Monday, April 30, 2012

Raferty - III

       Before he passed away Raferty's father became obsessed with conspiracy theories. The only one that he did not fall for was that nonsense about Kennedy. Raferty's father swore that he met Oswald and knew at first glance that he was crazy. Idiot. He was however scared to death of satellites. He would sit under the tin roof of the barn when reading the newspaper. He figured the metal of the barn would prevent the government from seeing the information he was taking in on a day to day basis. The month before Raferty's father died he spent most of his time cursing them for watching him. "The bastards are watching me. I don't know why goddammit but their watching me," he would yell at Raferty. Raferty would attempt to placate his father but there was not reasoning with him. He would snap at Raferty, "You don't think this shit doesn't concern you too boy. They're fucking watching you too. Probably cause of that refer you brought into the house." Raferty would sigh, "Daddy that was almost twenty years ago." His father would crack his cane on the ground, "I ain't no fucking idiot boy I know it's been in here since." It was true that Raferty had brought drugs into the house since his father found a joint in his sock drawer. However, many years had past since Raferty smoked that stuff. "I'm telling you they're only sending more of those damn things up there too. And you know why? To watch us," Raferty's father would keep the same exuberance of his screams, but when he would recite the words "watch us" he spoke in a whisper. "Daddy why don't you sit down a spell and watch some television. I'm sure there's a game on or somethin'," Raferty would try to ease his father to the couch by the shoulder. Calm for a moment. Raferty's father quickly spun around and cracked Raferty's forearm with his cane. The bone fracture was audible. Raferty screamed in terror, "You broke my arm daddy. You broke it." His father walked over to the couch and sat down slowly. "That'll teach ya to bring that refer into this house. You know Raferty you a sorry little faget. I always told your mother I'd of wished they accidentally switched you at the hospital or maybe they did." Raferty continued to howl. He started to cry. He would not have normally but the pain masked the real reason he was crying. "Why are you so cruel daddy? I was just trying to help you." Raferty's father turned on the television as if he did not hear Raferty's screaming. "Whatcha hollerin about boy?" Raferty cowered away in shock. "You're mean daddy. You're just down right mean."

      Raferty's father was a peanut farmer. Lazy old Raferty is a mean old man. Living on his Virginia peanut land. Raferty the proud peanut American.

      Late in the evening of his father's funeral Raferty was sitting at The Purple Dish. The Purple Dish was Raferty's favorite bar when he was young. It was the only place he would take idiot women and dance and get drunk. Half conscious Raferty would swerve and weave the women out to the plantation in one of his Daddy's Buicks. He would press the gas to the floor. He loved to hear the women scream over the engine of the Buick. "You sure you're okay to be driving darling?" Raferty would smile and laugh in a hysterical cackle. "You think I could pay you another twenty to keep your mouth shut unless you're sucking?" Prostitutes have a knack for degradation so Raferty's question resulted in an anticlimactic silence. "Don't cramp up woman I'm just joshing you."  The prostitute's clear disappointment calmed Raferty's shit-eating grin. "Just watch the road sugar." Charming as always.
     Raferty decided to celebrate his father's funeral with a prostitute. He had not been in the company of a woman for too long, but always kept the number for Max Schnelling. Schnelling specialized in the sexual needs sector of commerce. Raferty sat at the bar waiting on a "special girl." While Raferty was pleased that his father was dead, he knew he could use his father's death financially in more ways than the plantation. Raferty had yet to reach three hundred pounds but he was close and having difficulties sitting on the bar stool. He wished he would have known that they now have tables when he suggested The Purple Dish to Max. The old dance floor was now replaced with dining tables filled with food and Duke's Lizards cramming steak and potatoes down their throats. While storing beef and pork throughout his body, Raferty's face remained quite slender and made him look like a turkey with a head of a crow. His appearance inadvertently made him easy to pick out of a bar line-up. He was startled to the point of spilling his gin when the Special Girl tapped him on the shoulder. "What the fu..." Enchantment swept over Raferty in warm awe. This was a Special Girl. He knew things would be better when his father died but Special Girl was a free chicken dinner with a run of cards. "You Ralphy?" Rafery frowned, "It's Raferty." Raferty signaled the bar tender as Special Girl sat on the stool next to Raferty. Sore thumb is an understatement of the evening partnership's presence at the bar. The bartender approached glaring at Special Girl, "You can't be in here." Raferty attempted to stand but his thighs slammed into the bar. "What's your problem buddy?" The bartender would not budge, "Look man I know what's going on here. Your drink's on the house. The lady's got to go." Raferty was visibly angry as Special Girl laid her hand on his forearm, "It's fine honey I know a place." Raferty stood up staring down the bartender. "You folks have a good evening."
     Special Girl and Raferty discussed pricing and decided to go to the plantation. Raferty was enamored and had no interest in social pleasantries. Raferty was so smitten that he could not recall the time between the tap on his shoulder and Special Girl sitting on his bed in a black bra and matching panties. It had been so long. "This whole plantation is yours?" Raferty was taking his shirt off and stood in suspenders and undershirt. "That's right darling the best peanuts in the world." Special Girl stood up and took off her bra. Raferty made deep and raspy moan. He unclasped his suspenders and his pants feel to the floor. "You're very beautiful." Special Girl stepped toward Raferty, "Thank you sugar." Special Girl slowly dipped her hand into Raferty's underwear. Raferty moaned again as Special Girl gently pulled Raferty's underwear down around his ankles. Special Girl gasped in disgust. Raferty was so overwhelmed that he forgot to make sure the lights were off. Three illuminated red sores on Raferty's penis and testicles revealed themselves to the world. The shiny specimen appeared as though someone had taken attempts at branding Raferty. Pus ridden sacks that would hatch thousands of baby spiders at any moment. Special Girl scampered back tearing for her clothes. "I'm sorry. I can't do this. I apologize. I will call Max to pick me up. Sweetie, you should have known." Raferty pulled up his pants in humiliation. He wished his father was there to crack him with his cane so that he could cry. "I really am sorry Ralphy." Raferty snapped his suspenders back into place. "It's Raferty. You fucking bitch. It's Raferty." Special Girl was frightened by Raferty's change of demeanor. "I'm really sorry. I would if I could." Raferty begins walking towards her slowly. "Maybe I could jerk you for another hundred but that's really more than I should." Special Girl backs up slowly as Raferty draws closer. "I'm sorry." Special Girl hits the wall. Raferty is so close Special Girl can feel his breath on her cheek. "The phone is down the hall." Relief quickly carried her out of the room. "Thank you." Raferty followed right behind her as she walked down the hall.

      She suddenly stops and turns around, "You know you really are a sweet man." He stares at her panting slightly. Special Girl looks confused. In a blink, Raferty grabs her head and slams it into the hallway wall. Her body goes limp and falls to the ground. Raferty straddles her as she stares up at him with blood draining from the side of her head. He peers into the glimmer of consciousness remaining in her eye and drives a fist into her right cheek. The blow quietly seeps thick blood from her face. Raferty takes two hand fulls of her hair as her sight fades completely. He pulls her head from the floor and quickly smashes it back down. The sound of cracking skull silences the plantation.
    Several hours later, Raferty stands on the porch  heaving for air as the moon light shines on beads of sweat gathered around his cheeks. He stares at a small plot of recently broken land about four feet deep. He walks back inside and crouches over the burlap wound bundle of human flesh that lays at the doorway. He begins dragging Special Girl and cringes as her head bounces off the five porch stairs. He takes a  breath and drags again.

It is not a traditional depth but it will do. Raferty heaves the special girl into the pit.

...The sun peers out over the horizon as Raferty finishes seeding. He packs the remaining soil into place, and stands with pride while brushing soil from his hands.

 Raferty is now a tobacco farmer.



Saturday, April 28, 2012

Head First

One day you'll finally touch the universe.
(Click your planet to enter Solar System Scope. This was totally jacked. And who says flash is not amazing?)

My brain is fried from writing. So many articles, so much school typing and keyboard pounding. I may grind the enamel off of my teeth if this continues. I'm quitting writing. From here on out I'm only going to post pictures and links. Now that I think about it I already have a blog that I do that with. Fine. I am going to have to do something to lock it up though (I did not realize it until now but the Solar Scope music has been playing in another tab for 30 minutes. The type of music that makes everything a person does seem epic, especially a blog post.) Things cannot continue as they have. Automatic but sharp. Precision, clarity, and excitement. Dark yet colorful. If something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. I created a disorganized improtu 28 page eBook introduction. The eBook and hardcopy are on sale through blurb, but that is not important. If you would like to download it for free click here. I should be cleaning and doing school work. Add "not lazy" to my list a couple sentences prior. (Damn this music) This blog format does not handle quotation marks well. Alright I'm burnt out. I need to take my vitamins.

I'm not too impressed with blurb's services (mainly prices,) nor am I satisfied with the formatting and accessibility of my eBook Language is Synesthetic: An Introduction. I think I would rather create a pdf (which now work on Apple formats) on my own and self-distribute that shit. Pfft of course. Peace.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Jump In



Red State

Still not sure if I'm allowed to do this. Either way nothing is meant by it other than me showing a piece of my writing. I am merely providing an example. It's essentially a write up on Kevin Smith's Red State.


Red State


            An individual’s freedom to choose religious beliefs is a basic human right. Unfortunately, many times in society religious beliefs are used to justify extremely violent and deadly actions. Kevin Smith’s film Red State, starring Michael Parks and John Goodman, tells a story about a Christian fundamentalist group. The group uses their religious beliefs to rationalize violent and deadly actions inflicted upon those they categorize as “sinners.” The highly controversial film is a cinematic masterpiece that redefines Smith as a filmmaker. Kevin Smith is perhaps best known for his flatulence focused comedy films, passion for comic books, and network of podcasts. Red State came as a surprise to his most loyal of fans and the film industry in general. Written, directed, edited, and self-distributed Red State proves that Smith is not just a jokesmith satisfied with making audiences laugh.  The film demands that Smith be regarded as a sophisticated and multi-dimensional filmmaker. Smith accomplishes this sophistication by tackling the social issues and themes within Red State. Labeled as a horror film Red State is a shocking social commentary on religious intolerance and the violent consequences of extreme belief. Red State is a picture of society that shows the lines of terrorism are drawn by belief and action, not race and cultural background.

The film also shows that while society has made significant progress, intolerance of race, religion, and sexual preference are still a serious reality. Red State’s main character Pastor Abin Cooper (played by Michael Parks) is especially intolerant of homosexuality. Cooper is a charismatic religious leader that uses his own religious interpretations and beliefs to fuel an anti-homosexual agenda. He passionately indoctrinates his beliefs onto the members of his congregation and motivates and mobilizes violent and murderous action. The intolerance of Cooper’s congregation is seen throughout the world. Red State reminds the viewer that the boundaries of homicidal intolerance are not set by religious, geographical, or racial difference. The intolerant only lack prejudice upon the selection of their victims. The intolerance of Cooper’s congregation is captured with a unique style of cinematography and powerful acting performances. Red State is presented in the clarity of high definition film photography. However, the film uses a grindhouse tone that captivates the eye of the audience and properly captures the gritty, dark, and violent nature for which the film is set. This unique style and powerful acting performances are what make Red State downright creepy. Michael Parks’ academy award worthy performance is essential to Red State. Early in the film an intense 10 minute long sermon is delivered by Cooper. The scene is scary and powerful. There is no doubt or confusion in the audience’s mind that Cooper can use charisma, manipulation, intensity, and belief to mobilize his congregation.
            Consequently, Cooper’s violent mobilization of belief is the fuel of terrorism. Cooper’s congregation is not a simple church group; it is a terrorist organization. Smith uses the character of A.T.F. Agent Joseph Keenan (played by John Goodman) to facilitate the role of government and a deeper view into the nature of terrorism. The fictional government’s policies regarding terrorism are no different that the policies of real-life society and as Keenan’s peer Agent Hammond states, “If you kill an American because of a religious belief you are a terrorist.” Smith further mirrors society when the Keenan’s superiors make the decision that Cooper’s congregation needs to be eliminated by any means necessary.  A barrage of bullets and death is traded between Cooper’s congregation and the A.T.F. The film takes on an almost action flick way of editing and sequencing scenes, but the violent and explicit deaths are not a glorification. When a young lady accidentally kills her mother it is clear that Smith wants the world to know that guns are not toys. Many times the doctrines and religious texts, meant as a guide, are taken literally. Red State captures the deadly ramification of when these misconceptions are acted upon.
            In conclusion, if Kevin Smith had something to prove, whether as a filmmaker or a commentator of political and religious ideology, Red State proves it. The film shows that intolerance and belief have the potential to be extremely dangerous and violent states of mind often mobilized into bloody terroristic action. It is the sense of realism that Smith uses to execute the film that makes Red State truly horrific. While the organizations and individuals of Red State are fictitious, Smith provides a mirrored view of the terrifying similarities found throughout our own society.

Digital Renaissance Men

We are 0s and 1s. It's all zeros and ones son.
Do you still believe that you only use ten percent? Fuck a singularity.
Do not let the medium define the medium of media.
The 0s and 1s can change everything. Have changed everything.
Will change everything.
We take them for granted. The zeros and ones are power and control.
The 0s and 1s the people's power and control.
Transmit and broadcast.
Art is defined by the individual.
Do not allow them to define the zeros and ones.
What you know might just not kill you. The 0s and 1s which make us stronger. Art is subliminal. Sublime.
Staring at the walls. Dissolve.
The zeros and ones paint tomorrow.
Tomorrow writes the 0s and 1s.



Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Raferty - II

 Raferty sits on his porch. He continues to be a lazy old fart. Just as he was yesterday and the day before. Raferty was pampered his whole entire life. He never did a damn thing but bitch and complain about life not being easy enough. Idiot. He has corns on his feet but that's because he's a crusty old man. They are not the callused walking brand of corns. They're lazy corns and they stink through his socks. By now, Raferty would have dried up and withered away completely if someone had not come up with the idiot idea of funding his entire lazy existence. Natural selection would have run its beautifully simplistic course decades ago, and Raferty would have silently dissolved into the darkness from which he came. Instead Raferty sits on his porch in an idiot sun hat and overalls judging the plantation workers. Raferty has not picked a peanut in almost twenty years, but continually barks remarks and commands. No one understands him because he either stutters or is a slurry mess of drunken verbs or a combination of both. The employees casually walk by and say, "Yes sir." Raferty could never understand why they never took action with his commands, but hearing the words, "Yes, sir," were generally enough to placate Raferty's fits of nonsense. It does not matter either way, Raferty is merely the owner and inconveniently continues to live on the plantation. The Idiot Nut Corporation and Gary Harrison, the person who truly calls the shots on Raferty's plantation, have attempted to relocate Raferty for several years. Raferty however still owns the controlling majority of Idiot Nuts. He leaves "the dumbass business stuff" to Gary and the corporation but leaving his father's plantation is,
"Out of the fucking question. The Jews have taken enough from me and they're not going to take my fuckin' plantation."
Idiot.
Gary once offered to purchase a plot of land for Raferty to relocate to with his own money.
"Raferty, you're just a gosh darn nuisance here."
Raferty would attempt to glare at Gary in intelligent looking manner that only physical highlighted his stupidity.
"You know goddamn you Gary don't think that I don't know what you're up to you want to find my daddy's gold and not let me in send little old Raferty to some other god forsaken plantation and tear up the peanut field I think the fuck not Gary ya little weasel this is my damn plantation my daddy done built it with his bare hands and gosh dammit Gary I helped him I've been on this plantation my whole life and I'm not going to give it to a Jew like you you're lucky I allow you to work for this damn company."
That part is actually completely untrue. The Idiot Nut board of directors would make that decision and Gary is on the board. Raferty knows this information but cannot help acting like an old asshole.
"I'm fucking Scottish Raferty. I am not Jewish there's a difference."
"No there ain't."
"What is your problem Raferty?"
"You jew. Yeh. Yeh. Yeh. Gary."
"Raferty will you please move off the plantation?"
"Fuck no."
"I'm not after your daddy's gold Raferty. This is a business and you living here is bad for business. I guarantee you an even larger profit share for you. A very substantial profit Ragerty. We could be the number one peanut plantation in the world."
"We are the best peanut plantation in the world. Where's there better Gary? Asia? They ain't got no better peanuts than Raferty."
"Raferty please.
"Fuck you Gary."
"Raferty."
"That gold is out there Gary and this is my land  you son of bitch. I know you're out there digging up little plots with yer metal detectors. I'm gonna find that gold one day Gary, and if you get to it first you can count on me being there. And I'm gonna shot you in the back of head."
"Fuck you Raferty"
Gary walks away.
"Sissy boy, yeah get off my damn porch. My damn porch. You hear that Gary? Mine."
Despite generally labeling Gary a faget, Raferty was very envious of Gary. He was better looking, more intelligent, strong as hell, would not put up with Raferty's shit, and ran the plantation. When Raferty looks at Gary all he sees is a reflection of his failures and everything he wishes he could have been. 

Raferty "sure as shit" was not going to let faget Gary get to his daddy's gold. Raferty slowly gets out of his rocking chair.

He steps off the porch and watches Gary as he walks out onto the plantation toward the setting sun.
Raferty spits in Gary's direction, "Son of a bitch."


I need my keyboard higher but also a chair that will adjust to the height of typing and sitting that is already comfortable. If I did not have to crotch over the keyboard I feel that I would type while standing more often. I also feel that the words and ideas would flow much quicker and at a more exacting phrasing a precision that can only be achieved by standing. The experience would provide exercise and physical stimulation that is more conducive to the brain. 

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Warm Up

Self-borrowed. Figured I would take the opportunity to answer a question in the form of a review.

...so little time.

Repo Man (1984) starring Emilio Estevez is one of many films that best reflects popular culture in this country. The "cult classic" film chronicles the events of an angry young man, Otto, who becomes a repo man. There is much more to the story and the goings on around Otto than the simple repossession of cars. The film is a commentary on the state of the world, American youth, growing up in America, drug use, nuclear science, war, UFOs, and the collective unconscious. The mixture of these themes set upon the black-comedy-science-fiction backdrop of automotive repossession and punk rock music not only results in an amazing piece of entertainment but also a reflection of culture that remains relevant in the cultural climate of today. A culture in which many physical attributes have changed drastically, but continues to be rooted in issues, conflicts, and identities that have changed very little since 1984. 

Put that on the back of your box and smoke it.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Raferty - I

Raferty sits on the porch of his Virginia plantation. Born in 1901 Raferty is now eighty-six years old. He is a crotchety mean old bastard. No one likes him. He is proud, but generally feels the same. He wasted his time. He chewed on American fat for all but two of his eighty-six years in time and space. It's a wonder that he is alive. He is lazy, weighs three hundred pounds, and sits on his porch smoking home grown tobacco out of a pipe. He grows the tobacco himself. He does not allow the help to touch it. He is revolutionized in thinking, but still does not trust them darkies. He tells them that they do not water it properly. The truth is a different story. Countless nights Raferty wakes in the middle of the evening peering out of his second story winder over the small plot swearing that he saw one of them stealing. They scare him. The world scares him. He will ever admit it. He will die a sad old lonely coward that could not admit the universal joke that brings a certain brand of depression to all men. Empty. Unable to truly answer the hard questions. Raferty let them all know that he was different. Just as many feeble old wrinkles before his own he pretended to know otherwise. Raferty did many tours of war. He was shot five times on three separate occasions. Two in the thigh, one in the shoulder, and two in the head. One of the head shots was actually in the neck. The hundred of the times he told the story he never actually used the word neck. He is an idiot. They might as well both be called head as far as he knows. Raferty graduated the third grade and dropped out. He went to work for his father growing peanuts and potatoes and chickens. All Raferty harvests anymore is peanuts and tobacco. No one wanted his father's Virginia Red Potatoes and cockfighting is against the law. Raferty's father was also an idiot. Raferty hated his father. He would not let Raferty play the banjo as a child. The truth is his idiot father did not care. Raferty did not know how to play the banjo and the learning scared the shit out of him. Raferty has not worked since he was twenty. His father willed him the entire plantation and all of his stock in the company that distributes and cans the nuts. Raferty's nuts are eaten around the world. "Seasoned with the Virginia air," is what his father always said. Even today, when people buy the Idiot Nuts the slogan is still proudly printed on the can. The peanuts continue to make Raferty millions of dollars. He does not have to do a thing. Raferty never married. When his father died Raferty went dancing with the ladies almost every night for a decade. He was a lousy dancer and could not hold his liquor. The women did not mind though. He also could not hold his money, and these women would easily trade a few moments of pain and deep sadness to put their hands in the stream. Raferty has deep contempt for those women. Raferty hates women. He knows that not a single one was interested in anything but filling their pockets. The women had deeper contempt for him. He still sits on his porch saying to himself, "The joke's on you bitches." Raferty contracted hepatitis from his second hooker. And there's a certain itch that he's been scratching for over forty years. Raferty feels like he is going to die everyday, but he will not die anytime soon. One of Raferty's peanut pickers approaches the porch. Raferty begins yelling, "What you want boy? Why you ain't workin?" Moleole starts taking off his straw hat. "Sorry boss. The new boy is getting dehydrated." Raferty slowly takes his pipe away from him mouth. "Molo. I can't believe it. You ever heard the expression porch monkey?" Moleole looks confused. "Well Molo I gots a monkey on my porch. Can you believe that?" Raferty starts laughing hysterically. "A monkey on my porch. I don't mean anything by it. It's just when you think of that expression," Raferty continues hysterics. "Yee. Yee. Yee. Molo." Moleole no longer looks confused but decides to wait for the fit to pass. Raferty's laughter dies slowly and he frowns slightly. Shaking his head, "Well I guess you don't get. No sense of humor. Fine. Send the boy home Molo." Raferty places his pipe back in his mouth and readjusts himself from his fit. Raferty now back in full slouch Moleole says, "Thanks boss." Moleole nods Raferty waves him off Moleole puts his hat back on and walks back to the peanuts. "We should start raising them chickens again Molo," Raferty shouts. Moleole continues walking and tells himself, "I'm gonna kill that mean old fuck one day." Moleole would sooner leave the plantation before actually killing Raferty, but he aches to watch Raferty choke to death on one of the tobacco leaves he chews everyday after breakfast. Raferty shakes his head in disappointment. "Boy can't hear neither," Raferty continues on the way he did yesterday and the day before. He is a stagnant river that should have run dry. Instead his damp stench lingers over the shore. He decides that he wants pork for dinner.

Film Editor Notes

…Life is not edited.

That is one of the main entertaining aspects of cinema. Even a “reality” show, film, or documentary has a fictional space and time.

Meanwhile, a viewer is experiencing the film as it plays and that is real. It could be/has been argued that, regardless of a film’s level of escapism (or how ludicrous the idea sounds,) it is still reality.

(But that would mean that Ewoks are real.)

Monday, April 16, 2012

An AWFUL Release

Surprise! I am announcing and releasing my new ep AWFUL exclusively to Language is Synesthetic. The ep can be downloaded from http://music.jofrin.com at a (no minimum) "Name Your Price." There will eventually be free bonus material added to the full album download, but I wanted to have this published by a certain deadline. I wrote and recorded all of this Friday April 13th, 2012. It rained that evening. I added the samples and conducted the mixing last night. So, anyway, here it is:





This entire ep was written, recorded (in one take for each instrument), edited, mastered, and published in under 8 total working hours.

blog.jofrin.com

I will eventually upload some bonus materials that come with the full album download, and it will remain a no minimum "Name Your Price." Thanks.
- Jofrin
credits
released 16 April 2012
Written, Performed, and Recorded by Jofrin Pezzati.

Guitar - Jofrin Pezzati
Bass- Jofrin Pezzati
Drums - Jofrin Pezzati

Recorded at Like Lightning Sounds Studio.
www.likelightningsounds.com

Mixed, Mastered, Edited, and Produced by Burning Empire Media.

This ep uses a variety of audio/voice over samples. All of the samples used on this ep were taken from the Public Domain.

Special Thanks: Cliff Hockersmith for appearing on "Punk as Heck."

Album Art:
Copyright 2012. William Dickey. All Rights Reserved.
25% of all sales of this album go to William Dickey for use of his art.


Copyright 2012. Burning Empire Media. All Rights Reserved. www.burningempiremedia.com

Friday, April 13, 2012

Bus Crackers - Section III

       A man in a trench coat stands at the bus stop smoking a marijuana cigarette. He is not waiting for the bus but will get on when it arrives. He does not have a bomb but carries a knife. He considers stabbing the driver in the throat when he gets on. He just quit his job selling advertisements for milk. The mustache was his idea. It was his greatest achievement and the beginning of the end. "They don't make 'em like they use to," he tells himself. He is alone. His wife left him for an actor that wears red leather shoes. The ordeal left him with a relief of vacancy. The sun is going down. An old man approaches the bench and asks the man, "When's the next one?" The man shrugs. He is not waiting for the bus but will get on when it arrives. The old man stares at the joint. The man offers a hit. "No, thank you," says the old man. The man takes a final drag, drops the butt to the ground, and snuffs it out under his shoe. The old man says, "Did you know this is all being written as we sit here?" The man in the trench coat unaware says, "I'm standing." The old man says, "That is correct." The man in the trench coat becomes extremely uncomfortable and slowly walks away from the bus stop. The old man with mild terror asks, "Where are you going? It should be here any minute." The man continues to walk away without responding. His tongue has faded into the void. Even if he could speak it would not matter. He has come to the conclusion that he is ineffectual and has decided to fade into the particles in silence. He broke his promise.
        The old man waits patiently. The sun has completely faded into the ground. Something shimmers on the ground a few feet away. The old man stands up slowly from the bench and hobbles to the item. It is a knife. He crouches over the item and picks it up. He inspects the knife. It is a switch blade and he always wanted one as a boy. He puts the knife in his pocket and hobbles back to the bench. He sits down and the bus arrives shortly after. The doors swing open but the old man remains seated. The bus driver yells something undetermined at the old man. "I'm not getting on, I'm not waiting for a bus," says the old man. The bus doors swing closed and pull away. "I've already got what I've been waiting for," the old man mumbles as the bus fades away into the particles. He takes the knife from his pocket. He pushes the button and the blade flies out. He states, "I am the bus driver," and stabs himself in the throat. Gargling on blood he falls off the bench onto the pavement. Staring at the black sky he can finally start his life. He is happy.

Bus Crackers - Section II

I've come to find that I am going to have to revise the remainder of the original copy as I serialize this mini-web book. Not only has the original taken a turn I did not anticipate, but it also has turned out to be not all that interesting. The one thing that this experiment should be is interesting. Everything else be damned.


Chapter II - Smoke Rings


        When you paint their eyes should bleed at the sight. When you write you should write off the page so that their minds spin off their axis into oblivion. 
        The smoke will not stop as it curls into the air. With childlike fascination he stares into the open space as it bends and dances with molecules of oxygen. This child of fire and smoke should be feared and respected. Will you embrace their open leg enticement of stupidity? Dance on. Listen to the colors. Jump in the fire. A tribe's beat to the drum of the universe connects in smoke ring chains as he passively observes time. His wide eyes well with liquid behind the fishbowl of our standard. His peanut butter taffy parents drive their Tom watermelon automobile to take him on vacation. The ocean, an amusement part, and all the rest stops provide momentary bliss. A distraction from the rapid feeding of worms and maggots. When its all over their mouths are wiped with paper towels thrown out onto the highway. Never to be seen again, never to be imagined. "John Lennon was shot today, and everyone will regret cheese," the boy utters his first words. His father almost swerves off the road, but is able to maintain control as he sweats through his shirt. The words, so beautiful. The occupants of the watermelon no longer have no sense of reality. They continue along the highway. The man is in the middle of the road, but the occupants cannot see. Not even the child sees and he is a genius. The father continues to drive from state to state. Both the mother and the father no longer remember which one is home. They drive until they almost run out of gas. When they stop they eat waffles and eagle's meat. The child eats wolf and has a milkshake. The father has finally stopped sweating. The mother gleans at him with intense breath. The boy gets up to go to the bathroom. The mother looks at his father and says, " I want to fuck you like an ostrich." While chewing on a piece of eagle the father says, "We will get a room." And they do.
           The boy did not need to relieve himself. He is obsessed with leaving his mark wherever the family travels. He takes a black marker out of his pocket and writes, "WE ALL DIE" on the wall. When he walks out of the bathroom his parents are kissing each other and he smiles slightly. When he arrives at the table his father says, "You look tired." The boys grabs his milkshake from the table and takes a final draw. He puts the glass back on the table and stands silently staring at his parents. The boy knows that they are digital children without a clue. They may be able to teach him to pull up his pants but they have yet to figure out how to fold time. He is slightly disappointed in their parenting skills but loves them in spite of their flaws. 
           The next morning they all decide to go sailing, but instead visit the Alamo. The child hates cowboys and his father loves Indians. They decide that the Alamo is an very dirty experience, spit in the bathrooms, "WE ALL DIE", and drive to Florida to buy a pink flamingo. The parents get a couple more rooms on the way. They are happy.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Cleansing

He lives within his own world. It is not a matter of bringing him into ours, but rather him allowing us to enter and see it to his. An interruption and he screams with terror. There is no way to tell the future for certain.


I am not supermanning to my potential. Purge. Input overload. Toxic and degrading. Wasting time.


 Writer's Block pt. 1
I say that there is not such thing as "writer's block" because it is an illusion used as an excuse. There are times that it does not come out as originally intended. Word choice can be a tricky devil. I am obsessed with the thesaurus. There is a chance that the victim has too much time on their hands, or their time is not used in a appropriate and effective manner. When there's a goal in mind the path may need a fork.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Class is in Session - Vol. II

The Super Highway


The explosion of available information has made media coverage better. In my opinion, the change has made media coverage much better in many ways. The type, quality, level of truth, amount, reliability, accountability, and ways to access media coverage have all been improved. Due to the amount of coverage it may be difficult at times to sift through the vast amount of sources and, sometimes, outright false information that is out there. And while a few large corporations may own a large percentage of media outlets and conglomerates, there are hundreds of smaller independent sources of information. Many of which make it a point to provide coverage without the bad habits that conglomerates may have adapted. When I was a very young child there was only a few local stations and the daily newspaper. This narrowed perspective made it difficult for most people to get a clear view of the outside world. Especially, since the different stations and newspapers may have had a different style and approach but were generally covering a very narrowed set of daily stories.

When I was a child I was confused by my grandparents obsession with the daily newspaper. I could never understand why they were so concerned with what had already happened a few days prior. This opinion and perspective was of course that of a naive child, and like drive-in movie theaters, I never really buy a newspaper but I do not really want to see them go. However, now media coverage is almost instantaneous. Several television stations, internet sites, and radio stations are dedicated exclusively to news media coverage and providing information. While I love reading, why even buy a newspaper anymore? This also makes another benefit of the explosion of information clear. Eventually, the newspaper, which is primarily a waste of paper, will become obsolete and this change will mark a positive environmental change along with the already existing informational changes that are going on everyday.

The best part about the explosion of information and available media is that it makes it much more difficult for media outlets to "cover-up", "bury", or lie about a story. World leaders also have a much more difficult time hiding secrets and their true selves. I personally, do not care much about their personal lives, but I do want to know their true motives, intentions, agendas, and any laws they've broken in the past. We may doubt our own coverage of what is happening in the Middle East, but there are news outlets that focus their attention to the area with a primary agenda of reporting of what American coverage may be leaving out. There may come a time that this explosion could cause an over-saturation of information, but it would be very difficult to overshadow all of the informational benefits within the age of information.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

He spoke to god

I live with my feet on the ground. I have never misappropriated luck for grace. A child has died, but you think that god saved your junkie ass. Your pretentious egomania goes deeper than I originally imagined. Pull your head out of your ass-like bubble of a world. I have yet to find anything original in your work. You can photocopy the Mona Lisa all you want, but you merely have a lower fidelity version of a shity painting. I'd rather stare at "Dogs Playing Poker" for eternity. Supposedly, as far as you're concerned I have too much time on my hands, but you dive into the same mediums you scoff. Run south old man because you will get no apologies from me. Obviously you need more positive attention but I cannot help you there. I thought that I gave all praise that I could give. If a steak looks good but tastes like the chewing of rabbit turds why give five stars for appearance. A beautiful woman is beautiful, but if she has not showered in two months the odor stands out. It does not negate her beauty she merely needs a shower. You should have thanked me for trying to ensure that you do not embarrass yourself further. While standing on the corner, screaming like a preacher on psychedelics you should not claim to speak for others. I thank you for the affirmation of power you give to my writing. It means a lot to me. The subject is subjective in the first place. I live with my feet on the ground.

Change.

Read more. Eat less. Do what needs to be done. Win. Instincts can not be ignored.  Never let the injustice wash over and fade. Educate yourself and them. Grind away at life. Organize yourself. Break the code and win a prize. This is meant to be disjointed. Random and lacking sense. My writing needs to be more needs to be more smooth. This is an exercise in precision and improvement. Understanding is unnecessary, but it could always be helpful. When a person pays attention to your details you have been granted the greatest gift. I have already overstepped my second person boundary. Three letters of weak rhetoric. My agenda is clear. Intention obvious. If there remains a doubt I will not be responsible. The more time that goes on the more I recognize the pathetic nature of finger pointing and the undying need that people have for blame. There tends to be a lack of personal responsibility within us all. The consequences of avoiding a look into one's own mirror dig deep into the psyche until they can no longer be eradicated. The delusion festers and grows encompassing one's entire existence. The person becomes the person that they have avoided. Do we even want to change or is it merely a matter of wanting to accept a pained personality. I want to sync my system with the patterns of the universe so that the dynamite of my mind's goes viral.

My dreams remain, but my disenchantment creeps in at times without warning. My defined cynicism feels more like truth than jaded experiences. A pessimistic optimist. The glass is neither empty or full. I do not need full disclosure for the situation to be fully disclosed. What bothers me most about censorship is the fear of truth. It has an inherent nature of attempts to hide and shadow the brutalities of man. Why bleep the word when the world is fucked. Man is fucked. Do not ignore the meta of metaphysics. Welcome to the new world order. One does not need to travel to "see" the world. It is right here at our fingertips. A sound unheard is still a sound. Neither the chicken or the egg came first. Seek an altered state because the state needs to be altered. Use language that makes sense. Use cliches when originality does not flow with ease. Define yourself. Define your dreams. When you want them to taste fruit say orange and light their minds with color. When you want to insert a subliminal message. I already have. Insanity is relative.

Make purpose transparent and wear your goals on your sleeve. Don't be those who shrug off change and progress. It is a flaw within their adaptive skills. Limitations are set by the user. Thwarting growth will decide design. Can you fly?

Monday, April 2, 2012

They're Watching You

Yes, their prying judgmental thought police eyes are always upon us. Little men can't take criticism. Big men like power too much. I hope you're proud of yourself Winston. You're pathetic. You can be Holden, I'll be Henry. I want to make their teeth grit so hard that the decaying enamel shatters. You're feeding spinach to the cityscape of your own downfall. When your skull spontaneously bursts into flames... (gotta go to anger management)

Sunday, April 1, 2012