The IBrain (Like IPad) A Generation Of Gorgers December 14, 2012
I am thirty eight years old and I sprouted a new head three and one half years ago by denying me what I thought were necessary and pleasureful potions. At last, my pores could breathe and the synapses started to fire correctly. My right arm continues to jerk on its own schedule. It sucks when I’m holding a hot cup of joe or smoking a cigarette. The detriment to this part of my brain that leads my arm to misfire, a tourette of a limb if you will, I may decide to ponder a bit more on the weird and strange occasions when my right arm jerked, and well that spoke for me as far as being a jerk. No coincidences infidels.
As a result of my greed of anything feel good with no discretion skills consulted I lived a life of a revolving rat wheel. I killed the rat. I liked to impersonate the wheel too too much. Mass consumption will lead to mass congestion; worse than every person ever witnessed. Jesus I’m sorry but your kicked out of Our Towne good lord to me you’re another body to squeezed onto the terrain of this globe.
I feel horrible about dastardly conditions becoming universally urgent and unacceptable. So I write elicit a chuckle WTF.
Just pay attention always. Stay tuned in but not. Help in a positive way; your way.
No feministing this shit. Please. My IBrain I designed for my quirky tastes only.
My Apps all include words and order. I provide the creativity.
Mind/Mood Altered by Substances October 28, 2012
flowed thru every artery
every vein, and my life-time
promise to boil my brain convened.
I aimed to live my life in vain and insane.
In tatters this, what matters, never that,
If you are not God highlighted step away.
In fact, watch out for stray lightning bolts
which want a person to feel electronightified.
Every one else in the vicinity of this universe
Scientists believe smog enhances your life–
Smog also clouds your vision. Light sticks…
I hate you too– you fucking mirror, oh my,
dear wrecking mirror clinging for life on a
random wall– all you show is the horror of
my neglect, Promise me, than mock me, but
swear this is my last call in front of a mirror.
Then assure me, with the recipe in my hand,
when I ingest on my behest, I’m on the way
to the Real Fall. Jig’s up Jesus, you fell on
pillow principles, watch a true murderer of
the cause. Not a single breath wasted.
Engage in some. (So I don’t feel like I must) October 10, 2012
Slowly, I walk up the hill,
and down the other side.
It looks the same–another hill.
Once more I push the rock up the hill,
so hard it falls down the other side.
I struggle to walk up the hill,
then down the other side. Great.
It looks like a mountain this time.
Another hill piled upon another hill.
Again I push the rock up the mountain,
so hard it falls down the other side.
Now I’m crawling up the mountain
Then my old bones tumble down— I ache.
As I lay weary and tired…sleep descends
upon my ragged body…I dream of
I lay there asleep in a ball. The rock rested.
Seriously, What the hell is the point?
Urban Art in Lisbon: Pessoa’s Home Town Today March 23, 2012
Look at her because she wants you to, observe
her now. Observe her later. She ages in accordance
with the pain(ts) life on the stone, or the stones
personal erosion, or perhaps, just by the un-
reliability of my perception combined with the
grandfather of all injustices: time. Today, I love
her. The red cloak and vitality reassure me. Not yet
Jessica. The writing is on the wall. She neither loves
it or hates it. As I prepare for the next corner to round
with my vision on hold I inhale. When my faith, based
on how dark the ink looks when it bleeds onto a
canvas I exhale. Yes to all of your questions. The battle
ends. The battle begins. No matter, I remain on stone–
as if it were a fortress I protect. I put on my red shawl–
I gather all the stuff I dump into my basket that comforts
me. Goodbye to all–this corner invited me, not you to
to follow the path that goes around it. Blessings all. You
have heard my call.