Happy Go Lucky Sunshine Hour

I get off on being indifferent,
I moan when I am mean,
I groan when you are happy,
So I’ll bury you at sea.

Your tears will taste like soda,
Your blood will be so sweet,
Your soul will taste disgusting,
So I’ll drain it down the sink.

Our bodies used to mingle,
Our emotions used to meet,
Our spirits used to fly,
Before we finally faced defeat.

They always used to warn me,
You told me not to see,
I used to fucking try it,
Before I killed you in the street.

The Millionaire Waltz

Tomorrow?
Was it yesterday?
What are you talking about? Who was there? Why wasn't I present?
I was? Well what did I do?
I didn't do that. No. I didn't. Oh god I did, didn't I?
Seemed like a great idea at the time.
Well yes, now I remember it. Third times the charm I guess.

When do you wanna get together?
Cool, works for me. You recovered from the ball last night?
The Baron's shin-dig? We all were. You were there.
Of course! You practically fucked Mistress Morgana in front of everybody, in the cake no less.
You did indeed. Yes. You did. Ha ha, I reckon so.
Still seems like a great idea to me.
So you remember now? Well, at least you're consistent.

Beni and the Writer's Stone

Hello dear people of the unknown universe!


Welcome to a segment I like to call; "Beni has a writer's stone!"

Now some of you may be asking, what the ruddy fuck is a writer's stone?
It's simple really, as any well-balanced or even slightly intelligent person would tell you, a writer's stone is a build-up of solid concretions of dissolved procrastinatory minerals in the imaginary tract of the third eye. Which of course leads to blockage, and an inability to pass your imagination properly. This can sometimes lead to infection, which spawns many...many...terrible ideas.


And for those of you who do not fall into the two previously mentioned categories, I will be plain in explanation.
Writer's stones make it painful, or even impossible, for me to piss out my ideas onto paper.
My literary cock is clogged with so much bullshit that I can't even put on a smile and whistle while I work, just...contorted masks and ugly grins.

Hope this sparked some fun images in your head!
Sure didn't do anything for me.

Infinity Now, Yesterday's Forgotten Lessons

Ugh.
Gag.
Le sigh.
Pussy fucked Popsicle bunny.
Oh man.

Red wine mixed with Guinness. Bad idea? Possibly maybe.
Tequila for dessert. Good idea? Probably not.

Welcome to Hangover, the city of tomorrow.

I miss those things really.
How often do we see those city mock-ups that advertise what life will be like when we can fly our car to the moon and have picnics in bio-domes.
You'd think with all this new fangled raz-ma-taz about the world coming to an end due to the environmental conspiracies of the oil companies, we'd have apocalypse mock-ups.
I don't mean any of that factual, probable shit either.
Fuck no.
I'm tired of seeing penguins covered in oil, followed by Al Gore getting a blow-job at the podium for all his amazing work at pointing out things that other people have been shouting about for ages.
No.
I want a good ol' fashioned "World of Tomorrow"
I wanna walk into a city mock-up, where all the cars are being melted down for scrap, and helium filled dirigibles soar through the air.
I want panicked civilians screaming about how the previous generation raped the planet and left them for dead, then five minutes later see them slink off to the break room to have a cigarette.
Just for the hell of it, lets have the Anti-Christ strolling around, punishing the survivors for allowing sodomy and gay marriage.
Which will bring about the end of the world as we all well know.
I also want gift shops.
Oh the irony of it, I would laugh. And laugh I would.
A room full of plastic baubles advertising a world where they themselves would not exist, perfection.


"Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
- That Wilde and Crazy Guy

Lets get ready to rumbaaaaaa~

Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!
Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!

All right, so I had an interesting day.
I suppose it was different we could say.
Wine fest, Rastas, Go-Go Poles and Koreans singing.
God forgive me, I'm a devil a poach, nearly got six months for a killing a fish.
With a fork.
Sadly it didn't work.
The fish scared me.

Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!
Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!

So I called people I hadn't spoken to in months.
Maybe even years.
No, just months.
Eight to be exact.
One had a birthday, one was just gay.
Either way, it made my day.

Nighty night, and slap schlock tight.
Don't bugs the bite'let bed.
Make for the morning, no let the night!

Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!
Rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba, rumba!

Twats

Brilliant, ain't it?

God help me, I was so capable of being happy there. But no, no no no.

Where am I now?

Not a smaggin' clue.

They breathe, oh do they breathe.

What does that mean?

They giggle, how humiliating.

I walked the dog today, tomorrow I'll play frisbee.

Same difference.

Shit.

One can snore.

Musseltoff.

Great eh? Dictionary don't even know it.

Piece of shit.

Shit.

On the Rise

Reluctantly I walk down the hallway, doing as much as I can to emphasize this to my cohorts of course, no point in being miserable without showing it.

Most will probably just enjoy it, some might empathize, but if I'm really lucky someone will get infected by my mood and have a shitty day onwards.

I sag my shoulders, appropriately of course, can't over-do it, we'll leave that to the drama queens.

I let my hands fidget slowly, but freely, and let off a few side-long glances at people as I trudge by.

I never realized how much I hated this hallway. It's not even plain. Just boring.

It's surprisingly dirty too, which normally adds some amount of character to architecture.

But in this case its just a dull layer coating everything.

I travel a further down the hallway, letting my eyes take in every detail of my journey.

I decided to raise my interest in the hallway up a few points after spying some asbestos a few minutes back.

Speaking of which, this a damned long hallway. Fuck.

And there's the door. The only interesting thing in this place. It's not even particularly nice looking. It's just... interesting.

Which is more than you can say about the rest of this place.

It's always been locked, never seen anyway use it either. Asked around about it once, but nobody had any clue where it lead.

Most people just pawned off the idea that it was a storage closet that some aggravated janitor decided to steal the keys for after being fired.

Why he was fired nobody could say. Since this place was filthy and needed a little more attention than the occasional extra effort to pick up a gum wrapper, that was rarely, if ever, used by the staff.

As I passed by the door today, my heart skipped a couple of beats.

Which stopped me in my tracks.

I hit my chest a few times, grunting in pain, until my heart cranked out a rhythm again.

Close call. I'm supposed to watch my blood pressure and try not to get excited... oh right the door!

It's open a crack.

It's never been open before!

I asked around once about it and... oh right I already got into that.

Sorry, I get like that after my heart acts up sometimes.

Oh hey, my hand is on the door handle.

Didn't even notice putting it there. Well, might as well follow through and do as the Romans do.

I pushed open the door.

Divide and Conq-

What the fuck?

"Well thats different" it laughed.

Beyond Good and Evil

I never really understood that bit.
Good and Evil.
If life were that simple, we wouldn't have World Super Powers.
The world wouldn't be green, blue and whatever the fuck else.
It'd be black and white.
But its not.
Were all funny evolution related degrees of skin tone.
Everything we live on is due to chain reactions in the environment.
Which were all accidents, and acts of nature.
Which may or may not have been orchestrated by a being with such depth that he calculated out a way to create us that would fuck with our heads for all eternity.

Then there is this whole concept of shadow governments.
Some people think this is a bad thing.
Personally I'd be relieved if there were, whatever there ideology.
I mean, at least this world would be going to shit for a reason, right?

But lets get back to the point.
Were all damn human.
Thats our blessing, thats our flaw.
I like to think I'm a nice person, but its all relative.
I know the nice to nasty comparison of my actions.
But most people wouldn't. Plenty of people out there would sit back and call me a terrible person. Or even a wonderful person.
But they'd both be horribly wrong.
I'm just a damn person.
I'm quite capable of ruining lives with the twitch of a finger, or even becoming a half-decent memory for a person by doing the same.

In the greater schemes;
Are we better off being run by beings as pathetic as us? As flawed as us?
Is it right that most religions praise an idol that is, for all faults of a worse, human in most aspects?
It's not right or wrong. But its flawed, so terribly flawed.
But flawed can be right too.
We take being flawed as such a negative term, most people will not admit to being flawed.
It's ludicrous.
You don't need a missing limb to be flawed, you just need to be anything that our minds can conceive.

Try it.

Close your eyes, and just imagine what you think is a perfect creature/existence/object
Whatever the hell you want.
But I promise you, someone, somewhere, will be able to shit all over it and tell you exactly why it isn't perfect.
Not even a perfect sphere is perfect.
Sure, in a geometrical manner, it might be considered perfect.
But its a damn sphere. All it can do is roll around and get abused.

It's dandy on paper.
Sadly imagery on paper is flawed. Far too easily destroyed, even easier than humans.

But that doesn't make them bad, or even evil.
Were all flawed. Nothing will ever be perfect.
And being flawed can't be good or evil.
It can only exist.
Which is what we are. A bloody existence.
If god were real, he'd be an existence too. Making him flawed.
But thats okay.
I'd love him anyway.
Just as much as I'm capable of loving any human being.
All those beautiful flawed bags of cosmic errors.
So all I really wanted to say I guess is, I love you.
I love you for all your flaws, all your mistakes, all your 'goods' and 'evils'.
You are what you are. We are what we are. They are whatever it is the fuck they are.
Sleep well my lovelies.
But keep one eye open, just in case.

Mad

with a sip and a slip and everything quick we ran cuz we can till we got sick so we laughed an' we cried till the ol' hare died which was funny so sunny that my meal was dead bunny for half a cup is nevermore when my raven n' table have common for'vor which is sad cuz were mad but it ain't so bad when were silly when its chilly on brilliant day but i say that you say that we pay you to not speak about my beak and leak in my cup with which we sup and dine till the lady divine says that the wine is amiable but madness is eerie so she'll no longer query to the dates of our dates on the table not stable for I say she is lame but ever so tame to stay when she had say that the company was bad sad and mad we are ever so glad that i must ask a question of you
one sugar or two?

Alice

The rabbit down the hole,
Shot my life from the grassy knoll.

So I ran till the sand got quick,
And my diamonds forever made me sick.

Jousting in a room full of sin and sweat,
I thought I could easily win our bet.

Little did I know that you knew what I know now,
The when, the who, the inevitable how.

We never knew why and we never cared,
Why the devil tried on your underwear.

He stretched and he slithered,
till your soul bled out,
of that disgusting little thing you call
your ‘slippery mouth’.

It never made sense,
I never asked why,
You preferred to talk about you mother,
When the drugs made us fly.

You filled it with glitter,
I filled it with blood,
The cake was delicious,
The bomb was a dud.

The fiddle was singing,
In a house made of brick,
A log rolling fire,
In the clock that wouldn’t tick.

So I sit in the house, remembering our times,
With a bomb made of reason, and a cake made of lies.

Wünderland

Cap-sized hallways.
A couch made of rug.
African tribal drugs, banging on their drums.

The clock has stopped ticking, the alarm won’t turn off.
I always have to be somewhere, but where I have forgot.

The white reaper stands pensive, hand waving in the air.
Fingers pointed like a gun, for a world that doesn’t care.

I unlock my broken heart lock chest, and smash it with a crow.
A whistle skips on down the hallway, with not a place to go.

The Hearty Queen holds her binder, speaking tongues into the sky.
Shouting with her broken eyes, that Alice has to die.

The rats are dying in the desert, having long escaped the ship.
Wingless vultures crying, while sinking in my lips.

The Hatter half a saucer, the Shepard has some pie.
The Cheshire Cat is laughing, that everything's a lie.

A crooked tail tomorrow, edgy tie today.
The warden stands there shattered, with nothing left to say.

The twisted wires to my brain, are lying in the rough.
The Ace of Spades are coming, to rip apart the stuff.

Wisdom dwindling like the dust.
The tree on mirror nothing say.
The cleaners took away my hopes.
While dancing all the way.
I tip my hat to Buddha, and politely say screw you.
If you penny on my thoughts, I’ll have to end them too.

The world is afraid to move.
It's gears are silent and still.

I sat around in that tiny room, buried under cement.
Spinning around in my chair, the sounds caving in my skull.
I span out of control, but the world did not.
Everything was so still, so very bloody still.

Fingers screaming.
Hands gripping my rage.
Water coming down.
Raining the filth away.
Every single part of me being cleansed of its absurdities.
Its oddities.
Its mistakes.
Its past.

Brand new I stand.
The world took a step forward.
I looked back at it, at me.
Floating quietly in the sky, looking after me.
The world didn't move, when I had run forward.
And I would not look back, when it had called.

Naked.
Clean.
New.
I stepped forward into the world with no name.
Speaking symbols and hearing ink.
Watering the ground as the skies bled.

The sun stopped beating in the sky, just as my heart exploded in on itself.
Like a gun shot, I fell sideways into the air.
The ground disappearing quickly above me.
Clouds rushing through me, out me, around me as I floated faster than gravity.

Lying dead, my body pierced and tattered, I gazed around at my new hell.
A world of cement, a world of people.
Branches crept through my skin, and out my muscles.
My heart pumping out roots, I let out a cry.
White roses adorned my creation.
Dripping red as they grew, and I withered.

The clouds rolled in.
Forming a brilliant sparkling spiral above my non-existence.
It began to rain...

On Water, Sweat, and Cold Dairy

Apparently I am water.
Typically yes, most human beings are comprised rather substantially of water.
I on the other hand, am water.
I never really thought of it before, until someone pointed it out during a commentary on the elemental relations of human beings.

I look in the mirror, and sometimes wonder what I'm thinking about.
I'm filled with feelings I can't really comprehend, but I let them bubble up anyway.
I'm clear as day on a good day, and impenetrably dark on a bad day.
I occasionally rage around and crush tiny little villages that nobody has heard of, but will never forget 'till next Tuesday.

I'm also filled with fish.
I hate fish.
God damned little finned Pisces of shit.

It's warm in here. I have every window open, I am naked, and I am sweating bullets.
I swear to god, if I had sex I'd probably just die of dehydration.

I'd write something more substantial, but I can barely think.
I'm gonna go lather myself in ice-cream and climb into the fridge.
Defrost me when dolphins and apes rule the world, they'll be more reasonable about this climate control thing.

"I ran into my dream girl yesterday."
"Did you ask her out?"
"No, I scolded her and forced her back into my head."

me, myself

you're a fuck
thats not very nice
its true
how so
you never take it seriously
what are we on about this time
life
and
your place in it
not quite getting it
you're afraid
of what
of yourself
thats odd
yes, it really is
who are you again
you
me
yes
really
yes
shit
i know
how long have you been listening
the whole time
shit
i know
how can we fix this
we can't
why not
i don't know
then who can we blame
nobody
not even them
nobody but yourself to blame
fuck
i know
what should we do
for starters
yes
stop talking to yourself, it creeps me out

when I try
from Zen sickness to fly

I'm sometimes low
and I'm sometimes high

sometimes I'm in
sometimes I'm out

sometimes I sing
sometimes I shout

sometimes I just laze around
sometimes I go underground

but

nevertheless
I must confess
it all seems less
than second best

without the one for whom I care
to pick my nose
and pull my hair

-R.D. Laing

Suicide Pants

I've had these pants for ten years now.
I only wash them when I manage to catch them.
They're black and made of this wretched synthetic material.
They're comfy as the dead, smell like them too.
Cozy as a coffin, clean as the mud around it.
Suicide Pants.

They took their name about two years ago.
I was lying in bed when my friend crawled in with me.
It was early morning and we just lay their holding each other.
Until she sniffed the air.
I explained the origin of the smell, and she leaped out of the bed.
I came home from work and she'd washed them, was even wearing them.
"They're comfy, but I wanna kill myself for wearing them."
Suicide Pants.

Eventually the vile things had worked their disgusting magic on her too.
She had ceased washing them for months on end.
They were probably worse off, as we took turns wearing them.
I sometimes liked to pretend they were our equivalent of a community garden.
Suicide Pants.

So here I sit, the nautical equivalent of a thousand hop skip jumps away.
The vile creatures clinging to my skin.
They've been washed enough times since I got here.
But I can still smell the history on them.
It wreaks. But I forgive them.
Suicide Pants.

Getting Ahead in Life

I think my stomach is developing its own type of morris code. It's been clicking and gurgling at various pitches for the past few hours.

Wrote this a long time ago, decided to stick it on here. I plan to finish it one day.




“Hey sleepy head, what’s bothering you?” she smiled yawning.

I stared into her eyes for what seemed like forever, my brain slowly forming the words in my mouth, while slowly rotting into a numb carcass.

”Nothing…what on Earth makes you think something is wrong?”

”You just have that look in your eyes, well…more your one eye. Whenever something is wrong or you’re just thinking a lot, it seems to just…I dunno, its hard to describe.”

Such irony and coincidence, of course she’d comment on the eye…
”I was just thinking about someone, well…I had a dream about them and then woke up, its not important.”

She smiled, that wonderful…delusional playful smile of hers.
”If you say so…” she yawned deeply and kissed my forehead “I gotta get up early…so I should probably go back to sleep…I love you.”

I smiled at her, returning the gesture…the gesture, god it used to mean so much more, at least I thought it did…maybe I still do, I just don’t know anymore. I stared into her eyes as they slowly started to close.

”Who was she...?” she grinned, her eyes closed now.

”What makes you think it was a girl?”

Her hand moved slowly under the blanket and she tapped my erection.

”How do you know it wasn’t a guy?” I chuckled.

She giggled slowly “Shutup…night.”

I was rudely awoken by the phone in the morning, one of those terrible electronic rings too. High-pitched, without a trace of a pleasant decibel. I slowly reached over to prod my wife awake, so she could deal with the terrible thing, only to remember that she had left early for a trip with some friends. So I clambered slowly out of bed and made the trek to the phone, mumbling and grumbling all the way.

There are many moments in life, where one will feel a cold chill and a sense of foreboding before doing something. A cold snakes down the spine, then back up it and bites into the back of your head, filling it with the poison of regret for events that hadn’t even happened yet. This just happened to be one of those times. I trembled in my nakedness in the middle of the room and gave myself a second to compose myself before answering the phone.

I grumbled “Hello?” and then I yawned “Yes, this is Simon.”

Obviously having failed at any act of composure before answering, at least I was consistent, since I did that with all my phone calls.

”Hey Simon!” a shrill but all too vaguely familiar voiced chimed over the phone “It’s been forever! I missed you.”

”Hey…” I mentally snapped my fingers and winced “Kevin…how have ya been man?”

”Don’t you man me, that is freakishly hetero talk, you’re better than that.”

”I am straight, we’ve been over this, I know you love me, but it will never work out, I just don’t like cock.” I laughed.

”Yet you stroke one everyday over and over while looking at porn dreaming of a life you’ll never have, speaking of which how is being married?” Kevin cackled.

”Har har, and its fine. So what prompts this breaking of our…five year miscommunication with each other?”

”What not happy to hear from me, por vous Simon, por vous.”

”What the hell does that even me? You know I hate French.”

”I dunno, who cares, but por VOUS. Anyway, I do have a reason. A pretty good, bad, maybe even irrelevant one? I don’t know, but it was deemed someone should mention it to you, and I called dibs.”

”I see…so what is it?”

”What no foreplay? You’re no fun, fine. You remember Hanako?”

The chill erupted in my spine again now mixed with the memories of the dream I had last night.

”Yes, vaguely.”

”Well she’s dead.”

”Oh…” I started to smile slowly, but my lips thought better of it and sagged into a frown “What happened?”

”Nobody is really sure, the popular story is that her toy of the month cracked her head in, do you wanna get in on the pool and take a guess before the truth comes out?”

”A tad inappropriate don’t you think? Put me down for sexual disease involving puss and inflammation.”

Kevin let out a shrill hysterical laugh on the other side
”I will do that darling, so you gonna come to the funeral? Its in four days apparently.”

I sighed and looked at the clock
”Ya sure, why not. The Mrs. won’t be back for a week anyway. Can crap on her jovial mood with a funeral story about an ex-lover when she gets back.”
”Aww how sweet, you really are married and in love.”

I wrote down a few times and dates on a piece of paper, then hung up the phone.



The box was covered in dust, hell the room was covered in dust, I hadn’t been up here in years. Forgotten memories, despised ideas, useless trinkets. That’s what attics were for at my age. My hands slowly reached for the small brown package, a slight jolt rushed through me as I touched the surface. I froze for a few minutes, then quickly stood up with the box and dusted it off as I headed for the van, which was also covered in dust. The van was this ancient blue monstrosity, with streaks of silver all over him where paint had been ripped off from rough trips.
It had never occurred to me to maintain him properly since I parked it in the garage three years ago, my roaming days done.
But he was my ride through all my journeys, I wouldn’t let him miss out on this one, whether he liked it or not.

I popped open the driver’s seat door and tossed the box into the passenger side. Hopping in I realized something stank terribly. I decided to chalk it up to the smell of personal history and past adventure, not wanting to waste thought on what horrific forms of sentient life were forming in the bowels of the van. The windows were all opened quickly, thank god it was summer, I might be able leave them that way the whole trip.

Now for the moment of truth or damnation, I slowly pushed the key into the ignition and gave it a twist. The engine squealed. I gave it a twist with some gas this time, the engine screeched. I prayed to the automotive gods above and gave it one final try, it roared to life. I patted the dashboard.
“We can do this Frank, we’ve done worse.”
I pulled out into the street, and into the hot sun. The fresh air really helped with the stench. The van gave a slight sputter.
“Alright, alright, I know a guy, we’ll have him take a look at you before we hit the highway.”



Frank checked out, against all odds. Ted stared at me. “What in the nine hells have you been doing to this thing of beauty?” Ted continued to stare.
“This thing of beauty is Frank, and I haven’t been doing anything.”
“I can damn well tell, it’s a wonder the old boy ain’t dead from neglectin’. Looks like he’s willing though, if you give him a way. I’d take it slow though, and not too far.”

I paused and thought for a minute, but decided to tell him the truth “Were going to the west coast. Gotta be there in four days.”
“God dammit! He aint gonna make it, and if he does, he ain’t coming back.”
“One final ride then I guess.”
“My god, its like an elephant going back to its ancestral graveyard to die.”
“Stop watching Discovery channel Ted, I gotta go though, thanks for everything.”

I jumped up into the driver seat, and noted that the car started more smoothly now. Ted was a genius…with engines anyway.

“Goodbye Simon, you take of yourself, and Frank, if you can manage to fit ‘not destroying’ him into your busy ass schedule.”
I honked the horn and gave Ted a wave as I pulled out of the junkyard he called his home. I turned my head and quickly jumped out of my skin as I heard gun shots being fired from the junkyard. My head shot out the window to see what happened. Ted was firing off rounds, out of a busted up rifle, into the air.

“One gun salute for you Frank! Come back alive, or don’t come back at all!”

Crazy bastard.

I Can't Handle the Tooth

It's true, I can't.
Well, I personally think I can handle em.
But that crazy new-fangled dentist guy thinks I need em out.
All five of my little...horizontally inclined...beauties.
Ya fuck, I need em out. Stupid wisdom teeth, plus friend.
Getting three out tomorrow, two more at the end of the month.

It's great too, in Germany they don't knock you out for it, unless you beg and cry.
Since I am not a chicken shit, I'll take it like a rock...a rock covered in blood with five teeth being wrenched out of his head...hmm, rocks don't have teeth.
I'll take it like a potato then.

Guess this is that cunt, Lady Karma, at work. I chip ol' One-Eyed Mexican lizard's tooth and I end up getting an extra tooth yanked out along with my wisdom teeth.
(If you're reading this, I spit on you, god-damned walrus pirate.)

I hope to god they don't use a Mag-Lite to take em out, Karma Khameleon would be taking things too far.

This is the Best Part

I was sitting on the river, when I remembered, that people are dying.
Dying in the streets. Dying over there. Dying in the oceans, all around the Earth.

I was walking on the river, when I remembered, that people are living.
Living in the ground. Living in the air. Living in the ashes, all around the Earth.

I was rowing down the river, when I remembered, that people are struggling.
Struggling in the fire. Struggling for a care. Struggling in the filth, all around the Earth.

This is the best part friends, welcome to the show.
This is the part where they die until they're dead.
He's opened his eyes, he's learned to crawl.
Dying till he's dead.
She's got her first boyfriend, her hearts learned to fly.
Dying till she's dead.

I was standing in the park, when I realized, baby ducks.
Waddling on the grass. Splashing over there. Quacking in the sunlight, all around the Earth.

Everyone knows ducks never die, they're just too adorable and awesome for that.

The Odd Couple

The Devil licked his lips uncertainly.
"What do you mean, you're quitting?"
"It's just as I said, what else is there to say?" God replied lighting a cigarette.
The two seemingly eternal rivals were sitting side-by-side on a park bench overlooking the Scottish country side below.
"Where does that leave me?"
"I'm sure you'll find something, or someone, to keep you busy. Maybe you can take up the fiddle again? I always found that rather entertaining."
"Haven't played since I lost my golden fiddle to that Johnny kid. How's he doing anyway?"
"Wouldn't know."
"Didn't you get him?"
"I think he took to a life of sin after selling the fiddle for a lump sum, you should check your torture chambers."
"Gah, this is what I get for letting my minions handle the harvesting."
The devil took out his PDA, and made a note to give Johnny some personal torture time when he got back to hell. He sighed as he placed the device back into his coat pocket, and glanced to his left where his ex-mentor was sitting, without any signs of speaking, only smoking. He waited. He looked away. He kept waiting. He was patient.
Finally God took the smoke from his mouth and stubbed it out on the bench. He slid another one out from behind his ear and placed it in his mouth.
"Would you be so kind as to light it for me? As you have stolen both my matches and my lighter."
The Devil grinned "I thought I got the cigarettes too."
"I always keep a spare behind my ear these days. You'd know that if you weren't slacking off so much."
Lucifer reached over with his pilfered lighter and did as was requested of him; just because you were evil didn't mean you had to be rude.
God smiled "Much better." and blew out a series of five rings that floated off into the distance "Shall we get down to business then? I'm leaving everything to you."
The Devil scowled as he stood up "What makes you think I'll accept?"
"Something to do with the final victory against the forces of light, and what not."
"Victory by default is nothing to be proud of, if I'm taking this garbage heap I'm taking it by force."
"Do as you wish, I just never figured you to be the type to play both sides of the chess board."
"How dare you!"
"How? Quite easily really."
"I refuse, I refuse, I refuse! You can't do this to me. You can't do this, period! The game is not over."
"It will never be over."
"Then why don't we play something else?"
"Thats what we did with the dinosaurs, didn't solve a thing, still got boring."
"Then...we'll let them go."
God looked up at this, and then dropped his head to the side in a contemplative manner. He shifted the cigarette around with his lips for a few minutes, then finally brought his hand up and popped it out of his mouth. "Do you think they could handle it?"
"They'll probably be happier that way than if I was in charge."
"Since when do you care about their happiness." God chuckled.
"I don't! This is purely for selfish reasons. I just don't want to be stuck with the responsibility of it all."
"So where would we go?"
"How should I know. I'm sure you had this all planned word for word from the start, where were you thinking?"
"There is apparently a race of highly intelligent squid crawling out of the primordial soup as we speak."
The Devil closed his eyes "Ah...yes, in the...for lack of a better term, central eastern extragalactic plane."
"You've come very far, are you sure you don't want to reconsider taking my place here?"
"I've no interest in becoming an all-father, far too much responsibility."
"What would you have done if you had bested me in a final battle?"
"Right, as if that would happen."
The Holy Father grinned at his most promising creation "Then why continue fighting me?"
"It's fun. But do you mind if we take a break on the new world? I could do with a vacation anyway."
"Just what I was thinking."
The duo put an arm around each other's shoulder and started walking down the hill.
A little ways further up the hill four figures were sitting on the grass. One taking a nap, two of them chatting idly, the final paying close attention to everything that had just transpired.
"Think we should go with them!?" War bellowed to his compatriot.
"...Did...they ask us...too?" inquired Pestilence.
"No, and I have a feeling they will be fine without us, at least for awhile." Conquest noted "What do you think?" he continued, looking at the sleeping figure in the grass.
The figure did not stir, only replying with a loud snore.
"Tsk...sleeping...like...the dead."
"I think he would agree with conquest!"
"WOULD YOU STOP SHOUTING, I AM TRYING TO SLEEP, AND YES, LET THOSE TWO GO OFF ON THEIR OWN FOR A BIT."
The apocalyptic quartet went silent. Death always had the final word.

Existentialism by the Dashboard Light

Lazy.
Drunk.
Stupid.
Stoned.
Useless.

Just a few words which one might use to describe a person who just spent two hours unconscious in the middle of a floor, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the universe.
Now I am not so conceited to believe the universe has, and will, always center around me.
I'm sure when I die someone can try to fill the gap.
But I have spent about a week experiencing a mild identity crisis, which allowed me to encounter a plethora of missed opportunities in various aspects of my life.

Alas, no amount of train riding, hand holding, lip locking, bike riding, sun-burning, tattooing seemed to completely lift the fog. I managed to shake out of it finally a few hours ago.
I awoke suddenly, my head having apparently found a pizza box to use as a pillow, which was covered in a thin layer of drool and hair, and discovered that I was suddenly more positive about everything.
Leaning out the window of Kat's apartment I looked down at the construction site across the street, which was sadly called 'Porr' and not 'Porn' as I had previously thought, and took a look at the universe on a whole.

Take the construction site for example;
A structure that will out-last any human, pending destruction by natural or man-made forces, is built by, what some consider to be, the lowest of the low humans.
I by no means support this belief, they may be a bit rough around the edges, but they're probably, or were probably, quite intelligent. They simply found something that paid quickly, and required very little thought. Isn't that what we all want?

I've sat around existing in a bohemian sort of state for nearly a year now.
It's been grand, I regret none of it, but all I've gained from it are precious memories.
But memories don't build the future.
I suppose it's time for me to go and do something with myself, or at the very least, find my own construction site to live the rest of my days out on.

"I think I just tasted my fart with my butt."
"...what did it taste like?"
"...pizza."

The French Rail

There are very few organizations on the planet that can treat me like they want to give me a blow-job, while simultaneously giving me the largest headache on the planet.
Telus currently holds the spot for giving me a migraine while acting high and mighty with sweet talk.
The French Rail has joined these ranks.
I walked into the train station, ticket in hand quite ready to catch my train at six in the afternoon. Little did I know...that they had booked my ticket for six in the morning. So after being told I wasn't getting on the train, I asked around about my options. Generally getting the French equivalent of 'Sucks to be you.'
So after I finally found an employee that liked me more than the company that owned her soul, she simply exchanged my ticket for one that was already booked full, and I went on my merry way.
This is also when I discovered sitting on the floor, of a train, in the docking area, due to the lack of chairs , is way more fun actually having a seat. Nothing like sprawling out on the floor at 220 km/h, imagining how many of those glass doors you'd crash through if the train were to hit a wall and send you flying. I figured about five of them, then I'd splatter across the bathroom wall.
I'm very optimistic about my body's aerodynamic potential, if nothing else.

I.B.F

I was about halfway across the train station, making a mad-dash for the train to Wisembourg, that was about to leave, when I suddenly realized I have no idea where I am in the universe anymore.
Spontaneous existence failure if you would.
The body is still there, yes,
but the mind not so much.

So I spent a relatively quiet hour on the train staring out the window, then at the ceiling. I lost my train of thought around the time the ticket guy started getting angry at my girlfriend for not understanding the limitations of an open-ended ticket.
Bloody French rail-system.

Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Following through with a bad plan isn't stupid, its just idiotic.
But we all need to be idiots sometimes. God knows if we left the idiocy to the idiots we'd see no end of idiotic ideas. Just look what happened to television.

I hold the gun in my hand and point it at my friend. This is a bad idea.
I tell him he has to die. This isn't really bad or good, just needs to be noted.
I pull the trigger. Again, bad idea. Duh.

So he's dead right?
Well I don't know that yet though. I think it's all part of our act.
I only realize ten minutes later that I really did shoot my friend in front of countless witnesses.
Again, it all seemed like a hilarious idea yesterday.
Really should have just thrown rocks at each other instead.

Smiling Saucer Cups

The smell of tea as I look out the window in the morning.
Cigarette smoke wafts by as the fourteen year olds two windows over try to be stealthy.
I sip my tea and admire the beauty of this second hand poison in the sun light.
Reaching out, I let it curl around my finger, before the early morning breeze dashes it way.

The Sun pushes the clouds apart like a silky curtain, taking the center stage of the sky above.
Her lips are warm, her eyes are bright and deny me of my sight.
I blow kisses to her with breath of peppermint and green.

Grass on my toes, hat on my head, wind on my chest.
Fully dressed in nothing but life.
The world breathes kisses into me, my heart bleeding strawberries into bloom.

Hayfever Makes it Hard to Die

Ever fallen to the ground, mysterious poison filling your blood, watching as the world goes dark as you finally cross-over to the final abyss, just to have it all ruined by an itchy nose?
It's very quite annoying.
A real buzz-killer.

Just try lying there for all eternity with an ever impending sneeze, I dare you. It'll drive you insane, completely over the deep end.
It practically forces you to revive just to jam a friendly finger in your nose.

At World's Sort of Central Region, But Kinda North Also

Great, and possibly successful people, have felt the need to constantly point out the fact that all of life's journey's start with a single step. Well no shit.
But do these zealots of obvious wisdom ever discuss the whole concept of "direction".
I mean, one can't just walk backwards towards a pile of dog shit and suddenly be taking a piss in the executive bathroom of some monstrous monolithic corporate headquarters.
Not that I'd want to end up their personally, I'd take the pile of shit on my shoe over that form of success any day.
But back to the point at hand, if there even is one, there is no right direction to anything. But people who have somehow made it to the top always feel the need to act like they knew what the fuck was going on the whole time. I always feel it to be a breath of fresh air when someone comes forward and openly admits to being asleep at the wheel after one too many drinks, wake up covered in puke, and suddenly discovering that they've made it to their destination against all odds. Which is a blessing since they had no idea what their destination was to begin with.

The cement is always cleaner on the other side walk across the street, but pay no heed to that, one can find more interesting tit-bits in garbage smeared trails.

I was on my bike today, departing from a early morning rehearsal, and suddenly found myself flopped over my handle bars staring into traffic. Every single one of those cars had a place to go, even those cars themselves has been someone's goal at a point, the license to get said car had been the goal before that, and surviving till the age that you could get that license before that.
I for one am content with my shitty old bike. It has character, its a lot like that Chitty Chitty Bang Bang car. In the fact that it talks all the time. But instead of going "Chitty Chitty etc."
its more like "REEEEEeeee, EEEEEEErrrr, GROOOAAANNN, SKREEEEEeee, POP."
As I said, it has character, but I'm always grateful when it shuts its mouth from time to time.

But it just bothers me how the disease of conformity is taking it toll on the populace. Even I find myself falling in line sometimes. Its hard not too on a hot summer day, especially when capitalistic war machine is the only guy selling ice cream.
What's even more hilarious is when you look at the so called anti-conformists. Strutting around in leather, colorful hair, ink and paint on their bodies and a loud hatred for society on a whole.
Those people spend the most time on their appearance to the world, they're not rebelling, they're more vain than anyone. One might claim a loud appearance is a way to fight back against god knows who, but vanity is a strong platform of the aforementioned evils.
Hell its only a matter of time before that shit comes back into style, and suddenly high school kids are running around dressing up in something that at some point had some meaning. But now its just the 'it' thing. It hard to fight the world with fire when its perfectly capable of fighting back with fire and then some.

But anyway, none of that up their has to do with anything. I simply wanted to point out that not all journey's start with a single step. They might just happen start with a screech, and a rolling of wheels with rusty gears.

Which of course you might argue that I had to take a couple steps to get to my rusty pile of bike, but I'll have you know I can fly, so I just sort of hobbled through the air and landed on the seat. And everyone knows defying gravity doesn't count as a journey's start, its too easy.

"You're turning into a penguin, stop it."

Reflection of a Forgotten Shadow in a Broken Sky

Ever just wake up at night for no reason? Sure you have, we all have.
But do you ever wonder why? Most of the time we just go back to sleep because its the logical conclusion. But have you ever just ridden it out?
Simply gotten out of bed and let your feet take you to whatever it is your body felt compelled to interrupt your glorious hibernation for?
I spent four hours looking out the window into the night sky. My recently experienced dream white washed from my mind by unseen forces, and any form of worry about the coming morning along with it.

I just stared through my reflection, through the light pollution, and into the infinite abyss that I will never understand fully.
The universe trickling visions into my mind, images that I can't comprehend, but contemplate none the less.
Suddenly I am my reflection staring back at me, a hunk of meat housing potential energy. The scene is familiar. Has this happened before? Am I even awake? Am I ever awake?
I am old now, I have seconds to live. I stare up at unfamiliar faces, but it seems they are important to me. I cry. A wave of nostalgia hits, I remember my entire life. Such a short life, seems but a dream now, my aged and scarred body is a testament to the reality of it all. I die.
I wake up in bed for no reason and walk to the window, staring into the night sky, a feeling of loss that I can't quite understand lingering on the outskirts of my being. But I am young, I have all the time in the world...

Walking Up and Slightly to the Left

After five days of skin scorching persistence, the sun has finally relinquished its post and let the northern winds take their shift.
I've just arrived in Strasbourg, evidently titled the 'Capital of Europe' in recent years, as they house the European Union's parliament. I only realized this after practically walking into the damned thing and seeing, as I mentioned before, a giant sign stating "Strasbourg, the Capital of Europe"
Funny really, hadn't even heard of the place until a friend of mine took up residence there.
Its essentially the Amsterdam of France. Lots of canals, lots of old buildings, and lots of worn-out red bricks. It was previously a disputed territory, between Germany and France, giving it the final Amsterdam'ian quality. Everybody can generally speak something that is, but not quite, German sounding. When I say everyone, I mean 'everyone' in the sense that 'everyone' in Canada can speak French and English. (For you non-Canadians, the actual level of bi-lingual people in Canada could almost be considered a minority.)

I have ridden a bike for almost four days straight, my ass couldn't hurt any less if I tried to pick up soap in a prison shower-room, but its been magical. I had nothing but humor filled venom for France in the past, for no particular reason really, I just liked to be a prick about it. But this city has rather changed my view on all that, France is beautiful, the people are friendly and don't mind trying to speak English for the most part, or German even if need be.
But they're still a bunch of arrogant frogs, and I'm still a lazy igloo dwelling Canadian who rides a moose to work each morning, and that will never change no matter how much I like it here.

"Go up!"
"Gravity doesn't really permit that, I can go forward though."

Pan-Galactical Gargle Blaster

I was sitting in a brick layered alcove today, in the underbelly of a goth club I go to when I am positively not in the mood to do anything constructive with myself, when I noticed the drink menu had a new addition.
The Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.
For any of you Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fans, this drink is relatively self explanatory.
But for those not in the know; "The effect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick."

Now, I will admit, it wasn't quite as glorious as the above effect, but it was quite amazing none the less.
A giant glass, filled with a curious red liquid, which was set on fire.
I finished half the drink thinking "Dear me, could have been better."
But the final fifty percent of the drink was...well...amazing really. I managed to get drunk off of one drink, which has never happened to me before. I am one of those unlucky individuals whom is cursed with the ability to drink entire bottles of hard liquor and feel just fine. An expensive tolerance to say the least.

I was joined in my little recluse area by some American soldiers who were on leave from their air-defense base in Germany. They had partaken in the same drink as I, and were quite inebriated. That was made evident in the fact that they changed my name every time they spoke to me, and kept asking me where I was from every fifteen minutes.
Brilliant fellows they were. Evidently air-defense in Germany was a very boring post.
"Unless Russia goes ape-shit, we really have nothing to do."

Flying without the happy ending

Falling.
It's a brilliant thing. Lots of crazy shit goes on when your falling. Revelations, spinning wonders, tupperware.
It's like flying straight down, but without the much needed aversion from the ground.
I hate falling, I love falling.
No finer way of getting high, what comes down, must get up after all.
You're just there.
Which falls under the "Just Doing It" clause of Nicky the assanine fool.
He commited suicide 100 miles up, splattered all over the ground.
His suicide note contained only four words, "Because It was there."
Again with this "It" thing. Wasn't It a movie about a Killer Clown?
Am I suppose to do It?
It is not very sexually appealing. Although the idea of a squeaking red nose to play with as I achieve orgasm is kind of amusing.

I hated clowns as a child.
Hated is kind of a strong word for it actually.
I was terrified of clowns.
And fish.
Guess which one still freaks me out.


"Mischief is a four letter word!"

Hungover and watering a park.

And now desire in her death bed lie,
As last night memories flow with morning sorrows woe.
Come hither the roaring world doth cry,
As one leaves her warmly domain on a sigh.
As injured mind and shaky hands do excel at given tasks,
A gifted memory of yonder sight does wish for newly pasts.
But come what sorrow can, for the night is young, amen.
The bottles are opened, the spirits are poured, lessons of tomorrow and yestergone left un-adored.