Archive for the ‘Alien’ Category

Bodies burning,
To the devil’s delight,
The war machine keeps turning,
Spinning in delight!

We were mad.

Angry young hipsters, wandering the streets of the city, looking for a fix for pain, that vision of Hell burning in our brain, ecstasy of that night’s choice, dry rushing through our blood stream, ripping out our horrid childhood memories.

Dancers in fire,
A wisp of the smoke drifting inside our minds,
Delivering us to hope,
To desire,
To darkness!

We were pulling into Tulsa when the acid took hold.

The blinding moon moon burned our skin. The rat head mutants stared at us as we checked into the hotel, a flea box built of dead and dying masses we talked to on the screen.

The white rabbit took our bags, filled with a variety of pills and booze we acquired through our journeys through time and space.

We were digging our own brains!!


I discovered a site awhile back called TALK TO TRANSFORMER(See about Talk to Transformer at the end of this blog straight from the site itself @ —-) and have had some fun with it.

Tonight, I decided to put the phrase ‘There’s no point till spring comes” and it gave me the following song lyrics.


There’s no point till spring comes

When your friends are getting ready

Let’s go to the bar, let’s go to the bar

Let’s go to the bar, let’s go to the bar

If we don’t see your parents

We’re not trying, we’re trying

Maybe the way we’re behaving will change

What will become will be the way we will act

If you don’t change us, or if you try to change us, we’ll change you

Oh, yeah


All the people in the world

Will be just like the ones we love

Just as long as we stay together

The one thing they’ll never understand

Is we’re gonna live life

And do the best we can

Just like the ones we love

Just as long as we stay together

I think about your dad when I think about what I did with him

I think about his love that you were never meant to have

We’d just sit and wait.

ABOUT TALK TO TRANSFORMER (As stolen from Talk to Transformer website!)


Built by Adam King (@AdamDanielKing) as an easier way to play with OpenAI’s new machine learning model. In February, OpenAI unveiled a language model called GPT-2 that generates coherent paragraphs of text one word at a time.

For now OpenAI has decided only to release three smaller versions of it which aren’t as coherent but still produce interesting results. This site runs the largest released model, 774M, which is half the size of the full model.

While GPT-2 was only trained to predict the next word in a text, it surprisingly learned basic competence in some tasks like translating between languages and answering questions. That’s without ever being told that it would be evaluated on those tasks. To learn more, read OpenAI’s blog post or follow me on Twitter.

Wednesday, August 21st, 2019 – 1:30 in the morning

I had already turned off the computer for the night and was tucked under the blankets but with technology, there’s always a way to keep in touch.

A good friend and I chatted away in Messenger, she’s a good egg and we started talking about Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, a great movie, highly recommended to watch at 3 am, while stoned.

This got me thinking about Hunter S. Thompson which led my brain to decide, TURN THAT DAMN COMPUTER ON AND WRITE, which is what I’m doing, about what?

I have no idea.


Night time, that time, when the normal mortal beings, the day walkers, are tucked into their bed, sleeping, peacefully, dreaming.

Here I am, wide awake at 1:30 in the morning, typing at the keyboard, no drugs, but wish I had some, no whiskey or rum, but Jesus how I wish I had some.

I should be in bed, sleeping, gotta be up, early, 5 am, 6 am if I push it, but here I am, worrying, thinking, wondering, typing, dreaming awake.

We as humans are failure by design, we try to move forward and 99 percent of the time, we move forward, but there’s that 1 percent, that failure point, of where we sometimes fall backwards, right on our asses and just kaplunk, for lack of a better word.

We try to escape from our failures but that just a failure in its own right but it’s not even a failure, it’s more of a reverse learning curve.

As long as we get up and try to once again move forward are we truly successful.

Failure is not an option.

Or maybe it is.

So here it is, close to 2 am, getting tired, my body says finish this blog, finish that bottle of water, where the hell is the rum?

“Still at the liquor store!!” the crowd yells.

How rude!!!

Anyways, this time, I think I’m going to head off to bed, to dream land, to chase bunnies across fields of gold, eat tangerines off the naked belly of a gorgeous female model.

Or just chase bunnies.

Bunnies need to be chased……


WordPress suggested today some “topics” I could write about in my blog.

Most the time, I use this blog to showcase my poetry or my stories about space wars or my true to life (if I made it up) stories about my love life.

But today, not wanting to break the WordPress’ feelings, I will write about philosophy and its meaning as seen through the eyes of a broken and worn out fellow — aka — me!

Are you settled nicely into your nice comfy chair?


Ben Folds Five describes it as:

Won’t you look up at the skyline
At the mortar, block, and glass
And check out the reflections in my eyes
See they always used to be there
Even when this all was grass
And I sang and danced about a high-rise
And you were laughing at my helmet hat
Laughing at my torch

Which, if you break it down, makes absolutely no sense at all in the reference of this blog but adds to the word count which means absolutely nothing, so I intentionally or unintentionally digress into anarchy.


The Internet could be seen as anarchy or a spoiled 23 year old child trapped in 50 year old body.

Or not.

Nobody is really sure and try to discover themselves in a bottle of Jack Daniels, then, only finding ruin like in the town of Las Vegas, Nevada.


Many a person has asked this question, tried to seek it out only to find pain and distrust and hoobled back home to drink more Jack Daniels.

Love bites.

Love hurts.

Love is a second hand emotion.


(I have no clue!)


Nobody really knows but they do know they want it, they desire it, and sometimes, they get it without even knowing it as in “My boss really gave it to me in the butt today!”

Yes, masturbating to the weather channel is a form of sex and yes, you will go to Hell for it because you made Jesus cry.

So there you go, philosophy in a nutshell, a blog, if you will. I hope you enjoyed and if you didn’t, remember, your mom might kinda sorta like you, but love?


The lever was drawn back, pulling forward the craft through space. 

“Radio man?” Captain Clark yelled into the mouth piece, almost chewing it off its cable.

“Dead sir!” the answer came back, sparks flew throughout the cabin, Clark growled.

“Damn alien hoards!!! Surprise attack on a peace mission!?”

He pushed the lever even harder forward, the vessel pressing faster, in pursuit of the war bird who had just moments ago just attacked them.

“Captain, headquarters on the wire, they want us to pull back to base…”

He growled even louder, pulling back on the control, slowing the ship to an almost stand still.

“What for? They better have a good fracking reason!”

“Peace talks sir!”

He pounded his fist into the controls.

“Fuck!” the word slipped out, a word that was banned by 18 conventions of interplanetary alliances.

“Surely they got to be smoking some of that Martian weed pods?” he growled to himself.

The war, the latest batch of battles between Earth and the Gorgians, had been going on for a few life times, even before Captain Clark’s grandfather had been ship captain out here on the edges of the frontier.

He remember his first ship; The Bozeman, more of a freighter, drifting between Earth and the war birds sitting outside of Jupiter.

On his first voyage, his ship had been attacked, just like today, eleven crew dead, and the Planet Command had pulled the ships back from pursuit, peace talks.

It was always peace talks; five generations, maybe more, and he was sick of it.

He pushed the lever forward, speeding forward.

“Captain! We have our orders to return…”

He turned off the radio.

“Court martial me!” he said, separating his pod from the rest of the ship.  “I will take full responsibility for this!”

He felt the pod accelerate, moving faster, the star field sliding past his view, as his hands controlled the ship, close to its maximum tolerable speed.


Soon, he spotted the ship, and locked on with his weapons.

“Eat lasers!!” he screamed, firing into the ship, the aft end of the vessel exploding in the vacuum of space, if he could, he could hear the screams of those bastards as their bodies were ripped from their lives, their last breath!

This is what he was made to do, his mission.

He fired again, the entire ship exploding in a radium blast.

He grinned evilly as he let the pod come to a stop.

“Those bastards…”

His last words as he felt his ship first shudder and then explode from the impact of a Earth Federation laser shot into his hull.

“Sorry Captain, but, peace talks….” 

Our souls,
Meant to keep,
Our eyes,
Viewing our dark souls,
Like space,
Forever drifting,
Into blackness.

We loved,
Has died.

We were men, boys really, marching into the fire, our heads held high, for Mother, Father, the Homeland.

“Give em hell!” old men had yelled at us as we marched, one by one, towards the ship.

We danced,
With the Devil,
In disguise.

Our lives would not last long; for some, five minutes after stepping off the ship, their lives, mere moments in the matter of things.

I was alive, pushed hard against the ground, killing strangers as they ran towards me.

“Kill them before they kill you!” the same old men had yelled at us.

“73!” Jimmy, the man next to me, yelled, each fire from his gun ringing out in sync to his yells.

“82!” I replied back, almost laughing as I tried to stay alive for five more minutes.

3 days we were pinned down, trying to push forward, moving slowly towards our objectives then moving onto a new objective.

250 yards were made by the first day, we hunkered down into fox holes we dug quickly. One man slept while the other kept his eyes opened.

“What are we fighting for?” Manny, the radio man, asked.

“Democracy man!!” James, the first gunner to my left replied.

We all laughed.

“Fuck we ain’t fighting for Democracy man!” Ames growled, spitting out some chew he had been gnawing on since we left Earth.  “We’re fighting for corporate fucking greed!!”

We all nodded.

“Why aren’t the Corporate Suits here fighting?” Manny asked, seriously, eyeing the night.

“Cause they afraid of getting themselves killed!” Ames chuckled.

We all laughed again.

Two days later, we were crossing the Damn River, midpoint between our landing point and the main objective, to take the damn aliens main city, D’Naka.

We fought hard, we’d kill 100s of them to our three men.

“Mother fuckers just ain’t stopping!!” Manny yelled.

“Would you if some ugly mother fucker came invading your planet?” Ames threw back.

And for more days, we fought, onward and upward, towards that final goal, do or die, to fight for those old men, in their business suits, to fight for that Corporate greed, for the ore under that main city, worth billions an ounce!!

We fought till we were dead.

Or dying.

And even then, we’d continue to fight, it seemed.

…I’ll be dead.

Or wishing for it to come quick.

But I bet it’ll be awesome.

Or humanity will be extinct, killed off by the rabid beavers in 2134.

Or uncooked chicken.

Chicken sushi is bad.

Do not eat uncooked chicken.

This was going to be a science fiction story; space battles, lustful scenes with hot alien chicks, like Captain Kirk use to nail on X’Gnana, home world to the hot green chicks.

So here I am, sitting in my sleep pants, on the evening of September 16th, 2018, ice cold water near my side.

I decided to play some Black Sabbath – War Pigs remixed by DJBassedOut – because why not.

Nothing inspires more insightful writings like a remix of an awesome song.

I could throw in some Doors – I AM THE LIZARD KING, I CAN DO ANYTHING – or maybe I won’t.

So here I sit, in a place, can’t really explain it, maybe I should have just written my space battle; damn them bugs!!!


The year was 3098, we, the last bits of humanity, were fighting the Z’Gorns, a species resembling a mix between an ant and a diseased raccoon….

Nah, never mind, just in a really weird humorous mood, which is better than suicidal which means you get such poems as MY TACO FELL TO THE GROUND, A PIZZA IN MY MIND.

So anyways, good night and have a better tomorrow….


We jumped into madness, our eyes closed tight, the sparkles of the night filled our minds with the beauty that was not seen until it was too late.

“Who…” Charlie didn’t get to finish his question as a bullet ripped through his throat; he fell to the sand; no sound, just another body lying there, being trampled by the machine of war.

“Forward, ahead!” I ordered, jumping out of the vessel, feet planting hard on the soft ground. “Troop 9….”

We moved forward; the battle grew to a roar, our rifles rang out; blasts of light ripping into alien flesh.

“There!!” I roared sending an atomic grenade into a nest of the beasts.  “This is for Charlie!”

I felt my blood boiling; brewing, trying to keep in some sort of reality in this unreal moment, fighting aliens on their own planet.

I fired again; blasting the head off of the creature in front of me, their blood, green, rushing to the ground at my feet.

“Splug!”  I cursed, spitting on the creature, pushing further towards our goal, the city’s gate, their capitol, a golden city once in history, now in ruin from the constant bombardment we threw at it, trying to liberate it from these scum; our enemy in a 100 year war.

Hours later, we had the city in our palm; sweeping through the narrow streets, looking for the stragglers of resistance in the mud huts and brick halls, weaving in and out of a maze of corridors.

Ant-like beasts scuttled from one end of darkness into another; a blast from our rifles and they fell into a sleep they would never wake from.

A child; for lack of a better word, stood silently in the door way, eyeing us.

I opened fire; killing him as he stood there, he slumped down, a slight gurgle escaping his lips.

“Children grow into adults…” I told myself, shoving the body aside and entering the building. “Children grow into adults!”

Rest in peace,
Old men,
In war rooms,
Thousands of miles away,
Millions killed,
As they sleep in soft beds,
We sleep in mud,
They lay their heads on silken pillows,
Our heads lie on broken rocks.

— excerpt from ‘Last Words from a Soldier’s Diary’ by an Unknown Solider

Another day; on this shit hole planet, twenty eight hours in, no sleep, a can of cold beans, ration ships are late; are they even coming?

Headquarters in contact.

Still en route.

Always, seemingly, en route.

On guard; enemy spotted outside city, marching forward.

First wave — four of our men killed; I was asleep when I heard the screams.

On my feet; forward, fire, kill, or be killed.

Three hours – enemy dispelled, causalities fifteen troops; lost our communication specialist, rocket into the station he was broadcasting from.

Contact limited to HQ.

In need of support, ASAFP.

General orders received; hold city till further orders.

Next day; on patrol, mini fights throughout.

I try to sleep again; tucked inside a shell of a tank, my back push against the metal wall.

Six minutes; whole six minutes.

“We got our orders sir, we’re to pull back to rendezvous point charlie…”

“What?” I was rubbing my eyes; trying to stand.

“General orders sir, we’re heading off world, apparently it’s over…”

“The war??”

He nodded.

I pulled myself out, stood there staring into the sky, watching a ship landing somewhere outside of the city.

“What were we fighting for?” I said, mostly to myself.

He shrugged.

“Sir…” and before he said a word, a shot rang out, striking me in the head, my body fell to the ground, hard, but as the dead, I did not feel it, my soul was pulled back, a watcher of this scene…


Today, I sat and watched my TV, nothing much on, but I kept an eye on the weather channel due to some storms rolling through the area.

The phone rang.

“Hello?” I said, dead air.

Most of the time at this point, I just hang up.

“Hello?” I repeated and heard two clicks then a male voice responded.

“Hi! How are you today?”

“Awful!” I replied.

“I’m sorry to hear that!” and then proceeded to go into its sales pitch for home security products.

I tried to get it to stop by saying, I’M NOT INTERESTED IN ANY HOME SECURITY SYSTEM, pleading for it to shut up and shut down but it continued and to be truthfully honest, I wanted to see how advanced this robo-telemarketer was.

After a few minutes, it asked, “Are you the home owner?”

“No, ” I replied

“I’m sorry, good day!” and hung up.

We may never get another man on the moon but we have almost gotten to a point in artificial intelligence for telemarketing robocallers.

Back in the day, I worked for a telemarketing company, I ran their dialers and maintained their computers which the service reps would read their script. 48 stations with 2 lines each running to them, all manned by humans, real flesh and blood.

Now, you don’t even need an IT Guy, just some computer in a rack somewhere in the world, dialing numbers, spoofing phone numbers so people can’t even call it back to complain, a world soon ran by machines…

There are no bears in these woods, they left last spring for Las Vegas.

Trudy, the oldest of four sisters, sat on the front step, looking out at the rolling prairies of the west, towards the bright light streaking across the midnight sky.

The morning would bring nothing; no alien invasion as was predicted on the news or an apocalyptic ending to a worthless novel started by God whose name was Hank but no one was suppose to know that.

Humanity was like rats, over running the planet, over devouring resources and there, in the darkness, Trudy saw the answer.

“The world just needs to go!”

And then, she stood up and disappeared back into the house, for another cup of coffee and maybe a honey and butter biscuit for good measure.

In another place, a man, no name as he’s not a main character in this story, wanders outside to walk his dog and is vaporized by a passing comet flying too low to the ground.

Jesus hated that guy.

Nobody, including his own mom, would miss him.

Bit by bit, worthless coding in the program that was “Life 2.09” was being erased, rewritten, replaced and reloaded.

“Now compiling…”

87 minutes left.


“Reply yes!” screamed a bat in the corner.  “Reformat too!!”

The program continued, a few adjustments here.

Terrorism was replaced with jello shots.

God was in the pudding.

Marriage, a worthless concept, was replaced with interpretative dance and poetry reading at a coffee house in Trenton, New Jersey.

Politics, another overused and shitty concept, was replaced by chocolate milk at a bar in Fargo, North Dakota.

France was erased completely, to be replaced with a huge bingo card made out of cheese.

The world was coming along nicely.

“Replaced donkeys with flying monkeys!!!” the bat screeched.

“What if I replaced bats with sheep?”

The bat quietly grumbled and flew away.

Somewhere, out there, a wolf howled.

“Increase volume +5”

The wolf howled louder.

Soon, the world was perfect in the eye of the creator, and soon the bright light crashed into the ocean, killing off all of the whales as the otters paid extra.

And all was good, until the next rewrite…