| |
|
i wrote this in the wee hours of this morning, a good portion of it was written with my eyes closed. stream-of-consciousness. I don't know what half of it is supposed to mean, and there's some pretty sloppy theology. some of it might even be offensive.
if it helps, i'm 23, canadian, an active recording/performing artist in the hip-hop genre, but i have the mutant ability to play any instrument i touch. i'm an aspiring writer, artist, and sculptor. i read a lot. my live-in girlfriend of 4+ years just left me. my parents might be getting a divorce. my coffee machine is broken, and i have to give my cat away tomorrow because i have to move because my girlfriend left me because i'm miserable because my parents might be getting a divorce. i probably just do too many drugs. here it is:
-----------------------------------------------------------
there was no announcement, but everybody was there except the wannabes who didn't want to be. wonka street. wombat feet. wands to bees. one two three. waitaminute...bees?
buzz...
bing!
unbelievably hot in the sun, my gear was dry when i needed it's forked slickness the most. roasting. boasting? no, mostly gross things. toast rings. those would be good. i'm going to make some toast rings with a couple pieces of toast and two glass cups of different diameters, and just callously throw the remainder away, cuz the ring is always the best part anyway. the rest of it will make it to india eventually, where they actually need my delicious toast ring holes n' edges. toast is matter, and matter cannot be created or destroyed. that's a rule. one of the real ones that you can't break even if you want to. someone even took the time to write that one down.
they should write the word "soup" on those barrels of toxic waste and just leave them lying around in areas where there is a high concentration of stupid, stupid people who also happen to be hungry, but not india, they aren't stupid, they're just hungry because they're poor. anyway, if we did that, then we'd get rid of the toxic waste and the stupid, stupid people who also happen to be hungry. they'll believe anything they read, even if it's just the word "soup". then when they were all fed and dead, we'd give real soup to everyone else, including india, because we'd have enough soup to go 'round and there wouldn't be enough stupid, stupid people left to stop us anymore.
except birds are filthy animals, and birds would eat their nuclear-souped bodies and turd them out onto statues of guys on horses with their two front hooves in the air. that means the person depicted in the statue died in battle. one hoof up means they died from injuries they sustained in battle. no hooves just means they must've liked horses. or the guy who made the statue likes horses.
or it could just be a statue of a famous horse who really liked people, that's always a possibility, no matter how many hooves are in the air. maybe it's just a generic guy riding a famous horse. you better take the time to read the words on the plaque and see if it's about a horse.
three hooves in the air though, that's unheard of. that's some radical shit that doesn't mean anything yet. as a matter of fact, that right there is the first time those five words, "three hooves in the air" have ever appeared in a sentence together in that order. somebody needs to pioneer that shit in the statue genre. or a statue of a flying horse with all of it's hooves in the air, fuck yeah.
anyway, many days, went away. men who play, tennis they, get to stay, friends this way. sam smith smoothly sang seven sweet solos superbly. toy boats. tae bo. dan hit the seven seas in a drawing of a boat, then he dry shaved in the men's room, and it was my job to clean his blood up. i think he gambles too much, but that's just my opinion.
opinion, orion, onion, ontological, oblong, obelisk, honesty, honduras, honda, han solo. woah, right back to solo, like the ones sam did. that's called a recurring theme. shut the fuck up high school english. bangladesh. india. weird.
guelph, ontario. perpendicular lines.
nomenclature.
"there's nothing funny about nomenclature, always remember that."
that's what that non-bill-nye-esque chemistry teacher who liked one football team or another told me the one day when i laughed at the word "nomenclature". apparently, i always will remember that, because i haven't forgotten it yet, unlike everything else that ever came out of his mouth. right words at the right time, mr. teacher man. you're doing your job even when you don't know it. god damn, that man's a natural.
i think the only proper way to properly use the word "that" three times in succession in a sentence is in reference to the word "that" itself. example?
the teacher pointed at my assignment, particularly at the word "that", which i had scrawled in the margin. the teacher said that that "that" was an inappropriate thing to have scribbled in the margin of a year-end assignment.
anymore "that"s and you'd have to say "those thats" that's crazy, i don't know why i know that. i actually didn't know that i knew that 'till just now.
"that".
fuck, i use ____ word too much.
i'm running out of calendar, but i have almost a whole year's supply of X's. i should write that down.
you ain't never swung from shit, homes. i paid too much for it, but i mean, it is pretty cool. it means a lot to me man, good times. they all look good there, don't you think? ticaaaaaaaaaal. "roasted" again. that's another recurring theme, poindexter. like on that coffee cup that came from the most loneliest, saddest, most sterile coffee shop ever. "roasted". you've seen some pretty good coffee cups though. why are they magnets for words that make you think? there's even that one that makes you cry if you think about it too hard. right words in the right order to the right person, i guess.
you want the test Monday, you old bastard. walli-suave. molotov. smirnoff. turn your ears off.
much clearer now. hermes. ganesh. i think he's an elephant. hey, india again.
rolheiser was right. goldmines you can write. old shrines say goodnight. mould shines in the light. hold rinds in your whites. roll rhymes and ignite. old guys're the shite. hold time with your might. mold diamonds from spite. hindsight. time's right. limelight. rhyme. write.
getting fuzzy. window's open. broken. open. voices. noises. boyses.
"ch'alvin!"
simon and theodore.
burt was totally a bastardized canadian alvin counterpart but with a B and a pointy nose...and then there was the other two, the girl one and the gay one with the scarf. raccoons, chipmunks, whatever, kids'll buy it. canada is hilarious. let's me and you fraggle rock, behbeh.
i hate the name "cyril". and "eli". "elias" is kickass man, you should just use that. there's ____ word again. don't ever tell your babysitter that you hate the name "eli" because that just might be her dad's name and you'll feel like an idiot because you're just a kid and you can't handle awkward social situations. then again, there's no such thing as adults, they're a lie. take a look around. all around. kids.
names and games, man. lame claims to fame. insane. people who don't really know me are the only ones who ever call me "andy". that's handy for keeping track of who knows you and who doesn't know you. sometimes they remind me of this fact by putting the word "handy" in front of the word "andy" when they try to address me. that makes it even handier.
ganesh writes down the story of the world as it's happening with his one tusk that's actually a pen. i think his name's ganesh anyway. could be some other elephant. i think. they're all elephants over there, so probably. this and the lack of hockey. that's some bullshit.
i'm going to be one of the last people alive who remember what life was like before they came up with the internet. not one of the very very last, but i mean, we're talking global populations and generations and human evolution and percentages here, settle down fuck.
people don't like being put in boxes, unless of course the boxes are cool. like the people-who-fucking-ROCK box, that's one nobody minds being put into. think outside the box. you gotta reuse the boxes because they're expensive, just use more tape. tape's cheap. tape decks.
videotape strewn about the trees man, and running through the smoke with a plastic snorkel on, like it would allow me to breathe only clean air. when i was a kid, snorkels were like handwritten legal documents that legally rendered smoke null and void. firemen should've use snorkels instead of helmets back then, the stupid idiots.
y'all can't step to my breathing, bitch, im wearing a snorkel.
and playing with gasoline and eating flowers. i used to pretend flowers tasted good, i don't know why. i said i liked orange ones the best. and i thought people believed me. maybe they did, but i hope not.
one time mom had a friend over and they were at the kitchen table talking about mom stuff and mom was smoking, so i asked her if i could have a smoke and she said that little boys don't light them because they aren't allowed to play with fire, but we were allowed to eat them. so i tried to eat one but i needed some kool-aid right away. i remember the kool-aid was orange. i never touched a cigarette for a long time after that, that was a good one mom. right words at the right time. crazy strategy. i wonder if it was pre-planned. she's quick on her feet, probably not.
one time a dog died from eating rat poison. well, more than one time i'm sure but that's the only time i ever heard about. a red car under a tarp that i don't think i ever actually saw without the tarp. frozen tongue, man. i can't believe i actually did that. cartoons aren't ALL fake.
mom was SUPER mad when we threw soaking wet multicolored sponges at mr. t, but it was like eight at night and we got soaking wet too because mr. t is so tough that even toys of his likeness fuckin' FIGHT BACK. then we just rolled in and acted all cool. we had a grey horse i think. i might have just made that up.
before kindergarten, he said "cows can't read andrew, those aren't books, those are salt blocks. they aren't turning the pages with their tongues, they're licking them because they taste good."
i checked it out. he lied, they didn't taste good. but i was two-and-a-half, and i could still read better than a five-year-old cow. i actually remember being proud of that.
that was back when sesame street had substance. i wanted to go to school and show them how i could read, but i had to wait. ironically, i now hate tv because nobody reads anymore.
i've always been compulsive reader, to the point of freakiness. i read every single billboard, road sign, license plate, and embroidered brand name. all the copyright information and all the small print, the warning at the beginning of the DVD, and the french one that comes up immedjittly after it. napkins, the little notes people leave themselves on their hands, book spines, graffiti, nametags, the underside of hot wheels toy cars (most of them are made in malaysia, or at least they were when i was a kid), cereal boxes, scrolling red-light marquees, everything. there's words everywhere, on everything. and i have to read them all.
the words "horizontal configuration" were the two funniest words i read all week, thanks to greg.
words
word.
during the election john kerry had a commercial where he was verbally referred to as believing he could "show America a new direction"", and it said the words "A New Direction" on the screen, but one time i couldn't see the tv, but i could still hear it, and that commercial came on and i heard the announcer say "John Kerry believes he can show America a nude erection." call me paranoid, but considering the budgets and the research and the general seriousness and importance of a good campaign ad, i don't think that was unintentional at all. women and homosexuals, man. they LOVES the cock.
freedom, liberty, justice, and a big ol' naked boner for all. like that beach boys song, two girls for every boy. but with nude erections instead of girls, and girls and homosexuals instead of the implied boys who would be interested in possessing two girls apiece.
the beach boys practiced unorthodox and unrealistic mathematics.
the beastie boys, however, drop mad science.
when i was a boy, i wasn't very "beach" and i don't think i was very "beastie" either, and i was never very good at math OR science. i should start a band called the sandbox boys because i was awesome at sandboxing. like brian wilson.
you can't have a sandbox anymore because of kidden overpopulation and the fact that kiddenz are proper. they don't just shit anywhere, they gotta have some sand. pavement? thanks for the offer, but they'll hold it. no, really, it's quite okay. they'll be fine.
kenny rogers is fine with me too, and you picked a fine time to leave him, lucille.
b.b. king is on like lucille 14 or some shit. that's retarded, even for b.b. king. the original lucille couldn't have been unique enough to have a name if he can just name any old guitar "lucille".
names again. names are a weird kind of word.
b.b. king doesn't even stand up anymore. and he tries to get away with just playing one note over and over and over again too often. because one time somebody said he was so good that he could blow anyone off the stage with one note. and now he tries to prove it all the time. he's good, but come on buddy, that's an overstatement. you used too powerful a word, and now the man's playing some half-assed guitar. wrong word at the right time, fool. overstatement. rover's basement. clover placement. no replacement. grover's face. ment.
one note?
nah, man. |
|
|
