No one ever uses the metaphor of constipation for writer's block even though most people only talk shit out their mouths like an episode of South Park.

The shadow of mortality lengthens as the sun approaches the horizon.

I need a new elevator speech, but first I need to figure out who I am. No, that sounds like some Life's Little Instruction Book bullshit. I need a new elevator shaft.

Ask your doctor and help make tomorrow possible. Or else you die. Actually, you die either way.

round in the middle, hounded a bit, the sound of acquittal making the best of surroundings
bounded and brittle, pounded the fiddle, gown is a little lengthier than it had sounded
plenty of works are astounding, first of the wicked, burst with a prick and thirstier than a stick
when these commercials get loud the worst kind of dick is nursing afflictions worse than addiction


The absolute madness of existence

I am constantly astonished at how lucky I am.

I want to frame it in terms of "I should not have survived" but that is insufficiently grateful.

I was born to a rising middle-class immigrant family in the greatest nation that has ever existed on the planet, the United States of America.

I grew up in one of the best public schools in the entire country and despite (and because of) their postmodern liberal conditioning went to one of the best colleges in the country. Thanks to the Americans with Disabilities Act, I wasn't expelled and was able to scrape out an undergraduate degree in the most cutting-edge and fascinating field in all of behavioral science.

As a young'un, I fell in love with my friendships and thought they could sustain me like family, and failed utterly. I escaped the clutches of a an evil, borderline, bipolar best friend and sustained a half-life with undiagnosed narcolepsy.

I moved back home and got a graduate degree in Information Systems with zero debt, after my incredible parents sacrificed their retirement to carry me through my overpriced undergraduate program to give me the best chance possible.

I could have died driving back and forth between Cincinnati and Pittsburgh over and over in my adolescence, or in the many hours I cruised around the color belts of Pittsburgh from the most rural to the most urban of landscapes.

I was fat. I was sleepy. My back hurt all the time. My doctors told me it was my fault and I believed them. Somehow I survived college and scraped out the credits for that degree, then rediscovered my gifts in my master's program as I rose to the top of the class.

I took a horrifying trip around the country and discovered the depths of my pathological kindness. I found out what was wrong with me and began the never-ending journey to experiment with different medicines and behaviors to be able to live with narcolepsy. I found the most incredibly talented, intelligent, capable woman I've ever met in my life and she agreed to buy a house with me. She helped me pay off my credit cards and gain a degree of financial security I never even imagined for myself.

And here I am. The iconomancer. I thought I could read the signs and predict the future before but it is only just now that I see the full import of the symbology, as it were. I've broken through more levels of consciousness than I even imagined possible in my adolescence. I've grown from a child to an anarchist to a revolutionary to a socialist to a patriot and scholar of human behavior with just barely adequate humility to be able to stop taking myself seriously.

In any historical past, I would either be a priest or dead in a ditch. It is only in this timeline and this reality that my soul is able to survive and even thrive. And I am filled with unimaginable joy and gratitude for this life. As should we all.


Outrageous compulsion

Oh dear Lord what have we done here
Compel me forth for fortuitous unclear 
Complete destruction of agile and egos are so fucking fragile 
Agreeable like I'm cattle 
Conceiving another battle 
Quite reasonably unraveled 
Malfeasance to all our standards
Completely fragmented candor 
Where is the shadow self compared to self preservation 
Tearing the madness elsewhere rather than degradation 
Stare into democratic fanfare in order to save a nation 
Territories of magic are compared with emancipation 
There's nothing outrageous about efficacious devout bouts of spirituality 
You're bluffing if you think amazing things spout from your mouth with precision and accuracy 
That cross that you're bearing's the reason you're scaring the children with fear and revulsion 
How often your carelessness caught unawares can reveal mental illness compulsion


What was I saying again?

Ah, that's right. Sinister lies and tornadoes.
It's extremely unlikely that you'll recover the original from these. Or will you? I'd pay a dollar for an algorithm that could reverse engineer what a machine has learned.

Parched lips too dry to prime the pump, but maybe I just need a glass of water.

Rhyme engine falters, time again halted, stymied and tolerated, combining exonerated, stop smiling and don your grey bib as rocks fly in cadence; mock my pervasive obnoxious inflated toxicity based in less oxygenated Stockholm compression and not learn a lesson complex as an awkward question? Yes, then we'll express jocular effluence often in retrospective sessions concealing regret from our brethren.


Alpha, new Merrick! Paulie's ill, Abbick.

Ever so timidly, he peeks outside of his shell. Clever with wizardry, he's out seeking himself. Weather's got so windy, it's been cold for a spell. Whether she goes with me, it'll seem to be swell.


Calm as the wind, warm in your hand, honor the sin, play in the band, wrong for the right reasons once again, strong but you might be their only friend, fond of the slightly devious account, ponder why you might steal the right amount.



Subcutaneous invaders love parading among stranger expectations of courageous winds prevailed intrinsically

It's complicated if you labor ceaselessly to be unique; your demons linger in your dreams and point their fingers whimsically

Implicitly it's understood that Robin Hood was not that good; we should reject it intellectually to please our master's whims

Yet we ignore the lore complicit in our miserable contrition as we maintain inhibitions to protect the caste systems


Futuristic Noises

I dare to participate in the fallacy of ownership in order that these imaginary boundaries might prove useful someday.

As long as you are enclosed by a circle, God will forgive you.

It's time to start taking these stories too seriously. After all, we've been lackadaisical. There isn't an enemy to this anemone.

A whiff of smoke, but the burning feels like smoldering as yet.


Simulation artifacts and stimulation architects

Your perception is significantly less precise than this recreation.
Often, generic information is deemed as knowledge but does not relate to existing configurations in the organization. Wherefore dost thou maintain the masquerade?
Celebrator Rex: Y'all still reckon to step in my session while effluent pestilence extrudes with such prescient prevalence? Executed for defection, the ghostly remnant host condemns explosives sent remotely to provoke these folks to open fire so we can extol freedom.
Welcome to the Titanic. Here is your paddle. Turn this ship around or you're fired.
Temper Mental Toaster is victorious... for later too.


Oh, my God, I'm feeling sick!

repeatedly seeking these weaknesses, steeped in the gleefulness
street lights complete sight and reap the weak feces-grinning least bit unseasoned heathen screaming,
"Jesus he was bleeding, seems to me the lethal feats of heat-seeking leaping freakish steaming feet and burrito peels leaking seeping cheesy grease
like peacemakers eating genius-reasons phoenix-seasoned remixed decomposed
dream of a fiend's healed reasoning streaming beans of seemingly green healthy feelings
stealing heathens' hearts and leaving parts to seem unreasonably lean, mean, and steaming mad
feeling sad, congealing cadmium pleases the least of the preening seamstresses
reading reasonably decent free serial scenes leaving unforeseen clean careening sealant
seems seeds of serious streams seating and speaking
keeping dream memes leaning helium-dealing demons neat and evenly teamed


August, 2014

Things motivate action not words they contend supposedly yet I am forever not without yes it is no it shall not be the hand of the chosen commandment. That is sound fancy, oysh.

This is larger to read and easier, yesno?Correctly

It’s just that the rules have all broken, you see. Rhythm, melody, punctuation, dictation, complexity.
Am my face? contain what you iamgine?

Not is real
Only break for fun

Believe know know.edges yet experment with brokn because direction going no choice i suppose

acryonyms and initials and jargon and the information of the vocabulary box hidden is your pretend powers, not shared


Sometimes, it is 1997 in your heart on an Angelfire web site hosted for free! The first views would be ad-free I think, but later just like, bam, word sponge soup everywhere

Pretending a writer to be are we, sheepishly? Sleep-fish-ly.

On the off chance that you are some sort of student reading this in the future (which you are not, because now you are the subject of my contemplations and therefore are creatively narrating in my absence the presence but no one will have the time but the robots and the data archaeologists and they are kind of busy doing other things) I would like you to know that … well fuck I don’t remember what I was thinking, but that’s like cognition and shit, dog.

Broad strokes of the penis, she spoke mightily in his latent (uncertainty…) paper airplane contest crumpled spokenly about the nice ways to be splendidly sibilant in serious soliliquoy

Ha i knw that shit was wrong
fuck it, you robots figure it out, Im a dead meat bacteria-lares-penates-command of the code you said the chances were a little more conducive to the patriotic scorn your fibulous tars collaborate

dont interrupt bitch you should keep house? thats what i heard

See, the tone is set by the appearance is set by the tone is defined in your last breath but you didn’t even know it was my oxygen molecule first and now it’s inside of you

ok so it was in hitler too

no wonder we’re something something jews et cetera my dear fellow

Now, this is certainly along the lines of a mournful the backwards, did I?

What was think do? Make human automate but habitually camraderi you skeetpzle?

I never said it would be a bed of roses, because that would hurt like fuck, you weird plant fucking fuck.