Part 7 Of A 5 Part Day

Continued from Part 6:

From the other room, perhaps an entire house away, her voice dissected his momentary cat like happiness.

“What do you think about painting the bedroom walls midmorning blue?”

He had no time for colors nor conversation but he knew he would have to reply at some time, a sound, a grunt, a yes-no, a post card, a go-stab-yourself-in-the-eye-with-a-blue-prismacolor, but he remained quite, hoping that with enough time the voice would disappear and resurrect his silent weightlessness from its all too human grave.

After a few dense moments passed, he drifted over to the freezer and took a long pull of sleep greaser, his favorite suppressive spirit. He let the warmth flow throw through his nose and around his neck along his spine and into his ears. A string of words flew from his mouth but he wasn’t sure if he had said them or someone who sounded a lot like him had screamed them from behind the refrigerator while he had mouthed the words. Soon, he heard some soft crying, a series of shufflings, and doors being molested open and closed.

He took a deep breath held it while he poured a large quantity of his favorite heart warming elixir and quickly encumbered the lot, but he didn’t feel any closer to anything or anyone, nor did he feel any happier about being so close to the root of all his illusioned displeasures. He drank in his solitude and slowly lied down face first onto the cool linoleum kitchen floor as the sound of a car slowly driving out of the driveway filled his stomach with a type of unrest unknown to him forthright, at which point he somberly passed into sleep.

Part 6 Of A 5 Part Day

Broken debauchery taking it’s toll holds no bounds on the weathered soul of any foot it walks upon, however he never believed this would drench his ever incomplete insight into that other-worldly light so foreign to his usually strong willed disposition-hunger. What was he seeing now? Was it a heated blue or green? He checked to make sure he was not wearing glasses then looked around the room again. Greyscale colors perhaps, or perhaps a very green brown, maybe a b flat with overtones of c sharp, he couldn’t be sure, he checked one more time, this time in the mirror, but he wasn’t wearing glasses.

After a few moments of rubbing his ungraceful eyes he walked over to his breakfast denying clutter of a kitchen table and drew up his ear phones out of a landscape of empty bottles, partly smoked ephemera, and half full bags of mold, in order to carefully examine them further. Once satisfied that they were indeed headphones he in a highly meticulous fashion placed them on his head one ear at a time, and listened intently into the headphones only to realize to his surprise there indeed was no sound coming from them. He had distinctly remembered there being sound in them at one point but he couldn’t be sure when or even more importantly why. After a moment of awkward attempts of backwards remembering he walked over to the toaster and spent a desperate eternity of 15 minutes and 34 seconds trying to find the headphone jack on the toaster. He wanted to listen to what a toaster sounded like while it made toast. He was about to feign ignorance at the toaster and find another appliance when:

To Be Continued . . .

Lucky Decides Happiness

Lucky once told me:

"It has entertained me here and there to think of happiness and sadness or rather any feelings whatsoever to be made from personal decision and not from the circumstances surrounding them. So what to make of this, that we truly aren’t feeling tired when we have come to the end of a long day’s road, or that we aren’t really unhappy when all our worldly woes where down upon us? No I mean to say that we are no more tired or spry after any given labor just as we are no more happy than unhappy about any given woe. One can travel to the end of a long labor never feeling the wear whatsoever and collapse there and rise again to do it all again to never have felt tired at all. Just like one can take as much worldly agony day in day out and not feel the least bit woe-some either way. What I mean is that a person can become used to amazing things/tediums and not feel a bit changed just as a lobster may go from tepid water slowly into a rolling boil without the least protest. Yes it is arguable either way however I can prove the rather vs. the or, but unfortunately I’m rather tired and I'm feeling a bit dejected so I think I’ll save all the better for later; after all we'll all be different people then"

So that's how Americans get so fat, I thought. They eat a little bit and get a little fat, then after time as the fat starts getting fatter they don't notice because it happens so slowely like as within a month eating McyDees. Mmmmm now I'm hungry.

Music to Make Poo To

I found a really good, free, sheet music writer called Finale NotePade and now I’m thinking of composing what cigaring a smokerette sounds like. Above is a small part of a didi that I wrote; I'll post the rest when I finish writting it out. At the moment I'm having difficulty with the program; the #f is supposed to be sustained through the third measure into the 4th not keyed again. The entire thing is played utilizing the sustain, damper, and sostenuto pedals but writing these out have been practically impossible - seems I would have to rewrite the piece in a really fckd up time signature or learn how to use the program, hehe.

Me so drunkk don't no matter no more - I go make poo now.

All Hell Yes ! ! !

So, do I have to say it . . . ahh . . . ok, fine I'll say it: this has got to be the coolest ride ever, way cooler than my current transportation - I'm punching myself in the face right now. Seriously, I'm thinking of selling my car and buying a fleet of these and starting a new sport of drunken racing.

So, you're probably wondering if this is the real deal - follow the link from the picture and wonder no more my friend. That's right, for a just under $500 you too can own one of these fine peices of american craftsmanship made in China; come on you know you want one.

So what does this have to say about our culture I have no idea, but to me it represents everything that is good and holy with American Laziness, and I want to be a part of it.