centripetal distortion
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
The riotous mind splatters like a gunshot wound across the page. Danger! Peligro! Explanations can brainwash you. Beware! Deep seated esoteric implications endure in the costly yet softly spun web of language that brings this message to you. Come down ancient dinosaur of wisdom, enter into the cave of no intrusion.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
“People of earth: smile and hone your drinking skills! Not only do you have to out think but you gotta out drink the competition in this game.” This and more mild mutterings memorizing an atmosphere of giddy confusion, general disobedience, and civil unrest. Found in an intercepted message from Io the fifth moon of Jupiter; believed to be from the mighty thunder god Zeus to poor cloven footed Pan. It ends simply “Please destroy after reading.” Not long after this momentous discovery I received an equally enigmatic memo from Jenny Kreag: Note to self; the red eagle flies at midnight. repeat. end transmission
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Just one of those days.
I don’t know if the planets lined up weird,
Or maybe the earth tipped a bit on its axis?
Strange pulling lunar tides?
Nitrous oxide leaking up from some subterranean
molten chemistry set deep in the core?
The air grainy and strained
like the third copy of cheap B grade horror flick,
static taped over static and colored in with crayons.
Heavy undertones of not so much a vibe but an anti-vibe
hang in a thick smog that breaths
gloomy misfortunes born of good intentions dipped
in the venom of enticing justifications.
Boiling history and other useless aspirations
in a cauldron of speculation.
Almost as if the ghosts and apparitions
that guard the mystery let their minds wander and slip,
their fierce gazes unfocused and askew.
The world was having a bad acting day,
fighting hard to keep up the illusion of being real.
I don’t know if the planets lined up weird,
Or maybe the earth tipped a bit on its axis?
Strange pulling lunar tides?
Nitrous oxide leaking up from some subterranean
molten chemistry set deep in the core?
The air grainy and strained
like the third copy of cheap B grade horror flick,
static taped over static and colored in with crayons.
Heavy undertones of not so much a vibe but an anti-vibe
hang in a thick smog that breaths
gloomy misfortunes born of good intentions dipped
in the venom of enticing justifications.
Boiling history and other useless aspirations
in a cauldron of speculation.
Almost as if the ghosts and apparitions
that guard the mystery let their minds wander and slip,
their fierce gazes unfocused and askew.
The world was having a bad acting day,
fighting hard to keep up the illusion of being real.
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