broccoli wrap & a slice of pepperoni
live music archive is a thing. on the internet. i don’t understand why everyone wants to restrict their art to the people who were able to show up in person, and the people who pay before they know they like it, and the people who have, as my father would say, the reverse midas touch. everything turns to shit. money disappears. oh, like alcoholism or competitive materials with barely the resources to survive oneself. pull out all the stops, we orchestrating the lot o yah.
so, have i told you my life story recently? one should do that with every new addition to the family. yeah.
born 9/9/76 in wausau south hospital. raised in the township of scandinavia with an iola, wi address and phone number. knew i would be the valedictorian of my graduating class in third grade. was. weird pervvy nice boy. not really competitive. you are my test audience, my only test audience. you make me happeeeeee, wan skies argh grey. ask the people i did that part of my life with what i was like then. i don’t know. same as it ever was, probably. lots of unclaimed hardons from beautiful things left out in public. what do you want from me?
so my campaign centrals around money, if you have been paying attention. you know this. and business, legalities. sourcing of knowledge and whatnot. stages are not for me. give us the inclined plane, or give me def. leopard print on my bb house truck seat covers now WOT UP GRANDPA!? oi, you are an odd duck. still.
to generate for and within oneself a universal appreciation of humanity, one must see, with loving clarity, the acts of any one channel of life, as perfect holy godlike. if you want to be fatalistic about it. we are a minimalist noise theatre of the grind. err. mined. you know, like strip mining? yeah, we roll out pre-seeded netting and do touch-up work, and the food forests will have brought numerous species back from extinction by using the cornucopia of local, edible, and full-canopy-expressing food sources. i have more to eat. think on this.
8:06 pm, Monday, March 24, 2014
we camp out in the deserts. we bring in water however we can, and we carve catchment into the sand. we grow edibles. we grow shelters. we cover this beautiful planet with a network of green spaces, transportation/information infrastructure. the basic concepts are repeated everywhere as reminders. how do we get those? we use the best ones that already exist, and we make them better. any works we use make their originators and subsequent discoverers alike, our kin. they are to be compensated, with a community-generated percentage of any excesses generated by any subsequent works. if i don’t get minimum wage for my contributions and CITED USAGE of your art/concept/works, you have potential customers able to find you now and in the future. it’s a big world. there’s a lot of music that’s been made, as one example. i enjoy hearing it, for the first time, live and in person, and in a way that i had not concidered would sound so deliciously wonderful before. why thank you. i love you.
oh yeah. life story. uhh, my senior english paper in high school was “how to build a nuclear bomb.” ohh, it’s probably in the archives somewhere. they didn’t lock you up and throw away the key for reading books about bombs, or war history/technology, back in 1995. mr. zeglin, the teacher who approved that topic, wrote me a recommendation to get into yale. what a strange dance the college entrance process was. i don’t really know what kind of regard i was held in. for the senior raspberry awards in college, i was voted most likely to return to campus when the olsen twins were admitted. in my head, i was like, “oh yeah. when they are college aged, they probably will be pretty cute.” ask them. i don’t know. get it on video for one of the documentaries. oh no. oh yes. ed tv and the truman show got nothing on my imagination. erv2b is a movie studio. soundstage. ok, yes, there will be orchestras. i just can’t afford them yet. and, can’t buy me love. these things get stuck, these things get unstuck.
you see devestation, get sad, and FENCE OFF THE AREA SO NOBODY CAN FIX IT. seriously, i saw the sines, & it om penned up mai mined. eye saw tea signs. b here. uh.
twitter is one of my finest artistic works. i finally have contemporaries in something. community-generated love. yes, ok, i was going for actual supporters, bb mamas, & house upgrades, but whatever this sloppy mess of a clown show thing is, i kinda like it. i really like it. i love it. i love you.
that lil john video is hilarious. turn down for what. fatties getting sexy.
good lord, i have turned into jobber the hutt. lol. packing love handles. it’s time for a fast. where is a beach i can bum at? i can sleep in a tent on the sand. i want to stand on the waves not on land. and my time everywhere has been grand.
i kind of want to work, but mostly i want to snuggle. when hasn’t that been the case? i don’t know. ultrafascist slop. good one, shaggy.
*opens tweet archive from september this*
losing battery. peace 😀
i had a strange reaction to my sister’s most recent blog post. i’m beginning to actually pity her for the fact that her awful husband died and left her rich & single with two adorable kids. rather than be furious at her for going along with the family’s plan to completely cut me out of the family. they’re abusive people. yeah. so? abusive people a) are abusive because they were abused, victimized, before they could do or say anything about it. before, in fact, they knew what it was; and b) own property, too. are conscious entities, too. are human beings capable of thought and change.
that being said, mom and dad are pretty awful people. most people are pretty awful people. you’re petty, abusive, and deleriously malnourished. not to mention addicted to your abusers. whatever. i love you. you can’t join the family business if there is no family business. the concept of family is moot if everybody joins. right now, the use of cash as medium of exchange unites us. all we have to do now is cut off the new supply of it (cash), and throw the hoarders in cages. it’s easier than you think.
so, what do you think i am. honestly. the worst, possible, thing that you think of me, have thought of me, or have actual evidence of me being. hahahahahaha. in legal reality, there are exceptions (19, 20, 21). i want to know. i want to hear. you all seem to want to wait until i’m dead before speaking to me again. WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU that was anywhere near as abusive as what you did to me? every capitalist took advantage of me, being poor. they felt entitled. my father forged my signature. my mother opened my mail. my sister gave me a key, AND THEN TOOK IT AWAY NEVER TO BE SPOKEN OF AGAIN. uh huh. you don’t remember anything, do you. i remember pain. i remember needing to escape. america is an abusive dystopian hell, everywhere. don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. the american dream is a marketing tool to enslave middle classes as panopticonic security guards of the vast tracts of land outside of urban areas. dictator sticks to urban areas because there are actual peaceful, educated, caring humans who keep an eye on the movements and actions of the police. out in the boonies, retardo-bullies rule. c’est la vie.
why are you so viciously mean? because i’m alone. abandonment anxiety. most mortals would be traumatized by what my life has been for these last seven years. i ran for president and all i got was ignored disowned and ostracized. ahahaha. no, you got a few twitter followers. oh, right. them. hi, twitter. i hope my having lived under your roof shows you how i am everywhere i go. i do the best i can, always. seriously? yes, quite seriously. i don’t jokingly assert false things, and i would appreciate if you stopped doing that in my presence.
the internet went down here. i’m at a new office. flora coffee. i have $218 left. i am panicing. ahahahahahaha. you’re always panicing. people claim to care about my survival, but then they don’t do anything about it. oh, i should remind you about it, since your gross relative wealth could easily spare enough money to let me survive. what’s the point of you surviving, anyway? i don’t know. did you ever know? not really. why else would i offer up my infinitely valuable time to take on the most thankless job ever. people who don’t care mock me for caring. people who care mock me for not doing it like the ones who are doing it wrong. exactly zero do anything to promote me to their social networks, online or in person. are you sure of that? no. do i ever get invited to speak anywhere? do i get interviewed by publications? now you’re just being a crybaby. right.!? and what was i doing before? good one.
your writing has taken a nose dive. are you saying it used to be better? what if you had an editor. yes, that would be another person actually using their time to help me in one of my projects. i thought the universe disallowed that. well, it has, apparently, but that doesn’t mean i’m not open to the possibility. i put everything that i need for myself in public. the rest of this stuff, someone else might want. the ideas get implemented, if not at a snail’s pace, so who cares whether i get credit? STOP SAYING THAT WE SHOULD BE GOING PLACES AND MEETING MORE NEW PEOPLE. stop. we are ok here. we are not out of money, and if we throw in the towel on this head-pummeling endeavor, there are places who would probably hire you. give up on my dreams? what choice do we have? selling knick knacks is still participating in the waste-generation. there is no honorable work other than food. that’s a bit extreme. what about the advancement of humanity? what about the healing of political systems. well, until the oppressed are willing to accept the fact that they are oppressed, they’re not going to do anything to change any of this. you could exploit a black market for fat stacks of cash! no, i can’t. couldn’t. wouldn’t.
what about porn? what about it? you would do porn, right? sure. like, as a job? does it pay? would anyone hire/film me? you have no idea. you have to ask. we have to be recruited. oh. great. for that, too? don’t demand that i explain myself. i don’t get it either. YOU’RE THE ONES WHO BELIEVE IN THIS PUTTING-SOMEONE-IN-CHARGE BULLSHIT. all i’m doing is applying for the job.
i’d be the best at it, you know. i know. you haven’t forgotten that. of course not. other people believe this about you, too. yes, well, they seem to want to keep that information from public view until i die. do they know they’re contributing to the odds. of that. how the fuck could they not know? easy. nobody learns by osmosis, and until you do some of the things that other “politicians” do, they will continue to ignore you, forcefully, right to your face. then we are at an impasse. stalemate. nobody wins. what else is new?
so, last thursday, i got my propane tank refilled at the u-haul right across the tracks. you tweeted all this. NOBODY ELSE ADMITS WHO THEY ARE ON TWITTER. gotta keep up that job-havy-front, eh? something. yes, i tweeted a picture of my truck’s freshly painted propane tank. the people at amerigas told me to do that, and it worked. it will prevent corrosion. paint is a structural element. SLAP SOME PAINT ON EVERYTHING IT WILL BE FINE. how is this retard in charge. i don’t know. where’s dictator? no idea. what? the boss left? i don’t know what to tell you, he’s not here. are you sure we’re not a character in a novel? it’s a movie. not yet, it isn’t. i thought we had committed to being the anti-tv? adding video to the ever-expanding set of video already in the world is not how we do that. oh. words, though? the data is lightweight. it’s all we have. it’s all we can afford. we can’t really even afford this. not to mention dental services, our medications, or a place to sleep off the street. ahahahahahahaha. oh that. suck it up, soldier. the power vaccuum that would result if you were to quit would further destabilize the global economy. oh now you’re just giving us ideas. quit what though? taking pictures? being online? WRITING IN PUBLIC?
ahahahahaha. death can’t come soon enough. i know. see ya.