Tent the saints of derrivement

I was thinking that it would be a good day to sense the tests of enjoyment..
Or.. to test the scents of deployment..
No wait, to... Tent the saints of derrivement.


I was thinking that it would be a good day to test the senses of enjoyment..
Ultimately that came to

The Damsel of amusement,
The playful Lunar Lady of Lingerie Lactation
The Eternal Ev'e of Extraordinary Elusiveness

Not every time that you skim into the world of an upbeat stride of joyous love will there have to be an awaiting echo of the sounds of authority sirens
but if there ever is, surely, the bramble to either side provides a great covering.

The certain romance that comes along through stories that involve bank-robbing, teeter-tottering on the brink of near societal collapse, simply skipping stones or crossing ridge to ridge upon a fraying slip of rope all push upon an edge of a personal whim fulfilled.

Now, why they are called Sirens, at any sense, is an interesting thing altogether.
Surely they aren't beautiful. Surely they aren't deceptive. We all know the reason. Only when undercover are they deceptive. But unless you have an authority fetish, then no way would you even invite them under your own covers.



There was a woman on crutches crossing the street between the parade
Many thought she was a part of the parade so they cheered
She embarrassingly smiled at the misfire of public gesture
The Elephants did not know that she wasn't part of the parade
Later on the carriages thought the pancake was part of the road.

 -------------------
'Hip to the charm of an ever pervasive cool
The uncool became cool and the cool still remained cool
and the counter-cultural became cool, to a limited  ability
Cool meant, really, being able to buy something
So the only fuckups and scumbags that remained were the
ones who could not be cashed-in upon to dress in the flavors of cool
So they stayed warm
Then everything ate itself
Inside out, with flashing yo-yos
And automatic polaroid filters
and electronic syngerettes
A tribal fire of differentiation
Waging a war of difference
Confidence to be 'weird.' Weird is cool, if affordable.
Just only on an accepted level
because leaving and then entering the self would be
too far out and weird out all of the cool weird hip cultural cool ones
I am the girlfriend of an american G.I. Joe Doll
I am the ever-perplexing dominant of muffler repair ripoff labyrinths
I am the King of supersonic hypocrisy how-to's
The storm that came through the
readjusting of questions and answers
slightly reworked so that the other can feel more comfortable
and less offended by outside ideas'
-Nathan Ninety Seven. Blabmouth Residentials.
 --------------------
I have a poem. I am going to present a poem. This is a poem. Are you ready? Here, here is the poem.

Senator Julie, where is this place?
Why did you put me here? Have you deceived me?
This is foolish time spent
Sitting around watching Kindergarten Cop
Why would.. I just wished to tell you.. bla bla bla.

The springs of vanderbelt rushed out so clearly
from the ears along with wax out of Mr. Briamble's head
As he slept, as he kept carnations from the breeze
Like a joy he did learn from weeping willow trees.
Happy Labor Day, hope your family is doing as well as ours
Love, Always
The Bronsons.

Actually the poem is here.
Hold on, let me find it.
Hey!! I see you trying to leave. Yes it's true not many enjoy sitting through a poem. But how many have really tried to.. Maybe you'll like it... So sit your fanny back down in this chair..

..oh, not a rocking-chair,eh? Not good enough of a chair!? Splinters!!? well, Why I oughta... Alright.. Sit on the floor, then, and listen to this poem.
Comfortable? Okay, Good.


I kept riding my motorcycle down past cheese factories and past breadcrumb towns
Falling in love with a whiteboard eraser can make you do some unquestionable acts
There's a wild confliction that scurries between holy roller vixen and tribal warrior
and somehow the vividly sharp smells of cheese factories did not make that go away

Remembering all of the times we used to pogostick together near the ocean
We avoided the crabs and held hands
We should have held hands after pogoing
but sometimes lessons are funner to learn the hard way.
Sixteen miles away from the cheese
and when the stink faded the memories were able to rush back more quickly

I remember you telling me "I think I exist, I'm pretty sure I exist"
but when we're all so pulled into our own dreams
sometimes it is a vague acknowledgement
Though somehow both of our dreams were able to merge smoothly
Somehow kissing you came naturally
and I remember playing "I left My Pastel On The Bed Cover And Woke Up Blue"
for you on the piano
You would sing to the rises and falls: so beautiful
and fingertips touching became such a subtle thunder
that all of the sorority drunkards screwing like rabbits at that very moment
all added up
could not match the pristine joy of my thumb against your palm
which only meant that kissing
with all the time in the world
amounted to nothing that a memory could recreate
Yet every thought of it brought on such details rebirthed
Donkey Kong with all of the bananas in the world
could not have been happier
and I would burn a winning lottery ticket
if it meant being able to snatch you along with me
and flow on out of that hell hole

As the playdough towns sank after panic
we would simply reshape old buildings into gardens and vines
We would go to the phone company building
and turn it into a submarine
Then push it from the shore
and watch it float out into the forever
and sip smoothies out of crazy straws
and cover each other with yard sale stickers
only to have them peel off
when we skinny dipped in cranberry juice

The Term Mimery

August 14th will announce the publishing of my collection of suicide jokes, pre-planned post-humously released. The book will come in a special sharperly-edged hard cover composure. I do not plan to fake my own death in the oddity of being  too successful in the realness of the situation.

I offer to the guillotine and from the heart or index finger some more songs from the Chameleon Shelter.
Disc 4 song 1
Disc 4 song 2
Disc 4 song 3
Disc 4 song 4

I wrote this earlier to capture a certain 'mood' to later be ashamed of. A practice of exposing such a draught state is a practice of courage/stupidity indeed! 
There was this newfound mission to create a cast iron plexiglass bronze statue of Ghengis Khan's cock and wheel it into the state capitol and then hang myself from it in the background scene of America's Got Talent if they are ever to film there. I'd be naked of course with bat wings sprawled open and the Eye of Ra scribed onto my forehead and the head of my cock with 'Vote Yosemite Sam' written on any other available unmentionables  as an invitation of cultural dissemblance.

& I give great praise for feel these feelings of abandonment and the ability to post such personal thoughts to the realm of electronic babbling whereas such things are likely better kept in personal/unseen entries. Yet the temptations stack too high to not display such babblings not unlike trying to catch a snowflake on the tip of your tongue and having it blacken your eye instead.
**Note:If unmentionables are seen then would it even be worth mentioning them at all?
It would be too obvious to even begin mentioning. Is that why they are unmentionables?


Dearest Gooseneck Rumperdumper, 
Thank you so kindly for standing me up once more. 
As always, I basque in your accountable lies
& surefire talents of bleeding a well-meaning socialite.
If you could perhaps, stick the key up your nose & unlock the sight 
of unseen worlds of courage & practical friendship,
be sure to wipe the boogers out of the way first.
Also, if any soul may reside left through lies again & again, 
tell it that even strangers have remorse for sadistic
acts of coldness.


but sometimes personally we invite such feelings of dischord to therefore prize any moments of serenity or calmness that later arrive. Ha ha! Indeed!
///\\\\\\\\
!~!#$%$********^@@@!!!

But in less jesting,
If you dislike or feel that what is out there and offered to the public does not have any wisdom or is a cultural
wreck then you can create a desire yourself. And no matter how low-funded or unable to book a 'big name'
if you have the heart and dedication you can get it done.

It is YOU (Excludes Becky and Jim B.,Sorry) (oh great here comes another one of those inspiration speeches on the capability the individual) of who holds liable the world you see around you. Permissible. If you don't like it,
stop participating in it, NOW. No fore-worries, but in the moment Now! (Yes this is an order of
disorder! Obviously you MUST follow an order?)
Also if you Love it, go for it!!
A fool can be the smartest persona to undergo for the Fool does not suffer the trauma of worrying
about risk!
(Note:If somebody enjoys being told what to do and you tell them to enjoy making their own decisions, who will they turn to thereafter you arrange for them to be freefounded?)

Thank you for dealing with the racket.



To Lives,
Which lives,
Sewn and retraced.
The upheaval of removing from this realm,
The impatient curiosity to unveil the great truths to divide the
birth and life.


Some Island between worlds was then perceived as not necessarily being a bad thing.

Being Horned does not make you evil and being Horny does not mean you are bad.
The animals become more trusting to me yet the human bipeds seemed more and more astray.
Was there some sort of radiance of disruptiveness circulating around my being?
I glance up over my shoulders and at my reflection. Nope.. Must have missed it. Hmmm.

I thanked the experience every morning rather than waking to say "Alive again?" but curiosity
to the great End stood it's head in the doorway of persona only for each time a credit card was
swiped or a stranger pretended. Some place, some chance I wished the offerings of Love that I granted
would be endeared but often it only seemed to bounce off an understandable shield of "Don't
talk to strangers" and many other afflictions resulting from a Terror-World.
All the seemingly programmed shields of public behavior radiated with an obviousness but we were trapped in some sort of cell of cell phones.
The archaic age of a telephone booth bare and stripped with it's metal chord dangling like an electric rats tail near more highway dust. But still blades of grass grew from those concrete cracks! Hope, Divine. Grass choking out concrete, slow defense.

A divide looked to culminate where ideas were rising to those who shed their attachments,lessening
their weight and a form of sunkeness and entrapment stuck sweatily wet and heavy to people who wanted to gather more and more items to display their sense of freedom.
Such a trick is obvious to see when you are not the one going through it but when you are experiencing
it, that need to feed the objects you symbolize as 'established' takes up so much time and energy
that it looks akin to carrying around a weight while saying "I Fly! I Fly!"


But to break the boundaries of these expectations and randomize:
That Chameleon world.
Many masks to wear and many new enjoyments to indulge.
But still mostly when these actions were put to test the lonesomeness carried onward.
These ideas were too risky. Breaking character now are we? Can't have that!? Perhaps even convincingly seen as some sort of mental illness;
But no hallucinations, no 'alternative identity' so to speak but merely observance of mood.
Testing different cultures, walking in many footsteps and allowing many practices.

The happy man is not ALWAYS happy even if he is seemed to play that role on a permanency.
The Tough Bitch will cuddle and love given the right opportunity and the Brute Narcissist will shed a tear of sadness and joy.
Was the rude man at the counter still that blatant asshole the moment you described him and his actions to your friend or perhaps he has lightened up by that moment and is smiling But by your history unto the next time you see him he is burnt into time as a blatant asshole who wouldn't sell snuff to a 14 year old.


The further perception is practiced and moved about more casual understandings seem to uncover
to a strangeness. Masks masks masks, everything morphs to a metaphysical hysteria for a slight second
and you can observe your very own actions and reactions from the magnets of others intentions.

These echo through these upcoming song subjects not unoften(A wise-ass way to write 'often'), such as the use of identity.
True, given an uprepared mindset, these subjects can overexert an anxiety and scare an individual back into the coop of warm-safeness and back to holy-like directions to follow.
But to face those inner selves, simplistic instructions and normalites disintegrate into a certain con-artistry to usurp the free will of a wandering soul.

Really, the idea of claiming to need a passport to cross a boundary seems to the mind of this entity writing this right now such an absurd and offensive notion. As offensive as identifying a being to a security number.
Do I hideously feel like a party-wrecker to say that the illusion of free choice becomes a wreck in itself when you, a being of option and energy and assumption, would not be permitted to cross from a section agreed as a division of lands without the proper patronage?  Property, by choice.

We mow our lawns each weekend to impress our neighbors (Those of us lucky to have a lawn) but
balding the natural, when you re-evaluate the tradition, seems like mockery in the face of hunger when food could be grown on such a canvas.
Concrete also could be seen as an irremovable weed. If you could permit such a view even for a moment
and then move back to disagreeing with it you might at least see what I mean as 'Jumping personas,'
but the practice is admitably still scrutinizing to my ego when I try to live in the view of shoe-stores being an essence of necessity.
Applying different ideas and even imaginations to energy devices and the non-thrills of bitching and
misery may allow an abundance to come to light.

Imaginations birth the reality of capability and we seem to be fed imaginations of torture and self
loathing all too often and guess what? They become the anchor of expression whereas new ideas
could sweep through possibility instead. Just look what I wrote at first... Slightly self-loathing, attacking the self with hints of doubt attempting to create something from the heart and release it, with no budget or any such thing, into such a corporate-ruled world of novelty and image.
Surely I could have written about time, dedication and pride of being able to take so many moments and so much self-reflection to create.. But in this culture I feel like a guard is set where you stand out as a bastard or target for fully appreciating the self.
We all seem, at the moment, to wade in an agreed discontent.
(I still wish to say that every woman/man is a Goddess and every man/woman is a God but only if you wish to be. You can also be miserable and feel the expression of serving another being. (Or both, on and off.) It's none of my damn business really but casting that idea out there was always something I felt a necessity of. Even though sometimes you will hear the reactions of frustration in my being and becoming as agitated as anyone. Note: The author should practice what he preaches more,more often then allow room for more results.)

Recognize some things you hate and ask if it is something you do not yet understand or if it is really from your view and not an just impression/reaction of another media hype.
To acknowledge fear of a new pattern may allow a person to overcome that ingrained idea.
Nudity:Inhumane, whereas it was celebrated, the curves of body, in ancient cultures...
Or even the idea that ancient cultures were seen as primitive where the word primitive is something
to mean dumber or less intelligent.
Look at some of the structures that still stand to this day while,in comparison, the fragments of square geometry tip,tip,tip. Shape: Jagged:Wither, Curvaceous:Homely



There are worlds where television jingles ring jolly amusement to the listener.
I always wonder why the use of whistling is so prominent in those cheesy things.(Siren.)
I try and not acknowledge the existence of such things really, does that mean that ignorance leads to
bliss? Really? Ignoring what you dislike and focusing on what you enjoy?
Or shifting a view to accept and not mind that some people may sweep head over heals for an advertisement
of refined glistening everlasting Ubik usable at any time?
If it is the differences that separate or make us unique then is there a hidden fear to unite some of the
follies between unspoken perspective? I.E. Coming to terms with some of the things we see as idiotic in another person's choice. The only thing, I suppose, that ruffles anger is when another's ideals invade the choice of anothers ideas. Somebody else's insanity or righteousness should not prove to be too 'destructive' as long as it doesn't advise to dominate and destroy your own insanity or righteousness.
That is a lie.**
I keep thinking of how boring it would be if everybody was the same,
If everybody could mold by action a character of their own choosing:A character that reflects a person's
exactness.
It seems amusing to the individual to think such things. Almost as if I pitch those thoughts accordingly enough and in a way to invoke your agreement or a notion of possibility then it is absolute!!
If I were to piss you off or offend you while speaking it then maybe the above would have purely been bullshit, but with the right about of honey and cinnamon well....
Impressionable: To impersonate those we admire, of course.. and then rebirth their traits into our own actions. But to take a practice of living for one day in the mindset of somebody we loathe... Would we become that person or simply find a better attempt to see where their ideals come from?
**Note:The above is jibberish and should be ridiculed.

Also, there are hardly any references to any of what I am writing anyhow. Wouldn't it be easier to believe if I
used quotes from other people or historical references? From historical...books.
Would you agree 100% if you could live for an aeon or two, or come back an aeon or two from now and flip through a history book... Would things seem a bit tilted or commercialized to sell a safe and nationalist mindset?
What if History books could be group-written by several cultures!?
"No, he's wrong... this is how it happened.."
"Chapter 3: Pure bullshit, that last guy.. THIS is how it happened."
Maybe even a woman would be allowed to write one of the chapters as well.
Note: This is why Mimery and muteness is also a great approach.
Mouths will excrete when they are not being fed. Ears will be filled when mouths are not being fed.

The more you spend the more you save.
The more you drop a stone onto your foot, the less it hurts.
See!???
And it is true. Try it. You will see.
If you don't try it then how will you know?

I also really wanted to point out that kettles don't talk, and neither do pots.
A pot, by our traditional distinction of the linguistics of inanimate objects, can not call a kettle anything!
Which leads into the next great mystery unsolved but firstly  you are going to need to go out and obtain a stick of celery. If you already have one handy then  wait just a bit longer.

SOMP

Rushing creativity seems blasphemous because sometimes you (or I at least) have to wait for when you do not plan to accomplish some thing. That made me recently re-question the way that many 'acts' or 'entertainers' albeit artists and creators, too, often have deadlines for releases or imagery.
It may stuff a hole in a quick dagger of mildly wet plume, if you may let me put it that way!!
All of this makes me feel like a furious slug. 
(Note that blasphemy also seems ideal to me in many ways so I shouldn't have a problem with what I have just written in a way that seems I may have a problem with it.) Sometimes you don't plan what images you use or cutting your neck shaving but it just happens. None of this has to do with downloading the album of what the above image refers to from here or waiting for it to be properly released with full album artwork and highest kpbs possible. And now back to the nonshow.
...
..
and now back to:

Now a procedure will take place.
This is it.
And from here I will proceed with a short story draft. It really is best to read aloud. This goes for certain if you are in a space of strangers around you. In fact, given the obvious interest and adoration of this trendy and life changing blog (which such steady subject matter,) it is not a bad idea to, if you are at home, leave and go to a public space simply to read this out loud. The results will be a practice in courage and fun. On a similar note I soon plan to give a book review of "How To Lose Friends And Alienate People"  by Irving D. Tressler and Quinch. Having never given a book review in my life I figured I am just as qualified for such as a homeless group judging food. Which would be more commonsense than well-fed sneebly critiques critiquing food that they eat 1/3rd a portion of. Snibs.  But now,
a procedure will take place.

****************
DISTURBED in a mildly erotic way,
Chafey merged as one from two colliding plummets of street debri blown from
either direction.
***********************

Chapter two: The Eloping Antelopes of Bramble Bay

The prophecy wasn't too hard for him to fulfill.
Eight q-tips,
a package of Elephant rope,
a pulley and
three plunkets of eyebrow hair from a green eyed,hazel-haired ballerina
and the next second he's sipping a brandy thinking about how he had just fulfilled the prophecy.
Good stuff, but easy work, he thought as the semiotic bar maid squeaked on over to offer more brandy.
It mixed in with the grease quite well.

Compliments of the agency.
They had their own lounge nestled on the same corridor that housed the life-sized pinball machine.
Nobody ever escaped that.
Twelve crushed.

He sat sipping the drunkenness as it settled into the grease watching the shadow of the beautiful lime-haired bar maid recede along with the sounds of her squeaking all  leaving him to chatter his thoughts internally with a background of inaudible radio transmission pulsing from the front bar.

He had to restore everbody's secrets from Section 802 before they splattered everywhere. He created worlds then sucked them up in design 706's version of the quantum vaccuum package as a demonstration to mass-market the sucker.
He custard'd culprits of the ice cream sandwich clam-hampering escapades and bagged the big one after it escaped from the city zoo but it all became so boring so quickly for him.

"I'm sorry Somp, but we're all out of elbow grease." The bar maid, on her squeaky wheels, said upon her fourth return.
Apparently he drank it all.
The brandy was useless without it, so he returned back to his office.


He heard the screams coming from the pickle room as he passed through the hallway and back to his private office.
The Styrofoam cup sat beside the photo frame of his ex-wife Mecky and his son.
Both stared back at him as he sat up straight in his chair in some meditative trance of zone-out.
The stryofoam cup wore some pathetic expression of uselessness. He wondered why he still kept that portrait of Mecky and little Jonesy Bibbins there all this time. Then he remembered, and wondered why he forgot. Beforehand, As if the styrofoam cup failed to deliver any answer, he swung his left hand in a chopping motion and swatted it from the table.
It bounced yet didn't gesture any sign of pain. Such a pathetic cup, but glorious in it's inability to perceive pain or agony.. Agony like that which occurs when he thinks of his dear Mecky.
Faint sounds could still be heard coming from the pickle room.



                      SOMP T. SPOMPS
                          Head detective
            Astarabco Investigation Agency
          We're better than what you'd expect!

He put his business card back into his inner pocket 

The Crugar spotted ceiling, the polished ostrich desk and the Nematode clow appaulstry,
the place really had it's perks but for some reason Somp's heart had always resided at that world
that existed before being a detective.

Poor Mecky, he thought. Poor Mecky and Jonesy. They never should have taken that submarine vacation to
the Bermuda Triangle. He would have disintegrated too if he hadn't been busy on the 408 Diabetes Radish
assignment. It was either off his job and disintegrate on a family vacation or save North Carolina
from that atrocious Radish disaster. Deep inside he knew he could have spared North Carolina just for that slight chance to get back his loving Mecky.

The stryofoam cup continued to lay there.
A muffled "weeeeeeeeeeee!' was heard coming from the pickle room.
Somp stared at the wristwatch drawn around his arm in black felt tipped marker before realizing it was time for him to punch out.



**********************
Loti left in the sky bridge. Noodles hampering in the Scroggleton stem.

The disaster was averted as Chafey balanced on the radio-wire. Crossing from one building to the next.
He felt a set of eyes manifest but scrambled into the air before he was recognized.
*************

Chapter 2

How to gargle battery acid and keep promises made to baboons



A woman turned and ran.
Somp was heading back to his apartment after walking down Jorbis Street near where the steel centipede had dropped him off. There was a blur in a white dress so bright that it looked as if it were a hemlock shark pearl against the dark evening of the Thrisdaugh night.
He swore he saw a blurring jaw of jagged teeth swing against the air as this child ran off from near the front
cavern of the apartment stand.

They are still here... he reminded himself. Case 230:The Unspeakable!!!
He shuddered and tried to forget about that as he squeezed himself through the elastic proportions of the
building's entrance. Down the three fleights of stairs he unlocked the door to his room on the 6th floor and
set down his briefcase by his Victorian bedside per usual. His breath tasting moreso as elbow grease as usual that night.
He walked out to the kitchen and went to the cupboard to pull out an opened tin of elbow grease.
It's been a while since he had any.

The thick steel mainframe and durable walls provided a comforting and reasonably peaceful living environment often ignored or passed up in the likes of a setting of many books or movies. But this was real life, Somp thought, then wondered what the heck he was thinking about that for.
Elbow grease without the brandy, he thought, it causes for some unremarkable thoughts so he decided not to remark on any of them.

For the past five years he had been here doing his detective work.

He flicked on the TV after getting Betty out of her cage and going over to the Ibuson Goose feathered love couch.
Betty was his pet mouce. The antlered Mouce that Mecky had sent through the air mail as a souvenir on her way to Bermuda.
It was a last penchant from before she and Jonesy had disintegrated; A present of life and joy that waited him at the desk of the Apartment thingy after Operation 408 Diabetes Radish had been sucessfuly completed by Somp.
Now Betty was all he really had.
They both rested in front of the TV

'Everything's going great. Life is lovely. A hot air balloon landed safely today in South Venice and donations to the swift snoppling youth group were given out with joy by the generous celebrity foundation.