shit shit says

been stewing this one for a few weeks. parody and highschooly group-identification in the otherwise amorphous, un-delineated web... the humour varies with the level of production, and lovingly scalds the archetype and its concept-regionalized esoterica. decentralized centralization is ingenius, if not utterly variable. identify yourself either through soft-satire of personal affiliation, or by teasing others' markers of confederacy.

- "what the hell ate me?"
- "i WILL stop you from jogging"
- "peek-a-poo!"
- "oh man, i've got such a hangunder"
- "ever notice that Hogwarts' house names reconcile with toilet experiences? Slytherin? Hufflepuff? Ravenclaw!?"
- "you'd do this in the same room that you keep your toothbrush?"
- "i don't care if you'll be late for the meeting, you decided to go public and i'm not coming out till there's noone else here"
- "where's your god now? bet she has the same determined jawline as Sigorney Weaver in Alien.. HAHAHA"
- "that's funny, the damage doesn't look as bad from out here... these aren't the 'rhoids you're looking for... you don't believe in the Force, do you?"
- "getting on the bus, are we?"
- "boobopbeebopbiddleybop - i'm a scatman"
- "soon i'll be touching the poos of countless others. does that freak you out a little?"
- "i've given you pins and needles. you'll get as far as the middle of the atrium before it'll hit. and there you'll wobble like a wally, rubber-legged, teetering to retain your balance. and all because you don't eat enough fruit."
- "hey everybody, we're going streaking!"
- "this is a reminder that what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas"
- "nope, today we're faster than it takes to read the headline"
- "do you like Celine Dion?"
- "k, i'm out. msg me on the Blackberries, or iSplat or Fecesbook or whatever"

Island of the Dead - Arnold Boecklin

stonyteller

'To write is to pull stones from a river' - a smooth weight to rub against your palm, but still, too polished to be placed in the story for which it was intended ===

sometimes I wonder at unintentional plagiarism, as copywrongs should at least reference the source... so i go-ogle [back when first using the new company, i though it was pronounced this way..!?] the phrase, and find a writer's blog

quite sweet really, but to see it rest there... why not go guerrilla? scribe the stone, and let it loose in a spot where it would be appreciated? glyphiti? petripoems? geodes!

Dumpstrep

What happens if you take dietary supplements that suggest you do so on a full stomach, on a stomach full of dietary supplements that suggest you do so on a full stomach?!

We're about to find out. Perhaps it'll grant me the energy necessary to enjoy Skrillex, a fartist with the power of turning all milk and cream and frappe you've ingested into bowel-cheese: Dumpstrep. He's like the conductor for a choir of tractors. Or an interpretive fiscal policy report for the US economy. If it weren't for the youth-market mills of the disaffected suburbs, he wouldn't have to produce vicarious screams.

Anyone else seen Girl With The Dragon Tattoo?

Wait, why I am being so cruel? Especially when complete and utter disregard is so much more effective. I know why: cause I'm getting SICK.

I'll make up for it now by injecting music that CURES instead:

slipstack : snowstalgia

IN the phantasmagoria that is Victoria, a rare element has graced us: SNOW. IT turns us further inwards, for which people here will never make apology. WE are the seashell mysteriously found in every other domestic bathroom.

OUR hedge cat, Hucklebetty, is stress-eating. AND he's right to do so: light's become dark and he's just a giant polar-bear's nose. A lonely, staff-less note on the music sheet.

THE diligent, the SCRAPISTS, are all outside, huffing and swearing as they defile her. I've some ruminating to be sating the demands of a project, but first the this (FROM WIKIPEDIA - yes, there's ways to still use the thing this day of SOPA-be-gone):

'The name Ranunculus is Late Latin for "little frog," from rana "frog" and a diminutive ending.'

One God Universe

funder and laughtning

Maybe it was about the 3rd or 4th round of the game of spitting over a wire just off my deck that I realized exactly how bored I am. Like a 12 year old boy malingering outside a slushie-mart, target-spitting for pleasure. And I recalled just how much fun I used to have with this blog, or how the blog used to enhance the fun I had in life. And then I shrugged and spat clean over the wire.

But it's true. Somewhere back in the misted past, I resorted to a sort of crypto-nonsense, binding words up within the absurdity I hold so dear until they could no longer lubricate the story. Like the sewn pockets of a new suit, or braile on a parking meter, or your ultrarich landlords who flagrantly dress down only when they visit you
'Nice wellies. Is your stubble mascara'd on? Pizza's held facing the other way up, you know. Otherwise I totally relate to you.'
(I hate the word landlord, I really do. What other title invokes such presumption? 'I'm the bus-baron, and don't you forget it.'
'I'm not a valet, I'm the car-tsar. The auto-crat. The fourwheeled Fuhrer. The...

And I didn't bother finishing... so what.. it's boring