The Flagshit of God-Fiction

The Mark (2012)

Directed By: James Chankin

Written By: Paul Duran, Leland Jourdan & John Patus

Produced By: James Chankin

Starring: Craig Sheffer, Eric Roberts & Gary Daniels

Rating: 0 out 5 Stars

The Testimony of Chad (Part 2 of 3: Chest-deep in the Trinity Myth)

Fuck!!!...my "Mark of the Beast" tattoo really itches…I know being a Hollywood actor is tough, but do I really HAVE to be the Devil’s man and attempt to kill Jesus Christ and cook him…"all trussed up like a pig on a spit!"…eating his flesh for sustenance.  For now, I will use my mad iMac remote skills to ensure that ALL the rich white people will be spared from the Rapture while I, with the help of my inter-racial lover, make like Robert Neville, and kill every last vampire and zombie on the Godless Earth to ensure a new chapter in unnatural, prolonged human survival.  It’s called Hell on Earth and it’s a warning to you, my unmarried Godless friends, that the Rapture is eminent, unless you leave the rich Christian white alone to interbreed a race of mayonnaise-tinted, Megalomaniacs that travel first class.

The Testimony of a non-faith-based viewer (Part 1 of 1: Activate Jammer!)

Personally, I like my God-Fiction with the best possible use of a Friends Church Multi-Purpose Room...something like the Passenger Cabin of an Airplane…so naturally, this movie has blessed me with many gifts.  At least they converted the Bathroom to the Airplane’s Cock-pit (the greatest single achievement of this film). Beyond that, I’m at a loss…Jeff Fahey’s chest-hair is this movie’s equivalent of The Ring of Power.

Long live Gary Daniels and Eric Roberts, who marginalize themselves in Society as "B- Actors" (even sometimes as twin False Prophet’s), revealing the Truth to those who look with open eyes.  The Truth that Christians, like all dogmatic groups, are kept afloat by “business men, not suicide bombers” (Subtext: business men, not Muslims).

A couple more things I learned from The Mark:

-When 10’s of thousands of people are missing, many of them are bound to be children.

-Butt sex is ok as long as it’s a Mexican (posing as a Redneck) ramming a Wannabe British Stripper (posing as a slutty Thai Stewardess) while the pair enjoys a 2-hour parachute decent to “Hell” (on Earth)

-The Mark aka Global Socialism Multi-Purpose Room Flight Simulator aka The Hand-Job Center: Home of the Dirty Foreigners aka The Long Overdo Rape of James Dobson

Attn: Scheer, Mantzoukas, & Diane Raphael

Gary Busey is a corrupt billionaire who dies and goes to purgatory where the angels send him back to Earth as a Pomeranian contracted to do good deads before he can get into heaven.

And now for the DVD bonus feature interview with Mr. Busey explaining the movie Quigley in his own words, detailing all its rich themes, its endless target audience and the similarities between "Gary Busey the man" and "Gary Busey the Pomeranian Purgatory Pup"

Now I realize that 1) HTGM doesn't really care to ponder the production intricacies of movies that really pale in comparison to greater conundrums, 2) the half ass formatting and design of my blog and blog entries pale greatly in comparison to even the most laughable depths of global blogging, and 3) ahhhh what the Hell...you guys heard me at Bell House loud and clear...Connie Nielsen is Danish, not Dutch!  The waking world needs more Gary Busey...hence why myself along with 3 friends silk-screened an outline of Gary Busey's cigar-smoking face on T-shirts 12 years ago in High School and proudly strutted the Southern California open-air halls adored with the face of a hero!

nation stands against him, he's your brother

hope my friend gets me this for Christmas

Message from the Baptismal Abyss

Whatever the smooth

interruption begs my heart

and the slogging beasts torture the flow from within

tearing windows in my soul 

Coping out, is the great mover 

and Equations not needed

Our heroine in flux

cheese and crackers tonight

and disease on the rise

with that indiscriminating Force pleading: 

"Change your course and dive like feather

you are under the cover of time

but pain is nukes...

duke em and rule again."

If I please...

but without you I am backwards pointless conundrum bones.

Cadence is illicit art for another time

Where the Smooth rides bitch...

and Soul rides shotgun 

with Heart behind the wheel

A gasp brought upon slowly is mere introspection

and its last laugh lies lazily 

abound the dark sea

clinging to energy for a savior 

and she sparkles when clutched pain free

free like unknown maritime depths 

where Evolution crumbles 

about face to her Truth

which scorns:

"Don't tempt me

in the calmest of moments

I choose the 10th string

and rest also 

with silky blanket

also romantic

a weekender on a country drive."

and the Aliens rejoice

but soon find little proof of gender, race, religion, sex.

Elysium is illicit art for another time

Where the Smooth picks dewy crisp brambles...

and Soul extracts honey from the hive

with Heart guzzling the crystal gulch.

When the monsters attack 

I become shopworn disgusting green goop 

stuck on the preface of communication

Slogging beasts skip my jugular

and Infinity's unborn child is being 

annihilated by my vice

Oh Hi Everybody!

The last line in The Room is:
I fed up with the Wuurrrrld. God...forgive me.
This is suicide mumbo-jumbo in typical fashion
But is this movie really about a suicide?
Is it really about anything?
In Tommy's mind, yes.
That's why it's resonated as the worst ever, because of the gravity of realness that the movie envelopes paired with every aspect of it being strictly awful.
But in Tommy's mind.
But in Tommy's mind.
I've often thought who is Wiseau?

1) Is he just an idiot savant...a fool we use for entertainment and leave it at that?

2) Is he that rare order of artist duping us all through genius (and/or Time Travel)?

3) Is he an alien occupying a (sort of) human-looking body?

I think I know now that 3 is rulled out.  I've watched the Room enough times to know it wasn't made by someone that grew up under a completely alien set of environmental conditions.  I also feel inclined to rule out 1, for Tommy may be the actor in the roll, but he's no idiot.  I long thought that these 3 options would suffice as options but now I found myself left with only 2 and it does not define Wiseau.  He's sure duping us but not intentionally.  He's not an idiot, but he is extraordinarily odd and I believe that he has made a conscious decision to commit societal suicide, by embracing his true self.  Problem is that his "True Self" bears most resemblance to the "Idiot Savant" or "Autistic Savant" that has been evolving in meaning through time.  How does someone who has touched such a core with humanity and brought them together the way he did completely on his own get slapped with such labels?  Think about it fans.  "I fed up with the Wuurrrrld. God...forgive me."  What is real to Wiseau?  His suicide is to be stuck in this roll that we view him in.  Most of us will never even begin to see something more than an idiot savant being laughed at while we join in.  But a few of us will know that he has committed societal suicide, in other words his roll in society is not his own but one all of us have given him and he's found a way to embrace that.  I think most people just go crazy (Whatever that means), but Tommy has decided to relate to people but in the roll of the odd idiot that keeps us entertained.  He's more than that, just like all people are more than what they appear.  Remember that fans.

A Scanner Darkly meets Aaron Sorkin

HMFMH

Hai Shower Darkly with Glory Humane...

Moving at Light-speed is a pun on existence... 

Figuring shit out must be endless.

Moving at Light-speed is a pun on existence.

Hai Shower Darkly with Glory Humane.

Moving Phototroupism: The Best Worst Movies to Enjoy

Today's Entry...
Battlefield Earth
Year: 2000
Director: Roger Christian
Writer: Corey Mandell & J.D. Shapiro (Screenplay), L. Ron Hubbard (Novel (?))
Notable Stars: John Travolta, Barry Pepper, Forest Whitaker, Kim Coates (Find Them! Kill Them! Now!)
6 Degrees of The Apple: (*This one’s a 3-way connection because it’s simply too awesome) The Apple was directed by Menahem Golan who also directed Over the Top starring Sylvester Stalone who directed Staying Alive starring John Travolta and also Finola Hughes who got her start as a dancer in The Apple.
Shit Stain Status: 100% Shitty (Ubiquitously soiled through by the bane of humanity…2 Kardashians & Chet Stetman’s Cup)
Description: Constantly referenced as the worst movie ever, Battlefield Earth is certainly in the mix due to its rare combination of project scale, critical panning, and entertaining laughability.  The debate is useless as there are too many movies of varying production value and accessibility out there that were all made by complete dildos.  What isn’t useless is Battlefield Earth itself, which resonates properly among lovers of unfathomable shit as a classic bad movie.  Complete with a 9ft-tall John Travolta Alien speaking 18th-Century English, diarrhea-colored jail slop coming out of giant vacuum tubes, “lowly Clinko language slave” learning computers, flight simulator CGI that is reminiscent of NeoGeo graphics, and lines such as “Crap lousy ceiling! I thought I told you to get some man-animals in here to fix this!,” this movie has everything you could ever want when attempting to answer the time old question: Were these guys serious?...High?...Or Aliens?

Mattershed

Time travel in stasis.

The slowest way to live.

The slowest way to die.

Slow retard on the misunderstood rise.

If society were right.

Crippled world

on a 2D day

there's a Perception watching 3D fly by

Time slog

Reaching around

feeling the sound

material melt

along the cosmic song

What is a raging mute?

Where does the mule ride free?

The slowest way to live.

The slowest way to die.

Time travel in stasis.

Realities nest

on a 2D day

sees a method for technology fall from the sky

Time voyage

Rebuffed rights

failing the others

at light speed in the room

What is a raging mute?

Where does the mule ride free?

The slowest way to love.

The slowest way to hate.

Time travel in stasis.

Spirit watershed 

all around

Better than Sideways says a lot

Citizen Ruth (1996)
Directed By: Alexander Payne
Written By: Alexander Payne
Rating: 5 out of 5 Stars

Artists are on the pulse of what is true.  The vehicle they use may not always ride alongside Carl Sagan in the scientific literacy-mobile that cruises the neighborhood of Vega, but they always understand what is altruistically on display with the presence of Love.

In Citizen Ruth, Alexander Payne, long before satirically mesmerizing us with Election, About Schmidt and Sideways, displays with little error, the tantamount failure of the "American experiment".  As Laura Dern's character walks, free and silent, on 1 side of a fence, the opposite side is toiling in a timeless racewar over her...beautifully symbolizing the devolution of humanity, and with this final scene, Payne not only ties up one of the singular films of the 90's, but swiftly evicts the American Political landscape from the roundtable discussion, aloft and lost in the cosmic range...endlessly searching for another corruptible intelligence.

We start Citizen Ruth with a familiar guttural feeling.  With the gritty reality of the gen-x burnout culture on full display, he has our unpleasant attention, but instead of holding our dorky 1983 heads in the toilet with repeated flushing, he fantastically removes our heads and places them in the owl's eye, whom eternally presides on higher ground with a calm gaze over the American countryside.  What we see is a miracle...Ourselves and our bullshit put on display as we culturally act in one perceived reality, while we timelessly act in a radically different one (The first: The Left & The Right THINK they are helping humanity, The Second: The Left & The Right actually ARE hurting humanity).  We see the members of both sides do not care about Laura Dern or Laura Dern's unborn child, nor have they ever.  In each character, with the acception of Dern (and possibly the verteren Harlan), where some level of compassion may have existed, it was only replaced in time by the lie of Political Affiliation...the misappropriated value set of the American individual on full display.  Whether it be Religion, Politics, Cultural Heritage, Race, Gender is not  more important this corruptible will of the individual extant in Society.  Payne uses the Abortion issue as a very appropriate and smart vehicle to tell his 1997 story, but it easily could've been swapped for another.

He tells us that we make up our own minds, independently of all others, including parents, wives, husbands, priests, god, little talking heads trapped in our lamps, etc.  We are lucky to have the help of artists like Payne, who take what we know (even for a split second) to be true and articulate it.  We are lucky that he is able to articulate through the use of comedy.  And we are lucky that Laura Dern's character has what this reviewer believes to be the only possible outcome with her child: that child becoming miscarried through a proven motive (thank you Stu Silver)...a Mother addicted to "Huffing" and bent on self-destruction.  Thankfully she is saved in this fairy tale satire by the masses that killed her child by not saving her first.  A more than slight existential angle, but irrelevant in a satirical fantasy...we see the problem continuing to exist and it's up to us to fix it.

Payne's most relevant and witty overall work.  The fact that it's his first film only validates his further success.  To date, with the acception of The Descendants, he is a person consistently able to tell us something about ourselves complete with the visionary talents he shares with other great Directors.

Thoughtless Ecological Placebos

Ted C-Toe-D was a Sawman.  Through and through Ted tried tiresomely, at least, and thumblessly at times to stop deforestation by taking a saw to the scrots or vajayjays of any people that still sat on maple while scribing on lined sheets of processed oak and even those who Sammy Sosa’d Baseballs over the Center Field fence with wooden bats.  To call him a “Treehugger” was a graphical error.  The parabolas of his human life weren’t traceable by other known living beings.  It was not hyperbole to say he was a Hyperbrachycephalic…his cephalic index soared to new heights where he put it to lovely use.

Sawmen were like any post-apocalyptic/dystopian renegade black market Capitalists, only they were as real as 39-cent tacos.  Like Mic Jagger dressed in leather, they were Bonejackers, but seeking rogue “Trees” instead of rogue “Emilio Estevez’s.”  They needed to locate the remaining trees, and beat the moribund philistines to the punch, saving the trees, but preserving air and promoting the causes for evolution, rather than interplanetary cannibalistic terraforming and half-wit romanticism of Lucullan bliss.  1977 Kenny Loggins contributions of yachting and casual coke usage were considered ubiquitously campy by the year 2143, and to boot, Mike Judge WAS a future traveler and the “Idiocracy” he bore witness to was never once lavish, even in its heyday.

Ted was classically free.  He gave into the fancy of the night with a v-shaped monocular chest inscription and in one failed (Cheryl) Swoop, summed up what the sexually explicit, wampum jewelry adorned, Ecologists could not in 400 years of popular advocacy: charting alien inhabitance in all living matter, endlessly craving air...a vampiric life force with no beginning and no end.

In other words, he knew better than most that the Universe was expanding and he was beginning to grasp dark matter's enigmatic role.  Oxygen was nothing more than an artifact of a single form of life under a certain set of conditions, whereas air remained a constant…a constant ever expanding mess heap of useful and useless gasses and non-gasses, beneficial and non-beneficial where respiration existed and where it was replaced in anaerobic scenarios.  Society dubbed it a Atmospheric Maelstrom.

Threatening to humanity and all its pseudo-intelligence like never before, it was more or less a Galactic Succubus which Scientists had determined benign until it began gaining power…and like Mega Maid never did it went from Suck! To Suck Harder!  No replenishing of the destroyed Ozone layer through the planting of saplings could save the reality hominids of Earth and the predictions of few quietly set in to the subconscious stubbornness of the masses.

Everyone knew it by the time air was, rationally, rationed…including all the stirrups in the Fudge manufacturing plant…as their burnt-aubergine superintendent told ‘Shit Storm Weekly’ in a recent interview; “Not just 6 minutes ago, we knew collectively that solving the atmospheric maelstrom caused by centuries of deforestation was not as simple as planting trees and we have since pulled the plug on all support of the Twix Corp’s ‘2 For You and Me’ tree planting campaign.”  This was an astounding statement considering these were the same Stirrups whom once believed that a sought after Sawman sewed seaweed sleds silently solo somewhere south of Ted’s home.  In other verbosity, it was tough for them to accept the failure of Zeitgeist Ecology efforts (such as the Twix Corp and other benevolent non-profits), because a good Sawman was difficult to come by in the years following the raging conflagrations between foreskin consuming Ecologists and embryonic Yak Splicers (later known as Sawmen). 

The forests of Earth had been largely depleted and Twix Corp…had even cut an album with the hologram-clone of a 1996 Shaquille O’neal, entitled “Gotta Be Twixsm For Life!”  It did little to stop the maelstrom which had already sucked up the entire shoe collection of the island state of Palau and the entire population of castrated Western Chorus Frogs not to mention all extant hair extensions south of Olympic BLVD in the Greater Metropolitan Region of Los Angeles and 49% of the rice farmer’s pitchforks in the Guangdong Provence of China.  Thank god the extinct hair extensions were safe in the landfills of Simi Valley and most Frogs of Earth still croaked when that mightly ‘ol sun pales the azure sky upon Gaia’s routine pirouette.

It was high time for Tim to either become fabled hero or sap his soul for the hope of another in the name of Love. His story is largely untold.

When all your heros turn to former enemies.

I Shook Tom Waits Hand and Took Tom Waits, Man!

The Attached Amoeba that Ate Itself Up from the Outside In.

mind splats by Genezoial

Tim ‘Tri-City’ Beckfordshire was always faking out Shemale Order Caroline with toasty braggadocio and comments such as:  “Wrecked is cocked!  Wrecked is loaded!  And wreckage cums along!”

“The loose cannons of a decorative mind are forever cheese grating on an open plain” Caroline fired back at Beckfordshire’s studiously glib bravado.

She claimed womanhood without out ever claiming to claim a thing. 

There were Discoverers. Travelers.  Explorers.  Seekers.  Adventures.  Pathfinders.  Experimenters. Trailblazer…ers… but Wandering Charlatan! …Hot she holla’! 

And lost me in a gaze of erotic love.   Mammalian Checkmate! The Good Lord was It and The Pronoun was All Around. God was all around in the format of sub-substance and the combat of self-destruction.

Future Tim spoke of a truth. 

Future Tim could not travel back in time. 

Future Time was Future Beckfordshire.

Tim…Beckfordshire from Tri-Cities, Washington.

Tim ‘Tri-City’ Beckordshire was like any other boy believed to have lived in a time the Social Workers like to call the "Societies of Dawnation."  His kind was a benevolence amoeba that ate itself up from the outside in, typical of the Pre-Earthunification epochs.  He knew this about himself at the time but could never admit it vocationally.  Like many souls, his strength was governed by perception of his environment...the automobile and its collector set compadres: washing machines, throwing spears, float orbators and, of course the iStare pads, a popular artifact for menstruating females after nearly 80% of them became infertile due to rising misinterpretation pandemics brought on by certain obesity or emaciation. Interested by governmental law he became insanely stagnant. Until one day he met ‘Caroline the Charlatan’ or Shemale Order Caroline. Shemale was a woman. There was no dicing up the philosophical lay of her 4D primordial ooze…No crazed contest of circular discourse, searching for a wormhole.  

Time would melt for Tim. 

He would loose himself in Shemale.

Ahead to the past and back to the present.

Physical form rendering less than ever before.

He was just another 1 in a Zillion.

Poor little Attached Amoeba that ate itself up from the outside in.

I believe in this. and this alone. and do you see a hanging chad?

Fuck the French

The Death of The Salesmen

Radio is a sad sensation

Can't help but wonder of the existence of aliens good and bad and normal.

Wiseau,
Plato,
Colgate Radio Spot Personality,
I could go on forever baby.

And I will
as will you

Make sure if you reach forever you buy low

Gift Givers sleep in Drawers

Lehcaresor Papier Poudre

and in the morning hours she dusted her face before brunch.
he put on his fanciest knickers 
rolled up designer sleeves and check his beard for authenticity again
she put away her Papier Poudre 
and fastened shiny buckles 
it was time to spend their hard earned money
wisely
wisely
wisely 
Did they forget anything?

Observations from an F-Train: Entry 0.01

DESCRIPTION OF A BENCH SEAT ON AN F-TRAIN AT A GIVEN POINT IN TIME.
NYC - SEPT - 2012

From left to right:
1. Black Man Chillin' (big guy, bald shiny head, fancy hat)
2. Hispanic Woman Crocheting (knitting super fast with worn hands)
3. Asian Woman Studying Math (mulling over a Uniqlo receipt, checking for mathematical flaws)
4. White Dude Contriving Cool (reading Carnivores Dilema while listening to headphones)


Stereotypes...
are my bag baby...
observational grab bag.

Frogman's Layer

Frogman raced Blogger down the spiral get down

Town to...night beat root boiled bland sustenance

Kept us alive

And well traced, faced raced, a cyst Ed's

timetables for Wheaties dunks and scored in the form of

Dough nuts came thoughtless and provoked one day

…mind revoked

Driver’s I.D. card stock of less thickness please

And thank you while the throng embarrassed judgment

Day – in - and - day – out – and - over  -

ruled the room where tears formed streams!

and catamarans sailed, offering great vascular knowledge!

of roar splash and go, but toss your plastic beneath detritus’ pomp!

and the Circumstance’s often

awful

offer

obliterated All on July Farce,

2001 was still young

when computer-aided-Froggers shot awesome fog at Bloggers killing them on spot

On regression of our placed Gideon’s Bible in travel destinations

Elysium dies in a big way.

Out of the whey-soaked flesh knickers we crossed burgeoning open grassland in

And out of the burger rolls we then jelly-rolled tastelessly over salted lips

We Foal.

Bird Fool

Fowled Me.

And swallowed the key.

Gastro-Surgical Horrors that followed 

me down to Frogman's layer

breathing the cold dust

tossing the salads for the breaking of the bread

proverbially smoking on the hill

View in re-perceived-re-animated-reruns

Running all night long 

until the dream be told 

in the daylight hours of our moments bliss interruption erruption

SAME OFFENSE SEMINAR: N****A Back Like That (Y* **N Back Like That)

The world is a monster

MTV is poison

Poisonous Monsters be comin' at me non-stop!

...but you don't get a skinny white boy back like that.

Ghostface Killah, is no doubt a "Monsta' Don"...Ironman, Supreme Clientele, and yes even as late as 2006's Fishscale he's been producing fantastic, top notch Hip-Hop.

Lucky again in the cosmic swirl, I was once a kid that hated rap...and then a post-adolescent hater who, in contrived hesitant inauthenticity, slandered "commonplace" LIKES and laudable pop art...and avoidance of tightly produced, hook-heavy hip-hop such as Ghostface Killah.

Lucky I am, because I was able to first listen to him in a world free from MTV.  I haven't watched MTV for a long time now.  I don't have cable anymore so I'm growing thankfully more distant from all of TV that isn't hand picked by a free thinking consciousness enabled greatly the decadent technology swallowing poisoning sea cucumber that is the Internet.  The time is the right time...and I'm able to listen to back like that the way it should be listened to: with headphones on while riding the New York subway to work.

Free of images.  Free on censorship.  Free from Capitalism.  Free.

Free I enjoy authentic art.

And now for your plausible foray into my world of Cows we got Cows! dyslexic verbing the nouns in retrospective waxing stations for the weak hearted, blood heavy bumper souls that occupy my expanding dark matter quite-sub-conscious consciousness.

Step 1 (tip number 1...LAST RESORT!)...
No, but for actual now:  STEP 1, if you have loved Ghostface, for any reason at any point other than the one I just described, X-out and go away for you are a cherished bumper soul.

Step 2 (Buzz A-2-D...don't be a moron)...
No, but for actual now: STEP 2: Watch this and listen w/ Headphones:

Step 3 (Lap 2! Ditty Kong Racing!)...

No, STEP 3: If you enjoyed that...listen again...you know you want to because it feels so good...and makes you feel larger than life...more than Radiohead's "Give Up the Ghost" can at this point in your soar...

Step 4 (TRL raped my soul!)...

Yes...NOW WATCH THIS AND FEEL THE PAIN THAT COULD'VE BEEN THAT I JUST HAD (maybe.....???????)  Censorship and $$$ fuck more often than Fame and $$$...I knew who Ghostface was, but I didn't come into contact with Censorship fucking him.  It's the raping of the true world...the raping of ALL...THE RAPE...and now for the RAPE: 

(Not Even) Bad Lip Reading

"Cenamos"
by Enrique Iglesias

To-night we dine...
I leave my hunger in your hands
We-take a bite
Nothing is tasteless anymore
Don't let the food go to waste
Don't let a lobster go by
Nothing can stop us to dine!
Cenamos!!!!!
let the flavor take you over Cenamos!!! 
Te quiero, comida mio - Cenamos!! 
Wanna eat this food forever - Cenamos!!! 
Te quiero, comida mio - Te quiero

There's a little taste of the lyrics.

Single droppin' Oct 6th, 2012...WORLD INTERNET DEBUT!

And keep any eye out for the new video directed by Caldecott Chubb featuring a Live performance of Enrique Iglesias's "Bailamos" spliced with illicit footage of Brooklyn 20-something's dinning out in NYC (Yo!).

They told me not to smoke drugs...I wouldn't listen

"We all believe in something...even if we believe there's nothing to believe.  I'm not interested in telling you what I believe...and trying to make you believe in something.  But I'm curious:  How do you know what you know?  How did you get your beliefs?  What is it in the moment?  We could know the truth of everything.  What does the consciousness know?  For just one moment...if we could get it all out...if we could just know for one moment what our consciousness was...is...and where it came from.  And get it all out.

What if we could crack through the illusion of linear time...in the same moment?  What if we could experience all of history and all of eternity...in a single moment?  For this single point in all of eternity...knowing all the know...we choose our next thought.  This next thought will be the seed for our new belief...our new perception of a new world.  Forgive any resentment.  Release any anger.  Dissolve any guilt.  Refrain my regrets.  Accept anything I may be resisting.  Love away any fear.  And walk through the doorway." -C.C. (Unknown)

Great Job!

You FUCK the body. You MAKE LOVE to the soul.

Believe the ones you love when they say "they're trying"...this is all they can do and you'll never know what it's like for them to try.

Their trying is something new to them.  So it may appear as if they aren't doing anything, but it's probably just tough for them fix the problem.

All that's important is that they try.  No outcome is important....trying leads to change and change is the ONLY desired outcome.

To not try is the ONLY non-outcome.  To give up before you ever try is a non-outcome.  It's the death of the soul.

In life: giving up before trying is the death of part of your soul.

Thankfully, our decadent ways only chip away at our souls...meanwhile any changes we experience through simple "trying" build new cells in our soul.

 and for the ones loved too...
Always say "you're trying" if that's what you aim to do.  Don't be afraid that it sounds like not enough or a cop out.  It's not.  It's all you can do and you shouldn't be held to a higher standard.

Sus amigos estan aqui

Those that define fear as "pessimistic and unpleasant" and the opposite of fear as "optimism and energy"are wrong. 

There is no real opposite of fear.  Fear constantly and perpetually exists.  Around us and inside us all...at all times...it's a major part of us.

This is one fundamental problem with society's definition of fear.  Society codifies fear as the villan we must all rid ourselves of, prescribing that we must be without it to get the most out of this life.

Highly incorrect.

Fear is not a villan.  Fear is more who we are than anything else.  We are the only ones that can experience or understand the fear we have.  We must deal with the fear.  Dealing with our fears is repeatedly a rejected action by us, opting for "optimism and energy" in place of those fears.

I'm not discounting optimism or energy as viable modus operandi, but they certainly don't replace fear, nor are they the counterpoint.  The counterpoint of fear is unknown because it's different for each individual soul.

Confronting fear is what we are actually concerned with.  Confronting and hopefully coming to terms with...coddling...embracing...and Loving.  We cannot replace fear with anything at all, let alone misappropriated entities such as Love. 

Love drapes alongside Fear like a friend.

"I fear not"...I think not.  

Do you understand Life? Do You?

The fleck of fear that falls in faked HELL.

Here it goes:
If you don't BEGIN to love everything and continue to fall in love again and again (faster...faster) you don't exist.  To live life is to grow.  Consciousness expanding through experiences pulsed by continued survival drawing a vivid picture on an endless canvas. That's life.  You know what else is life?  Saying "That's life" in response to hearing a 3 minute story about a guy leaving your house without his underwear after your future mother-in-law catches him follin' around with his girlfriend and whom has to return to your apartment to retrieve his underwear only to have your future mother-in-law grab the underwear.  That's Life too.

CONSCIOUSNESS TAP

This is the great ruse of the time.
This is the great ruse of the time.
If you can read, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you run fast, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you aren't a slut, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you got top score on Paperboy, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you are a slut, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you bruise easily, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you subscribe to NPR Podcasts, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you believe what you see and not what you think, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you followed Gandhi, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you cured cancer, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you masturbated to pool scene in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you taped your breasts, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you breed, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you listen to Dave Bixby's Ode to Quetzalcoatl, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you helped end back alley abortions, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you helped outlaw gun laws, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you have "a one-way ticket to the land of truth", you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you are true to your wife, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you believe in the flying nocturnal penne Monster GOD, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you eat Very Berry Kix, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you designed the foremost electric flow regulators, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you lived with the Wolverines of Canada, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you lived in every Country in the World, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you sat court-side at Staples Center next to Snoop Dog every game, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
If you saved dying babies from the shores of Somalia for the Shores of Jersey, you're not a part of the consciousness tap.
This is the great ruse of time.
This is the great ruse of time.

Consciousness Tap
"Consciousness & Artisanal Beer"
7427 W. Black Current Blvd. (adjacent from Jurisprudence Alley)
Flow Waters, Ca 96578
Hrs: M-Su (24hrs)

Moving Phototroupism: The Best Worst Movies to Enjoy

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Bhante Gunaratana speaking truth

"Somewhere in this process you will come face-to-face with the sudden and shocking realization that you are completely crazy. Your mind is a shrieking, gibbering madhouse on wheels barreling pell-mell down the hill, utterly out of control and helpless. No problem. You are not crazier than you were yesterday. It has always been this way and you just never noticed. You are also no crazier than everybody else around you. The only real difference is that you have confronted the situation; they have not. So they still feel relatively comfortable. That does not mean that they are better off. Ignorance may be bliss, but it does not lead to liberation. So don’t let this realization unsettle you. It is a milestone actually, a sign of real progress. The very fact that you have looked at the problem straight in the eye means that you are on your way up and out of it."
—Bhante Gunaratana

my attempt

Be patient.

Be as understanding as you can be.

Don't push.

Work on clear communication skills.

Be as non-judgmental as you can be about her process. She will progress at
her own pace no matter what you think or say, so save yourself some
arguments and heartaches.
 If you can't stand it, find a therapist to talk to. Or join a
group for partner of abused women. If there is no such group in your
community, find a therapist who would be willing to form one.

Conversations with a Father: Deleted Scene Reel - Entry #1

Pa: how are you?

Me: I'm pretty good

trying to get a few ours of pure relaxation and non commitment while sharon's at work and i'm not at work

thespians like to call this "alone time"

I like to describe this by taking Paddy Cheyefsky out of context: human life doesn't have great truths...we're born in doubt...we spend our life persuading ourselves we're alive and one of the ways we do that is we tell each other that we love each other...like I love you

crazy is fear.
(more later)

The Road Warrior

Technology is destroying itself slowly but surely. Once the rate of reproduction in Technology is usurped by the collective consciousness of the cosmos...Technology will be forever vanished from memory and replaced by constant oneness with the scientific world and all corruptible/profitable MONSTERS will rise from a new fiefdom and another cycle will be complete. It's gonna be awesome! Like jealous cannibalism there's money to be had if you willingly step beyond the contemporary world...and into the next world where you will (in Time Travel) swallow whole your ancestors because they simply haven't seen what you've seen...and for this reason alone they are scientifically inferior.

news from a light source

Title: A Just Cause

Dude

This shit I’m thinking

These days

So exciting

It’s pushing me to my happy place

The place I only get to when I feel I’ve actually changed.

I could bask there for eternity.

But the happy place is not legit…

Because I’m only changed in my mind

And that’s only half the reality

The other reality lies with the world, people, society

And the only way to be changed in that reality is to experience

In the flesh, with the flesh and of the flesh

To act, to step, to walk, scientific fact

Fear temps me to hide from the world

Randomness coddles me in the palms of Time & Space

My thoughts, a Euclidean mean….sad fucker

My life, freckle on the face of God….sad fucker

That’s why Life and Thought protest Happy Gilmore.

A just cause.

Describing Luna's "Lost in Space"

basically the lyrics to this song are on level with the Kubrick's Monolith...that tingly feeling in a moment of man's existence where something happens that gives us the only form of empirical knowledge, anti-knowledge...the keen understanding that all things are passing...in in this moment we discover that "there's something more" but unfortunately we "can't give it a name"

Revisions of Donovan (inspired by Nick Cave and the Gosdin Brothers)

In the chilly hours and minutes
Of uncertainty
I want to be
In the warm hold of your lovin' mind.

To feel you all around me
And to take your hand
Along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well let love in

When sundown pales the sky
I want to hide a while
Behind your smile,
And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find.

For me to love you now
Would be the sweetest thing,
'T would make me sing,
Ah, but I may as well let love in

Diddy di dee dee diddy diddy,
Diddy diddy diddy dee dee dee.

When rain has hung the leaves with tears
I want you near to kill my fears,
To help me to leave all my blues behind.

For standin' in your heart
Is where I want to be
And long to be,
Ah, but I may as well let love in

Ah, but I may as well let love in