America's game shows are BOOOORING...

Human Tetris!!





(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Tonight: M.C. Rove!

Dream:

We're sitting at a bar, I think in North Dakota -- like the Lucky Strike Lounge (bowling alley / bar). I notice a poster on the wall with a picture of Karl Rove on it -- smiling. At first I think it's a mock WANTED poster, but actually it's a concert poster, announcing that "M.C. Rove" will be playing here tonight. Apparently after dancing around and pretending to rap with CNN's David Gregory, Rove decided to take the act on tour.

The show will be starting soon. All I can think is: "I have to leave. I have got to get the hell out of here. Now."

I look over and notice that President Bush is sitting at a table nearby, with his wife Laura (who looks really old and mean). There's no security detail, he's just sitting there like any other customer. Bush waves to me -- we are old friends, it seems.

Anyway, he seems to know me somehow. Laura gives me a mean look, but I go over anyway and sit down next to "George" (as I apparently call him). We chat a bit. I am polite. I don't even make any alcoholic jokes.

I ask him what's the deal with this "M.C. Rove" business. He chuckles, kind of shrugs. I then tell him, "That man is pure evil." George chuckles, turns a little red. "Seriously," I say, "You can't go around pretending to be a Christian when you've got someone like that behind the scenes, stealing elections and running everything."

He doesn't really say anything.

I feel confident. I have not lost my temper: I have been polite and reasonable. We are friends....

I'm not sure who gets up first -- I think I get up to leave. Laura stops me, comes over and berates me about all sorts of things -- I can't remember what, but it wasn't political, it was about something personal that I had done, something I had done to George, and she could never forgive me for it.

I leave before there is any sign of "M.C. Rove.".....



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Dream: Gramma Jihadi

We're trying to prevent a group of criminals - terrorists? -- from escaping an airline hangar. I believe they are planning to hijack a plane. We catch them just as they are about to drive off in a van. I jump in, clutching the side of the van; they're still driving off -- ruining my "Gotcha!" moment.

I notice that in the front passenger seat sits my grandmother (on my mother's side). 'You're not my gramma,' I think to myself, 'She's dead.' I grab her wig and try to rip it off -- clearly a disguise. And it does come off, but only to reveal the thin white hair of my grandmother, who always wore wigs.

At this point I'm not sure if I made a terrible mistake, or if my grandmother is just a terrorist...




(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Dream: Tree Creatures

I am part of an underground militia, or insurgent group. We live in tree houses, and fly planes -- all ancient, barely operable. Some not even planes at all -- many of us try to fly with giant wooden wing-like contraptions, much like the first human attempts at flight.

We fly over the people, dropping all sorts of chemical weapons on them. Burning their skin -- even women and children.

I hate this with every fiber of my being. I don't want to do it -- I want to cry, to kill myself. But somehow I know it has to be done: I feel the cause is just and right, and that I have no choice.

Every night in the tree house I am up late, barely sleeping, mixing more chemicals....



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Dream: Thirst

All the water is poisonous. We keep trying to figure out ways to clean it, so we can drink it. But nothing works. It's not bacteria -- boiling it does nothing.

Someone eventually invents a system that cleanses the water, but it takes all day, every day, with every man,, woman and child working 18-hour shifts, to get enough clean water to drink, just to survive.

Constantly dying of thirst -- it's only the thirst that keeps us going, even as it almost kills us.

We work all day, every day, for the rest of our lives, just to drink, just to live.



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

The Iranians Attack the White House on the Fourth of July

Another dream: ........

We are at a festival of some kind -- it's in the middle of nowhere, just vast fields and emptiness, like North Dakota, but in the distance is the White House. And there is an old church, the congregation mostly black.

Some Arab or Middle-Eastern kids, thinking for some reason that it's a Jewish Synagogue, destroy the church, shit in it, write angry and brutal anti-Semitic graffiti on the walls and slash all the paintings before setting it on fire.

I end up hiding in a storage closet in the church, and am trying to save the giant buckets of paint -- either because they are flammable, or just because I want the paint and am looting it, I'm not sure.

Later there is going to be a large fireworks display around the White House, to celebrate the 4th of July. Somehow I know that there are bombs planted in the White House, and I try to warn people but no one listens. As the fireworks start to go off, I run as fast as my feet will carry me through the fields, away from the White House. But there is nowhere to hide, no where to go, just vast empty fields.

Now I realize that we are next to the ocean, and an endless string of ships is silently approaching, as far as the eye can see, one ship after another in a line. They start launching missiles. When the missiles hit the White House, the explosions are massive -- there were indeed explosives planted there, but it's like the rockets sort of set them off, as by remote control.

At first most people seem not to notice anything -- apparently thinking it's just a really extravagant fireworks display. It's clever, I think: like that Alfred Hitchcock movie where someone gets assassinated during a symphony, but no one hears it because it's perfectly timed with the cymbal crash.

Somehow I know that it's the Iranians who are invading and bombing us from the ships. The missiles just keep flying in from the sea, raining down on us. I keep running. Now others join me. Some duck into their trailer homes for cover -- but the trailers are quickly obliterated and the people burned alive.

There is nowhere to run.

I keep running.

THE END.



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

The Electric Fishcat dream

I'm going blog-crazy this evening -- sorry. I just can't seem to rest my mind and go to sleep.

I've been meaning to blog some of my dreams, for a while now, so I thought I would do this, finally, this evening. (Or morning, depending on where you live.)

(As long as I can remember, I've always written down my dreams -- that is, if a.) I could remember them semi-coherently and b.) I had time upon waking to write -- which is rarely the case.)

I know a lot of people hate hearing about other people's dreams. And to you I say: This Is Not For You, Then, So Just Fuck Right Off.

I, for one, enjoy hearing about other people's dreams a great deal. And some of my own dreams tend to stick with me -- and sometimes recur -- though their significance is usually elusive...


This one's hazy -- it was a while back. But it still sticks in my mind.

We were in a mall, trying to get out but somehow trapped. Not trapped -- the mall was open, we just couldn't seem to find our way, and had to maneuver around all sorts of obstacles and labyrinthine halls.

We find ourselves in the midst of a complex pool -- still inside the mall -- with water slides and many narrow islands -- isles, really, on which we teeter cautiously as on a tightrope, trying not to fall into the water.

At some point it is unavoidable: we walk in water up to our waists....

Who is "we"? I can't seem to recall...

I have a camera and an iPod and a cell phone, and fear ruining them all. Too late: they are in my pants pockets, and drenched.

Now we see a tiny kitten, sitting ahead of us on one of the walkways between the pools. It's cute, but sort of odd; its face looks squashed and flat, and there's something about its eyes...

As we get closer, I notice that its whiskers are extremely long -- several feet, longer than the body itself. We try to pick up the kitten, but are thrown back by a slight but stinging electric shock. Now I notice that the whiskers are actually much longer than first thought, and more numerous: about five feet long, sticking out and up from all over the kitten's body, translucent -- almost invisible, except that they emit a bluish glow. Not exactly like neon, but like those fiber optic decorations, clear white with luminescent blue tips. And the glow sort of moves up and down the length of each whisker.

We now realize the whiskers only protrude -- or are only visible -- when the kitten is scared or angry. It starts jumping on peoples' faces, attacking them, stinging them with its whiskers like thousands of tiny electric needles.

At first we are alarmed, even frightened; but soon it becomes amusing, and we try to carry the kitten around and hand it to people, for kicks.

There's a lady with a wig, and we replace her wig with the kitten. The cat goes mad and shocks the shit out of her, and we all laugh.

Travis Anderson is walking up ahead of us -- exceedingly long hair, except sort of dread-locked -- and we place the kitten on his head. He gets stung, but laughs harder than any of us.

Eventually we forget about the cat -- we are searching for a camera that we left somewhere...

We never make it out of the mall.

THE END.



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Cigarette Break: a "Poem"

The pregnant Mexican woman sweeps up cigarette butts from the sidewalk of the bank building.

I turn away.

A woman sits eating a sandwich.

The woman stares always out at the street. Never making eye contact -- or indeed any contact.

Now she looks at her sandwich, as she delicately takes a bite.

Then, back at the street, chewing without interest.

She seems completely indifferent to the world around her -- not self-absorbed, just... content. She simply exists. Here. Herself. Eating her sandwich.

Not worried about who might be watching her. Not fixing her hair, or crossing her legs a certain way. Not pretending not to notice other people, but really not noticing them.

While not exactly young, she is spectacularly beautiful -- in a meek and unpretentious way. So far from ostentatious or vain that it is hard to tell if she even knows she is beautiful.

I can't stop staring at her.

I worry that she'll look over -- and think "who is that sick freak staring at me?..."

But she does not.

She never looks at me. Or at anyone.

She is simply a Venus, sitting alone, contentedly eating a sandwich, enjoying the breeze, and the relative calm of the summer day...

But, then again, she might just be a stuck-up bitch.

THE END.



(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Free Association

O.K. So I'm up later than I should be, and I need to calm down and just get my ass to sleep.

Normally when I need to do that, I lie in bed and just think of words. (Anyone else ever do that??) Just your standard free-association technique: no censorship, just whatever comes into my mind, no matter what, and I don't think about it I just think of as many words as I can think of, one after another. Doesn't matter what they are.

(If you're an insomniac, I recommend this: it has never failed to put me to sleep before I ever realize I'm getting tired.)

Well, tonight for some reason I'm doing this but at my computer -- trying to write them down as they enter my brain. (It doesn't really work as well; it takes too much time to type a word. I must hire a stenographer... Or I suppose just record into a microphone -- but, hey, having a stenographer would make me fell all important and stuff.)

At any rate, here is the result:

lost burnt remnants shattered scattered dogs blood running fragrant death maelstrom malificent torture gone blown bloom orange suit pick quick tight mop nope soup lord bored torment orchard sordid male flail organs boredom foregotten so stop march block pop suck paper maple drag flag bury ferry marry dagger flagrant behavior maladjusted frustrated mustard bugs mugs hoards bottom kite flight sorrow lesser mess test flavor savor paper pepper sepulchre marrow sorrow over out boat coat stow steal morose forgive stop live breathe step met let leave breathe echo shot mop stop front testicle obituary obstacle popcicle darwin bludgeon nothing something pins pain needle surgery worse burst torment overture pinion staple paper blood mud flight dormant organ florrid flagrant vapid tepid ordered placemat vomit flog butter marble stick crack smash hand fist pummel shake twitch ocean float water canyon sky space float distance disappear vanish vanquish varnish voices stifling suffocating pants lavendar sandwich stomach plummet dance drown order behavior lover mother tongue smother another concubine believer deciever needle pee lever dragon cardboard spectacle staunch discover tainted blight bite buttocks bother another clever insight bite brother drug fuck tender smother speak leave breathe enhance dance remember together dismember distance forever forgotten rotten rope bloat stitch staple maim mother tundra sun moon money monkey eat feet foster forever front fast blather morose stomach stop measles assist advice mice rats dungeon sound silence dark quickness leaves triangles simulation bottomless sand gravel dust grave bury lost rain mind stain same slain simian blight overdrawn stamp cake floor wood trees dead fallen broken lost past future sutures serpents perfect missionary left failure book stalk sky burnt fallen porcupoione soldier scalded shoot stab family practice hall vessel tussel monkey monk base faces forgotten rotten dormant door meant nothing future mangle truck frustrated bait fish catch eat eyes hook squirm live sea water drink pee butter marmalade sausage cow pig kiss dance meet feces talk dance fuck hate kill eat die fry god hate nothing

And now I just have to say: if you actually read all that, 1.) you are officially my friend, and 2.) there might be something wrong with you...


(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

smashed festive, OR, Do You Have Any Thoughts?

Why this was not filtered as SPAM EITHER by my host company or in Apple Mail is unclear. What is even less clear is why I found myself actually reading it. But, for whatever reason, I find it fascinating -- there's just enough logic to follow it, with enough incoherence and randomness to make it entertaining, like the poetry of a mental defective.

Anyway, then, without further adiou: installment 3 of "SPAM, spam, spam, spam, SPAM, spam, spam, spam, SPAMMITY SPAM, SPAMITTY SPAM!, OR, Eggs, Bacon, SPAM, Sausage, SPAM, SPAM, SPAM SPAM..."
"
Wall Street Capital Funding Picks SZSN

Shandong Zhouyuan Seed and Nursery Co., Ltd (SZSN)
Monday Close: $0.43 UP 30%

Wall Street Capital Funding announced to its investors in an early
morning release to keep a close eye on SZSN. Share prices have jumped
over 80% in two days. Get on SZSN now!

I say we default on the debt, and tar and feather the bankers when they
try to repossess our children.

No More Corporate agendas, No more senseless wars.

Politicians of any persuasion are merely the handmaidens of
corporatocracy these days. A man is at the wheel and seems to lead it,
but the car does not drive in the desired direction.

All of these views ignore the larger picture.
Why dont you figure out when you could pull a scoble and go spend a week
hanging out with Ron Paul.
It is the LORD of the bible not the god of money or power that rules
and guides a nation. This is a good news for me. face recognition Do You Have any Thoughts?
i will be reading your blog on a regular basis now. the President Said
So!
I believe in capitalism - I believe in free markets, free enterprise.

These claims are nothing more than scare tactics.

This has nothing to do with being liberal or conservative, Democrat or
Republican - it has to do with being a true American.

Ron Paul has never stated that he would abolish unions, fair wage
practices, or control against monopolies.

If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it.

I hope it will change you for the betterment of this great country.
Take this great power away from the bankers and all great fortunes like
mine will disappear, and they ought to disappear, for this world would
be a better and happier world to live in.

Ron Paul is not, and never was.

ron paul Do You Have any Thoughts? It just
starts with us Chris.
keep on thinking, keep on writing.

I leave everybody to draw their own conclusions and candidate-related
support reasons. This is not a conspiracy theory. In some cases, they
have manipulated the underlying science to align results with
predetermined political decisions.

Seattle Home ContractorsMaking Money on YouTubeWakka Wakka Wakka Looking for Something?
Something has to happen.
No picture is stored on your hard drive nor transmitted on internet.
That actually makes a modicum of sense - if we keep the scientists
chasing down a dead-end alley - people are going to have to keep buying
medicine from them.

We all have FREE and equal access to an amazing piece of technology -
something that has the potential to change the world. Thats really the
bottom line.

conference, conference marketing Do You
Have any Thoughts?
"


(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)

Dream: Supreme Corpse of the Land

A dinner -- outdoors. A picnic.

The man next to me is difigured. He's cooking some kind of stew, or
chicken in sauce, in a giant pan.

Kari and I are at the laptop -- I'm trying to find this video of Noam
Chomsky speaking at the World Social Forum, but am having trouble. I
eventually find it, and we watch the introductions -- which last about
45 minutes, then it ends right when Chomsky is finally being
introduced. Kari is getting extremely bored and annoyed. (I am too,
truthfully.) The video is cut into two parts. Now I search for part
2.

The disfigured man, by this time, has grown interested and has been
watching also -- he's a Chomsky fan, it turns out.

We chat very briefly.

We start part 2 -- Chomsky speaks eloquently and with humor. But then
the video changes, and it is a man -- extremely enraged, fighting --
or about to fight, and quite probably kill -- another man. The
enraged man is John Turturo. I do not see who the other man is.

Now it's like we're watching a movie, but also I am there, in the
movie. I think I am Turturo, yet I'm watching him as well.

Turturo has the other man on his back, and is now pouring gasoline all
over a car, on the pavement, then on himself. A cop is pointing a gun
at him. He is trying to burn the man alive -- even though the man is
hanging on him, attached to his own body -- and he lights everything
on fire.

The disfigured man -- now much, much more gruesome. He is Turturo --
but now unrecognizable. A blackened skeleton with meat cooked over it
in a thick black scorched skin. His eyes are gone -- just huge
cavities, like a skull but much larger and deeper, coming down on the
sides past the nostrils. He is a crusted cadaver made of burnt blood
and leather. His ears are still there -- but like clotted scars of
tissue, not really ears, not sliced but rather rotted off. His mouth
always gaping -- like "The Scream" but agony x10.

He sits in a chair, helpless, writhing some, looking at us now and
then. There is nothing I can do for him.

But he is not dead.

Now I realize he is not asking for help.

In fact, the man in the chair is somehow in charge -- the Supreme
Leader. (Of what??...)

Neither is he telling us what to do.

He cannot even speak.

Even to say "He is looking at us" would be projection or exageration...

He says nothing. He merely sits there in his chair. Wagging his head, this way and that, looking about as one blind.

....

I do not wish to eat his stew, and he is offended, and dislikes me now.

That is all I remember.




(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn't I.)