Death: A Tale Too Tall To Tell (MySpace 6.5.07)

Death to me is a reoccurring character in my life. He haunts me, yet watches me as well, out of curiosity as of what will happen next. Kinda like "Meet Joe Black." He acts as a telepathic voice of reason that echoes in me, reverberates. If I keep things interesting for death, he leaves me alone. I would hate to see what would happen if I bored death. He will give me that inevitable bony finger up my ass. Pardon my French.

Death is perverted, kinda. He might be French as well.

Bad AT-AT. Bad.

Bear Butt Plug

Just before bears begin to hibernate they eat a lot of grass and leaves. Substances that don't digest easily. This forms a pulpy mass that lodges in their sphincter in order to prevent them from soiling themself and their nest during the long months of hibernation. In the spring the plug is removed and .... a disgusting part of nature takes its course.

Saddam Hussein was Iraq's buttplug. He was an ugly disgusting thing holding back something even worse. But some people decided that the plug needed to be removed because it was a disgusting thing. And now America has bear shit all over it. With Saddam gone we suddenly found ourselves trying to cram our own soldiers into the breech to stem the flow of excrement. But thats not the way it works. So we sit there trying to cram our soldiers into the hole all the while being covered in more and more effluence.

-user Az from democraticunderground.com, posted as 2. The bear buttplug analogy (Fri Jan-05-07 07:39 AM)

King Carl - Episode 1: The Medicine

Today's episode is the first of a series of podcasts I did with good friend, Carl Kimble. Easily, Carl is one of the most interesting people I know and you are about to find out why as he transmits tales of vision quests, growing weed in the 1970's and just basically telling it like it was and continues to be...

ipod Download Link:

http://www.divshare.com/download/11816668-1e1

Missouri Flat Bridge

Today's version of Carl with Ratfink

Yesterday's version of Carl with Fugi

Some of Carl's best inebriated art

Carl's goon-too-soon friend Richard

Batz (MySpace 7.4.07)

I've been meditating for almost 3 years, on a semi-regular basis. The benefits are rewarding and challenging (I'll know why it's challenging in the future). They recently did brain scans of people who meditate and found that they are more in tune with their negative emotional states—being able to overcome these states and giving their head trips a name.

Enter batz…

I was watching one of my favorite shows on Discovery called "Dirty Jobs." I love the host/social commentator extraordinaire Mike Rowe. He was watching thousands of batz exiting a cave with some anthropologist. Mike called them "winged Visigoths." ANYWAYS, they talked about the natural phenomenon of the bats' ability to fly so close, yet never touch one another. My mind feels like that when all is going well with the world. When the buggers collide and fall, well then, to be extremely cliché, Houston we have a problem.

When I feel my mind going crazy these daze, crazy from doubt, crazy from the unknown, crazy from the heat and crazy from jealousy—I say the mantra "batz," to prevent myself from going…well, batz (subsequently, batz is also am excerpt from my second novel's title). It kind of works, maybe someday I will master my mind and body, and get them to do what my ghost spirit requires of the three of us. Until then, I repeat my non sequitur of choice at my television as I watch Mike Rowe help a man get a boar's penis in a pipe/boar pocket pussy.

Ain't life grand?

Grey Matter Area (MySpace 11.4.06)

Free will is a joke! And pre-destiny is the lacadazical unconsciousness of my future self that plays me like a video game in a karmatic war of the worlds. The only time I truly feel I have free will is when I don't listen to my conscience voice (the future self manifested)—usually when I'm liquored up on appropriate elixirs of the demons. But usually my conscience voice tells me how stupid my decisions were. Free will exists only when we are inebriated is what I'm trying to say—and your decisions are not really your own. You're either a good person, or a bad person—and only those with this conscience knowledge are a step ahead of those sheep that prance around the farm unaware that they are puppets of the apocalypse.

New Band Name: "Puppets of the Apocalypse"

The smart ones see their strings and know that they can do nothing about this free will dilemma that has perplexed us since early man took psilocybin in damp caves of African winter.

I'm officially giving into my future self—he knows better than father or God.

Coolness Personified.