tribute to Claude Monet..

The mid-day rays are fun like fingers
fingers like pens of colors of friends
and Olive Willow wane
from coast to Adam's Ale
Top a dozen ships
Top two dozen bails
To have the scene.

Amount the wooden paces
abridge blue songs of loose laces
tie the sides of polar faces
confer the instruments of dreams

and all the while the wheel
of day turns down
flat still shivering colors to flee and sounds
to serve elation.

In a nod
I turned around
fashioned a gaze
at the lady that holds my dreams
I came
down from between the drifts
to see her off

And as she goes
she'll be lost
backwards and blue
with comedy

I suppose being authentic isn't like just living smart.
I suppose you have to set yourself small and early, there just isn't enough life out there to put it all together.
The tiger lily is a beautiful flower..but it has no fucking idea.

Sleep on the floor for once
Ask yourself questions
Build
Agree
Binge meaning
Breathe
get reborn..

ALL ASPIRING MEN OF ACTION

This, by Marine Corps regulations is a poorly made rack. In fact if you so happen to be such a shit bag to make a rack this ugly your rack will be tossed from its respective deck to its following decks bellow and you will push until someone has consumed every beer in your fridge.
Discipline and good order turns men into golden warriors. And god forbid you make your own bed and sleep in it.

I think I'll stick around long enough to go fight in a war and come home to grab a beer with my dad.

It's a blank slate after that.

...look i understand i am conservative. but i am not inactive, you just don't care.

wisdom listens.

The humorous innocence

Honestly, there are far less odd goings-ons in peoples lives I would have imagined considering the ratio of people to ideas.
But I do know more is coming, it's as immanent as death itself.

Yesterday someone penetrated an old colonial house in Wisconsin with the Oscar Mayer Wiener.

Who knows maybe tomorrow someone will find a systematic loop the legal system so they can attend their own funeral before they die of a terminal disease or something.



You know what fucking pisses me off more then a fly in a horses ass?
THEY (scientists, government officials and advisers, local and federal authorities, philosophers and unknown agencies) know how to make a fucking happy pill. I have experimented with some crazy medicinal combinations (not exceeding recommended doses) with great results and I have done like 2 lab reports in my life on like why a note card catches on fire when put over a Bunsen burner and that note card was on lab reports, and I know it's out there..
Just fuckin give us the shit man, the jokes fuckin over.

Modesty

For the generation to which I precede: Part 1

If I understand it correctly it is my humble duty to show you the way.

First off, if you don't have to leave the womb I suggest you stay in there for as long as you can, but if you are unfortunate enough like the rest of us to survive birth and the cold stinging air as you leave the gates of warm solitude you will be forced to understand a world in which there are no guidelines for comprehension.

Had there been such a figure of guidance upon your arrival he would probably introduce life to you with a quick and satiric utterance, for instance, if my 2 decades of attempted translations are accurate it would be something like
"Welcome, or not welcome to Life! you are here whether you wanted to be or not! you may find here that nothing is what it seems, no one gets what they deserve, strength is weakness, blue is pink, fun is sin, God's a rapist, you missed the millennium party, so just stay away from sharp objects for now and make greed your most principle action and pay no attention to the woman dangling you by your leg as she was abused at your age and blames you for it."
I also imagine him in Israeli military fatigues and an old jester hat.

Beyond everything else you come about in your travels, one particular unseen task comes early and that is your teenage years. I will not go into detail as most of it you will have to experience on your own, which I highly encourage especially man made chemicals.

There is a culminating event to this occurrence in your life and that is to be a 'badass', a term you will learn when you are thrown from a swing set as a victim of bullying, or maybe you're just a polesmoking pusscake.

Now before you look in the mirror and think a rail piercing in the back of your neck or tongue or labia constitutes a step towards being a badass, I want you to remember something called 'Canned Heat'.
Some people worship the devil, or shit on each others chest, but if you remember this band you can skip the days work.

Like a silent warrior, a canary with a coyotes jaw you will besiege your fellow man by example of a small band that utilizes a swinging minor/dominant blues to extract Excalibur.

Being a badass opens many opportunities and spreads many legs, and should stick with you as a trait throughout your life, and shitting on others peoples means to life may, just may, make yours a little easier.

If all the animals in the world got together for a party, humans would be the clown.
A creature itself no different in overall context then the others, though it's actions would seem to be in complete mockery of its own ancient functions through the exposure of over regurgitating them to a crowd of virgin minds.


You know how if you'd place a big mother suckin' bowl of leftover mac n cheese in front of a dog he will just eat it till he barfs and then go back and eat that too, like he just doesn't know where to end he'd consume himself if he could.
Well I guess that behavior can more be manifested in a heavy drug user though is still prevalent as it wouldn't exist in a drug user if it wasn't hidden in all of us and we can prove this without leaving our own home!

So it's a week or so after you had gone grocery shopping and the quantity of household items is now uneven as you have been picking at one or 2 in particular since you acquired it.
Maybe you have a ton of strawberry breakfast bars left because, well hey, who wouldn't rather find time for a quick breakfast sandwich on the way to work then feel totally unsatisfied all morning..but then a week goes by and you're running low on toilet paper or the change bowl is all pennies.

Somewhere here we decide we will just rather add 'extra toilet paper' to next weeks list and go without 25 cent gumballs till then because it really is not necessary to shop unevenly. As a conclusion you have sparked a new interest in strawberry breakfast bars at the office because you always have one in your pants pocket now as it is your new thing, among others you have an abundance of at home to supplement for what you don't have regardless if they are related at all.
We discount the idea that we need to wipe our ass because well hey, we have plenty of other shit to fuck with for a week! maybe play start playing gran turismo again, or start chewing on the ends of those new shitty ball points you bought for your drawer.

Let's just leave it to the experts on this one, I'm sure they'll have something on this in the future.. how many articles do they need to write on the subject of human naivety before I loathe my own flesh so much I'll try to choke myself with a hammer.

I was handed my machine gun today in a column of others there for the same reason.

We spent the entirety of the pay hours relearning its functions. My fingers are sour with iron and pot metal.

A lot went down in my mind watching my muscles and bones from my shoulders down open close and contort around the machine and its counterparts and it's bullets that may sear and burn the muscles and bones of another man so that he will not enjoy a rest and a hot meal that night.

These officials and creators have composed an appearance of idolatry of which I am a subsequent functioning individual by contract. My body may be gutted like a fish by reason of this contract.

Everything else I have learned as a young adult have become trivial memories compared to thoughts of these things.

I have to tailor the suit we are all given as men, day by day.

ALERT! ALERT!

** OUR DADDY'S HIGH SCHOOL PIN UP GIRL IS NO MORE **

** YOU WILL SHIT A BRICK IF YOU MOVE FROM MISSISSIPPI TO OREGON **

** SOME BEE GEES TUNES ARE JUST DOGS COOL WHEN STRETCHED OVER MULTIPLE GENRES **

** A 2/4 SINGLE VERSE RIFF IN MINOR PENTATONIC MODULATING THROUGH A FULL MAJOR 4/4 VERSE SHOULD ONLY BE STACKED BY IT'S PHRYGIAN COUNTERPART ONCE AND NO MORE THEN ONCE ON THE FIRST TURN AROUND NOT THE BRIDGE **

** DAVE GROHL HAS PROVEN IT IS POSSIBLE TO FACILITATE SINGING WHILE BEING WITHOUT A PROMINENT INFRANASAL DEPRESSION **


** THE CHILI PEPPERS ARE LIKE A TEDDY BEAR HUG ME BAND, YOU CAN NEVER BE MAD AT THEM EVERY SONG SEEMS JUST TOO GOOD TO RATE LESS THEN 5 OUT OF 5 **

** IF ANOTHER ASSHOLE MISTAKENS MAGGOT BRAIN FOR A SONG ORIGINALLY INTENDED TO BE DESTROYED BY A COVER THEY WILL EAT THEIR OWN BALLS **

** THESE POSTS WERE OGRINALLY INTENDED NOT TO HAVE IMAGES BUT THEY DO , THEY DO **

The simple things in life..more like the exosphere of the atmosphere above those empty hills way over yonder where no one's been because it's boring as shit over there. That's how I would describe things like Go Magazine. I'm sure there will be one waiting for me when I grab isle seat 12C on my flight home... or maybe a Family Circle magazine instead but definitely Sky Mall. Seriously who needs a $30 grey zombie Gnome climbing out of their tomato garden? I bet frusciante has one to remind him of his 93 '94' days. I think the zombie actually had teeth though.

There are these long expired, and or completely substance milked grey areas in life that are just so overly simplified and arbitrarily placed it's like one of those 'Dylan Recommends' albums. Just a collection self sustaining repetitious, uninspiring and totally irrelevant things where someone should have just stamped Null and Void.

Obviously another case of myself poking fun at something simply because I am barely better.

----

...sorry the zombie is actually 89.99.

10 hour blackout

Brad Paisley, who the shit is that. I mean yeah I saw his pink tele in my guitar players subscription and could tell he was country by the maple fretboard, but as far as his creative projects I could give a shit. Well who can forget Sterns soft maple tele behind Miles Davis, not me, but it sure as hell wasn't the color of niple.

They were handing 24 ozcans of Bud to 14 year olds (maybe just an attempt at mass reduction of terrible a mistake in beer)

Probably just as much beer consumption throughout, as an unforgettable DMB concert, though the authority presence was below minimal. What a lifestyle, now I know why people wear those 'kiss my ass if you don't like country' trucker hats....well no I don't, maybe they just lost a bet.

Serpiente

Something to be said about the Serpent. The presence of the strange, slithering, animal inside of us, the devils whisper on our shoulder. From the beginning of creation in all collective beliefs and individual minds it is described as a symbol of sin by the conservative yet a being of wisdom by the opportunist.

The Mayans decorated the Serpent with a face and jewels and called him Vision. The Catholics left it as a scaly, beady, sexually sinful looking worm only to be mentioned once at the moment of grace. Though it still is commonly regarded as an unwavering entity with a prospective momentum in deviation and desire.

I imagine when one encounters a traumatic event and slips into a subconscious state, for instance witnessing a murder, carrying out a murder, or more significantly being the victim of murder or rape (being bitten is much more intrusive to the soul then the aggressor) that is the apparent time where you hear the rattle of the Serpents tail, his bone chilling hiss in accordance with the distress as the detriment to finding the 'center'. The best description I could find to the truth, when one is noxious in his journey into his center reason of creation rather then towards the sky for answers. The Serpent sits a closer plain then God, though he is just as acquainted with the truth and he will bid it for you.

self pity intermission

hahahaaaaa fuck my life


will continue my Hendrix review another time when time and motivation is sufficient.

Stellar Preformances 1 part A: Star Spangled Banner

Aside from those long Magical Cherokee fingers, one thing that amazed me about Hendrix was just how many god damn recordings he put out. This man put out more of a trail of music then I as a naive musician could have thought possible in such a short career. From a strictly sales perspective the amount of timeless songs, solos, photos and endless lesson books that came out of his little 'Electric Church' world in 4 short years he wouldn't have needed to touch an axe again regardless if he didn't know how to read the German Warning label for '9 Barbiturates is 8 too many'.

It wasn't hard to pick one though. I don't listen to it as often as I do the endless electric voyages on his many alien interpretations of Villanova or hear my train. I mean how often does an officer need to read the Iliad? just once and you know it's perfect by itself for all the right reasons. You don't need to trip on it, it's not like it's even got a groove.

If I recall the first time I sat around and watched his whole Woodstock project I wasn't even that stoned but I spent the entirety of the video with my face inches away from the screen convinced I was legit hearing some sort of monolith prophecy from Europa being wielded through his hands.

Of course people are going to cream themselves over it simply because he was a paratrooper playing an old American glory tune through a fuzz box during a guerrilla war, but the innocent performance itself was like the gypsy girl playing Mozart in front of Nazi Captain Amon Goeth, it had to be perfect.

He did it once, he did it arbitrarily and it was perfect. Just to put it in perspective, the written notes are a fucking major scale no different then fuckin Marry had a little Lamb the tune you had to learn on your recorder in 4th grade and he played it in between Voodoo Child and Purple haze, two of the heaviest tunes in the last half century. The shit deserves to be studied like Gettysburg.
I'll go through the technicalities tomorrow...note for note.

I'm a little man, man, he's a big man..

After he was slaughtered on his doorstep some solvent was injected into that small dissolving group. Of course the only one left standing ironically is Paul, the Oz, the brains behind the magic.

This man wasn't killed because he had any affiliation left with the beatles but because, like all crimes, the act of violence was just reflective to the murderer who happened to have a strong psychotic attachment to his victim.. and people don't drool over just anyone, they have to be like John. They have to want you to get into their head.

I'm obviously speaking as if you've seen his last Cavett show appearance, and not just the Forest Gump overdub.

Kind of like a habitual blogger and attention fiend who's only experience of 'getting out' is going from one building to another building, John defends himself rampantly by spitting out pre-thought, rehearsed statements of himself to a naive dope head in the audience, he actually almost fell forward off of his chair at a fairly simple question.

------------------------

I honestly woke up early today, and was going to post something on my mind about Lennon. I sat in formation and thought of how many pages I'd have to flip through on google images to find a manageable one.

Hopefully he was as dumb as I thought and his choice to wear the bogus military surplus 70's era fatigues with Sgt chevrons was not much of a choice, rather an extremely ignorant attempt to draw more eyes from his hollowminded solo career audience. I could understand if he had some kind of intricate image to uphold, then I would simply feel like that husband who had to pardon the man who fucked his wife unknowingly because she was married to me.

John has never been the steam in the pipe, the coal in the furness. His idea of contribution was posing nude and playing sitar with indians. His protests and inspired peace marches were a farse and had no effect on the real world....

the patch he wears on his arm..6th marines, the Indian head, a patch he picked because it seemed witty............that's my unit. and he's fucking british.

Ultimate ineptness: take 8

Something I thought was worth sharing for an innocent laugh (because this is all about fun, it's not for any reflective self revelation I swear), I just realized although I don't believe in fuck anymore, that on a completely 'id' level I am emotionally parallel to one of those apathetic christian individuals who's soul is dimmer then the ever rotting skin of Anubis.

...I arbitrarily stumbled into IHOP for the first time not to long ago and just didn't care to feel sorry for myself that my eyes homed-in, beyond all the free filet's, on the perfect ingredients to the composition of a fruit salad. The note worthy event of the night though is mindlessly forgetting I'm in Jacksonville, the strangely single cutie busing our table had a point to make on why she's a grizzly-wintergreen girl because she grew up around mules, and instead of vomiting I just took pity on her.
-------------------

This is what I call being Justice-Creative: spilling a little creativity without the effort, doing yourself some daily justice. I didn't start, draw, idealize or customize via current events, this comic, though I did replace the little penny worth caption that sets the mood for such a relatively bland drawing. I began with 'witisicms' and 'lol catz' and milked those dry...

Yeah I know they're supposed to be one liners but sooner or later my wittiness will condense itself.

for the semi musically inclined

Somewhere down the long line of alcoholic anger induced assumptions and collective plateaus of boredom we came up with things like Hippie Communism. When you think of this stereotype you think of 20 minute bass loop solos in a folk song with 2 chords, smitten with so called lyrics that seem to have a purpose, usually about planting daffodils in place of butchery foundations.

I mean I admit I wouldn't have gained much ground on the whole personal enlightenment journey without Phil Lesh, but I'm also not really in a position to be against the war, what does that make me?

(hold on I have a point this time)..I was asked today "are you some kind of peace activist?". apparently as a feared warrior when concern is shown in innocent conversation towards the man on the receiving end of a missile, it is jargon for hippie..so much for keeping a low profile.

shitbirds..

We all know those people who have to wear certain accessories or flaunt their false contributions to the world which is really just a reflection to towards a botched childhood.
For example wearing a simple Golden Glock pistol tie clasp the size of a nickel on television..but we love these people. Like that ancient African King who decided it was totally righteous to bear the responsibility of taking every woman's virginity in the tribe before she had gotten married. Or people like Donald Trump. Their inner philosophy looks like a really well played, 4 hour long game of Jenga, just real simple, one piece on top of another at this point. The best thing is we marvel at them because hey, they did something right! our livelihoods are based off of running our systems and societies by their example. We don't want to be like them as individuals but the people we trust in the big chairs are these ungodly renditions of immorality. They are like really focused and energetic shitbirds.

------------------

I definitely learned some Pavlov conditioning in the basic years of school, because I know when I start to explain something the first thing that naturally spills out is a question or some candy ass self righteous comment like 'I may be wrong but..' and immediately my half fried conscience decides it would be ever more blunt and potent to just thrust the fundamental mindset into oblivion and spit out, instead, something I feel has been waterlogged from sitting undisturbed or undiscovered for myself.
No it's not narcissism it's immediate communication. one cannot have real conversation without an open ended opinion or a deep relevant discovery through a common subject, right?

Repent!

Take any tune off of the album Hail to the theif, Radiohead, replay the bridge over and over in some retardedly alien manner and increase the volume progessively while moving it up chromatically by key each time,and you'll have an idea of how I feel right now, just straight bluelight buzzed.




if you take a good Tom Waits approach to your own life and try to squeeze some color out of your otherwise pointless life you can get some good juice, as an example: when it unfortunately comes time for me to pass on to another job, if the manager happens to have half the ironic humor as I have he should find my prior job lists incredibly odd in their sequence. each job I have had, I worked directly with customers on a daily basis, none lasting more then a few months each, then my latest job I signed up as a rifleman, and better yet the light machine gunner in my fire team.
If that flew the fuck over your head, the punchline is that somewhere in there I snapped and decided, in a time of national stress and violence, to break off from bar stool salesman and account CSR to 'Americas own personal Maiming device'.
I just want to get a good confirmed kill before I see to it that it's time to repent.
just make sure you write down your personal discoveries.

I'm going to continue to think like Tom Waits for the duration of the night, see if I don't wake up in the fetal position in my locker.

oh it's tireless

Most likely this is just another exercise in my futility to subdue some sort of borderline something-or-other mental state of mine in and out of a typical infantryman's workday, usually consisting of a fairly trivial and meaningless existence, similarly to the life of a an average walking dead man. Or maybe it's just the middle aged oriental woman who think that their lace bras and commissioned husbands can really cover up their resentment towards the US for the use of napalms in the southeast Asia campaigns, who handle my 4 pack of Red Bull every Monday night that just really busts my nuts to the point of insanity.
This may appear to be an attempt at a typical New Yorker style blog, though instead of Business and Obama (no not politics, just Obama), I shall swap for irregular, untimely and sadistic humor, that may or may not be partial to only myself. Yes I too notice something staring back when I look in the mirror.

So why not start us off with some Rejected New Yorker cartoons that I have remade...a little hobby of mine.

Economic fascism? I mean seriously, are we so bored that we are somehow locked into some paradoxical oxymoron? Like whats next, another Green Day world tour sponsored by Nelson Mandela?