Archive for September, 2004

Death of a Furby

Thursday, September 30th, 2004

Furby Autopsy

Chocolypse Now

Wednesday, September 29th, 2004

Apocalypse Now + Willy Wonka = Fucking Brilliant

http://www.likelystories.com/choc/choc01.htm

A thing called "Iridescent"

Wednesday, September 29th, 2004

Hi . Your thing is ready. Remember: Post, Link, and/or Tattoo. Any one else want a thing? Click here to find out how.

Iridescent

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Iridescent.
Iridescent eye.
Things decay without waiting to die.
Attention span whittled away
by generations of television.
The drugs and your memory.
Your economy.
Booze.
Too much poison for a liver to bear,
let alone a family.
Membranes.
Patience.
They just wear out sometimes.
No one ever asks for this stuff.
Yes they do.
We’ll lie perfectly still
in our apartments filled
with cats and their feces.
Too worn out to be bothered
by the other humans.
Paralyzed
by a total lack of a clue.
Teeth ground to dust.
Something burning.
Iridescent.
Iridescent eye.
Things decay without waiting to die.

secret message

Tuesday, September 28th, 2004

Contained below is a super secret special message for Justine, Phoebe, and Jordan. All others may disregard.

bEGIN tRANSMISSION::::

////10PM///zxrcvba//xrcvbxrcvbxrcvb//
///TUESDAYS//zxrcvba//xrcvbxrcvbxr////
///////cvbzxrcvba//xrcvb/////
xrcvbxrcvb////JIMMY_G'S//zxrcvba//xrcvbxrcvbxrcvb
zxrcvba//xrcvbxrcvbxrcvb/SWING_ON_BY////

::::::::eND tRANSMISSION

Open letter to Nature

Tuesday, September 28th, 2004

Open letter to Nature regarding Nature.

When I say “Nature,” Oh Nature, I usually refer to you and not the scientific journal Nature, that I, sometimes, in my weakness, take to be your mouthpiece. Usually I strive, I swear I do, to take your lessons from your own lips, to discern your thoughts from your clues and yours alone, and trust not in the reports of these upstarts, these scientists. But sometimes, Oh Nature, when I stare into the inky blackness, it doesn’t, pace Nietzsche, stare back, yet alone tell me whether or not the curvature of Space-Time is explicable without positing the existence of Dark Matter. Sometimes all I get is nada. And I, desperate for some news from the front, turn to the journals. But hey: as I heard once (from a Love and Rockets song, actually): “You cannot go against Nature. Because when you do. Go against Nature. That’s part of Nature too.” So there. Also part of Nature, for better or for worse, is Love and Rockets. And, more to the point, so is the journal Nature.

Which brings me to my current concern. Have you heard what these bitches are saying about you? Apparently, squirrels have heated tails utilizing infrared to ward off predator snakes. Who makes this shit up? Is it you, Nature? Or just Nature? And get this one: It hurts less to be a man because testosterone damps pain sensations?!?! I’m not buying it. Who, besides me, can feel my own pain? No team of scientists, that’s for sure. And finally there are the octopuses alleged to have a preferred tentacle. Why bother being right-handed when you’ve got seven others at your disposal? And, more to the point, who fucking cares? Not me, oh Nature. But I care about you. I would never talk trash about you, no matter how tempting it might be to mix it up a bit. Tempting, say, to convince the world that men use the heat in their preferred tentacles to ward off pain. But that’s poetry. Or porn. And, I guess, it is all ultimately, truth as well as fiction, part of you, Nature. As am I. But not part of Nature.

Keepin’ it natural,

Dr. Smax

A thing called "Penetralia"

Tuesday, September 28th, 2004

Hi . Your thing is ready. Remember: Post, Link, and/or Tattoo. Any one else want a thing? Click here to find out how.

Penetralia

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A collector of cognitive penetralia. Worse than unspeakable: thoughts unthinkable. Like the one from when you were a kid and you opened the _____.

Or the one about your mother. She’ll never know exactly what  _____.

I’m writing this for , but is it about him? Or me? Get someone drunk and/or lonely enough and maybe they’ll unleash one of these monsters. Their black ooze gets all over you. Living asleep, ‘cuz consciousness just ain’t a good idea any more.

How ‘bout what the papers said about the guy and that little  _____.

Or the beheading you _____.

Happy? You had to look. And  _____.

A thing called "Manganese"

Monday, September 27th, 2004

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Manganese

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excerpts from coroner’s log

subject did most of our work for us. Progressive manganese poisoning not only evident, but documented in partially digested pages retrieved from subject’s stomach. The portions still legible read as follows:

“Manganese is used to form many important alloys and I shall be one of them . . .snorting manganese filings . . .powdered . . . sprinkled on eggs . . .Thoughts metallic . . .increasing my megadosage . . .vitamin B1 to heighten manganese utilization . . .my eyes. . .Glass  . . .progressively decolorized . . .Hair falling out . . .teeth and nails ferromagnetic. . . .B1 making my flesh stink flesh . . .shooting off sparks . .  I am. . . a battery. World battery depolarizes . . .Voltage . . Revenge. . .Success. . .”

A thing called "Zen"

Thursday, September 16th, 2004

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Zen

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None of the android successors of humanity recall the invention of zen, but installed in the forehead of each is a single enlightenment button and a single anti-enlightenment, aka unlightenment, button. Press the former, and the android will be enlightened for ever and ever. The latter, and the android can never become enlightened. Ever.

The real bitch of it all is that the buttons are unmarked and visibly entirely indistinguishable. And like every android, eventually gets to the point in his life when he says “what the fuck,” presses one of the buttons, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

A thing called "Torque"

Thursday, September 16th, 2004

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Torque

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Their bilateral symmetry. Their skeletons and skin. Their intakes and exhausts. oft noted the many similarities between animals and artifacts, especially when it came time to feed the gun. Its need for oiling and cleaning likewise seemed indicative of a kind of mechanical metabolism.

And when fired, it birthed a litter. A litter of small fast death-puppies.

The opposing actuators in each smart-bullet are like the opposing muscles in the limb of an animal, their differential actions torque the canonical projectile, guiding it, an angry gnat, into the airplane’s anus.

Explosions. Fierce and alive. The combusting souls. . .

. . .of machines.

Gettin' kinky

Wednesday, September 15th, 2004

After much self-love I decided it was time to spice things up. And let me tell you, if you ever get the chance, I highly recommend trying a two-way.