March 30th, 2004

cigarette burns


if billy dee williams became the mayor of new york city, would he build giant repulsor engines & lift it into the clouds? i heard that was his bid for the new world trade center design. bespin- where rouge's & princesses fall in love: that could be the motto. also, where darth vader chops of his kid's hand. i like mottos.

speaking of things i like, lets talk about something i loathe. i'll give you a hint. it is shaped like something japanese, has the nibblet wordling "mid-" in it, & does not refer to midgard, mid-world, or anything else but "term." my reclusive partner? yeah, not a clue as to his whereabouts. he played phone tag with me exactly during the hours i told him i wasn't available. okay. i slapped together a little over four (4) pages of poorly considered tomfoolery. its all printed out & hilighted & everything. so i come off looking kind of responsible, right? i've got my shit together! i'm the man, like archie. my ideal would be that this guy doesn't even show up for class. i would look like a real fucking champion then!

i took another lab practical today in osteology. i think i probably rocked it like a hurricane. there were a few tuberosities on a clavicle that i was confused over, but even after looking at my notes & manuals, i'm still not sure what they were. thus, i'm confident in my inferances. after class i bailed so i could mumblingly reherse my script. just, you know, in case. in case the world doesn't end in the next hour (1:00).

what is up with base six (6) chronology, anyhow? i mean, okay, babylon you are great & all, but seriously, what kind of fucking civilization uses base twelve (12). i mean, you clearly have ten (10) fingers. its pretty fucking obvious. i'm not ragging you, i just don't get it. did robspierre make up a metric clock? probably- that guy thought of pretty much everything. what a hero for post-humanism. shame he was just a little bit to early.
  • Current Music
    crown me king- tsujigiri

heave that albatross into the surf.

hear my words echo like gunshots in a canyon.

there is an experation date on your world, like a dish of cold egg salad stacked in a grocery store "salad bar." i do not mean your salmon coloured sun flickering out after billions of years pass, nor do i speak of your petty squables over dead & long rotted vegetation. i mean the endgame, i mean Final. when the seams of the entire universe will unravel as the demigods clash in battle. where dreams will scald & bend & all the pillars of the sky will tumble to the ground.

hear me the way a sixteen (16) year old hears albums he listens to in the dark.

the yawning nuclear silos of your world as just an en garde in this war. the hordes of dead clamboring up city streets, the sunken faced mutants who will inherit the glass deserts that used to be your cities- these are the heralds of the opening moves of Final. the sepulchral infant & the fisher queen will draw the curtain back from the lamp of night & all the world will be bathed in darkness. the remnant of mankind's vast warhulks, rumbling machines like the khanate durga or the lionhead's tortise, will wander alone in an earth empty of life, but for some few small, hidden pockets of humanity. those who survive these devices of murder will be sport for those feckless godlings who delay the choice of banner.

hear me like the slow count of primes on a seti headpiece.

the mermaid will come forth from her well & be smashed. that will be the breaking of the last seal, the cut of the ribbon on Final. of all things living on earth, the last to die will be the scarabs of the modern age; all 47 chitinous things holding on to the last scraps of breath & fodder, perish slowly, lamellar shells dehydrating layer by layer so they appear to peel like dying rose petals. then the waltz will unfold, & ruin will be tempted. Final ends when the dweller on the threshold is no more. when the hive of heaven is reclaimed by its children.
  • Current Music
    crown me king- FINAL
blur shotgun

childe mordicai to the dark tower came.

its june 12, 2009 & i'm sitting here in a corn field being pelted by rain & chasing fuck knows what. i keep getting these flashbacks to third grade, & mrs. budapest talking about antlion larvae. doodlebugs, she called them, but antlion was the name that stuck with me. how they'll bury themselves at the bottom of a pit & wait for prey. then she showed slides. to a gawking 7 year old who's primary intrests were science fiction, it resembled nothing so much as the sarlacc pit & the thing khan puts in chekov's brain to control his thoughts. well anyhow, thats what this thing looks like. it digests its prey from the inside out, too- i've seen that myself.

this guy i used to know told me that a gunslinger needs to resist six temptations. thinking too much about winning, getting too reliant on good technique, showing off for its own sake, showing off to intimidate your foe, being too reactive, & trying to avoid the previous temptations. sounds like so much samurai bullshit, but right now i'm figuring that number seven probably should have been the temptation to follow giant bloodsucking bugs into cornfields where there is zero visibility. i'd try to listen for the thing, but this fucking downpour makes hearing anything wishful thinking. the way i see it, my best bet is to use myself as bait & keep my eyes open for swaying stalks. a gunslinger accepts the inevitability of his own death so that he may bring death to others, or some such philosophical masturbation. i take comfort in the fact that miyamoto musashi showed up for duels hungover & unshaven. i guess i'm doing something right.
  • Current Music
    crown me king- a wooden sword carved from an oar