im looking at an old article i wrote and all i can think is how did i write that. how did i write that. how did all of that come to me. what was the magic combination of events and chemicals that brought about that combination of words. how did i do that. how. could i ever do it again? 

if i cant i'll be a grain of sand airborne descending to the pile. a blood pump with no divinity, no right to the future, a sad sack of teeth and hair and just the memory of a few moments when i could write like lightning strikes.

A Needed Flip

I am shattered by the difference in my words between the last couple of years and the period around 2010. This simply cannot continue. I hold in my hand my future, minted in 1986, adorned with the likeness of a wood toothed slave owner. I'm going to toss it into the air and depending on what I see next I will embark on a vision quest (recommended by 9 out of 10 optometrists) or rinse with shotgun mouthwash. However, if the coin lands on it's side I will go to sleep and expect the world to pour its answer into my dreams.

And the toss...

Six Word Story

A fire burns itself out, finally.

Second Draft of In Too Deep

Sam began the evening by hiding his laptop in the drawer of an out of the way cabinet. Once he made sure it could not be easily stumbled upon he then mounted a tremendous effort to forget it was there. After an hour of busy work he had managed to keep his mind from wandering into the dark places, it was safe to sit down for a break.

In this precious moment there was a peace that Sam sought to cherish as long as possible. A break in the calm was coming, but dwelling on pop culture trivia and old baseball scores would surely buy him some time. Then, halfway through the lyrics to Don't Stop Believin' a whisper was carried to his ears by the cruel wind of an unchecked obsession,

"Scandanavian Assplay."

The whisper tore through the moment and Sam's eyes were twin moons of shock and fear. He knew what was coming.

"Thai women feeding cake into each other's vaginas."

A demonstration in panicked pacing commenced. Sam shifted his thoughts to try and shut out the whisper. He remembered the time he stumbled upon his Grandmother while she showered, he thought of advanced mathematics being blasted out of a foghorn mounted to an open and overflowing outhouse, and clung desperately to the mental image of a pile of rice sitting on a brown table while his Uncle Jasper stared uninterested off into the distance. But the whispers would not be denied.

"Grandma and Jasper fucking in an outhouse while equations involving rice..."

Sam held back a surge of vomit.

"Lusty Dusty the Puke Goddess gurgles gallons of gak."

He reacted by doing jumping jacks. He got to ten in what could've been only a couple of seconds. His pace was frantic and his body responded with the burn that accompanies physical strain. Working through the pain his heart sank as the memory of his busty cousin's breasts bouncing through her tank top during middle school gym class. The sin, the shame, it roared back into him and he sprang toward the window so quickly that he nearly took a dive through it. He forced it open and looked down three stories at what might be his last resort. It couldn't always be like this, could it?

"Amputee orgy."

Sam flenched.

"Cock fingering."

"Robo stump grinders from planet poon."

Terror, all was terror. It would always be like this, he knew that now. The whispers were getting louder and eventually they would stop being whispers and revert back to the unending howl of pornographic suggestion. There was no more room in his life the porn. He had already destroyed his sex drive with an insatiable lust for more and more outlandish acts and varieties of people doing fucked up things to one another and now that rampant perversion is breaking loose from every mental shackle Sam could latch upon it. It always manages to break free and lure him back to it's clutches with it's siren song. He closed his eyes, wishing for it all to go away.

"Historic sex, FDR and Churchill lapping each others fluids."

And when his eyes opened they were shattered mirrors of resignation. After a deep breath and a moment of quiet he began to step onto the ledge of the window.

"Don't leave me," said the whisper.

He turned around.

"Don't leave me, I've found two lepers with detached genitals fucking each other to the soundtrack of City Slickers 2."

Tears rolled down his face. Sam stepped down and found his way to the laptop he had put away, the whispers guiding him, cooing him, the only soothing moment he's had since the sickness took hold. With the laptop in tow he drudged his way back to the window and braced himself to be released from the bonds of bondage and other forms of perversion. He whispered into the laptop, "are you ready my love?"

"Yes," said the whisper.

Sam straightened his back and took a deep breath. He stretched his arms forward, and before the whisper could reach his ears he had let the laptop go. The sound of hard plastic shattering onto concrete sent a jolt through him. Whatever happened next, it would be alright.

That's when a young couple, dressed for the Sunday service, approached the shattered laptop and looked up at Sam. "Are you alright Reverend?" Sam waved at them and assured them that he was and that he would explain in a few minutes before the service started. They went on into the building and Sam began to prepare himself to preach that morning on the sins of the flesh.

There's No Need for Words Snake

Tonight I learned what a psychomantium is.

It's a spirit gate for a modern shaman.

A joke room for a trendy fraud's anecdote.

A Ganzfeld machine with no moving parts.

Something I've already done before I knew there was a name for it. Self imposed solitary from a frightening night when something in the darkness reflected off that mirror, so I stood there and waited for something.

for the devil to be real

for my life to change

Some years later I'm updating this journal again. Late again, like always. Knowing what it was that flickered in that room and what thoughts surged have been lost, but tonight I learned what a psychomantium is anyhow. Been there, done that, will do it again.

Head

Eyes open.

Phil, who's head was frozen in a cryogenic test tube of some sort, has now awakened to a large man wearing a custodial uniform looking straight at him. This is an unsettling sight to go along with the terrifying realization that there is no body below his head. Phil begins to panic and wants to vomit in fear, but nothing comes up. His eyes look down, up, all around, then rest back on the large man who says, "WELCOME TO HELL MY FRIEND!"

A blip. A nightmare. This can't be reality. Of all the things this could be this CANNOT be reality.

But it is.

The last thing before this horrible sight that Phil could recall was his family by his bed where he was in the middle of dying. Years of success and renown in some currently inconsequential field of scientific study had afford him the option of having his head cryogenically frozen. The allure of the future was such a burning desire of his that he jumped at the chance. He knew, lying there on the cusp of eternity, that he would awake one day to find a fantastic new world.

Now, he was staring at a large man laughing and rocking his head back in forth in a carefree motion. It was inconceivably frightening. If he still had a heart it would have exploded by now.

"You're the only one that made it!" the large man said. "I thought it would be important for someone to see this with me." He was drunk, and wearing a uniform.

Phil tried to speak but could not. Reality had turned out to be a roaring hell beast who had begun to pull him down into an unimaginable hell. Phil, unable to communicate in any other way, desperately started blinking in morse code in the off chance that the large man would understand him.

The large man didn't.

"It won't be long now, friend. The bombers are on their way. The fleet has left us and the other poor souls on the surface of this… dead fucking planet… it's getting scrapped." The large man sat down with Phil's head jar tucked under his arm. Phil tried to scream. "I can't believe it came to this. Just this morning everything was fine. It was my day off, I got to sleep in. I didn't even need to come to work but I left my giga-tray here and fuck me if I can ever go a day without cyber cheese. Can you believe they made this shit alcoholic? Well, tricks your brain into thinkin it's drunk, still a world class app that cyber cheese."

Phil shut his eyes so hard he hoped they would burst in his head and he would bleed to death. But then, where was the blood coming from now? Damn this miracle of technology that was keeping his head alive, damn it to a hell worse than the one he is cemented into.

"Hell if we would've put as much effort into the important shit as we did into that cyber cheese and downloadable mental states and the goddamn sex ray… maybe we wouldn't be 5 minutes away from being carpet bombed by a fleet of planet nuking space destroyers."

Phil attempted to bite off his own tongue. 

Jokes On Pompeii

one of the reasons i would destroy my work is because of a paranoia that i'm still dealing with that makes me think the more i get create, the closer i am to death. 

Death has the greatest sense of humor of all. His jokes kill. They slay. They level empires with impeccably timed punchlines. 

the less funny it would be for me to die at any given moment, the greater my chance of living. 

it's not so much that i am afraid of death, i just dont want to be the butt of any of it's jokes right now. 

The Sutras Of Swimplash Draft

Wrote this draft for my buddy Clint who is off having the best anal he's ever had. Stay safe at sea.

The Sutras of Swimplash - Once Thought Lost, Found In A Civic

Duly recorded by his disciples Salty-heart and Big Grungey Joe
_____________________________________________________________

"From the land named after the creator, East Texas, came a man of infinite gifts. Heart, mind, and beard." - Salty-heart.

"A finer fucker hath never fucked." - Big Grungey Joe
_____________________________________________________________

In the beginning there was the word, and that word was "twiced." For it is said that twiced was Swimplash (pronounced SIP-uh) born. Once born from a woman he was again born on the bathroom floor of a bar called 'Sugarplumpy's.' Little is known about his first birth, only that it happened. His second birth, hereafter referred to as the 'after birth,' ushered in a new age of wisdom for humanity. For it is told that following the after birth Swimplash arose from a grievous head wound and began performing miracles. Sutra - 1:1

His first miracle was standing after receiving a grievous head wound. His second was to survive the loss of blood. It is said that immediately after he arose during the after birth that his head wound filled over with hair that crackled like white lightning. - Sutra 1:2

Upon seeing the man who had wounded him with the bottle of Shiner Bock, Swimplash called to his followers who had followed him to the bar. "Nay, do not harm this one, for he hath struck in ignorance. Please, rowdy friends, do not strike back in ignorance, but discover the location of thine dwelling, and rain rocks of forgiveness, and set the flames of forgiveness upon his front lawn." His followers, complied, and the man that had wounded Swimplash was purified in the howling flames of redemption and was reborn as nutrients resting in the earth. - Sutra 1:3

Later it is said that Swimplash disposed of his garbs and drove an evil spirit out of a drunken woman who had descended upon him with a thirst for knowledge. - Sutra 1:4
_________________________________________________________________

Having become a sage, Swimplash set out to fix the wrongs in the world. His wisdom and powers became known throughout the land. Sutra - 1:5

Once, a house of young people was beset by a fully stocked liquor cabinet. Knowing that the people in the house were too young to imbibe such liquors, he deftly walked through the front door and asked upon where he could find the liquor cabinet. Sutra - 1:6

"Who are you?" a child spoke. And thus, Swimplash smote the child for having transgressed upon him. Then, using his sage nose, he smelled the cabinet which was full of the devil's nectar. He went to it and said, "HARK! I say unto you young peoples, that these bottles contain not salvation, but a false promise." When the young people gathered and asked questions unto Swimplash he could see that they were already ensnared in the false promises of the devil's nectar, and that time was short. Sutra - 1:7

Without hesitation, Swimplash reached for a bottle of Jaegermeister and began to chuggeth. Then, upon completion, he smashed the bottle so it would no longer be used for ill. When the young people did speak he smote them with thine rod, and when they tried to call out on their phones they had learned that Swimplash had suppressed the house phone with wire cutters and used his swiftness and skill to run about the house to snatch all the cell phones. Sutra - 1:8

Having earlier imbibed the devil's nectar the young people were filled with fear and ran from Swimplash. They did not know that he was taking into himself all the evils of the liquor cabinet thus saving them from evil. Within his holy body the evil began to churn and reject him, so Swimplash called forth a torrent of devil's nectar which shot forth unto the upolstry of an IROC-Z Camaro. - Sutra 1:9
_________________________________________________________________

In the year of the Cougar, Swimplash traveled to the land of Nod and was encountered by a man who was hounded by an army of inflamed women who had seen many years. The man was weary of their garbled words and so Swimplash, having seen this, took it upon himself to disperse the women. Uttering sacred chants such as, "hommina, hommina, hommina," and "hark sugartits, back thineself unto thee," he was able to quell the crowd of their intent. The weary man thanked Swimplash. "If you wish to thank me, then you must learn to spank me." The weary man became the wary man, and the wary man inquired to Swimplash, "what do you mean spank you?" Swimplash lowered to a knee and took began to write into the Earth with his finger. Before the wary man arose his own likeness from the dirt, and that of the likeness of Swimplash. The wary man gasped at this miracle. Then, the likeness of many elder women rose too from the dirt and surrounded the likeness of the wary man. "You are burdened by these women, yet you do not see the easiest path to remove yourself from them," said Swimplash. Sutra - 1:10

The wary man pondered Swimplash's words. "Do you mean to say… that by spank you, you mean surpass you by learning from your example and becoming better at solving my own problems?" Sutra - 1:11

"Nay," said Swimplash.

The wary man again pondered. "Do you mean to say… that to free myself of these women, I must 'spank you' by punishing you for what you did to them, and learn to accept that sometimes an army of inflamed women who have seen many days are people as well and should not be treated as a burden?"

"Nay," said Swimplash.

The wary man pondered deeply, but the answer did not come to him.

Swimplash went to the likeness of the wary man and removed from his sash a broken piece of glass. With it, he raked the likeness of the wary man upon the face three times. The likeness of the women had disappeared upon the third slash. It was then that the wary man came to understand Swimplash. Sutra - 1:12

Then, that night in the parking lot, Swimplash gave the wary man the shard of broken glass. The wary man then set upon his own face with the glass, until a passerby remarked that "your face is like the salted Earth!" Swimplash went up to the wary man and spoke unto him. "Nay… you are of the salted heart… This day I shall call you Salty-heart and we are now as brothers, and if the women come for you, show them your face and they will flee. Then I will take their evil upon myself to shield you from their throes.

Salty-heart wept, and became a disciple of Swimplash. - Sutra 1:13
____________________________________________________________

Upon a road Swimplash stopped without word. Salty-heart spoke to him, asking what could be the matter. Swimplash laid his hand on Salty-heart's shoulder and said, "stay here, I must tend to the rash." And with that Swimplash went to the river where he might collect relief from it. On the banks beside him approached a woman. Swimplash spoke to her, saying "pray, tell me, oh woman of enormous knockers, why hath you come to the river?" Sutra - 1:14

"I have come to feed Big Grungey Joe, lest he set upon my house with demands for spaghetti." Sutra - 1:15

Swimplash then noticed an invisible snake who set forth to strike the woman's bosom. It's speed was too great for Swimplash and it struck her right breast, yet she did not know. The invisible snake then vanished. Quickly, Swimplash came up to the woman and began to suck the venom from her unseen wound. The woman, sick with invisible venom, knew not what she was doing when she smote Swimplash upon thine eye. "Pray! I say unto you! I will draw the venom!" Sutra - 1:16

"There is no venom there! Nothing has envenomed me!" the woman roared. Sutra - 1:17

"There is! You cannot see it for the serpent was cloaked!" Sutra - 1:18

Then, it was said, that on the banks of that river while saving the buxom woman's life, a great bear rose from a pile of towels and came upon Swimplash. Sutra - 1:19

"HEY," it spoke, "just who in the wide world of FUCK are you?!" Sutra - 1:20

Wiping his mouth, Swimplash stood and addressed the bear. "Who should I be?" he asked. The bear, unseeing of Swimplash's wisdom, then roared, "SPAGHETTI!" Then the woman, climbing to her feet, said unto the bear, "Big Grungey Joe.. this bearded thief has pillaged my bosom so that I was not able to protect your plate of noodles and parmesan…" Sutra - 1:21

"WHAAAAT?!" cried the great bear, "IS THIS TRUE?!" he asked of Swimplash in all caps. "I say unto you great bear, who hath the scent of a burning furnace of garbage, that this woman was set upon by a cloaked serpent." Sutra - 1:22

"A CLOAKED SERPENT?!" screamed the bear, "then… they too have come to this river. Sages, cloaked serpents, it is no longer safe here for pasta." So the bear stood upon his hind legs, and began to walk as a man. Salty-heart, who had become weary of waiting, came upon them and frightened the buxom woman away with his gashed face. "Great Swimplash, what have the fates wrought us?!" But Swimplash had set out and followed the buxom woman. So it was that only Salty-heart and the bear were left to speak. Sutra - 1:23

They spoke tragedy, victory, and of the beginning and the end and everything in between. Then they spoke of Swimplash, who had given up chasing the envenomed woman and returned. Sutra - 1:24

"So! She outran you! What are you a pervert or something?!" roared the bear. Sutra - 1:25

"Nay," said Swimplash. The poor woman had been covered in invisible snakes, but she was strong and her enormous knockers belied her speed and she had escaped Swimplash to surely die in the forests of Tarrant County.  Sutra - 1:26

"Then I shall eat her up when I find her," screamed the bear softly, "her  tender body shall surely taste of spaghetti after having cooked it for so many days." Sutra - 1:27

"Nay," said Swimplash. Then he took from his sash a can of high powered bear mace and did mace the bear. Sutra - 1:28

The bear laughed as the mist did no harm. It was then that Swimplash had taught the bear a lesson, and the bear did know suddenly that it was not a bear, but a man. Sutra - 1:29

It so pained the bear that he howled with sorrow. His mind remembered when he was a man, and when he was denied his pasta, and he broke upon the banks of the river and attempted to drown himself. Swimplash laughed at this. Sutra - 1:30

Salty-heart cried out to Swimplash, "we cant let him do this! Is not the life of Big Grungey Joe sacred?" Sutra - 1:31

"Nay," said Swimplash, and he began to laugh at the sad man drowning himself in the river. Sutra - 1:32

The great bear man heard the laughter and his head was raised from the water and was pointed at Swimplash who exalted in his sadness. Sutra - 1:33

"Why do you laugh at me?" asked the crying bear. Sutra - 1:34

Swimplash answered the question by laughing at him more. The crying bear who was once a man then understood why Swimplash laughed. It was because he was still a man, and never was a bear. The heart within still beat with human rhythm. For the first time in many years, Big Grungey Joe stood up as a man and rushed forward to strangle Swimplash, as a man. Sutra - 1:35

Salty-heart looked upon this scene with golden light in his heart. This was not a bear attack, this was a man attack, his master had done another good deed. As Big Grungey Joe's raging hands hugged his throat, Swimplash had a vision. Sutra - 1:36

A white light filled Swimplash's eyes and the smell of Armor-all filled his nostrils. A council of figures sitting in a semi-circle floated toward him. Then it was that Burt Reynolds stood and welcomed their brother Swimplash. Sutra - 1:37

"So I am dead," said Swimplash. "Or are you," questioned Burt Reynolds.Sutra - 1:38

"Or are you?"
_____________________________________________________________________

My hands hurt from word fracking. My heart is tired of pumping bad blood into hardened limbs. Right now I feel like a detective on a cold case looking at evidence layed out on a table before me. None of it leads me to an end. But I want to believe that if I keep looking that something will emerge.

Then I remember that I don't do anything. Nothing. My subconscious directs everything and I watch as my hands and bodies follow orders. There's not an "I" or a "me" right now either. I don't know what any of this is. These words are just a byproduct of hundreds of thousands of occurrences that go back as far as the conception of the computer and also of my ancestors. Two paths eventually merged down the road to cause the current letters, previously conceived, to be arranged in the way that you are reading. My upper consciousness has nothing to do with it. It has been retired long ago and left the subconscious to try and carry both loads.

What all would that explain if it were true?

How To Cook A Cookbook

Listen to the wrong music to produce the wrong thing. I've been writing like it'll absolve me of my sins, as if I can scribble my way out of this hole. But I wont get out of it if I keep refusing to aim.

Aren't stories where the money is at? Do I dare dream of getting paid for doing what I want? Could the world really be so cruel? Tighten up that form, there are lives at stake. You can have a stake in the future. You can break out of the never was and gift your works to the next up to bat.

I have found that you can survive on a pack of M&M's a day. It just makes you violently ill and leaves you mentally misshapen. Also you hurt all the time… also people start hiding cameras in your room that turn invisible the moment you find them, and fires outside the hotel burn away at the time I have left on Earth for I am the gatekeeper of Hell sent to crucify the purity and when I am dead I shall unleash the waters of the new horror.
 
All of this was written in the book of life, which was the disappointing sequel to Nothingness: Better Than It Sounds. 

Typing words with a frightened heart is very difficult. I wish I could eat courage out of these books. Wait a second, of course... EAT THE BOOKS! My god all my problems are solved!

Blew It, Forgive Me My Love

I want to talk to you. I don't always want to talk to someone, but tonight I do. You. You big group of someones. This is as good a time as any to come clean, there is a sadness in my heart right now and the thought of someone reading what I write lifts me.

And I've got nothing...

Four days later -

Was looking through some stuff I wrote once.. this was a response I gave to a question that was submitted to me on LJ:

"I started writing after I sat down one day and tried to figure out which profession would garner me the most attention from promiscuous women. World famous guitar god just wasn't as potent a profession as science fiction writer. Sure those guys get laid, but there are few things that rev up a woman's engine like a goddamned wordsmith. Like, a few days after I started writing I walked outside and a bus full of Atlanta strippers had pulled up in my yard screaming about slinging vag at me like I was on a beach as Superstorm Pussy devestated my coastline. That's why I do it. For ass, ass, ass.. booty booty buttcheeks, shake for me girl, I wanna be your backdoor man."

The response was a brief message about an enormous amount of respect having been lost. A part of me felt awful for writing that response and another part of me was disheartened for not having made my response much more awful.

Another Post In Which I Punish The Faithful

Write terrible poetry
burn it in a can
let it warm you
absorb the purified spirit of what you wanted to say
try again
burn again
breathe again
don't just pretty it up
tear it down
polish the wreckage
stomp the beauty
lie and cheat with honesty. 

I found a brochure for a local storytelling event. It was exciting before I got to the part where you have to pay at least $45 dollars for tickets. Hatred. Hatred. Why would they charge so much and if anyone uses 'the economy is bad' as an excuse then you should be living on borrowed time. Fuck the every bit of you. 

I want to be a storytelling scab. For a quarter of the price I will sit in a moderately comfortable chair and tell you anecdotes, like that one time when I got real drunk and that other time when I got drunk and... The plan is full fool proof. 

Since I won't be attending the storytelling event I must issue apologies. To DeCee Cornish, who is described in the pamphlet as "compellingly eloquent, street smart and side splitting," which was absolutely written by a white person, I am sorry that I will not be able to listen to your tall tales.

To Willy Claflin and Maynard, his moose puppet. Unfortunately, I will be unable to listen to your fractured fairy tales. Money is tight. 

To Andy Offutt Irwin, believe me I wanted to hear your "manic Silly Putty voice," though I suspect that desire would wane considerably within the first two seconds. 

To Motoko, I would have liked to hear your Japanese folktales, but you are too expensive for me.

To Eshu Bumpus, my dead Aunt Hilda always said, "don't ever trust a fucking jazzman," but I like to think she would've been wrong about you. Please know that even though I won't be able to attend, I will also be sick and poor. 

 

Today

Start sad, be slow.

Dredge through the shit and go nowhere.

Light up for a second, think there's a way, try and explode.

It's working. Look at what's coming alive. Beautiful.

Wait, no it's not. It's not working at all. The beauty was shit.

What can I do? The fuse was used and I can't find a new one.

I'm going to stop for a little bit and start stacking powder kegs into my heart.

My Pal Megan Is Where I Got The Name 'Coolthulu' From, for the record.

The worst thing about that website was that it wasn't 'Antagonize.'

One day I would love to find a community of psychopaths and maladjusted masturbators and join them in the spirit of spitting venom and other fluids. I just can't find any comfort or fraternity among people who are too afraid to tell each other that they've written garbage.

One of my favorite things about my real friends is that they will tell me if I've done something unimpressive. Sure I cry for hours and draw up terrible revenge schemes but I appreciate the criticism. There is a place for compassion, but like booze if it's all you take in it's going to ruin you in ways that your brain will be too weak to really understand. Tell your loved ones how awful they've been and you will be doing them a tremendous service.

My mother and brother don't know a lot. That's alright because neither do I. But they don't want to know any more than they know now. That hurts to know.

It simply fucking hurts.