Post by Doc Bazuki on Jan 4, 2005 4:26:30 GMT -5
"sipping tea on a sunday morning"- Were I to become God, I would cover the seas with a layer of concrete and replace the trees with ceramic towers. Porcelain clouds would hang in the sky suspended by high-tension wires. I would raise the sun every morning with a pneumatic system manned by programmable mechanical angels and I would definitely kill almost everyone.
"Angels kill Christmas dead"- This scientist of emotional destruction will meticulously unravel the molecular fabric of a dangerous love tomorrow. She will disassemble tear ducts. She will commit murder in a public place. She has planned this since Christmas Eve specifically so innocent victims will witness a melodrama free of charge. Thus begins our third act.
"explosion in the meth lab"- The debris from the building looked as beautiful as snow, raining down from the heavens like little pieces of the sun. You could smell the chemical burn of the Earth for miles in every direction, augmenting the arrangement of melted flesh like a Picasso on a white stucco wall. I imagined you standing there; all of you, in the midst of the bold dancing flames. eagerly waiting for your eyes to fuse shut like baby kangaroos, I dreamt of the stare I’d give you as your skin dripped off your bones like candle wax and the tears that would stain my teeth as I prayed for acid rain; Of the moment I’d step in with you and burn myself to death, looking out at a world already reduced to ash.
"By the time the larva was removed from Charlie's arm, it was nearly an inch long"- My friend Jim has this theory about Baptist snake handlers and how they are able to guzzle strychnine. He thinks what enables them to do this without reaping any physical side-effects is not divine intervention but rather the product of years of gradual immunization. Jim's theory is that these backwoods Appalachian psychos feed their children tiny amounts of strychnine with their meals. By consuming small doses and gradually increasing over the years, it is possible, Jim thinks, to become immune to the fatal effects of the poison. "This would explain their supposedly supernatural ability", he says. I told him, "I bet I look in the mirror ten times more than you Jim." there was a puzzled expression smeared across his sanguine eyes. "Because I don't see myself every time I look at my father's face."
"Musashi's Chaingun Opera"- This girl with eyes like lizards' eyes and a smile as cold as the scales, who told me I look like a scarecrow full of dead leaves, imagines me often as a metallic jester assassin captain for her deadly courtship and a jagged imposing statue for her comfort. She told me how geometrically interesting my hair was while I loaded the chaingun with ammo. She speaks the dolphins' languages and binds the hinges of my heart with transparent tetrahedrons. I swallowed a few more droplets of her liquid eye discharge and disarmed armies of clouds and swarming sky guards, attacking with electrified glass shards of total abandon of emotion; I could fill oceans with her leaky soul, melt polar icecaps with just the sight of her velvet folds and still have time to switch the north and south pole as an act of pure boredom. The invisible woman's tears are without taste. Thing and Reed Richards will tell you. She holds my hand in metatron's cube but I can still use this chaingun to break through
"Jacko and the gigantic jolly green dopamine machine"- Hairline fracture over Istanbul, acceptable collateral damage coupled with a faint sense of guilt and irrational use of casualties as a weapon in its own right, the right of the swarm. A black cloud rolled up like a joint from God laced with hell to rain down on the heads of the homeless. We can pull together enough cash for tomorrow’s manna; Human meat happy meal, Mc Soilent Green Muffin, mind-control prize. Your children eat my shit for the promise of plastic absolution. Smashed skull slammed in a car door repeatedly, brain matter on Banner’s black bucket seats, still whimpering as the blood seeps out and the teeth settle in
-gamma ray veins, Hulk smash.
"and then the hornets. My God…"- daddy’s secret fuck. Rich bitch earns an agenda, finally. Accessorizing with politics, glamour in every orifice. We’re wasting precious ennui, miles of electric fencing onward. Her very own ethnic cleansing process. Stalemate (with legs spread wide)
"sex crimes against robots"- Your mouth is a tear in a blank sheet of paper. I fired my agent today. Tea party at 2. be there or be rectangle. Your house is a tower, mine is a spiral. Both front doors are mouths that tell you everything about us and them. I hope you’re fucking terrified. You should be. You fucking will be.
"avail the steamkiller"- He would come from the sun in the east to write WASTE over the land (in your lifesblood). A child and a shadow on steel demon steed sustained. He is the one with the crucifix gun, running on veins of ice filled like smokestacks rising upward from Hell. avail the steamkiller. He has invested in each of you a bullet and avulsed the tears of his absolute fury; invoking the breath of the 500-gun samurai; imparting these seven with wounds of gold and silver. By tornado and onslaught to proceed, He has scorched with scorn and torn into tatters (with teeth of dragons) and torched into patterns of thorns and black magic and tears of dust. avail the steamkiller.
"King Koopa"- Hurry up and wait. Life kills you slowly by making you forget. Wake up and remember who put which scars where. Move quickly. Survival is the only ideology. Perception is reality and sanity is a prison that too few escape from. The ice is an instrument just below those indifferent clouds. Bestow thy wind. Reign down. I can promise all day long, turn water to wine (in my mind), told you not to trust anyone. Ice don’t. Sky don’t. and I don’t neither.
"dragon-faced girl"- she seemed to always smell of evergreen. Her nostrils leaked smog in the dark. Her fingertips dripped motor-oil onto the tile floors of the customer-service cubicle. She puts that rusty needle in her beautiful tapering arms when she thinks no one's looking, but with my binoculars I can see for miles the potential corpses and traffic accidents. From a window high in the building across the street, I will blow her a kiss and caress this hairpin trigger imagining it's her earlobe. I have plenty of ammo left.
"material and gil"- oceans of energy, universe of clues, we. can get lost in the details- intricate water system; suspicious magicians, vampires, scientists, and demons all begging between galaxies over tin cans tied with twine.
"Angels kill Christmas dead"- This scientist of emotional destruction will meticulously unravel the molecular fabric of a dangerous love tomorrow. She will disassemble tear ducts. She will commit murder in a public place. She has planned this since Christmas Eve specifically so innocent victims will witness a melodrama free of charge. Thus begins our third act.
"explosion in the meth lab"- The debris from the building looked as beautiful as snow, raining down from the heavens like little pieces of the sun. You could smell the chemical burn of the Earth for miles in every direction, augmenting the arrangement of melted flesh like a Picasso on a white stucco wall. I imagined you standing there; all of you, in the midst of the bold dancing flames. eagerly waiting for your eyes to fuse shut like baby kangaroos, I dreamt of the stare I’d give you as your skin dripped off your bones like candle wax and the tears that would stain my teeth as I prayed for acid rain; Of the moment I’d step in with you and burn myself to death, looking out at a world already reduced to ash.
"By the time the larva was removed from Charlie's arm, it was nearly an inch long"- My friend Jim has this theory about Baptist snake handlers and how they are able to guzzle strychnine. He thinks what enables them to do this without reaping any physical side-effects is not divine intervention but rather the product of years of gradual immunization. Jim's theory is that these backwoods Appalachian psychos feed their children tiny amounts of strychnine with their meals. By consuming small doses and gradually increasing over the years, it is possible, Jim thinks, to become immune to the fatal effects of the poison. "This would explain their supposedly supernatural ability", he says. I told him, "I bet I look in the mirror ten times more than you Jim." there was a puzzled expression smeared across his sanguine eyes. "Because I don't see myself every time I look at my father's face."
"Musashi's Chaingun Opera"- This girl with eyes like lizards' eyes and a smile as cold as the scales, who told me I look like a scarecrow full of dead leaves, imagines me often as a metallic jester assassin captain for her deadly courtship and a jagged imposing statue for her comfort. She told me how geometrically interesting my hair was while I loaded the chaingun with ammo. She speaks the dolphins' languages and binds the hinges of my heart with transparent tetrahedrons. I swallowed a few more droplets of her liquid eye discharge and disarmed armies of clouds and swarming sky guards, attacking with electrified glass shards of total abandon of emotion; I could fill oceans with her leaky soul, melt polar icecaps with just the sight of her velvet folds and still have time to switch the north and south pole as an act of pure boredom. The invisible woman's tears are without taste. Thing and Reed Richards will tell you. She holds my hand in metatron's cube but I can still use this chaingun to break through
"Jacko and the gigantic jolly green dopamine machine"- Hairline fracture over Istanbul, acceptable collateral damage coupled with a faint sense of guilt and irrational use of casualties as a weapon in its own right, the right of the swarm. A black cloud rolled up like a joint from God laced with hell to rain down on the heads of the homeless. We can pull together enough cash for tomorrow’s manna; Human meat happy meal, Mc Soilent Green Muffin, mind-control prize. Your children eat my shit for the promise of plastic absolution. Smashed skull slammed in a car door repeatedly, brain matter on Banner’s black bucket seats, still whimpering as the blood seeps out and the teeth settle in
-gamma ray veins, Hulk smash.
"and then the hornets. My God…"- daddy’s secret fuck. Rich bitch earns an agenda, finally. Accessorizing with politics, glamour in every orifice. We’re wasting precious ennui, miles of electric fencing onward. Her very own ethnic cleansing process. Stalemate (with legs spread wide)
"sex crimes against robots"- Your mouth is a tear in a blank sheet of paper. I fired my agent today. Tea party at 2. be there or be rectangle. Your house is a tower, mine is a spiral. Both front doors are mouths that tell you everything about us and them. I hope you’re fucking terrified. You should be. You fucking will be.
"avail the steamkiller"- He would come from the sun in the east to write WASTE over the land (in your lifesblood). A child and a shadow on steel demon steed sustained. He is the one with the crucifix gun, running on veins of ice filled like smokestacks rising upward from Hell. avail the steamkiller. He has invested in each of you a bullet and avulsed the tears of his absolute fury; invoking the breath of the 500-gun samurai; imparting these seven with wounds of gold and silver. By tornado and onslaught to proceed, He has scorched with scorn and torn into tatters (with teeth of dragons) and torched into patterns of thorns and black magic and tears of dust. avail the steamkiller.
"King Koopa"- Hurry up and wait. Life kills you slowly by making you forget. Wake up and remember who put which scars where. Move quickly. Survival is the only ideology. Perception is reality and sanity is a prison that too few escape from. The ice is an instrument just below those indifferent clouds. Bestow thy wind. Reign down. I can promise all day long, turn water to wine (in my mind), told you not to trust anyone. Ice don’t. Sky don’t. and I don’t neither.
"dragon-faced girl"- she seemed to always smell of evergreen. Her nostrils leaked smog in the dark. Her fingertips dripped motor-oil onto the tile floors of the customer-service cubicle. She puts that rusty needle in her beautiful tapering arms when she thinks no one's looking, but with my binoculars I can see for miles the potential corpses and traffic accidents. From a window high in the building across the street, I will blow her a kiss and caress this hairpin trigger imagining it's her earlobe. I have plenty of ammo left.
"material and gil"- oceans of energy, universe of clues, we. can get lost in the details- intricate water system; suspicious magicians, vampires, scientists, and demons all begging between galaxies over tin cans tied with twine.