Rance

My heart gurgled to a boil and I exhaled. I gawked oddly, in an odd eyeball configuration. I sat there and I saw him. I saw him and him and him and her. Thinking, the castle is built, swing around back. Fill the void and do so iron-clad. Do so with dumbbells and without oil. The mistake's been made. He said, "I ain't gonna fuck it up this time." The gauntlet has been thrown. How does that go? I sit and listen. A man and some dirt and a stylus.

The man sat up on a rainy urban day. He checked around. A mirror he found looked back at him. He saw the street and heard brakes and sat. "I remember how foreign it sounded to them, how they couldn't believe yuppies lived down there now." I mean, where did they think yuppies lived? Maybe they hadn't given it much thought. Maybe they had no need to. They had no need to. I saw twirling my thoughts like overcooked noodles. In the sense, in the season, I try and you falter. Which is an odd combination?

And then I realized I didn't care. I looked to the north and realized I didn't care, and the beat played on, and I oriented on myself, and I hatched a plan. I cracked through and lived differently thereafter for a time. And then I found myself awash in reluctance and regret. And then I found myself back. My cells flavorless and meek. Maybe the answer is a fresh start, a new beginning. So the log came back, as it always does. The torpedo drove towards my ship and I watched it panicked. I didn't care. The slanted eyes both drove me away and magnetized my heart, and the irony couldn't be more humorous. I slammed that dream on its head long before it mattered. I am embarrassed to be associated with certain correspondence; I am embarrassed to be associated with the Catholic faith, and with suburbia.

When the summer dresses you, you win. When the winter dresses you, I win, and in this balance, time flies. And such soaring, buzzing time passage makes me wonder, and it makes me downright symptomatic. I see a yellow tank and a, now I'm just giving up, I've surrendered. I saw a yellow tank with bum wheels. And this is just perfect: "Walk softly tonight, little stranger, into these shadows we're passing through, talk softly tonight little angel, you make all my dreams come true." Didn't even plan it. One of those mental/coincidental crossroads.

I stood there watching boat after boat embark up or out of the Hudson. It was raining and draining me and the city's spirit. I stood there at the base of the Manhattan Bridge. I stood and watched everyone disappear. I watched softly, and I talked lonely. I saw them leave and boats don't move very quickly. It's heart-wrenching, and it made the liquid in my heart boil. It boiled unapologetically. I saw the wind bully the rain procession on its side. The greyness was overpowering. There she goes with the clan: a toddler and a Queen. The boats went on and some had there own. I smoked a blunt. They're headed to the Caribbean. He's headed to save the world. She's headed somewhere she doesn't want to go. And then, in a most surprising twists, they're headed to heaven.

The window closed, now housekeeping began. The process hadn't been particulrly democratic, but that's not reality. Ya know what else isn't reality? All the shit in the periphery, and my lovely herb garden. And my lovely spread out in the country. All the details hardly made a difference. All the darkness and coziness counted so much more than the adornments and craftsmanship, and the boat, and the riverboat, and the pocketknife stuffed slickly into a leather holster, correction, self-correction, regulation. Slap slap slap slap across the face such that the hand lands where it started, backhand to the right side of the face, my mirror gawked back. I lowered my head and smiled into the summer breeze. The warehouses passed by me, the planets past me. The zip code changed twice.

And I stood there like a dolt.

Red Vodka Room

"What would you like?"

After placing the plastic glass down, a young woman with bright blonde hair and a Redskins cap sat over the top of her glass and watched the Shiraz vibrate until it stopped. So that's when this incredible turn of events happened in the basement: Two guys had to replace one of the kegs, it was a two-man job after all. They had gone to remove the spent keg but the contents were under pressure or the pipe had some compressed air or something like that. Anyway one of them held the tense object and the other had to roll the spent keg out and roll the fresh keg in. I'm not really familiar with these processes so my description is lacking. So the smaller guy who held the tense object — with two hands — wasn't particularly strong, or tall, or confident, or experienced. As he unfastened the yolk...

"Gingersnap wheatgrass avocado Maldon pan-braised sepia." A man with a guitar stood looking at the rest of us and he picked the guy standing next to me out: "Oh god that guy needs to get laid." I was watching the sound equipment in that moment so I missed the look. Usually I can read that kind of thing. I am ashamed, he thought I thought, but I wasn't thinking that. In that moment I was only thinking about the audio stack. I mean I may have been thinking, "it would be cool to be the lighting guy or a stage hand or the guitar-tuner."

"A steady." So I looked at my 8-bit color reflection in the window and wasn't that pleased. In God We Trust. A little girl was exposed to brutal physical treatment at home and brutal emotional treatment at school. It was a tragedy.

"The kids were so bad this week, may I have a vodka tonic?" Slam and slam and slam and slam it must be Friday. Two kids knew the deal and they prepared for the event. They had this friend who promised one of them something and they had quietly competed for the lead. They were friends and they didn't need this complication. This is life. "Stoli."

And then it happened...he told her what he'd not wanted to say and what she didn't really want to hear.

New Year's Solution

public class Engine { private URL _theurl;
public URLConnection _theconnection;
private String _rootURL; public BufferedReader _in; public Engine(String root) {
_rootURL = root;} public String showRoot() { return _rootURL;}
public void setUrl(String urlstring) throws MalformedURLException, IOException {
_theurl = new URL("http", [pattern host], 80, urlstring);
_theconnection = _theurl.openConnection();
_in = new BufferedReader(new InputStreamReader(_theconnection.getInputStream()));}
public static void main(String args[]) throws MalformedURLException, IOException {
String trialinput = new String();
String trialoutput = new String();
ArrayList[parameterization] goodones = new ArrayList[parameterization]();
FileWriter fw = new FileWriter(new File("ohfives.txt"));
BufferedWriter bw = new BufferedWriter(fw);
NumberFormat nf = NumberFormat.getInstance();
nf.setMinimumIntegerDigits(5);
nf.setGroupingUsed(false);
Engine sweep = new Engine([website pattern string]);
long starttime = System.currentTimeMillis();
for (int i=0; i<100000; i++) {
trialinput = sweep.showRoot().replaceAll("pattern", nf.format(i));
sweep.setUrl(trialinput);
trialoutput = sweep._theconnection.getContentType();
if (trialoutput.equalsIgnoreCase("video/mpeg")) {
goodones.add(i); } }
long endtime = System.currentTimeMillis();
Iterator[parameterization] it = goodones.iterator();
int curs = 0; while (it.hasNext()) {
String temp = nf.format(it.next());
bw.write(temp); System.out.print(temp + "\t");
if (++curs % 25 == 0) {
System.out.println(); } bw.newLine(); } bw.flush();
System.out.println("\nScan complete ("+goodones.size()+") in " + ((endtime - starttime)/1000) + " seconds."); }}

The Golden Market

Stack dump { ggpiATISka }.

Bombay, Bombay, come in Bombay... "Eash! I need you to lubricate the bottom of my teflon pan with some grease from the gears of my favorite amusement park ride." Bombay...I'm sorry, what was that? I'm sorry. What? Oh. It's not Bombay anymore, they changed their city's name. Mumbai, come in Mumbai, oh. Hi. Listen I am going to make a quick omelette, I will be back before you can say ...
In the purple market on Ambedkar, golden light suffused the street. All the brown dirt being kicked up by those Age of Empire carts played perfect complement to the already complementary gold light piercing women's purple fabric. The color of the wood on the carts won the Sixth Man's award even though in some circles it placed as high as third (the point guard, for some).
But what stood out most at this ridiculous Hollywood set was the crime that had been committed down one the faux-alleys. It was dark enough there, obviously they couldn't afford that trashy commercial golden light for every square inch of the set. A man had been _______ and was bleeding from the neck. "Eash, where the fuck is my amusement park gear grease? Say, would ya look at that...looks like a river of highly oxygenated blood. These people."

Noose Kerosene Suffusion: Part Five, Punishment

Stack dump { dysurvbbcu } - pure sex.

Modern-day appellation incantation (for muses). Who sets your boundaries? Teresa of the strong will, I'm going to come into your city inside a Trojan horse. Oh, for the love of god I forgot to adjust for magnetic north. That's going to shift us about one Mediterranean Sea to the laughed. You're not laughing.

So here we are with the yellow rice, where's the red vest, Teresa? Teresa? Great, I left her in the behind. Nothing? She's all the way there and I'm here, sigh, alas, that's all there is to it.
Between the bridge girders I noticed something funny about my skyline. That's all I'll say since the only aim was to establish ownership. Yeah it was really hot, and that's fine. Bumblebees are the ultimate punishment dispensers, and that's what I fucking need.

Maybe getting punitive will heal my wounds. I need a framework to worth within. Maybe punitive measures will help me create boundaries. Perhaps the rich imagery Teresa gives me under my SilverLight will inspire the masses. More likely, however, is that what is corporate will always be perceived as corporate to the masses in their bubbles. Inappropriate labeling leads to misunderstandings and bratty obstinacy.

She represents the world on a warm summer afternoon. She evokes a fever fount of inspiration which blasts through bottlenecks, accelerates mental acuity, destroys tedious rationality, and stretches usually unused vessels. She wears casual clothing yet elicits formal, visceral responses. Where is that bridge? Twilight is approaching...get the black car and the steady-cam - the lights are about to flicker just south of adagio.

Time-Tested Licensing

Stack Dump { s&wfca3eb }.

Ahab's Future World

Stack dump { smbnntd }.

Slow-mo blood splattered stuttering, that's what we feel like around those types of people. In order to remove the bottleneck, a whole barrel of high-risk, invasive surgery is required. What a fucking shame. These days.

Sluggin'

The second iteration has a vague echo, but for the most part we're talking about the same thing. We're doing the same exact thing. All of our decisions are identical, we are clever composers. Indeed, 1985 was an extremely, extremely important year. It was our big break. March hymns and upbeat electronica inspired our lives.
Oh, how long can a charade last? Pretty long, apparently. That is the nature of a circle, you know, what goes around comes around. In due time, the pendulum swings and if you're standing where you were the last time it came around, you're going to get knocked out. Unfortunately, that's the nature of justice in this world. Fortunately, everyone drones around dumping sediment all over the next guy's alluvial plain - rarely incurring the wrath of the forward-swinging pendulum of justice. And that is what I have to show, [16.3], thanks.
I want to create a vast multimedia autobiography, but the multi keeps growing. I want to index it, but it's slipping from abstraction (which can't be a bad thing, I guess). Ya see, statements like that are going to get me in trouble. I must resist such things. Stack dump { smbnntwp }. A vast, multimedia autobiography. Unless you're straight with us, things will never change.