Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The Lion, The Witch, & The Anal Probe

Peace and the pursuit of such is a relative term. The tranquility that is often implied is inherently ambiguous because individuality is never connected in such an idealistic manifestation as generally assumed. In the pursuit of peace, society, humanity, civilization, whatever they may mean to you have become more pussified  for all the wrong reasons. For example, feminism is a term of defeated women too ignorant and unaware of the natural order of the planet. This label provides the agriculturist takers' schism further strength. In this same regard, the shaman is not mysticism. Sensationalists are welcome to intentionally misinterpret me as desired. Let a silent boot print be my official  response to criticism. The subjectivity brings us back to the individual. Rebel, cling to the issues of self-gratification. Confused and lacking direction, hear me out, or listen to the shallow impersonation of masters. Cracked is the mirror you have no business glorifying. You're fucking lazy. Lazy, a term not to be confused with an esteemed disposition. The 1% rhetoric is lazy. Playing fragile and frail for attention causes me to speak with an ax. Taking and taking and giving little and taking and taking. You color me to bring me down. Too scared of self-reflection, you rally the town. I tried to be nice. Empathetic even. To be generous. To offer my humility. To remain vulnerable. I've given my time. Shown my support. Provided my signature. Raised the money. Donated to the cause. Voiced my opinion. Done the work. Done so many fucking favors. Yet, I'm slapped in the face by the memories of all those that cannot remember. This is a journal. A retelling of events. An account of the situation. I am tired of apologizing. Tired of feeling the need to offer a disclaimer to every goddamn word out of this crotchety old mouth. Why provide an explanation to those too fucking stupid or weak to comprehend basic vernacular and decency? Keep spewing your bullshit. Only to eventually fall on your own sword of deceit and pity. The frail and pathetic sadness believed only by the frail and pathetic often forgets that there is a paper trail, documentation, facts, evidence, and truth. You wag your unsure fist for peace. While I kick and scream to burn down and piss on your beliefs, I find that peace. You speak of cruelty while your farms and cars are causing species to go extinct. While I think we should kill all of our own meat, you kick and scream without peace. The stomach can only endure so much bullshit before Cinderella dresses for the ball, and I abandon it all. You'd be a better man if you were a better man. Your philosophy a failed plan. A melodrama at best. If I were you I'd watch which shit pile I stand. In reality you are not shy. You like to see you cry. And I, could spend a lifetime attempting to decipher the schizophrenic sociopaths. I've given too much and been taken for granted. I'm not looking for a solution. What I need is a conclusion, and this is the end of the rope. The noose's joke. On you. Getting off easy, as the breath gasps from your voice. Ruthless and unforgiving because the bumper sticker slogans have grown old. It's a little too late to play this game, eventually you will remember my name. Peace motherfucker peace.

(probably just a draft or extended version rather)

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Bus Crackers - Section X

The chemist jumped out of his seat with an ominous growl. The bus driver struggled to keep his balance, "What the fuck?" The chemist quickly bit down into the driver's neck. Chewing the flesh, blood spurted several feet into the air, and the chemist slung the driver's body to the floor. Several passengers screamed into terror, as the driver's eyes went vacant and his body hit the floor with a lifeless thud. Blood pooled around the body. Every passenger was now aware of the situation, and they began mauling toward the exit like a European soccer riot. Tripping and falling on one another. "Get the fuck out of the way bitch." The chemist started for the closest passenger. "Someone please help me," a lady cried as she was shoved down to the ground. A middle aged severely obese man tripped on her body while attempting to get to the exit. An agonous shriek erupted when the weight of the man's body fell on the the lady. The snap of her leg breaking under his weight could be heard over the yelling. The lady continued to screech like a pussy in heat, and with greater intensity when she realized her fibula was staring back at her. The chemist grabbed at a young teenage boy whose headphones blaring The Death Crunchers only slowed his reaction time to the scenario. Now it was too late. The chemist quickly reeled the teenager toward him. "Please stop. Please, let me go," the teen said softly as he could feel the chemists fingers digging into his shoulder. The chemist, drooling, cocked his head slightly with a look exploration and confusion. The teen showed a moment's relief, but suddenly the chemist's teeth slammed down into the his face. Biting down, the chemist took of a section of the young man's cheek and nose. Blood seeped from the teen's injury. The chemist, chewing, drew back shortly. There way a moment of amazement in the teen's face before he began screaming bloody murder and the chemist took his second bite.

The fat man managed to get to his feet, and waddled off the bus while the lady continued to scream. While watching the chemist mangle the teen in terror, the lady attempted to army crawl toward the exit of the bus. "Oh lord, someone please help me. I need help." Meanwhile, the teen's screams subsided and he was laying on the ground staring up at the ceiling but not blinking. Hunched over the young man's body, the chemist continued to rip chunks of flesh from the body. All the while, tearing into the teen's stomach shoveling whatever he could into his mouth. The chemist stopped, and quickly darted his attention to the lady almost to the exit of the bus. They made eye contact. "No. No, no, no. Please don't." She tried to crawl faster, and the chemist got up from the teen's decimated body. The chemist less than ten feet away began hulking toward the lady, panting, and covered in blood. "Someone please fucking help me. Please." The protruding fibula caught the chemist's insatiable thirst for blood first. He sprang into the air, and locked onto the lady's leg when he landed. Simultaneously gnawing on both flesh and bone, the chemist's teeth crunching and lips smacking. Nerve endings squealed in the lady's brain, and stabbing pain instantly shot from her leg to her skull. The feeling that her temples may implode from each bite sharply pinging her brainstem made the lady forget for a moment. Shock set in, and she could see herself, see the chemist feverishly gnawing on her leg, tugging, teeth crunching, and lips smacking. The lady tried to plead one last time, raising one arm as through she was trying to reach out to the chemist. However, she could not speak, her vision blurred, and her arm fell back along her side in defeat.

(rough draft)

Pony Show

Only in my attempt to show that I am strong do I find I am weak. Not satisfied. Skeptical. Afraid. Not of death or any of that horseshit. Worse. Self-reflection. Truth. Terrifying, for they too are the same. Whoever they may be, as I retreat to obscurity. Disappointed and anxious. My revolution is posies at best. Determined. It always starts, "We took a wrong turn back on the highway." What follows, I've worked hard to avoid. Not a breakdown, but the point where the program realizes there is a hardware malfunction. The engine, running hot and stuck in second gear. To call the necessary repairs "an upgrade" would be cliche. Personally, I like cliches, but not in original form.

System overhaul. Both software and hardware working harmoniously for a common purpose and vision. A vision in which the tree grows to its greatest potential with an ever expanding space to grow. Mechanism grounded. Positive charge. Ready main controls. Installing software...

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Please wait for system reboot.