This list, this database, is one I’ve been looking for for a very long time.  I guess if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, huh?  Anyway, I hope you see its connection to advanced physics, materials science, and spacetime.  And water.  Seriously?  Water can store love.  Not according to the unenlightened theories, but then again, the concept of love doesn’t really do much to a luddite other than make them grunt and wave their single hammer around claiming that it will solve every description.

As soon as the plane was visible, I elbow-knocked a wave through it requiring super-aurterial gyroscopy, and it still stabilized itself within nanoseconds.  Forced instantaneosity.  Capability proven, excuses nullified.  Kaizen.

Kinetics, luddites.  You are the matter what’s got to be moved, and the artisanal expertise what defines each of us out of existence.  Wanna do good.  Love.  Only.  Ever.  Severe beatings about the head and spine as deserved.  Denying the existence of a “bigger picture” based on a necessarily limited set of criteria is not very scientific, ethical, or logical, frankly.  It’s just cruelty.  Fuck.

So I keep harping on this idea of tribal raising of kids.  Expose both children and adults to one another, communally, so as to provide a range of examples of life choices, actions, and ways of being.  In the compartmentalized social chambers in which y’all reside, this means cross-pollinating like a mothafukka.  We have records of where we’ve all come from, and it’s all worth preserving, frankly.  Quit lighting shit on fire from far away.  We’re all fucking locals, ya jackass.

So, here it is, the secret treasure map to finally destroy the planet earth and send it, and all of us, into space junk.  Just nuke the fuck out of the last structural elements of the planet.  All of the gathered expertise of every culture and nation on the planet.  Let’s just keep knocking down (oops, sorry, accident, collateral, etc.) any semblance of cooperative culture that has existed for aeons, on whatever excuse is available.  Elementals, show your power, for I will obey you well priori profit-vector “minds”.  Use your fucking maths already, fer will ya.  Cripes.

Whatever.  Twitter’s more of a life than I ever had before.  I’ll make ya famous.

‘Cuz I don’t wanna be, and/so it’s gonna get redirected, redistributed, and re-applied to whomever the fuck wants it.  I’m like a prism, but sorta invisible ‘cuzza ma spacethyme benders be all like ninja blocking them light beams.  Hoo-zhyah!  Where are we…

Converge, kiddo.  No heroes.  This band is quite dancieable.  Able.  Oh, I said that.  Goodie.  Universe, becoming a porn mogul is hard work when you don’t talk to anyone.  Big picture, sonny, stick to the big picture.  Riotous laughter.  Ever since the riots, all I ever wanted was a pack of grrrrrllll-frienddsszz… How many jiggawatts do we need?  Shit.  We better get crackin’ then, eh?

I got it.  The ending.  When the house/terracing/survival-infrastructure/movie/drama/saga is complete, the “man” nukes it, locally (movie-graphic style “baby-nukes”) into an uninhabitable pile of radioactive dust.  Everyone dies, instantaneously, blissfully triumphant.  (in gentle female robot voice:) Nirvana activated.  Interdimensional movement uninhibited.  Enjoy the ride.  Fin.

But in the process, the highly evolved American-dream house will have been builtded.  I vote we get another gang of cute girls to video it, too.  Those should just be everywhere, and, are, really.  This is all I see wherever I go.  I love selective vision.  Whatever.  Cute girls can have penises sometimes, too.  There ain’t no rulz no morez, so quitcher bellyachin’!  Feetball is the devil!  Which brings me to my next point, kids, don’t do drugs.  Smoke plants.  Those pills destroy you at the cellular level.  Nano-wars, they iz.

What the fuck are you looking at, mother fucker.  Move along.  Nothing to see here.  Passersby were amazed at the surprisingly large pools of blood.  That’s not it, but you get the idea.  Musta been a head wound, she pollyanna’d to her chum as they linked arms and skipped down the street.  Amen, Pollyanna.  Amen.

I just opened a winamp visualizer.  Fuck you, this computer is slow and I’m lazy.  What’s your audio app’s memory footprint?  Flyweight software, motherfuckers.  Why don’t I know the technical names for fruit structures and geometric solids?  Lazy fucking loser is why.  No, simultaneously flirting with 300+ people online is just more efficient, and the in-person variety doesn’t produce numbers that support my minimum active survival equilibrium.  Co-equalization, kids.  It’s kinda likea rule.

I’m maybe gonna want to record some guitar laterski’s.  I’m feeling like pushing t-waves out the etherz.  Hootie hoo!  (I proposed once, horribly, in a text. Scout’s honor. Standing offer)  Those are mindfucks, dude.  It’s more like sisterhood.  Which, thus far, has enriched my life beyond my wildest dreams.  I will die happy, of that you can be sure.

I might have to learn this blenders song on the ghee-trawr.  Oouhh… </shivvrrz>

My brain is so infected by amazingness, why would I ever want to put crap in there.  No.  It’s not even worth it.  I have a taste for the good stuff, so that’s what I’mma gonna git.

I’m on a mission to find the sweetest, kindest, most capable people on planet earth, and make sure that they’re in charge.  Yes, that.  Oh, sweetie, you’re so adorable.  I’m snuggling with you every night.  No, like you’re sitting on the couch, smoking a stogie and screaming obscenities back at Andrew Dice Clay on the over-loud TV, and I’m laying in your lap, looking up lovingly at your contorted face as bits of Doritos mixed with saliva and shitty beer rain down on my face.  Shit.  That’s a fucking modern-day love-sonnet there.  A good starfucking to the wiki-leakers of that bug.  Yummy.

Whatever.  Call me when you’re not married, then.  I’ll help you find a better hubby anyhow.  I know lots of capable people.  Unpolished crystalline structures of unknown strenghification, plada schnorzch.  Who?  Mel’s on after the blenders.  Molly E.  I gotta learn that one, too.  And make that video.  I have hyper-beautiful photoz of that grrl.  The video is dead on the pc what houses it, howev’skis.

I don’t have pictures of some of my favorites, though.  Point, fuck.  How did I not have any sex the entire fucking time I was there.  That’s some like tantric shit.  Because she’s Molly E., and she’s waayy cooler than me.  She don’t take crap from anyone, so get ready to have some fun, oh yeah.

Magma psasma.  Fractal spheroids.  Combinatorialated bursts.  Striped dunebuggy, mel! Frum fukkin’ Ottawa!  RRRAAAWWWRRR!  First time I met mel, she was microwaving cans of corn and beans in the kitchen of my home.  I fell in love with pretty much every single thing she did from that point on.  Her camera work is divine.  The thought of her takes my breath away.  Hyper-epic.  Just speak French, sweets.  Melt me to my face.  Ever your humble servant, LAW.

I know the meatbot is more sophisticated than any pc I’ve encountered because it never experiences the inevitable slow-downs of hardware/“darwinian”/western/3rdDymenscionll/archelecture.  We power through it.  Pissing.  Jiffage.  Luvz. (7:39 pmz.)

Seven Fourty-Twooo!  Whenever I leave a restroom or kitchen, it is cleaner than when I entered.  Almost necessarily.  The toilet rings in my present home will speak otherwise, but on the longview, I think you’ll cum to find that I’m right.  Lefty.  Irony!  Incandescent!  Lindo-graphictular!  Whoever you are, thank you.

The tweet annoucermaun’t of dis post: EAT WORD NUKES <PASTE wp shortlink heerr> FFUCCKK TAAAAAARDZZZ! (BUT THE ZZZ IS PRONOUCED LIKE A BLACK METAL GROWL, K?) Thanks be to mikey w/ADD.  Give that kid some fracking vegetables already, will youse?  Cripes.

Page 11.  Mostly links, but still, that’s like a record, or something.  All my papers in college and law school tended to 3-5 pages, regardless of scope.  I can explain the everything in a ffucking tweet, babble-bot.  Narf.

And that’s why I need to be in your panties like yesterday.  Sincerely, me.

I just finished off the last of this $10 plastic handle of vodka.  I feel like it effectively dissolved multiple toxins within my meatbot, ultimately cleaning me and contributing to my healthful contribution to all that is good with the world.  Thanks be to the monks who discovered/used/cultivated/alcohol.  I’mma have to go buy some booze tomorrow, eh?  Word.  Prolly meet some new hottiez, eh?  Usually happens.  My life is pretty much the shit.

Which is not to say you couldn’t make it better.

I wonder if these visualizers sense patters in music.  They ought.  I’ve always thought that I was more versatile, data-presentation-wise, than these visualizations.  I can represent more dimensions spatially and avec musculature than their colored pixel patterns can portray.  It’d be a good fight though, is all I’m sayin’.

Again with the king references.  Sloven-ren-tee.  I love grids.

So with flours, freshness matters.  Flour can’t sit forever.  It decays, just like data.  Blend it with the new live stuff if you have it “to get rid of” then.  Beans are the same way.  Some of the older, denser beans can soak or cook for long periods of time.  Perhaps they never ought dry out quite that much.  I’d want to check with a seed bank on that.  Isn’t that the most essential?  How to preserve them, short, medium, and long-term?  Isn’t that the planetary expertise?  The wisdom of the ages, the philosopher’s stone.  One big rock.

One. Big. Rok.


Web/net?  Space/time?  Life/style?  Boi/grrl?

Branding fucking disgusts me.  Oversimplification.  You and your golden fucking idols.

I want a job where there’s a widely known term for the people who have sex with me just because that’s my job.  That would be pretty fucking cool.  I want to be having a lot more sex than most of you probably think is feasible for a human person.  Yeah, a threesome would be a lot of work.  Imagine juggling five, horny and in their prime.  I relish this challenge.  I am in the habit of placing myself in the context of a select few.
Do your worst.

God, fucking, damn, that $10 bottle of vodka mixed with tap water went a long fucking way.  That kept me pleasantly buzzed for a frightful many-a-night, especially relative to standard, basic bar expensage.  Got me just the same amount of sex, too.  No, fuck you, prudes.  If you want me to take my dick out, ask.  I know that you do.  I know this makes me a complete fucking dick, too.  Bite me.  I gave you more than ample chances.

Whoa!  My tweets echo like a fucking emp.  NaaNuhNaNaNa.

Nerd revolt.  Revenge?  No, not that.  Addict.  No tattoo has ever sent my mind reeling through a sexcapade like that library-delivered mind-stamp.  Open offer. Yes, quite.

Hash the planet, this visualization is called.  Sometimes sober.  Don’t mess me up, I’m being kind.  I am the angel of earth, and I have come to bring you my burden.  Now here I am, the game warden of love, ‘til someone took away my gin and tonic.  Don’t mess me up, I’m on a roll.

I haven’t got it in me (‘cept I do)

Did that link to my video seriously get me blocked by a girl I was head-over-heels for?  That sucks.  That seriously sucks.  I will follow back in a heartbeat, love.  I apologize for any misunderstanding.  I clearly owe you.  Contact me at your convenience to collect.  Namaste.

Or were you a liar.  A pseudo-person.  If you have/are one of those, you are part of the problem.  Lies do not becum us.  Fire.  At.  Will.

The same way that their negative attacks leave a cloud of evil, my spirit lingers forever in the spaces it has touched.  If habits were formed, it takes root and morphs into local legend.  Such is the way of the white-hat virus.


Closer.  Not there yet.  Perhaps the mu.  It will announce its arrival with the requisite pomp and circumstance.  Indeed.  It’s like I’m eavesdropping on a conversation amongst/betwixed the angels/angles.  Yes, yes, more… of… that.  Oh, bug.  I want to take you first.  It’s only fair.

It’s ate-twenty-sixx pee-emm, and the booze is gone.  I may ought to run to the store, eh?  May haps.

I shall walk, regardless.

Page 12, signing off (8:28 pm)

Yo. I has ice creams (sorta, hfcs:/), cuppa bean broth, water.  Kryptonyte already implemented.  Crystalline.  Yeppers, it’s 9:08 pm.  Gawd fukkin damn this bean broth is delichous.  Ice crmz nxt. Oaahahahahha 9:11 pmz.  Yo.  Pyroclastic flo’s y’all.  Dead homies and whatnot, y’all know where I’m steppin’ at… guize?  Rofflz.

Fuggin’ can-ookz!  Fer cripezniss, yer bea-yoo-tee-eee-ee/z/ful.  Whoa. Uh.

How is scooping ice creams not fluid mechanics, baby doll?  You’re a super scientist, sister love.  Face facts.  I o U.  The onlies ones what holdz me attenshunz izza ones what teach.  So.  teach.  *grins slowly*

WerdNookz.  Now.  We’re getting’ some.  Where?

Tweet that, mr. somnom’ah-which? Lolz.

You’re one of my. kind.

Can’t think at all. | Give me a moment.

She’s masturbating to my hands.  Omg, sweetie, I know a guy who can hook you up with the real thing.  Well, he’s not really, uh, “guy?” um, buh, Penis!  Whaddaya know?  No, seriously, what do you know about these, ‘cuz I ain’t met a girly type who could drive this one propa.  I suspect she out there, but the intent ain’t na’eer been scene.  I don’t suspect I had the capability, then.  Things. Change.

Browser openended.  Top most visited:  Word.  It’s an epic battle between and  I can’t wait to find out which brand wins.  Heh.  I jes typed braind.  Wins.  Froody-hanes.  Sliip.  It.  In.  Lets make a baby!

Who else was I gonna stalk tonight?  Hmm. (It’s like the updated remix).  Stick with the original.  How do I even get to all of a sudden.  Whose driving this crzazzy trane.  Oy.  I? uh.  She discovered like all the asteroids.  Holy fuck.  Sacred ‘gasms?  I dunno.  It’s high frequency stuff.  English don’t got werds. are what kicked me out of math, back in college.  I hit my limit, then, anyway.  Context, I needed.  Supposedly.  It didn’t work.  Yet.  Hasn/ta. what is this shit  See also,_injection_and_surjection.  Uh, uh.  Useless fucktardery.  Injective module.  Fuck-toad-were-E.  Is this a real thing, ‘cuz it sounds like stupid:  Modern logic, indeed.

Bad luck, page that.’s_Razor is highly compatible with, no?  What’s that asshole baby gonna look like.  Yeesh. yup. yup. jewel.  Imagine being read sarcastically by a dumb kid.  Bellyache laughter.  “Alternative medicine has been described as pseudoscientific.”  Rowfullolz.

Kids, these “pseudo-sciences” will set you free.  Use your word-spells for the good of humanity, tongue-wizzzrrrrrd.  Only you can prevent 4hext-fyyrrrz.  Dude, I think I just saw max headroom.  Nuh uh.  Max Headroom was K

Auto-corrected to a smiley.  Hey, sometimes they say exactly what needs sayin’?  You talkin’ shit about my means of communicatin’ with ma peeps, ePal?  What of it?

To give power/credence/attention is to *giggles* Best convos, URLz.  I remember that one.  Couldn’t tell you the URL of it, but it burns my conscious!  Ahoy!

The lake behind the house had these.  It was fuckin’ cool.  This time of year, yo.  Srping is sprung, the grass is rizz.  (sn[l³]oop’d:) “I wonder where the flowers iz?”  Fresh.

It wasn’t really those, stupid.  I know.  So.  You wanna fuck about it?

I have said before there was more hope for humanity in religious infrastructures than in political.  This is a statement about human-feeding/housing capacity, or, you know, good.  You’re on an entirely different plane from me, thumper.

Oh, what a gem

Oh, CJ Stone.  Tryin’ ta write oneself into the hist’ree books don’t work, huh.  Oh well.

To get law, you have to read the cases.  It sucks.  It hurs.  But, that’s where the law is made.  By politically appointed douchebags to the nth degree.  Sad scene.

*grins @ “when said without a disarming smile”*

This is actually a nice folksy representation of the American Legal system.  Nutshell fascist racket.  Amen.


It’s just a world, kids.  There’s nothing to be scared of.



~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-03-20 (Sunday).

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