Pav likes against the backdrop of an interstellar war between megacorporations vying for total control of the the galactic market in low-carb sugar substitutes.
I’m private
I just dug this up. Was I one stylin' 6 year-old or what? Sweet Tapdancing Reagan. No one rocked the cold war look like my Polish ass back then.
It's been all downhill from there.
It's 1am.
An otherwise pointless spurt of consciousness between an extended saturday afternoon nap and fluttering about aimlessly the next morning doing chores, chattering with friends over skillets, IMing....
An entire evening wasted because of a completely unscheduled drifting off into deep drooling unconsciousness on a sun-lit porch. covered in blankets. I mean who *wouldn't* right?
hot date out the window. she got a new boyfriend though, so fuckit for now. reconnecting with high school friends is always a slow sputtering process "sorry I didn't make it for dinner at whatever's...being unconscious was more important...yea ok next time" Don't lie. See no need to.
But then it's 1 am and SHE's chatting with you (moved up from phone messages, over to actual internet messaging. she must want to be close to someone tonight.) You've been curious about this SHE, playing little games back and worth. But now it's serious. she wants to CHAT)
And that's when she piles it in heavy. Fair warning and all "I'm about to pile it on heavy, are you ready?" Well no, but what can you say. "Of course," I said, knowing by this time there was probably nothing to distinguish the already intense tightness in my stomach caused by the first waves of the acid kicking in----- from the giddiness of lovelorn paranoia and its unfolding before me like a early blossom in springtime.
"Here's why I've been avoiding you and this that and the other" meanwhile I can't remember if I'm supposed to be avoiding her or sending "slight distinterest" signals mixed with a side of "I've got better things to do." Fucking acid screws up the frequencies. Not to mention that her IM window looks like someone drawing with lipstick on the *inside* of a bathroom mirror.
-------------------
-------------------
Then, to top it all off, in pure synchronicity, her psychic twin calls and asks me what I'm doing. Goddamn it. This is already a lot to lay on someone with a head full of acid. A jilted semi-lover and her best friend, twin,-- [partner in some elaborate plot to destroy you while extracting your precious bodily fluids? perhaps...perhaps]-- and hopefully future slightly less jilted slightly more lover all coming together at once on an otherwise perfectly peaceful night that you could have spent in looking up at the stars wondering "When Will I Get Out of this Pisshole."
Soon, you know, no matter what, soon. But it's never soon enough is it? And even though you should see the pisshole from its good angle, as the brightly colored fur-trimmed-toilet-seat-cover that we all want to have someday. You know it's still just a pisshole. And what you're reaching for is forever out there and out of your grasp.
You know you'll never reach it. And you'll die trying to have reached it. And even now you know it will have been the journey not the destination. And blah blah blah...Somebody Feed this poor bastard his Medicine! He's gone into another one of his frenzies and we have no idea when these thought patterns will become some sort of confabulatory catatonic state where he's locked into a permanent drooling psychotic dream mode, thinking up his own reality in his head when he's really just here in a wheelchair pissing his diapers and grinning stupidly as the morning shift nurse feeds him his porridge with a plastic spoon.
For all he knows, he might already be there. FUCK!!! Somebody pull the goddamn feeding tube already, this is unbearable.
Or maybe...
on second thought...
leave that tube in and hit me with a little more dilaudid, would ya nurse? If you can even hear me? HELLO?!
How long have we been out here jabbering? Do these entries even have a maximum word length? IS this REALLY the time to try and find out? Your insides laid out in a bare pile next to two flanks of beef. Somebody hide that shit before it goes rotten. Grind it up. Maybe it'll be good for tomorrow's breakfast sausage.
No way to possible go back and edit all the terrible spelling mistakes and poor choices of diction. They'll come and hang me for it in the morning. No doubt. No doubt. Nothing to be done about that now but sleep with clenched fists and gritted teeth. A sharp bowie knife with a cork on the tip tightly wrapped under my pillow.
Sweet dreams lovers.
An otherwise pointless spurt of consciousness between an extended saturday afternoon nap and fluttering about aimlessly the next morning doing chores, chattering with friends over skillets, IMing....
An entire evening wasted because of a completely unscheduled drifting off into deep drooling unconsciousness on a sun-lit porch. covered in blankets. I mean who *wouldn't* right?
hot date out the window. she got a new boyfriend though, so fuckit for now. reconnecting with high school friends is always a slow sputtering process "sorry I didn't make it for dinner at whatever's...being unconscious was more important...yea ok next time" Don't lie. See no need to.
But then it's 1 am and SHE's chatting with you (moved up from phone messages, over to actual internet messaging. she must want to be close to someone tonight.) You've been curious about this SHE, playing little games back and worth. But now it's serious. she wants to CHAT)
And that's when she piles it in heavy. Fair warning and all "I'm about to pile it on heavy, are you ready?" Well no, but what can you say. "Of course," I said, knowing by this time there was probably nothing to distinguish the already intense tightness in my stomach caused by the first waves of the acid kicking in----- from the giddiness of lovelorn paranoia and its unfolding before me like a early blossom in springtime.
"Here's why I've been avoiding you and this that and the other" meanwhile I can't remember if I'm supposed to be avoiding her or sending "slight distinterest" signals mixed with a side of "I've got better things to do." Fucking acid screws up the frequencies. Not to mention that her IM window looks like someone drawing with lipstick on the *inside* of a bathroom mirror.
-------------------
-------------------
Then, to top it all off, in pure synchronicity, her psychic twin calls and asks me what I'm doing. Goddamn it. This is already a lot to lay on someone with a head full of acid. A jilted semi-lover and her best friend, twin,-- [partner in some elaborate plot to destroy you while extracting your precious bodily fluids? perhaps...perhaps]-- and hopefully future slightly less jilted slightly more lover all coming together at once on an otherwise perfectly peaceful night that you could have spent in looking up at the stars wondering "When Will I Get Out of this Pisshole."
Soon, you know, no matter what, soon. But it's never soon enough is it? And even though you should see the pisshole from its good angle, as the brightly colored fur-trimmed-toilet-seat-cover that we all want to have someday. You know it's still just a pisshole. And what you're reaching for is forever out there and out of your grasp.
You know you'll never reach it. And you'll die trying to have reached it. And even now you know it will have been the journey not the destination. And blah blah blah...Somebody Feed this poor bastard his Medicine! He's gone into another one of his frenzies and we have no idea when these thought patterns will become some sort of confabulatory catatonic state where he's locked into a permanent drooling psychotic dream mode, thinking up his own reality in his head when he's really just here in a wheelchair pissing his diapers and grinning stupidly as the morning shift nurse feeds him his porridge with a plastic spoon.
For all he knows, he might already be there. FUCK!!! Somebody pull the goddamn feeding tube already, this is unbearable.
Or maybe...
on second thought...
leave that tube in and hit me with a little more dilaudid, would ya nurse? If you can even hear me? HELLO?!
How long have we been out here jabbering? Do these entries even have a maximum word length? IS this REALLY the time to try and find out? Your insides laid out in a bare pile next to two flanks of beef. Somebody hide that shit before it goes rotten. Grind it up. Maybe it'll be good for tomorrow's breakfast sausage.
No way to possible go back and edit all the terrible spelling mistakes and poor choices of diction. They'll come and hang me for it in the morning. No doubt. No doubt. Nothing to be done about that now but sleep with clenched fists and gritted teeth. A sharp bowie knife with a cork on the tip tightly wrapped under my pillow.
Sweet dreams lovers.
Geez. I've been so busy I forgot to mention what a great time I had at SGNY Open Call. A quick rundown of the winners.
Skryche nailed the team player award. Jessekins won for most sympathique and nabbed the chocolately medal of freedom. The entire bartending staff won for "Best Bartending Staff." A surprising upset with legionnaire taking home "Best Hair" and UnnecessaryZ yet again clinching "Best Hypothetical Hair," a category I am groomi...er....preparing myself to take him to school on in about 5-7 years.
There were several ties for the ever controversial "Please Please Be Older than 18" award. And finally ymonster took home to coveted "Most soft-spoken guy with a neck tattoo."
So much to say but I'll be seeing NYC and most of yallz more often as work brings me ever closer. I'm also unofficial SG Staff, so look for my little gems in the newswire. I'm pouring every drop of energy into writing lately and it's paying off.
With SG, a first paid music review and a bigtime article on MAPS, the Holy Trinity is coming together. Sex, Drugs & Rock'n'Roll forever, baby!
Skryche nailed the team player award. Jessekins won for most sympathique and nabbed the chocolately medal of freedom. The entire bartending staff won for "Best Bartending Staff." A surprising upset with legionnaire taking home "Best Hair" and UnnecessaryZ yet again clinching "Best Hypothetical Hair," a category I am groomi...er....preparing myself to take him to school on in about 5-7 years.
There were several ties for the ever controversial "Please Please Be Older than 18" award. And finally ymonster took home to coveted "Most soft-spoken guy with a neck tattoo."
So much to say but I'll be seeing NYC and most of yallz more often as work brings me ever closer. I'm also unofficial SG Staff, so look for my little gems in the newswire. I'm pouring every drop of energy into writing lately and it's paying off.
With SG, a first paid music review and a bigtime article on MAPS, the Holy Trinity is coming together. Sex, Drugs & Rock'n'Roll forever, baby!
Right the fuck on. Got an interview with the one and only Rick Doblin next week. I've been trying to make this happen for a while and I think this may be my tipping point. I make no secret of my interest in psychedelics and although I take the fight against the War on Drugs very seriously, I'm going to give it that Punk Magazine flavor.
"Ok, Doblin, I get the point about NIDA and the DEA conspiracy to suppress research. But seriously, is that Simon guy from American Idol a jerkoff or what?"
Can't wait till SGNY open call this weekend.I've been practicing all week by chatting with hot babes on the internet. Hello Ladies!!!111 A/S/L?
set mode +partyinmypants
"Ok, Doblin, I get the point about NIDA and the DEA conspiracy to suppress research. But seriously, is that Simon guy from American Idol a jerkoff or what?"
Can't wait till SGNY open call this weekend.I've been practicing all week by chatting with hot babes on the internet. Hello Ladies!!!111 A/S/L?
set mode +partyinmypants
Happy Easter my lovelies. Eggshells, bunnies, excruciating death by exposure.
Get in the spirit!
Get in the spirit!
If I had any talent and could illustrate my dreams, they would look a lot like this guy's paintings:
untitled
untitled
untitled
Oddly synchronous considering he we were born in almost the exact same place, over half a century apart. He was a quiet man, lived most of his life with recurring visions of beauty and apocalypse, and finally died in a seemingly random stabbing last month.
Maybe he knew. Or maybe it was just chance.
...but rest assured, it will all happen again.
untitled
untitled
untitled
Oddly synchronous considering he we were born in almost the exact same place, over half a century apart. He was a quiet man, lived most of his life with recurring visions of beauty and apocalypse, and finally died in a seemingly random stabbing last month.
Maybe he knew. Or maybe it was just chance.
...but rest assured, it will all happen again.
No matter how much you like somebody, you eventually get tired of being around them. I feel that way about myself at the moment. No matter where I go, I'm always there. Bleh. It can get to be a drag.
That's what's great about relationships. You can get into someone's head and explore and make a model of their self inside your self. In a sense, you really *are* that person. To the point that you feel what they'd feel or know what they'd say when they're not around.
The best and worst things in life seem to be a form of escapism. You're either trying to get away from you, or changing who "you" are. Ideally, both at the same time. Everything else is just...bloody boring.
That's what's great about relationships. You can get into someone's head and explore and make a model of their self inside your self. In a sense, you really *are* that person. To the point that you feel what they'd feel or know what they'd say when they're not around.
The best and worst things in life seem to be a form of escapism. You're either trying to get away from you, or changing who "you" are. Ideally, both at the same time. Everything else is just...bloody boring.
I thought I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, but it was just some bastard with a torch, bringing me more work.
