Sunday, May 31, 2015

how many more exercises in futility are there?

broken dreams, promises, homes, device, people... 
    leftover civilization texting third-rate hand-me-down
pieces of absurd data
unbeknownst to anyone
most of it is loaded
 with high-yield explosives
      that
blow up the
collective consciousness once activated... 

happened before, most likely will happen again...

if I were you



I would:
get with it...
make certain there is an escape route...
take her by the hand and let her know...
wonder what it would be like to be me...
get the fuck back to Dodge and fight like a man...
get the fuck out of Dodge and flee like a wise man...
investigate the way...
wiretap the truth...
eyeball the life...
and run down the dirty bastard who sold you that second-hand dream.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

words

words––
but only these come to mind: bastards, pigfuckers, assholes, those that prefer to twist words and blades into your heart of populations centers, civilization crumbles before your dead eyes but the television still pumps electronic garbage into your brain.
a neglected planet
on the verge
of  renaissance
or getting sucked into a black hole.

Saturday, May 2, 2015

excerpt: Planet Fever (A Novel Already in Progress)


Mona stood next to the doctor and leaned closer to me. “We know that the Head Covert Manipulator of the Syndicate in this area is a man called Froward Moroni. He acts as an eccentric vagabond who goes around and collects other ‘disenfranchised’ people and enlists them into a roving artistic troupe. Seems harmless on the surface, but covertly the ‘artists’ act as unknowing conduits for the spread of mass-mindwashing. He slips everyone the drugs and we don’t know how, but he implements some sort of transistor-neural frequency via a device––perhaps installed in his own brain––which has laser-like precision properties and can completely act on a personality individually. The person then carries this frequency and spreads it broadband, all on a neuro-telepathical and hyper-subliminal series of bandwidths that piggy-back along all electronic transmissions and frequencies. Very technical and dastardly. These poor bastards don’t realize they are agents for one part of the plan for Subliminal Imperialism.”
      Was she serious? Or had she just memorized that spiel like a good actress?
      Telepathic ventriloquist. That thought scurried from the recesses of my mind to my awareness. Where had I encountered that?
      Mona continued. “You were to act as a spy, gathering intelligence on the man. We apologize, because in order to infiltrate, your mind had to be altered so Moroni couldn’t scan you for your true objectives. He had to be convinced that you were a burned-out drunk writer on the skids. Therefore, you had to be convinced as well, or at least confused about your place in life. That’s why you’re presently confused as to your identity; most of your identity is either cloaked or forged from the pills and neural programming. We're trying to retrieve your actual identity, but it's been tough going.”

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Lord of the Gonzos (an excerpt)

http://harlequinblog.com/2011/02/gambling-in-regency-england/
What doth it profit a man, if he shits all over his own habitat, exterminates everything around him but himself, and ends up being the king of nothing? I suppose there is the solace in knowing that you were number one. Yes that’s it. That is what the last being on the planet Earth thought, perhaps, as he wandered about his giant mansion overlooking the coast of Bermuda.


"I am the fittest being. I have survived!" he thought as he toasted champagne to himself.

Yes, he and the other 100 mega-elites, as they had been come to be known, had made a friendly wager one fine day while holding a little yard party on one of the lavish estates of Lord Chambers Fartleroy, who loved lawn gatherings, wild discussions about creation and destruction, God, man, and the meaning of it all, and the weather.

“The meaning is to not to have the most stuff. No - the real meaning is to be the last one standing. God or no God. If there is a God, then he has designed this game for us to be ruthless. I mean, just read what he had his Children of Israel doing to those other tribes. We’re talking wholesale annihilation.” Fartleroy examined the ice-cubes in his top-shelf glass of scotch. He continued, “This game has high stakes. And for you atheistically inclined, we’re talking about a cold Universe without meaning, and the only thing we know is to try to survive, for no reason whatsoever.” He killed the rest of the scotch, then tipped the glass back to get one of the ice-cubes into his mouth. “So, I propose some sport. Since there is most likely going to be chaos soon anyway, we play a game. Whosoever is left standing last wins.”

J. Preston Organ, the media magnate and child porn connoisseur, wondered to the crowd: “I say, are you speaking of the annihilation of the 8 billion inhabitants currently residing on the planet? I do say, that is a fairly tall order, and of dubious ethical nature. I see no viable business advantage from this proposition.”

“Business, what is business? Just a way to slowly kill people with your poisonous products anyway. Gentlemen, we have amassed the fortunes of this globe to the point where we 100 own 99 percent of it’s assets. The rest might as well be bugs. And what is the point anyway?” Those are the words that issued forth from the mouth of Cooper L. Sykes, the aerospace and plastics baron with a penchant for extreme sports, gambling and “high class” women of the oldest profession.

“What saith you, Padre?” asked Gill Bates, the sniveling trillionaire eugenicist tech guru.

Everyone turned and looked at the man wearing papal garb: Pope Hilarius II. “Well, you know what I say, 'If it’s God’s will, then He will allow us to do it. If not, He will stop us.'”

Off to the side, Ray Kurtze-Wales, the leading technocrat, futurist and all around cynic who loathed the entire lot, thought to himself: I don’t believe in God…yet. I will become God, and win this stupid bet.

The rest is the future of history…

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Saturday, February 21, 2015

An Observation Followed by a Very Philosophical Question



We: a culture amused into a strange veneration for degradation, wanton violence, lazy lawlessness, automated assassinations, security theatrics, general buffoonery, reckless behavior, self-poisoning, self-castration, self-immolation, shameless narcissism and wholesale stupidity... 

Can I get some hot-sauce with that?