Friday, September 25, 2015

totalitarian outreach: the meatpacking district.

hi; I'M DEVOTED TO THE CITY. kill, pussycat! bang, bang! our parents 
don't know we're not home. they never do. they don't pay as much attention to
certain things as we do. 
word to the wise- don't like sharks. sharks don't even have families other than their unborn children. sharks kill people. they wear real leather. they aren't listening to you. they're strategizing accomplishing priorities that benefit nobody but themselves while also calculating in their heads. they don't know you all that well like how you think you guys do. they hardly know you at all.

hi; I AM A SHARK. i will bite your head off. i am a shark whose face was eaten by a faceless shark. he was an envious shark and wanted a face. i don't know what i look like now, but that's okay, because i can't see.

us sharks are born with remarkable drive to be longed for. make me a star, they write to hollywood. i'll do anything it takes.

i know so much about sharks. identifying as a shark, however, is sort of weird. i think i might be a machine- my skin is silver and hot to the touch. i guess i have a fever.

i've come to decorate my body- it's more than it is. there is nothing else left to do.

a wild particle came crawling into the cavemouth of my faceless head to learn more about it....

tornadoes go round and round...
school bus wheels go round and round...
clock hands go round and round...

i've always liked it here. it is possessed by curiosities of the exotic. every experience is foreign, unlearned. i'm always running loose in jungles. everything i've ever seen is a jungle. ("long island is a shitty beach town."- anais nin)

i notice sex is made out of cardboard these days. i see unabashed sex everywhere i go in the big city. my feet don't leave this island. these vulgarities are okay...really, you can't judge a vulgarity- all a vulgarity is is what is not left to the imagination. we get sick of selling this but there's no other form of currency.

hi; interpretation of OL' CHRONUS: the primordial organized, sold as a scientifically evident shared reality. at first it was just sundials.....

chronus fucked some broad and they birthed two brats in between birthing five zillion other brats. let's see... there was zeus, who married his sister, hera. zeus wouldn't fuck his wife because he was scared of making things real with her, so he spent all the time he got away from her fucking others. he was a notorious rapist.
hera was rather apathetic toward bonding with zeus. neither one of them were attracted to each other. they looked like monsters. hera believed that as long as they could engage in power tactics together, and assert power all the times they're not asserting it, she was pleased being married to zeus. she was kind of a corporate bitch.
they went on to reproduce many more children- it was a religious staandard is mostly why they did this. they'd come out of parts of hera's body- eggs would leave any part of her body, from her toes to the tip of her head- and she'd pass them to zeus to carry the fetuses. he was covered in many pouches for babies to finish their growth in before they hatched. he'd put headphones on these pouches so the babies could listen to classical music. listening to classical music in the womb is how cultural people begin life.
the first children of zeus and hera were only relatively fucked up. the further they went along, the more genetically mutated somehow the children would be.
hera had eight nipples. they all dragged to the ground together. her uterine lining gave out and plopped into a toilet in a starbucks one day. she lost the ability, completely, to birth. she didn't give a fuck.
zeus said rape rape rape. rape rape? rape.