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."
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Fundamentum
Avoid sanguine conceptions of prefatory material at all costs. They destroy lucidity, inspire rage, and are at best, marginal. Similarly, parenthetical data denies accessibility for the members of your audience whom you should highly regard. Blend sardonic, first-person observations with unnecessarily abstruse sentence constructions which achieve surface complexity. Inject riff-writing and riff-thinking - it's what the brain was programmed to do, and since it's a path of least resistance, I'll think I'll take it. The permutations are, of course, finite. Irregardless, there's a pretty explicit gradient despite the illogical negative prefix. This is not just rhetoric, it's law, and it's going to help me build my vast multimedia autobiography.
The plans...perfunctory, the palette...
The plans...perfunctory, the palette...
Monday, April 16, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Pangea Prison Blues
Dixie-bike Pyrenees aspirations quickly fractured amidst a gruesome confluence of greasy chains and femural toddler struts. So with a blue sharpie, Liz made Hippocrates proud while eternally frustrating the bamboo lobby. I'd be back for the north-eastern salty batter in a decade and a half. That's the last time I shifted gears so drastically. Two paths diverged, one back home - one into the mountains overlooking home, and when all the pieces came together under that smelly plaster, I was heading toward the dizzy height.
I took an oversized atlas and a deep interest in B727's. It was like being domestically abused with a wrench. All that carefully-plopped iconography, memorizing all those odd names, the straightforward but tedious goals. I'll never neglect Suriname. South Africa is a flourishing treasure trove. Isn't aviation a trip! The development of a passionate, secondary temperament thus began. You can keep trains and dinosaurs and cars and television, just give me a map.
Human anatomy is like a map, java.util.treemaps are actually not like maps but that was fine because by then I had already mastered the Minicomputer 2000 which operated BASIC. The instruction manual for that sucker mapped out all the commands, gave them little symbols, and I memorized them like La Paz and Sucre. I have an amazing idea, I'll type every world country and capital into a device with 0kb memory and then make it interactive. "LOOK [0]! You can ask it 'what's the capital of Canada?'" No it's not Toronto, it's Ottawa. No I don't want another piece of raw ditalini. Of course I did my homework already.
But yellow jerseys would be bestowed throughout the process, so drain the pity from your heart. I had a million jerseys. Eddie Jones was my favorite because the Lakers just have cool colors, but I was a Penny guy through and through. So was [0], she's the one who picked me up (after I dropped my bat). [0] sped over (what I thought) were the streams of Jamaica Bay as the eerily black, orange-rimmed clouds exploded all around us. We were both crying, and I was wearing a little league Orioles jersey. Black and orange.
We went to the basement as if a tornado was coming or something. Flipped on the television, red-sans-serif ticker at the bottom of every channel. Clearly TWC was where we needed to be as [1] navigated the polar Conduits on either side of the Belt. Map overload...infantile nursing flashback through the precipitation of tears. When [1] got home, the warm-colored Doppler 2000 pixels were hard-coded into my soul (and Minicomputer 2000).
Under the subungal hematoma quilt, we bravely gathered on the second floor and watched the news media flicker on and off as intense lightning jolted our veins. Obviously obsessed with the anchors' poise, with the highly-detailed maps, and with the persistent ticker outlining geography that could be seen from a window of a 727 as it let down its landing gear and rattled my house between thunder claps - a map and media-loving computer scientist cuddled with his mom.
I took an oversized atlas and a deep interest in B727's. It was like being domestically abused with a wrench. All that carefully-plopped iconography, memorizing all those odd names, the straightforward but tedious goals. I'll never neglect Suriname. South Africa is a flourishing treasure trove. Isn't aviation a trip! The development of a passionate, secondary temperament thus began. You can keep trains and dinosaurs and cars and television, just give me a map.
Human anatomy is like a map, java.util.treemaps are actually not like maps but that was fine because by then I had already mastered the Minicomputer 2000 which operated BASIC. The instruction manual for that sucker mapped out all the commands, gave them little symbols, and I memorized them like La Paz and Sucre. I have an amazing idea, I'll type every world country and capital into a device with 0kb memory and then make it interactive. "LOOK [0]! You can ask it 'what's the capital of Canada?'" No it's not Toronto, it's Ottawa. No I don't want another piece of raw ditalini. Of course I did my homework already.
But yellow jerseys would be bestowed throughout the process, so drain the pity from your heart. I had a million jerseys. Eddie Jones was my favorite because the Lakers just have cool colors, but I was a Penny guy through and through. So was [0], she's the one who picked me up (after I dropped my bat). [0] sped over (what I thought) were the streams of Jamaica Bay as the eerily black, orange-rimmed clouds exploded all around us. We were both crying, and I was wearing a little league Orioles jersey. Black and orange.
We went to the basement as if a tornado was coming or something. Flipped on the television, red-sans-serif ticker at the bottom of every channel. Clearly TWC was where we needed to be as [1] navigated the polar Conduits on either side of the Belt. Map overload...infantile nursing flashback through the precipitation of tears. When [1] got home, the warm-colored Doppler 2000 pixels were hard-coded into my soul (and Minicomputer 2000).
Under the subungal hematoma quilt, we bravely gathered on the second floor and watched the news media flicker on and off as intense lightning jolted our veins. Obviously obsessed with the anchors' poise, with the highly-detailed maps, and with the persistent ticker outlining geography that could be seen from a window of a 727 as it let down its landing gear and rattled my house between thunder claps - a map and media-loving computer scientist cuddled with his mom.
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