Prayers for the Awesome

God is an albatross with white studded wings that like a fringed jacket from the hit TV show "Blossom" would have been worn by that Joey guy, except this is an albatross and not a jacket, it's wings are just studded like his jacket would have been.

Jesus puts his all-parts in our everywhere and then we feel everything and some of the things were better left un-felted, like the felted walls of 1970's basement that flooded every winter and consequently was ruined and smelled like terrible black mold after a single year making the children sick and it's also probably the reason they all have asthma now.

The Holy Spirit is one part water, one part vermouth, and it tastes terrible but we tell the congregation it's actually some like salve so they don't drink it anyway they put it on their foreheads and like only this one little snot-nosed kid Scott Masterson has figured out that he could probably get a little buzz off it so he's always trying to get it to run into his mouth, like he jogs his head to the side at the last instant and gets a drip or two.

Amen.

Iteration

Something I've mentioned before that speaks to my compulsions, and I'm saying here now as I need to use the bathroom, which speaks even more to my compulsions is that I've got iterating terms in my head at anytime.

"That's the name of my band" is something I've been saying for years. Is it even that funny? Is that why I'm saying it? I'm just wired for naming bands I suppose. Now I'm creating fictional headlines all the time. Headlines for life.

Here's another thing, any compound word that ends with "line" is always turned into "lion."

Headlions

Thanks

Seriously, thanks to people who came to Subversion Gallery last night and contributed to my performance by being awesome audience members. Thanks readers who've supported me in person, it really means a lot!

-DMK

How Do You Spell 'Hate?'

So, how do you spell 'hate?'

I'll give you a hint. It's easy. It starts with an 'h.' It ends with an 'e.'


It has eleven letters.


Give-up?

H

O

R

S

E

P

E

O

P

L

E.

Which brings me to the real point:

When I was, oh let's say 8, my sisters and I got coffee mugs from a well intentioned uncle. There mugs had Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer on them. That's cool, I thought, so when I unwrapped my mug, I was furious to find the WWF stamp emblazoned across the exterior. Arguably, this is a way cooler mug. Actually, I love this mug now and was pretty bereaved when I chipped the lip a few years ago. But back in childhood flashback zone, I was pissed. I was a pissed little bratty kid who wanted a damn Rudolph mug, so I indignantly went upstairs to compose a hate letter to my uncle- So gracious. Except, being 8 my spelling and writing skills were pretty poor. I went to the top of the stairs in my house and yelled down to the living room, "How do you spell hate?" This phrase has cause a fair amount a ridicule in the last few decades, and deservedly so. They didn't tell me how to spell hate, and think there was probably some crying after that question.

Pure childhood frustration precipitates an angry letter,
Young boy found to act like old man.

That would make a fair newspaper title.

Variation in the Variegation
Lead to highly problematic
Problems
Among the the the the the the the the
Transmission of the the transmission
Also, we wrecked our transmission
Phone the wrecker
With your Phone.
It's not real? Not really?
Good, I was worried it might be a
Phony.
A mighty goodly ruse.
This is getting
Worrisome.
It's really reddening my rosy complexion,
I'm complected completed.
Mine god, avoid these jokes at all cost
They're too costly to not avoid.

Not a void?
A real thing.

Republicans

There's this term associated with republicans, or I think -I'm not sure, "Neoliberalism" that says that people who buy into that ideology are "radical individualists." This is unfortunate. I've always identified as a "radical individualist," but the only archetypes I've got are assholes from each side of the political spectrum. So you got the "no compromise in defense of personal ideals" Ayn Rands; bunch of turds. I mean you can read about how Ayn Rand did that in her personal life, and how she seems like the type of tightly-wound librarian who was never happy and didn't want to see anybody else happy either. Then you've got some Earth-First type people, "No compromise in defense of mother-earth," which is really just as bad. No compromise? Anytime someone begins with "no compromise" it seems like there's some weak shit going on. Then you've got the love it or leave it radical individual; American flags, eagles, the works.

Why can't we have a selfish, normal, human radical individual. I am who I am. I think some things are dumb, and others are great. I'm not going to change that much, but I'll change in the right ways. I like to do things myself when nobody wants to do them with me. Most people are wimps in comparison to me, but only because I value different things. My life is extremely isolating. That's the downside to all of these I suppose.

-David

Cartoon

I was telling some girl some stuff about cartoons the other day. She said, "Ask me any question about late 80's or early 90's cartoons; I can answer it." So, I did. Who's dog was who and the like. She was pretty good at it. Then she's like, "Oh, what year were you born?" My answer, 1986. Then a series of huffs, and guffaws. "My, gosh." She might has well have said, "An infant, comparatively, I was born in 1984."

It's like hey, I'm at most 2 years younger. That doesn't amount to much. Who cares. But then again if you care, I care, since that's such a dumb reason to push someone aside.

We could have been cartoon lovers.

John Stockton and his Clutch of 10

Readers, please.

Click the buttons at the bottom of these posts with the term you think bests describes the content.


Also, a SNES hint for playing NBA jam: Always put John Stockton in for 3 pointers when you really need them. He's got a Clutch rating of 10. Pretty B.A.

Synchronic

While there may be times, most times, when I struggle for any sense of synchronicity, there is a fine line where I can do perfectly. It's these moments of disequilibrium that allow for an oscillation, more wave-like than disordered that allows for the repeated acts of physical juggling that appear most impressive. And while that's nearly impossible to understand, what I mean here is the following examples taken from everyday life, starting backwards.

I make a phone call, "Hey Mom, Mom's day. Happy Valentine's Day. Happy St. Patrick's Day. Ha, funny son." Person walks by window. It's my nieghbor. Wait, it's a friend too; same time of arrival. "Get some coffee? Go on a bike ride?" Sure, whatever. "Bye Mom." Take the tuba, first time in 6 months playing. National Tuba Day, last Friday. Someone tells me this. We get coffee. See a guy from around town. Talk for a while about playing jazz. Someone I recognize, it's a friend's sister, a friend from high-school, in Connecticut; this is Oregon. Go to the river. Play music. Other strange instruments, bagpipes and parade. Rain comes, we flee to a gazebo accompanied by vagrants. "I have a flugel horn," and he does have one. The other has a mandolin. We talk about Close Encounters of the Third Kind, we play the songs from it. It's thundering, it's a lightening storm. I've got a large piece of metal, so we choose to wait it out. That's it.

Disequilibrium certainly seem accurate, describes my life. Strange though, my days lately. More to come.