dude, where's my mom?

zoltan! [11:36 AM]:
i don't like it when ppl are telling me how to live my life

zoltan![11:36 AM]:
or that they think they have a right to know

zoltan! [11:45 AM]:
my mom thinks she has the right to tell me to bring her grandchild to her house without (son's name)'s mom cause she still doesn't approve of her. Like WTF.. why should i do all the ass kissing if she won't even meet me half way and come over to my house to see her grandchild

zoltan![11:45 AM]:
i would never treat my kids like that

ishmael [11:46 AM]:
did you tell her to fuck off?

zoltan![11:47 AM]:
ya indirectly... i told her she is more then welcome to come to my house to see (son's name) but i will not be the first to bring him to their house

zoltan! [11:47 AM]:
she bascially said she won't be coming over so i'm told her its her loss not mine

ishmael [11:47 AM]:
i think the words 'fuck off' will rectify any lingering suspicions she has on your stance and determination

tombstone blues. the fembots

From the chill of the morning to the chill of the grave
I carry a gun at my side
My love was beauty and my love was blind
And my love was struck down by my foolish pride

Faint as an echo forbidden to fade
I'm haunted and haunting the words that you said

Cast off your tombstone, rest there no more
Give shape to the shadows that darken my door
Come down from the hillside and take up your place
Put back the colours that fell from your face

Won't you put back the colours that fell from your face

riley & sunset

three kinds of yes

three kinds of yes today and all i
know right now
is sun is setting. not that it bothers me,


but the census lady came by
the other day

'first name?'

a.r.t.i.c.u.l.a.t.e.d.

'last name?'

r.e.p.e.a.t.

'do you have and dogs or cats?'

s.a.d.l.y.n.o............






i wish i was a wolf cub. urbanite canis familiaris
howling and acceptable.

under the ink black sheath of
arctic under growth accessibility


to pacts and tribunal
ascension to an extension of my
littered awareness in karma

e.e.

'poshlost'

Poshlost is an untranslatable Russian word (пошлость) defined as a
kind of "petty evil or self-satisfied vulgarity" (Alexandrov 1991). At more length (and with a more scholarly romanization) Boym
(1994) writes:

Poshlost' is the Russian version of banality, with a characteristic
national flavoring of metaphysics and high morality, and a peculiar
conjunction of the sexual and the spiritual. This one word encompasses
triviality, vulgarity, sexual promiscuity, and a lack of spirituality.
The war against poshlost' is a cultural obsession of the Russian and
Soviet intelligentsia from the 1860s to 1960s.

otto

pulp free, irony enriched

i am nauseous.


my spittle tastes like ashtray cuz i broke down and had a syrian
cigarette last night. up at 2 am, reading bukowski and drunk. i had
to get into the spirit, as mines been crushed as of late. i worry too
much. i feel like a kid. i made a sandwich with new ingredients. i
smoked some more and felt a comfort in coating my insides.

maybe they last longer than my mind now.

i wish there were dog races. note to self* move someplace you can go to
the track year round. look at women. try and pick a winner on a 60
to 1 split, and get robbed. i've never been to the track, but i know
dykes and divorcee's who have. one hates me, and the other only loves
me. in that order. in that style. ala mode' for the sub-sets.

later, i'll have to leave the house. and i will almost certainly
spend money. you cant get by on trade anymore.

copyright of gene roddenberry no.2

best comment wins a drunken running high five, primetime stylz...

no such thing

the end should be a good one.

well thought out.


climax and fall

collect and combine all pertinent details

and prepare for collapse.


there's no such thing as:


good byes

well wishes

relapses

or sweetness in schemes.




last cigarettes on tan vistas.

honesty in her eyes.

sweat filled exhortations and


broken contracts scrawled on little ears, unravelling like rockets

imported with ease.

just kidding around

T.G.I.sacrifice

ishmael [2:56 PM]:
it's been a long week and i am super grumpy

co-worker[2:57 PM]:
it really has been...u have a long weekend??

ishmael [2:57 PM]:
yeah. thank jesus...for once.

ishmael[2:57 PM]:
if his pale unemployed ass hadn't been nailed up, i'd be werkin til at least saturday. and no one needs that

ishmael[2:58 PM]:
thanks for taking one for the team, big fellah

co-worker [2:58 PM]:
i feel bad for laughing at that

ishmael [2:59 PM]:
don't feel bad. he really cant hear you. people's ear drums don't work after they die cuz their brain isn't working and cant process the mild electrical signals that sound waves result in after they hit our ears

ishmael [2:59 PM]:
so yer cool