''e's interesting and has good moves, long work

I’m to stupid to lie

Posted in my writing, Uncategorized, writing by tetradugenica on August 1, 2010

part 1

This week, this week, is like  the return of the former fighters to the battlefield.  The problem this is that their minds feel  like a spray painted plant, marked, feeling itchy and miserable but not sure why, formerly  lucid but  now only aging, full of knowledge but fortunately again all plants were introduced to the wild by man. The tiger was introduced by man before it was ever wild.  And this is no metaphor, man as god , god as man, this is the truth. We have s deiscoveed marks along their  stems that seem to be vestigal radio collars, dina transistors broadcasting locations to  a spot in the central cortex  that we know use for tasting food.

To explain, in 2008 my sense of  identity dropped to a sense of assumed name and skin color.  Was this a punishment for sitting idly by  as my former self  planned acts that would later resonate into the future as the attacks on September 11th and as dance music.   When I go on to the plane on which I meditate, I have the impression of  trying  to extinguish the fires of Kuwait’s oil wells with no human help, only a  seal,  or a walrus who pretends  to be my father.  Sea animals playing and having fun as their world is poisoned, if water is full of oil, will eating  a fish from that water  recall the taste of the components of the oil. A gene in each one expands its size if it smells me. Seals and sea lions are attracted to me. When I was 8, my family took me to sea world, I was invited to feed the seals a small fish.  I slipped on the mat and fell into the water. A seal dragged me tto the other side of its enclosure and its penis came out of its thick fatty, wet pvc-like skin, it fucked me for 2 hours. The personnell said that I was lucky to be so beautiful that they didn’t devour me afterwards.  But this is not a surprise.

I want to be perfect forever. This is the source of my every problem.

Every hardship and tragedy was brought down on me by my own desire to be amazing manifesting itself as my current being.  Tonight this is the evil night that transforms  me into  something worse than  a bat who flies about, talking about music, but better than a  sparrow who flies around  clumsily, as if a fan of ska.

end of part 1

PART 2

In these awkward times, my striving for perfection led me to the intersection of Europe and Asia, Turkiey.

High level weapon production facilities surround me. While you may make a gun in many different ways, there is only one method here: stamping followed by hand  assembly.    The manager, Deb Chel, is taking me on a tour,   He tells me that he learned to play piano,  and he is doing drawings and maiking a serious effort  to experience more culture his everyday life.

Deb’s even  producing music and plans to make Anakara the new Ibiza.  WHile this is so simpataico, I wonder if its relevant to the factory.  Mr. Chel responds: How isn’t it.  With a powerful army and modern arms, Turkey could become the middle eastern hegemon it was during the long reign of the Ottoman Empire. With this glittering capital the country can be remade into something of majestic and avant garde beauty. He wants the army to start teaching conscripts how to play piano and sing, or how to make films, to make Turkey the cultural center of eastern europe and the middle east.  Deb Chel’s  partner in this plan is  Hector “Vernal” Hind-Legg, best known for his award  winning remixes with the step step twalala  character that we all love.

Hector flirts shamelessly with me, while Deb is modest and almost shy for a man with such a massive plan and hope for his country.  Hector plays a new arpeggio track he calls ‘Tella  (Peaceful Future)’ as the song ends he feels my thigh andworks  his hand up my cutoffs. Before I can slap it away, he makes eye contact with me and frowns, then removes his hand.  He knows how I like it.

The manager and his friend go on to enthusiastically describe the time they were in Ibizia on spring break 2003, and tiesto called them personally, to man the foam cannons.  Vernal got the crowd so pumped that tiesto let him spin the next 3 songs, he tells me that it was the best night of his life. I don’t believe him.  After this, he hands me a photo album full of gory pictures he says are of Kurdish Terrorists that he has personally killed.

On his dusty workshirt is a patch that says  COILS, the english translation being roughly “To the best, dying is only a way of forgetting being alive’ It seemed stupid to me, but he was too beautiful to argue with.  ” PARTY right, not a sour night!” said Deb.   Deb explained to me that Vernal was the big bear  I heard growling outside the walls of my hotel room. it was just him mimicking an animal sound from his sound effectss record.” So far, Have usual, quality tricks from your new friends :)” — Text Vernal sent me the next day.

Deb, in his benevolent professionalism offered me a crate  premium of the grenade launchers, assault rifles, rockets, and body armor, all in new perfectly operational condition.  Thank you Deb.

These weapons have helped me destroy the police forces in my town and my gang of cool friends, All girls and boys who look like me, but who don’t have my je ne sais quoi, or my enigmatic  dress sense. We’ve taken the money from the local bank and founded 2 co-operative factories, with the residents helping us build 10 more. We will create revolution in this country if we have to make every new proletarian ourselves.

I’m to stupid to lie part 3

The BLEEN-BLEEN  battery alarm of my cell cone wakes me up from dreams about beautiful new factories.  Calming monoliths full of gleaming  transparent floors, metal tools coated with ceramics and soft-to-the-touch polymers, workers laughing and smiling as they create  the pretty machines I  invented to save you, the sings you invented so we could save each other.

The only nightmare it could ever evolve into is a vision of a robust young worker with nothing to screw in.  Women in practical coveralls with no fine detail work to examine. Teenagers learning no craft,  Dogs without cats to chase, cars without roads, trees without frogs, and on into infinity.

This is a moment I can live without, We are all  well occupied in our head head, engaged in  imagining  new positions for yoga. Sketchbooks with little  poseable men, who are not poseable enough.  Not for for tracing our new positions.  I  lowered my  pen hand onto my handcouch. While it rests I drink perrier.  As I reach the bottom of the bottle, I sprinkle the last few drops on my hair. It’s blonded to my skull, getting darker as I get angrier about the tiny old man who told me that my gang would never be able to invent worker-yoga, that yoga was for the masses. The yogi Peranthawpi stared at me, being a bit taller and more muscular than I expected. “It’s a unversal.”  I felt threatened.  He might have been checking me out, or sizing me up, somethinging me.  I ran out of his ashram in tears.

End of part 3

12/09

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