Rerouting the Encryption. . .

I don't know about this whole blogging thing but the one thing I do know is that I fucking LOVE cheese.  LOVE.  IT.

So, fuck you and your intolerable behavior of such wonders as lactose. 

Anyway.

Just dropping by to say that I am probably not going to use this blog anymore.   I have an older one that is much more exploitative to my true insanity and fun loving assault rifle tag.  Um.  Yes.


So, if you happen to be browsing these intrawebnetz, and you come upon a URL that leads you to your own destruction, then I say huzzah!

If that doesn't happen and you find yourself at The End of Most Things Neat , then you will eventually soak in enough bullshit to be considered actual feces.


But alas, that is where I shall dwell from here on a out, if at all.


Do not expect much.  But hope for it.  Because that's all we can ever do.  Or....something.


Ciao and all that.  Catch ya'll on the flipside.

Sass, Jazz, Pot, Gun, Top. These are all 3-letter words.

Well, what the fuck do we have here?  A blog?  Weird.

Who in the ever living FUCK put THIS here?  Huh!?  HUH!?!?

Oh.  Right.  I did.

Almost a year since my last post and all you got was this stupid sentence.  Well.  SentenceS.

You are welcome.

Can't Say I'm Impressed

Blogger, you wretched whore.  I've changed your design more times than I can count the times I've kicked a dog because it didn't say "meow". 

I was looking over my other blog, the blog that has about four years or so of semi-steady blogging and realized that the design was never an issue.  It was black, organized, and easily not distracting.  It allowed you to eat up the text instead of squinting at the abstract whatevers in the background.  No noise, just words. 

I liked that.  And so I'm going back to that sort of thing. 

I'm only on here right now, in all honesty, because I can't fucking sleep. 

Here's to oblivion anyway because what the fuck else is there to say at 9am on a Sunday morning?

Ciao, adios, later.

PS: Wtf is the point of tags?  They annoy me to no end.  Fuck em.  Unless it's really necessary, I ain't tagging shit. 



There.  TAGGED.  Happy?

Late Night/Early Morning: A Collection of Words to Form Sentences

There was a very wise old man who had lived secluded on a mountaintop who seemed to have so many great pieces of wisdom for all of the people in the surrounding villages.

He's dead now.

But!

We, the good people of wherever, whenever, are still alive and kicking.  And we are oh, so full of utter and jam-packed bullshit!  YES!  Can I get an amen, here! HULLALUDLf;jDjfjdfnda

Anyway.  A bit on the bitter side.  Rawness at the forefront.  And I'm not even close to making any apologies.
There's so many very bad things going on right now.  I'd love to write about them but I'm afraid I only have time to rant about one thing.

Or maybe more than one thing.  I don't know yet.  I'm just winging this one.

Focus, you bastard!  Christ, I can't seem to get a hold on any one thought.  It's nearing 4am,[edit:4:30am] I have to be up in five hours for class and then I get to spend the rest of the day moving.  I'm hopped up on stupid energy drinks and my mind is damn near broken.  More broken, rather.


I'm hoping for martial law.  Then I can justify killing idiots.  But the question is, would I have enough time?

No, killing is for soldiers.  I'll steal what I can in twinkies and head for the woods.  I'm not a lover but fuck if I'm a fighter.  However, I have had some anger issues welling up inside me.  Pretty sure that one of these days I'm going to punch the living fuck out of this idiot I work with.

But it's easier to just fantasize about it.  Less consequences.
Consequences.
Those really ruin my hair day.  Which is funny because I have no hair. Well.  To be fair, my ass is a regular Willie Nelson.


Right.  I could've gone all year without that visual as well.  LET IT SOAK IN.

In softer yet still crushing news:
My roommate's cats were given away today.  You didn't know these beasts so it probably has little to no effect on anyone reading this trite nonsense.  But I've been a cat person since I was a kid.  And these two cats?

THEY WERE GODS.

Well, they were fucking awesome.  Weird and cute.  Strange and kickable.  Good friends.  It's the second time I've gotten attached to a pair of these furry miscreants and it's the second time they've had to be given away.  And it makes me sad.

Giacomo (Jock-ay-mo) and Merlin, I'll miss ya you fucks.

Oh, dear god.  It is late.  Hooboy.  Fucked, I am.  But that's nothing new.  Ce la vie.

That's it for now.  Tune in next month as I explore the use of Scientology in Fundamental Christian teachings.  And yes, I'm bringing a gun.

Come On, You Fuck. . .

Update your blogs, you assholes.  I'm bored and drunk.  I need something to judge and/or comment about obcenely. 

Weeeeeeeeeeee

A Poem.

I wrote this a few weeks ago.  I've edited only once but I need to edit more before I add it to my portfolio.  Hope you enjoy!

Fading

By M. Cornell

These previously breathing-and-screaming corpses tossed about have gotten old.  They are everywhere. Unmoving and unliving.  A grisly, unending buffet for any scavenging creatures. 

Not sure if the rot-stink is still there or if I’m just so used to it. 

The puncture in my arm is infected.  It looks pretty bad.  Hurts like a mother.

I suppose I’ll have to deal with that soon.  Or soonish.

I haven’t seen a single person in so long.  Months, probably.  Definitely not years.  Not yet.

I wonder if Big Ben is still intact.  Doubtful.  

Ouch! Goddamn, I need to deal with this arm situation.  Can barely move the thing.  I’m bound to

find something useful deeper in town.  Find me some antibiotics.  Or a cold beer. 

Hell, I’d be happy with a half-smoked cigarette. 

I miss Rachel.  If she were still alive and with me, she’d be so pissed off for my stupidity. 

I can hear her scolding voice in my head, “Fell off an overpass and sliced open your arm? Who does That?  Oh.  Right.  Your dumb ass!”  I miss her rants, that glossy twinkle in her eyes when

she goes off

about something, anything.  Even if it was me.  

She died at the beginning.  She went quickly.  Painlessly.

The last people I saw alive lived in the woods. 

They tried to eat me. 

Frail and whimpering, they came at me like a wave.  A few of the punches I threw

probably killed some of them.  They were not human beings anymore.  Savage things.

They’re probably all dead by now and in a better place. 

Better than here.

Hollow winds matched with hollow gray skies.  Everyday and everywhere.  I’m starting to think that even the sun is dead.

I’m so tired.  So very tired.  Maybe I’ll just rest here in this garage for awhile.  Gather my strength.

Yes, for just a little while longer.  Get some shut eye.  My arm doesn’t hurt so bad now.  Might not have to go searching downtown.  I’ll see what happens after a short rest. 

Just a short rest.  Maybe I’ll dream of Rachel again.  Those give me comfort.  They remind me of better times.  When I had a place before the

World went to shit. 

When I had friends and family.

Back when I had a home. 

Rachel, I want to come home now.

I want to come home.

I Don't Like the Politics But the Politics Like Me

Imagine for a minute: You go to college because you've always felt a calling to education, to the young people of your community, your city, your state, your country, your world.  You wanted to have a helping hand molding young people's futures and to bring a positive and intellectually charged attitude into their lives.  To challenge them and engage them in their studies of their lives, the world, and everything.  You are a bright gleam of enlightenment, igniting the sparks of critical thinking and opening up the minds of the young to embrace culture, philosophy, politics, literature, mathematics, and the broad world around them.

Imagine trying to do all that while balancing two or maybe three jobs just to pay rent. 

Imagine trying to not get strung out on a daily basis.  Imagine guiding these young minds during the day and trying to stay on task despite the fact that you only get five hours of sleep a night.  Five hours of sleep, if you're lucky, because you have another full-time job after school.

Imagine staying calm and cool-headed when you are becoming more and more irritable.  Imagine the guilt after your outburst at a student who didn't deserve it.  Imagine the pressures of trying to balance a steady income when all of your benefits are stripped away and you have no one, not a single person, group, or entity that can represent your dream-come-true job turned Hell-On-Earth.   There is no negotiating.  No voice, no ears, no justice.  And you cry at night when you try to sleep but you can't because the tears and fears won't let you. 

Because you are being stretched thin while the kids you are supposed to be helping are not getting your full attention.  Instead of being properly introduced to the important things that are comprised of a useful education, they are adhering to other, more easily accessible role models.

Like the proper role models displayed on "Jersey Shore".   Consumed by that gigantic lie created from 20th Century media and carried heavily into the 21st, that anyone can be rich and famous, they will follow paths acting as they were taught by what's on the screen. 

And they will fall hard.  And they will consume what they can, when they can.  With their only destiny being that of an uneducated, under-skilled, manual laborer.

God Bless America

I fucking hate it here.