Saturday, March 8, 2014

WE ALL KNOW ALL HELL'S ABOUT TO BREAK LOOSE!

Yeah, I think we've got this whole thing all wrong. Isn't it the redneck Republican that needs to be painting? Is it not the fat old nun that needs to be fucked? Let's take that precious vegan "celiac" cunt out on a hunt. Shouldn't we all have to participate in some sort of slaughter? Shouldn't we all be forced to gut the pig, to face that ugly truth? Ah, yes, there it is, truth. It's always worse than you think, isn't it? But there are far worse things than truth. Terrible, horrible things which have led me to this. The thoughts of the bank teller as you swipe your card, the gaze of the tollbooth attendant holding out his hand. The pimply kid behind the counter at McDonald's, the bald man in sunglasses, cruising around town in his vet. What the hell does any of it mean? Somewhere, right now, some poor bastard's about to discover a lump or perhaps his sweet old mother's corpse. All these worlds we will never know, sights and sounds which were not meant for us. The nurse sobbing in the bathroom on an 18 hour shift. The truck driver nodding off, the president of the United States whacking off to porn. What the hell's the matter with me? Why can't I just accept what we are and must be? Is this not just the natural progression of things, the obvious conclusion to our course? No, I really don't think so. Something definitely went wrong. I mean, Jesus Christ, no wonder we're all so goddamn empty inside. No wonder we're all so lost that we come here for comfort, for some sort of camaraderie. I'm telling ya, we're dwindling, baby, we're dwindling right down to the nub. Those endless fields of corn as you drive along the highway. Wait, what is that? That's not lettuce I don't think. It looks like some sort of cabbage or I don't know, chard maybe? A strange house out in the middle of nowhere. What the hell do those people do? Hey, let's knock over their mailbox! Bug guts on your windshield, another splat of bird shit and you're out of wiper fluid. What do you think of the new Beck album? Hey, you got any sours on tap? Sometimes I just want to think about tadpoles and crawdads, big thunderheads piling up in the sky. You ever see a horny toad? a dust devil? a tumbleweed? It's amazing how many people haven't. Anyway, all I really meant to say was, I miss things as much as anyone, but let's not kid ourselves, the wind knows nothing of the windmill and we all know all hell's about to break loose!

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

PAGE 38 OF A NOVEL CALLED "MINDCOCK" WHICH I NOW HAVE NO DESIRE TO EVER WRITE. HERE, OUR MAIN MAN, JEFF TURNBO, IS TALKING TO HIMSELF AGAIN WHILE DOING THE DISHES:

"See, man, all this talk is lowering me. It pushes things down, compresses it. Also, what we're doing is gonna flip. You know that, right? It has to. That's what it does, that's how it works. What's behind us will soon be in front and then we're going to suffer through the lowest form of ourselves, for a while at least. Which is pretty fucking deadly for someone in our condition. Yeah, I don't know, it doesn't matter. We need the experience of it all, right? If we're going to do what we've set out to do. Or we could just be like them I guess. Man, everything's so fucking fucked up, I'm starting to think that might not be so bad. We'd probably have some fun again at least… Goddammit! Man, I've got to eat some pussy!"