Another day, another god-given right to post

This is now post 5(5) that is still virgin to the eye. I hope to someday soon supercede my low pride level and pick up the pieces of my broken humanity glasses. Please, just stay away, whenever you try to help you just make things worse.

I. New creases
A. Somebody steals the name
i. why?

II. Recycled episodes of Falcon Crest
A. Remembering my broken promises

III. Unspoken truths

"The infection had turned me inside out only hours later. My back, inside, was disgusted with me. I never should have taken the initiative to lap my house like that. To think, only hours earlier my temperature was normal and my walking speed only slightly below par. My sweet sweat ran like water, catching the edges of my eyes, from which only blurred images entered. She spoke on the phone, only slightly concerned of my ailments, but mostly cool like a misted sea cloud (floating through the window to you). She brought forth the scalpel blade, not sure if it was properly autoclaved. Sink into my flesh it did, right near the inner thigh. Sure enough my leg only had a chicken bone supporting it; needed to be cut. The cutting of the bone, which I witnessed clearly, reduced my infection to minimals and concerned me of my ability to walk away from it all. Much to my pleasure, walking was to the top quality once again. All you wanted to do was ask snide questions and mock the procedure. All you wanted was not be it correct or not very appropriate within boundary or without... speech suffers."

My golden meadow, your filthy backyard

So I'm piling up the posts on you am I? Send me angry emails will you? Destroy our sense of self will he? The end of long, boring days is it?

Well, yes, it is, and here's the reason: The coveted episode when Skeletor makes Beastman do way too much coke and play charades near his skeleton throne.

Inner Ear Heat Sensation, "Nelson!"

The band of course, who was unable to survive due to your lack of love and affection. Funny, isn't it, how this site is bound to meet the same fate... no love, no affection. We'll just have to wait to see how things shake down after the rain. As the posts continue to pile up, I continue to form new and grand ideas. Or, honestly, I'm lacking them a lot, but have had a few pile up right on my front doorstep, literally. Last weekend, as I returned in the door after shoveling the snow away (with my cold, dead hands), I noticed a gift bag: To: the owners of the golden retriever. Man, wow was I immediately excited. I thought my dog had a random admirer, or, better yet, a well-dressed stalker. But, to my dismay, enclosed in the bag was a cartoon depicting my dog doing her shitting business in other yards in the nearby vacinity of my own yard. And most certainly, this shitting has interfered with their grilling, but rest assured, this "country dog" can still learn a thing or two about city living. All in good fun of course, the cartoon caused me to respond in cartoon. I'll post it as soon as possible for the pleasure of all.

Secondly, I went to a local labor federation political candidate interview and endorsement session. The usual talk of this that and the other, and how turkey vultures should be banned as friendly pets, and how the city plans to dedicate a large sum of money to creating a task force that will help kids find buried, lost, or trapped artifacts including but not limited to intricate toy parts and baseballs, and finally, how public schools can benefit from classes held in buses. So anyway, there was this guy, Will Sandstrom, who didn't show up right at the proper time, who was apparently running for mayor. The meeting was briefly put on hold, since there was another mayoral candidate who also didn't who. Sure enough, the announcement was made that Will had arrived and should please come forward. I noticed an thin, hunched, older woman with a stocking cap, filthy hands, and large rubber boots handing out some papers, but no well-dressed smooth talker was approaching the podium. But, as my foreshadowing may have given away, the little old lady was actually a crazy old man (mistaken for an older lady due to his longer than usual (for an old man) hair in the back). Well, crazy in the sense that he is as crazy a Finnish/Swedish man can be, but not so much that he didn't play to the audience a little, not to mention he's run for mayor EVERY election cycle for the past few. He didn't take questions because he used his alotted time to tell jokes of old and stories of the golden years, but he really wanted to plug this. I suggest searching for him elsewhere to see that some of his claims can actually be confirmed. If possible, give him some feedback and some mentoring. If you treat him right, he won't run against you in your race for local home leader, cat superior, or town fighter - he won't beat you, but he'll make your life a living hell.

The Bannachio Roads Symbol

Has anybody out there heard of this? My short tempered and shallow research found that it may have something to do with Aarskog syndrome, Raeder's syndrome, Jadassohn-Lewandowski syndrome, the Bradley method, Algorithmic Psychogeography, mutual coupling scenarios (in general), electrophoretic methods, or a rough biker posse. I've heard so much, yet know so little... this is the explanation for many of my ways.

This all jumped up in my face because I've been considering inventing some new graphics and page designs, however, my skills there are none and so forth. I'm a bandit, an outlaw, a rebellious tennis player, but I'm no graphic artist. Anyway, I really don't have the energy to exert against this type of strong-walled type of project right now, but I will be thinking loudly in and around the park. My solicitation for input will be scuttle kicked beneath the area rug, so I won't bother each and every reader with such.

Beyond this useless information, I have no formal presentations, special codes, or funny and interesting factoids... well I should mention that the digital search for 'Mark Teckenburg' is still often leading to this site, and with that shout-out, will continue to be. I don't check on this often, but this week, the second place result happens to be 'rutherson theory for kids,' which is another reason that I had to investigate the symolics, syndromes, methods, and scenarios using the appropriate natural algorithms. "Rest easy son, the bread is in the basket" -- Me, mantra of '07

Ain't nothin' gonna breaka my stride

Taylor was the Neptunian type. He had a way with words that reminded me of the subs-standard form my mind had become. Foggy droves of nitrous fumes clouded my mind and I needed help. Taylor took the proper notes. Although his statements were about as clear to me as a light bulb smeared with an opaque gelatinous material (like fruit preserves left in the sun perhaps), I was interested; interested in a way that most robots would envy, as they are unable to have real interests, thank any god you like.

“Clearly the new program doesn’t work on absolute truth, it operates on assumed truth, the same kind of knowledge that you’ve latched on to for so long you tired, old mongrel. The problem is, corollaries that we look for have been found to be non-existent in your spark box. I refer to your mind as a “spark box” because the work you’ve done in the past has decreased the capacity for real fire up there. Astoundingly though, you seem to have overcome this, and have become internally unsettled. Some of this has been external as well, and rest assured, that will also be taken care of. Let me note this. “

More notes were taken, and I was drooling. My comprehension factor was low right now and Dr. T. wasn’t backing down, he just continued to pour the acid into my ears via funnel. He arranged items taken from a strong, white plastic box and placed them on the granite counter top. The illustrious shine of sharp metal illustrated technological triumph and craftsmanship to the unnerved patient. I mentally observed only my own chicken split face and neck. The doctor opened a small cabinet and mapped out several routes on it with his finger. “The Bronchovsky Method.”

“Clarity, is in the eye of the beholder. I described destruction earlier, and when I said that, an alarm likely sounded in your head. Don’t let that happen. What you call destruction is misunderstood, and is optimal for your success. Reverse your thoughts and ascend the elevator of triumph. Your ultimate questioning of reason has strained your relationship with reality, and again, we shall reinstate the appropriate program to allow you to transcend the absolute… that you refer to. Now let’s play chess and grease you up some more. I assure you that my methods will not transform you into that Golem creature, you know that big Jewish bodyguard with the finely-tuned hair.”

Elevator of triumph. Jerry? Okay. I guess now I should play chess to see if I can get through to the checkmate without the castling technique. This might decide the voltage level I needed. But Dr. Taylor didn’t want to play chess after all; he was using that as a symbolic game. He waved his arm to the mirror and I heard the machinery go into its healthy whir. He left the room for a moment, and I lay down. I felt the all too familiar feeling of being captured by sickness. The feeling when people in your serene environment continue to laugh and interact normally while you lie in extreme pain; knowing in your own mind that you’re on the mossy, dilapidated steps of death. You can’t comprehend the health that they’re feeling, and your ears seek to block out the joy they experience. Special offers for pizza pies also are blocked out.

“Mmmm, the delicious sound of a pulsating electric field. Everybody has problems Jerry, don’t feel guilty.” “And you?” I decided to ask in a trembled voice just to see that he wasn’t tricking me. “Well, I'm fucking saucy, and I have non-predictable plate movement in my head… the two items may or may not be related.” With a head nod and a quick look away Torque said, “Okay, well, the procedure should begin now as to not disturb the incorrect areas when they awaken… the areas that is. The areas that are so gently twisting your inner self-appeal, making you hate yourself. We have to be vigilant.”

A Shadow Dream Named Vorg

A continuation of the 12/13 post...

I sat in the office alone for that moment, covered in the ointments, wondering what there purpose was. I decided that they were necessary, and although they were causing slight discomfort, left them alone. I scoped out the office and recognized some familiar items: a crock pot, cotton swabs, chemical drums, a biological hazard unit, and a bowl of sanitary instruments. Sanitary I assumed. Dr. Taylor slipped into the room and startled me. I pretended to look at some diagrams and put my hands over my gown hole. Then I turned red and became silent. Dr. Taylor sends his kids to the Catholic Reality Institute but questions reality hard and often. He peered into a large wall mirror and observed, “Isn’t it amazing that a mirror can return my real image right back to me. I’ve been in the business now for 29 years, and am still amazed, Jerry. My first medical tip to you is to use soap hard and often, and don’t skip the small steps. A long time ago we used to use butter for soap, but obviously that only makes things worse. It’s so important, and as I peer into this mirror, it reminds me. Now we’ve turned to new methods. You’ll soon see. Now, first things first. I understand you’ve spoken to several community members about a few different things. I saw your chart. It reports vagrancy and inquiry on your part. Two things that as a young man, I will tell you confidentially that I did partake in. Back then I was more willing to test my general strength against other established strengths. Do you still enjoy small dance steps set to musical numbers? I hope so. That’s a portion of it. It’s exemplifies our interest in dualistic creation of dependent entities. What are the dependenta in this case? Think about what the small dance steps do for you Jerry. Again, as I said, before we begin we will have to remove the top shelf references and take down a few notes. I want you to understand. I’m sure you’re acclimated to the rigor of understanding statements and theories. Like the video repeats: “Sculptured existence; integrated and disseminated, leads us beyond the absolute. Sculptured existence; integrated and disseminated, leads us beyond the absolute. Sculptured existence; integrated and disseminated, leads us beyond the absolute. 1, 2, 3, 4, 255, 255. message incorporate temporary passage.” Let me repeat in my own terms- to subdivide and to build numerically is to destroy, but to subdivide and describe in semi-chaotic strings is to assemble… in general. Any assembly process is always desired and people view it as a necessity. Is it? Can only time tell? Those questions are extraneous. We first tend to organize in a categorical sense. But for truth, these methods are insufficient. We’ve moved beyond that. A set of discontinuous but well-known commands usually dictates what steps are to be taken. This tends to a normalized, accepted result that seems to have continuity. In the seeming continuity lies a great lie. Compartmentalized aptitude is comforting and is indeed the most desired for programming. Smooth, top-down logic – imbedded processes. Right now, you’re experiencing manic destruction of your obligations through the subsets we just discussed. Don’t worry though, that will quickly end.”