1-800-GIMCRACK

What does the GIMCRACK make you feel?
Does it make you feel less?
More ostentatious?
Less displayed?

Are your senses played upon
by a blinding collage of
mediocre concession stands?

Does strip-mall jewelery
whisper "GIMCRACK" through the optic terror
of florescent lights?
Does it titillate within you
to differentiate between a diamond and cheap plastic?
Does it not remind you of stale air being whisked past
your nostril hair like halitosis out a leper's mouth?

The GIMCRACK.....
Think of it, for a brief moment, as a
life-threatening malady, a pestilence.
Human beings wear it like a bubo
on the most DESIRABLE parts of their bodies.
Some hang them as ornaments on their Christmas trees (Santa Saves),
never to comprehend WHY their children have grown inept-

With broken bulbs dispersing throughout their ligaments,
Their minds, their words:
Comely shards etching hieroglyphics
that portend inside the walls of their anatomy.

The GIMCRACK...
Does it bear the nuance of iniquity?
To you?
Your fore-bearers?
Your Ancestors?
Does it signify beauty?
Or, is it a swamp that seeps up the stilts
into your home....
and seeps in...
and seeps in...
and comes in
"Come in."
You allow them.

You allow IT.

Did the woman on television tell you to....
CALL NOW?
Do 1-800 numbers give birth to several million
cavalcades in your head, a procession that echoes:
CALL NOW...
Call Now...
Call Now...

Can you hear it as if it were a haunting comradery?-
a ghost-like recollection of a helping hand,
a kiss, a love, a breath?
Would you prefer the GIMCRACK
to replace all mortal beings?
A breakdown in communication-
Incommunicado?

Do you suffer this?
Do tasteless flotation devices allow you
to float gaudily rather than swim charismatically?
Do you prefer to be a charlatan?

THE GIMCRACK WILL ASSIST YOU!!!!

The people responsible for the manufacturing
of GIMCRACKS; do they have GIMCRACKS
as well?
Do you believe they enjoy wasting their lives,
many hours devoted to the sole production of gewgaws 
to compliment your luxury?

Have you thought about it?
Or
Is there a circumambient voice in your space that
ejaculates full-blast,
clogging your ears,
your passage through the frontal lobe,
acting as a soporific that becomes
the autocrat of your dreams?
Is it calling you?
Does it tell you everything will be okay?
"EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY."

Is it your own personal bellwether?
Does it drive you?
Inform you?
Scintillate?

CALL NOW.

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• 1-800-gimcrack (iamscatology.blogspot.com)

So there you have it etc.

Like a sorrowful cow. I am. Oh fuck you cow. I walked for twenty miles and the Baptist Church I passed did not amuse me. The people and their ugly hot-rods ceased to amuse me. They all try to bite me. They need flesh. They are all zombies. Zombies in cars. Zombies in bars. Zombies roaming the sidewalks and streets. Death. This culture knows death quite well. Yes, I am having a conversation with myself again. The zombies turn to look. This only makes me talk to myself much louder. I am annoyed by them. Away zombie! Leave me to myself. I like my answers. I am amused by my questions. NO ZOMBIE! Let me be. I prefer my own company on this journey-go buy some food at Hooters. Ride a motorcycle to Hell or....what are they good for anyway? Just toys that kill people. You think it is fly man? Riding ninety miles an hour, vroom, vroom, to your doom. Telephone pole. Wipe out. Fun toy. Some amusement park. Enough about that. The trees are all hanging green. Dark green. Dark molasses summer leaves. That is the way I perceive them anyway. They cover the months just like last year. Dark. Repetitive. A cycle. A season. Death to the lilacs and fresh spring accoutrement. The sky sure is a joker. Grey, grey, grey. One day it is bright. A thousand days after-all darkness. Rain. Rain. Rain and death. Good. Die. Please leave. Let the new in. Blue skies? Where be thee blue skies? Where be thee sunshine. I never felt I belonged in this side of the state. I was right all along. I don't. DON'T. Belong, belong, belong. I'm goin' out west like Thomas Alan "Tom" Waits. The east is a beast. Cheap rhymes are good for fairy-tales. My fairy-tale is a mountain with wildflowers all around and NO, let me repeat, NO PEOPLE. My fairy-tale is not far from reality, but I wish it were my reality now.  

 A mountain. A castle. A flying octopus speaks loudly out its flaccid mourning mouth. A burst of personality dies with the skeptic. Esoteric? I love what I cannot understand. It keeps my attention. It mocks me until I figure out its indeterminateness. What does it mean? How do I know? Blah, blah, blah. The scars of dreams decorate my body. I will no longer nurture them. I want to move. Far. Fast. Become invisible. Take leave. I've had enough elitist bullshit. Yes, I am a recluse. I got sick of the elitist bullshit. Garbage mouths lurking and weaving tales about what they know not. Liars. Frauds. Silly children that need a script to live off of until they hate themselves so much they crack. Now who is insane? I passed the ink-blot scam long ago. I do not claim to be something I am not. I do not know everything. I care not for metro-sexual pretty asses. I do not care if you are in a band or if you're "Ivy League" or if you can pull butterflies out your orifices. 

Mary had a little lamb. Yeah, hey, I'm here, I'm sane, and sure, I have a little grudge. Just a little one. I have a grudge against people that believe in fairies. Mind you, if you haven't already figured it out, I jump around a lot, topic to topic. This is how it is to have a brain such as I have. It can be really frustrating, but, hey, what the fuck. I MEAN ALL I SAY. I hate people that believe in fairies. Haven't you noticed that people tend to think fairies float about them as they stagger, blind-folded, through the atmosphere. Yes, oh yes. Well, I hate to break apart their happy little fantasy, but FAIRIES AREN'T REAL and WAKE THE FUCK UP!

Fairies will not salvage you from the ugliness of life, so buck up! Fairies are a distraction and were put within your range of vision as a child to deter you from observing and understanding the World as it really is: Empires in conflict, murderers, Christian Scientists, misogyny in every women's ad for pants, numb-scullery for our children to drool over on television (What ever happened to Loony Tunes...at least they took some brain power to create, and that Bugs Bunny..so witty!), New improved video games *life-like* that swallow the player...and believe me, there are trillions of them locked inside a World of Warcraft or whatever the fuck the shit is called. Do people ask why anymore? Do people say "How do you know?" enough, do people see what surrounds them, do people see the root of all evil and from where it originates...think money...etc, do people question their "teachers" enough, do people notice that the house across the street blew up weeks ago, do they? DO THEY? No. All they see are a bunch of fairies, we can call it hallucination/bomb shelter if you will. As long as there are fairies, the evil in this World can never survive. Oh yeah? Well guess who is winning the ballgame chumps? EVIL. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27LLPANAgzw Goin' out West where they appreciate me....see ya!

Harriett and I laying in bed.

Hikikomori is how Harriett describes me tonight as we lay beside each other (strictly platonic, I am not into molesting dolls). Hikikomori in Japan means "social withdrawal." I do not know how or why she comes up with these ideas of me. After all, she is just a doll and her capacity for empathy is nonexistent. Call me crazy-all dolls are sociopaths. Anyhow, Harriett said that it was not good for me to withdraw but to lead my disciples. Who are my disciples? Harriett says they are buried deep within my subconscious and that I have to unlock the box from which they hibernate. "Is it a Pandora's box?" I asked in fear. "No" she said, "It is a box that houses all those that recognize your ability to lead them in to paradise." "There is no such thing as paradise." I replied. "Oh yes" she said, "You will see." I get weary of Harriett's insights of me. She has none of her own because she has no flesh or blood. I do not understand all this gibberish about Jesus and paradise and disciples. Do all dolls talk like this? Whenever I ask Harriett about herself she sighs and replies "I am nothing but a doll." I think she may be up to no good. She is a mischief maker for sure. All this funny talk leads me to dark places. This talk reminds me that I am truly alone talking to a doll that has bizarre prophesies concerning myself. Social withdrawal? Not entirely. I talk to the walls and to Harriett when she listens. I disagree with her. "How do I get the disciples to come out and play?" I ask Harriett. "Oh, not play, follow, they will follow you to paradise, but only when they appear will the path be set before you to lead them." Harriett is an esoteric doll I think. I do not quite understand her. She says strange things to me in the dark. Most of our conversations take place in the dark when I finally drop my insomniac head onto my pillow. Red satin pillowcases and Harriett await me in the dark. I wonder if Harriett wanders. There are times, I swear, I place her on the red satin pillowcase. But, sometimes I look up from whatever it is that occupies my time to see that she sits at the edge of the bed watching me with her sewn in smile. Sometimes I think I must be delirious and sleep deprived to see such things. I know I placed her upon the pillow. I always do. But, she always moves. When I turn to lay down after a good forty-eight hours of no sleep I see that she is back in the position I originally placed her: resting upon the red satin pillowcase. Hikikomori: social withdrawal. I never thought of myself as removed from the pester of others, but perhaps she has a point. People to me do not talk-they pester. I suppose this point of view is not shared among those that are social. So, hikikomori to me. So the doll says.
Goodnight Harriett.

VANDALISM IS KEY!

I live for it and i have a pet-peeve (among many) concerning artificial flowers. Actually the white suburban flash of white trash and trophy neighborhoods make the snot in my nose cry a river, albeit, a raging river. I live next to a town that claims:Stratford-The town of forest and sea. Uh, where is the motherfucking forest? All I see are made in China houses and slow restaurants, and of course, THEE OLD LIQUOR STORE. I have a pet-peeve against signs that lie. Like the Stratford, My town motto is one big lie. "A Small City With A Big Heart" is what the sign says as you enter my town. But, really it is just a dumb suburb with a big dick. FALSE! ALL OF IT! Go buy your artificial flowers and stick them in your eyes because I'm afraid you have seen too much "small-city" person. That is enough. ENOUGH! I dream of vandalizing (not that this has never happened) every shit-ugly gated-ish neighborhood that make the deer homeless. With can in hand I spray these words: YOUR LAWN LOOKS LIKE SHIT. Bye.

But vandalism can be beautiful, especially when what is being vandalized starts out ugly.-http://sniggle.net/vandalism.php out ugly.

Vandalism is what I want to be when I grow up. My middle name  revenge. Now get into your over-sized gas waste shit soccer mom vehicle (All spray painted with the word "FUCK" on it) and drive to the nearest garbage can. Amen.

WHY?

WHY?

WHY Do People refrain from asking...

WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Amy Miret of the band Nausea asked WHY?

Why or How? Why do you think that? I quote Bryan Loder of the Trick-Vatican, an expert on "WHAT?" says that all the philosophers have given up on why. WHY? WHY do you think this is? Do you think?

Do you ever ask WHY when you see this man?

WHY?

To ask why is to endanger the ignoramotic-hypnosis Our Country 'Tis of Thee has given us in many different forms. Capitalism, for one, and the one with the most toys wins......Who needs to think? I am still worried about how the rims on my new Lexus Supreme are going to come up. I hope those dirty mechanics do not fuck them up again.

'Why? Come on REALLY?!

I do not understand: Why not ask why?

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

    THE SECOND COMING
    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

WHY? WHY? WHY? 

Do you want to know why... never mind, I know you have to buy Slaughter Vampire Fucker IV...you're busy.

Perspective. Stupid kid. Karate sucks.

My thoughts exactly. Stupid kid.

The Winged Hussars

http://www.badassoftheweek.com/hussars.html

"It is chivalry that has no equal in the world; without seeing it with your own eyes, its vigor and splendor is impossible to imagine." - Cosimo Brunetti, 1676

Crazy love

Hated by all and everywhere he goes
Blazing contempt for human life and lies
Murder as art and what he knows he knows
from life and fear in other people's eyes

Crazy love is all around me
Love is crazy love is kind
But I know somehow you'll find me
Love is crazy love is blind

She walks the boulevard without a care
Knowing too much but having come so far
Pretending life is just a game you play for nothing
Loving no-one and no-where

Crazy love is all around me
Love goes crazy given time
But I know somehow you'll find me
Love is crazy love is blind

She looks as if expecting a surprise
Maybe an encounter that will change her life
Not knowing hot from cold or good for bad
If life is just a joke or if it makes her sad

Crazy love is all around me
Love is crazy love is kind
But I know somehow you'll find me
Love is crazy love is blind

Crazy love is all around me
Love goes crazy given time
But I know somehow you'll find me
Love is crazy love is blind

O' Blame Can You see?

No more soul sucking motherfuckers for me! Happy New Year! And....let the bastards rot while I flourish!

“There is always this element of concealed accusation in neurosis, the patient feeling as though he were deprived of his right-that is, of the center of attention - and wanting to fix the responsibility and blame upon someone.” Alfred Adler quotes