CHILDREN OF THE RISK

children of the risk. like the lepers of Olde, but with a higher echelon of homosexual hairdresser. preening pants painted on canvas’ woven from the silk of a worm named “CALM BEFORE CATASTROPHE”. (the herald is a heroine pixie in shredded black spandex.) in the span of a foggy breath, it’s amazing what becomes irrelevant. it takes more than 40 shakes to waste what 40 slaves could make. and maybe November isn’t hiding her malice in the folds of a million confused stitches? in the mortar between a million stray bricks that somehow agreed upon one certain form. some harsh symmetrical sex known only to the progeny of this disenfranchised era. call this what you will, but it only answers to “ORPHAN”. and, the spotlight is effective only when it vomit’s a silhouette. 
and, the clamor is like a thousand red candles blown out simultaneously. “Christ, imagine the tears!” says the corpse chauffeur. the frets of the instrument seem unmoved by the number of strings being played. swaying errant hair like a deadly serpent. dancing skeletal singer like a herald of the ENDGAME screams, “who could ask for a better martyr?” (the lights strobe to confuse the issue.) 


a headlock in a snowdrift, it’s the season for giving. give and take, it’s the season for taking. taking time, taking charity. ‘tis the season to hang your head humble in the face of the frozen unstable. “don’t forget to set the alarm.” but, who are we kidding when the man comes calling, with icicles in his smile? the wind moans with depthless ennui but, by nature, it is easily ignored. so, why couldn’t the world just remain frozen and quiet for just a few fucking days? 
like hot mist on a mirror, such are the games your future plays.
they say that the devil is in the details, but what if the details are what keep you from drowning? where should your allegiances lie then? “SUCH & SUCH IS PAST DUE” will Jesus pay my utility bill, so my children don’t freeze to death? oh, but what sins such questions become when one has faith?


thumbtack through my feather: 
“is it good luck?” 
[smell of impatient propane] 
“who knows, the day is still young.”


six months to adapt. seems like a crime enforced by edgy angular men with incongruous moustaches. crystal displays and ill-met co-pays. “woke up in the crosshairs of a sarcastic universe.” yeah, I’m a walking tragicomedy with a glossy insurance card, and I pay my rent with canned laughter. tell me, does that make you feel giddy? “well, we all have a job to do.” tell me, who pays you?


   
   

Societal Selective Blindness

It is absolutely appalling to me the fact that people seem to simultaneously laud and lambaste  celebrities who have both perpetrated & continue to perpetrate heinous affronts to society. 

#1: Michael Jackson was proven to be a complete degenerate, pedophiliac sideshow freak, yet, when he died (justifiably so) everyone lamented his exit with tribute upon tribute, in an attempt to immortalize him.

#2: R. Kelly was proved to be an evil piece of human scum, yet everyone still sings his praises with tributes to "I Believe I Can Fly".

#3: Charlie Sheen showed the world, unapologetically,  what an absolute motherfucking horrible person he was & he was rewarded with, not only a myriad of commercial deals, but also a new series on fucking FX.

ENTROPYBOY: the truth

nobody believes me. 

no-one takes me seriously when I attempt to explain to them my strange, almost supernatural proclivity for things inexplicably going wrong. 

one time, while I was working the door at GUITAR CENTER in Springs with Pete, who was in KEYBOARDS, I went back to his section in order to abscond ourselves for a much-needed lunch break, I walked past a used keyboard and planted a single digit upon said keyboard and nothing happened. Now, if you know anything about how GUITAR CENTER operates, they keep all of their equipment (used or new) powered for customer use. So, when I placed my one finger upon a single key of a used keyboard, and absolutely nothing happened, I had to ask, "Hey Pete, I think something's wrong with this keyboard." 

To which he answered, "Yeah, one of the keys is broken."

ONE OF THE KEYS, as in, the only key I placed my finger upon.

It seems that any object which is physically ready to give way to the laws of decay, tends to give way at the precise moment when I want to use it. For example, if there was a chair which had an unstable leg, but is used by a large number of people successfully, the inevitable mishap would occur as fucking soon as I planted my fat ass in said chair. I have witnesses.    

ATMOSPHERIC PRESSURE

NO FUCKING WONDER I WANT TO MOVE TO THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST! AS SOON AS THE SKY OPENS UP, REVEALING THE COLD DEAD STARS, WHICH ARE PROBABLY NOT EVEN EXISTING AT THIS POINT IN OUR MEAGER HUMAN HISTORY, THE TEMPERATURE DROPS TO A POINT WHERE IT'S NOT UNBEARABLE, BUT ANNOYING. I FUCKING HATE EVERYTHING. LET ME MAKE THIS CLEAR. AND, BY 'EVERYTHING', I REFER TO THE UNERRING GAUNTLET OF STRIFE WHICH WE, AS MEMBERS OF THE UNIVERSE'S WORST PARTY ANECDOTE, MUST FLAIL OUR WAY THROUGH EVERY TIME THE SUN IS FINISHED BROILING THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THIS BRISTLING BALL OF IDIOCY. 

BLOOD IS ONLY AS THICK AS THE NUTRIENTS WHICH FORTIFY IT: PART 1

Hey America! 

How's about we find a fucking happy medium between callousness & compassion? What I mean is that we, as a culture (and I use the term as loosely as history will allow) tend to enable certain atrocities while simultaneously deterring others. I am not referring to anything happening elsewhere in the world because, although those things are definitely abhorrent, our own problems are much more urgent. 

Are we seriously going to allow this nation to be guided by a lying, greedy, fringe theology sycophantic hypocrite to be the spear's tip of our lives?

But I digress, since digressing is what I do best when the very concept of creationism is allowed to go unchecked within the public intellectual forum.

Getting back on point, I tend to have little to no tolerance for people who make epic lapses in judgment, directly leading to the harm of the loved ones in their lives, without any forethought regarding such harm. This includes both current unrecognized, and past recidivistic behaviors. 

[to be fucking continued] 

AN ATHEIST PARENT TAKING HIS CHILD TO THE PARK

I took my daughter to the park the other day. I wanted her to have fun. And she did, until another kid showed up. Of course, you would want a parent to be present. And there was a mom in attendance. So we, as parents, allowed our children to play together. 
My daughter is extremely extroverted, so she wanted this kid to be her best friend. 
I, as an enlightened parent, held my misanthropy in check, and allowed Aeva to have fun with this strange child. 
Meanwhile, I find myself in that awkward position as a parent where I must interact with the parent of the child  who is, at present, running amok with my daughter. 
Now, I am a civil, relatively intelligent man, but when I hear someone say the phrase, "The Resurrection", I tend to recoil.
So, when this lady told me, point blank, that the time her son couldn't wait for was the "Resurrection" so he could see his dad again, I politely & subtly called to Aeva, so we could leave.
She was a nice, albeit mislead, mother with obvious bereavement issues. So I was, of fucking course, reticent to look her straight in the face and say, "Sorry, but I'm an atheist and I don't believe in enforcing any mystical superstitions upon my child."
Did I do the right thing being polite? 
or
Did I just perpetuate too many years of mythological doctrine?

chasmcalling.claustrum #8

I'm packing up my t-shirts into a large black plastic bin & the street outside looks like a strip steak of dry-aged beef. it'll happen. somehow. the end of one thing and the beginning of another. stupid, spiteful Colorado winter be damned. I will be gone this time tomorrow. 

trailing behind me a half-chewed sinewy chain of mistakes & regrets, like some runaway victim in a bad horror film. a victim who has conveniently forgotten, through their terror, the damning errors they have committed. however, like any menial movie of such genre, said victim witlessly stumbled into the aforementioned circumstances, which are stuck in my back teeth like said sinew. 

the mileage from the creative fuel I've gotten after my random disease is sort of astounding, but in the end, means meager in light of....

I hate, in the smallest insidious ways. like nanobots of discontent, infiltrating the tiniest breaks in the fabric of daily  domestic human interaction. but my hate wears a mask of retail subterfuge.