Playing scrabble with you

... is like carving my eyes out with a jagged glass shard. So we must. I haven't been attending my usual writing schedule for a while now, but then again, this site is really a faceless venue for addressing the one other blogging participant. Amazing wonder indeed. Everyone knows that blogging is the new national past time, yet apathy seems to rule.

For example, the interesting content exists here: I saw a UFO (by its true definition) when I was in Rochester last weekend. It wasn't a satellite, no, but it had the traditional strobe beacons. It flew at maximum heights as well. Why is it unidentified by me? Becuase it went from the high sky above to the horizon in roughly 10 seconds. Is that possible? Not by my calculations; the ones I performed later at an undisclosed location. I'm glad you agree that I did in fact do the calculations. After seeing it I thought aloud, "But who cares?" Probably just a small part of the large scheme that will eventually do me in.

My recent activities have led to a mountain of questions with no real answers. I just have to become okay with there being a lack of absolutes. And I will, don't you worry. These activities are tangible to the mind:

*went to CKY concert - lots of skater wannabe types shoving, didn't like that, show was good
*went to a comedy show - mostly sucked
*stared at self in mirror - found out that my left arm automatically approaches my nipple for inappropriate touching (learned things, +2)
*almost finished with that cult presentation, but lost my way... will soon finish

Within tangible things, some less tangible issues have come forth. If I only possessed the energy channeler now, you'd see then. I gotta make a list or something because I can't find safe organization within the chaos. That's one of the absolutes I spoke of previously, and there's something to it. I always complain about structured little line items in my mind and life, but without them functioning is different and cluttered at best. My lists, however, always end up coming out real strange though as if to taunt me, no matter how serious I am. I'll get on it, shit.

Rock-Eye Rodney

The next part:

My mind was once again left to drift as I lay in the roughly trimmed grass of the highway’s edges. Cue the Eurythmics. Here comes the rain again… synth solo, (synths must have been somehow related to my head trauma, as I keep mentioning them) pounding itself out to the Skateland lightshow. Mostly just colored flashing bulbs, with the occasional addition of some strobes. I remember it well, not because I won the top award as “Skating Jesus,” but because I was the DJ. With well over 400 cassette tapes to choose from, I was the DJ of choice for well over 60 kids in Vincentville. It was my personal collection, and it featured such favorites as Tiffany and Greg Kihn Band. I fucking ruled.

This thought made me warm with happiness, considering my deadly predicament and all. At the time I was involved in a DJ ring. We called ourselves the Box Cutters and we meant business on a day to basis. The Skateland administration was under our control, so much so that we were able to get new carpet on the rink walls and use a real piece of bamboo for the limbo. I once played Nugent’s Stranglehold three times in a row. A group of vandal teens violently attacked the open DJ booth with fists of fury and underdeveloped acne-ridden backs. They were furious that I could so easily ruin their adolescent libido and attempts at groping young Chrissy, the Skateland overdeveloped whore. They all swore they were about to get some real action. I had no pity for them and told them so. Miandro, another local DJ and my Box Cutter brother, was repairing some equipment related to Nugent at the time near my desk and flew into action. With a nod of the head and a throat grab the hoods were disposed of. They proceeded to lope away towards the arcade and were later seen trying to “beat” Pinbot, which is impossible, as we all know. And that my friends, is the psychological affect that I needed at this moment. “Miandro!” I yelled in pain as I continued to bleed and fade back to reality. You may be beginning to see now that these thoughts come from deep within the sewerages of my mind, the deep dark abscesses where black acrid smoke drifts about and evil lurks. Even memories that are bright and cheery, like the skating rink, come from this location, which is unfortunate. But my mind is mostly one giant sewer. I owe much of this to the fertilizer plant.

There was certainly no more time budgeted for lighthearted memories of the past, or for that matter, dark memories. I was still lying in the ditch, hoping that the storm had cleared at last. Gil and I still had some potential discussion regarding the obliteration of our pensions and lives at the plant. However, more importantly at the present, I had to find out if Gil was still alive, or had met the fate of many others before him. That is, the fate met at the hands of Melcko and his henchmen.

The usual mode was a badly twisted ankle and never healing rug burns. Molestation by the Virelic boys was also certainly possible. It’s too bad that the working poor like Gil and I must be distracted by such things as evil grand master plans and chemical induced seizures. Such has been the way of life since man learned how easy it is to make another man an idiot. Am I an idiot? I lifted my head cautiously out of the weeds. A cattail shard was lodged between my armpit and inner ear. No signs of my friends did I see. I looked at my watch to see that the time was 6:43 pm. Usually at this time during the day I am well on my way to the public pool for laps and taffy. Seeing nobody around, I decided to get up and walk down the road. Since I was in fair shape, I whistled a tune only to find my whistle trembled. I pondered the previous events and began to force the pieces together in much the same way I did with the kitty cat puzzle I had as a child. I was once told that the pieces should not be forced together (because no kitty will ever be rendered in proper form), but in any case, that was going to be the method for today.

As I strolled into the waning sunlight of the west, I began to realize that the events of the past were melding with the current events. I am envious of myself and my extraordinary investigative skills. Melcko’s prophecy of black magic and local demise was taking shape, and my uncle might have been onto something with his plan. If only I had listened to the intricate details of his master plan instead of the Master of Puppets tune in my head.

I drank the remaining drops of water in my canteen. My canteen- the one that I apparently been equipped with by good friends. I still had the important items my uncle had given me and they would be of use to me soon I believed. Before I had a chance to continue with the puzzle of my life, I came upon a form dressed in the same way as the dingy green of the nearby forest. As I worked my way in for a closer look, I realized that the green was that of special sushi seaweed. A strange trademark of some type I thought. Being very hungry, I glanced to the left and to the right as to make sure there was no monitoring going on. I proceeded to eat the seaweed. I proceeded to eat my way right to Gil’s left front forearm. His lobster in a net tattoo gave it all away. By the Devil himself, Gil had been thrashed and laid to rest by the road, by way of two hundred Dramamine. The empty bottles told the whole story; licked clean even. He would certainly experience no motion sickness for at least another 60 hours when he would awake with a slight beard.

With no form of transportation for Gil’s sleeping 300-pound plus body, I turned onto the nearest approach and entered the Thraxilon Forest towards Harnack March. I would catch up to him later. My head was still weeping blood loathingly near the lower back half. If only the robot I had planned to build years early had functioned properly, I would not be in this mess. For the robot would have quelled all threats successfully, rendering Uncle’s plan obsolete. A clothes hamper and some old wires, however, proved not to be a good starting point for such projects. Stephen Hawking would soon be contacted by letter for details.

I knew that the forest would serve as a way point, as local Black Metalers housed themselves in there. It may seem cliché to find the outcast crowd in the forest, but believe me, these dudes were much more than cliché. As it were, black metal and death metal had both been banned in the nearby communities on account of the growing popularity of Britney Spears and Jesus. She said on MTV once that she loved Jesus. The founding fathers figured that all metalers alike (in fact) disliked Jesus. I refer to this situation as the reversal of truths, as at one time in the early eighties dances such as the Maniac, Flash Dance, and Kevin Bacon’s footloose dance were banned upon request from the high Priest. Later in the late 80’s and early 90’s, only Motley Crue was allowed. It follows that in time homoerotic children’s songs will be banned. Anyway, the forest has been the haven for each and every outcast group, and I was headed to the shanty now.

The Legend of Nerdliness

Some people out there have "hacked" various NES games into new, f-ed up games that you only dreamed about when you had childhood illnesses with high fevers.

Here is what I spent 2 consecutive hours on today (only finishing the 2nd dungeon, mind you, with no idea what the hell I'll supposed to do next):
"Zelda Outlands"

That's just a little taste of the insanity.

Other "new" titles that I've been playing include "Mario Adventures" which is SMB3 on acid;
"Metroid Deluxe"; "Final Fantasy World of Chaos"; and Castlevania something-something-blah-la-yada.

It's like I took a trip to Willmar and came back with the goods!!! So to speak.

By the way, don't bother playing these unless you've invested 10 bucks in a USB gamepad for the ol' home PC; you'll just want to poke your eyes out.

Then again, you might want to do that anyway; I know I do.

Sometimes you couldn't have said it better...

At least that's my opinion. See if you agree- here are some snippets from the weekly, "I Saw You" section of the personals.

Copps, Middleton, 5/26. I said hi insisde. You said, "Have a nice day" outside. Me, red shirt, blue shorts. You, pretty with yellow lab.

Well, shit, that could be me. She wouldn't have been the first person to call me pretty. It's so endearing.

Waiting room at Zimbrick European Import 4/25. You: getting your Audi fixed, silver Dell laptop. Me: black Dell laptop getting Benz fixed - meet for coffee?

"Wow, you sure are pathetic for wasting your time making fun of these people - even more pathetic than them." I don't care what you say, people who carry traits such as "Benz and black Dell... black hair, brown eyes, Jesus tattoo," deserve the world's torment.

Woodman's - You have a terrific smile. I saw you buy some carrots. Your move.

Next he/she will buy some dried grains and call it a done deal. My next move would be to eat the carrots without the use of my hands.

I'm putting together a presentation in the name of the Temple of the Millenium. It's Power Point variety, and allows me to have a framework, something I continually struggle for. I don't realize that sometimes the framework comes in different forms other than extreme organization that causes agitation. I just happened to get the idea whilst making a real presentation. It took my interest away from the real project, leaving me to wonder what my "real" projects really are.

I'm going to go buy Friday the 13th part 6 today at the local video store. It's only $2- plenty worth it for the song at the end- "... he's the man behind the mask, and he's out of con-trol.." Speaking of videos, if only everyone could experience the truths of the video that I made... maybe someday. Thank Ufoid for the extraordinary production; truly amazing to me. In fact, it's almost so astounding to me that it's frightening. Can we really make something like that? And then I want to do it again, and the pressure's on. Be careful.

I Enjoy These Keyleros (But I love your father)

The schedule reports that the sub-par soul gathering machine should soon be re-evaluated and rebuilt by the likes of you. Don't stress too much, we'll have a nice meeting over dinner to discuss this. Remember, soul(s) doesn't/don't grow on the streets anymore. They must be dealt with as a new, infantile entities. I am an infantile entity, and I need validation - you can assist with that too.

Today I went to the Verona Town Festival or some shit. They had goats (in honor of 6/6/06) and some kid who knew all about them by the bouncy castle. Speaking of that bouncy castle, did you know that one out of ten children are conceived there? The scrambler would account for another 10% as it's stopped for "repair" much of the time, but due to faulty construction, it's far to dangerous for any use other that smoking crack out of the cross members (which was proven by several carnies back in the 70's). I got to the fest just in time for the Salem Church choir (for 6/6/06?) and I just missed the karate exhibition. Overall, the fest was the worst I've ever seen, but provided a sweet taste of summers' past memories. One good moment appeared near the beer garden, when the speakers played Carribean Queen and an old man walked up the hill as if he had wisdom to spread. The line of porta-potties was a display of town strength. I'll use this even later as a fictional piece, because I like the setting. That's what twon fests and the like are for. By the way, I was only at this place from like 6-8 tonight, and I went only due to my own innocent, pure, and dangerous curiosity. I've just been sitting here for hours wondering what the fuck it all meant.

I'm going to the Northern Peninsula of Michigan in July, on the shores of Lake Gitchegumee. Check out the resort here. Come if you wish, I don't give a shit. Go ahead, I'll be there. Sure I will. Just let me know when you can make it, and I'll be there at that time. We can go see the Edmund Fitzgerald or something of that sort.

Storm of the Week Commentary Award

If you follow the above link to the day's best "Storm on Wisconsin I39-I90-I94" story -- a storm which would have killed fiestawizard if it wasn't for my procrastinating heroics -- you'll find a great quote by a a Ms. Autumn Schneider, age 26, who manages a highway Iron Skillet.

Said the divine Autumn, the storm ". . .sound[ed] like a windy shriek . . . I personally have a love for storms and things such as that." I'm with ya, Autumn. Hey, Autumn, you know what? -- your name is now ironic.

And iconic.

Sink Into the Manilla Mania

What is it? Remember when Faith No More uttered those words some 15 years ago? To some they are a reminder of the not-so-distant trend in combining rap with rock. I say it was unique, and only copy-crap came after it, but that topic is for the mission of another discussion. But then what is the mission of this? Well, nothing really, I just want to see if you remember that one time. The song is quite profound anyway, if you make it that way. I recently had a conversation with B.O.R.T. (I despise putting in all those periods), about moral absolutes and the like, and the idea of "being." I'm no philospher, but let's say Borty has a mastery of it, and leave it at that. And now, since I believe that things simply "are," and they are no more then that (lest we allow our faulty perceptions to make things have character and become tangible) we will discontinue this discussion. There is no reason to discuss unity and the like because it makes my tumor pulsate. And besides, Chuck Schuldiner of Death once said, "The philosopher - he knows so much about nothing at all..."

I have more chapters for illustration coming on the way. As I said, I have many more, with many more action. Many more action - just to emphasize. The previous post was simply a preview which I wrote seemingly many decades ago. I am also working on some other thing, namely getting this airtight (but clear) plastic bag off of my head. It's not so much that I running low on the air, but the hear is unbearable.

Finally, I would like to send my thanks out to everyone who recently sent me flowers. Listen, I appreciate these gestures greatly, and will accept further sorrow and/or congratulation type gifts with top-level enthusiasm. It's all gonna be okay... I tell myself continually. Yesterday I got my cuff links returned with the hopes that my shoes will soon follow. Goodnight.