Date: September 18th, 2010 8:14 AM Author: awkward ceo
when they call me by names - splendid upon tamed seas lapping shores of thought shored up store-bought sure of what is and what's not on bended knees ending games pleased by more of these: fame, fortune, fending for ourselves with blamed whores; apportioned according to strained dreams which well-cleaned wend ways through maimed teams of plots to the core of the streams aimed to mend it - then i stall them with grainy truths: news of pain and numbers from far-off lands which dusty must be stained with humble suits of trusty hands who danced in darkened booths singing hearken youths the reins are for you, the marks, the lance which without use is bent by a well-trained breeze called in from the deep ocean by a sorcerer, unseen, unknown, unthought, undreamed even in the tortured hauntings of orphaned children, which we all are, and is no good now for jousting.
Date: September 18th, 2010 8:31 AM Author: awkward ceo
jewdood walked among the pulsing crowd of a psychedelic rave in Istanbul. Six feet above the ground, the air divided itself neatly into polygons, separated only by the strands of life connecting one person to another person. Lusty looks and tender touches knocked him to the ground, chattered his teeth, blued his lips. jewdood said, "May this too awaken and come to know itself."
jewdood walked through a cemetery tucked outside a small Massachusetts suburb. Weeds grew when men thought on the errors they had made in their spreadsheets and memoranda. Grass died at the memory of papers unsigned and calls unreturned. The ground shook every time two hundred dead souls recalled in unison that they had forgotten to take out the garbage. jewdood said, "May this too awaken and come to know itself."
jewdood walked along the winding, shadowy road in the deep forest of God's somnolent mind. Trees made of E-minor triads and rivers running with Bb7 waters echoed in his eyes. Birds took to the sky when he whistled a G#, making his mouth water with chocolate, strawberry, and coconut. jewdood said, "May this too awaken and come to know itself."
Date: September 18th, 2010 10:00 AM Author: awkward ceo
in addition to turning the Em chord major-minor, the G# can of course be thought of as the +13 of the Bb7 chord or as the equivalent of the Ab already required by that chord.
Date: September 18th, 2010 8:37 AM Author: awkward ceo
"Damn it all," muttered jewdood. He had forgot to put the kettle on. When there was no kettle there was no whistle. When there was no whistle he could not be a train and then how could he go anywhere. How could he go anywhere and how could he smoke also. And who would conduct him. In his mind he felt there were myriad travelers checking their watches and schedules and voicing complaints and asking to see the manager and taking their business elsewhere. For just a moment he thought he might conduct himself but that brought to mind the image of a track in a great curlicue aiming to force itself outward. Which is not what you think of when you think of going anywhere. But he did have a smoke.
Date: September 18th, 2010 8:49 AM Author: awkward ceo
so next thing we did was ask jewdood to fix it but jewdood said Whats broke cant be fixed and whok said Whats that nonsense your saying and jewdood said Its not what im saying its what it is which is broke and tennisdood said Stfu and radek said Bitchasss and jewdood said In this life were each given twelve vessels of the mind in which we must place the shapes of each godly thing we encounter which are twelve a person and never more and if we break the vessel it will no longer hold the shape and if we bend the shape it will no longer fit the vessel and scott walker said I dont believe in shapes and maybe not in god and i said Dont talk like that i dont like that sort of talk stop and jewdood said Its the structure of whats given us that matters not who gives it and solzy said Beat that with a bat we eat what we shat yesterday today tomorrow again which is probably when youll realize there arent twelve of such things theres only one which is what and who you do its never full and you gotta keep pouring into it and ryder said Whom you mean whom and jewdood said Shape which echoes through time can fill any container and especially in the mind which is pleased by such things and whok said So are you gonna fix it man and jewdood said Theres no fixing anything. so next thing we did was ask rach and he said Sure ill fix it but he didnt
Date: September 18th, 2010 7:59 PM Author: navy thirsty masturbator hall
and at the crossroads of whom and I there were the tipless fingerswhatweretheytyping the untipped memoirs of a faceless clamour of seventy five percent complete ideas and the stout-souled ghoasts taking stock of us and knowing every hair on scott walker's head and knowing what moves a rachmiel knowing even the maximum bench of a sodium-lit spackler just having and knowing everything we could ever be, apart, together, the creaking interstices, the croaking alterior spaces between your labyrinth and mine and son you were a whom and i, I
Date: September 18th, 2010 8:07 PM Author: awkward ceo
that was what i was then not I Who but I Whom and usually I Whom You like I Whom You Loved and I Whom You Hurt i was the direct object of the many motions of the people i spoke to whom they spoke to and the ghostly rememberers who know my past and future standing up there in my mind i trying to move them push them but they insubstantial and implacable and immobile ghosts who make music in the spaces between us and i merely the one Whom they directed.
but once ryder dear i must tell you this i caught a glimpse ghostly of eyes ghostly of mostly eyes and thoughts maybe in a dream maybe in a parking lot maybe in deep thought or meditation i saw ghostly not-an-eye-eyes which contained the everythingever of me Whom they knew so well and now it happens and i try to push it aside and stop it but it always comes at me and happenings are like the arrival of trains full of dangerous, rancid tourists visiting the pure freedom and meant-to-be of me with the filth of was not supposed to happen and never even visiting my small places just the major attractions and what's in their guidebooks
Date: September 18th, 2010 9:09 AM Author: awkward ceo
I
We fell upon them like nightmare falls upon thought.
Flowers fled the scentscape when we fell upon them.
The battle began, we fell upon them, they trembled.
II
jewdood enters, stage left, accompanied by Evan.
jewdood: "But what do we make of the aimlessness - the way we just flit from purpose to purpose - things come up and we try to solve them - scraps of paper we cling to as the wind blows us about - eventually we're sent through the fence and out of the yard -"
Evan: "These are the thoughts of children, though the children in question may be highly intelligent and very European. We find what each scrap of paper wants and give it that. That's called being human."
jewdood: "But then the arbitrariness - the scraps contradict one another - one day might work against the next - there's no continuity of purpose, no moral loyalty - no ethical scheme or program behind it all -"
Evan: "Find someone to flit with you. Make little things that look like you and try to teach them how to know the good scraps from the bad. That's called being human."
III
its no good its not good its no good the feelings keep coming any time you try to shut them out they find a hole in your defenses a black hole in your defenses a hidden black hole grown larger by the feelings that shine black light upon your buggy and bitten self tiny pieces chewed off at every corner your a morsel for some emptiness somewhere and what you want is to taste good is that it
IV
We fell back like shimmering water off a cliff.
The victory ode of green and birdcall sounded when we fell back.
Date: September 19th, 2010 11:21 PM Author: awkward ceo
The ball soared through the air. whokebe was in the ball. whokebe was the ball. xboxdood said, "Be the ball." whokebe was the ball. The ball bounced, stumbled over the grass, came to rest. whokebe was in the grass. whokebe was the grass. jewdood said, "Grow, like green things." whokebe grew, like green things. The grass reached the sky, yellowed, fell. whokebe was in the fall. whokebe was the fall. mogul said, "Be living, which is weakness and failure and dying." whokebe was living, which was the fall.
Date: September 18th, 2010 8:53 AM Author: Sticky Cream Den New Version
there thread is a legit 180. it's too dangerous. i think rach should delete it. it will confuse noobs. this is the secret knowledge of the mystery religion known as whokebianism.
Date: September 21st, 2010 1:56 AM Author: bat shit crazy bronze theater organic girlfriend
enough actions; what we need are words; to the onion. baldomero was the 5th middle name of the 876th president of the republic of children: juan miguel rafael diapositiva de los apostoles y baldomero de negropajaro de whokebe de callate. and he wasn't having any of it today. for one thing, his one-eyed girlfriend and also the minister of keys, threw herself into the river last night in a mistaken bid for his affection. "shit", he grimaced. tea would have to hold, and besides, what would his mother say about a child drinking tea so early in the morning. fickle woman. what's the next word, reader?
Date: September 21st, 2010 1:59 AM Author: awkward ceo
the next word is how did this happen with the river flowing so fast and moving so quickly and once an action is thrown into the river it goes all the way to the end but a word is thrown and it just sits there. why don't words flow with actions? why don't words get wet? why do actions splash everybody around them and words just sit there like rocks? words are in fact the rocks at the riverbed of action, and if this is a republic of children then we can hardly touch them for fear of drowning. so i say bury the corpse, dig up the keys, and lock up the river for good.
Date: September 21st, 2010 2:10 AM Author: bat shit crazy bronze theater organic girlfriend
words ride slowly through the now cloudy, now clear skies, making frequent stops for picnic, sport shooting of game, and posing for daguerrotypes. an ancestral graveyard is their last stop before reaching the summer summit. of all the things packed into sweaty mules, and now a lone word traces its form in the skies, revealing the expanses of thought behind it. even as it was leaving, its ancestral seeds were arriving, nighthawks in the rooms within.
Date: September 21st, 2010 2:13 AM Author: awkward ceo
action precedes word. action is the earth we walk on. it happens without word. in the beginning was not the word because nothing was with god in the beginning because people did things with no regard for regarding and no concern for concerning themselves with anything or anybody and the action was the dirt and the earth and the flesh. words crept up slowly once people began to die, blades of grass touching small pieces of the sky, yearning to tell the story of the actions which had just happened, senselessly, "full of sound and fury," hoping to extend beyond death that which had never existed, which had never lived in the first place: the constant and moral soul.
Date: September 18th, 2010 7:16 PM Author: Concupiscible nudist partner
in his later years, jewdood gained the ability to summon clouds with his hands. initially, he was unable to find a worthwhile use for this power. he was able to find peace eventually, though, after visiting an ancient temple in south america that is rumored to have been the work of a long-defunct kingdom of cloud summoners.
jewdood spent his later years sitting in a chair on the back porch of his ranch house, sipping a tall glass of peach iced tea, lazily drawing thin vapour trails across the empty blue sky.
Date: September 18th, 2010 7:37 PM Author: awkward ceo
one time jewdood summoned a cloud from across the skyscape of black dark death and solar winds a cloud from supernovae of vaunted hydrogen and helium wars of dwarves red white and blue. the cloud was in the shape of a pussycat
one time whokebe peered into the night sky from the top of the epcot center and all of the stars began to wheel around end to end like a moaning tantra circle and to emit a low vibration that would have shook the world apart and dumped little nickel globules into the cosmic dust to be gradually eaten away by radiation and entropy until cold and still, but he said nigger and somehow things were okay
Date: September 18th, 2010 8:17 PM Author: awkward ceo
one time the real mickey mouse met whokebe upon a knoll of thought deep in the mind of a lesser angel perched upon kilimanjaro snow swirling about him head upon fisted hand thinking upon the mickey mouse and whokebe things. the battle was a conflict of two philosophies: the one, dedicated to making children happy by animating sweet, innocent animals and giving them funny voices and minor obstacles to overcome; the other, dedicated to surfing, playing basketball, writing, and calling people niggers
Date: September 22nd, 2010 1:23 PM Author: awkward ceo
a bus passed and i held out my thumb. the driver stopped and opened the door with that lever they've got in some buses. i gave him a dandelion and he handed back a wrinkled copy of a book entitled Notions of a Meaningful World: Pharmacological and Phenomenological Perspectives. i waved and he closed the door and drove off.
Date: September 22nd, 2010 1:25 PM Author: Sticky Cream Den New Version
the bus was also a taco truck. as he drove away the he slammed on the breaks and backed up and opened the door. It was a friend from law school. we didn't recognize each other because of our beards and sunglasses.
Date: September 22nd, 2010 1:28 PM Author: awkward ceo
i climbed up the steps and turned to my left, hoping to find a window seat. the bus was nearly empty. only four souls sat there: an elderly Asian woman with her hair in a bun holding a bag full of flutes; a tortoise patiently manipulating his Blackberry; a short black man in a pinstripe suit reciting Vedas under his breath; and a bright-eyed blonde child levitating a few inches above his seat.
Date: October 9th, 2010 12:19 AM Author: aphrodisiac home deer antler
i asked if he ever wondered what life would be like if he chose another path or did something different with his life. i mean there's all these different ways i could've turned out if i didn't send that love note to ashley, if i never did do law, if i wrote that book, if i told kate how much i loved her. he told me i had it all wrong. he said those were all me, i just gotta take a rope and lasso all those different offshoots and tie em up all together and make that who i am. he says im everything i was, everything i could and everything i will be. sometimes i don't get whok
Date: October 12th, 2010 8:29 PM Author: Concupiscible nudist partner
"But I thought it was forever," he choked and sputtered out as the light in his heart grew dark and fluttered out of sight never to be seen or felt again. The love in her eyes, the yearning and burning desire had turned to forlorn concern with a dash of scorn, a disturbing turn. He screamed and furiously raced through the luminous and resplendent invented moments yet to come, a glorious garden of joyous fruits that now harden and wither and die on hither vine of his mind's eye. The tender slopes and valleys of the mind are torn and blinded with this scorned find, this savagely incongruous turn of events that rend heart from chest and heart from jest forever. "I didn't want it to end this way," she said, the words bending and shifting in the air from envoys of comfort and care to jagged weapons that ravage and tear a thousand precious moments shared, now listlessly drifting and dissolving into the air - a billion wisps of forsaken and wretched despair. Her voice blurred to a faint murmur as he slipped to places where he once hid from worldly cares, cherishing her exquisite presence in his soul, once theirs, now a crypt, now cold. He climbed the hill to hide inside his fortress perched on high, only to find it a lie, with cracking and crumbling walls, dissolving and falling around him as he wailed, crying out to the sky to no avail. As the cracks of earth opened below him, revealing fiery molten rock, the monument to her laugh and the feeling of her kiss slipped and dipped in craggy piles into the abyss. With clenched and angry fists, he ripped into his chest and tore her memory and sacred home from his flesh, screaming at the cruel sky as it cracked and thundered and racked his soul while the crumbling earth below plundered the depths of his mind for every treasured wonder left inside. Weeping and lost he tossed the final piece into the earth, the last piece of his worth lost and swallowed below by the fiery flow. He collapsed and wept for the life that would never come to pass, the beautiful dream that stretched out and shone forever, now eternally imprisoned in the past. The meaning of forever shown at last.
Date: October 12th, 2010 9:18 PM Author: awkward ceo
Forever was a word invented by triangles, aspired to by the sun, loved and hated in turn by philosophers, and feared by the mass of humans who have lived and inevitably died on this earth. Not-forever came after forever, and nobody knows who invented it; some say it was God, but I think that the rankest heresy, given what not-forever is: the power to split in twain that which had been a prior unity.
Let me give you an example. A young child has just realized he will die someday. Half of him will fall asleep and wake up and leave his bed and eat breakfast and go to school and play video games and make friends and make love and make words and music and babies. The other half is up for grabs. He may lie forever in a bed he returns to in the presence of any number of characters: Bambi, the color yellow, the taste of dark chocolate, the tree outside his window that looks like a pirate. Alternatively, the bed may slowly collapse, breaking under the weight of the frightened and ever-present, ever-returning child, and the gust of wind perceived by most to be simply the color yellow may blow him not back to his bedroom but simply to the knowledge that, previously, there was a place that it took him.
The power of not-forever is the power to split a soul in two: the reaction to eventual and necessary decay and death is to establish a permanent place of rest for the pain of the knowledge of eventual and necessary decay and death. I have felt this many times in this chapter of my life, and now have many triangles in the shape of my soul whose sharp edges pierce through every time I hear certain words, think of certain places, and feel certain emotions; and sometimes, too, when I am at rest and not keeping myself busy enough, not watching carefully enough to keep myself in the pleasant not-forever of the world, I fly away with no reminder, simply following the flitting thoughts of my flighty mind to the dark black hole they fly around against a backdrop of lights, dying, perhaps already dead.