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Thursday, April 5, 2012

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Love and Lust?!

     Love and Lust.  Let's examine the subtle differences in elaborate relationships from day one to decades gone.

     Is Love not the one that portrays the saint even when tolerance is faint in the "I" of the beholder . . . when the taste is seldom enjoyed as much as the manipulations for which all eyes unfold . . .

     Lust involves no one but euphemism for sale through the use of superficial existentialism of the genitals . . .

     Is lust capable of abolishing slavery bound intentions?  No.  Love does revolve around around and around a mire admiration of simplified dimensions . . .

    Love and Lust must never meet unless the two are one (unless you are an A celebrity, then who gives a phuck?!). 


Monday, March 19, 2012


Night Terrors 2012 chapter eternity . . .

     What a night of demise and manipulation.  What the H-e-double hockey stick was coming out of my subconscious?   Dr. Drew, where are you?  When is the last time I dreamed about the Flip-Flop peeper?
    Yeah, so I awake in my dream in the middle of the pitch black night to a farting sound coming from the other side of my balcony screen door . . . It is pitch black outside as well, because the screen to door boundaries are in a negative color mode.  The door frame is fluorescent bluish and the screens are rigid black.  The sound coming from the other side was a ridiculous condescending flatulence impression.  The flip-flop peeper (you can figure out the name).
     I was angry.  I tried to move with a purpose, but mind and body were not one, but two.  Slow motion with an intent to punish . . . I hate when this happens.  Weakness; total and solitary weakness at the time when it is needed less.  I move like a turtle on wall to wall flypaper.  My punches will feel like pity pats.  My vision is tunneled.  I manage to pull myself out of bed and construct my torso and such to withstand fast movement . . . run out on the balcony; it must happen.
     So I do it!  I am on the balcony-my vision is blurry-a figure to the side of me-me yelling obscenities-lunging toward the flip-flop peeper . . .  and I promptly awake to the real(ity) world still in my bed staring at that balcony door.  Good Morning, sunshine.

Friday, March 9, 2012

Jordan rules. (google it, the NBA made specific coaching rules to defend him) GOOGLE: Jordan rules

I really hate in the pro MMA world of media and wannabe (actual writers) who (try to) express their top ten pound for pound blah blah boredom "ratings".  Guess what?  It changes with the wind and/or the bookies like an obsessive clean freak with his tighty whiteys on Tuesday.

What I am sayin' is is that there is no patience in sports icons anymore.  The temporary icons of today rush into promo after promo of their egocentric minds and agents wanting better commercial endorsements . . . play the game and be a true legend ya over paid never gonna be MICHAEL JORDAN sons of bitches!!!!!!

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Ferris wheel 2

11 May2005
The Ferris w h e e l

I have not fed since centuries two ago

hunger for blood

exists even when my demise was the final blow

My hypnotic power is not of weakness and inhibition but demanding seduction that only ends in eternal damnation

If I choose to f e e d

I have no patience of any kind for the living and my unreserved non-existence relies on the taking of what will never be mine

I have not fed because   I chose   I cannot   I will not   cooperate with the fate of a lifeless death with crimson lust eternal staining my every thought

I am stronger than the force that is damned immortality and praised for nil   I will not   I won’t allow   the thirst to take over the hunger

If I choose to f e e d

Butchery to have life is termed a disease of the deadliest

A plague I am of

I myself would die if only I would be free of this curse
Instead I live my death alone

Filled with empty hunger pains of an endless nightmare with no beginning fueled by the fumes of imagination to be mortal

Shall I walk into the inferno of day
Like a coward I cannot because the hunger keeps me at bay in the darkness where anything     will hide   even the dead 

The bloody hunger grows like the cities I have lived; the countries I have seen destroyed
I have watched birth and death in one thoughtless dream of reality

History I appreciate not because of the books that have been edited through time but the knowledge of being present before it was

Such knowledge should let me starve and be none of the next day I despise, but
My strength is my weakness   I will not let the desire   I will not let the evil
become my reflexive devil

Imagination has not fed the stomach of malevolence
My mind has lost sustenance and my two hundred seventy year hunger   will not see the next raven colored sky without one of two deadly satisfactions

My metamorphosis into a creature without sight stalls the pain of lacking a reflection
The cool black oxygen of the surrounded stars is a beautiful flight that has not been seen for many nights

                   If I choose to f e e d

          When I feed

I cannot

Being eternally damned already, the sin of self inflicted death can only come twice
A mortal sin is an immortal’s gift
Neither is appreciated until the choice is gone

Bleed the nightmares off the fangs of
Lonely deceit that is anger filled and
Overzealous of the living breaths steaming verve
Overpowered by the thought of when I f e e d   I close my ancient eyes and let the victims
Devour my hunger like cities ravaged with a plague

                                                                    I  f e e d

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


Macho post of the day:  A good friend is the one who sticks out his foot from his bar stool because you were holding some drunken self esteem enhanced idiot by his throat and shirt cuff "bulldogging" him backwards as fast as his and your femurs will cycle . . .  hence, friend's foot out . . . propulsion from tripping backwards . . . into plate glass window . . . drinks on the house!