Wednesday, November 12, 2014

A Dear Code of Honor

it was a time of insecurity, and time being the only thing brazen of it. Laying down over the dreary ease easily much as a deep body of water pressing upon those exhausted from its presence beating down upon their bodies, rippling as it’s waves held nothing against lashing the more meager thrust into it’s currents by the undertow that smell of sustenance.  Those that could glistened as pebbles as the river flows against them. Others more so the debris that entertains from time to time, beaten and warped by the onslaught of the currents, some pieces beaten or broken entirely from time to time. Still the steady flow churns a waterfall above ones head and at all times apples a tornado of a dancing whirlpool that could break your neck if it could on a good day. Drowning in the still time was a slow death, seeing the lowly drown in public disturbed few of the commoners, to busy or indifferent if not both, idling to and fro in fine form from any ventures one could foray. I wouldn’t sway, say, let them sleep, i say. Its always a fine day for that, given one is so quaintly detached enough. who says everyman should have his nose in work as if it were cocaine, fuck it, even the rats get to eat and sleep for free. Not that i would say these men were any better, but the show the due courtesy one does to the lowly and meek varmint and rodent.  Variety Mint that animal was, who could tell a troubled tale none would care to hear. None to sand off any naturing such a tree lived to see floating through that river, still drifting to this day, being little more than the Rotting walking dead to most who walk the lines. This i would take comfort in, none to look into the well being, to be alarmed, distressed, or upset when things may not be peachy keen. Nothing to look into any business for there was none to be had. The fellow lay around deeply in his affairs and there was depth to this cloud of absence that surrounded him. The void of interest around staggered the eyes of any onlookers, who were now but passers-by.
    There was something there. It meant something to somebody. Maybe something trivial, but still, it came through somewhere. That is the faith, that’s the spirit. I trudge along because I always believe a slap on the ass and a firm hand can put some pep in the step of a lady like the system. She always looks nice and she doesn’t die. I almost agreed in justification with that man, she’s a stumbler, am I a fucking giant? Of course that would be negligible as the lady lived in all of the strewn masses amassed and amounted to whatever could be thrown together hap handedly with the huddle break like it’s a team sport. Cooperation fucking billed and shilled forever, comprehending that idea is like asking one to fathom God Almighty in one’s mind. Some how with some solid coordination things came together and sometime’s there was a smile, smiles were never the justification. I would go in there and beat the box, slap some wrists, high fives and asses, pull some shit together and talk of how amazing it simply because I am actually amazed I did anything at all. That was my  magic, its commonplace to hear a kid call you a wizard simply out of hopelessness. The reality was that life was as grey as blinding cataracts and there are no distinctions about being alive. The mind has sublimated into a grey fog that shrouds all possible ways of acknowledging that lucidity can exist while consciously interacting with anyone. Why bother with attempting to bat away the fog that surrounds existence with an inquiry, is the grey fog not simply enough, it surely will suffice. The mist clears enough to see what is in my hands, so sets my refreshing reminders of possible priorities.  Always falling back to what’s accessible, am I going to reach for the stars when I surely cannot grab them? i would say I am a pessimist but rather I could just say I’m cynical. Through the latherance of my haughty pompousness, my presence would cripple those of less peaked baseless confidence and assurance. I would break things as if I were a bull wildly bucking with my brashness. I exert my towering mass over all present bodies chasing people were I a dragged tree, stumbling on my way before deliberately falling onto somebody. Were I to land on these victims in anyway physically, mentally, or otherwise it is seen fit that there is due paralysis, fear, and perhaps a wish for death, but I, like the tall trees, am here to thrive in my natural environment preying on any who may even seem to be lumberjacks. The weight of my authority crushes upon these innocents, pinning the weak while others simply play Atlas until their wits fail. This is how I crush progress into a scenario, this is marginal success. So is life. 
    There was something happening today, somebody remembered something menial or trivial. That was quant as we were often simply reminded simply of failures. The glumness and lack of appreciation in the partisan bled his false sincerity and apathy. If I were haze there’s a bit of smog today, who could this be sitting so indifferently. The crowd that lay before my loins surround this downtrodden chap. This look that may have been vestigial piqued interest, some even with their most sincere empty emotionless faces. I could see a man rightfully confident in his own prowess, giving of a virulent indifference and a growling amount of potential physical dominance. The man was drunk off of his own pride in my absence, boldly splashing his coffee with his vicariousness. I stare him down, “Say fella, don’t drip that drink now” as the coffee teared from the crease of his mouth. His spins his mug around “I know you like carpets there, cowboy.” some of the coffee slides over the edge of his mug as he spins it. Slowly dropping down the mug. He glares at me, then he drops his head to the side of the mug and violently tongues the mug, licking away the sole drip, eyes still meeting me with direct contact, both of us sporting bold grimaces. “Because your mother likes it when you lick it off her face, doesn’t she, kiddo”. I tort, him echoing with “Because your mother likes it when i lick it off her face, kiddo.”  I smile saying “She swallows for everyone else, you know.” Rocito testifies “It’s true.” I continue to inquire about his papers and he states they regard legality, it seems the indefinite government funding had gone bankrupt. Nobody had heard about them in years, the government does little but policing nowadays. The money still always came through and the banks cleared it. We had a small corporation of people pulling numbers papers from the mail, others simply toting the money we had to throw around. Business proposition, this was our tax funding’s title and the name of what we called our business. We there ideas around and every now and again they come through. We opened a body massage parlor, that and the gentleman’s club, we had little to peddle, and we simply threw money on tables expecting sorcery to occur. It wasn’t hard to count the number of times the money manifested into some form of money fueled dragon. Some days our spells would do nothing at all to propagate the seeds of any form of life.
    Life was tedious and the combined ignorance made attempting any sort of negotiation impractical, making a business agreement was like setting down winning takes on a gamble. There was a lack of foresight, blind to the hindsight as well as nearly so in common vision. If you talked the talk and showed promise you were given a fair show. This was to see if you would dance for it, if he dances for it they’ll take you, otherwise you left, some how if you actually qualified on paper they might look into you. I didn’t expect anybody to know how to read at that level, as I had no real means of literacy in myself, that was sent to the more majestic main office sorts to deal that out. Those flowers had the real money. Sitting there flauntingly printing it by now, I’d say. I just get told to spread the wealth. Some Finlander had fucking hit the pot too many times like he knew something. Everybody would miss but this guy would strike twice in one take. Fuck it strike the deal again next year, strike it ever year because it’s just fucking cigars to smoke. There she was start to finish all the elements of maintaining myself with a tad bit more self esteem, see to it that something got done, my taste was to play the horses because I had fucking money why not put some taps on the house. Some times you would see your money fly. If these saps weren’t just a gas station selling tickets betting against their own success. It was just about finding the ones deluded enough to keep working enough just for the money we gave them. For some reason money made enough sense to everybody. Everybody put faith in it for some reason and always cared to accept that it had value. The fucking man always had it out to wash the money every now and again, clean bills were nice. Fun with the money drive burn your old dollar for a new dollar, Even the machine that will take your old dollar and burn it in front of you, then hand you a new one. When you just take the child’s dollar machine, we all know you’re just in it for the money, granted it was a new dollar, take the tip, I suppose. The currency had enough meaning because everybody had some regardless of whether or not they knew anything about how or why there is currency. Somebody told me it was out of the guilt of having people do you favors, just to say “Have something or some things worth 30 dollars to me.” Of course the world will feel twice as bad seeing you do something out of your way and choose to try to take after you just out of shame and insolence, those were the old ways. These days it just seems to be stoking a fire that was lit by some other man, there’s no shame in that, say.
    What happened between the peers is simply nonsense or mischievous shenanigans. There was a comfort in having a job that required so little knowledge, we felt secure because we’re always told we do the job right. The taste of our efforts was lil licorice, not the most decadent but classy enough to be a luxury. We staved at the masses for the taste of that licorice. More so in a thirst mistaken for hunger, so appeased by the ease of goings in the workmanship. This thirst was what held man back more so than his petty hunger for wealth. The thirst would be from the lack of personal fulfillment, draining away at them as if they were dehydrated. This meager bit of refreshment is all I took from the people, damn near licking it off of their beading brows. These people either had the same ill intent I had were they not driven completely by hapless absentminded indifference. This was enough to collect this wonderful dew as they wandered aimlessly, this treat was why I treated this people so well in return. I looked over them through the window playing a smooth light cream to ponder my own grizzled appearance. Was this enough to sway people under you, would one accept one’s authority simply on fear alone? Indeed it still seems they rile up to their own authority if given the chance. This was the tenderest drop of shame to drink. It pains me to see a man slipping so much in his character. The joy is solely in the thought of him depriving me these tastes and usher in complacency. The others do this, it is marvelous. We are a mean talking sea worthy ship when i’m the captain. This is for no good reason, I strive to feel like a competitor, and I instill this in my coworkers. Healthy competition means workmanship, and there’s no thrill like winning a meaningless competition. Such is life, the pinnacle one’s every meaningless competition with winners being bathed in the unreasonably copious amount of dignity, and such was work just shining and buffing the competitors with coins and dollar bills.
    Being the government, they beat people so well into reading I have a personal literate to transcribe my life. This is just a thanks for my service. They are bounding with people, faith in no means must be justifiable by reality, there was something there, nothing that resembled any form of government, more so a group of people treating the capitol as a tropical island, commanding the lowly natives into service. There was no constituency with the nation, running the chariot without a hose, the only legend was that it had wheels. No one would support it after the falls of the poles, most had no war or knowledge of how to do so. It was still a shiny green token of hope for the world, everyone loved greenbacks. So many truly worthless alternatives thrown at people that the old established dollar whet their delusion and spun dreams. The paper and the ink buy itself, its not hard to run a port city they say. Somehow these fools would sit in the town itself to accrue careers paying worthless money in the town that was built off of worthless money. I was simply told to spread the word, and I took to it like a street preacher.Any sort of conglomeration was my church and I go tell them to do some dance for some money. If they do it nice for me i throw them the money. It’s a good deal of money they say only fetch respectable looking clients and I am a man of my tastes when it comes to persons, i fetch I high number in peoples eye with my sharp looks on many affairs. One expects to perform on par with someone at some level. Why not see myself as equally if not more so successful in my own eyes, who would ever dare to discredit me? I will talk louder and possibly fight you over trivial matters, i live life on the erge. There is no standards to which I am held, I am an officiator of judiciation. This amount of respect means I could possibly be given a gun if I was ever promoted, I didn’t plan on that happening.
    I saw the clock and said it was time to sesh, so we hit up my pipe smoking that LA Haze sitting there attempting to gamble over who could predict the future. I had to have a hearty drink of my syrup provided by a federally funded pharmaceutical sponsor and affiliate, for symptoms such a thirst from that burning.
     I stared the men down sternly, still completely serious, the fools just laugh and patting their backs state how “great” it is. I didn’t see too much greatness in them, just enough meekness; thats all you have to provide, something to appear as progress. All were successful enough. Nearly all wits in the situation barely if at all able to comprehend any sorts of signification or meaning from the situation to discern any dignity above derelict jetty of death. I simply rode the breeze out to find ways of fancy, fancying the ideas of a patrolman, before I eventually return to work to orchestrate terms with more hopeful applicants.  I always take my pick of the city, it’s a big day any day I strike deals because in the street because I’m a big name. I mean business, and at least some form of tendency to exist for any prolonged period of time. I peruse the dames walking the street, tell them “You see all this money ho’s? you’ve got to be big time to get this money” if they ever wanted any, most times I would just say I was fighting inflation, tell them to give me that ass for the war effort. I fuck these bitches like dogs in the street. The suit just doesn’t mean much.  Its hot in the hell house and I’m looking for water. It seems like that at most times, it seems. I just tell these bitches “I’m an athlete; I’ve got to run” as I hit up every lane saying “I would pimp all of these hos if I didn’t make so much money.” I slap the hands of homeless people “share the love, not the wealth” went up to this tiny asian lady say “Bitch, you could ride my dick like I’m a horse, I must be an exotic species in your part of Asia.” i entertain the world, slapping bitches asses as I cross the streets, living down the commute of some kilometers in order to return to work. This was the day to day ends of the business that had no ends in the spectrum. It lived it’s self through while the bitches bustled in our little city. Day in, day out; every day but the weekends and holidays because it’s the government of course. I do other things with my life in my free time, but that’s the mantra of a boy scout in times like these. It was a dear code of honor.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Theories regarding the Singularity


The singularity in the big bang was a particle that came from a larger object, much like a paticle emission. As the singularity traveled farther away from its source, the temperature fell, and this caused the pressure of the singularity to fall, which eventually induced it to implode onto itself Perhaps a dynamo made by similar particles as the singularity that kept the energy confined by its differing gravitational currents and differing charges. The object that emitted the singularity was traveling at a high speed and continued to move away from the singularity at a speed faster than light, or at an angle contrary to our perspective to that it moved away from our current location at the time of its release. This is why the object that littered the singularity into a void of space cannot be seen.

Theories

Singularities that had attracted each other into orbit had eventually lost one of the singularities so that if fell out of the orbit that was keeping it together

The singularity was a particle emission from a very large substance  that is made up of singularities and traveling through space faster than light, perhaps from an explosion. This substance is made of singularities much like molecules are made up of atoms.

Perhaps a ship powered by primordial singularities that contain themselves much like stars, however once exhausted by the ship using them as fuel, they cannot hold their form anymore and explode as the singularity did.


The singularity was placed by a higher intelligence that surfed the waves of dark matter that were created by the explosion in order to escape faster than the speed of light.



Saturday, November 1, 2014

the old business

erryday

errs day derry deri day ahhh d’hey
all day dibble script and scribble
delly dibsi diddur dirc dric cuculucuc
scuhquaa scchqchheeqqquuusq scvicicu
 write the music for which I dj
just the scratch noise fuck the music
knack up crack up its back up
piddling pedantry of the shanty
mitrichondromancy imminently
magnanimous finger dance
fiddle finger and prance
hat man glad bag man
catch a winner jar bag
chronic romancing
chronomancing
smile thrive on the dial
revilably
belittle letters littlingly
titilatingly belittle languidly


hey there words and letters of the best friends fun just running along like a good dog
today what are you going to be today you’ve got everyone guessing were it anything
your going to be a book aren’t you, you’re the fucking greatest fuck the documentary
write that book all with your words and letters you fucking know how to do don’t you

looks like a real book doesn’t it every kind of those papers left livid sitting so strewn
with its sentences so sadly drifted about in the driftedness lifted loftily through hewn
real fucking good really fucking reading it to me all its meaning because its known

looking like it seems like we werent going about places like it wasn’t anything where
paragraphs diddnt catch the breeze alone not that they can but still you know breezy
today doesn’t seem to cross at a reasonable hour of the day of the week if it asks
it, three to five maybe once along were anything asking about it today of the week,
maybe if it comes one way of the end of either of it’s ways we can take the west of it

so many letters look them all around making all of it sense and sensibility in reality
one two three ok with me it makes more sense than giving freely all of it easily
look at me just enough for it to be enough it just happened to need to be it really

they say millions it was just passing by in some part of somewhere around her
fuck you all of you bitches just being somewhere or something fuck things

ill sit here making this fucking letters at all of it because they are small and petty
at it all the time in their natures, even in the culmination, text and literacy

quite small thinking about the spacing you poor fucker writing fortune cookies
poorness is everywhere but you still rise above the grave stricken and meager
poetry still rises above the moon somewhere fucking amazing man lives as a god

elements trouble me i don’t know every fucking thing elementarily
so many fucking elements don’t fucking have compression elementary
still smoke pcp literally but still only fictitiously still mantra is pcprecicely
federally I just mean i sell pcp to every first second and third world country
fuck with me got to turn the bricks i make running the old time racketeerery
rack in the stacks stackrackery fuck the factions in anguish meekly. merely

Still and Always, Sir Stillsburry





some people say that lives should be books in biographies, my life is like a short story
i am a majestic man i am beautiful i run forever in a fueld of magical love i’m naked and it just thrives on my being. it lives because of me, I am it’s fire. There is a land of blackness around me that imbibes of me and finds me delicious, i am so passionate it ripples with my essence were it a puddle floating in space, intent on being liquid capable of taking any form, the radiance i exude comes from the sea of all knowledge that dwells within me. I am omniscient yet i still reflect upon myself, channeling my eminence into solid tangible existences, creating parallel worlds in the fabric of existence. I exist much like a volcano of latent emotion that explodes from the fields of tangibility I dwell in. the surge knows no bounds and exudes from myself uncontrollably. My presence is the soothing spring of water that quenches as it is so painfully refreshing. The mind knowing no bounds of the refreshment wrought by this presence, unable to comprehend the glory of the overpowering refreshment. I am greatness because I am a cloud.