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.

Transcending History or Refreshingly Warm Beernuts

Well, this is my blog.  Whether its a positive force for the world of good or an evil and scheming force of chaos is still pretty irrelevant.  This is, after all, just another shitty blog. 

I am, and with a tinge of pride, happy to announce that I am actually updating it.  So, here it is.  For you cavemen and women to drool and clamor over.  I updated and I'm goddamn proud of it. . .

In actuality, indifference is still my battle standard.  YAY ME.

I'm 32 years old.  I work in fast food.  I go to college to get out of fast food.  Shit, I'd settle for slow food. 

No.  That's a lie.   Fuck food.  I hate everything about it.  Well, mostly the servicing part of it.  I don't enjoy being a virtual slave to these ungrateful slobs.  These disgusting human beings that believe that they deserve the right to be treated respectfully and in a timely manner.  You have money and because of this, you deserve the Royal Treatment.  Well, fuck you.  It's time for a goddamned coup. 

I can't think of a sinlge good reason why the service industry should thrive other than it gives jobs.  I suppose in a backwards and backhanded way I should be saying, "Thanks!" to all these unhealthy and rude fuckheads because, if it weren't for their awful habits of convenience and gluttony, I'd be out of the job.

I could write a book on the subject so I'll just stop there.

In other news, I've been writing creatively again.  I've completed two pieces and that's the most I've done in five years.  The fact that I'm actually writing in this blog should testify that I'm moving more into the direction of writing more.  I've caught the bug again.  It's alive, revivified and thriving.  I'm thinking again. 

It's a strange thing.  Like coming up for air after being submerged for almost too long.  That blast of awareness that catapults you, leaves your arms and legs tingling.  And I like it.

School is school.  I've been gone for five years and now that I'm in the thick of it once more, I remember the awfulness of having absolutely no time for much of anything.  Fulltime fuckfest working, fulltime study/writing fest at school.  It's tough, doing 16 hour days and still having no time or money to show for it.  Yet.

Right.  So.  Movie time and then homework.  I don't really have a use for this blog but I'm sure I'll be back sooner than later.  No promises, though.

Ciao for now.

Twine, Nitrous Oxide, Pantaloons, and Ed McMahon.

It looks like I might have to work overtime on this blog, seeing as how I forgot to post at least something for a December post.  From the bottom of my proverbial heart, I'm sorta sorry.

What is it about a new year that gets to me so?  I'll tell you.  It's because it's like this: You have a slate.  Said slate gets covered in oil, grease, muck, shit, piss, possibly a dash of vinegar, woodchips, cornchips, aardvark dropping, blood, ash, and the occasional spittle of vomitous disgustingus.  And then the new year begins and that slate of yours is cleaned off nice and tidy.  It's new. It's fresh.  Ahhhhhh, so fresh.

And then before you know it, something happens and you find some oil stains on your nice, clean, and fresh slate.  Not so bad.  Easily dealt with.  Shit happens.  Ah, but not yet!  Because then, from out of left fucking field, spatters of grease and muck appear and you stand there going, "Motherfucker, this ain't right!".  But you take a breath. A deep one.  Still not terrible but the doubts, oh they are growing aren't they?  Indeed.  Still, though.  Could be worse.  And so you carry on with your slate which is not so clean anymore but still very usable and filled with pride and hope and good, good things.  As you are just about to exhale in relief, HOLY FUCK!  BOOM!

The onset of shit happening happens.  Mixed with unbiased droplets of piss.  You're becoming pretty distraught but wait, there's more!  Because as you dive headlong past these obstacles that you are sure to be free of in mere moments, you find yourself WHAM!  The smell of vinegar assaults you and you look at your slate with sad eyes.  Balls, you might say.  And consequently, through brief moments of relief and "Whew, glad that's over!", once again, you find that the once-clean slate has been peppered with woodchips, cornchips, aardvark droppings(wtf were you doing to warrant aardvark droppings?), blood, ash, and the occasional spittle of the inevitable vomitous disgustingus. 

At this point, it doesn't matter what's on that slate of yours.  Why?  Because New Year's Eve is just days away and it's time for a new slate!

Rinse.  Repeat.  Until you're dead. 

I know what you may be thinking: That's fucking godawful and depressing!  AND IT IS.   The saving grace throughout all of it is actually somewhat liberating if you choose to think of it in the manner I'm about to present......

Life is ups and downs.  Twists and turns and any other horrible cliche' to signify life's turbulent courses.  And all that stuff that is fucking up your clean slate?  That's your life.  That's your experiences.  Because nothing in this world is pristine because if it were? 

What a boring fucking time we'd all have, yes?

So, chin up, folks.   Learn from the dirt that comes across our paths, it really is the spice of life.

Nanowrimo. . .

I'm compelled.  Drawn.  Whisked away by these delusions.  Or are they memories?  Yeah, they're probably a mix of both really.

This is a very, very rare day for me.  For some reason or another, the excited surge of writing is filling me up.  I haven't quite had this feeling in years.  Literally, years.  But looking upon Facebook and seeing some of my friends participate in the yearly National Novel Writing Month or, Nanowrimo, has sent me into a flurry of "well, shit!".

And so I created an account on the website.  I picked a username and password.  I'm three days behind but from here on out, the goal is 50,000 words by November 30th, 11:59pm.  I will not make it.  I don't care if I do but what is getting me all whipper-snappy and bothered is that I feel my "spark" again.

IT HAS BEEN SO LONG.

It's....scary and awesome.  However, I have absolutely no fucking clue what to write.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I should be writing something right now instead of this oft-neglected piece of fungus I call my blog.

I'd like to just point out that I'm using this blog post for two reasons:

I'm not telling you the first reason.

The second reason?  BRAINSTORM.

I have no FUCKING clue where to begin any type of story of any kind at the moment.  And so as I sit here typing away at this infernal bastard, I grasp at the notion that an the ember's of a huge story-fire will catch on me and set me completely ablaze.

That is my hope, at least.  Hmmm.  Fire.  Catching.  Completely.

Ah, hell.  I got nothing.

So, this is my November post.  Cheers fuckers and good luck to anyone else out there attempting a go at Nanowrimo!

Well?

A little late.  Happy October. 


In other news. . .

Guess I'm going solo on this whole destructive sequence called "life".  This is probably the way it was always going to be anyway, not that I didn't brainwash myself into thinking otherwise because I did.

Naturally, I never think in the right way when this sort of thing is concerned.

It kind of really hurts, though.  Mostly for the shock.  Mostly for the inevitable-ness.  Yeah.  Mostly the latter.

Just call me Snowman.

Brog prost. # 4569

Man-rape chair is out of control. +




Steven Seagal is really ugly.


0001010101111000110000100110010111

Why would you do that!?!?!?

"How To Lose Your Mind In A Matter Of Moments" or "Cabbage Ain't Yer Aphrodisiac Of Choice"

Before I get to the matter at hand....

Happy September Blog Post!

And now, for the matter at hand.

I enjoy pizza.  It's great stuff.

That is all.

No Where To Run...

Hookay.  No cheap three-sentenced update today, I guess.  I've been drinking so naturally the need to express my mind's junkyard of intense and irrelevant bullshit is due.

Politics.  Oi.  I said it.  Poly - meaning many, Ticks - meaning blood sucking things

Anywhoozits.  My point herein is this: I've been running madly away from most if not all political dealings for the past six years.  SIX.  YEARS.  And it always finds me. It sucks me back in.  My sad indifference of most things gets tossed to the floor as my rage and ultimate idealistic self takes hold once more.  And I hate it.

I hate politics because I hate people.  You cannot enforce any referendum or vote or law without a say of the people or their proper representative (ideally).  Since we obviously don't know what's best for us, we tend to stray from what might lead to a progressive and intellectual society.

We end up with Justin Beiber and Miley Cyrus.  Reality TV.  Left or Right wingers debating their own agendas.  The actual use of short hand writing (LOL or OMG)via text messages and the universal Attention Deficit Disorder bullshit of the goddamned curse/blessing of the internet.

That's a fraction of what is wrong.  Yes.  WRONG.  People in the US of A are completely and utterly BATSHIT CRAZY AND FUCKED.  Not all of us.  Just enough of us to make it hurt as they add (more) salt to the already bleeding injuries we've sustained as a people. 

It really hurts to even begin to talk about these things.  Seriously.  What I see and what I know and what I am confident is the answer to it all. . . is more frustrating than a bad case of blue balls before a track meet.

And some asshole just called me and destroyed my rant-momentum.  Ah, hell.  I need another drink anyways.  Especially after thinking about the state of the country and how 2012 SHOULD happen the way it was meant to. 

Perhaps that's just the optimist in me talking. 

Intermission Pt. 2!

August is here!  Hooray!

That is all, miscreants.  Continue your facade of life.

Intermission

Welcome to July, 2010!  A new month, a new post!  HUZZAH!

Right.  On to the heart of the matter in which I will describe some ridiculous situation, rant about it, and then decide that there is nothing more to do about it other than make fun of anyone reading this.

And I just saved myself a very long-winded blog entry! 

Goddamn, that's juicy!

A Litany Against. . .

EVERYTHING.  Yeah, you heard me.  I'm having a rather rare and angst-ridden night.  What better way to expel the inner busy-body demons than to bitch about shit on a blog, right?  RIGHTY-O! 

To really get this going, I'd like to discuss the wonderful world of banking!  Yes, that's right!  You too can fulfill all your dreams and desires by opening up an account at a local branch of your most favoritest money grubbing, abstrusely greed-soaked (and in some cases, not so abstruse), business that is profiting off of your very own blood, sweat, and tears!

Hip-hip, hooray for capitalism and all its zany quirks and kick backs! WHOOPS! Did I say kick backs?  I meant, throw backs.  Or...no.  Throw pillows.  YES!  Open an account today and we'll give you a throw pillow FOR FREE!

Honestly, I'm just bitter because my bank kind of, sort of just fucked me a bit.  It's okay, though.  I'm going to rail their faces with something large, hard, and metallic if they don't fix it for me tomorrow.

The amount of incompetence in the service industry is increasing.  I should know, I'm one of the small cogs working inside the beastly machine.  The question I have to ask; is it honestly just lack of  competence or is it all some contrived business propaganda?  If it's the latter, bravo! A true capitalist strategy, you smarmy fucks! But, in all honesty, it's probably the worst of both worlds.  A little of Column A, a little of Column B. 

The only thing I know for certain is that I'm getting a raw deal.  When the sun has already begun its task of warming the leaves on the trees, the lawns of the streaming suburban domiciles , the concrete war zone of the city, and the seats and dashboards of every vehicle not in the shelter of a garage, I will be wrecking havoc on whatever poor soul picks up that phone when I call on them tomorrow.  There will be justice.  It will be swift and severe.  Okay, fine.  It's not that dramatic but what the fuck, I'm livid here, damn it!  I WANT THE MONEY THAT IS MINE.

They will rue the day they messed with me, oh yes.  Yes, they will.  This is only the beginning.

Welcome Home.

I have a few other blogs that I write about nonsensical things such as why there was a growth on my left testicle that actually turned out to be my right testicle or how life can suck the marrow from even your soul's bones.  You know, light-hearted material.  Sadly, none of them are updated on a regular basis.  And voila! Here I am once again.  This blog was created in an attempt to rekindle that strange and fiery passion.  However, I've done this before.  Start a new blog, write a few entries.  Let it rot. 

This is not going to happen this time around.  I've got a new idea, new and freshly drilled impetus driving me here and I will not allow it to run out of steam.  YOU HEAR ME!??!? 

That's right, Blogger.  I'm adamant, you violent shit. 

So, to my new readers I say welcome! To people who have been to my blogs before,  I have only one quick and simple thing to say: Run.  Run like there's a mutant priest coming to eat your brains out all for the Glory of Marduk. 


WELCOME TO THE CHRONICLES OF THE FALLEN. (Not to be confused with some horrifyingly awful movie with a similar name)

Adios for now. . .