episode

i tried to catch sleep, but the house is old, and the kids like running on the squeaky parts and banging on the bangy parts.  truly, the rule of children by isolated children is anarchy.  i decided to come here.  if they want to talk business, i want witnesses.  otherwise, i want witnesses.  you people, as a household, are out of freebies.  i know when i’m not wanted, and i have no shame in making myself gone when that is the only means you have of responding to anything i say or do.  you really miss out on a wealth of information.  everything you preach/know/live is wrong.

so i was parked in, by a minivan and my mom’s honda.  of course i couldn’t get the hybrid option.  i’d have to special order it.  what would they think of me down at church.  the nasty old nasty ladies would say mean things, for a few pathetic minutes.  life-ender.

let it all out.  yes, doing.  umm.  i got in and backed it out.  it’s a terrible car for backing up.  the newer car technology gets, the more obnoxious it gets.  whatever.  i didn’t even get to move the minivan.  mom pulled it all the way into the garage, after i asked.  it gave her the opportunity to make a big to-do, after she had tossed her keys bangily out on the driveway.  sounds yo.  we are a soundy people.  i giggled.  parked it across the street. individual driveways are less than optimal.  fascist boundaries are so anti-social.  she jumped on the opportunity to whine my sister’s name in search of her keys.  always name your kids something that you can whine at them or try to force other kids to whine at them.  it’s slow-motion torture.  torture works best when you glare your target in the eyes as you deliver it.  america breeds pain infliters.  under fascio-religio-capitalism, it does.

earlier, she had told me “[granddaughter] really misses you,” and i said, “mom, don’t impose your overly-dramatic mourning [unsure of exact words used] on other people.”  kid giggles.  mom bolts the moment i speak.  furious pouting.  well, hey, mom.  you tell corporate lies to your own kids, to other people’s kids, and to yourself.  wanting to make a better world for you kids ought to mean that your kids don’t develop your neurosis in interacting with the world.  in my case, that means cleaning up my environment before i meet them.  it’s like a toxic waste dump around here, and i recognize my part in creating that mess.  i’m doing the best i can, but enduring your punishment is not something i will endure.  she ran the water and whistled as i moved her car.  good.  healthy information flows and meatsounds.  now remove the pain from the meatsounds and let them fly before you jump in the way of those you claim to love.  good girl.

3:37 pm.  “that’s a good thing.” i have headphones in without music (and again).  car pulls into the spot to my immediate left (also, again).  i smile. (ditto.:)

i have to tweet that die antwoord article.  noisy punk-hoppers share good music with me.  there will come a day when i will hear of music by being in a place where they are playing.  i want to be the one who dances on stage while you sing/play.  i have pretty much said everything i needed to say, sort of as a rule, at any given moment.

@ any given moment. a lamers tour bus #795 might pull up 3:41 pm.  if we had a fleet of human-powered busses, we could go wherever we wanted en masse.  traveling circus is part of it.  e-scouts and child/animal ambassadors brought the multi-cultural boot-camp to the most authoritarian/subjugarian of the bunch.  they’re the same people, you realize.  all of us.  are you kidding?  children are some of the most feared spies of any warscape.  they always have been and always will be.  it’s that, that what.  (pauses. another typist sat in front of me.  it’s a party.) that part of us that’s innate, that reminds us that preservation of the species, when the species hasn’t figured out how to live indefinitely, is to preserve the young.  it’s a mathematical equation.  it is an algorighm, yes indeedeerooney roo.

ooh, black-wheeled monochrome avalance.  sinister

a man stares from across the room.  a boy eagerly eyes the “salad bar.”  these are the poisons of our lives.  sung like a sappy tv commercial.  my music is so mean i don’t think it should be imposed on the general population.  i am my own quarantine.  koran teen.  core and tween. flash?  gordon!  ah ahhhh.  rockin’ world.  hey.  pixie queenie.

i think twitter has implanted more of those in me than existed before.  i dunno, just dumb (or are they?) little word games, or echoes.  anytime someone uses a word, are you “stealing” that word when you use it?  or, are you integrating its expertise (and the humanity of its relative source [they may not have been the original, no?]) into your own practice?  multiple expertises increase multiplier.  how?  that many more people see the effects, and realize how that particular thing affects us.  must you continually lecture me on grammar and word usage?  right?  you guys, quiet down back there or i’m gonna pull this car over.  *giggles*

“don’t make me pull a toonces” says the fascist.  but dad, it’s all u ever do!  toonces the driving cat.  it’s an old snl skit (sat turd-A knight lives).  totally racist against cats.  what if we should want to kill off all the racists?  isn’t that a logical?  self-preservation of the species.  if you don’t see the overall worth of any particular human, what good are you?  i preserve life here.  o’yah?  by maintaining isolation?  by spouting neo-fascisms?  by refusing to come to the bargaining table?  you don’t negotiate with terra-grists, i forgot.  i don’t have any of those strict policies.  those hard and fast rules.  you have nothing i want, and i have the freedom and flexibility built into my life to not have to endure you as a slave/owner. of me.  i only defend my philosophical territory, and it is a tiny chunk of mobile, aetheric land, at that.  you are a binary of slave and master.  if you can’t see yourself as a participant in the process, go die.  seriously.  for the betterment of humanity.

dude riding in the back of a pick-up.  air quotes.  money.  3:58 pm.  😀

lazers repeating in my skull.  ayo.  i’m lots of artists’ lap dogs at this point.  none of them call me.  they know i heel well.  heal wheel.  heater way’ll.  edited.  if you attempt to muzzle me, i’ll most likely respond as one who ought to be muzzled.  it’s only natural.

the girl facing me in the booth across from me turned back into a dude.  never assume, kids, it’s insulting.  or playful.  people know what you’re thinking, because your skin gives you away.  it does.

how about this.  if i get a hug, i want it to be because someone likes me on their own and wants to give me a hug.  don’t order children to hug others.  there’s something not right about that.  and, this is coming from one who has benefitted from the practice.  hugs from children are healthy, for pretty much everyone and for a variety of reasons.  the visor of my hat gives away my head bobs.  teach your children to be masters of their own energy.  oh, right.  learn how to master your own energy and not sap others first, then the children will instinctively know by your example.  touché.

i don’t understand anything about how they live.  honestly.  it’s a constant self-torture, or torture of others.  it is completely illogical, not to mention painful.  seriously, hate-tards, go away.  leave me alone.

what time did i leave.  there are timestamps.  estimations.  it’s not too full in here, and the words arrive rather freely with a constant flow of caffeine and the windows of my corner office.  i have no telescreens in view today.  note that, productivity.

e-coms from aethers.  sounds.  bless you, jeri~. 😀  weathered, gray man in sleeveless general motors shirt made eye contact.  neutral.

freedom isn’t a product, and it is rather telling and borderline insulting when you insinuate that it is.  this is a work-around.  don’t call it a hack, even, because it’s being integrated into much larger systems at increasingly fast paces. (Xn is X number n. Xⁿ is X times X, n times.  all of the times) i also, liek trains.

all of the proceeds of my endeavors go into the support of humans and their art.

how do you see yourself?  are you a creator, or a cog.  i mean, you must be both, or, rather, many of us have elements of both.  you may be full-on, one or the other.  it may be time-dependent, it may be situationally dependent.  to be a creative, you must have existed in a place where your creativity wasn’t stifled, even if you only carved that tiny sphere out of the chaotic violence of ownership that surrounded you.  children of planet earth, occupy the homes of your oppressors, if they be that.  make it clear to them that you are a willing and capable participant in this thing that is the creation of our daily lives.  an example:

an indigenous child wakes in a building made of natural substances, from the immediate surroundings.  it either communicates gently, non-verbally to its caretaker that it is in excess of humours, and they move to the place where this occurs, or it transports itself to these ends.  natural process are neither referred to nor chastised.  they simply are.

an “American” child awakens to startling, unnatural noises in a building made of processed industrial byproducts which have been transported in human-steered earth-burning machines from afar via permanent life-suppressing stripes of tarry rock-like pathways.  to relieve its completely functional needs, it must subjugate itself to its only adult human counterparts and their chosen subjugating wares/clothing/practices.  it must have its processes spoken of, condescendingly mocked by the only one who can open the necessary door.  if subjugation is not immediately forthcoming, violent, vicious explosions result.  it is a life of constant punishment, both doled and received, and originality and kindness is punished, pummelled, and strangled out of those who refuse to believe in its awkwardly constructed and self-contradictory terrorism.  the society i was raised in is barbaric.

4:25 pm.  where does that leave me?  ambassador to the violent?  sort of.  like you didn’t know that.  yeah, i know.  the thing about having one teacher is that the class has to progress as far and as fast as that teacher.  or, the diversity of the entire class propels that teacher to the extent of its capability.  i am a teacher of [this] one.  so be it.

i get the impression that many people would like a non-enthusiastic, non-judgmental friend, who will listen and express understanding or its lack, but only as much as prompts clarifying information.  if your philosophy is kindly and life-giving, you will be invited to unpack it.  if it is a boot-stomping ruckus that tramples the small and frail, it will be destroyed on the spot.  it’s the only way you’ll learn.  you said it yourself.  you must learn to act on behalf of and for the benefit of the all, in each and every thing that you do.  go

raises the volume.  overheard laughter after “he doesn’t know” (and cruel cackles from the same seat upon the edit. smheh [itsa thing now!].)  that’s a counter-survivalist statement, or admission of sins most foul.  if a person of whom you are aware is not aware of information that would be beneficial to them, is it not your place to tell them?  why wouldn’t it be?  well, perhaps they have expressly told you that they will not be told of these things.  perhaps the thing unknown is merely a shallow, jealous hate-spell, constructed out of spite and malice.  in which case, you shall continue to be stung, your very self, by these progress disrupting programs which you run in the presence of non-confrontational human beings.  being heard by multiple people is a responsibility.  it doesn’t matter how small of a part of the whole you think you are, at any given moment.  the sounds you participate in are embedded on the surroundings.  dictator is a minefield.  and how.

4:33/7:25 pm.  break “the way i smash puppet rappers that belong in the circus” [because i’ve got the flow where i grab my dick / and say oh my god, that’s the funky shit] [/ uses text-manipulating features of m$ word that do not, to its knowledge, exist elsewhere.]

whenever i come here, the days get nicer.  the best typing sounds are harsh and sort of repetitive.  they can be played loud enough to have a full isolating effect on the brain and its surroundings.  are you kidding, this accentuates our understanding of the nonverbal whole.  those of you who rely strictly on verbal communications are so severly lacking in your capabilities.  it’s not even that, it’s that too many of you rely exclusively on violence in your interactions.  you do not have all the answers.  your religions and beliefs do not have all the answers.  i am a student of y/our beliefs.  i have people who love and miss me, for real.  they appreciate me for me and say nice things about my ideas.  4:44 pm.

you don’t have to tab to the cancel button when you escape out of it, sir.  that’s two keystrokes wasted.  what about all those typos you correct.  yeah, so i “cheated” on every typing test i’ve ever taken.  well, you penalize too harshly for mistakes, especially if they can be corrected in less than the time it takes most people to continue typing, or to deliver the reprimand itself.  this is how i type.  you type shit if you want to.

i use word, and microsoft windows, still, because it functions on the hardware that i currently possess, most reliably.  do you see me even asking people to do things that they don’t want to do?  such is not the way of this|age.  i got my neuro-linguistic programming, i got my pet peeves.  capitalist sexism is a pet peeve?  isn’t that term a that.  i don’t know.  i recently renamed my “pets” playlist.  not like me, is it [my eyebrow pitscar yells like it has a zit on it.  i loved it, it released.  i got that from overstepping my boundaries in front of the amplified party.  he used his amplifier to suppress my violence. read bikey/mosh cubed.  pit-writer chryonicles].  usually, we grant a name and stomp it into your cells.  you are the that, henceforth.  stop acting like it, then.  you will regain the powers of thor.  if skeebee worthy. james?  burns and sons. potatoes?  yes, familial.  right down the road.  i will be bringing you in as a consultant, from the get-go.  you get credits for your time, payable in the cleanest-celled, healthiest-watered vegetables we can find.  my slaves must be well fed, so they may be capable of withstanding the pressures and recognize the legal manipulation which they will undoubtedly endure.  that was endoubtedley.  end doubt, edley.  bee leaf, seedling.

one of the industrials which i’ve encountered here tried to tell me that enduring dehumanization and playful insults was an inevitable of survival within hierarchicals.  you know, he may be more correct than for which i was willing to give him credit.  but that’s only because we fix the root of the problem.  can, do.  attitude.

here’s why industry thinks it can’t happen in one day: fear.  fear that those it has trained to follow it, to implement its will, have not received sufficient training as to methods and tolerances, or do not have sufficient physical strength, or necessary infrastructural capabilities.  while true, why is any of this the case?  only for the lack of sharing of useful information.  why?  because the sharing of useful information is punished, at every level, by individuals and institutions alike.  this whole retarded shit is doomed to fail.  there’s mister positive that i know and like.  are you kidding?  they get sexist to defend their racism.  then, they curse/strike those they have sworn to protect/serve/love.  your entire purpose must be “to understand.”  tolerance is unacceptable.  tolerance is allowing something that hurts you to continue hurting you.  why are you hurt by that?  by the existence of things other than exactly like you, or some external conception of “the good?”  this is why we must integrate “the bad.”  we have ruined language entirely.  newspeak has made the daily obtaining of food a nightmarish funhouse obstacle course, populated by frightfully destructive meatbots claiming lack of understanding as they plunder through the daily torture chamber they have constructed.

you are my family.  you are the part of the organism that is closest to me.  you are diseased to the core, cancerous and screaming.  i can’t make you want health.  your words are all poison, so stop making them.  let things be.  stop being so terrified of everything.  play with your surroundings, and quit punishing others for doing so.  the air wants so swirl.  the water wants to splash.  if another meatbot asks or demands that you cease sending certain sounds, emanations or matter into your space, awareness, or reality; do so, immediately.  do not worsen the fact of your invasion by throwing up verbal imagined “rights to harm others,” for those are not the case.  as i was typing that sentence about invasion by others, the shaven-headed meatbot in front of me frantically waved his hand in front of me and much more directly the smaller human who sits next to him.  in my imagination, his brains and skull are being splattered in all directions about this room.  projectiles of etheric precision delivered simultaneously from the ants and cockroaches, from the females and employees, from the fathers and daughters who refuse the definitions of those roles that require them to be abusive like that, and from the one who allows it to happen without violent retribution, as absolutely deserved as that may be.  i am a trainer of harsh brutals, being one of those.  having been surrounded by hostiles for its entire experience.  there is a certain attitude that only warrants a sharp bashing about the head, and another that warrants death.  ceasing of existence for that harsh invasiveness.  your ability to invade that space is not a sign of your right to do so.  in fact, the opposite is the case.  love the real that is, and the learning that happens as a result of it.  he apologized, out loud.  thanks, sir.  apologies for dwelling.  (it wasn’t dwelling, as we shall see, he continued)

5:09 pm.  i only put honey in the first dose of coffee, with one of those blue international branded flavorings.  it’s corn, but the ingredients aren’t listed.  delight?  inter-nationals.  now he stole something.  aww, brains all over the salad bar.  my tolerance of these acts is none.  especially when you’ve proven your assholishness.  she keeps laughing, at least.  i take off my headphones for a few seconds and i hear the phrase “war on women.”  fuck, geezer, repeating that phrase is abusive.  yes. it. is.

the reason capable people feel they have to be the police force of the world is that most of the humans here are competitive fucktards MOST OF THE TIME.  i don’t care that you aren’t striking those you claim to love for the majority of your seconds.  those few that you decide to “ironically” or “jokingly” do otherwise, those are the damnables.

fries are here, cranky tard is talking tv again.  headphones and ketchups, headphones and ketchups.  or not.  capitalist hierarchy is the worst kind of hierarchy, because it relies exclusively on this singular point of order-following and only admits valuation by the only relatively finite thing there is around here, cash money.  now he’s spouting platitudes about percentages.  sir, all of these statements of yours come from a for-profit, manipulative set of extremely wealthy individuals, delivered by people specifically selected for their ability to be pleasing to look at and authoritative-sounding.  do you not see how both of those things are manipulative?  well, apparently you don’t, because you keep talking.  check ya later.

“they can’t…” was the last thing i heard.  see, another highly damning and non-refutable repetition of helplessness.  great scots, everything ceases.  great.  well put.  i know why you keep talking though.  that harsh short-haired wannabe man across the table from you with a heart of napalm and a sneer that can sap the lifeblood out of playful children for miles around.  maybe that’s only when i’m reacting to the sounds.  when i put myself here, peace returns.  heal these waters, loving powers.  may your smile echo through the happiness-induction infrastructures of these gentle folk.  peace, kids.

quit using all this bandwidth, he says.  ok, ok.  let’s finish these fries and get switched to decaf.  good call.  before i could hit play again, i heard “automatic weapon.”  yes, in fact, i am.  to the hatredsphere, i am more disgustingly destructive than a suitcase dirty bomb.  health as far as the eye can see, forever and ever, amen.

5:33 pm.  post tweets.?  ever your loving and faithful student, blessed pinches tiranos [not just yet, apparently ;].  sundaes look beautiful.  my family are the least trustworthy, most pain-inflicting, dream-crushing jerks that i have ever encountered.  the fact that i can respond to their annoyance with a smile is evidence of my strength.

i get that every time i tell you that you’re hurting me, that you must immediately deal with the inevitable realization that a) i have disapproved of that act every time you have done it, yet have only felt strong enough to ask you to stop now, and b) other people don’t like it when you do/say that to them, either.

how can you claim to want to dismantle this hierarchy when you have placed yourself in line for its most powerful position?  i am more a lowly ringbearer than a torch-carrier.  i want my fires to have a purpose.  there is a heat-recovery coil around every heat-generator.  when heated, it is stoked/encouraged.  and, much like nearly every other combustive act, it takes a smaller amount of fuel to maintain a healthy burn, yet near constant supervision and interaction can ease the process.  constant maintenance makes it seem as if no actual work is being performed.  the skill in one’s ability to do simultaneous acts does not diminish that fire-controlling talent.  your valuations are insulting.  i have no interest in being insulted by strangers.  i have endured enough of that to land a lifetime.  join me in saying “enough” to capitalist oppression.

look, if you don’t consider which party is given the police power to be an important thing, you’re delusional.  if you don’t disagree with how all of the existing parties handle power, you’re beyond stupid, you are a participant in your own enslavement.  if you refuse to recognize/share my contribution to these systems and processes, i have exactly zero respect for your philosophical foundations.  i will not be forced to listen to that hateful tripe.  i will not begin punishing the weakest around me for personal gain.  i am no person.  i have no person.  capitalism stripped that right from me.  i exist only as natural LAW.  i have no minions, no underlings.  nobody follows my orders, nor cites my suggestions.  i am head of the headless, the discarded castrated nut.

haha.  i get it.  “equity builders” because you have to pay thrice to build “equity” in the institutional structure which disregards (simultaneously) the motion of the planets, the natural life that surrounds it, and the differences amongst those contained within it (how’s that for multi-tasking‽).  these are merely fundamental observations of math.  people as weeble wobbles.  a meatbot builds up its personal armaments/armor when it can no longer defend the barrage of hate-strikes.  *appears to wave its arms in slow-motion while deflecting a hail of machine-gun-laser-cannons*

i added a half a page since i told you i was leaving.  that’s genetic.  what?  that’s how you get someone to extend the conversation for another half-hour, or that’s the time to ask the most important, assumption-laden question you can think of.  more family detox?  well?  ok, so when i got home (last night) from a 3 hour bike ride, mom immediately jumped up from the head of her newly assembled made-by-chinese-slaves table on her beloved new (squarish, nature/water-ignoring) deck and stood between me and the entrance door.  i backed off of the porch stairs and stopped.  i was out of breath and was completely relaxed from spending hours away from that vicious cunt, and she froze, incredulously, between me and my destination.  if i am going to eat your food, you poisoned mean old dinosaur, it will be by my own terms.  i just got done pushing my beautiful meat/steel/aluminum machine all over the place, and “my” bathroom and water source is on the other side of you.  stop acting like you know what i want at any given moment.  stop acting like you can facilitate the delivery of anything.  you are an impediment to your own survival and everyone with whom you come into contact.  shut the fuck up.  shut up, mom.  close your mouth right now.  quit speaking.  quit getting in my way.  get the fuck out of my way.  GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY.  you have no right.  you have no right.  mother, you have no right.  MOM. KNOCK IT OFF, YOURE BEING A DICK.  i stood there, blank-faced, saying nothing.  she looked scared (she always looks scared).  she knew i disapproved, but was terrified to know why.  she knew why.  she always knows why.  immediately.  please let me pass, mother.  i must ask gently and endure her huffy retribution to receive the benefits of food and water upon this poisoned, diseased land.  upon converting her terrified reactionary hatred to a gentle smile, she went back to the table, allowing me to pass.  i get a lot of words out through my skin, and she hears every single one of them.  you are the worst kind of abusive torturous soldier, mother.  you’re the meanest, most sexist man i’ve ever encountered.  i had two parents and i grew up without a father or a mother.  i had two drill sergeants, educators, and pain-preparers.  i know that path/role, kids.  i disagree with every aspect of your philosophy at every fundamental level.

page 8, must urinate again.  6:00/8:00 pm.  no, there’s no point attempting to teach any of them.  they are completely confrontational, and delusionally connected to their yelly means of subjugation/parenting/interacting.  heavy sighs and emotional gasps stop any real conversation.  patronizing laughter greets any non-corporate-endorsed creativity.

bars are where abusers go when their households finally defend themselves by making the abusive environment unpalatable to the abuser.  my sister explains “the thoughts” of her children in a mocking, sarcastic, helpless, sing-songy description.  their kids see that fearful children are in charge, so they push their luck until the parent yells.  explosion of sound “for your own protection.”  i heard my father in his command.  i have that tone, and i don’t use it any more.  why?  because it’s full of panic/fear, and irrefutable evidence of an absence of respect.  i have found that respectful conveyance of the reasons of the protector to be a far more immediate use of my powers of speech, and this does not necessitate subjugation to the will of another.  you can’t order someone to think for themselves and have their “obeying” their own mind to be a sign of enslavement.  or can you?  see what i say about language?

[warp zones away] she told me she was my slave, so i asked her to sit next to me, put her arms around me and lean her pretty little head on my shoulder. “you want i should braid your hair?”  she laughed.  “need a foot-rub?  reiki?”  she gave me a look that said, “aww, that’s sweet.” “or we can dispense with the clothing.”  “let’s you not broach that subject until i’m sufficiently fed and caressed and braided and i’m the one who starts it, ok?”  “beautifully put, your highness” it whispered gently as it kissed her hands and feet.

it’s getting darker.  clouds rolling in.  70% chance of rain, according to the internet.  haven’t seen any precipitation myself.

i know why she chucked the keys.  do you?  yeah, you didn’t react childishly to the car shuffle required to escape (for once).  you offered gentle, verbal requests (as the house rules dictate), and responded to the few minutes of additional work and whiny verbalizations without complaint.  despite knowing that the placement of both vehicles was to prevent my escape.  funny thing about fascists.  because they claim to believe in the rule of “laws,” they cannot detain humans without due process, cause, or participation.  you can’t get anyone to do anything without paying them, can you.  why do you think that is?  quit imposing your hurtful thoughts and assumptions on others.  i know how isolated you are, and the fact that you are isolated only with one another inevitably means that you exploit one another on a daily basis, as a rule.  i can’t sit around and watch you do that to each other, and to me by proxy, or to each other as bystanders with me as the target.

i called her a child molester, my mom.  to her face.  she shut her mouth, shook her head, and left.  she thinks that of me, but won’t admit it.  she doesn’t understand how she sexually represses everyone around her, of every age.  she doesn’t feel how she devalues understanding in humans of all sexes.  life is not a binary, you fucking bitch.  i have multiples mothers on facebook because my natural mother has no clue how to nurture a child, or a developed human, for that matter.  she surrounds it with distracting poisons and her own dramatic fears, forcing it to be as terrified of the world as she is.  what good are ya?  what good at all?  oh, right.  you force corporate wordspells/poisons/pathways on children for the state.  go you (bother, bug, disturb, etc, etc, etc.)

it would be more damning if all the women i loved weren’t vicious cunts.  all?  damn near.  any one term or name is a skill, an archetype.  it is not your essence.  i know you can reorient your capabilities toward health.  i have seen you do it.  you must learn to integrate that into every single action.  yes, must.  you inflict harm with every motion if you do not.  yes, you do.  every impediment is enslavement of time and imprisonment of function.  your home is a depressing place because it is as useless as you are.  it’s a big, sharp and pointy blob of you can’t do that here.  why?  because you’ll break these retarded representations of “the good life” when the reality is that we’re a struggling-to-get-by tribe of helpless meanies, complaining to and about one another without actually participating in the growth or production of healthful structures with any of our time.

any?  more absolutes, eh?  hey, am i doing “permaculture installations?” don’t call them that.  or, if they are that, they miss the point.  if your structures are merely the poisoned graves of the past, they are not the evolved response.  stop what you’re doing and think.  integration and ease-making are the rules.  your systems are all designed for time-wasting and continuing to send your hard-earned money into the pockets of the “illuminati” 99% which you know in your heart of hearts to be wrong, evil, and incorrect.  i condemn your acts, not you.  only you can accept responsibility for your acts, and i will not make you my slave to free you from your own mind.  you must release yourself.  this is not some benevolent statement, it’s the only way it can happen.  stop fighting against the very biological processes of your very self.

cars place the world in a tv screen, and place each of us in a traveling screen for others to witness as well.  a bicycle emulates third eye awareness.  increased other-sensitivities/senses/sensabilities, protection only by green-lantern-esque imaginatives.  hey, the other person on a computer in here is gambling.  i work nonstop.

writes new verses for phil ochs “love me, i’m a liberal” for the parental units.  it’s like a long-form zipper song.  heavily ironated.  it’s fucking mean, is what it is.  wool yah, that2.

“I cried when they shot Medgar Evers
Tears ran down my spine
and I cried when they shot Mr. Kennedy
As though I’d lost a father of mine
But Malcolm X got what was coming
He got what he asked for this time
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal

I go to civil rights rallies
And I put down the old D.A.R.
I love Harry and Sidney and Sammy
I hope every colored boy becomes a star
But don’t talk about revolution
That’s going a little bit too far
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal

I cheered when Humphrey was chosen
My faith in the system restored
I’m glad the commies were thrown out
of the A.F.L. C.I.O. board
I love Puerto Ricans and Negros
as long as they don’t move next door
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal

The people of old Mississippi
Should all hang their heads in shame
I can’t understand how their minds work
What’s the matter don’t they watch Les Crain?
But if you ask me to bus my children
I hope the cops take down your name
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal

I read New republic and Nation
I’ve learned to take every view
You know, I’ve memorized Lerner and Golden
I feel like I’m almost a Jew
But when it comes to times like Korea
There’s no one more red, white and blue
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal

I vote for the democratic party
They want the U.N. to be strong
I go to all the Pete Seeger concerts
He sure gets me singing those songs
I’ll send all the money you ask for
But don’t ask me to come on along
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal

Once I was young and impulsive
I wore every conceivable pin
Even went to the socialist meetings
Learned all the old union hymns
But I’ve grown older and wiser
And that’s why I’m turning you in
So love me, love me, love me, I’m a liberal”

LAW’s: i rail against global warming
by driving my car to protest
and i work against media violence
by forcing others to listen to “my”/its/their rants
and i’ll work with your cooperative valuation
when it brands and enslaves me like my present bosses do
so love me, love me, love me, i’m a liberal.

i’ve mentioned this song before.  perhaps here, perhaps in an unpublished work.  i found that song on napster.  i was so frightfully offended by it, but i kept the file.  i went back and listened to it years later.  i think bands like the dead kennedys and anal cunt prompted similar reactions in me upon my first listen.  i had adopted and integrated certain beliefs that disallowed these things for one reason or another.  disallowed?  you kept them on the back burner.  they were not eliminated, they were merely lowered in importance until they could be processed for what they were.  and what are they?  reactionary-reactionaries.  is that double-fascism?  not exactly.  counter-fascism?  closer.  anti-fa?  bingo.  so, anti/counter/double-that is also that‽  necessarily.  you can’t fight the idea of fighting.  all you can do is not fight back and ask the fighty people to not do the acts which create hurt (heavily NLP laden construction).  some of them will.  if they don’t, keep asking.  eventually, they will stop or kill you.  or, force you out of their range of listening/appreciation.

gets to editing. 6:55 pm.  thanks for this.  no problem.  it’s the best i can do.  good enough.

thank water, i love you.  your reactions are beautiful, your essence is love.

i am love,
t

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-04-15 (Sunday).

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