4:32 AM GMT
Awake. Very awake and very sleepy. Time traveling by way of Virgin Atlantic, eight hours ahead. No one can avoid paying the Time Gods their due. No amount of Ambien, Tryptophan, chamomile tea, fresh ale, whiskey, foot massage, or Brian Eno's "Music For Airports" can help you pay the entire bill. Our payment for time travel is time.
I'm tippy-tapping in the dark with only the glow of my cell phone illuminating my hands and face. My little connector. My night-light of comfort and distraction. My tempter of high priced roaming data download charges. Sailing the dangerous seas of price gouge piracy. I WILL NOT USE THE INTERNET UNTIL I FIND FREE WIFI!!!!
I keep telling myself this. So far I have vanquished my little tippy-tappy-temptress from connecting to the buzzy beepy, flash of texts and social networks...but it's only been 13 hours since I rolled into London. I'm getting weak. When true daylight ensues, I will find my hook-up. My fix. By then I'll have the city. She will open up to me all her wonders and wherefore's.
Getting to know her scent again. It's been 6 years since we've been together. Since we've snogged. Her hair might have changed a little, and a new outfit, but she's like I remembered her. Gentlemen never tell though, so you'll have to glean your own tells and secrets. We have ours...and new love will be made in our fecund tryst so we can add to the length our paper daisy chain.
Giving it. Taking it. The Devil is not in the details, it's in the wind and I am a cloud.
I'll be getting my left-handed scissors out in 4 more hours...
The Black Forest
Random blaghness...
The High Adventures of Wereman Part 1...
Walking and stumbling through the moonlit forest Wereman ambles, stambles and sloops his way towards the barely noticeable scent of a pack of wolves playing in the mountain glen next to a tarn. He's hungry. Hungry for greasy, salty foods that need to be washed down his fur coated gullet with fermented grain and a hint of motor oil, Valvoline...'cause he's a man, and men like Valvoline., it sounds so close to vulva...vulvaline...mmmm....lubricants. He's sleepwalking. There is no way in Hell or Heaven would he be barefoot in a forest searching for a wolf pack at 3am...but he is.
He must bite them.
It is his destiny. His curse.
He was cursed by a 73 year-old Indian man working at a 6/12 convenience store. That's right...6/12. They're 2 better than that other place. Wereman was complaining that the hot dogs (slightly fatter Slim Jims) were severely over cooked and the espresso mocha coffee maker was just spattering brown powder chunks. The late night manager overheard and yelled at the newly appointed cashier Ashok Ganesh...73...hemorrhoids...dandruff...and just plain mad that he's working the graveyard shift when he could be watching his Baywatch Season 4 DVD collection. Ashok, funnily enough means "without sadness", stared coldly at our main character and whispered under his breath an old curse that his family have used for eons. Eons, because the Ganesh family are immortals. They found their immortality from a special chutney blended with mangoes, spices, and a blue oil that was said to come from Krishna.
Ashok, muttering his family curse, set in motion the high adventures of Wereman. High adventures because if you are still reading this, you are pretty high.
Wereman, not hearing what Ashok said, knew it wasn't good. He could smell the chutney from aisle 4 and Ashok was on aisle 1. He made a dash for it, but it was too late. The curse took hold of him. A chill ran down his back like that first bite of late-night Mexican food that you knew you should have never touched, let alone put in your mouth. "Damn...reminds me of that gal I made out with until my tongue knocked her partial bridge from her teeth...yep...there is an evil moon out tonight and it just went down my pants..."
Later that night when he was asleep, he dreamed of wolves. Not running with wolves or being one, but biting them. Biting them and forever making them walk the Earth like a man and have to get a shitty job somewhere for little money, no cable television, no internet and only an old clam-flip-top cell phone. "Oh God." they thought, "What a nightmare."
FLASH FORWARD TO NOW:
Back in the forest...Wereman was closing in on the suspecting wolves. Suspecting, because they not only could they hear him, they could smell his Axe deodorant. They knew a man was coming...but what they didn't know was Wereman was coming.
To Be Continued...
He must bite them.
It is his destiny. His curse.
He was cursed by a 73 year-old Indian man working at a 6/12 convenience store. That's right...6/12. They're 2 better than that other place. Wereman was complaining that the hot dogs (slightly fatter Slim Jims) were severely over cooked and the espresso mocha coffee maker was just spattering brown powder chunks. The late night manager overheard and yelled at the newly appointed cashier Ashok Ganesh...73...hemorrhoids...dandruff...and just plain mad that he's working the graveyard shift when he could be watching his Baywatch Season 4 DVD collection. Ashok, funnily enough means "without sadness", stared coldly at our main character and whispered under his breath an old curse that his family have used for eons. Eons, because the Ganesh family are immortals. They found their immortality from a special chutney blended with mangoes, spices, and a blue oil that was said to come from Krishna.
Ashok, muttering his family curse, set in motion the high adventures of Wereman. High adventures because if you are still reading this, you are pretty high.
Wereman, not hearing what Ashok said, knew it wasn't good. He could smell the chutney from aisle 4 and Ashok was on aisle 1. He made a dash for it, but it was too late. The curse took hold of him. A chill ran down his back like that first bite of late-night Mexican food that you knew you should have never touched, let alone put in your mouth. "Damn...reminds me of that gal I made out with until my tongue knocked her partial bridge from her teeth...yep...there is an evil moon out tonight and it just went down my pants..."
Later that night when he was asleep, he dreamed of wolves. Not running with wolves or being one, but biting them. Biting them and forever making them walk the Earth like a man and have to get a shitty job somewhere for little money, no cable television, no internet and only an old clam-flip-top cell phone. "Oh God." they thought, "What a nightmare."
FLASH FORWARD TO NOW:
Back in the forest...Wereman was closing in on the suspecting wolves. Suspecting, because they not only could they hear him, they could smell his Axe deodorant. They knew a man was coming...but what they didn't know was Wereman was coming.
To Be Continued...
Klaus Krazy...
Brandishing a scimitar, I swath and swerve through the jungle, looking for signs of colored ribbon and long stretches of time coded memories that can be easily unlocked if you know what buttons to push and by the size and inertia of your hands that press against me I just might talk, laugh, or cough from my nagging pneumonia that never goes away, but simply sets like the sun only to show up during the next full revolution of my world which is 40 times the size of Earth, but with far fewer people and far more beautiful monsters that will lick you until your skin comes off, further still, licking to the bone, further still to the marrow and into my blood stream, tasting my salt for their wounds inflicted by glances and slight thoughts that are slivered and cast away as fast as a lash lashing into itself below the iris that grows alone on the edge of a fish pond that all the little fishes and wandering wishes stare up through the water, through the algae, through protozoa breathing and fucking their way to immortality, at least that's what they believe and if you believe, you're half way there, just don't use mathematics or you'll never get there, you must let the numbers go and latch on to the symbols the numbers could never actually touch, from there they'll show you the heart, not just the cum filled Kleenex of formulas gone South, but the means of creating the cum and all it's glory and power before it hits the ground and becomes disseminated amongst all the other seeds of the Earth that will rise up to be cut on the edge of a blade, the blade I and other wield with frenetic frenzy and fervor that my friend and stranger Klaus Kinsky would be proud of and then he'd scream and tell me to fuck off and leave him alone...
Created to Create, Create To Be Created...
God created the Night so beautiful that lovers could never sleep during it. God created the Day so bright that the lovers would have to get up and go outside only to wait for Night to come again...
I like this thought. True? Who's to say? Perhaps like most things, it is partially true. Five percent maybe, but I'll take that five percent! I like where it takes my mind.
The universal collective consciousness of everything is hard to personify. It is so much easier to say God. To make God want and do human-like things. For Him/Her to be romantic, vengeful, and forgiving. Yes...much more poetic. In a way, from my limited knowledge and life-experience, it may be true.
That all life eventually joins a collective consciousness. Good, bad, positive and negative energy in the same cloud. What we give it, adds to itself. All knowledge and experience of every living thing in the universe...this has a power, an affect to everything. Not a Will per se, but an affect to beings with the like energy inside them.
Yes, "God" is a little like us, because it's what we give to Him/Her.
I belong to no organized religion. I do not profess to have THE ANSWER. Nor want/need to convert a single being to my way of thinking. I have no judgment.
My life purpose is to create and connect. To remind as many people as I can that we are all connected. Connected to everything. Creating romanticism, hope, passion, the celebration of being the earthly human...and everything that comes with it. Illuminating our profane darkness and hidden thoughts, I find cathartic. Acknowledging its existence lends to a deeper understanding of ourselves...and to know ourselves is to know a little more of God...the source...the Great Om...the Universal Collective Consciousness...whatever name you give it, symbol you put on your necklace, bumper sticker, if you keep it hidden in the closet of your mind, your keychain or put on masturbatory blogs such as this.
God created the Night so beautiful that lovers could never sleep during it. God created the Day so bright that the lovers would have to get up and go outside only to wait for Night to come again...
Night will be here soon.
I like this thought. True? Who's to say? Perhaps like most things, it is partially true. Five percent maybe, but I'll take that five percent! I like where it takes my mind.
The universal collective consciousness of everything is hard to personify. It is so much easier to say God. To make God want and do human-like things. For Him/Her to be romantic, vengeful, and forgiving. Yes...much more poetic. In a way, from my limited knowledge and life-experience, it may be true.
That all life eventually joins a collective consciousness. Good, bad, positive and negative energy in the same cloud. What we give it, adds to itself. All knowledge and experience of every living thing in the universe...this has a power, an affect to everything. Not a Will per se, but an affect to beings with the like energy inside them.
Yes, "God" is a little like us, because it's what we give to Him/Her.
I belong to no organized religion. I do not profess to have THE ANSWER. Nor want/need to convert a single being to my way of thinking. I have no judgment.
My life purpose is to create and connect. To remind as many people as I can that we are all connected. Connected to everything. Creating romanticism, hope, passion, the celebration of being the earthly human...and everything that comes with it. Illuminating our profane darkness and hidden thoughts, I find cathartic. Acknowledging its existence lends to a deeper understanding of ourselves...and to know ourselves is to know a little more of God...the source...the Great Om...the Universal Collective Consciousness...whatever name you give it, symbol you put on your necklace, bumper sticker, if you keep it hidden in the closet of your mind, your keychain or put on masturbatory blogs such as this.
God created the Night so beautiful that lovers could never sleep during it. God created the Day so bright that the lovers would have to get up and go outside only to wait for Night to come again...
Night will be here soon.
Good Enough to Forget...
When you're lucky...when the light shines through the clouds, through the passing airplane's window, the dust, smog, bouncing off the teeth of someone's smile, your dirty shades and into your closed eyes...you'll forget everything in this great and glorious moment...
Ummmmm...what was I saying?
Ummmmm...what was I saying?
Sent from the Black Forest...