Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Defiant

I'll live outside until pride shames me
like a prim and proper housewife
whored out by a pimp
primped and prepped:
by a train
and forcibly
injected substance.

I'll plan for trials
though the jury's out on viability
and the situation's volatile.

I'll go alone
though friends wait
or family gather
I'd rather
intersperse
my socializing
mercenary cool
with sizing up myself.

Eternity in a Computer

The song leaves off where it was paused and though the interval extends long when another terminal is activated (the old cpu's power terminated) that song restarts at the same part.
Inside the screen is a place, an acquired taste, where time moves as you want.
The chronology of history can be listed as desired, revisited in any order.
You can teleport from forward and backward steps, skipping the long routes originally taken.
It's a world reconfigured by a thought.
While a mind wiles away a man there hours and minutes are irrelevant human inventions.
For now we see and hear through electrons and I suspect the only reason we don't feel and smell is we're holding back.
There's a fear we'll wreck our bodies or lives in reckless pursuit of a scape man-formed.
Heaven's too good to soon be seen.
We're torn between a want for greater measures of pleasure + social integration and the reassurance of suffering.
There's an integral association in man's brain between strain and reward.
We'd hate to be weaned off pain so when trouble is lean we push our fellows, wanting a thrashing, or beg for the tight confines of legal fines to bind us close as ocean by shore.
Then the discomfort implies through neurotic lies a reward rests in the future.
Each ache is a glimmer of glossy hope sensed past the horizon.
When we close in-on-each other through electrical portals we know a new physical integration.
Having not had this status from the first periods of our lives we hesitate to dedicate ourselves to't.
Who'll first dare the invention, a suggestion of a digital all-sense gestalt?

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Children's Hos

Chubby Teletubby actors pull their tinky winkies to peals of tinkling laughter in trailers with stars emblazoned on their doors.
Barney&friends are wearing Depends in case the LSD laced grub runs through their system before the porcelain altar admits them.
The Doodlebops are smashing their stained hotel room like a real bland rock and roll band: cigarette ash is stomped in carpets, drinks are spilled in the trays, presents were left by their toy pets, the smell will stay for days.
The Wiggles wear long sleeve shirts to cover their habits and lay blitzed, throats hoarse from orgasmic screaming (incited by fisting and tossed salad yum) yum.
Lazytown is coming down from four score and twenty keys in an unleased house hearing dancing bassoon music, eating runny eggs, red-eyed on a sunny day, and there is no musician to listen to around.
Sesame Street's replete with mother's screaming to God, "why my baby?" and girlfriends sobbing, "habibi" as hard bangers vie for turf, every guy must die tough.
Dora the Explorer was kidnapped, slapped, and held for ransom. Grandpa replied to calls about a high hostage-release price w/, "I thought I had a grandson". Not wanting to grab some more girls and risk arrest the criminals decided it best to sell the abuelo-abandoned nino to slavers.

Our opening bid is € 20, 000.