i am troubled by the danger in the distance. the looming clouds that are pregnant with rain to bring spring greens, it will bring me down low where i used to stay for years and years, i dont mind the fall i guess, but the assent is far too painful especially when you do not know which way you are crawling.
my drunken friends told me to play music, they said i was a writer.
i just say what pacifies my aching, haggard heart.
my industrious father told me to do what i want, whatever it is that is reasonable to pay my warden off for loans, to be true to myself.
its time i let go.
my pious mother told me to study the law or join the clergy because
she believes.
my illusioned sister told me to do what makes you the most money for the least amount of investment,
because she is chatechized by her miser husband.
my stomach starts to turn over and under itself like a python balling into its coiled cave, a land mine waiting to trigger, but i am ok today.
the world told me to imprison myself, to free myself, to slowly kill myself, to slowly save myself, to love, to hate, but most importantly to live.
all i do is get sick. whiskey words, scorched earth, countless swears of love, all pallid compaired to a breif blaise constitution from 9 to 8. then i am a holy man, wanting to run from righteousness.
God told me to do what He wants
because He wants my soul.
so selfishness too is love, i suppose.
lightening bolts?
none.
laughter.
now,
remorse.
a curious repose.
disassured at the ambivalence, the weight seems to be heavy on the right, yes it is.
a kind of pulsing buzz, tactile only.
its all quiet.
like the calm before the storm.
i am stuck there at that pinnacle of a breath, pleading for catharsis.
halcyon, laudanum, jameson and jack.
i smoke. SOMEtimes...more scorched earth, more.
so we beat proverbial horses yet deceased. oh well. it cant feel the pain. PETA is laughable now.
but it prunes the aveoli in my lungs and my time too. as if some column is being ground down minuets each day. oh well
shackles, shackles. steel cold misery
down in a belly of a whale, a deep blue jail.
so am i a refugee in the camp of debauchery, victim to subscribed belief?
i told myself i would do everything because i cannot decide. so i shall just sit and watch it all pass by.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
exegesis is the pawn of those brains suited for the wide world. so under utilized as something meaningful. morality is a crutch of the fearful, or rather the well planned--nonetheless they are synonymous. and yet immorality is the vice of the unbridled and forlorn. so everything is nothing all at once. performative contradictions are of course most obvious in history. dare i substantiate my claim with the behaviors exhibited by a slew of state and non-state actors in the domestic and international realms? they are coterminous these dark days at any rate. so say let us perserve what is worth preserving. they mean let us obtain the necessary security requisite for longevity. see how it is. that egoism spins the world.
stop believing and start doing what seems to fit most comfortably around your neck.
imperfect people are so beautiful to me, i just cant see past their beautiful hearts and beautiful teeth, their beautiful faces marked by disease, their beautiful skin martyred to some modern monet, imperfect people are beautiful to me.
that was from the book of Johnas. some silky serenade the sundry masses sing to eachother three times a day to affirm their humanity. it was only after Brithus the IVX instituted the social contract of the "general will" in the year 3002 that there was ever any talk of human rights. for despite the statist nature of the world, the only individuals or true people, and by people i mean granted world citizenship, were those who had served in the military and killed at least one alien on the crusade of freedom, first launched by the united world of america's 80th president Newton Alasdair Briggs. Briggs gathered the other blue blooded bastards of New Earth and declared, "My friends,
stop believing and start doing what seems to fit most comfortably around your neck.
imperfect people are so beautiful to me, i just cant see past their beautiful hearts and beautiful teeth, their beautiful faces marked by disease, their beautiful skin martyred to some modern monet, imperfect people are beautiful to me.
that was from the book of Johnas. some silky serenade the sundry masses sing to eachother three times a day to affirm their humanity. it was only after Brithus the IVX instituted the social contract of the "general will" in the year 3002 that there was ever any talk of human rights. for despite the statist nature of the world, the only individuals or true people, and by people i mean granted world citizenship, were those who had served in the military and killed at least one alien on the crusade of freedom, first launched by the united world of america's 80th president Newton Alasdair Briggs. Briggs gathered the other blue blooded bastards of New Earth and declared, "My friends,
Saturday, November 14, 2009
conceal your ailment so they can hold you as human in their eyes.
that is what i so loath, what i so desire.
oh tie me up, untie me!
all this wishing i was dead is getting old,
its getting old.
and so we go on and on.
i say.
you there! stop wearing my clothes.
years upon years. disposed. dispossessed. or so disaffected by the heart that tries. countless rush and surge, gush and pound pound pound pound.
yes monotony.
and i the eternal ungrateful host.
depression glass is traded still, for thats what you are a cheap thrill, a stick man a living will.
bottles and bodies the cannibals consume countless measures slowly exhumed by crows and sparrows picking your bones in whispering chorus
so laugh. i laud your banality.
what is it that grants normalcy?
for when you are strong i am strong, and when you are weak i do not belong.
let the poison be strained through the tree.
but chop it down with your machete.
the blood drains the sweetness from the fruit.
when did genetics become such a marketing tool for subpar product?
it is because we are so imperfect and so
born to be insufferable.
oh but love the beautiful ones.
the pretty little children drunk and high,
and
who F U C K.
let them fuck.
for they do what they so please,
drinking whiskey and sin and sin
and
sin
and
sin
who dares say a vice these days is pent with in the old black book? laudable laughter. God is dead, so I am told. but then what is anything at all.
filling emptiness with nothing.
convinced there is a future in the fucking when there's no fucking future.
so
what will i need? i say, what is it that makes me please you?
autistic child. said a man in a white coat.
the woman too. her glasses were large and round. i thought back then it provided her a keener sense of the world. but when you are blind you see inside, and no one likes to do that, so give me larger eyes. she thought, i think.
they said the tests confirm it so.
so i let go of perspective.
how does the human feel? i wonder. how is it that i am at an arms length always to no avail. less the disparity inside, the great rain. i suppose i should say: "stop". then recollect what has been washed away, then i noticed that even the litter looks elegant in the rain. so it goes, and goes
and
g
o
e
s away.
"he is wearing your clothes", ill say.
to conceal your ailment so they can hold you as human in their eyes.
that is what i so loath, what i so desire.
that is what i so loath, what i so desire.
oh tie me up, untie me!
all this wishing i was dead is getting old,
its getting old.
and so we go on and on.
i say.
you there! stop wearing my clothes.
years upon years. disposed. dispossessed. or so disaffected by the heart that tries. countless rush and surge, gush and pound pound pound pound.
yes monotony.
and i the eternal ungrateful host.
depression glass is traded still, for thats what you are a cheap thrill, a stick man a living will.
bottles and bodies the cannibals consume countless measures slowly exhumed by crows and sparrows picking your bones in whispering chorus
so laugh. i laud your banality.
what is it that grants normalcy?
for when you are strong i am strong, and when you are weak i do not belong.
let the poison be strained through the tree.
but chop it down with your machete.
the blood drains the sweetness from the fruit.
when did genetics become such a marketing tool for subpar product?
it is because we are so imperfect and so
born to be insufferable.
oh but love the beautiful ones.
the pretty little children drunk and high,
and
who F U C K.
let them fuck.
for they do what they so please,
drinking whiskey and sin and sin
and
sin
and
sin
who dares say a vice these days is pent with in the old black book? laudable laughter. God is dead, so I am told. but then what is anything at all.
filling emptiness with nothing.
convinced there is a future in the fucking when there's no fucking future.
so
what will i need? i say, what is it that makes me please you?
autistic child. said a man in a white coat.
the woman too. her glasses were large and round. i thought back then it provided her a keener sense of the world. but when you are blind you see inside, and no one likes to do that, so give me larger eyes. she thought, i think.
they said the tests confirm it so.
so i let go of perspective.
how does the human feel? i wonder. how is it that i am at an arms length always to no avail. less the disparity inside, the great rain. i suppose i should say: "stop". then recollect what has been washed away, then i noticed that even the litter looks elegant in the rain. so it goes, and goes
and
g
o
e
s away.
"he is wearing your clothes", ill say.
to conceal your ailment so they can hold you as human in their eyes.
that is what i so loath, what i so desire.
seasonal sparrows
i think i am ready
to lay down in the dirt all of everything erased
when i awake ill be the son of something terrible
seeing how nothing and something are the same
how your nightmares breathe on you in your sleep
the same is said for your best dreams, oh believers settle down the streets
its the same the same damn thing
i am ready to return to the unliving
a colony of ghosts dwelling in and off of a solemn denial that anything good exists alive in this world if you cant hold it in your hand, if it doesnt give itself to the ashen earth, ive seen that too burn
but how do you see yourself darling? self assured and standing thin?
how do you see yourself brother? self-possessed swallowed in sin?
how do you see yourself mother? self-contained demanding fortune?
how do you see yourself father? self-guided followed by kids?
did it ever just seem too heavy to keep keeping on, i kept in the rivers followed by the silence of a live barely living. i walked down to the shore to see your reflection painted and erased in timeless throes, an arbitrator for your conscious i have come to see im just that shadow stretched by your bright bright future, optical illusions painted and erased, when i lay down in the dirt i will awake to be the son of something terrible. when i awake i will be the son of something terrible. when i awake in the darkness i will be something terrible, running from who i was not once but before that, so ill see myself dispossessed, a laughing sin. we are born here and meant to die where delicate hearts realize the world is wide, wider than yourself. they are all the same:seasonal sparrows flocking to where the wind blows a new home amongst some seeds of injury. so scatter your infamy. so scatter you unruly, so scatter your prudence, be swallowed by the sun.
to lay down in the dirt all of everything erased
when i awake ill be the son of something terrible
seeing how nothing and something are the same
how your nightmares breathe on you in your sleep
the same is said for your best dreams, oh believers settle down the streets
its the same the same damn thing
i am ready to return to the unliving
a colony of ghosts dwelling in and off of a solemn denial that anything good exists alive in this world if you cant hold it in your hand, if it doesnt give itself to the ashen earth, ive seen that too burn
but how do you see yourself darling? self assured and standing thin?
how do you see yourself brother? self-possessed swallowed in sin?
how do you see yourself mother? self-contained demanding fortune?
how do you see yourself father? self-guided followed by kids?
did it ever just seem too heavy to keep keeping on, i kept in the rivers followed by the silence of a live barely living. i walked down to the shore to see your reflection painted and erased in timeless throes, an arbitrator for your conscious i have come to see im just that shadow stretched by your bright bright future, optical illusions painted and erased, when i lay down in the dirt i will awake to be the son of something terrible. when i awake i will be the son of something terrible. when i awake in the darkness i will be something terrible, running from who i was not once but before that, so ill see myself dispossessed, a laughing sin. we are born here and meant to die where delicate hearts realize the world is wide, wider than yourself. they are all the same:seasonal sparrows flocking to where the wind blows a new home amongst some seeds of injury. so scatter your infamy. so scatter you unruly, so scatter your prudence, be swallowed by the sun.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
precarious winds how they push and pull you in place. i dont know if i am not down enough or too far over to really think anything worth while, i forgot to take care of that part of myself so i just sit and complain about everything i dont understand or want to be wished i was or could have been. i know people are always the same, and it makes me sick. cant i just flow ok, i dont want to be that way. i dont want to be human i suppose. but i dont know what to be. so accept the subpar relationship with the world. you cant sit and think to yourself every day every evening every night about the world and how humans are sick things. i did for 2 years and it took me 2 years to remember how to be alive again. i am 17 years old again. but the long long storm started dropping rain when i was 1 and could remember the north east snow. i just wanted to make it all stop. so when i do and just stare back at myself or inside a pitch black cell, cob web corridors of my own prototype i realize i dont want to do anything at all. so you occupy your brain with every little thing you can to forget about what you see and feel. its not that i chose to be this way. i was born sad i suppose. people talk about stress like its commonplace, they talk about all this psychological diseases and disorders that they create so they can create drugs to sell to these people suffering from faux illness. its perception. we can change everything. beyond our wildest imaginings we can create whatever it is we like. so we do and let ourselves be swallowed whole by potentialities. its a blessing and a curse. why do i write why have i worked toward anything at all? people do not like my music, people dont care about what i have to say, people dont care i am alive most of the time. they say they do but you dont enrich them any, nor do they you. they are just proof you are something, a commodity that can offer them a self-maximizing opportunity. so people spend their lives wallowing in this fucked up cycle of using and being used to have more for other people to use so they can have more poeple to use from. its simple simple logic. if you sell yourself short to it all and subscribe to this model this complex framework of users you become used and a user of everyone. once you have amassed significant product or worth people will want to associate with you because you are valuable and can offer a great deal of opportunities or amenities to use. the greater the value the more users flock to you. simple math. get it? right you do because you do it. how can you escape form this? i have asked. so if you are intelligent enough you will ask too. i suspect it is to do what is most logical, change your perspective. foolishly simple, i am aware, but it is most efficient and logical. you cannot change people physically, yet you can in your mind as the world around you.
nowhere
fingers curled, a paralysis
yet still animate
contriving a contorted pleasure
as if, masochism perfects a pretty sound,
so too, the poison runs into the capillaries.
a dull, blunt, drown
still,
they take their places over
and under
then over
and
under again,
saying what my lips cant form:
im a sorry kid with a
heavy
heavy
heart
.
spurious freedom
between the routine of a sad new kind of game,
i just want to tell you who you are,
make the stop-start,
stop
and then
start.
goes the smooth, gilded rust
running slow over your:
hungry eyes and earnest ears to a hopeful heart
again straining the poison into a well,
saying words that dont mean anything but its ok to work it out themselves.
i got a bright blue ribbon but now its emptying out
to a hollow tin man with a perfect plan to collapse into a great big nothing now
yeah i am you, you are me, we are stuck in this freedom together.
5 years now. just let me figure it out.
yet still animate
contriving a contorted pleasure
as if, masochism perfects a pretty sound,
so too, the poison runs into the capillaries.
a dull, blunt, drown
still,
they take their places over
and under
then over
and
under again,
saying what my lips cant form:
im a sorry kid with a
heavy
heavy
heart
.
spurious freedom
between the routine of a sad new kind of game,
i just want to tell you who you are,
make the stop-start,
stop
and then
start.
goes the smooth, gilded rust
running slow over your:
hungry eyes and earnest ears to a hopeful heart
again straining the poison into a well,
saying words that dont mean anything but its ok to work it out themselves.
i got a bright blue ribbon but now its emptying out
to a hollow tin man with a perfect plan to collapse into a great big nothing now
yeah i am you, you are me, we are stuck in this freedom together.
5 years now. just let me figure it out.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
i am infested with love
yeah it pours from my bones
sunshine from the pores of my skin
i want to share it with you
i am infested with love
yeah i want to give everything away
sleep drains from the corners of my eyes
i want to fill you up
i am infested with love
its the stitch to your ripped seams, the life in your step.
i can hold it all in for you
we were born to live here, we are born to die where
so i want to give it all up
cause nothing really matters
addicted to the curiosity of a bright, beautiful person
finesse in her facets
addicted to giving up everything for everyone
yeah she is the same
when nothing and something are exactly the same we can finally say i am in love with you, we killed platitudes of brilliance spilt from the morose pin top of a pen.
i am infested with love
i want to give it all away
to the starshine i have met
let it pour from our hearts, cause i am alive
yeah it pours from my bones
sunshine from the pores of my skin
i want to share it with you
i am infested with love
yeah i want to give everything away
sleep drains from the corners of my eyes
i want to fill you up
i am infested with love
its the stitch to your ripped seams, the life in your step.
i can hold it all in for you
we were born to live here, we are born to die where
so i want to give it all up
cause nothing really matters
addicted to the curiosity of a bright, beautiful person
finesse in her facets
addicted to giving up everything for everyone
yeah she is the same
when nothing and something are exactly the same we can finally say i am in love with you, we killed platitudes of brilliance spilt from the morose pin top of a pen.
i am infested with love
i want to give it all away
to the starshine i have met
let it pour from our hearts, cause i am alive
Sunday, November 8, 2009
im running on a midwest breeze, ahead of the storm, foot over foot supplies the rhythm to circulate to survive.
where once laid a golden arm lies an bottle of wine. lips stained carnelian under a dancing sun supine palms harboring an open flame, irenic lady, irenic lady dressed in white.
still they spurn with tangled talk over a chantry sea, eager mouths and needy hearts, indifferently combined into a perfect storm in a tea cup. the midnight makes me predisposed to sedentary motion. i walked through the mist perceived as a hungry ghost lain to unrest in my mind as if an interlocutor.
how am i to reinterpret the signs.
they say glasses, or spectacles rather.
"ahh, let us praise the double entendre!" they shall say. so i will too.
was it not fulfilled through a dogwood, though?
lennon wore illustrious industry on the bridge of a curiously crooked beak. karma so it goes. but always ashen, and millions of miles away. look what amphetamines, barbiturates, and the like have given us:
tangled talk
iron eyes
hungry ghosts
quixotic impossibilities, upon impossibilities
facilitated apathy
convoluted contrete
sick, beautiful people
charlatans
the human commodity
inconsequential benevolence (causing more quixotic impossibilities)
gadfly sycophants
"they are all lost"read the headline. but the holes were removed for safety. or rather security. but that is what they call it these days.
i ask myself, "how could i have ever been so brilliant?" then i am reminded of the terrible battle i have been more than privileged to engage in with Newton Briggs. somehow competition brings the best out in man. hobbes at once would agree. i have the liberty to survive.
dare i look back at words already written.
and so nonplus prose consumes the rationality of it all.
the world wont embrace you the same with each new day, but thats the peace you keep with the deathbed pace as our coils slowly unwind what were left with to expire.
how life can be kind in its own way.
where once laid a golden arm lies an bottle of wine. lips stained carnelian under a dancing sun supine palms harboring an open flame, irenic lady, irenic lady dressed in white.
still they spurn with tangled talk over a chantry sea, eager mouths and needy hearts, indifferently combined into a perfect storm in a tea cup. the midnight makes me predisposed to sedentary motion. i walked through the mist perceived as a hungry ghost lain to unrest in my mind as if an interlocutor.
how am i to reinterpret the signs.
they say glasses, or spectacles rather.
"ahh, let us praise the double entendre!" they shall say. so i will too.
was it not fulfilled through a dogwood, though?
lennon wore illustrious industry on the bridge of a curiously crooked beak. karma so it goes. but always ashen, and millions of miles away. look what amphetamines, barbiturates, and the like have given us:
tangled talk
iron eyes
hungry ghosts
quixotic impossibilities, upon impossibilities
facilitated apathy
convoluted contrete
sick, beautiful people
charlatans
the human commodity
inconsequential benevolence (causing more quixotic impossibilities)
gadfly sycophants
"they are all lost"read the headline. but the holes were removed for safety. or rather security. but that is what they call it these days.
i ask myself, "how could i have ever been so brilliant?" then i am reminded of the terrible battle i have been more than privileged to engage in with Newton Briggs. somehow competition brings the best out in man. hobbes at once would agree. i have the liberty to survive.
dare i look back at words already written.
and so nonplus prose consumes the rationality of it all.
the world wont embrace you the same with each new day, but thats the peace you keep with the deathbed pace as our coils slowly unwind what were left with to expire.
how life can be kind in its own way.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
the other day, and by other day i mean years for in my state of disconnect time is often suspended or slowed to mull into one tortuous reality, i saw a girl with lovely features; except, her nose was a revolting extravagant event to behold. i say event with conviction, because the mass was so unsightly it was a person in itself. so i said, "fellas and gals, people of all ages and genders, i propose a plebiscite. let us vote who should be king for the evening". knowing of course i would win. but you see, this nose was such an obstacle to normalcy that people also were confused whether it was a facet of this girls being or whether it was a tiny man clinging to her face. fascinated what rule would be like under a miniature man they voted for the man on the girls face--although they had not talked amongst themselves about it. so i unfolded the votes and wrote the tallys down, announcing that the pygmy man has won! at that very moment the girl began to cry. apparently it was not the first time her proboscis had be confused with an elf or dwarf like creature. we all began to laugh, loud and boisterous! we threw objects meant to harm--a good riot indeed. then as the tears trickled down that unfortunatly placed mountain, it began to move. with a flash of light appeared a miniature man.
Eli, let me read you a reading from the book of Jonas, my first novel:
"they say divorcing the soul from its home makes us fully something else
i say damn you. masochism is the cornerstone of peace.
so trickle across, over, and all the listless prepositions from A life to B.
or consecrate.
they say that very vile thing is, as if yellow, brushes upon your window, the corner of fine clay and hardened concrete, such a selfish thing.
oh,
the great virtue it is not. Ayn could, for all its fondness, only realize the irenic bounty that presents itself through spite
laughter. that is quite laudable at such a sly, machinating creature. spread your yellow hither and tither in the breeze.
so it carries the sound too.
and so the last belongs to me.
"victory! victory!" they'll scream, albeit vicariously, i am Caesar. indeed."
"now, eli what say you? is it not well crafted prose?" i said
"No, it is not. i am terribly sorry. who in their right mind would follow this?" replied eli.
then i said," eli it is because you can think. let me tell you how i got the idea,
it was once because of C10H12N2O that the dreams were nearly always lucid. some cocktail of a most undesirable combination of nonplus consonants and primes, and the cursed vowel that brings me constant affliction. then i thought, why not make use of this. and i did, i decided i shall rule the world. after i gain immense popularity by way of mediocrity ill supplant the ruler from power but be very humble and very amiable. yes, as i think of it now they'll say "granted, but you are Caesar! Now you are death destroyer of worlds!"
ill say,
"lowly imbeciles, lowly, inane, servile, amenable, insufferable subjects, do me not the pleasure of self-aggrandizement, for i will always be the great, but do indulge me, call me jonas"
they will say
"oh, the illumined one speaks! we must now do away with our foolish routines of idiocy and submit to the all knowing guidance!"
i will then, lean back in a sinister pose, smug in my newly endowed power, and display a sheepish, coy, smile. one that masks the villainy beneath.
i shall say,
"morons of misfortune! hear me, i implore you, give me not your riches but your animals, for i wish to A. create a zoo so that we may observe and mock them and B. have a feast!"
the polity will of course submit to my wishes for they are far to incompetent to realize the implications of these to very appealing actions. who does not like to mock animals both human and not. let them lay hands on the miscreants of society and observe them in cages, let them observe the animals too. really, there are never any humans at a real zoo. under my rule there will be.
but then my cabinet, my court of hand-picked jesters will come to me and say.
"hail sir caesar jonas the first, ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, what say you about the economy! we simply cannot allow these boobs to up and leave the fields, what will sustain us?!"
to which i will most artfully respond
"well my little child, what did you think the zoo was for? just looking at animals? it creates employment! we must deliver ourselves from this economic recession!! we must! this, my little foolish waterlily is the way, the divine, the enlightened way to do it! entrust your worry little head to me, think no more--for i know you are barely capable at your finest."
they will talk amongst themselves in awe muttering things such as
"this is no man! he is from the heavens!" and "how can one man fit such an enlightened brain in one human head! oh, thank the gods!! a multitude of thanks!"
then they will say,
"you are most wise! we should perform a sacrifice!"
for those lacking mental faculties it is a common trend in history that they slaughter an innocent for the purpose of jubilation. euphoria triggers a primordial impulse to kill in their felicitous frenzy. but i have yet to disclose my true intentions.
you see, i figured the fools who are quite infatuated with the whore that is immediate gratification, would most undoubtedly pick me their king for i give them what they want, i permit and provide debauchery, i win their undisciplined, weak, terribly childish and foolish little hearts so easily.
then they will say, "oh hail sir caesar jonas the first , ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, my liege!!! we have no more flesh to feast upon, no more animals in the zoo! the women are tired of fornication, as are the men. we are wallowing in our own misery for our appetites are overly satiated. look what you have done!"
i will say,
"No you bumbling fools! look not what i have done, look what you have done!!! look what these bastardy court members, the yellows, have done, look what the yellows have done! they have infiltrated our security, our sanctity, violated our solidarity as a people, raped you of your dignity, literally and figuratively, we must wage war!yes! war! to make them admit their criminal villainy, make the pay for their wretched, vile, ways! they have imprisoned me making me do what not is best as one man sees it but what the collective of this hierarchically loftier class wills. give them liberty my friends, GIVE THEM DEATH!"
cheering will ensure. i assure you. massive demonstrations, riotous in nature will take place. oh how i will be content, bubbling with enthusiasm and joy! do you feel it too? the roar of millions invigorating your blood! each voice a contract of consent, willing do to anything for you. that is glory.
which brings me to my next point: people also in grave disparity want to sacrifice things. it is the way of history. so the primordial trigger is loosed once again, and blood is let. you say to me, "this is madness, you have a uncontrollable mass on your hands!" but i do not. they love me. ill tell you what happens next.
the court will say,
"but oh hail sir caesar jonas the first , ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, my liege!!! why have you told the people it is us, your very most loyal servants, slaves to your glory, why have you blamed this misfortune on us!! it was you who told us all to do it!"
i will look at them and smile fondly.
"my children, for all your desirable characteristics as stooges, you lack any semblance of intelligence. for this i am grateful, most grateful in fact. but some sacrifices must be made for the greater good and the greatest good, that being my agenda. so i am sorry to see you off this way. it must be done, really. so off you go". and i will push them out the great gates to the threshold of my fortress. which i think shall look like a elegant chateau--barricaded with all the medieval and modern amenities of course.
they will look at each other and hold close, embracing the last moments together. they will not resist. i fear they are so damned stupid that they will go willingly.
the populous will dismember them. we will all laugh and make merriment. it shall be a festival! more of what they so love. and then they will look to me and say:
"oh hail sir caesar jonas the first , ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, my liege! what now?" with the blood still moist dripping from their chops and staining their clothes, still blood thirsty, servile, and stupid as can be. i will dress in ragged attire and smear pigs blood on me, then i will walk out to the balcony from my strong hold and i will say
"people, people! my little infantile mass of daffodils. you pretty little cretins! we have killed the enemy within, but what of the enemies outside our quaint country?! the yellows are growing very, very fast in number, wanting to take more from you! we must push on! we must be warriors strong and true!"
they will all cheer once again. oh glory is so fine.
then we will wage war on the unsuspecting virgins of the world, those clam peaceful fools who suspect we are tacitly holding hands. oh i will be, just that it shall be dislocated from its limb!
after attaining all the spoils of war and conquering all the world i will gather them at my feet and say to them from my balcony,
"you dimwitted simpletons, i your ruler have led you to glory, no?"
they shout a collective "yea!"
ill say "i have had my scientists work on an elixir of happiness!"
they will should a collective, "hoorah!!"
ill continue on saying, "in one weeks time ill designate a number of toadstools, the best, and brightest, most loyal, most acceptable specimens of what it is to be a dolt to take it! that is all" ill dismiss them.
they will cheer at first then start to fight amongst themselves for who is most worthy.
"they say divorcing the soul from its home makes us fully something else
i say damn you. masochism is the cornerstone of peace.
so trickle across, over, and all the listless prepositions from A life to B.
or consecrate.
they say that very vile thing is, as if yellow, brushes upon your window, the corner of fine clay and hardened concrete, such a selfish thing.
oh,
the great virtue it is not. Ayn could, for all its fondness, only realize the irenic bounty that presents itself through spite
laughter. that is quite laudable at such a sly, machinating creature. spread your yellow hither and tither in the breeze.
so it carries the sound too.
and so the last belongs to me.
"victory! victory!" they'll scream, albeit vicariously, i am Caesar. indeed."
"now, eli what say you? is it not well crafted prose?" i said
"No, it is not. i am terribly sorry. who in their right mind would follow this?" replied eli.
then i said," eli it is because you can think. let me tell you how i got the idea,
it was once because of C10H12N2O that the dreams were nearly always lucid. some cocktail of a most undesirable combination of nonplus consonants and primes, and the cursed vowel that brings me constant affliction. then i thought, why not make use of this. and i did, i decided i shall rule the world. after i gain immense popularity by way of mediocrity ill supplant the ruler from power but be very humble and very amiable. yes, as i think of it now they'll say "granted, but you are Caesar! Now you are death destroyer of worlds!"
ill say,
"lowly imbeciles, lowly, inane, servile, amenable, insufferable subjects, do me not the pleasure of self-aggrandizement, for i will always be the great, but do indulge me, call me jonas"
they will say
"oh, the illumined one speaks! we must now do away with our foolish routines of idiocy and submit to the all knowing guidance!"
i will then, lean back in a sinister pose, smug in my newly endowed power, and display a sheepish, coy, smile. one that masks the villainy beneath.
i shall say,
"morons of misfortune! hear me, i implore you, give me not your riches but your animals, for i wish to A. create a zoo so that we may observe and mock them and B. have a feast!"
the polity will of course submit to my wishes for they are far to incompetent to realize the implications of these to very appealing actions. who does not like to mock animals both human and not. let them lay hands on the miscreants of society and observe them in cages, let them observe the animals too. really, there are never any humans at a real zoo. under my rule there will be.
but then my cabinet, my court of hand-picked jesters will come to me and say.
"hail sir caesar jonas the first, ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, what say you about the economy! we simply cannot allow these boobs to up and leave the fields, what will sustain us?!"
to which i will most artfully respond
"well my little child, what did you think the zoo was for? just looking at animals? it creates employment! we must deliver ourselves from this economic recession!! we must! this, my little foolish waterlily is the way, the divine, the enlightened way to do it! entrust your worry little head to me, think no more--for i know you are barely capable at your finest."
they will talk amongst themselves in awe muttering things such as
"this is no man! he is from the heavens!" and "how can one man fit such an enlightened brain in one human head! oh, thank the gods!! a multitude of thanks!"
then they will say,
"you are most wise! we should perform a sacrifice!"
for those lacking mental faculties it is a common trend in history that they slaughter an innocent for the purpose of jubilation. euphoria triggers a primordial impulse to kill in their felicitous frenzy. but i have yet to disclose my true intentions.
you see, i figured the fools who are quite infatuated with the whore that is immediate gratification, would most undoubtedly pick me their king for i give them what they want, i permit and provide debauchery, i win their undisciplined, weak, terribly childish and foolish little hearts so easily.
then they will say, "oh hail sir caesar jonas the first , ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, my liege!!! we have no more flesh to feast upon, no more animals in the zoo! the women are tired of fornication, as are the men. we are wallowing in our own misery for our appetites are overly satiated. look what you have done!"
i will say,
"No you bumbling fools! look not what i have done, look what you have done!!! look what these bastardy court members, the yellows, have done, look what the yellows have done! they have infiltrated our security, our sanctity, violated our solidarity as a people, raped you of your dignity, literally and figuratively, we must wage war!yes! war! to make them admit their criminal villainy, make the pay for their wretched, vile, ways! they have imprisoned me making me do what not is best as one man sees it but what the collective of this hierarchically loftier class wills. give them liberty my friends, GIVE THEM DEATH!"
cheering will ensure. i assure you. massive demonstrations, riotous in nature will take place. oh how i will be content, bubbling with enthusiasm and joy! do you feel it too? the roar of millions invigorating your blood! each voice a contract of consent, willing do to anything for you. that is glory.
which brings me to my next point: people also in grave disparity want to sacrifice things. it is the way of history. so the primordial trigger is loosed once again, and blood is let. you say to me, "this is madness, you have a uncontrollable mass on your hands!" but i do not. they love me. ill tell you what happens next.
the court will say,
"but oh hail sir caesar jonas the first , ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, my liege!!! why have you told the people it is us, your very most loyal servants, slaves to your glory, why have you blamed this misfortune on us!! it was you who told us all to do it!"
i will look at them and smile fondly.
"my children, for all your desirable characteristics as stooges, you lack any semblance of intelligence. for this i am grateful, most grateful in fact. but some sacrifices must be made for the greater good and the greatest good, that being my agenda. so i am sorry to see you off this way. it must be done, really. so off you go". and i will push them out the great gates to the threshold of my fortress. which i think shall look like a elegant chateau--barricaded with all the medieval and modern amenities of course.
they will look at each other and hold close, embracing the last moments together. they will not resist. i fear they are so damned stupid that they will go willingly.
the populous will dismember them. we will all laugh and make merriment. it shall be a festival! more of what they so love. and then they will look to me and say:
"oh hail sir caesar jonas the first , ruler of all that is know to us men of the fourth kingdom in the new new middle age, year 2220 of the common time, esquire, my liege! what now?" with the blood still moist dripping from their chops and staining their clothes, still blood thirsty, servile, and stupid as can be. i will dress in ragged attire and smear pigs blood on me, then i will walk out to the balcony from my strong hold and i will say
"people, people! my little infantile mass of daffodils. you pretty little cretins! we have killed the enemy within, but what of the enemies outside our quaint country?! the yellows are growing very, very fast in number, wanting to take more from you! we must push on! we must be warriors strong and true!"
they will all cheer once again. oh glory is so fine.
then we will wage war on the unsuspecting virgins of the world, those clam peaceful fools who suspect we are tacitly holding hands. oh i will be, just that it shall be dislocated from its limb!
after attaining all the spoils of war and conquering all the world i will gather them at my feet and say to them from my balcony,
"you dimwitted simpletons, i your ruler have led you to glory, no?"
they shout a collective "yea!"
ill say "i have had my scientists work on an elixir of happiness!"
they will should a collective, "hoorah!!"
ill continue on saying, "in one weeks time ill designate a number of toadstools, the best, and brightest, most loyal, most acceptable specimens of what it is to be a dolt to take it! that is all" ill dismiss them.
they will cheer at first then start to fight amongst themselves for who is most worthy.
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