Random motions in a typical dream, an ocean of violence in bloom, The world seems magical, almost comical, A realization that the minute you are a born, you’re a minute closer to death, As a child, it scares you, to think of such things, to die, Then someone, Your heart Your soul, Dies, The worse moment than your own death, You continue on, Why? You will ask yourself, It happens, People around you, Don’t understand, How can you say such things, It is great to be alive, But is it? Without a heart, Without a soul?
You will find someone, Maybe a few someone, But that moment, Will be the end of your world.
You will not see the beauty anymore, The fear won’t be there either, You will be ready for that moment of passing, But Jesus for some reason, Will keep you alive, Mostly to fuck with you, Jesus is good at that, God is even better, “See my power, my will, to keep you going, Why? Cause I can!! Haha!”
Don’t believe me, Lose your heart, Lose your soul, Lose that reason you stay alive for, Then you will discover, The true meaning, The true place that is Hell.
Somewhere outside of a bottle of a tequila, a monkey decided to grow wings and become a fairy of mass portions.
Little Rock was dying, Tulsa was next, America was a scene, somewhere outside reality, as I sat there, after taking a few edibles of various strength.
“Is this death?” Mary shouted from the top of the tower, leaning towards the right.
I shrugged as the world span out of control into the sun, seconds at a time.
It would seem the world would end in 30 billion years or a month, matters on how fast it could spin, fleeing, into that fiery ball of enraged senators.
Henry Parker, the man behind the illusion of reality, was sitting here too. His hands grasped the bottle of tequila like it was a religious experience.
“I saw Jesus back there!” Mary said as she settled back in the back seat of the car. She was high or so said her agent as he put her into the car.
Vegas, land of the unholy wild chief iguanas was boiling in its own skin.
Every so often I get friend requests over at Facebook. Most of the time these are scammers; they are easily spot able, aka they want to friend me and I’ll hit ACCEPT because well, there’s nothing on TV and sometimes I like to be feel wanted!!!
Meet Janny Hannah. Pretty right?
Her twin sister tried to seduced me weeks ago.
No, I didn’t use my real photo.
Thanks This Person Does Not Exist.
Janny Hannah
Facebook
You’re friends on Facebook
New Facebook Account
8:20 PM
Janny
Thanks for accepting my friend request. My name is Jenny I am from Little Rock Arkansas.and you
Enter
You sent
Duluth!!!
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Janny
Are you married single or divorce
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You sent
I am single. How about you?
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Janny
Single too
Enter
Janny
Do you have your own house or apartment
Enter
You sent
Neat!! So tell me about yourself? I am 26 years old and looking for someone to be my life mate. I am studying nursing in Africa but hope someday to return to America to become a world famous movie star. I live in a shoe. How about you?
Enter
Janny
Can I see a pic of you
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Janny
I am a professional hairdresser but I am not working yet because I had issue with my manager.
Enter
You sent
A photo of me after being released from prison in Santalanta, Nigeria on my 25th birthday!! May I see an image of you now?
Enter
You sent
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You sent
I shot my manager, hence the reason for me being in prison. Do you like cake?
Enter
Janny
Do you have Hangouts so that we can continue our conversation there now
Enter
You sent
No Hangout. I have a bean bag chair I like to sit in while I watch TV. Are you a scammer?
Janny
Goodbye
You sent
Goodbye scammer!! (Psst!!! You messaged me before, using some of the same pic!! Please try harder!! I guillible, trust me, and have fallen for youse guys scam!!!! Maybe next time!!! Don’t bring up Hangout, nobody legit uses it, not even the peeps who make Hangout!! Seriously!!
Btw, thanks for the material for a blog, wasn’t sure what I going to write about!! You guys are awesome!! Tell Reverend Lovejoy I miss him!!! Where you actually from if I may ask!
[END CONVERSATION]
And like that, the chance for romance was done; no Hangout, no conversation.
Those wondering why they love Hangout, it’s cause I guess it’s an easy scammer lair, not as easily traced and well, nobody who runs the app.site gives a poop so yeah, anyways, stay tune for the next episode of AS THE SCAMMER WOOS!!!!
Pondering, early morning, as I watch The Andy Warhol Diaries, because it’s quiet in the house now; the monsters still sleeping, 5:37 AM.
I had a dream; no unity or mountain tops, no tables full of foods of all delights, just a dream, Andy was there, he told me I should make THE movie, about queer steers in Spain mocking angry young politicians.
He then told me had to go, early lunch with Ghandi. I bet you guys eat soup I say.
We both laugh. Then hug. You’ll be joining us soon, he says. Bring Spam. We’re running low.
I nodded.
By the time I write this, the world is still spinning. Jesus isn’t on the news. The world is still spinning. Jesus saves, popular tune.
Michigian to The Czar back to Portland for drinks.
Day is yet to break. Brake?
Merry Happy New Day, eat a chocolate bar, don’t shit yourself.
In a few years, I would be dead, a memory in some data bank, possibly even erased, to make room for those still alive.
The sky was gray; overcast, as I walked the two miles from my house to the beach, the wind hitting my face hard.
“Lyle?” a voice crept from my memories; July 12th, two years, maybe three years ago, I was seventeen, Aunt Tilda was dying; I couldn’t see her then, there at the hospital.
My mother was dying too, both of cancer. I tried to see them but I couldn’t, I was sick, the flu, I think, my father let me peek at them through the window of their rooms. Both laughed and waved.
I waved back.
When I die, I hope there is someone there to wave at me; a small glimmer of hope before the end.
I wrote a letter to mother; father gave it to her, please come home, I will make Chester pudding for you and father.
She never came home; died on the 20th of July.
Aunt Tilda on the 21st.
I sat there on the beach.
I did not think about death as the waves crashed to the shore.
The best time to attend church is just when “the meds” are kicking in. As the ghouls begin to feast on the body and blood of their savior, you begin to realize that the world is going to be okay.
The pastor begins to compare her being lost with her husband for 6 hours up in the woods to that of Jesus, who is literally being devoured by his followers.
I say amen as the teleprompter tells us.
The pastor is reading a script the entire time.
I begin to think I need more meds.
The dare to be weird crowd are sitting across the aisle.
“Hi my name is Dave, it sure is nice weather we’re having, right?”
I smile, nod, say something, maybe yes, I don’t know, my mouth isn’t moving, the natives know, I’m high, oh Jesus, I’m high as a kite right now.
Maybe I’m not.
Maybe I just think I’m high.
It’s all an illusion, put together by Hollywood, to make me want to take more medicine.
The pastor is beginning a new scene.
It’s Lent. Or The Time of The Gathering, there can be only one. PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE begins to play. Swords clash. The end of society inside my head.
Pastor is still reading a script.
She doesn’t want to forget a thing I guess.
People are opening their sandwich bag with Jesus’ body and blood.
I must have missed something.
I say amen twice.
Everyone turns to look.
I turn too.
Damn sinner, who said that?
We sing a hymn. Nearer to thee. I sing loudly. Off key. Someone sighs sadly. We all say amen.
At the end, there are no pancakes. I sadly leave. “At my church back east, we get pancakes!” Im asked to never attend again. An Easter miracle indeed.
The world did not see him as a human being; just a cog in a huge grinding wheel, nothing more, if he broke down, he’d be replaced, not even a mention on the grave stone.
I’m not an author, a writer, just some guy clacking at the keyboard, just some guy clacking at the keyboard trying to get the words out of my mind before they disappear like smoke on the wind.
CHAPTER ONE: TNT LOVE
Mr. John Patterson died as any man would die after having his love scorned by the woman he dreamed he’d spend his life with; he strapped sticks of dynamite to his chest and blew himself up a block from the brothel where his “True love” worked in.
Mary Soren, not her real name, heard and felt the explosion and thought the city of Butte, Montana was being attacked by the Germans.
She found out later, her suitor, who tried to persuade her to move back east with him, had blown himself up at her rejection.
She felt sad for a moment but continued “working” the night through.
I found a place; in my travels, a nice place, a place to sleep, to ponder, I don’t care if I’m homeless, I am sitting here, free to think, no connections to the world!! I am a philosopher, a dreamer, nobody knows what I have seen, released into a world, to captivate that audience, mindless wonderings of lies, dreams and ramblings!
Jesus loves me, told me so, in the Bible, or the Sears Roebuck catalog. I’m sitting here, pondering, wondering, seeing the world through alcoholics eyes; bottles; 23, I got them for a whirl, misses, disses, a lie in the sand, twirling around, fourteen skid row, trying to write a letter to the president, postage due, lies on the mattresses, fleas on my pillows.
Mister can you spare a dime? A reality in time, a misery in frame. She was laying next to me, her body my temple, she smiled in her sleep, rolled over, her arms embraced me, I felt love, finally.
I had planted a seed, in that wonderous garden, she would not tell me, till seventeen.
WANDERING WHERE I AM GOING! 