Night Stream Dec 9

I've ordered food again...overate again...and want to lay in bed like a sad banana peel that is yet to find the trash receptacle.  It's the time of night when I can hear chants of children from down the street and a stranger leading them on a microphone.  I believe it is a Jesus camp of the sorts but I cannot help imagining a young Hitler regime.

You know I don't frequent this blog anymore.  After writing such a powerful peace last time I felt no urge to keep up that kind of quality material.  This blog was born from the very mature mind of my 18 year old self...so why make it something it's not?

But then, I got this keyboard.  You see,  a writer is a musician and they need tools to create their art.  One would think pfff a keyboard?  Really?  Are you going to make that as your excuse to why you will not write anymore?

Lemme tell you something about this keyboard.  Have you ever stroked a sensitive part of you body and was like  –this feels pretty good and then kept on going?  Well this keyboard is kind of like that.  Organic and mechanical, it takes each depression with a refined feel.  You are no longer typing on that mushy potato.  Typing up words on this creates the sense that you are putting physical effort to your work rather than transposing what you would write with pen and paper digitally.

And that is my short sales speech on mechanical keyboards.  An old technology that has resurfaced due to nerds like me and that shameless market of selling overpriced "gaming" technology to children.  I can get special branded o-rings for 20 dollars. O RINGS that cost fractions of a cent to manufacture for this keyboard.  Well, I guess there will always be people who think so microscopically instead of stepping out to look at the big picture.

What is the big picture though?  Is it that new flat screen you eagerly planned your whole Black Friday acquiring like it was a rare Pokemon that filled your brain with so much dopamine you might as well have been snorting coke off your Game-boy screen?  Everything of this nature is opinionated and impossible for me define for everyone.  So I'll just define for little ol' me.

 The big picture is so fucking big that if you stare at it too long your eyes will shift east and west respectively then circle around the earth before jumping between a couple of worm holes to send them out of sync for as long as the universe is.

I guess you can call that anxiety or a midlife crisis too.  While it is useful to step back and look at the entire game of RISK instead of your friend's overwhelming decision to mass troops in China, there needs to be some balance.  If you are too anal and try to laser gun the dust particles from your desk every 5 minutes people would look at that as a little obsessive.  However, if you let those dust particles build up because it is such a small aspect of your life you'll soon create the next dust bowl or more important for some -- not get laid.

So I guess today's self reflection is about balance.  You know, that things you tried to achieve when you thought Buddhism was cool and perfectly represented how you feel man.  But Buddhism isn't about taking acid and distancing yourself so far from reality that everything seems to make sense and then you get the grand idea that you will be able to implement it into your daily lifestyle only to realize you cannot be sober to achieve that kind of happiness because of how fucked up the world really is.  I never studied Buddhism in depth enough to preach it.  But balance is something anyone can learn to achieve.

Now you may be thinking.  Are overly balanced people boring?  Are they so content/discontent with everything that they become the grey blob that is injected into my veins when I stare at a vending machine at work so I don't give a shit about what falls through the trap door because all the choices are equally as shitty as the one next to it?  I don't think anyone is boring, though.  When I stand on the crowded subway I doubt everyone's mind is thinking:

"Subway subway subway oh they're cute subway stopped fuck the subway I hate the subway subway what's that smell subway vomit subway subway..."

...or maybe they are.  That may just be a special case.  I think it's safer to say we don't all think about poop while we are pooping on the toilet.  Unless you carry a poop diary which actually would be pretty cool.  I mean, a diary you only write in while you poo.

Anyway my brain is pooped.  Thanks for listening to my thoughts tonight.

Beastume (resume for the future)

There are times when I really do have things to talk about.  You know, about my super exciting life and all...which is only exciting if you are one of those people who jump for joy when Dunkin Donuts didn't squeeze an entire cow into your coffee.

In terms of endearing mundane experiences in food services: It is painful that people get upset when something is off from their general expectations.

A good menu generally has a collective of adjectives some Johnny-pencil-pusher aligned in Adobe inDesign or like software because Microsoft Word is for your weak.  All of you who put "proficient in Word" in your list of skills is like saying, "I can breathe, and poop at the same time".

And yes, I intended that to be an outdoor toilet.

After watching various videos of CES 2014 (If you don't know what that is, it's an electronic showroom for innovative and futuristic technologies) tomorrows technology has been harkening to a different drum.  One that rapidly evolves and grows with traditions are built upon sand castles.

Let's tip-toe to the past when we had to learn cursive.  All those damn cursive exercises cramping your poor undeveloped muscles and made writing a pain in the ass.  They all looked similar, or didn't make sense at all.  Only time you saw cursive in use was your teachers pseudo cursive comments like GREAT! or AWESOME! on your school papers.  I was lucky to relive this pain my junior year of college when I was studying Japanese.   ひらがな　カタカナ　 難しい. Under the dictatorship of the strictest 101 class I've ever had, stroke order hash that, flick this, dot there, cross here repeatrepeatrepeat I realized Kanji blew cursive out of the water in terms of complexity.

If we fast forward to today,  what we were exposed in grade school seems pale in comparison to the abundance of technological advancements. I remember when texting was first introduced to the masses.  I sent 6 texts on my first phone.  They cost me 50 cents each.  Now my phone can take videos of my dog's swag and has more abilities than my Windows 95.  I still miss the good old AIM though.  That running yellow man connected friends you wouldn't normally call.

Was that running man the start of isolation though?  In High School people used to get asked out via text, broken up with a text, and had blood from their hearts splattered on the send button. As generations of kids start to grow into awareness they plant their faces on smart phone screens. Social media governs who is popular or not.  People are so immersed in the digital world that it has adapted into our lives with online dating, porn, shopping, and awesome blogs like this one.

But is it too much?  Is it taking away form "human" interaction and experience? Are we too reliant?  Is some Terminator-Matrix shit about to go down? Or is it just part of evolution?

Where do you stand?

Na-cho POOP

I'm currently ridiculing myself on the toilet for eating a giant pile of buffalo chicken nachos.  I enjoy spicy foods in but not out.  Why do i put myself through such a process knowing the outcome:
Two types of habanero hot sauce and enough of each to make my nachos float like boats over the fiery sea.
Ingest the fiery sea.
Your fiery sea wants to rejoin its friends from other hot sauce bingers and all the seas converge in the sewage system where they will plan a retaliation by re-bottling themselves to burn your digestive tract all once more.

But what i don't really get is why do people such as myself do these things realizing that it will burn your asshole and make you hunch over so far you can clearly see the dirt under your toenails.  Is it human nature to repeat things that you know have an unsatisfying end just to fulfill the present pleasure? Now i'm sure we could inch over to religious symbolism here but I'm sticking with hot-sauce and a burnt anus.  Something i hope no one looks for to as a model to pivot there life around on.

Is it come to the day in age where instant gratification always triumphs over the end result?

I suppose this is where STD's come from.  Maybe babies.  Maybe when i consume gratuitous amounts of hot-sauce it burns my asshole because it is like contracting volcanic gonorrhea as a result of not equipping a simple glove for my one fingered friend.

Maybe i'll start a PSA for this.  And offer some free discount coupons to a mexican restaurant with condoms attached.

However, i still have a dilemma.  Condoms will prevent disease and babies.  But what will prevent my ass from ejecting the flames of hell into my toilet bowl?

Things i will ponder every time i put hot sauce on...well... everything.


What a convenient photo i found eh?

Swag not Sag

My television is always on top of the table.
don't you think they should switch positions sometimes?
Like let the TV sit behind the table. or UNDER?

maybe even side by side.

What a lovely spoon, that's what my cereal says every morning.
Slurp slurp slurp goes the milk down your drain.
that warm muscle lined drain.

Be weary of hamsters.
They bite they tear,
All your favorite underwear.

try to play tag with yourself and you wont get far.
but if you are really clevar. you might get really far.
and that would be a winner.

Just like the toll, that says pay up or die.
But if your already dead, where would you lie?
I'd do swimming laps in the river styx.
Breathe that murky blackness?
Isn't it made out of lost souls?
Maybe i'll find my hamster that my dog ate so long ago.

The only rememberance is hair in his poop.
How sad, my dear hamster turned to hairy poop.

Bark my little chiwahwah

tenderloin,
repeat. tenderloin over.
we need your assistance,
someone is in need of fat scribbling poopoo,
and you're the guy for the job.
my little.
tenderloin.

Bowling balls,
get some balls to go bowling in!
Shiny marbles half off,
but they are not as good for bowling.

Sneeze:
A brief injection of your bacteria,
into my face
now i have face herpes,
oh wait... that's just acne.

my endings always consist of pirate beards and fancy eye wear.
you tiny tit.
gross.

Dating profile for the young and hopeless

I LIKE BIG BLUE HAMMER
i'm disproportionate and have an excessive amount of FAT
and it's all around the knees
which look like inner tubes.
I'm losing all my hair except for the fuzz on my ass.
My body odor smells like wet snails doused in gasoline
I have as many nipples as a short tailed opossum (yes i had to Google that shit)
my breath requires a whole bottle of Listerine every hour to stay bearable
My clothes are the same ones since the 5th grade
i chew on various forms of non edible substances for nutrition
i do yoga naked on top of hot blacktop in the summer
I take showers by rolling around on a few moist towels
my fingers are like chopsticks
my brain is melted watery doo doo
one of my knees bends the other way so i walk like a G (grandma).
my family tells me I'm related, but i have a high suspicion
I'm not.
Sometimes i like to smell my own underwear
And no, I'm not good at sex either.

blogger's delight

-take
-a
-step
-down
and feel my toes squibble squabble
FEEL THEM i say!
all sweaty and pink
swollen and crooked

you know what they say about big feet.
but what if only one foot's big,
and the other one just shy
of being the size of a 8 yr old cow.
i'd say you have a problem.
but don't you fear! Joe's Intergalactic Shoe Store
carries shoes from the far reaches of the cosmos!
some made of meteor, others of gas
star dust and minerals
from another planet alas!
space poop and sun flares
all combine to be-
wormholes, snakeholes, frogholes, and more!
just check out what's in my store!
are these shoes practical?
why certainly so!
just...pick the right size you know.

singy songy dancy pantsy
i'll rub my face in your hot soup,
and you will watch in awe, as the noodles
become absorbed through my skin
it burns and irritates
i may be blind for a short while
but who else can say!
they can eat soup from the pores on their face.

Words a plenty to feed the fat and hungry.

I mean, i haven't posted in a while because.
IT WAS SPRING BREAK AND I NEEDED A BREAK.

but now, im back, and i have a few tricks
and sticks
and a whoooole lotta bricks.

IM GUNNA BUILD A HOUSE.
and it will be especially for you,
my girl in the deep blue.
The fish that sings me to sleep,
and afterward you won't hear a peep.

mustard and cashews are the best combination,
mix and serve to the whole entire nation.

I'm a song write, a play write, a fantastic write.
but i can't do spells, or write anything that sells.

throw your bag over your shoulder feel its intensity sear through your skin.
it's because it is on fire, and you are a traveling fire salesmen,
born from the stone age, you brought fire to good people and made Johnny Appleseed look like a some broke dope, who ate one too many apple seeds and now his liver is in poor condition and he poops out fertilizer for trees.
Now his descendants own an apple orchard. Do not. buy their apples.

they have WORMSSSSS!!!!

it feels good to be back!
bon soir!

Pool Party

Don't go poopoo in the poolpool.
'cmon, no-one wants a floating battleship composed of
shit and other toxic materials.
And if you happen to have very dense rockhard poop.
NO ONE WANTS TO STEP ON SUBMARINES,
especially if they are mutated and decide to replicate
by shooting out tiny torpedo turds.

That's a nono for pool etiquette.
You need big adventure balloon floaty things.
Where you play sudden death matches NAKED.
better be well acquainted with your sudden death opponent.
Otherwise sexual harassment calls will be sent,
and you will be sent to jail and end up shitting
a mixture of poo and pain.
And if you're a woman, you will come out of prison
with a hole so wide that it'd have to be inspected every month
for weird makeshift sex objects and shanks that may have been
lodged in the upper ridges of your vagina canal.

And by canal i mean the ones you can tug a barge along by mule,
filled with treasures and silks from the far east you nincompoop.

trading is a fascinating trade isn't it?
wordy words give words a bad name, like your face after you make out with a blender.
Install programs in 3 easy steps
- bang your head on the keyboard
- rip all articles of clothing off
- massage your power chords like a garden snake.

don't offend, be a friend.
:]