A brief spike in traffic

For 3 days running I had over 100 views to the site, akin to a miracle.  I’m not that interesting, so it must’ve all been for recent Jeopardy! contestant Rachel Lindgren.

It’s my duty to warn you thirsty nerds AGAIN that smart women are not a solution to anything and being a sapiosexual is a road to nowhere.  If she’s smart while you’re enamored (subtract 25 IQ points for each boob and asscheek) you’re in QUADRUPLE the danger of being manipulated.  Not that I overly give a shit what happens to you, you’re probably better off than me.

I believe this blog is now 10 or 11 years old, which means little because I rarely posted after 2009, was it?  It has brought me neither joy nor grief, certainly no money or gavina.  I don’t read my own shit so I’ve forgotten most of it, except to remember impassioned movie reviews about Batman (pointless) or politics (far more pointless) and cussing out my wage slave job while doing nothing to improve my lot in life.

Two things happened in the last 5 years which changed the entire arc of my  inclinations, I got out of the shit job and I “discovered” whores.  Also, my father died  at 73 of natural causes, if you count lung cancer as natural.

The whores saved my life.  Once I was getting laid fairly regularly all the Mysteries of Womanhood evaporated, which was bittersweet, but poetry is either written out of your system or it burns you from the inside out like drinking bleach.  Poetry IS drinking bleach, usually for the reader. 

The women’s humanity made me less of a misogynist, and it even seemed a few of them enjoyed the ride beyond getting paid.  (I haven’t been laid in over a year due to health problems so that’s on pause.)

I’m closer to 50 than 40 now.  I’m not better than I was in 2006, but like to think I’ve learned much the last 10 or 11 years.  I wouldn’t trade my scant “life’s work” of writing for falling in love.   

Here are the final lines from a long ago poem.

I know it’s coming, death or a balloon.

The slitted eyes of a petted cat.

“and the horse you rode in on”

 

a bone lies stripped on the sidewalk

surrounded by nations of ants

under orange streetlight moon.

 

Another night shot from a cannon,

your innards sucked dry,

what’s left

burned by radiation.

 

little girls dressed like whores,

it’s logical, they were taught from birth they

are nothing, pumped full of filth

transmitted from glowing eyes.

 

they will never be nothing,

the ants will carry their bones

and yours

to gods waiting underground

as the next evil night waits in the shadows of

urine dawn.

08 OCT 07

Poem written in ’07, just as true today

The heart is a retard
on the short bus
with no helmet or pads,
whacking its skull on the glass
for sheer joy.

The heart is a retard
a pin cushion for bent arrows
halos of barbed wire
hair of flames
and blood-dipped cursive names.

The heart is a retard
now and forever
eating sunbeams and shitting rainbows
shedding glitter dandruff
off construction paper
monstrosities
taped to the fridge.

The heart is a retard
and there’s no special class or program to help,
there is nothing to do.
It’s simple like sand
that cuts like glass.

The heart is a retard and
this poem is drool
from its mouth,
grinning like fishhooks,
staring at butterflies with
diamonds for wings

retarded.

2012 Olympic Logo – Old and Improved

There’s been a recent kerfuffle by those filthy muslims, eye-ranian this time, about how the stupid 2012 Olympic logo secretly spells ZION.  Why homicidal jihadist bastards would give a crap about the last human city on earth in the Matrix universe is beyond me.

Well, the British showed some rare spine and told the ragheads, in polite language,  to fuck off.  While it is a shitty logo it’s been around since 2007, a little late for whining.

I made my take on the logo back in 2007.  Still shines today, like my shorn scrotum.