with my mind -she- runs

impressions of masculinity via rimbaud, tom wilkinson, bukowski:
There's this, this panicked associate sprinting along beside me, scribbling in a notepad, and suddenly she starts screaming, and I realize we're standing in the middle of the street, the light's changed, there's this wall of traffic, serious traffic speeding towards us, and I... I-I freeze, I can't move, and I'm suddenly consumed with the overwhelming sensation that I'm covered with some sort of film. It's in my hair, my face... it's like a glaze... like a... a coating, and... at first I thought, oh my god, I know what this is, this is some sort of amniotic - embryonic - fluid. I'm drenched in afterbirth, I've-I've breached the chrysalis, I've been reborn. But then the traffic, the stampede, the cars, the trucks, the horns, the screaming and I'm thinking no-no-no-no, reset, this is not rebirth, this is some kind of giddy illusion of renewal that happens in the final moment before death. And then I realize no-no-no, this is completely wrong because I look back at the building and I had the most stunning moment of clarity. I... I... I... I realized Michael, that I had emerged not from the doors of Kenner, Bach, and Ledeen, not through the portals of our vast and powerful law firm, but from the asshole of an organism whose sole function is to excrete the... the-the-the poison, the ammo, the defoliant necessary for other, larger, more powerful organisms to destroy the miracle of humanity. And that I had been coated in this patina of shit for the best part of my life. The stench of it and the stain of it would in all likelihood take the rest of my life to undo.

I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

here are your heroes with bodies like athletes where are your rough shaven well dressid idols

this is a real picture! look at how expressive! holy cow! i found my belt a few days ago but then lost it again, this morning i woke up with it (and pants) on do u no lenord cohen? do u think there are classes of people? like at birth, erverybody gets like a three stat poitns to spend on like four or five characteristics that help determine what kind of person you become: ambition, adaptability, charm, wit, attractiveness? and then like empathy and curiousity cost double or something but then the different striations are genetic advantages, like each one is another stat point. some people geet two points (here's looking at you: wyoming, prog-rock); better people get three stat points: standard people. but then like, do some people get four or five points and become these charming-intellects with big plans and bigger bootys? is that where the sociopathic comedienne comes from? how do you explain the distribution? is it chance? aint humanity too awesome for chance to have gotten this far? yknow we're devolving? that's not really the right word but it's the right idea, which is more important tuff sigh yes wimbledon! wwimbledonimblwimbledonedonwimwimbledonbledon

weeping willow is bawling the light

i fully endorse the song Great Waves
and shawn marshall for singing it without getting excited, that must've been hard

when time passes like a tugboat

so, i'm real drawn to this idea that humanity (regardless of its neato inventioning: internet, weaponized nukes, medical marijuana) is cyclical

and really just moves in grooves and repeats itself on a time schedule. especially in economic terms, yknow everyone was all hyped when this happened that the great depression pt. tew (revisited edition) would happen. it's probably not going to.

but,in fifteen years we'll have another neat market crash and everyone ell get scared again. so a cycle!

the one i want to talk about is the postmodern one, where people are eemotionless do-ers. right? the 'what do you do when anything can be done' naif. christopherrichmond's 'effort to comprehend the totality of possibility, or to put it more precisely, to reject, utterly, any possibility exclusive of others.'

-actually that's just an idea i live near and is kind of unrelated but a verywell illustrated sentiment that describes some of mine pretty good

"the notion that human-beings can't bear too much reality"

On the notion that human-beings can't bear too much reality:
can they? if i told fatuma issa who's featured reguesting a loan from the KIVA.org this morning that after she could afford her son(s) --not daughter(s)-- transport to some prolific western country,

their flaccid social skills would dwarf their ability to communicate and fit into western business//reallife. that's way too much reality for Fatuma Issa, and that's not even all of it, that's just more than she should get.

last time the western man (men) bore too much reality (sometimes also called responsibility, which is evidently unbearable for contemporary next-generationers, as pomulgated by mgmt) was The Great War, when 40million biologically died and 120million psychologically died over the next fifteen years of the splendent reactionary Roaring 20s.
this time,

man is visibly avoiding too much reality, MGMT tells us --see 'time to pretend' aboev, the booming porn industry tells us --rehashed throatblowjobs and pretend breaastheaving orgasms keep from having to actually do The Real Thing with much virility or emphasis,

the proliferation of video games --where new demasculinized-men blow up nazis in call of duty to reassert their virulence, vigor, ability to manipulate ratherthan adapt. modern us is avoiding the reality bear with little shame.
so what's it gonna be?what's going to pop up between the screen and the dilated pupils that's going to rumble the generation? i hope it's a rick astley revolution

pd. how good is Mr. Mom? way good
annd relevant on account of 80% OF THE RECENTLY LAID-OFF ARE MALE
inless startling news 80% of the recently laid-on are male, heyoh! zing


the day is past and gone, the hour of death is near

you cant watch your own image and lookyourself in-=the=-eye

lizten to madeleine peyroux
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FktNzLg_te4

after all

man is lonely,

but


someone is for him

i\wannt to sleep for weeks like a dog at her feet

do you know this poem?

[]
yes

[[]] no (correct answer)

but a human guy screams too:
"fuck this bullshit!
my clean picked frame
won't be found 'til spring!"

grabbing a log
i swung, un--, wildly left and right
at the fanged-metaphors
fucking them up so badly
they ran
some tails between their legs, nursing their wounds

my apologies
for having ruined --ruining-- their holiday supper
but in almost a short hour
i was having fun at a party
until someone joked
about my beastly wolfish appetite

oh shine down your primordial enthusiasms goddess of sky and take this disfigured asparagus from the turbid gelatins of my heart

now that you know this poem, you must also know it's author! for this is the world of forms no? every communication a filter a reflection of the auteur: this stade du mirroir is not so aluminium but mostly silver: see the flesh the humanity in my fasce! how could it have gotten in there except in gushes from my heart

the heart says "a man with a pair of waxen wings about to leap from a cliff"

man, that's how i feel everyday

if we look deep into our souls what will there be?
that question gets asked every generation and generally there's some reactionary force inside, or some proactionary force, which i guess would be birth control and condoms (zing): the evident, screaming proaction
besides that minor enthusiuasm though, what is there? is it only avoiding making the next generation so that they cannot revel in the empty i do? what a stupid force
if beauty: pursuit, creation, nom nom, is really the whole deal, that rules, and i look forward to mudpaintings and 'green' architecture as the art continues to digress to more rare forms, and recall the whole mushroom eatin, dog huntin days of our 90thousand years ago auteurs did

at least there's drugs and girlfriends and dinners though, that'll tide everbody over until the predictions from the 1960s washaway from the psyche of CERN and Newscientist and MIT's theoretical sciences dept

may your dogs drink wine may your days waste time --- > get jobs in offices and wakeup for the morning commute

i'm in love im'm in love, i read Ssatanic verses, and the whole time john ratajkowski should have been a character in the book and also should make a business of painting arab peoples, very sexy arab peoples

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,301736,00.html
FARE AND BALANCE

pd. drown me one more time
the prodigalshow called true blood is (re)starting june 14th, look ready