Posts Tagged ‘fiction’

dude-wait-what-stoned-kitty-pedro-8122726Today seems like a good day to write about something positive, to skip over such icky subjects like homeless people, Political crap and other misfits trying to rule the world, natural disasters at a seemingly increasing level but we all know that climate change is a myth, and other crap hitting the media door right now.

So today, my friends, I decided to write about happy butterflies but apparently Google thinks happy butterflies equals stoned kitties and why not.

I wish I was stoned right now.

It would help in my writing, like:

FOLLOWERS, TO THE READY, LET US DEFEND OUR DEFENSELESS POSITIONS ON THINGS, WE ARE YOUR NIGHTMARE DRESSED IN PRETTY DREAMS, TO ARMS! TO ARMS!!

I don’t really feel like writing poetry or a serious posts, though, those do get hits from my general followers and Google searchers alike.

Hi Google searchers, how are you?

Fine?

Awesome!! Me too!!!

“Really?”

Yes I am!! I overdosed my diet Coke with many shots of energy stuff at the soda fountain and am feeling awesome.

“Awesome!”

Course, I made the mistake of turning over to the news and well, my buzz is still going, thank you very much!!!

So anyways, glad you’re still breathing and I am too!!!

Good night and have a better tomorrow, your friend,

ME!

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In Hell we build, to death we give in dishonor.

Universal Date:10,500,000 DC(During Crisis)
Location: Earth Reflection – After Mission 2.7 – Earth is filled with slutty dolphins

Captain D’Xalare – Mission Commander Reporting –

The Earth was dead, the only thing left, humanity, the parasite, still suckling on its mother’s tits angrily,  still draining its life as she laid dead on the blackness of the universe.

Humanity, an evil race, killing each other in the name of love and peace, over such silly details as the color of their skin or their worship of an imaginary deity, some even worshiped the same God but their words were translated differently.

Worthless reasons to kill each other, the Vogons only kill over the huckleberry found on this otherwise worthless planet.

We, the True Race, found this planet on a routine mission to study its true ruling specie, the pigeon when we discovered this lovely treat, its jam being a elixir of sexual delight.

The inferior of our species, the Moron, tried to mate with the berry directly staining their antenna blue.

Stupid Morons.

We, the Galaxon, ate of the berry and was amazed, delighted, then aroused and mated right on the spot with what the “Earthlings” call a “Dolphin”.

A very wonderful trip I had to say and noted it so in my diary of said mission.

Recommendation to Counsel: I truly recommend that this planet be stripped of the wonderful berries and the dolphins be saved.

The rhinoceros and elephants of this world are a nasty breed and have been known to charge and kill other species who intend to mate with them in a peace keeping mission such as ours.

The humans of this world will enjoy the process for awhile then becomes angered in a short order.

We recommend further that the world be destroyed as it has been declared “Hostile” and therefore ready to be demolished to be replaced by an on ramp to Worm Hole 789!

 

Heaven be her name – The Story of Destiny

I keep thinking I’m making headway in this thing called life but then the waves come crashing down.

I come up for a breath, feeling the blessed air coming into my lungs, but there, again, the monster waves hit me, hard, pushing me to the bottom, scraping my body against the coral reef, where am I?

Nowhere, going fast, up one minute, kick to the face, down, counting, 1, 2, 3, do I wanna get up again or stay down for the count?

The bets are coming in, I’m staying down, but nope, my dumb ass gets back up.

Why?

I’m a winner!

I laugh at that, my inner demon does, I’m no winner, I’m a big fat loser!

I’m trying to stay alive, well enough, I think, until I look in the mirror, standing there, bloody, broken, ready to give in.

“I love you!” she, the one in my corner, even though I’m insane.

I keep going because and for her.

“What’s her name?”

Destiny.

Heaven be her name….

How I love thee, in a previous life even,
I whisper thy name during those times,
I think I can not go on,
There you are,
A shimmering light against the encroaching darkness…

The dragons invade my sleep, the crazy, hello insanity, you try to keep me sane, I am slipping into madness…..hello dear friend, how are you this fine and wonderful evening?

I am dead inside.

Opening old and new wounds!

What is reality?

A dream placed into real life?

Is that the definition?

Dear one, I shall keep walking till the end, tomorrow shall never come!

Cheap beer and steel guitars,
Whiskey and lonely hearts,
Broke down in San Antonio,
Drinking time in old down towns,
Looking for a good time,
Finding nothing but a broken heart,
Cheap perfume
And lonely eyes,
Living the honky time life,
Bar flies and worn out trucks,
Drinking time,
Anytime,
Pull up a stool and shoot the breeze,
Closing time is far away,
Don’t mind ole Montana,
He down on his luck,
Found a woman,
She did a buck,
Run away with a rodeo clown,
Broke his heart,
And now he sits at the bar,
Trying to find a replacement heart,
Drinks his lonely heart beer run,
Texas born,
Down on his luck,
He hears the jukebox play,
Ole Same is on his way,
Lonely hearts
And cheap motels,
Only wine can heal it fine,

Beer makes it televised!!

…a battered soul, a spirit lost to the midnight hour, the world spinning out of control, set to destroy. Warning to those who dare think to enter this land, only death shall follow…

lights-1254324_960_720.jpgA misery inside, a passionate fire put out before a fiery rage, a scream into the moonlight, close my eyes, do not let me die here, in this broken place, wake me up from this nightmare.

I stood at the edge, my eyes gazing into the starry skies, the Gods stood by, waiting to see what fate decided, suicide of a worthless soul, his spirit to disappear from everything.

The endless nights, the beast prowled, the silence of the dead dying on sheets in crypts made of marble.

“Craw….” the words echoed from my dying throat. I could not see, just hear the voices in the winds, her scent drifted into what was left of my brain.

The Goddess, the madness, she was there, not as a vision, a dream, but flesh and blood, a person.

I wanted to call out her name, but my voice was gone, ripped out and stolen by the crow, Master and Mistress, to the wind, to the time, it was nothing but a fantasy, strangely ripped from the pages of time.

The city had been built, a perfect place, filled with perfect people, but destroyed by imperfect solutions.

Towering buildings, golden, rusting in the sands, bridges destroyed, crumbling into the mighty seas.

The Guardians, the beasts, trying to guard this horror, kept watch, killing those few who made it through the defenses and the gates, the world was not ready for the truth.

It had to be spared the horror.

 

Mired in misery, the waters, the lands, the air became poison, killing all.

They who dared to enter the arena, the dead world, were killed, the memories of them erased…

 

31452490845_f7598ede24_bWe were cruising on the road, dateline, July 10th, 1993 – outside of some sleepy little dusty town.

Drive through liquor store just outside the town limits, 14 bottles of whiskey stashed into the trunk, enough for the 75 miles to the next little shit hole town, Petersburg, named after Walter Peters, a general from the Civil War.

What so civil about war anyways?

John was taking hits off the can of gasoline stored in the back, tipsy, running on speed, trying to see if there were bunny rabbits on the side of the road selling tomatoes and a variety of fruits.

There wasn’t a soul outside, just flashes of lightning, drifting rain, memories, words of sorry, Angela was trying to find us, me.

She killed herself back in Tulsa, some boy broke her heart, he doesn’t need to be named for this story.

We were hoping for a life of leisure when the bottom fell out, miscarriage, 2003, I tried to be a man, but failed, like always, and ran away for the road.

Four bit hookers on speed, trying to remember the golden times, space, time, ripped from the womb of mother, father drunk.

Tonight, the yellow lines of the road speed by us, laser show, this is our story, running on empty at mile marker 23.

I was listening to the radio, this was our song, feelings, right there, busted heart, Las Vegas took my last dollar, found ten on the way to Reno.

I remember sitting on the roof, throwing shingles into the street below.  Pigeons stared at me as I listening to the moon trying to tell me everything would be alright, shouldn’t jump, break the street, in a bloody mess, someone would have to clean it up anyways.

beat1

Night, the road always seems to be peaceful out there.

It wasn’t, my mind was thinking, always bad to think.

Johnny was dying in some hospital out east, bad liver, killed himself with the bottle.

1492, something about the ocean blue, this one was dedicated to Johnny, maybe when he died, we’d stop at some flea bite hotel outside of Fargo, North Dakota, we’d drink some gasoline from fancy crystal glasses, out by the broken pool.

Our life, a salute – a man in the corner, making potions, in some traveling show, riding the train, listening to the music of the tracks.

We stood outside, in the whispering wind, listening to the memories, 2017, still high on whatever we found on the street of the last town.

Me1

Indiana corn field burning brightly in the sweet, sweet night.

Good night, till tomorrow, we shall see…..

JACK KEROUAC: Where are you now? 

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A Retrospect of my life in words and pictures

by

Dr. Andre Costello

The world begins to slowly move away from the body, traveling through space, time is a different matter.

The lady at the bar laughs and pours us another drink, in the name of humanity.

“War is not an option?”

A statement?

She didn’t exactly know.

We stood up and she disappeared into the setting sun.

The sun, a blazing orb of yellows and reds, burned my skin but into the desert we went, my head held high and the body rejoiced in delightful agony of pain, running from the feet, up the spine and into the brain.

July 12th, 1993: Angie is dying, one minute at a time, as we all do.

She did it exceptionally well.

Hagus De Morus, trapped spirits on this world, overlooked a dreadful mass of humanity, the villains of the world; tax lawyers, used cars salesmen, angry youth trapped in globs of human waste trying to swim upstream like broken salmon.

“Here we should give up!” she once more appeared and said, smiling.

I had wanted to give up miles before, days in.

She wouldn’t let me.

We did not see the setting sun, as the world ended behind us, one minute at a time.

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the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”
Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Jack Kerouac, where are you now?

Trapped in some shitty after life, writing about the cause and effect of madness on the road with some long dead hooker who we never learn represents our mothers, our daughters, our sisters, our nieces, the long lost love inflection we met in high school but never had the balls to ask her out?

Are we the same way, different time?

Did we see the setting sun against the dying of humanity, or are we just mad, insane, completely utterly, sitting on the street corner watching the dogs and fights and the fucks and the loves?

“Cigarette?” the executioner asks.

I shake my head no.

“Good, those things will kill you!” he says smiling through broken teeth, rotting flesh falling from his face, to gather on the ground.

I bought a ticket, someplace, any place, the madness of my mind, my eyes, seeing the world as a twisted mold of disease and war, the painted hookers of 7th Street disappearing from my view as the bus hit the highway.

Gary, the lover, the fighter, the writer, was dead, in the ground, killed by society, drug of choice, life, a killer, no one gets out alive.

I tried to find my way back to that “other life” where I was happy, floating above humanity in a balloon, sky high, now, here in the blood, the mud, shit of society, looked down upon by those high up, those not realizing that some day soon they too could be down here.

The highway kept moving forward, pulling us down the line, further apart from the lovers, closer to the edge, the cliff, would we go over in a blazing ball of fire.