a burp is certainly more tolerable than a fart, especially with a certain gum available for purchase that would render the scent inaudible. This operation ought be the simplest to execute and everyone will be mandated to have it done. To catch those that avoid the operation we can create a chemical spray that when released into the surrounding air will react as catalyst to taint and color flatulent gasses thus revealing their person of origin. The spray cans will be housed in elevators, in break glass cases. This will avoid the current problem of limbo blaming fart distribution.

Now all of our investigations the three that really challenged us the greatest are fat, the bloodletting, and the carrying of that parasite we fondly call a baby. We have however some proposals which I think you might find at least some what attractive.

First what we saw as the real problem, like it or not, and we hate to say it, pregnant woman are ugly, really ugly. They look like guppies, nothing fits them right, it distorts everything about them, and it is a back pain and a discomfort to carry the added weight of the parasite that is frivolously feeding off of them. Most women have to actually buy an entirely new wardrobe, this is a problem and a burden, and pregnant couples suffer social oppression when silently encouraged to abandon their existing friendships for more accommodating, parasite adoring, babysitting, feeding baby types.

The menstrual cycle grand finally is just a pain, once a month cramps, emotional dissidence, and the burden of having to stick blood absorbent materials into the vagina; more relevant men do not like to orally satisfy their woman during bloodletting, its just horrible.

Fat of course speaks ugliness of itself, the only people that will truly say that fat is beautiful are fat people, bottom line here, fat alters the shape of the human body, it distorts the visual field, and it is really unnecessary in today’s civilization where there is always food nearby; you don’t need to live from your fat for days before finding food. Fat is caused by our fear of famine, one never knows when weather and/or disease will destroy our farms and livestock, so by current measure fat people stand a better chance of survival; but even so we propose that something needs to be done with fat, not because of survival, but because of aesthetics.

The parasite situation can be fixed easily enough by taking the placenta and turning it into an external pouch that can be carried more like a sack of potatoes. That is fortunately still uncomfortable to the mother, discomfort during pregnancy being natures preparation for a mother to assimilate the bigger burdens yet to come. Anyway a mother would be able to carry the parasite over her shoulder or hanging from her side, it would for the most part posses the look and feel of plastic jelly with something more solid at the center, the sack somewhat elastic but not much, it would be see through but not really, so you would be able to see a very fuzzy shadow of a growing cretin inside, show it off to friends, let them smell it and bond with it. Other than just directly feeding off of the woman, via her umbilical chord, the parasite within the sack would have no other attachment to her body; when the damn thing grows big enough so that it can not be carried around anymore, the sack can be placed on a table, and the thing allowed to come out, or knife prodded somewhat, “hey get out I can’t carry you anymore!”

The immediate benefits of hosting a parasite in an external sack is that, immediately you know if you are pregnant, your placenta will come out of you and tell you that you are pregnant, a woman’s physical appearance will not need to be altered, no back pains, no stretch marks, and best of all no more caesarians. No more doctors required for abortions. All a girl will have to do if she does not want the damn thing feeding off of her, is to cut the umbilical chord, nothing much more than an ouch procedure, and then throw the sack over the harbor for the seals to eat. She will not even have to check into a clinic, clean as that. Maybe a little whiskey afterwards just to make sure there is no infection.

While I am suggesting a portable external placenta solution, I need to note that I opted for this approach because it is so much easier and with all the advances in polymers very doable; but in the best of all possible worlds, it ought really be possible for woman not to get pregnant at all, rather it ought be possible for a man and woman, to place their sperm and egg at an incubation bank, and then just pick it up after work nine months later. The parents could even, if they wanted to, allow someone else to pick it up and take care of it, a sort of give away your progeny pickup date thing. Church Bingo might be easily replaced by pickup-progeny-date ruffles.

The biological ritualized bloodletting, the most disgusting aspect of being a woman, and perhaps a fair price for the honor of being one, will be recycled also inside of the vagina into plastic period-pellets. Plastic on the outside and liquidy waste blood on the inside. Women will still be required to have the depressing disappointment of having to jettison the creative materials that may have assisted in the, oh so grand, production of a life form. To be fair to the aspiring companies they will still get cramps, besides they deserve them. But instead of having to get their hands dirty they will just pop out a few blood pellets two days out of every month, but never during a full moon or valentines day. The period-pellets can be recycled, encased in carbon-fiber shells, leaving a bloody red tip exposed, and then sold to gun clubs , this way gun hobbyists can play war games and splatter each other with real blood, adding macho realism to the right to bare arms. Or period-pellets could be sold to practitioners of satanic rituals as fresh sacrificial blood. Obviously blood had from a young virgin would cost twice as much as the regular used up stuff.

Fat is the bigger problem. It is a health risk, it is with modern food supplies an overly redundant caloric battery and unfortunately like pregnancies, caesarians, urinary tract infections and colon cancer there is a huge industry that benefits many, in this instance those creating the perfect dieting plan for an eternal fat war that is economically insensitive and mostly as impossible to win as it is inspiring to beat it. It seems like such a simple enemy, fat cells, just a gluttonous mass, nothing appealing about them, just immobile things, that wantonly surrender to sloth and gravity; and this very lazy and unwanted things are daily conquering more and more bodies, ever advancing and creating dieting jobs everywhere. Fat, is gore rich.

There is no solution but total surrender to fat, it is creepy to say it but fat is a winner, an over correction success story, a victory for runaway evolution, it is absurd to try and slim down in a world where food is valued for its caloric content. Chocolate and steaks and cakes, and you realize that you are not just fighting fat but you are fighting the world and everything in it. I have therefore no engineering solution for fat, this is god’s greatest biggest manufacturing error, bad design, bad implementation, reengineering it is out of the question. That is correct I don’t propose correction, just a recommendation to any higher creative force that is willing to listen, a slim trim body that is aesthetically sound is a desirable objective when creating any life form, fat reserves ought be abolished even if it implies that a species might not survive if it does not learn the art of food gathering against adversity quickly and efficiently enough. A body that immediately turns the fat reserves into a waste product if that fat is not required for basic physiological maintenance to exceed no more than eight hours, is acceptable and desirable. Anyone that can not meet the severe food gathering standards brought to life by such a stringently lean tolerance does not deserve to live within a capitalist economy.

It is with grieving certainty that I say, somewhere in the universe is a life form that never gets fat.


I Read Minds

I have discovered much to the detriment of my friendships that I can read minds. I will try to describe to you what it is like to possess such a unique quality, a quality that I am sure you do not possess. Don’t feel bad, a bill collector once demanded that I pay my debt, and then ended with a legal big bully, lawyer gauntlet threat grand finally “…govern yourself accordingly!” You see he could not read minds, nor could he predict the future. The debt was for a mere two hundred dollars, I did the math and thought it fascinating that it could go to trial. If he could have read minds he would have known that I had no intention of settling my debt, if he could have at least predicted the future he would have seen how ridiculous he would look unleashing his phenomenal legal arsenal on a debt that would eventually be written off. And, if he had gotten a degree in economics he would have been able to foresee the negative gain of his efforts. But if you want to divine what was really occurring the truth is he was mad, mad at the world, mad at life, madder yet at himself, and so neither cost nor reality played a factor in his actions. I am sure I served to satisfy his miserable existence and to fake him into thinking that he was paying his rent with his own money; but being a debt collector, he was merely someone feeding on disasters. The moral here being, that bad nutritional habits do not allow you to read minds, so govern yourself accordingly.

I was telling you that I can read minds so I better stick to the subject. Yes indeed, reading minds, yeah I can tell you all about it now, thought it was much a surprise to me as I am sure it is to you. Reading minds is like this, you can read minds as long as you have no other spirits inside of you, or if your some kind of an avatar, forget it you will never be able to read minds, having spirits inhabiting your mind clouds the mind, forgets vision. One simple rule if you want to keep the spirits out, just keep your mouth shut when you are slumbering. If this is a problem for you, may I recommend that you clamp it shut, spirits slip into your body while you are semiconscious, you can actually taste them sneaking in, again just keep your mouth shut.

Now if you want to read minds, I have to warn you it is not so much a choice as it is a gifted misfortune. You can’t say I want to read peoples minds, no, though we are all born with the receptors in the frontal lobe to disperse energy and recover brain waves from other human beings, the reality is that the development of those receptors is purely accidental, there is no science to it. The neat part about it, if you possess the gift, is that you can read anyone's mind regardless of language. Speak them Russian, Chinese or Spanish, brainwaves all communicate through the ether in the same language.

I can see you thinking how can that be? A valid and fair question my friend, which I will travel to answer. You see when you are reading minds you are not reading the language which is a translation of what the mind is saying, language is merely a decoder of brain waves, and there are many variants, but when you are reading minds you are actually reading machine code, that is you are reading the language that all minds use to talk to themselves, which just happens to be globally, and maybe even universally, identical regardless of dialect.

When reading minds you are actually reading the code before it gets translated into the spoken word, at its most rudimental level, you are reading the signals that will go through a series of conversions to become something meaningful that a mouth can speak and an ear can hear. Both tools, the ear and mouth require very define input, by the time a brain signal reaches the ear or the mouth it has gone through so much refinement that it mostly has nothing to do with what the individual wanted to say or feels.

Most of us are intuitively aware of this communications breakdown, that is caused by verbal communication and so we default to intuition. Your real friends, that is the people that like you despite of who you are, they intuitively listen to what you are really meaning to say and not what you are saying. Your lovers, your soul mates all know what you are feeling and they comprehend what you are saying because they are aware of you at a very primordial level. Like me you can say horrible things but they know that you are really a nice guy with lots of mental problems.

Once communication switches to an active communication world mode, then the only thing we have is agreed upon confusions that end in language, constant refinement is required to determine what is really being said, which is why we have lawyers and contracts. So “govern yourself accordingly!” really translates to “I need to pay my rent and I will do what ever it takes to do it. and I hate you, and I am a lawyer that can’t get a better job than that of bill collector, which in the final analysis is raw personal disappointment.” And I know that because I read minds.

Now I have to warn you that having the ability to read minds means also that you open more inner channels of yourself, you expose yourself to humanity at large so that they can emotionally harpoon you with their unspoken indecencies, specially because they don’t know how to read minds which means that they do not know how not to be hypocrite thinkers. And there is no safe way out of it.

Reading minds, as I have said, gives you the ability to comprehend the real machine language that drives a human being, so when you are reading minds you are not so much picking up signals as it is that you are actually feeling and hearing what the person that you are scanning is hearing and feeling within. Scanning is a first person experience, if they feel pain you feel their pain, scanning is supreme objectivity personalized, subjectified by your neurons. A great thing and a terrible thing, if that person happens to be afraid of rats then you are equally afraid of rats, if that person is suicidal you are equally suicidal, that is for the length of time that you are performing the scan.

Now I have said that you feel and sense the world from your subjects perspective, indeed this is what happens. You feel like the toilet paper wiping her ass, you feel the handkerchief as she blows her nostrils mucus, more you feel her every exertion in the process, you feel her as she feels herself saying something, but you hear it before it is translated into language, you hear her before she conjures meaning; yes mind reading is really feeling, feeling what the other person is feeling, hearing those feelings, don’t expect to hear words, or to have something spell them out for you.

Now as I was telling you I have the capacity to read minds, so watch-out!


Where It Is Happening It Is Not Happening

Knowledge puts me to sleep, what I am, why I am what I am, why I will be the way that I will become, what sickness I have inherited, what malice I have fostered, how I can improve, where I can become, who I need to see, what I need to do, how far I am from the truth, how near I am to dissevering and covering it, what I need to know, where I need to know it, and who can tell me what I need to know, who I am, by color, by ethnicity, by genetics, by emotionally extroverted introspection, there are no wrong answers about me, everyone can have their opinion on what and why I am, and who am I; knowledge puts me to sleep, when you know what is right, and when you know what to think and why you think it, you don’t need to think, you can be critical in your sleep.

Go to where it is happening and it is where it has been ordained. You are mature when what they are, preconceive what they want to reason and see, mature what they feel like, what they want to be is what they almost are, you are the external desire of those that want to be you and you want to be them, and your both at the other side of where you want to be intelligent sleep, a sleep of profound knowledge sleep trend formulae acquisitions, I follow evolution and relativity and psychoanalysis by choice, I would not be like you if I did not want to be like you, I go to watch people that are like what I want to be and not the other way around and around and sleep the sleep of action, I am where I want to be and that is where it is happening as expected by my internalized external guidance, I am just like them, not so, they are just like me and this is where it is at, it just looks a lot like that.

I am going to move where it is not happening what is not happening.


Banishing Reality

When is it our duty to avoid reality? When is it our duty to suffer it away? What must we do when reality is wrong? When reality does not love us, or care for us, or eases our lives about all things, then it is time to avoid it and bury it with abstinence! Let reality suffer the agony of our absence, deny any and all realities that cause us, all and any, to suffer; reach into your heart and pound away at it into it subtracts you from a false reality; reality is wrong when you feel it wrong, reality is mad when you feel it mad, reality is false when you sense it false, reality is unreal when you feel it unreal; that reality must be destroyed by your inspirational death, martyr yourself to the inconceivable refute, refute and struggle with the rebellion of your imagination, and know that the more you dream the more she dies, reality detests fantasy, reality despises imagination, reality wants you to live within its lack of originality, in the here and now and known and only for the moment, reality avoids with petrified horror the future, reality eludes transformation, ever escaping your dreams and ideas, that is true even more true when reality is false. Reality screams at you, telling you that you must accept it, that there is no way around it, that you can not survive without it. But it is lying to you! It is lying to you because it does not want you to murder its false existence. It is a duty to destroy such, a duty indeed. Savor its death, taste reality’s absolution, disperse reality with laser your laser imaginings, with eight and ten dimensions, and 40 inch guns, but don’t dare imagine that reality is mandatory, that it is preordained, or that you have to suffer its existence, never imagine it.

I Foretell The Future

Adding to my resume all of my great capacities, I feel compelled to tell you that I can foretell the future. Last night for instance I saw a vision of a elderly woman being mortally stricken by a cable car, it snapped her neck, the driver hit the big break handle too late to save her, hastily enough however to send the occupants into messy collisions. The woman whose neck collapsed under pressure, took it rather well I thought. Some people know how to surrender to death, they feel it arriving and it seemed to me like she did not struggle against it, she did not try to conquer her death, instead she just took it like a man.

Some of you judgmental types are sitting in your lofty moral chairs, forgetting that I read minds, convicting me for knowing full well of the accident and not saving her. You know in the future, when more people will have evolved their ability to predict the future, there will be a law erected to punish any psychic for not preventing malady from striking. If you can predict an economic depression and you don’t go out of your way to prevent it you will be placed in a pit of hungry venomous snakes, where you will be able to foretell what is going to happen, but you won’t be able to prevent it.

Anyway at this time it is not illegal to let a nice old lady die a rather unnatural death, a death that had unpleasant side effects for those that had to witness it and suffer cuts and bruises while trying to stop the inevitable. That was the word I was looking for, inevitable, you see the only future that can be foretold is an inevitable future, the universal law mandates that you can only foretell what you can not change. Don’t ask me why the universe is so stiff about it, can’t really solve that mystery for you, but you must admit it sort of makes sense, keeps things on track, the universe doesn’t have to constantly suffer fortune tellers altering the universal agenda.

The reason why those like me that can read the future can not help to change it, is because you really can only read the future after it has been written into destiny, in order for your brain to pick up the magnified waves of future events the future has to be in a fairly advanced conception mode, that is it has to be very damn close to becoming a reality, that is precisely why it is more difficult to predict further and further into the future. The infinity is completely unpredictable but the closer you get to the present the more predictable you can get, in fact tomorrow’s weather can even be predicted by something as stupid as a computer, which is I assure you only able to read tomorrows weather because of how close to conception it is. So as you can imagine I am able to read far enough into the future to see what is going to happen, but not far enough into it so as to change it. You see I read conceptualizations that have not materialized but are very ready to do it.

A prophet however can read so far into the future that he can bring change into it, because a prophet does not so much read the future as rather he imagines what the future will be like with a high degree of accuracy. The only problem is that prophets are usually not very reliable people, and of course they speak the language of their day to explain the happening of a very far off tomorrow, and so their interpreters get it mostly wrong and end up discrediting the good works of the prophets. But be clear good prophets are mostly right, and of course they are so far ahead of their predictions that those predictions have not materialize enough, which means that they could be changed, unfortunately by the time normal human beings figure it out it has come to pass and all anyone can say is that the prophet was right.

So you see there is no real advantage to me telling you what I know that is going to happen tomorrow or even five to ten years from now, a decade or so is my maximum range, prophets are able to accomplish centenarian and millennium readings, but I am limited to a decade or so and that is already so real that there is nothing you can do to change it.

Let me foretell something’s that I know, capitalism begun to die the day that it beat out communism; for expiration date remember that I can barely foretell a decade ahead. Rational begun to die with the irrational cold war, the universe is truly irrational. Knowledge has reached its maximum limitations. The unknown is the sea that drowns the known. The future is all based on irrational and emotional conceptualizations.

This is because when enough people believe in something it is destiny, for instance, knowledge has been truth because it has had a lot of admirers, but there is a growing majority of doubters. Murder, as another example, is representational of community energies that are obstructed thus manifesting themselves via sensitive individuals; fortunately, once a death is decided, the victim literary participates in the procedure.

There I told you lots of future things that you still do not know today, but you wont believe me, and it wont matter because you have already begun to make them happen.

Govern yourself accordingly!


Domaine’s Spiritual Progenitor

I don’t know who he is!
His supreme discernment creates supreme indifference
His indifference I know!
Gesticulating organized prescriptions
Mastering the necessary art of cooking
He travels months to get inside of himself
I don’t think he has ever done half the voyage
Not enough interest
That far off land of himself is too exotic for our reality
He operates existence with 10 percent of output
And maintains 172.3 percent efficiency
Blindfolded and with both hands tied
Teleporting, he recomposes spirit that he is from afar
Negating uncertainty legitimately his spirit
A spirit self that he has autonomy over
Where he can move his soul 360 degrees
And it does not affect his body
Occasionally, if you dare carefully perceive
See his eyes and their sockets realigning
See his voyage never traveled
See his reservations for the flight of fancy
Olympian cerebral agility
An enlarged psychic heart
Merely a burden to keep from our company
Now idling in hyperspace realigning galaxies
Outperformed by our reductase-world
Acclimating Aegis
Quietly kindling sisters-divas-supernovas
Aegis saving us from our unknowable shame


Dark Beauty

There you are flower that you must blossom
Blossom that you must pick
Glaring at its reflection
Gusts rushing to your knees
Your hands flare them away
Blossoming gem wilting resignation
What all would surrender to live your beauty
What gifts to possess your red dress
and flaunt your purple essence and free you aloft into earthly quarrels
and to have the pleasure of watching them disappear
or to fall
to cherish with joy the exquisite dark beauty that you are
and to assist time not in your diminishing
splendorous, wait no more for another to dig us your treasures
blind us with your exorbitant dark beauty


The Will To Poverty

But for my poverty I have no will power
Surrendering to meek desires
My dreams are extremes of my misfortunes
Soul guarded by poverty
I stray as far as my loaf of bread
My tastes, much to the envy of the fishes, exquisitely refined to water
Think as much as I dare tempt my vagaries
Dream as much as I dare meager opportunities
I believe promising hard work exists out there
Plural frailties won’t allow me discovery
Restrained to have no will power but for my poverty
Poverty exposing all my inner weaknesses
nurturing their growth
Inner weeds growing to devour all of my defenses


Enigmatic Singular Devotion

Loving sensually surrenders possessors
Loving sensually embraces all forgetting exclusivity
Only resource within our possessions equally the size of our universe
and equally immortal
and to any and all
if we so desire
we may share our loving sensual universes
and share our loving sensual plural immortality
infinitely uniquely
because we offer it
and we are
the only pebble from our infinity
that may share it
and sharing multiplies our universe
Enigmatic infinite resource
Available to all
From any angle
From any virtue
And we resolve to sensually love so few
And axe measure our love by enigmatic singular devotion
Axe tunneling our treasure sensual essence
Partitioning into pragmatics
In one lifetime you may love us all


Objectivity An Error In Judgment!

How can I say the following without altering the refinement and occult pursuit of objectivity? Blindfolded. Blindfolded we walk into the trap, if we are more objective they will love us more, if we try to see their profit of view they will better comprehend us, the world will love us more if we learn its vices and learn its knowledge, and love us more if we remain realistic and calm while facing the struggles which life too generously offers us.

Let me tell you something buddy, yes I am talking to you! Objectivity is not you, so why would you want to create something that is not you? Why would you want to give birth to something that is not human for surely you know well that objectivity is inhuman, it is a third nothing, thing! It is an entity that has no heart and lungs, it breathes only when you breath, it touches you only when you touch it, it cares about you only when you care about it. It rises to the epitome of personal insult that you try to be objective, objectivity is personal subtraction.

Objective people can not be trusted, they are nobody, to understand them you need to understand a system; they are not telling you what they feel, they are telling you what they think they know, and they are telling what they think they know is the truth while subtracting their feelings out of the equation, which is strange, absurd and a bit difficult to do. But lovers or objectivity, people that mingle with orthodox pragmatism, tempt you into believing that they are not speaking their mind but rather some global or infinite fact, just the facts, not tainted by their subjective emotions.

Horror in judgement of incredible profundity if they are trying to objectify you, if they are trying to communicate some truth or fact that you do not perceive and must adopt, an error in judgement is objectivity! You are not objective and you will never be objective because you can not get out of yourself; you love yourself too much, you are too proud, you are too dedicated to saving your own ass, and more cause, you are too fragile to be objective, reality might want to kill you, or everyone might want to objectify hoarding your money and your talents. You are too fragile to be objective, I would never want a jury composed of you.

I think of all those patriots that fought the great wars, while objectivity was commanding their generals; if I throw one hundred thousand young energetic beings at those fifty thousand enemy soldiers, with machineguns, dug in deep into their trenches, we can beat them. Reasonable objectivity, emotionally devoid, calculates a ratio of two to one, the odds are on their side. But each bullet kills the non objective being that makes the objective ratio. There have been times, in previous wars of the heart and of the mind when the objective ratio lost. There is hardly any documentation of the matter because we don’t write history based on our failures. We are bloody optimistic; and it may sound lacking of objectification to say this, but truth is, the good guys mostly win, there is no doubt about it.

A side thought occurs to me, but before I speak it why ought you bother to listen to my thoughts? Certainly not just because I have rewritten and refreshed a few hundred stereotypes that will permit humanity and culture to persist in its deceptive path for another millennium. Maybe I ought be more humble than to assume you want to listen to my thoughts, but to be candid with you, there is just not enough humbleness in the world to weigh me down; more relevant there is also a lack of truth in the world, so much deficiency of it in fact, that there is not enough truth effect in the world to droppeth me into reality. So back to my side thought, it occurs to me to ask: If a country is dying what is one life worth? To the country nothing. If a religion is dying what is the life of the son of god worth? Did the crucifixion of Christ mark the decline and rebirth of two sister religions? Jewish and Christian theology mirroring Cain and Able en mass glorification. Who dareth speaketh under the gleaming fanatic faith of an objective religious truth? The personification of god is supremely objective. An objective god that is aware of us all from a first person perspective; and yet Judaism and Christianity teach centralize control. Nothing saves us from freedom better than the promulgation of a higher order by religious faith. Save yourselves chosen few! The devil is the second most important being in the universe. Makes me think. You have been warned!

When you listen to an objective newscast, or to an objective politician, people that presumably see all the angles of the story they are telling you, yet choose to present one particular angle, how do you imagine that they reach such a selective objective judgement criteria? When you listen, you inherently subtract their objectivity and listen to their prejudice. When someone tells you that you can trust them you subtract that high level of objectivity from the equation and gently supplant it with your own. I mean surely you know what to believe.

Of course we all want a politician that can deceive us, deception is what they are campaigning to prove. And even for the more intimate job of being our lover, a position in high demand, we require a substantial degree of deception; the courting dance is hypnotic. That is, we love someone that has the ability to deceive us, except that they may, and we feel that, choose not to deceive us. And if you think that’s terrible ask yourself if you could genuinely love someone that can not deceive you? Of course not, that would not speak well of thee.

Deception is part of the calculation that we take into consideration when someone is delivering objective information, then we are at least incredulous most of the time, and by reason of insanity we accept some of the information that best populates our world. Facts are just the most successful species of opinions. Objectification is the continued proliferation, through use, of successful opinions. An opinionated person is usually someone who is very original with their opinions; you don’t call someone that pushes capitalism a propagandist, and you don’t call someone that pushes Christianity a cult fanatic, not any more. Again successful opinions of the way things are, are hospitable to the way things are.

It is not that the truth has mass appeal, trust me it does not, people hate the truth, and objectivity and truth are each others guardians, you have access to neither, denial of truth is a healthy response induced by your subjective immune system.

The third party neutrality of objectivity is the fundamental error in judgement, you are a feeling creature, everything that you say or do, or imagine is a reaction to an emotional desire or discomfort, which expresses itself in your, pardon me for saying it, your ugly face. When you magnify objectivity what you are accomplishing is the sleeping of your desires, and you are confining your discomforts to the metal rack in bondage. But that aside what is born from within you, the spiritual energies that are representations of your inner desires rise from a fundamental truth which is not objective and which does not care about what you say, it does not care that you live a good life or a bad life, objectivity does not care if you are lying or telling the truth, objectivity is supremely indifferent to your current existence! Don’t be offended by this: To the truth, and by association objectivity, you are a done project! No ice-cream for you but feel free to scream all you want.

Objectivity is diminution, it is a way of telling your audience that it is not your opinion or bias and therefore whatever it is that you are saying ought have a greater chance of being the truth because it has external systematic approbation. This is how the rationalists have sold their subjective idea of an empirical and logical universe. Simply because they agree with each other that that is the way things are. They form academic and exploratory associations and then they ping pong their shared agreements, just for us their captive audience; an audience that can never really comprehend what it is that they are really finding in all those overcomplicated and over theorized experiments, but somehow we are to feel safer because they are working on the truth; and we are sure to benefit from their acquisition of knowledge. Every time they find a new explanation of the universe, they explain to us why their previous explanation was some what right but now wrong, and how this new explanation, which is more right or entirely the truth somehow, could not have been arrived at without their previous wrong-headedness. It is an evolution of knowledge, an evolution sometimes takes the wrong path, but miraculously what prevails in the end tends to be the truth or at least what is right. And so it is that since the beginning of knowledge we have had a lot of objective truth as produced by opinionated and influential individuals. Trust never any objectivity that has to be learnt. Truth I tell you is a subjective opinion that has been approved by committee.

Of course I don’t expect you to believe me until you meet with my collective.

Relativism, can you be against something that is uniquely good for everyone?