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Saturday, February 25th, 2012
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2:43 pm
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murd0c: sergey
murd0c: you gotta help me
Sergey: Hey, what's up?
murd0c: its all coming down around me
murd0c: RAIN
murd0c: WHAT WILL I DO
murd0c: RAIN WILL NEVER GO AWAY
murd0c: it might be semen from Jesus
Sergey: Ok, don't panic. Here's what you do.
Sergey: You find an old wool sweater and start ripping it up.
Sergey: Also get a Brillo pad and do the same thing.
murd0c: okay
murd0c: i got both that
Sergey: Then mix the fibers together really well and then wrap the resuling fabric-thingie around your cock.
Sergey: Then go outside and jack off while pointing your man-wang at the sky.
Sergey: That should cancel out the negative orgone energy and stop the rain.
Sergey: IT'S SO SIMPLE!
murd0c: thank god
Sergey: Even a caveman can do it!
murd0c: i knew i kept you around for a reson
murd0c: are you going to be at HOPE
Sergey: Uh
Sergey: Probably
Sergey: I haven't gotten a room yet though.
murd0c: i haven't seen you in forever
Sergey: I'm bringing Anne along if I do.
Sergey: Well it's in the city so I'll definitely be around.
Sergey: Unless the Mothership comes back for me.
murd0c: yeah, you're too cool for it.
murd0c: i understand
murd0c: why did you marry Anne
murd0c: and not me?
murd0c: i thought you and I had something, man.
Sergey: Yeah, you and I had something but I finally found a clinic in the Philippines that would treat it.
murd0c: you broke a nigga heart
Sergey: It took at least sixteen shots and I had to be held under quarantine for three weeks.
Sergey: They made me burn all my clothing and shave off my body hair.
Sergey: I looked like a carnivorous Powder.
murd0c: Powder
murd0c: haha
murd0c: i'm gonna miss you Sergey
murd0c: EVERYONE WILL MISS YOU
Sergey: I'M NOT DEAD!!!
murd0c: bing
murd0c: i just killed you
murd0c: with my mind
Sergey: Can't.
Sergey: My mom takes ephemerol.
Sergey: And I still have my Soviet schoolchildren psychotronic defence helmet.
murd0c: god. damnit.
murd0c: you're a naturalized American
murd0c: so
murd0c: i should be able to kill you with my mind
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| Friday, January 27th, 2012
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11:02 am - Story in progress...
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His parents named him Ernest because they wanted him to be honest so, when he grew up to be a fiction writer, they ended up disowning him. He moved out and, with the little savings he had, ended up living illegally in a rent controlled apartment that was actually occupied by an octogenarian named Arthur. Unfortunately, Arthur ended up dying of a heart attack the day after Ernest moved in. That same night Ernest dragged Arthur’s body outside and stuffed it into a nearby dumpster and, afterwards, told everyone that Arthur had become increasingly reclusive and antisocial and that Ernest himself would “deliver Arthur’s rent checks from now on”. So, yeah, it got a little complicated.
His love life was no better. Everything he’d ever known about dating he ended up reading about in an old paperback called “How To Pick Up Strippers”. This ensured that all his trysts ended up involving either exotic dancers or acrobats. Though one time he did pick up a school teacher but he later found out that she did a bit of stripping on the side so it didn’t really differentiate her from the rest. The relationship (if you could call it that) was short and ended on a sour note when she had confided in him that she had fallen in love with one of her students who was named Joanne. Joanne was twelve years old. It was sort of awkward talking to her after that. Her name was Sharona, by the way, and Ernest always felt a little awkward calling her that. My Sharona. After she broke the news he went down to a bar and downed six shots of whiskey, threw up, and got into a fight. He lost and went home sulking and went straight to bed. When he woke up the next morning he stumbled out of the bed naked and dragged himself to take a piss and look in the mirror. That’s when he found himself the proud owner of a brand new shiny black eye which hung on his face like a misplaced areola. He smiled and said “Hello, nipple face.” Then he went back to his room, sat naked on a chair in front of an old and beat up typewriter and started to write.
He thought he was writing a short novel about a fictional 19th century anthropologist (who just happened to be a dwarf) and was living with a tribe of cannibals somewhere in the Amazon. The tribe, having eaten all the females in their culture, were having trouble finding ways of reproducing and thus took to stealing jaguar cubs and attempting to teach them the ways of their culture. The working title was called “A Dwarf Amidst A Gang of Jaguar Man Eaters” but the novel was shit and ended up going sideways. So sideways, in fact, that Ernest found that by Chapter 13 the anthropologist (who is never named but is called “Igg” by the tribe) finds out that what he thought of as the jungle is actually a large nature “preserve” inside of an underground Martian zoo. Igg and the all-male cannibal tribe are the only human occupants and some of the jaguars are actually aliens. By Chapter 15 he had vowed to burn the damned book. By Chapter 20 he decided to change the working title to “An Exercise in Futility” and by Chapter 21 he gave up and went to sleep.
That night he dreamt he was flying high above unknown cities amidst towering skyscrapers and bridges of copper and gold and massive highways on which strange and wonderful and futuristic cars moved silently and efficiently and fast towards strange vistas somewhere beyond. And Ernest, in the form of a giant, iridescent bird, did not take a shit on any of those cars because he was a good and polite bird and was not at all like those asshole birds in real life that will shit on your head just because they feel like it. “Fucking pigeons” thought Ernest and decided that, in his newfound aerial freedom, he should dive down like a swan into the blue depths of a vast ocean that lay beyond the shore of the wonderful dream city. He dove in and woke up, sweating, only to find himself swimming unconsciously in a mattress soaked with his piss. “Goddammit” thought Ernest. This was the third bed-wetting incident this week. “I’ve got to do something about these piss-dreams” he said to himself.
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| Sunday, September 18th, 2011
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6:12 am
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He walked around with his penis sticking out of his pants. One day he even managed to scotch tape a pair of spectacles to it. He'd walk right beside you so you wouldn't notice it and then, at some random moment (and god only knows how he picks them) he'd jump in front of you, thrust his bespectacled thing at you, and yell "Say good morning to Doctor Cocklestein!"
Yes, he had a name for it. Doctor Cocklestein. And, in all the years, he has never changed it.
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6:02 am
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You know, sometimes my organs shut down.
Just for fun.
Fuckers.
That's why I carry a stun gun.
I *force* them to work.
If I'm not getting a break why should they?
They can sleep when I'm dead.
I fear that may be very soon now.
Uncooperative assholes.
Except for my asshole.
At least he's reliable.
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5:56 am
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One day all the skyscrapers would build little plexiglass walkways linking up the 30th floor of every building. These walkways would be see through to let sunlight come down unhindered and would, in effect, create a whole new city, layered on top of the old, overnight. Pedestrians taking a morning stroll a few hundred feet up would be known as shadow people due to the large shadows they'd cast down onto the streets below.
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(comment on this)
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5:28 am
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Yes, I'm writing again. No, it's not any good. I'm just getting the cogs turning in my head. I'll be there soon.
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(comment on this)
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5:24 am
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will you come visit me when the lights all flicker out
when the crickets stop their sound
when the world stops spinning
will you come visit me when breathing stops
with the wind
with the sun
and days and nights become one and the same
will you come visit me
stand at my door
and wait for me
will you come visit me
crawl through the window
and shake the leaves off me
will you come visit me
and when you find me
will you let me be
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(comment on this)
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5:19 am
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She had a dog named Jim. A corgi. One day Jim was hit by a car. She buried him out on the beach during low tide so that the sea would take him. But the water would never cover that spot. Somehow it would also go up the beach around the shallow grave but would never cover it and you'd have this strange circle of dry land where Jim was. Some people said it was a miracle but she never knew. She never visited the spot again and moved to a different state a few weeks later. Jim stayed behind like a fading memory.
One day people noticed something growing out of Jim's grave. A weird flower, almost tubelike, mostly purple with varying shades of blue and green interspersed. The flesh of it was leathery. It was heavy too, by the looks of it, and the weight of it kept it low on the ground brushing up against the sand when the wind blew hard enough. It was the strangest thing and many people said it looked completely alien.
A few months had passed. By this time some scientists had come to examine the plant. They've concluded it was a new species, took a few samples, a few photos, and left it alone. And no one seemed fit to bother it all that much. It was just a strange flower on a strange grave of an ordinary dog.
One day the sea claimed the grave and the flower went with it. No one paid it any notion until people started disappearing. Fathers. Mothers. Daughters. Sons. Friends. Loners.
One day everybody disappeared. Everyone was gone.
One day the sea covered everybody's grave.
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5:04 am
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Today night we went out outside and lit matchsticks and held them up against the night sky and watched them burning brighter than the moon.
Today night we went outside on the mountain and walked on barren roads amidst a low lying mist and listened to the echoes of silence.
Today night the stars hid behind clouds and peeked out at us winking in and out of conscious existance.
Tonight we ran and ran and ran.
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| Friday, July 16th, 2010
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9:15 am - Unfinished.
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There's something in my mind struggling to get out. I've tried imprisoning it with walls of thought and reason and, finally, fear. Still I can feel it moving inside. Growing.
I cannot sleep anymore. I wander the dark alleys at night following the echo of my own footsteps. The streets are always deserted and, always, there is a slight rain that is my only companion.
It hasn't always been like this. But what has ever been the same throughout the ages? Still, it's something altogether... different. I can feel it. Gnawing. Away. At. What. I. Am.
I thought it was a tumour at first. I thought about getting it out. Sat there at my wooden desk with a mirror, a battery powered drill, and a bottle of cheap whiskey. Home workshop trepanation. I'd go to a doctor, of course, but that's the thing. There are no more people. Everybody is gone.
That's how I knew something was wrong at first. Walking down the street, everyone I saw suddenly turned hazy. Like the picture on a television with bad reception. I thought I was going insane. I ran back to my room and slept. Hoping to dream it off. But when I woke up everyone was gone. And when I'd look out the window all I would see is their shadows co mingling with each other. Their shadows going about their lives. But those shadows were not attached to anything.
After a while even the shadows went away.
A day later I felt it. A dull throb in the back of my mind. Only not in the back. Inside. A throb that turned into a pounding. Constant, rhythmic. A beat. Almost like music. Constant. Overpowering.
That night I dreamed. For the first time in years. I dreamt I was falling. And, when I woke up, I found myself under the bed. Cowering. But from what?
I tried thinking it away. It seemed to work. For a bit. I thought how insane this all was. I told myself there is nothing in my head. Nothing in my mind. That I fell asleep and simply never woke up. And the beating in my head seemed to stop. And for a while there I sat there in the room thinking about what to do. And feeling sorry for myself. And after a while my eyes closed and I fell asleep. And I dreamed again.
I dreamed of being human again. I dreamt of who I was and what I had. I dreamt of people. So everyday and commonplace and yet so very alien. Familiar yet foreign. Still, I felt relief. And comfort. And then. I was falling again.
I woke up to find the throbbing back. I ran. Ran out of the room. Outside. Ran aimlessly. I barely noticed that it had started to rain. I simply ran and ran and ran and then, when I couldn't run anymore, I fell and cried. And then I became very afraid.
I suddenly felt I was becoming somebody else.
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| Saturday, July 3rd, 2010
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9:55 am - Equiliubrium
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Idea for a new number:
The value of the number Equilibrium changes depending on the mathematical operation performed. When multiplying or dividing Equilibrium is equal to 1. When adding or subtracting Equilibrium is equal to 0.
This is derived from the idea that the vacuum of space is not empty but is filled with an infinite amount of electromagnetic energy whose waves cancel each other out to create an equilibrium condition. Thus, in formulas, to explain the absence of energy one must not use 0 but instead use Equilibrium instead. This helps avoid conditions where one ends up dividing by zero or has a resulting mass/energy state be infinite.
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| Friday, June 11th, 2010
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9:23 am - From the honeymoon...
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| Wednesday, June 9th, 2010
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1:32 am - Greetings... from THE FUTURE!!!
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I apologize for being deathly quiet. I've been in Manila with Anne (my wife/partner-in-crime/insane asylum buddy) for two weeks now. I've had my share of fun in the sun and tragedy (Anne's dad fell backwards down four steps at a market and ended up with a fractured skull and two brain hemorrhages. He's back home from the hospital but still under observation). I've already had a few job interviews and I'm also working with Anne on a few different business opportunities (everything from pizzeria crematoriums to BBQ scented cologne). I still check this thing once in a while so don't think I've fallen off the face of the Earth (or a volcano)! And now, it's time to get back to work!
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| Tuesday, May 4th, 2010
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9:32 am - Moving.
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Moving to the Philippines for a year. Leaving in three weeks. Ooooh yeeeeeeah!
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(comment on this)
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| Friday, April 2nd, 2010
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4:08 pm - Anne and I.
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10:31 am
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I need a word that rhymes with vagina.
Albino.
Albino doesn't rhyme with vagina.
Yes it does. Trust me.
What do you mean "trust me"? It doesn't rhyme. Albino vagina. See? There's no rhyme there.
Oh yeah? Hey, Liz!
Yeah?
Albino vagina!
Hey, that's catchy!
See?
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| Wednesday, March 31st, 2010
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9:00 am - Fall In Love In Denmark
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| Friday, March 26th, 2010
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4:55 pm - Sitting on my ass at work.
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Did you hear? Frank died last night.
What? Frank? What happened?
Apparently the doctors think it's vampire AIDS.
...vampire AIDS?
Yup. You know how some mosquitoes bite someone with malaria and suck in their blood and when they bite someone else that someone else ends up getting malaria?
Yeah...
Well it's the same thing with vampires and HIV. Vampire AIDS. Vampire bites one guy with AIDS and then bites another guy thus spreading the bug around.
I noticed you mentioned only guys. Are you talking about gay vampires?
No, vampires can't be gay. They lack reproductive organs. All that shit in the movies about them being the witch doctors of sex is just that - bullshit.
They lack reproductive organs?
Oh yeah! Apparently, once you become a vampire your junk atrophies and falls off. You end up with a tiny ruined mass between your legs. Why do you think they have to bite people to reproduce? They can't have sex!
So how do they get off?
Simple. They turn into bats and masturbate.
But they don't have sex?
No! Who would they have sex with as bats? Other bats?
Well... yeah!
Ugh! No! Would you ever want to fuck a bat?
Well not me personally...
Well neither would they!
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12:55 pm
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| Thursday, March 25th, 2010
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8:35 pm
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Arguing on the Internet is like running in the Special Olympics; if you keep at it you too can win a trophy!
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enamon's journal
