The two reasons why I feel I need to keep this blog:
Why I’m sharing these things :
I’ve been forced to live in a rather depressing, yet, at the same time, very interesting, situation that I’m sure a lot of people must be very curious about. I know that if “The Truman Show” was a real thing I’d be very curious to know how he experienced the whole phenomenon of living, as he did, in a make believe world in the eye of that hurricane. It raises a lot of questions, and I’m sure there are very likely many aspects to it that I’d never know even existed if he didn’t enlighten me about them.
Also, I’d like to know how he felt when he realized his entire life was a lie, that all his friends were nothing more than paid actors and even his wife turned out to be nothing but a prostitute paid by someone else to have sex with him. What does he feel about discovering his career was nothing but useless busy work all along? How would he feel to learn that there were people he never met making mind boggling amounts of money off of imprisoning him in an artificial environment? That people paid good money so they could get a voyeuristic thrill out of spying on him even during his most intimate moments?
That’s a lot to take in, and I’m sure that the impact of all those realizations at once could very well unhinge some people. I would love to see him interviewed, and If he wrote a book about it I know I’d be eager to read it.
I’m sharing these things for two reasons. The first reason is because I was able to hear that show they’ve made out of my life for a few years, and I was rather taken aback at how they presented me. It had an unnecessarily negative bias and I felt it wasn’t an honest or fair presentation. I even heard many outright lies and grotesque exaggerations being given as facts. Another disturbing thing that the public was not made aware of was that these people have been paying people to insinuate themselves into my company for years. Their job was to get me to say and do things that made me more like the caricature they were presenting me as.
The second reason why I’m doing this is the most simple, I know people are interested in knowing what living like this has been like. Growing up with a hidden camera always in my bedroom and always being surrounded by secrets and lies. Everybody, even my own family, has been lying to me all my life. Naturally I feel very betrayed and violated. I realize a lot of people feel betrayed and violated, but not like this. As far as I know I’m the first person in history who has grown up and grown old on television. I’m sure people want to know what it has been like.
Though Most of my posts will deal with my unique situation and life I will also be posting a lot of other kinds of things too!
(Please keep in mind that is blog is primarily for entertainment purposes only, myown entertainment, so keep that in mind and don’t get too upset or excited about anything in it as it’s all in good fun)
So- So I’ll be hornswaggled here we go again. Time to immortalize and magnify all of my mundane activities and observations. Only this time puh-leeeeeze spare us the drolleries RAWN.
Would you like to help the homeless today?
Would you like to help the homeless today?
Would you like to help the homeless today?
Would you like to help the homeless today?
How annoying. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Light, shadow, substance, space.
Shopping carts dragging these fat little people around, sucking the items off of the shelves into the basket- money whisked out of pockets into cash registers, customers ejected into the parking lots screaming- the cars inhale them and rush them home catapulting them out into the driveway- the groceries clinging to their arms- houses then drink them in as they hysterically heave with terror- the trees laugh deeply and distortedly as bushes twitter with childish giggles.
On the windows we can see expressionist shadows painted angrily across the shades as if by some suicidal hand- figures dripping in black and grey- force fed- choking- the food tears through their guts, they urinate and defecate burning acidic excretions all over themselves.
In a shed in the back she sits on a box with a picture of a chair on it, whenever anyone approaches her her parasites run barking out of cracks and crevasses on her body baring their fangs, their antennae thrashing about violently. Her eyes crack open like exploding windows and all the little parasites run whining back into their hiding places. Her feet have grass growing on her soles. There are clouds and stars entwined in her jungley hair. Her hands are made for tools our minds can not even visualize. She can reach in and out of several dimensions and do things that would drive us stark staring mad to even contemplate.
He just hung his head out of his cupboard and rested his chin on the heal of his right hand as he held his right elbow in his left hand, and sighed the resigned sigh of the contented dead as he looked down on his life. His mind was cracked wide open and doors were constantly creaking open and slamming shut behind, or, rather, in front of the back of his head. He could feel all the pores on his face excitedly yawning and exhaling water vapor and could hear red cracks tensely spreading over the whites of his eyes. The clock on the watchtower groaned midnight. His mind floated down into a moat of slathering slugs that licked all the rough stones as smooth as pearls. His bloodstream was teaming with White and silver microphysical warriors that were loudly clashing with determined and spiteful maladies that grimaced and gurned with hideous creativity in their spirited, yet sluggish syrupy passion, a passion for putrefaction. It was the never ending, eternal struggle against entropy. Eternity always yanking at his heels through the creaking floorboards or the sensual green lawn, as it spitefully bled thin, clear sap through the countless millions of open cuts that had been inflicted on it during its last mowing. A thousand tiny little voices whispered and whined constantly into his auditory canals, sending a gentle chill, a subtle thrill tightening across his skin and twisting all his little hairs end wise, causing them to russle and stand up as they gently waved in the warm breeze of the summer sunset. He was high and dry and dehydrating at the foot of Heaven’s front porch as the flames of perdition viciously licked the callouses off his tired, ancient feet. His bones felt brittle and his testicles ached, his skin was alive and squirming, his hands felt empty and hungry, his eyes were restless and insatiably curious. He was facing the infinite. His consciousness was dawning over the horizon of oblivion and eternity. He saw everything, he was bored with genesis yet had forgotten Armageddon and didn’t really care if he ever remembered it ever again. His eyes had ears and every cell in his body had a brain. He was so wide he could swallow the universe and hardly even feel it. His soul’s hunger was bottomless and aggressive. “‘In the desert, you see, there’s everything and theres nothing…’ ‘But can’t you explain it to me?’, she said. ‘Well’, he went on, with a gesture of impatience, ‘its God without people'”
a trail of ants leads out of my head as i smoke a cigarette out of a wound in my knee in my swiss cheese house. bullets rip through my rib cage like a laughing river of molten lead as my soul cries on the hood of my car.
prickly warm moisture oozes out of my fingers and my head is a blinding flash of light as i descend into your dreams and your medicine chest in the dead of night as all the ants in your ant farm snore loud enough to wake the local precinct. i hear a mole mumbling that has half tunneled to China, i hear a bird panicking at 10,000 feet, as fish swim aggressively through my arteries and bubbles pop in my brain. “enough for now”, the blind poet said, “for tomorrow all the fools will die, and i need to pack a lunch.”
“This is not anger, its RIGHTEOUSNESS!” -Douglas Robertson
When I was in high school, 1980, in the 10th grade, I met this senior student in art class. This guy was definitely an odd bird, a unique individual. Actually I’m not sure he even belonged in public school because he was a schizophrenic. Maybe they had determined it was OK as long as he took his medication, but I’m not sure he really did.
The only thing we both had in common was our love of art. We both liked weird art, like Dali, and we shared an enthusiasm for Picasso’s graphic work.
Once, in this class, we had to do portraits of the other students. He did his in pen and ink. The above example is one of those. I have maybe one or two more examples of his work that maybe I will scan and attach to this post sometime. The above portrait is very interesting I’m sure we can all agree, but what is actually more interesting is that it does, or, did rather, look remarkably like it’s subject, who was a 16 year old weight lifter/body builder I recall. He didn’t like his portrait very much, and criticized it by insisting that it looked nothing like him, despite the fact it did, though in a very weird way that’s hard to put into words. I wish I had an actual photo of the guy for comparison so you could see for yourself what I mean.
He also did a portrait of me, which is, unfortunately lost. A profile, contour line drawing, in pen and ink, traced over in colored marker, on which he had given me a long, serpentine tongue on the tip of which was a purple hit of acid.
He kept a notebook in which he had cartoons and writings. I can only remember one bit of writing from it, “Don’t put your feets on the railroad track when the trains coming!” The book was full of these quirky statements, observations, drawings and poems. I was very taken with his work. It was reminiscent of Lewis Carrol, John Lennon, Kenneth Patchen, even a little Jack Karouac in parts. It was a chunky soup of all kinds of things, stewed in a rich, creamy 1970s flavored broth.
He had a reoccurring character named ‘Hal’, like the computer from ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’. ‘Hal’ is a cryptogram for ‘IBM’, made by spelling it with the letters which immediately proceed the letters “IBM” in the alphabet.
I recall that Doug’s father worked with computers either for the government or maybe it was actually for IBM.
This character, ‘Hal’, wore over-sized garments and a big, floppy, wide brimmed hat which obscured his face. He dressed a lot like a 1970’s ghetto pimp.
Pointing to a representation of this character in his notebook, he told me that once, late night when he was in his room, this guy had burst in brandishing a baseball bat, but he stood up to him and yelled for him to ‘get out’, which he then promptly did.
I frequently thought about Doug when I was flying on acid. Doug and his geometric hallucinations and the strange people and situations which seemed to populate his imagination.
Also, when I was on acid, I wrote two pieces, one called, “The Boy”, and one called, “The Girl”. Doug read them, and he seemed very taken by “The Boy”, so he rewrote it in his own style. In my original ‘Boy’ I had wrote about him thinking about ‘The Girl’ as a loose conglomeration of disassociated parts. Doug wrote of “feelings sweeping through the boy like ocean tides” while thinking of her as a ‘rotting corpse’, and says to himself, “I killed her, but she’s not dead”. I wish I could remember more about these pieces, I may have his among what’s left of my papers, and mine in my old notebooks, assuming they still exist and I can find them.
His family had moved once since I’ve known him, neither residence was very far from me, so I always visited him from time to time. After he finished high school he took a few classes at Los Angeles Valley College for a bit, but eventually stopped that and was always home. He often drank cheap beer and wine in the evenings. I think it was the only time he got out of the house, going to the corner liquor store for these beverages. During the day he sometimes smoked weed, which I seem to recall he got from his sister when she came to visit the family.
As time progressed he kept getting stranger and more distant. Around the last time I saw him he was really into the bible and was having lots of religious hallucinations. When I asked him about all his artwork he told me he had put it all in a big plastic trash bag and buried it in the back yard of his old home before they had moved.
I remember, for a brief period, Doug had this friend who lived in the same neighborhood he did. He was also kind of crazy and drew real cool pictures of dinosaurs and monsters. He drew the best Godzilla pics I’ve ever seen. It was almost like his mind hadn’t changed since the 5th grade and he just perfected what 5th grade boys like. I think they used to smoke weed together and draw.
Whenever the police helicopters would be flying low over the valley, likely looking for robbery suspects or whatever kind of criminal it was that was on the loose, they would run around the neighborhood with plastic machine guns, running from cover to cover as though they were trying to elude the authorities. Once when the three of us were just walking down the street he picked a big rock up off the ground and dropped it in a mailbox. At some point this guy moved away.
Last time I asked about Doug my Grandfather had told me he heard he had died. Since he hardly ever even left the house, and, also considering his deteriorating mental condition, I assumed it must have been a suicide, however I heard a few years ago from a woman online who said she knew his family that he had actually died in a gruesome accident. I won’t go into details since they are so unpleasant, but according to her he caught fire and burned to death.
I found an old letter Doug wrote me while crating up my things. Although much of it is copied from ‘sacred texts’ (not perfectly though), it is emblazoned with the imprint of his own unique personality, so I feel it is worthy of note and I think it would be a nice way to conclude this article about my dear, old friend.
In this letter we can see that Doug, in common with most schizophrenics, is obsessed with defining his own identity, and he is by no means unique because he had absorbed himself in religion searching for answers. Many people who are considered mentally sound do the same all over the world. I suppose now, decades later, I can understand his obsession with Jesus Christ and Christianity when I recall how chaotic his own thinking and perception was. He felt he needed to be possessed by a loving force. I’m sure he was frequently frightened by his own delusions and hallucinations.
Anyway, without further ado, here it is. His handwriting was pretty hurried and sloppy in parts so it could be very challenging to decipher, but I did my best so I think I got everything right.
“Here’s my letter- DOUGLAS Dear Ron: Let me explain something to you. “This is good. This is “Doug Robertson” (as much as you should care.) (Don’t stop reading this.) 1. The pro-noun “I” is our ego. 2. The proverb “my” is self. 3. Within us is: 1a. Consciousness b. Unconsciousness c. Subconsciousness d. Self-consciousness 2a. Super-ego b. ego c. “The”, Id- pronounced ‘I’d’ I sometimes think of myself as containing no ego. (Here he wrote “Funny thing ‘eh'” and drew an arrow pointing to the “I” at the beginning of the previous statement)
During the time of Greece and Rome the philosophy of Man over beast. Meaning the only thing that separates us from the animal kingdom is reason. I just kicked Darwin’s theory off the shelf. I have feelings of worthlessness. I have to remember but it’s gone forever. A blocked thought lost forever. I hate having my thoughts blocked out. My thoughts were being blocked for a long time. It happens to me all the time with others. It seems that I have always been held back. (You can tell from my writing)
Maturing and thinking for myself. Making decisions but always at the point of certainty and uncertainty. So on and so forth. “Selfish man you are…I’d like to say.”
At working in a Warehouse for 1 1/2 yrs; I lost my memory. A complete memory loss. Didn’t know where I was, what I was doing, my own name. Lasted about 3 minutes. I know what I’m writing this for? really but not really But that’s the reason we are writing. As far as the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I say unto them “Salutations.” The testimony of Joseph Smith was that he had seen a vision of God and his son. The problem of struggling with this church is that- supposedly Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were baptized by Peter, John and James. Then, supposedly John the Baptist rebaptized Joseph Smith. If these occurrences did happen, I am led to believe by the spirit of God that these things took place. So there I am left struggling with my Relationship with Christ and his saints. And the above. But why should I be? I don’t understand.
It may appear that these beliefs are somewhat unusual; but after all- are not all churches somewhat unworldly Materialistically. The facts are true. But abstractly the facts differ. Why must people congregate in buildings? Why not groves? In coves? A Church building separates us from nature. Of which we are. (Nature, I mean)
Aren’t all religions sort of strange? Wrapped in Myths and Mysticisms- fables and stories. Acts of the Supernatural? But what?… Although it was 2001 years ago since Anno Domini (or year of our Lord). 2000 years ago since the life, death and Resurrection of Christ- “God Lives!” From Proverbs; “As the Heavens shall roll up as a scroll And the earth shall pass away- my Words will remain forever.” And again “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet And a light unto my path.” We have a living Being as God. Jesus- Emanuel- Son of Man- Son of God King of kings Lord of princes- the Prince of Peace- Savior- Lord and Christ- God. Wonderful, Counselor, Redeemer, Mediator. “But we have the mind of Christ.” Christ- Revolutionary Christ- Teacher Christ- Philanthropist Christ- Humanist. But mostly The Almighty Christ. Deity- God. God incarnate/ God in man’s form. (Imagine the power and inertia of Jupiter and it’s orbit This mighty presence of Rotation and Centrifugal force This unimaginable power is but a fraction of Christ’s Sovereignty.) The Almighty Christ. The word ‘Christ’ is actually translated “Messiah.” The long awaited Messiah of the Jewish People. Again, the Jews wanted a conquering Messiah to lead them. A conquering being. In this stead was- “Christ- meek and lowly- uncomely- gentle.” A conquering Messiah to reign over the earth.
In the early church the Pharisees Scribes and Sadducees could presumably regard this strange new preaching /Gospel/ as a simple sect of Jewish heritage and religion. If this latter statement is true why then this?: Mathew- slain with a sword. Stephen- stoned to death. Mark- dragged to death in the streets of Alexandria, Luke- Hanged from an olive tree in Greece John- Boiled in oil. James- Beheaded in Jerusalem. Philip- Strangled. Bartholomew- Beaten to death. Andrew- Crucified. Thomas- Stoned to death. Jude- Shot to death with arrows. Peter- Crucified upside down; (Because he did not want to dishonor his Lord) Paul- Beheaded. Why? Because Christ dwelled in them. But really- I can’t comprehend why they were slain. My finite mind can find no explanation for the crucifixion of Christ. Through all this persecution and death, isn’t it surprising to see how Christianity flourished in such a way? Proliferated on the Earth. As regards : again the LDS church: Are not all congregations sort of true? BUT! My belief differs from all churches that I have been too. I believe! All believers compromise the Church, LDS or not. (I mean the people on earth who really have devoted their lives to Christ.) One Corinthians 12:12 Heading: “Every believer is a member of Christ’s Body-” In my own words: The Body of Christ is the Church: and as such has definite ministry. 12: “For as the body is one, and hath members many, and all the members of that one body: being many, are one body” So also is Christ.” 13:”For by one spirit (of God) we are all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we are bond or free, and have all been all made to drink of one spirit.” 14:” For the body is not one member but many.” 15:” If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the (bible) body: is it therefore not of the body?” 16:” And if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body: is it therefore not of the body?” 17:” If the whole body was an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole body were hearing, where were the smelling?” 18:” But now hath God set the members every one of them in the body, as it hath pleased him?” 19:” And if they were all one member, where were the body?” 20:” But now are they many members, yet but one body.” 21:” And the eye cannot say unto the hand, I have no need of thee: nor again the head to the feet I have no need of thee.” 22:” Nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary!” 23:” And those members of the body, which we seem to think be less honorable, upon these we bestow more abundant honor: and our uncomely parts have more abundant comeliness.” 24:” For our comely parts have no need: but God hath tempered the body together, having given more abundant honour to that part which lacked.” 25:” That there should be no schism in the body: but that the members should have some care from one another.” 26:” And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it. Or one member be honored, all the members rejoice with it.” 27:” Now ye are the body of Christ and members in particular.”
A poem! I have my God for perfect love and peace. I’ll hold her tight and always as or and always mine forever now love so great so divine trees the grey day has changed everything it’s beautiful just beautiful so beautiful this first grey day is ourselves always my loving child child of by grace of God we live my child and love I crawl to my knees my dear love will you promise to kiss my perfect healing hand and fingers and make a promise to me you will always obey my each command and never ever fail me you’ll be mine forever more the Sun is here my love my love My son else son complete God bless all perfect perfect grey day with trees so bare so bare but O so beautiful so beautiful The grey blue sky the World is here else (else)just justing just air (else) all own Hold us tight I am yours just a dream And go on dreaming May June’s airs never ever come My love my love Pleasant Sweet love is tender
This is all I can do I put a lot into it with his own mind.
8/12/91 Nobody can be my best friend. They may come in second- but I am my own best friend and if I can’t get along with myself I can’t get along with any body. Wed. Aug. 13, 1991 Hello and Good Day. Its 11:48 AM by the old clock on my desk and I have but a little free time before I must go to work and get to work. I’ve a full eight hours to do today, nine if you tally up the lunch hour as well, which you may as well do in all fairness. For although i don’t have to run around performing little thankless tasks for insatiable employers and cranky customers I am still limited to the immediate vicinity of the store due to my careless situation- and you’d be surprised how many times one can look up at the clock in the mere space of an hour. It has occurred to me that I devote very little space to describing my day to day existence- particularly my interactions with my fellow human beings. I’m sure this has come about because I don’t feel that my waking/working life holds anything of interest to anyone- most of all myself! I don’t like to waste my time writing anything no one would want to waste their time reading. Sure, my life is not exactly an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, but it is my life and I am still in charge of it, ultimately, I think. Maybe my own life bores me because I’ve gotten into the habit of not thinking about it.
Hi! My name is “Matches” Tweedie. When I was a kid I was very lonely. Mothers always told their kids “Don’t play with Matches!”
Aug.15,1991,THUR The world disappeared today- so now I sit brooding in the void- overlooking eternity here on the outskirts of infinity.
AUG. 21, 1991 You go ‘head and sleep on your bed of nails while I crucify my head on this here pillow, ’cause when I get that dog alone he’s gonna be burying his bones in the clouds from now on. Don’t think my feet can’t smell out his footprints- I don’t care how clean they are, I’ll suck’m up in his direction and he wont be long in flying backwards right into my lap. Sky-mommy sees what he done and she’s gonna tell Star-daddy tonight when he gets up- gonna shout it out from one horizon all the way across the heavens to the other! Then you know what? You’ll come back as a paddle in a reform school’s Principal’s office and be having your head beat against bad boy’s bare butts for decades. HA! If that don’t make me laugh back here behind my teeth you tell me what does! (By the way- why you got a pair of dirty old socks hangin’ out of yer back pocket anyway? “I don’t care what people think , cuz I don’t think much of people!”, said Tommy the turtle right before he sucked his head back into his graffiti vandalized shell, looking to all the world like a glans-penis withdrawing into the private sanctuary of his own foreskin.
“HALP! MY COCK’S ON FIRE!” Screamed Goonbob Jones, as he ran frantically up and down the street simultaneously attracting and repelling stares like a crazy, naked eye magnet out of control. His erection was a towering inferno! Sirens sounded in his ears. He burst into Snoozie SlaSlime’s house and found her sleeping nude on the couch as if in a decadent painting. He wasted no time and acted twice as fast, plunging his torch into her front pocket. He was happy to find her wet as a seal as usual. “Tsssssssssss”- Steam filled the room and the oder was both inviting and repulsive. The End For Now.
Every time you puff a cigarette the vulture looks at you. “I’m so hungry I could eat a cow!”, said the bull. “Oh goody!” sez the Devil every time a sinner kicks the old well dented bucket. IDEA: Men’s shorts with genital pattern prints on them. IDEA: ventriloquist throwing his farts into other people’s asses.
I came home from work early and caught the furniture having an orgy on my living room! That pissed me off! My own couch cheating with me with my own easy chair (and even the knick knacks were in on it!) But I taught that couch a lesson- I put all the other furniture in the garage and fucked that couch straight up the ass for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a whole month!!
“HI!” sez the housefly in the sky! When I get real high I always ask “WHY?” Some people think I’m shy, some people think I’m sly- but everyone agrees that I’m a real quiet guy.
There was a ghost in a cage at the zoo- but we weren’t allowed to cry in front of the Devil. I heard that girls didn’t have wieners- but I knew some did. I don’t live in a house- but I live in a room in a house. I like the skin I peeled off my bowl of pudding. I let it dry on my forehead but my dog licked it off before it got to crack. I’ve never seen a live anchovy, but I bet they couldn’t fit whales even in the biggest can in the world. shouldn’t say things like that, but I saw an evil turd on my porch and it was thinking bad things about us. No ape ever committed suicide- but I’ve heard of little kids who wanted to get to heaven right away! I think there’s a horny snail on my roof, but I wouldn’t bet your dog’s life on it!!Its fun to fuck an invisible woman and see your come floating around the room afterwards. I have two skulls in my scrotum, but my teeth are shards of broken glass. Funny how friction melts your genitals and your brains at the same time. Its dangerous to melt your brains with someone you don’t know. Why is pain forever nibbling at the edges of my mind? There can be no peace anymore, only hiding and fighting. Oh Jesus, heal my back- and shut up that lady next door. I can’t step through the portal into the real world- the pain holds me back! I hate those metal rings on my spiral notebook.
When I was- I’d say I was 9, I found a baby bird under the Giant Redwood tree in our backyard. A disgusting, helpless little thing, blindly looking up with it’s huge, bulbous eyes, the lids of which didn’t even have cracks in them as it constantly gulped with it’s grotesquely wide and over sized beak. My Grandmother told me I needed to put it in the trash can, cover it with the lid and suffocate it because the mother bird would have nothing to do with it anymore since it fell out of it’s nest and that was the only merciful thing to do given the circumstances. I intuitively knew that there would be enough air in the trash can that it would starve long before it suffocated, but I just couldn’t bring myself to kill it by violence. It was such a hideous, fetal looking thing I could hardly stand to even look at it, and it’s obnoxious neediness disgusted me, but, ironically, those very things made the idea of killing it all the more repugnant. Since I could not think of any other easier solution to this moral puzzle I just did what was suggested though I knew it amounted to nothing. I dumped the poor little thing into the trash where it just got buried under garbage during the next few days, finally shrivelling up and expiring due to dehydration I can only imagine. I felt creepy and uncomfortable about this, and although it would have initially felt unpleasant I would have felt better about it and myself in the long run had I just smashed it with a brick or a stone.
11/22/94 “Here I am all you slap happy butt fuckers! I’m drunkerna cock suckin’ chimpanzee and happy to be intimate with a stationary piece of paper made from a manic depressive tree’s corpse. Well, lets party, or should I say, ‘partake’, of life’s stupid joke of joy- joy is just a way of making fun of everything- excuse me while I piss-yay! How dumb! You crumb! Yum yum!! Crumbs! You’re just a symptom of my consciousness- let me kill you all and become unconscious. Kill! Cool! Kill! COOL! Die in my eye- fear in my ear! A stench to pose for my nose! I feel an electric eel. Squeal! Go to Hell Jezebel! I won’t tell! Two hungry fat legged guys smiling at each other over a greasy leg of roast beast in a dilapidated prefab cabin. Saliva runs wild. a battle of sneers. Eat or be eaten. Beat or ya eat less. MMMMMM- that flesh is so eatable around the bone- the greasy, suckable bone! MMMMM! Outside a ghost haunts a tired landscape. I’m seeing double. Gotta go to bed. Sleeping afoot. Breathing around the corner. Sleep. Sex. Sex. Gotta have crazy sex. Out in the hills. Hero time. Gotta do it. Do it. The deed that needs to be done. Pump the desire out of my loins. Let it roll. Blubbering out of my huge sausage into your skirts. Theres a guy walking down the straße with a big blood shot eye floating behind the back of his head- he never sees it but he knows its there- he knows its there because he can see everybody else’s big bloody eyeballs following them around- nobody sees their own eyeballs because every time you turn this way or that- well- they stay directly behind your head. Mirrors won’t work either because they always know which way you’re looking. You could see them in photographs though. But in Eastern Block countries they don’t have the eyeballs according to what I’ve been told. They have dusty people in trench coats, crushed hats and long, grey faces and they don’t photograph. Some think its a governmental thing like it is here, but according to certain folklore they’re like doppelgangers. When you die they say those grey, crumpled hat things wander the world aimlessly, remembering over and over again everything about you. How anybody knows whether or not they remember is a true mystery as they are definitely not gifted with the capacity for speech. Some say they all congregate after their subject dies and exchange memories- they do this in a certain canyon in Poland- then they redisperse and follow someone else around. This way they know everything about everyone. Here, with the eyeballs- some religious nuts claim that after the demise of the subject the eyes return to the Big Daddy Eyeball up on the Astral Plane where they are reabsorbed into the ALL Knowing- All Watching- yet forever silent Entity. In different cultures the Eyeball could be a monkey, or a bird, or even a devil, or whatever- and believers say that their elevated consciousness allows them to actually see these things. But most people dismiss the whole notion saying that if these things are always following us around behind us where we can’t see’m- then what happens to’m when you, say, lie on the floor’n, like dat?” Thus ended the lecture. Pip got up and left the amphitheater, picking up his notebook, pen, and the dead kitten he had been playing with and using as a pen holder (pin-cushion style)- he threw them all in his book bag and hurried out the door. He decided to get laid, not that he was in a restless mood or anything, but because he had nothing else to do and lived alone. He went to that bar he likes where they have the trained monkey deliver the drinks to your table. He was amused with the idea of sending the monkey to the table of a lonely girl with a drink and a little handwritten note suggesting that they get together and take the party back to his place. This usually worked except one time the apple of his eye ran off with the monkey. You see, our friend Pip here just did a five year stretch in the jug for sexually molesting a motor vehicle. Now I’m not saying what he did was wrong, but if you want to have illicit contact with someone’s car, just make sure the owner’s not rich or they’ll be sure to throw the book at you- and the dictionary in case theres anything in the book you don’t understand. A huge glowing light bulb filled with fighting and fucking fish spun around over the roof of the bar. A neon sign which read, “Fish Fry Fred’s” winked on and off seductively over the entrance. Pip sat there absent mindedly nursing a Flying Zombo when suddenly he was startled by a burst of whistling, whooping and applause.
“Several persons have died during the last year who never died before!”, declared the newspaper headline of the tacky colored Sunday edition which sat on the depressingly littered table by the small window which afforded a panoramic view of a large brick wall opposite. The telephone was ringing insistently as the tired looking man sitting beside the table angrily yelled, “WHO IS IT!” after each clattering, metallic burst of noise. Somewhere, inside one of the many sad and worn looking boxes stacked against the wall facing the window, the quick sounds of a mouse’s frantic scuffling could be heard as it chewed up the important documents within savoring the sweet tastes the traces of some of the more benign chemicals that had been mixed in with the pulp. An adventurous fly buzzed daringly about the room, zooming through the narrow canyons dividing the boxes, swooping low over tortured landscapes of debris, and circling high over the entire room occasionally brushing his busy wings across the very ceiling. Little brown roaches rushed about in tight little zig zags over islands of clutter, occasionally pausing as if to gather their nerve before shooting out over to a neighboring nation of neglect to resume their fevered nibbling, energetic antennas flashing wildly before them all the while. The man then sat upright as if suddenly electrified with resolve, went over to the dresser that never looked like much even before it had seen better days, and jerkily yanked out the top drawer. He then reached in, pushing with his hand, this way, then that, various piles of objects and papers and finally, gripping a tattered checkbook between his thumb and forefinger, lifted it out, then left the room, locked the door, and went downstairs to pay the rent.
Sunday, Oct 11, 1991 “Exhibitionist Society” Conspicuous Consumption and the Entertainment Industry. Watch or be watched or be watched watching!
NOW ITS TIME FOR POETRY CORNER:
Oh, that I were dead! I want a skinny girl with no tits. In this world of death and alienation Women must be breastless! Vaginas are OK We still need a hole to hide in. Sweep me away like a pile of beach sand in a storm. Expose my skull to the radioactive light. Sardonic grinning. Dry humor.
Meat wagons drive across fleshscapes Adventures in a perambulator. John Carpenter in 6 movements.
“I’m just taking care of ‘Isness’ and working over time AND over space”
Its kinda weird flipping through the radio channels, isn’t it, holding a little box in your hand, spinning that tiny dial with your finger, catching and releasing in rapid succession all the invisible sounds and stories that are flying through the air all around us! They say that there is going to be a three day meteor shower starting tonight. May be I shouldn’t look at it- remember “The Day of the Triffids!” “Baby’s Breath”. Sounds so sweet and gentle, doesn’t it? Ever smell babies breath? Smells like sour breastmilk- pretty gross, huh? Curdled titty milk! Gross enough to make you lose your lunch on the grass, or disengorge your dinner on the ground, or barf up your breggfast all around town where you’ll earn a big name as the “Regurgitating clown”.
Help help me help help me Sunday. What can we do for one another? Nothing will happen today- I don’t even need to remind myself of this. There are no surprises hidden in the unborn hours to come. No pleasant surprises, at least. But then again- they wouldn’t be called ‘surprises’ if one expected them- now would they? But nothing happens to nobodies. And how does one become a somebody? By daring too- by conquering his childish fears and facing what comes his way. By coming to life! By deciding to put aside his fear of death and living big. (Author’s note: I’ve noticed many people, at times myself included, hide from the awareness of death by avoiding life, as only the living can die.)
MAN MAKES A JOKE OUT OF LIFE BECAUSE HE KNOWS THAT IF HE EVER STOPS LAUGHING HE’LL DIE! (So yuck it up kids!) It’s so ironic that we’re born just to die, that we come into existence only to pass again into nothingness never to return again. Or, at best, to sire offspring that must struggle under the same tyrannical system. Yes, if life is but a joke than death is the punchline- even if it is a shaggy dog story.
Loof Lirpa 
