Enamon

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 21:39:24 GMT

fellate the fallen finger the guilty turn the other cheek. no, the other one. no, the lower one. there you go.

i feel as if i am undergoing some form of mitochondrial collapse. all forms of energy leaving the body leaving nothing but a desiccated flesh bag behind. one that reaches out and feels and crawls about in some sort of lifeless stupor sapped of will...

days drag on, weekends like the tick-tocks of a clock with a lengthy, torturous silence punctuating the moments in-between. those would be the weekdays.

i need to catch a break a change thunder in a storm of silence. take a walk by the docks sea side waves splashing aimlessly relentlessly watching ships in the far off distance little islands of metal traversing long bouts of unconsciousness to dock in the temporary harbors of dream.

anyway, i'm out of thoughts. where's my hammer? i'm going to trepan myself with it. it's gotta be ball peen though because i'm ball peening to do it.

time to visit the tooth puller. the tooth crowner. the alpha and the omega. the mouth raper. the healer. time to haul ass to the dentist.

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 22:14:45 GMT

In the Philippines. Random thoughts running through my head. Just jotting them down.

Massage chairs with "happy endings".

Tumour meat - It's hard to sustain regular cell cultures. Cancerous cells, on the other hand, are much more survival prone. To dispose of the many difficulties involved in creating sizeable amounts of vat grown meat one can simply nurture a tumour and take off chunks when hungry.

Cow tumours taste like cows.
Chicken tumours taste like chicken.
Komodo dragon tumours taste like komodo dragons.
Human tumours taste like... long pig?

Could cow tumour burgers lead to the Great Bovine Holocaust of 2069? Since most cows in existence are grown for food purposes would a sudden drop in demand (due to tumour meat) lead to a mass, simultaneous culling of cows?

My Head.

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 00:47:49 GMT

You need to climb into my head one day
See what's in there
It's like an attic
Things strewn about
Chest trunks full of random memories
Cobwebs and a gentle breeze
And the smell of paper
That's my head

Sergey in Manila.

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 22:28:33 GMT

More...

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 06:08:52 GMT

My ass is in Tokyo waiting for the connecting flight to Manila. I should add that I have personally marked the first Japanese urinal I saw with my golden gaijin piss.

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 18:19:02 GMT

Flying out to the Philippines tomorrow. Going to be gone for a week. Should be fun.

Photo tour of Hart's Island

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 02:30:36 GMT

http://www.lindenwald.com/album/hart/

More information about Hart's Island:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hart_Island_%28New_York%29

Even more randomness though this time not quite random but random enough.

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 01:51:08 GMT

Hobknobbing While Graverobbing

We took our kayaks to potter's field - that place on an island where they bury the forgotten, the unknown, and the unwanted - under the guise of a cloud clad moon. Gripping our oars tightly and keeping one eye on our canvas bags stuffed with wine and cheese and guitars and violins. And torches. And shovels.

We moored our vessels by an olde, moldy, arc bridge and made our way on the wet earth through grass and brush and trees to the burial ground. Driven by some unknown but ever familiar impulse to dig up the disenfranchised dead. One of us - Marty - has scouted this area before. We settled on a spot known to him and started to dig. Four feet down we hit wood and started digging around instead of down. Soon we had exposed at least a half dozen cheap, wooden coffins. All no more than four feet in length. This is where the children were buried.

We lifted up the coffins one by one and made our way, in a snaking faux-funeral procession, to the ruins of an old women's asylum. We lit the place up with some old lamps and candles, drank and ate, and played the instruments. I'm sure, in the wine haze, I saw at least a few of the miniature skeletons dancing along. Of course it was probably one of us that tied their bones together and jangled them from a ceiling beam. Marty looked on and commented about how he was going to use the bones to build a crib for his children. We looked on at the dead dancing denizens and raised our bottles to make a toast.

"The kids are alright!"

More randomness.

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 00:55:36 GMT

i'm burning my bridges so i could swim in the sea

typing at random now. random. radium. radium. radium is to uranium as crack is to to cocaine. what if people could get high off of radioactivity? imagine schoolkids breaking open the smoke detectors inside their household and jamming tiny little americium pellets into their frontal lobes using grandma's knitting needles and going through the occular channel. beta radiation banging away against neurons synapses firing off more rapidly now emotion courses through the brain and logic and reason fold upon themselves and burst into one big matter of the heart. it's a reverse lobotomy. instead of cold and listless and emotionally distant everything is suddenly alive and throbbing and the parents come how to find their children on the floor scared and scarred and sobbing "I can't walk on the floor, mommy! I know I'm hurting it! I hear it screaming everytime my tippy toes touch the wooden paneling! Everything is alive! I have to whisper for the walls have ears and I made them bleed everytime I threw a tantrum! You don't understand! Don't look at me like that! EVERYTHING IS ALIVE! EVERYTHING IS BREATHING! EVERYTHING CAN FEEL AND THROUGH OUR VERY OWN EXISTANCE WE BRING EVERYTHING SO MUCH PAIN!" now the parents get fed up with this. get the bone saw mom says to the father who obliges and they both pass the evening playing SCALP THE CHILDREN/SCRAPE THE BRAIN.

Random fandom bandom handom.

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 00:47:55 GMT

standing naked and vulnerable
black millipedes crawling on my flesh
reach into the mirror to shake your hand
trying to sell you some toothpaste

***

I'll start a band with a brand new inspiration
'very other song's a song 'bout masturbation
Gonna spread the grooves throughout the nation
Get inside you like a virus infestation

Captive audience not going anywhere
Notes stroking your ear like cum gets in your hair
Don't know what I'm saying anymore
Going to hide under a blanket in the candy store

I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid
I'm just hiding from the world

I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid
I'm not afraid
A sight such to behold
Waiting to see how this story will unfold

I'm just hiding from the world
Just hiding from the world
Just hiding from the world
Just hiding from the world
Just hiding

No, I don't know what this means. What does it mean?

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 10:34:37 GMT

if you could reach out from your brain
and touch the sideways sky
and pull from it a cloud
condense it
wring it through the crushing press of speech and words
and let it all come out
what would you say

i woke up this morning
not sure what was real
thought i saw blood on the walls
and blood on the ceiling
and the floor was lined with teeth
miniscule and grinning and sharp underneath
and i stood on my feet
and felt a million bites
and i stood over myself
and i said my last rites
and then i caught fire
and burned it all away
just to see the sky again
and to wake up one more day
and i woke up this morning
not sure what was real
but the sun was in my eyes
and i knew i could still feel
and i went down inside
to the place i used to hide
and i took off the lock

More randomness.

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 01:51:49 GMT

Grampa sat us all down at the table, an old, wooden cigar box in front of him.

"The quickest pathway to the brain? The nasal passages. Now I know you're looking at me all weird. No, I'm not off my rocker, dammit! I've been reading up on parasites, see? And there are quite a few that have been known to alter neurological activity. What I'm saying is... what I'm saying is that these bugs they take over your brain. They stop you from doing what's good for you and make you do what's good for the bug. What's good for its eggs. There's this one bug, for example, that invades a cricket. It's called a nematomorph hairworm, I believe. Anyway this hairworm, when it's small it gets into the cricket, see? It invades the brain and makes the cricket go nuts. He's running around like a madman, looking for water and then, when he finds it he plunges head first right into it - right into his doom. That's when the bug... the worm comes out. Uncoils itself and swims away to reproduce and breed and make more of those goddamn mind controlling parasites.

"So, like I was saying, the quickest way for those bugs to get to your brain is through the nasal passages. That is why I am now wearing this mustache. Now, as your grandfather, I care for all of you. So, in this box, lies my 'stache stash. One for each of you. Boy or girl you WILL ALL WEAR MUSTACHES! I DON'T WANT NO FUCKING BUGS LAYING EGGS IN YOUR BRAIN! I'VE SEEN TOO MANY MOVIES ABOUT THIS STUFF! I KNOW WHAT CAN HAPPEN!"

That's when the long, black worms started coming out of grampa's nose. Out of grampa's nose and grampa's gaping mouth. Out of his eyes....

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 01:51:06 GMT

Arseny: best recent movie name "My girlfriend is an agent."

Me: Viral agent. It's a porno. The dude's dressed as a phage. The chick's a T-cell (they call them "Tit Cells" in the film). The guy ends up penetrating her just enough times to deposit his genetic material. Towards the end, her belly bursts open and dwarfs dressed up as tiny phages swarm about yelling and screaming and setting things on fire.

Random writings.

Fri, 18 Sep 2009 01:51:50 GMT

I ate sugar until I cried just so that I could taste sweet sadness on my lips. This was also how I found out about diabetes. Mind you, afterwards, I wanted to one-up everybody else. If I was going to get anything it would be triabetes. Or quadabetes. Or quintabetes. Or may be manatees. I like manatees. In a strictly platonic way, though. How anyone could confuse a manatee for a half-fish half-woman mermaid is beyond me. Those sailors of old must have been reeeeal fuuuuckin' hornyyyyy.

Which begs the question - why is being really goddamn aroused called "horny" anyway? The word seemed to always have goat connotations (at least to me). I think that humans are, subconsciously, obsessed with goats. After all, we go as far as calling our offspring "kids". And, as any farmer or goat expert will tell you, a "kid" is a young goat. So may be that's why we call our children the same name as we call the offspring of goats - both creatures are beget by horny individuals.

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 12:44:03 GMT

Sat on the toilet thinking about my life. Forty seven minutes and two rolls of toilet paper later I realized I'm full of shit.

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 10:11:55 GMT

write write write write i cannot write i cannot write i cannot

hi, i'm mr jefferson
i came in here with a hat and a briefcase and a spring in my stride
my wife? i've never married
i've never loved
i am a eunuch
an assassin
grenade in place of genitals
under the guise of harmless chit chat i've managed to lure you to the killzone
watch as i kill you with my balls
my grenade
watch

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 12:58:18 GMT

I'm going to start a website offering pics of technical virgins for money. The whole thing will be nothing but photos of nuns with wrenches. Ooooh yeeeeah!

PDF on learning echolocation.

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 16:02:24 GMT

http://www.prcvi.org/files/workshops/echolocation.pdf

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 02:06:17 GMT

Woke up half naked. In a bathtub. Bathed in penetrating sunlight. On top of a trashheap. In the middle of nowhere. With vultures circling overhead. And a dead silence permeating the air. A few seconds spent getting my head together. The silence is broken by an unexpected foghorn and a quick look about reveals a tugboat cutting through waves of garbage in the distance, seagulls at the helm.

Watch.

Sun, 21 Jun 2009 07:57:33 GMT

ICUI

Watch.

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 07:49:20 GMT

AIM
CYCC

Hypothetical gambling.

Sun, 07 Jun 2009 10:02:11 GMT

For myself:

FRP: (2009-06-05) 1.30 +0.29 (28.71%) -Short?

Guido Klingons.

Wed, 13 May 2009 03:19:29 GMT

Race Fumes

Wed, 13 May 2009 02:01:26 GMT

[21:45] Sergey: I've got something we can invest in!
[21:45] Sergey: http://www.racefumes.com/
[21:45] Sergey: It's RACE FUMES in a CAN!
[21:46] Sergey: Supposedly it's air captured at drag races and such.
[21:46] Sergey: They could totally branch out with this.
[21:46] Sergey: For example, they could hit every women's restroom there is, bottle the air, and release it as SCENT OF A WOMAN!
[21:46] Sergey: They can even get Pacino to promote!
[21:47] Mitch: Hahah, something about that doesnt seem right
[21:47] Mitch: Why not have other fumes as well
[21:47] Mitch: Mortuary Fumes!
[21:47] Mitch: Gas Chamber Fumes!
[21:48] Sergey: Yeah, man! They could totally personalize it! Now you can smell your favorite grandpa FOREVER!!!
[21:48] Mitch: Dangerous Levels of Carbon Monoxide Fumes!
[21:48] Sergey: They can steal that Spaceballs idea and sell bottled (and canned) air!
[21:48] Mitch: Which would be cheap to produce since it'd just be carbon monoxide in a can
[21:49] Mitch: And carbon monoxide is odorless
[21:49] Mitch: So you could just put normal air in there and nobody would know the difference
[21:49] Mitch: Except when they dont die and stuff
[21:50] Sergey: Yeah or just sell cans of compressed oxygen so that people will either get high or freeze their lungs or both!
[21:50] Sergey: I'd totally buy Teriyaki Beef Jerky Spray though if they made it.
[21:50] Sergey: I'd be huffing that shit day and night!
[21:51] Sergey: IT'S LIKE I'M EATING AIR! AND I CAN'T GET ENOUGH!

From a movie.

Mon, 04 May 2009 18:17:03 GMT

Dear attractive woman number 2, only once in my life have I responded to a person the way I've responded to you, but I've forgotten when it was or even if it was in fact me that responded. I may not know much, but I know that the wind sings your name endlessly, although with a slight lisp that makes it difficult to understand if I'm standing near an air conditioner. I know that your hair sits atop your head as though it could sit nowhere else. I know that your figure would make a sculptor cast aside his tools, injuring his assistant who was looking out the window instead of paying attention. I know that your lips are as full as that sexy french model's that I desperately want to fuck. I know that if for an instant I could have you lie next to me, or on top of me, or sit on me, or stand over me and shake, then I would be the happiest man in my pants. I know all of this, and yet you do not know me. Change your life; accept my love. Or, at least let me pay you to accept it.