Posts tagged ‘12mm heliar’
i am a lincoln towncar
when i was younger, all my friends either wanted to be the next daryl strawberry or the next axl rose or the c.e.o. of disney. but me, i didn’t find any of that too appealing. i wanted to be a car and not just any car, but a full-size luxury sedan like a lincoln towncar. the thing that got me about the lincoln were the seats. it’s real leather in there made in the united states and not the kind of stuff they make the shoes out of at payless shoe source. real american leather makes a difference. i have thirteen lincoln towncars at home. i keep four in my garage, three in my backyard, three in the living room, and two in my kitchen. the ones in my house i don’t drive. i hire three guys from ecuador to rub the leather inside with cocoa butter every other day. every night before i go to sleep, i go inside one of my town cars and close my eyes and think of myself floating down fifth avenue, past the taxis and the stupid tourists and the buildings.
i dreamt yesterday that i was lion
i don’t think growing up now is easier than before. i think the old people make it seem it was harder when they were our age. but they didn’t have as many choices as us. you know opportunities to fuck up in a real bad way, not just like getting yelled at by your neighbors kind of thing. we don’t have room to run around. and when you don’t have room to run around, you start running in your own shit and i think that makes a lot of us a little off. i remember in an early stage in my life where i believed that i was lion. i actually thought i was a lion with the mane and the big whiskers and the sharp teeth, and i walked around like i was the king. but there was this guy, Wulabi, i remember him saying to me, “you are not different than me, man.” i thought he was bullshit at first but then i stopped eating the food for a few days and found a really clean spot to lay in when they’re weren’t watching. and that point man, i realized i wasn’t outside, in the desert somewhere hunting gazelle and zebras and shit. i was inside a building on 3510 3rd avenue. all of us were there, just standing around, eating our own shit man for real and then later being led down a row of gates. and then we were separated one by one but i could smell everyone around me. i heard yelling and screaming. and then something came on my temples like a shot of lightening that just numbed everything into a myriad of involuntary movements.
american teenager X
The Readjustment Bureau
my name is sky maldonado. i am a galaxy warrior. i have training in several forms of martial arts, including other fighting styles, like waxing and vibration waves. i’ve been a strict vegetarian since joining the order of galaxy warriors nine years ago. my life was different then. i went to school so i could get a job. i got a job so i could be in debt. i just kept working and working but really not going anywhere. and then i met the emperor, the father of all galaxy warriors. he taught me to start eating kale because it cleansed the mind. he taught me to stop paying all my bills with cash or credit but instead to send typewritten poems about mountains. we could get away with it because there were thousands of us. they were afraid because they knew the galaxy warriors could get others to stop paying. but that’s one of our smaller victories in the whole scheme of things. we’re in charge of running the most sophisticated eavesdropping equipment in the world. we’ve converted every telephone booth to what we call ultragravitational eavesdropping beacons. these devices actually float in the airwaves and using a reverse filter, absorbs words as chains of sentences and emails them to various anonymous networks run by the government. you don’t see us, but we’re the cogs.
And you can dance
dog of war
on the fourth day he appeared. he looked a bit like a canary wrapped inside some kind of plastic bag. i didn’t want to touch him at first. i knew about germs and cleanliness and frankly i was one of those types of guys that just kind of got skeeved out by things that maybe most people don’t get skeeved out by. like carrots for instance. i can’t stand even the sight of them. i feel like i hear nails scratching a chalkboard over and over and over again. the only thing that can drown out the feeling is boy george man. not the new boy george with the slick hair and sober stare. it’s when he had all those colors in his hair and he was on everybodys pencil cases and thermoses and folders if you were under thirteen and you knew all the words to karma karma karma karma karma chameleon and there were just rumors that he was on drugs and was gay and was just a total mess and not the star of your entire life along with michael jackson. that’s the only shit that works for me when it comes to carrots.
the sisters of droolville