Monday, June 23, 2003

Holy fucks... God and his infinite gonads could simply wash us all away will one tug of his cum hose. Cleanse us of our feeble bickering bitchery. And yet, we whine, "waa waa waa... why why why...."

To wish it to be any different than it is or to think that it should have been otherwise is to think ourselves wiser than the big omni-potent love god that created the all of it all. Maybe, just maybe, everybody is doing the right thing. Serving their divine function. Suffering where suffering is needed to keep the whole big galactic fuckery going strong. Maybe everyone is in the right dimension, and our efforts to restore them to their rightful righteousness is simply a refusal to see the TRUTH, if I can be so boring, so chicken-hearted, so naive as to speak of something so pure and puffy as the fucking TRUTH. (cleaning the puke off my shoes) What I meant to say is: a cunt is a cunt is a cunt is a cunt is a cunt. Even on Mars. Bitches, Whores, and Cunts.

I am I because my little dog says so. I wake up in the morning and I wipe my own ass. I go to work. I pay my bills. I do my very best to be the very best cog I can be. Sometimes that requires slapping a bitch or two, stealing things from grocery stores, and drinking too much. There are phases we pass through. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, ELEVEN!!!! Read the book of Job. Ask yourself if you really have room to complain. Are you covered in festering boils? (I am speaking to ME now, there are no accussations. To ME, about ME: this is the diagram and diagnosis of self-perpetrating) The voice in isolation speaks to itself.

This is what it is like in my room: Table, chair, bed, many papers, a plan of action, books to read. The doors are locked and the windows drawn due to the persistence of The Peepers.

What does this have to do with the Subject at Hand? The Topic du Jour? The Monde de Vivre? The Way, The Path, and The Light?

I don't care. I don't give a fuck. I am a cunt. I am an ever-wet pussy. I'm a gooey fucking vagina machine impelled to complicate and copulate, and I don't give a fuck. I get angry. I pull on my vulvic lobes in a furious prayer for more power, more money, and WINGS!!!! If only I had wings I could swoop down and surprise the motherfuckers. The fucking Goons.

Do we think we can get to the bottom of this? Are we still so feeble minded and short-termed that we think that any of us is right? Do we still believe in the dualities? Light/Dark, Day/Night, Right/Wrong, Good/Bad.... wait wait wait... that's not the point. The point is... TAKE A LOOK AROUND. WE ARE HERE! THIS IS WHAT WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! The good life!

The good life is here! We sit in the muck of our freedoms and feelings discussing the finer points of aural history and the nature of arts and crafts facing the glowing portal to a fine fun-filled world of exploitation on a cock-sucking anal-animal rape fuck frenzy free porn download super site. In 5 seconds I can roll through a random series of gore, gash, and mutant-nippled grandmas that would sterilize any healthy breeder. Lord, lord. And this is God.

Either God is everything, or God is nothing, and therefore, by a logical process of deduction, I can safely say that if God is, God is I. God is StileProject, God is Gore, God is a pearly drop of cum burning the retna out of some poor bitches eyesocket as we speak. God is rotten shit drippings seeping out of our dear Uncle Goatse's mutilated anus. God is a donkey's dong. God is Woman, God is Man. God is Love.

I wrote this poem once, after spending some time looking at Sugimoto's pictures of still oceans: I am thankful that the crushing weight that keeps the water inside the ocean hasn't broken me yet. That was it. That may have been my first conscious episode of basic gratitude. Grateful for Gravity. Just for Today, I'm Keepin' it Simple.

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