Tuesday, September 7, 2010

weird war tales

as per usual a combination of informations collide and coalesce in my mental soup...
while reading an old copy of a DC Comics war book, WEIRD WAR TALES 102. the story was about a teen playing a video game which turns out to have a been a type of virtual war machine planted by an extra-terrestrial race to enlist the youth of today in combatting an invading race. the kid subsequently defeats the attacking armadas and ultimately gains a commodation from the aliens.
then this add pops up on my internet minds eye. COMBAT ARMS which causes a spiral of apocalyptic thoughts in my brains.
what if our own neerduelle nations conspired to create technologies of this ilk?
isn't the star of the early 90's top programme THE SCUD and Patriot MISSILE -with their onboard viewfinder directional death technolgy- of kin or ancestry to this?
it creates the oportunity to create a defacto pocket universe of arm chair generals to actually wage war and murder upon the little fish of the world.
we already do this to a point. there are a pockets of office worker bees who sittly complicitly at their desk and cubicles each day in iddle amerikkka and type away at a sort of global battleship type software that even Milton Bradley's nefarious Mr Monopoly would be aghast at
and also make Ronnie's StarWARs seem simplistic.
but keep in mind those these white shirt and stained pit and collored drones are bombing awaya at islamic misunderstandistan they are not murderers, they are PATRIOTS!! part of the war effort you see, tho not much more effort than is needed to pass a sloppy turd.

but what if you got the grubby paws of kids into the biz?
first make em pay, they sign up for these online scenarios of death, mayhem and dismemberment....
the evil little bastards even have their own online weapons trades already for things such as FINAL FANTASY and WOW...
so extrapalate this and actualise the carnage into the physical realm...
i would prefer to say the "real world" but that seems ti be even more subjective today than gautama could have ever dreamt under the bilbao tree.....
at any rate
we can have or could already have 10 year olds financing the war and shuffling artillary across the greying pock marked barely green and soon to be irrevocably charred scorched earth of our father who ain't in heaven.

sleep well.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Bert

nothing fancy or creative today. just a report.
waking around 1030 to get up and ready for another trip to the old saw bones.
rabies vaccines, part two. or it would have been if today was monday not sunday.
i barely distinguish between days anymore. tho it wasn't until i'd already checked in at the clinic and waited 45 mins or two chapters worth of what i was reading. BIG SUR, by Kerouac if you need that kind of info. the parallels lately are wondrously hope dashing.
so tomorrow i return dubiously and bashful to get my curious vaccination for a disease not common and the circumstance of which no one comments verbally on, tho i see the critical disapproval, they eyeing me my animal caused wounds like a scarlet alphabet.
the walk there was also not with out incident. i discovered a wounded pigeon hobbling around a construction site and made a silent pact to come back and save it if it was still there when i returned from my appointment. it was. wing torn and bleeding. ripped thru the ribcage but ever silent and dignified in a way man can't understand. i picked it up and carried it home in my reddening hands. i bandaged it. got it some seed, dried bread and water, hoping.
i caressed it some, checking intermittently. resigned silence he turned inward to the cage i'd placed him in for safety allowing my kindness. i'm sure he knew his fate was soon to come.
just after our dinner i checked on him and found him cold, eyes closed and resting much where i'd left him laying on a pillowcase i'd put in there. i called him, Bert.
when i get on these missions my wife always reminds me that i have done more than anyone else did or would.
why is it never enough?

Saturday, July 10, 2010

22.06.09

a selection from the vault to send y'all into a sleepytime abyss.


3am. my serotonin is loose and sloshing around my too many times concussed, hemorrhaged hemispheres of my mind. sold. for nothing. all i want is hot dogs and some internet porn right now. i’m contained within one room and a kitchenette. motel on the edge of cottage country. but specifically in the part that no one would put their cottage or let their kids play. toofless mulletted aboriginal youth from mixed homes out for fine dining at the burger king and begging for change with dopefiend foster parents representin’ in front of the Walmart store. smiling meth rotted grins. violent leers. that pitbull ain’t got no muzzle. i hope someone else tells them about that.
out on the porch trying to enjoy the deer flies feasting on my calves. wondering what disease they’ll give me next. maybe CNN hasn’t given a report because the bug seems distracted and undecided. god forbid , a major insectoid social faux pas to transmit a disease that some one has heard of or that their government has released the cure for.
cars race one way down the highway. they must be lost. this road sure as hell don’t go anywhere. if bugs are on the bluetooth now do they rock PINKHUMAN brand?
grizzly with his rotted teeth and sour sugars smell is on the porch again. what words of approval can i impart that will make him go away. be,never come back forget his insulin and pass out to Entertainment Tonight dancing with the stars in the sky (fuck! my ipod just said that, “stars in the sky!!!” simultaneous organism.)

at one point i could joke or remark humorously about insomnia. find amusement and provide it to others with matter of fact suggestions about my disinclination toward unwakefulness. i don’t think its funny anymore. i feel like i’ve joined the dead that i mocked and taunted with patented, and oft quoted smart ass comments such as, “ i’ll sleep when i’m dead.” or the always popular ,” sleep is for the weak.” i’m now wishing that i wasn’t made of quite so sturdy and stubborn stuff. i find my self grey dull and frozen.

my mind stained and halfway between liquid and solid, like the car exhaust stained snow outside. ligths and shapes flicker past my eyes. my reactions are dull and delayed. it seems at this hour the whole world has achieved REM and i am left as its captive and caretaker. dispassionate observer, cataloging and ..... i stare at the walls and computer screen ... i cant close my eyes and they dont want to be open. my mind follows too many tangents of thot. and when silence sneeks up on me it seems worse. when i actually doze some times its not for long. every sound, creeking of floorboards shuffling of blankets. cat eating hard kibble the floor below. snores grunts. dogs the next street over. police helicopters watcxhing in the sky hovering scrutinizing and mocking my attempts at slumber, empowered as gods to fit their fantasies and to comfort the dreams of the just and guilt free suburbannites. conscience clear thru willfiull ignorance and oblivious abuse. i want that. oblivion. rest. doom, the big sleep. becuaase this isnt worth it anymore. i cant turn them off. my mind wanders out onto the lost highway.....dark endless, hopless.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

T.O. G20 B.S.

NOTE: i offer this unfinished, unedited and with no clear direction. at this point it is only a collection of some of my thots on the mayhem in Toronto over the past few days.


good morning G20. you murderous vampires. hope you have enjoyed your vacations. congratulations to the thugs that threw this party. to all their undercover shit disturbers , narcs and Ratfinks, suck a grenade. oh, there has been some entertainment to be sure. enough ultra-violence to keep your dicks hard, good solid television type drama on closed circuit television. who needs pay-per-view when you have live from the streets snuff? women trampled by horses, hippies catching rubble bullets in the teeth
after you’ve flown back to your castles and caves and the ........ have clean the poisoned jizz from the hotel carpets and make sure to dispose of the dead prostitutes left in your wake. it’s a matter of time until evidence of internment camps is found.

ask yourself why have the conference here? what tactical purpose does it serve?
what are they testing?
they could’ve picked docile socialist ski village in europe or some small populaced inaccessable Polynesian island. if you think American politics don’t involve or affect you , that their skirmishes and military conflicts are irrelevant you must have already taken a few too many truncheons to the head. they’re seeing how far they can push this. they’ve successfully proved that you can pacify the masses and make the dissidents fearfull and docile enough to go about their way.
someone thought they would use this event to tell our PM that what he was doing is wrong and illegal/. preach to the converted. these swine work under that principle. it’s like telling a whore that she fucks for a living.

not all cops are bad, some are even human. they just happen to be of the mindlessly obedient thuggish type whose obvious stupidity makes mongoloid baboons scratch their lice infested heads at. but you put that gun on in the morning and stand there with all the manufactured authority that the threat of death creates and you stop being a person to me.
you are an ideology. a concept and practice of violence, bullying and malicious intent. the pretense of serve and protect is long outdated and is likely a mythological conception of bygone years. coppers are the customer service branch of the totalitarian state. just doing their job. which only compounds the guilt. most know better and do it anyway. they stand there blue and strong to give the dissidents a target an identifiable object to focus on while the legislative hocus and truly corrupt pocus happens behind the barricades. a few burned squad cars just as a reminder that you are not welcome. you are following the wrong orders, what just government needs protection more from its own people than from the commie hordes or anarchist factions? you protect the very scum that your friends releatives and public are taught to fear and patrioiticly denounce


legalised gangs. bullies. enforcers.

say nothing

freedom of speech has been repealed.
only free in those forums we are not allowed to join.\

preaching to the converted springs to mind. protestors being pelted by bystanders as pigs wait for retaliation so they can put their truncheons in some peacenik’s skull.
sound cannons, tear gas, tanks and rubber bullets. the standard diet force fed by the state. prison food for the currently mobile and soon to be incapacitated or incarcerated.

elected officials and bloated dignitaries float down upon our cities, lounge rape steal and murder, watching the riot show from penthouse windows taking odds on death toll and number of minorities oppressed .....our rights disappear in the blood and polluted haze.
rain of shit from the heavens.



the media is the terrorist. the only one. working for the company. there is only one. gawd and satan have always been two sides of a coin. but all that latin lawyer speak confused you. you didn’t understand. they serve the same cause. they are and deal in the same currency one needs the bohter to operate. there is no news without war death and controversy and there is no state if the people are afraid and confused enough to believe they need someone to hold their hand thru the night. drumming fear to the beat of the war machine.
it’s a case of semantics. of the seal clubbing victor, writing histories. the official account is nowhere near the truth. ever.

then to onto disseminating the juicier images of hearty protesters cowed and beaten sounds of sniveling, groveling and whimpers cut-in to add to the arousal of victory and to make palpable the futility and dread fear of the situation. hope is a 20th century concept. there will be no revolution no overthrow. not like the old days. the monster is too big.


a terrorist to incumbent forces, is the freedom fighter for the oppressed. guerilla technique is the only avenue left.
(dont use muslim ref/ remind that they arent the only ones/ others been labeled as such thruout hist/ war of insurrection/)

to all that went out and risked limb and perhaps liberty or life to speak their minds, stand up and let not just the politico fuckwads know what they think/ good job./ you shouldn’t have to be afraid of maim, harm or death to communicate you thoughts. and tho its a seemingly unwinnable Sissyphusian battle you tried anyway. it may not have dented the beast’s armor visably but your acts are part of the collective unconscious now. your children and there’s will remember this and will look back into the wheres and the whys/ the me generation is in its death throes, its why they seem so ...... keep at it. we will force change thru sacrifice. thru ideas thru words and shared experience. change will never be the dramatic wall crumbling horn blowing that history tells us they were. life if more immediate now as change and growth become more incremental true core change of nature and life.

woman feels a prisoner in her own home.

attacking the top of a building almost never makes it fall ;) but ruin the foundation......

businesspeople held for questioning. most close down and leave a ghost town while the warpigs gather.

it’s a sad day that i long for Tieneman or Kent State, Chiapas or even that old commie bastard, Castro. he had some balls back in the day. we seemed to be going somewhere. we believed we could accomplish something but as we mature and tyranny adapts those become just that, beliefs.

but the ghosts will not be quited. cars burned..... head cracked. people imprisonned for undiscolosed reasons.

road ways completely cut off.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

in the meantime

yes, HELMET put out some good records in the mid 90s but that's not what i'm on about.
for the time being this will serve as home to my particular brand of misanthropic capitalism.
i need you to buy the stuff i make: books, prints and for the truly self-hating, music.
www.twozeros.com is the ticket to oblivion.
i had plenty of other Urls before but they lapsed or i forgot them.
the company i claim to operate is d0ublezer0 publishing. it is difficultly spelled but despite this some braindeads have co-opted the Urrrl for their lousy band.
i've also created a FACEBOOK page so i can pretend that i have friends.
i intend to post up excerpts and images from my fine works in the near future.
stay tuned. or not. but feel free to eMail hatred to those bojangling nimrods that thieved my web address.

00%

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

stopping mid-stream

now when the 30yr old reprobate with the 14yr old girlfriend who lost his license for running over a customer with her own car tells you that pissing on the head of drunken, passed out and possibly dead vagrant in the alley is a bad idea and that he expected better of you you should probably pay attention,
but gawddamned if i’m going to stop mid stream.
that shit burns like a mutherfucker.
this is probably around the time i should have realised that 400mg of codeine and 2500mg of cafeine a day mixed with cough syrop, sudafed, ginseng and a cross eyed, borther fuckin girlfriend who only dated guys with the same name so she could could keep it straight wasn’t a good combo.
i’m not sure i gave it much thot later as i downed a 60oz bottle of whiskey and was alternately making out with a friend’s whore of a girl and his rottweiler.
at least the dog’s mouth didn’t taste like jizz and cigarette ashes. tit’s were firmer too.
tho i gave it some consideration rambling home whilst trying to boost AM stereos from service vans and school busses.
16 was a weird age.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

don't forget your sunscreen

it's warm sunny birds peeping and a fluttering their joy.
i couldn't be more miserable. sliming my way down toadstools and i just can't reconcile the world i see with what i know can be true.
dragging my slug ass around the town. breathing deep as i can to fill my lungs with life with joy and i just feel stuck to the ground, wallowing in my mucous.
little birds land on windowsill chirping me to come play and by the time i get to there they are gone. friends not to be seen again until they want something.
stuck. i'll never make it far. looking with all my eyes but it still don't get me anywheres.
go fly into a window, avian plague carriers. a curse a pox a general unqualified malaise on you yours and the sad bastard who has to wipe your bird brain off the window.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

no purpose

this has no point to it. at the least, i haven't one in mind. struggling to write anything. can't communicate even at my usual short circuited misunderstood misanthropic level.
doesn't seem to be any brain activity. i've had foggy periods, but i'm just blank. can't even string together a few malevolent thots about the things that piss me off daily. used to be easy. point, shout, type. i've no interest or attention span for any subject. i'm not reading. don't draw. don't give a shit about the music on my stereo. i don't even turn it on some days. which is quite a dramatic thing for me. this keeps up, i'll just start boozing up in front of the TV every nite and wait for death. i'm aimless, no goals that i believe in, no hope or aspiration. i just get up, do little or nothing and slink back off to my room at the end of the day.
it's not a life.i want to care but don't. never been much of a doer. a ponderer or thinker at best. now that seems to have abandoned me too.
blah.
i was going to end it there in a typical juvenile unimaginative manner, but i just couldn't. guess there's some life left in this. probably not. fuck you optimists.

Monday, January 25, 2010

i don't use this space enough. and i don't imagine i always use it in the best ways.
this probably doesn't fall under that category either, at any rate here it is.

i write. poems. the obvious editorial malignance. short stories.
i publish books.

five of them so far. small matters. none exceeding a hundred pages.
some are good, some are of questionable quality.
all of them, and this is the real point i'm trying to make here,
are available for purchase.

as follows:

monster(s): and other ghost stories $5. - 90+pgs poems, stories,
no fucking editing or sanctuary

women $2 - pretty poems about the lovely women who've made my life better.

abortions in the 123rd trimester $2.- a tribute to the 30 years on earth that i've put to little or no use.
memorium $2 - for my grandmother

telephone $5 - fuck you Alexander Graham Bell

more info, samples and pics to follow.
contact at bignothing00@gmail.com