25th i found the stuff today

so it looks like i will be going away

couldn't say where

i don't know when

but i'm sure they will

collect me

i'm sure they will

i'm sure

i'm sure  ¶ 4:51 pm 0 Comments

  Dirty Suzie No found matches.

all is good

the publication will proceed.

Em -> F

we wont need to re-write history
that will happen all by itself.

Labels: art

  ¶ 2:38 pm 0 Comments

  Buttermilk Pancakes 3 cups of flour
3 tbs sugar (white)
3 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
3 cups buttermilk
1/2 cup milk
3 eggs
1/3 cup butter (melted)

1) In large bowl combine:
flour
sugar
baking powder
baking soda
salt

In separate bowl beat:
buttermilk
milk
eggs
butter (melted)

2) heat oiled pan

3) pour wet mixture into dry. then blend with wooden spoon.

4) pour into pan  ¶ 2:32 pm 0 Comments

  corpus body emptied - caverned
head separated
duodenum on floor next to body
trail of unidentifiable liquid
organs carefully stacked
inside caverns of body
- brain removed without
damage to head (severed)  ¶ 1:38 pm 0 Comments

  same same home again
after so many winter
and as equal summers
that were spent in
a cloudy embrace
the image slipped
through time as
though (thought were) it ought to be
blood coursing through
my veins.  ¶ 1:38 pm 0 Comments

  -untitled- none of it had any place any more. not even the gum could be found. the snakes had moved in and littered the space with skins and scales. the warmness of the room had been sucked dry. these cold blooded reptiles lived on the warmth, desired the heat. need. driven by need. it was a matter of survival, in its most basic sense, driven by comfort. the lethargy that accompanied a good heating was matched only by the consumption of an enlarged and elegant meal sitting in the gullet. the juices oozing. the slow slithering left light trails upon the wooden floor and beige walls. a sense of scum was left. it was to be lived out - it could never be washed or scrubbed. soap would not remove the living stains of reptiles. it was not so much an odor as an atmosphere.

it can't be helped
he sighed without appreciation.

the resignation in his voice reverberated a fellowship of resignation that darkened and cooled the room a further three degrees.

it was hopeless. the place would have to be brought to rubble. built up again. if the sinking fund allowed it. and that sinking feeling had engulfed us all. what was once the crystal palace - the ice marked walls of time, smoke and mirrors - had become a cesspool of half-forgotten dreams and encumbered thoughtlessness. the uselessness of the mechanics left communication impossible. it would be days before any suspected anything wrong. this would give enough time for the snakes to pass on without punishment; without payment, and without any sense of empathy. the blame we knew, would lie solely on us, and none of us were wanting the consequences that were awaiting. the pocket is never safe. dark places, no matter how warm, are never safe.

sob. sob. sob.

William Tell turned and left. leaving the door open the warmth of a fresh summer breeze awakened a sleepy snake. it looked to the opening. then drifted into a reverie. there was plenty of time and this brazilian cobra knew it. the venom stank. it was time enough for all of us to leave.

the door swung. perhaps a foursome of ferrets would wander in and devour the sleeping snakes in some silent eating ecstasy. one would still dream of happiness. at least there was that.

the coffee was cold and bitter. artificial sweetener filled the empty spaces, table tops. the good juice could have made anything drinkable but it had been so long since anyone had seen it. perhaps the FDA had completely removed it from the streets. i guess it could be done. you hit the right people, with nothing on them, just hold them as terrorists. the new laws had instilled not the least bit of fear in the public. in some sectors there was even a little bit of warmth. but now, in a perfect environment all the names and aliases could be taken in. held. imprisoned. why were there still drugs on the street? people wanted them out there. people need them out there. the good juice is the only thing to make this coffee taste like anything resembling a drink. yet it had gone. the police, bah, they hadn't made a move. perhaps the pushers had not realized their self worth. social necessity. had gone into hiding, putting trade on hold, avoid the hen pen. or even worse. the growers had an epiphany. insight into their strangle hold on the whole market. perhaps a union had been formed. who would be talking? what information would be passed around? a complete embargo until the unions demands would be met. and of course they would. these people would shit over their mother, and run naked over electrified wire and brine to pay a hundred times the cost price for the good stuff. why would they not meet the demands of the union.

the coffee warmed in the sun.

like a snake it protruded atmosphere.

again we left - untouching - the space was open. the coffee, however, would never escape.

how could they do that. out now. put my pen down and get the fuck out!
one could smell the bitter taste of anguish and base mixing upon his tongue.

it's enough. nothing has changed. it has been ten days now and he is no further ahead in anything. time continues to slip by and the little he manages - imagines - seems to occupy his mind such a manner that justifies action. there has been minimal effort made. his shortcomings are proceeded with wailings of help.

if only someone would help me
he bawls again and again

yet how can someone help. he does nothing to help himself. all one can do is give. he has been so well trained at taking. expecting. what help can be given to such a person who will not accept help - will only accept results. given up the room to the snakes. the sun parched skins of cold blooded reptilia.

there is no point. i am working and they will want to see me at that time.
defeated assumptions.

what alternatives does he have? there is no choice. there is never choice. only illusions as to whether one wishes to succeed or fail. it is a trick. continually falling for the same one over and over again.

thoughts turn to the past. had i ever embargoed myself upon an unsuspecting victim. times of snake pits and wallowing hours. of market research and sleepful mornings of quiet awakenings. unsupported leeching moments of a younger time. fixed periods of time however, with purpose and meaning. even in a self-serving capacity money, time and effort was made to co-support and encourage healthy relations. as time expired one moved onwards and enjoyed the parting moreso than the arriving.

no my pleasure stays were exactly that. pleasure. for all parties.

this stay is not pleasure. it is insecurity.

dependent.

we walk the streets in an amble of coerced laughter. the knowledge of the coffee leaves a void in our minds. a something that may be numbed by the amorous affects of alcohol. games. a distraction to the mind; coupled with booze the pool table can be a drunk's best friend, fooling the mind momentarily while the liquid gushes from behind and trample cells underfoot. an unsuspecting victim is a pleasant victim. surprised, one may wet oneself, with either fluid. the dampness will always add extra excitement to the game. if nothing arises from the element of surprise, fear not, there is always time for lubrication. forget oral contact. the teeth and tongue must always be considered a weapon. the most dangerous tools are always seductive, and a woman's mouth is never to be trusted. with a suitable muzzle in place a calm drunkard boyfriend approach will not arouse suspicion no matter where you are. of course adapt to your surroundings, but always remember to begin with the full body rubbing cycle. not only will this stimulate, it can increase the dampness that you are longing for. a boy scout may be carrying some form of chemical relaxive. do not over do it! chloroform is usually far too potent for your intents - unless a usable car is nearby and the intoxicated drag will not arouse suspicion. skirts are a must. the pants are too much hassle. (1) the use of a condom is recommended, especially if you are executing repetition or there are records being kept. however remember, that a condom will increase your time in action due to the reduce sensitivity of the penis. always allow gracious leeway for this process in all situations. let your leaving remark be as surprising as your arrival. a quick piss usually does the job. (2)

the only thing that went wrong was that we one the game. and they gave themselves up to us. three on one. the umpire crossed the line; then they undressed. it seemed they wanted to see their naked bodies more than we did. we never minded touching and prodding. it was nothing more. face it. they were young and stupid. more was not a vocabulary choice - it was the thought that counted. so as they slowly dressed we quietly masturbated without letting on. they were not sure what we were doing, but they were glad that a more relaxed atmosphere followed. kath leaned over and whispered inaudibly.

i'm sure you'll win next time girls
smirking, he turned and zipped.

i do hope so. we'd love to see what you can do for us!
giggling, jiggling - she had no idea.

the thought of the snake pit awaited us in sobriety. why hadn't we called the exterminator. they had distracted us all because of a smoothie. or the lack of one. where the fuck could you find one at this hour. everyone had their games. we got played. it is merely the fact that some people's games are nastier than others.

(1) there is a pant technique with the use of scissors. however it is an involved sequence that can only be carried out in rare circumstances. much training and practice is required. acute knowledge of the pant in question must be obtained before real time execution.

(2) a auxiliary bonus to the peeing and leaving maneuver is that if aimed correctly the victim may be left temporarily blinded. coupled with the behind position your victim may never see your face and hence make identification impossible.  ¶ 11:44 am 0 Comments

  National IDea it is awe inspiring, the nationalism that australians show for their country. considering that so few australians are landowners, and that there are some that will never have jobs. that we are represented by a goverment who locks children seeking asylum into private prisons; uses manipulated images of children being thrown overboard a sinking vessel in high seas to political advantage; aligns their political thought to the past and warmongerers in the U.S.A; declare war on two countries that do not have the arsenal to threaten our lands nor the economic power to support their own people directly disobeying the United Nations, thus belittling their power.

the displays of nationalism are largely misdirected and fruitless. the overbearing presence at Australia Day events followed from the 'spur of the moment' cronulla riots. the advent of the Australian Values syllabus - compulsory classes for all schools in NSW; consideration has been taken by other states.
persistent attacks on religious and cultural grounds, upon people and families who have lived longer within Australian lands than some considered "Australian's". Many families of chinese descent migrated to Australia during the first gold-rush, and many of these families outstrip the lineage of others bearing a european descent.
what bollocks is it to assume that one's heritage makes you Australian. it pays to remember that we are a nation founded on the petty criminals of jolly old England. yet we are happy to see any of their faces as long as we beat them in cricket. that the Australian Anthem was written by a Scot, whom one an English songwriting competition. The anthem has three verses, and an Australian shouldn't even know all the words to the first verse, let alone attempt to sing the second. our inability to remember the words allows us to sing such rot, and British back-patting, with pride and fervour.
an australian is someone who would rather sit on the couch drinking beer and watching sport than go out and bash up his neighbours because he worships God with a different name.

the proposition of a national identity card should be put on hold. nay, it should be forgotten about. it should be discarded like the outdated and dangerous abstracts of nationalism itself. no longer should we be encoraged to tie ourselves to a country with mindless indecency. the fervours of nationalism begin wars with bloody consequences. it is time we all began thinking like people and not a mindless gang hellbent on the protection of land that should be open to all people of the world. that the world she be open in trade and movement. that these arbituary boundaries of nations have restricted us for far too long, and the national id card is yet another way in which the governments of today may impose and restrict us in their fading truths. no longer are their concerns a true worry to us. they must go to great lengths to confuse and muddle issues to persuade people into letting them once again have control of the ship. to assume the position.

more and more, people realise that they want to control their lives and the way they live. individuals need to begin to examine the reasons and needs behind the political decisions that are being made on their behalf. it is time that people take responsibility for political decisions. within a democracy the people are the checks and balances. they need to ammend systems to work for them. accountability is to the voters. the people are responsible for war crimes committed by nations operating under a democracy. the onus on them is to prove that the democracy is corrupt, and if this true, there must be an ascertainable and reasonable conclusion as to why the people did not ammend their corrupt governmental system.  ¶ 10:43 am 0 Comments