Replication of a letter during the Mizence. Off-purple color from having been found in a pool of long expired cleaning-agents. Little is known about the slogan "FOR VICTORY." Arrangement of the date with day preceding year still unclear. See "discharge letters" under "Post-Pacific Conflict" circa early Mizence. 
Renovate
Masking tape, pins, wax, gum, threads, flaxseed oil, epoxy, hot plate, polymer vessels, ladders, old sheets, 6-pack, sweating ladies, trampoline, 3-disc CD-changer, iced-tea, licorice (salted), raisin bread, paint cans, masks, caps, boxes of tools.
Remonstrate
Cigarettes, black horn-rimmed glasses, desks, podiums, wet paper, ink, coffee, muscle-shirts, muscles, fists, blood, shaking, pulses, strategy, Brian Eno, sparkling spring water (Saratoga Springs) intermission, Chunky, Q&A, bath.
Renegotiate
Threats, bombs, threats, bombs, threats, bombs, threats, bombs, threats, embargo, threats, terms, polonium, remuneration, demonetize, threats, accord, re-draft, reconnaissance, open research in hinterlands funded by pharmaceutical corporations. Renewed stock options, luxury condos, privatization, Chow Line, threats, handgun, ER, closed fried chicken restaurant, ghetto-fear.
Felt un-manly in the hardware store, pointed at things and said:
"oh that's a 3/4". Then she gave me wood.
BLACK MUSIC > THE BEATLES > METROID > MODERN MUSIC
TENNIS > HOMOSEXUALITY > OASIS > JENGA
RENAISSANCE > CANDLES > EXCITE.COM > FIG NEWTONS
CONNECT FOUR > MENSTRUAL CYCLE > BLOSSOM > DIGIMON
GROWING PAINS > SINEAD O' CONNOR'S 1992 SNL SCANDAL > JINGLE ALL THE WAY > SEX AND THE CITY
husk: what is the worst song ever written
husk: obviously i loathe that Jennifer Paige song "Crush" but my number one all time worst is Cindy Lauper's "Time after time"
Troll: dunno crush.. id say any thing by dave matthews where he strums the guitar really hard and opens his mouth and words come out.
husk: oh wait -- there's also that French Nirvana "rape me" parody "J'en ai mare des pizza"
husk: so painful
husk: so painful that they thought it was amusing
Troll: or any parody by Q92 in the morning.
husk: and Cindy Lauper, she's all serious in that song, and it hurts, it's so cheesy
Troll: i love her goonies song
husk: I don't know how many 80s movies nabbed that song as their end credits song
husk: no it sucks
husk: she is the complete opposite of timeless
husk: The Beatles stood the test of time
husk: Cindy Lauper, god no
Troll: prince is timeless
Troll: lol
Troll: batdance is timeless
Troll: NOT
husk: I like George MIcheal
husk: I know it sounds weird, but I like him
Troll: i like his band before
Troll: wham
husk: WHAM?
Troll: yeah
husk: no it's in capitals
husk: WHAM!
husk: you can't just write wham
Troll: wake me up, before you go go..
husk: with a dick dick
husk: crazy voice that guy
husk: Duran Duran, pioneers man
husk: Simon LeBon, crazy ass voice, plus he's called Simon
Troll: i like faith.. i picture homos jumpin on a bed.. "the rules of attraction"
husk: go on
Never too ecstatic about searching in the attic.
Where is Optimus Prime's head?
I so would love him back as one.
Maybe Flint is around...
Ill have him fuck Lady J.
He-man is fucked.
I brought him too many times in the bathtub.
Now his rubber elastic broke.
Where is Mickey?
I have his numchuks...
Hah! What's this? A ouija board....
No we won't be playing this.
I couldn't help but ask if any of my iSight friends had used their built-in cameras for pornographic purposes. I was surprised by the resulting honesty. I've never had my penis as a wallpaper before. THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING AND A LAST TIME FOR NOTHING!!@!.
"Michael, Where are you Michael?" - she yelled.
"What?!?... fuck...!! I'm just enjoying my tuna roll!"-he answered.
The car alarm sounds off. No one responds anymore, the owner barely even cares; "it's a glitch 99% of the time". Thieves work around em'. It is the obsolete siren of nuisance. You annoying loop.
"It's just a little crush (crush)
Not like I faint every time we touch
It's just some little thing (crush)
Not like everything I do depends on you
Sha-la-la-la, Sha-la-la-la"
REALLY?? It's just a crush? No big deal? Then how come you wrote a SONG about it, bitch?? And what the fuck is up with that "Sha-la-la-la" shit?? You think that's some kind of "in your face" rebuttal? Damn, if I were the guy you had a crush on, I'd sure as hell be glad that it was "just a crush" so that I could be rid of you as soon as possible. Oh shit, here comes that "Sha-la-la-la" moron again... run before she writes another song about... not carring wether we notice or not!
"he wants to see my jugs, he ain't dangerous" -cashier to lady, general conversation
"i'd rather have my hands smell like alcohol than smell like shit" -cashier to lady while wiping her hand with a wet nap after giving change to a black man
Moving stuff around, same room, different room. Take a hammer and open up the wall boards. Find lost things and hide found ones. There you go.
The great ideas behind some marketing, now you have audiobooks being advertised for your iPod. (Like no one could think of that before.) The death of the books. Just as Egon said in Ghostbusters, “Print is dead” and he said that in 1984! I think it is merely dormant. It will return and become the sole means of impertinent straws on the camel’s back. Papyr was Lem’s mortal coil, the disappearance of it brought the populations of earth to a standstill. It took one person to almost figure out the futility of defeating the system within, yet his insanity caught up with him.
The marketing business is evil. (Yes, have you heard the hicks say it?) They can kill your lifestyle and make you wish your privileges were forced upon you in a salad bowl, smothered with cheap graphics and glossy paper. (oh, I guess print isn’t dead….they need paper a bit longer)
husk: seriously
jk: sirius lee
jk: his bark is worse than his bite
husk: you got that right
husk: so it's called "cashmere" now
jk: cashmare
jk: cashcow
husk: Scotties® Brand "Bathroom Tissues" -- Cashmere
husk: AND it's quilted
jk: 2-ply
husk: yeah, at that
jk: what if you only shit before you get a shower
jk: you don't need tp
husk: there's a 3-ply ultra edition for layered comfort
jk: save some trees
husk: I don't think that's recommended
husk: or is it some huge marketing ploy?
husk: who knows
jk: i only feel comfortable using towels as strong as a brawny man
husk: yeah, you can tell that guy shits a ... well, a shitload
husk: of shit
jk: he's a lumberjack. he knows how to handle logs
husk: ugh
husk: he's also AL from Home Improvement
husk: in the later years, when those kids were "older" and so arrogant
husk: you could tell they hated each other
jk: Al = brawny... JTT = tissue paper
husk: you know this reminds me
husk: Bob Barker's done now
jk: A NEW CAR!
husk: and when I was younger, I was under the impression that the second Bob Barker would've quit The Price Is Right, there would've been an immediate apocalypse
husk: Retirement home riots, Dorm room fires
jk: well, if the scriptures are true, rosie o'donnell is the anti-christ
husk: something with Marines also
jk: so... chew on that for a while
husk: are you
husk: telling me to chew on Rosie O'Donnell ?
jk: accept the lord jesus christ as your personal lord and savior
husk: is that like a file request?
jk: here, take a mini king james bible and a pamphlet
jk: and remember
husk: and now we're back on "bathroom tissue"
jk: jesus loes you
jk: it all comes round full circle
husk: like the full circle spinning of a flushing toilet
jk: bible pages are good for rolling joints
husk: analogy of life "complete"
jk: not so good for flushing
jk: zoinks!
jk: i need to go to work
husk: you go girl
jk: *scrams*
The secret allurement of a hot girl savoring a Mr.Freeze® : a refreshing head-tilt / eyes-shut / mouth-full of an "mmm". No more distractions, at least not for the next few minutes. When asked, Ty added: "wind that blows in many ways" in response to passing a door (early 90s quote from a faux-poet and his homosexual furniture). Every stop is getting livelier, carefully orchestrated to lose counts and ignore paths. Touché, cold girl with frozen fudge stick. Toujours prendre la gauche... à moins de vouloir trahir mes instincts via la droite mais rarement sinon jamais le centre. Why? 'Cause it's right there, the easy way out is also the hard way in.
Two samples of diatribes or “prose” from just prior to the Republican Era. From the journal of “Paul Spitzer” entitled Rush Five-Star (college-ruled).
Untitled [23]
His macaroni was impeccable, his cheese dyed from dead honeysuckle. Little bits of string-cheese wafted wands over his wickerbasket. Threads lifted lightly over his lips, languid heat, linguini ears hear lenticulated bark-calls. Lightly seasons broth, monotone hue, his only friend is Hugh Jass.
Man just in front of the rear exit, belches macaroni, hears the sounds of marching army ants, noxious pip-bomb in his stomach, Sandy eyebrows Creeping umbrella face, leaving his arms inside of pockets. Ten to six, 8 more blocks. Wheezing, cheese breath, I pray for distorted feedback, cacophonous ringing, dead ear-drums. Sunrays blind the man; I know the sound of the devil’s sodomy-song, the last unknown conundrum.
Listening Intently
The sound of marching feet fell
Into the bottle of preached words.
An owl screeched across the dell
Hunting rodents under canopy’s of lords.
The shade inside the glade held mute
Lovers, forbidden to speak without due repute.
The owl flies to a tree, leaves brown
From lack of irrigated till,
Dried from climates long since sound
The product of lost goodwill.
Lightly treading inside of leaky shanties enveloped
With tree pollen, lanky lovers liter their words labeled obsolete.
The mystery orb revealed unknown Utopia,
Sold to those with much stress.
The Lover’s Shanty Glade was a poor-man’s euphoria
Gift for family viewing at Christmas.
Many leaves have fallen over the years, bringing food, fires and famine.
Many years have passed since the idea of Utopia became as novel as satin,
Lightly treading, listening intently, Lovers at the hands of privatization.
Till the earth, the concrete gives room to roots of a dead nation.
As i entered the room, i could smell marihuana fumes with toilet duck. i thought to myself:"mmm... my favorite.". Heraldo was on tv.. the episode on skinheads. didnt live up to my expectations. maybe because i drowned as a kid. We visisted a brewery in grade 7. anyways, back to the matter at hand. i thought i heard a sound coming the kitchen. to my relief it was Nigel, the household cat. he was a heroin addict. He got really depressed when Betty left him. i saw a flight a stairs.. "where do they lead?" i thought to myself. Most likely somewhere with booby traps and poisonous gas. i should avoid at all cost. something on the floor.... meat balls? no wait, corn pops, the real ones, kellogg's... i remember hearing on the radio that the police were looking for a serial killer.
She tells me to commit a rock-star-ish suicide so that her art collection will gain value. I laugh, she doesn't. Go out, with an art bang. 20 bucks worth of cream and all the possibilities. He can keep his fucking rights, I don't want em'.
PUNCHED IN THE FACE. Someone stole your diaphragm. A halt : one small waiting room with the theme from Growing Pains playing on a loop though others claim it is the theme from Family Ties. Whatever, really -- one had Boner and the other had Micheal Gross -- we needn't debate this any further (see: others). We were given a chance to name the waiting room as we went in; we agreed on "BLAND,THE" (yes, Burt Nein is among us). Complacent smirks all around. As a wee lad, the concept of life in prison is simplistic: frigthening due to the isolation -- life behind bars and the loss of certain personal liberties (where the toilet doors be at??). However, you realize there's an added twist to it as you get older, if only to scare you at a now-adult level; you know what I'm talkin' about... ain't no prisoners a-dancin' to the jail house rock no more (as far as I know). For the record, I still believe Bert & Ernie were nothing more than close roomates. Such hostility.
Simon 1 - Thierry 0.
Not to sound like some russian Tetris enthusiast or anything but it would be nice to have some female authors on Equivocal. With our lil' pinkish hues we'll eventually be branded into a different category altogether, until everyone loses interest that is. And you know, all that shit about different gender perspectives and whatnot:
We require authors with somewhat of an evil sense of humor and an (unfortunate) aptitude for writting stories/essays that are of a vague nature. Whether there are facts or profond morals to the entries is not a concern, in fact, the opposite is highly encouraged. Grayscale + Pink duotonish imagery of the same genre is also welcomed (though a maximum width of 400 pixels will be enforced, 'cause something has to be enforced otherwise we lose all sense of authority). Having nice female "features", a plus. Thank you.
Made available via Crick Assembly, the melding of 2 found op-ed pieces believed to be contents of a free publication from the “Rickenbacher.” Theory that moots juxtaposed op-ed pieces suggests an argument/debate between two mutes. Favorable sides not yet established. Commonly referred to as “The Stranger.”
A cold breeze blows over the tilted neck of a young stranger. Barley beats against his knee, a repeated seven/eight rhythm that resonates through the stranger’s body. He is a stranger because he is a changed man. It began a week or so ago, and now it has come to pass that he realizes it. He sleeps less, but more efficiently. He eats less, yet has more vigor. He bides his time better for he knows it cannot manage itself. Time is an infinite thing and a finite thing. The stranger knows he has to manage it somehow without loosing any to infinity. Barley laps his chest. He has fallen sleep in the cold. He will wake up and be determined to go on without hesitation.
Icicles are hanging from the trellis. The old cucumber vines are still there, skeletal remains of a summers worth of produce. We used to race up and down the vines on our way to catch centipedes. When we tired of that, we’d take the rotten vegetables on the table and chuck them at the chain-link fence on the other side of the yard. It would make a mess, yellow tomatoes and orange cucumbers, white eggplants and hollow squash. Here is where I threw seven cherry tomatoes in a row through the little square in the fence. I know the squirrels got to them. I never did get around to eating any of the tomatoes until now. You see, I used to hate them, but now I can deal with them lightly cooked. I do like the cherries, and sun-dried are pretty good, too. They mix great with avocado.
Before goals can be met, routine must be faced. A week may seem like a year, or a month may seem like an hour out of some intolerably long day. Hours pass by; ours seems to be a slow moving clock. The quartz had been decaying into brittle sand. Once the barley has left his shins, the stranger runs through the stone outcrops to the road. The hitchhike is quick and uneventful. Coming back to the city is like a pleasant dream faded to memory. You wish you can go back, but it was something intangible and without any substance. It only felt like bliss for a brief moment. This ephemeral elation is what will be pursued thereafter. Mundanity returns. Three months pass before any indication of a return to this elation is hinted at. Late one night the stranger dreams he is at a wedding, fully dressed in tuxedo. He is alone in a pew, but there is a dog and cat chasing a chipmunk on the rafters. His perspective goes to right above the cat’s head. They eventually catch the chipmunk and devour it in its entirety. The stranger awakes to the smell of boiled cabbage.
Of course, when I think of avocado, I think only of freshly made guacamole. It is possibly the finest food to eat. Fresh cilantro is the key, along with the lime. However, as I’ve discussed with you prior to our departure, hummus is among the finest. Its versatility is unmatched, not even by that green sauce. A chick pea is possibly the finest legume. Without a doubt in my mind, rice and chick peas do rule above all else, their close ally being Gouda. I know you may disagree about rice, but believe you me; no sort of wheat grain can match its combination of substance and versatility. I have heard that nutmeg is the king among all spices. While it may be a pleasant spice, nothing matches salt. When you consider what salt truly is, it seems immaculate. Any comparison becomes futile discussion which I will eschew.
Change can be strenuous, especially for those who loose any sort of power or influence. Is it any wonder we see so much resistance in today’s world? It started three generations ago with our immigrant grandparents meeting our residential ancestors on tenement lined streets. Our “world village” began like a dainty illustration. As I watch this flag poll teeter and sway, I think of those streets where our lineage first became American. The colonists could never have foreseen the diversity of the population that would emerge within the city; the majority of them would probably be dismayed. Here I sit thinking with open ears, open eyes and closed arms.
We now see the stranger in a little café on any street in any city. His cup is turned upside down, letting the tea drip down to the floor in a way that it surrounds his chair. He has promised to clean it up when he is done. When asked by the manager what he is exactly “doing,” the answer is always “realizing.” With a twenty dollar bill on the table, the manager cannot help but empathize. The cold air notwithstanding, the stranger has become oblivious to the elements. An ethereal reticence is established. Music continues to flow through his mind as he sees into many possible futures all stemming from one definite past. Embracing the cold livens everyone to the world around them. A taxi dawdles past on the street, much to the annoyance of everyone. Large French poodles, unshaven, fight pit bulls perpendicular to the café. Young people pass without hesitation to and fro, a potentially chic traffic jam in the works. Gulls have adopted the cross streets as conduits for flying to and from the tidal straits and estuaries. When the rains finally do come, the streets will be ephemeral channels to these estuaries. A deluge would distill much of the area.
The tea has now frozen in a small circle around the base of his chair. The stranger feels he cannot extract anymore from the scene. He has not met with anyone who understands, nor has anyone stopped by to converse. He decides to go south. He takes out his knife and scrapes up the frozen tea, placing the shards next to a tree and walks towards the sun. The twenty dollar bill he has left with the manager has been blown from the table and onto the roof of an idling car. The bill will later be found by a homeless man who will use it to buy four doses of impure heroin which will kill him. In a hundred years he will be reincarnated as a lemon tree standing in the backyard of Homer Laughlin. His daughter, Susan, will eventually become the head of a non-profit organization which will raise enough money to eventually ease most of the poverty on the island of Taiwan. When asked about her inspirations, Susan would usually say the simple, yet enigmatic, statement, “Our lemon tree always encouraged me.” People would interpret this to be a quixotic statement from an affluent do-gooder trying to amend the imperialism of her mogul-lineage. It would influence an idealistic movement, eventually leading to a demilitarized trend all over the world. Nothing like it had happened since the fall of the Roman Empire.
Of course, the most necessary ingredient in cooking has to be water, spices and salt aside. It is not arguable as much as a solemn acknowledgment: flow of discussions. The biggest recipe would be the creation of life, though I hesitate to refer to it in such a way for fear of giving those in favor of Intelligent Design some cannon fodder. You by now know I am more interested in the actually process than any progenitor. This is how most pleasure is attained. Take those rotten vegetables…we had no reason to throw them at the perforations in the fence, yet what fun we had in doing so! There is just a wonderful feeling of actually doing it. However, people are crazy and fanatical. It’s no wonder zealots cannot understand secularists.
She threw knives in restaurant windows and laughed hysterically at the crowd on the other side. We're surrounded by boxing and ferraris. Grand Prix is french for Grand Prize -- wouldn't it suck if it were called Grand Prize? It's the like the Eat-More® of candy bars. In the closed off festival streets of Piccola Italia, a horrid rendition of "What a feeling, NA NA NA NA" (as if the original wasn't bad enough) was sung by what appeared to be some kind of woman (not the one pictured above, mind you) which made us leave the area for a while. She was like the Peter Pan® of peanut butters. The bell tolls for thee and my crotch could be seen by all.
Hey Sexy,
I really shouldn't be asking you, I feel shy about it , but I want it so bad, don't get me wrong it's just that I haven't had it for a long, long time. I could already feel it going in so hard and coming out so soft and wet. No one has to know about this. I need it. I'm desperate, but with your help I will be very grateful you must think I have a lot of nerve asking you for this, but I can feel my tongue around it sucking all the juice out until theres no more left, this has been on my mind all day long. I hope I'm not being forward, I'm usualy not like this, but........... can I have a piece of gum? lol.... wat were u thinkin?!
This part will focus on the act of in lieu of what took place. Went for one of em', only one now, no specifics, no instincts just spontaneous (riddled) not unlike witnessing two vehicles collide; ok they survived but will they fight? Look! He has a safety belt mark on his face! On the left, the guy wore a baseball cap from an expired team while on the right, the man wore a turban of a slightly blasphemous 80's neon tone. They're in the way. You're not supposed to ram you're vehicle into someone else's, the traffic then has to circle around the wreck in search of alternate lines. The driving witnesses would love to stay and watch but they have seldom enough time left to choose a new path and avoid further peril. I can't blame them! Unless they circle around the wreck at a slow pace while rolling down a window to "offer help" (hope they fight/who's bleeding?) fucking up the traffic behind them even more in the interim -- well yes, then I could blame them 'cause I could catch up to em' on foot but that would go against the principle. Boom! It happens. I know, I know... there's a second of intrigue. This one. It's done. That was then / this is now and the now has new decisions, sure the thought of it will linger but every step has a natural distraction, how much will you accumulate before it gets too heavy? Are there breaks in the path? Why not make your own... why not wait 'til your cute bi-curious female friends start an adventure in discovery at the same time you realize you have enough liquor left to fuel their quest?
SuccubusATEme: its on july 5th
SuccubusEIGHTme: at the pyaa fieldhouse
SuccubusEATme: and its a 2 day festival...called Hat Hair Fest 2k2
SuccubusOUGHTme: you gotta put that in
SuccubusOOHme: and so far son of alf...mind shart gap...and just put more TBA
to whom it may concern:i am just writing to say sry about the incident im just afraid to say it in person .. i learned a really valuable lesson not to pull a joke on a customer you know . i hope that lady is doing fine i like her daughter so much i cant believe im crying writing this but trying to hold it in so.. pls pass this on to the customer since i have no contact with her !! :( i want to apologize to her by anayway .. i really like working at murphys but im sry i ruined it for you all .. i soon hope to make friends and not be a loner all the time .. one of my problems that needs to be coped .. i really enhoyed working there !!just to let you know i threw the lighter and pen away sneakingly in the back office trash probably gone now but anyways.. im sry i embarassed you on the costume thing but griz bet me that i wouldnt come in it so .. never mind didnt get anything for it was a 30$ costume but oh well my mom wants me to throw it away back to the subject.. im really enthusiastic there and hld on let me dry up here!!ok i like all the people there. i soon hope to make progress and move in other places of store ..ive been trying to do better watching my register even though ive seen people ringing up stup where tehy shouldnt eb but i try all i can to keep murphys in line but not my job so i know ill just try and regret not to do it .and keep it to myself .pls tell mary hi and bye:":"crying but never mind !! i sure hope that lady didnt have an operation i didnt realize that this wouldve caused this no more jokes on customers!!i really liked thta customer she was a very good friend of mine anyways ttyl bye i miss you all so much from travis
-walking, modifier unknown
part of a the "Quay Journal" with minor edits. Precise font copy.
Benchmarks were on my legs. It was getting cooler when the rain fell slowly, settling into pools on the brim of my hat, an irrigation collector. The garden lay beyond, inside the big gate beside the tall building next to the side of a large wall, sideways-written on it, “Kill the people who love pinot noir.” The grapes we grew were white, sweet and full of cardioprotectives. The bluejay flew into the garden, as I picked up old tin cans, he gulped down the uvas, scoffed at my pleas to leave and then flipped my the BIRD, that bird.
When the rain hits my head, the rain sharpens my wits. Wither the sprouts germinate into the harvest we seek, the Samhain desires confusedly mislead from the will of sophisticated Diaspora. Just as the Altar of Pergamon worshipers drew the diluted mix of Bacchus and “Beelzebub-brethren” to the same arcane architectural-commission, these grapes brought a foreigner, sometimes temporary tenant to the vines. He would mock the daylight later, I had that feeling, chirping and mimicking until the AM arrived.
There were many grapes that day. It was a Thursday, and the lightning bugs came out a bit early. You could see them in the SHADE, UNDER THE LARGE SUMAC on the side of the lawn. You could squish them, seeing their fluorescent jelly ooze out of them. I have yet to learn what they eat, exactly. I used to think that the idea of using them as temporary lanterns at night was foolish, but let’s see what the Ancients used to do; utilize your resources.
Shocker! Spoiler: Neverending everbeginning redundant and multiplicity. Go forth! There were alluring calculations on the third attempt (and a remise en question in the second) but the premise of the exercise/challenge is to ignore instincts and deliberations, just go. End Spoiler. Could I object? Is it also counter-productive an observation? Would you? Why would you not not? 'Cause you can't. That's the point. Could be at the fifth, sixth or beyond and no one would be the wiser... because you're not supposed to stop and think.. but then, how would you know? Did he offer them up for free? Is there such a thing as free nowadays? Is this another rampant string of questions to which there are as many possible answers as there are choices? Fuck yes.
He was sitting upon his rock,ah yes, i remember that song, we sang that at the orphanage. But what did he want with me?
how mighty was he not?
king of the lake
not king of the sea,
king of many, but how dared he?
he had many many
many jewels,
he also had many whores swimming in the pools.
he just sat there and didnt swim,
why not you ask? because...
HE IS THE FROG
KING!
to be continued...
Never give out your password or credit card number in an instant message conversation. To help prevent infection by a computer virus or worm, never accept or open any file or link in an instant message until you verify its authenticity with the sender. So goes the train to wire countries and coke parties.
remember that great movie, with that dude, and he has a like a gun, and he's like:"Prepare to die!!" and then he kills him, and then it all goes crazy, ... welll apparently theres a sequel.
THE CONDESCENDOR STRIKES AGAIN -- With subtle hits that would appear witty to most teens, an apparent embellishment not for my benefit mind you, but for THE GREAT CONDESCENDOR -- soon to be bored, in need of an antagonist, will play. So funny (un peu weird), the hat doesn't fit but it's the pressumption that acts as bait. I sorta like it. BEWARE THE UGH OF THE GREAT CONDESCENDOR!
GO FOR A RIDE
The following is transcribed from a found tape with the following text written on a faded label “Cantina Lorna, XVI IV, 24 July ’00 – ‘Gish’ take 3.” The meaning has never been resolved, save for the location, at coordinates 32_ 54’ 24” 45_ 29’ 49” (Shackleford UTM). Knotts Grammar. Material is available for copy via notice of Senior Claypool, Lent Bard, or equivalent heads of demarcation.
(starting time set to 0045, 9)
ectionous botulism was obtained from the hoof, hooves inside of a business man’s briefcase, can you believe it? (lingers) I have never seen a sight. He was like an old hippy trying to do the macarena, that was a site to behold.
(universal sounds of amusement)
Here is something interesting. Your itchy-footed hippy business man reminds me of this ol’ hippy I used to…knoh, no, we do not what any more Grenache.
(sounds of textiles)
I do not even know what you mean when you do that. Is that a yes or a no?
……uh….hmmmm……
All I see is a wrinkled face, slight nod to the right of shoulders, spastic winking of eyes.
……yes.
….what?
yes, I mean yes, more wine.
That is the way to speak the language of the free, good sir. (volume raised)
Ok, go dip your wand into the fountain and cast spells on men. You really need a hobby. (volume returns to approximate levels at start)
Now let me tell you of this Jimmy Gish fellow…….
You need an asphyxiating experience. …
….anyway, he used to come meet me inside of this very room. Back then, this trendy bar we sit at was a rekkid store as the kids used to call it. “rekkids…” more on the origin of rekkids later. Anyway, this guy, Gish, he’d watch the vinyl spin, and think about the orbits of his mind. This is what he used to say, anyways. Jimmy G was a very peculiar fellow. If you think you knew Gish and never quarreled with him, then this fellow you knew was impostor and not the really Jimmy Gish. Jimmy’s about fifty-two or so now. He was gray all over even when I knew him. He had a rather bushy beard, but no mustache; he used to have his side burns going all the way around from ear to ear minus the mustache. I think he looked like an old Irish farmer. Or an Ahab impersonator. I never knew what he did for a living, but I think he may have been a cop at one point. If you have ever met him, you would think that last statement was absurd. Gish was laid back, but he would go out of his way to prove himself. And he used to tell many stories of his ‘glory days’ roaming the streets around here and freaking out every night. I once walked down, maybe I was walking sideways, inside a corduroy vest and a tweezer hat, (whispered) St. Marks with Mr. Gish. A friend and I met him at a movie and afterwards he walked with us for a while. We saw William Defoh as a morbid Max Shrek. After leaving this astral shop in the middle of the street, (amusement) Jimmy proceeds to speak aloud of what the place looked like when he was still ‘active’ as he put it. It went something like this: ‘Oh my, what ever happened to this place? This used to be the Electric Circus back about 20 years ago. There used to jazz in the bottom and rock upstairs. And in the back was where everyone met to “eat drugs” as the sign said. Yeah, there used to be a sign above the stairs that said, “come on down, share some stories, meet someone new, and eat some drugs to top the night.” You didn’t have to do any drug, and there was actually only drugs when celebrities would show up, but the music was good. Used to do the lighting there sometimes.
Did Gish ever give you any really old baseball cards? Did he ask you if the word ‘cool’ was still used?
Then we would pass (anger) some ‘exotic clothing store’ and up came memories of the fine cuisine served there during yesteryear, many yesteryears back. And finally, we would come to 1 Avenue where there were a couple of clothing stores where you could get a sticker saying, ‘Fuck milk, got pot?’ ‘Nuff said. Jimmy G always went into these stores, but never bought anything. He would look at the shirts on the walls and remark about some of them. Jimmy was very observant of his surroundings, which is why I think he was a cop or a detective. Abe and Jimmy had found a pink t-shirt amongst all the dirt that featured a lamb that was saying, “I Love Ewe” on it. This lead to all sorts of perplexed questions that the two shuffled back and forth, sort of like a leisurely volley of Proust quotes on a cul de sac. I was looking at this one girl’s bag as Jimmy and Abe conversed about today’s faux-incompetent society.
I once killed a man for looking at my crotch. He didn’t even offer to lap up the glue that held the groin to the spandex.
Oh shut the fuck up and let me finish! (drastic volume increase, subsides) On the bottom of this girl’s bag in clear white-out letters was printed, ‘YOU SUCK!’ I never got that. Mean people suck, All people suck, Gay people suck, people suck, now, they managed just to say, ‘YOU SUCK!’ I could see if someone had a ‘cops suck’ or ‘society sucks,’ or even ‘I suck.’ In fact, the last one there, ‘I suck’ is probably the best one. All the others are blaming someone else. ‘I suck’ is saying something. You, as a real individual, admit that your life has been nothing up until this point. Admitting one’s flaws is one of the hardest things to do sometimes. That means you at least know half of what’s going on. O! to be absolutely free.
Is this story where I kill you with this almost empty wine bottom? Because I am about to cut your head and serve manicotti in it. OK!? END THE FUCKING STORY! (no surprises)
You really need a hobby. You can just taunt and threaten me all you like, but I know you know that you need a hobby. Anyways….
You need an enema.
ANY…. You need a….so…. Gish….yes, Gish and Abe were still talking.
‘Hey, you still with us?’ Abe was shaking my shoulder. ‘Did you light up back there in the bathrooms at the movie theater?’
‘No, that was you, you damn pothead.’
‘Oh yeah, shut up!’
Abe laughed a mighty laugh and before long was drawing a throng of people to watched his T.H.C. induced euphoria.
‘Aight,’ said Jimmy, losing interest in us winners. ‘I’m gonna head on back across the river, you coming?’
‘Nah, we are gonna go see some DJs down on Chambers. Ever hear of Madame Chao? That DJ’s wicked, man. Ever see the show on BCAT? The Chaorin Temple? It’s good if you don’t have epilepsy.’
‘No, I haven’t seen it, you know, I hardly watch television. I only like to watch shows about keebl err-elves, dangerous fishing, or the mets lose. Oh, well, have fun.’
And with that, Jimmy Gish was gone, his shamrock-colored shirt waving in the wind. Jimmy wore strange clothes. I think he got his clothes from the Dee and (&) Dee in Greenpoint, or on the street from a skinny white chick on Bedford ave venue. I only saw Jimmy Gish once again before he went away. He said he was going to Nova Scotia with a dream of grow a hemp farm, or something like that. I highly doubt that, but you never know, he may be rich.
AAANNNNNDDD see? You could do it. Even when drinking on the teat of Bakus, you dro… (surprise ending)
As i continued my journey, not sure where i was headed, my thoughts were clouded with mystery and with that man, with the blue eyes.. and his mother, that whore, yes she was a dog, a jack russell i believe... she made great soup. I kept some in bottle. You never you when you might run into a spider walker. As i drew nearer to the summit of my thoughts, i could hear an angel signing.. *THOMP*. No more angels... complete silent. "Halt! Stop! Wait!"
to be continued...
You waste time contemplating, which is the essence of having made the previous choice. You could move backwards but you'd look retarded. Enough of this shit. I was given several alternatives and I received double that amount once the choice was made. To dwell on it is to look retarded. Seriously, what a fucker... Burt Nein said "... as the ones before.." and that made me want to have intercourse with girls I wouldn't normally find attractive. Full quote from Burt Nein:
"In front of you from the back of you, lies choices. Once the choice be made, you will have committed to a choice and by doing so you will have not not chosen. Whatever choices appear next will and must be chosen uncarefully as the ones before and by doing so you will have so chosen twice, differently or exactly as before -- when choices were upon you and you chose to not-choose and chose."
Time flies (when drinking) and you can tell your friends that you've seen some really shitty movies in theatres. Movies you'd normally be ashamed to mention although you can never admit to Crocodile Dundee 2 -- and surely some of you have. However, if anyone actually saw part 3 at the cinema, is a fact that escapes me. I've ridden (and written to) many women who had very little interest in the subject.
This story ends like it begins, with the ending being an introduction. But an Introduction to what? For his blue eyes tell many lies. One cannot forsee the truth, unless one a disciple of higher cause. But that is not I. I am merely a traveler, some call me 'wizard'... perhaps a bard of some sort, dancing on stars made of snow. Perhaps my meaning is greater, I did not know at this point. Trifled with the blowing wind, wich i feared, i decided that i could not stay here at the crossroads. We went our separate ways. and this is where it ends... no wait, where it begins.
to be continued...
"round and round it goes, where it stops.... NOBODY KNOWS!"... Why did he say that to me? It was so trivial. I still remember that day, as we stood next to each other at the cross roads. He had these powerful blue eyes. it was mezmerizing. he gave me this grin, as if he knew something, or had this power over me. i felt weak, inferior. .. but, what's a wizard to do?
to be continued...
Where twelve is three, what is nine? Why nine? Why not! There were so many choices and what made them peculiar (not only in appearance) is that they were all obvious. Each and every one of em'. The mere thought of any further debate on the subject prevents me from elaborating any further. I guess, back in the day, I would've been stuck in neutral faced with the opportunities ahead but lately it's no longer about the pick and choose and more about the chose sans pick. You'd do well, or not, to remember that.
It's disturbing when the something that occurs to you is the occuring of something that occurs to you. Really, I hate that.
...Steven Seagal was born to a Jewish father Stephen (a high school math teacher), and Irish Catholic mother Patricia.
sometimes the hero's effort is in vain. sucker.
