Posts Tagged ‘norpography’

Where your sorry ass been at?

Thursday, 15 January 2009

The first meatlights post of 2009 and Jan is already half-over, a case of so much happening that nothing has happened.

Things are in motion and this time I’m going with them.

Even without writing for almost a month, meat-hits remain constant because of posts referring to ‘norpography’. I should send Marc Wallace an e-card.

We’re less than a week away from the Obamessiah taking the reigns. I’m betting it will take less than 4 years for the peeps who voted for him to understand why the other half of the country voted against him.

I see no reason to give His Highness “a chance”. If someone stated his intention to jump off a cliff and meant it, I wouldn’t need to see him do it to believe he was nuts. Obama’s laid out his socialist “plan” and it’s an ‘end justifies the means’ thing. You’ll see. Buy a gun if you haven’t already.

As for the other side, I deem the Bush presidency overall to be a failure (this from someone who supports the Iraq War) because of the bailouts, which are inexcusable; it would’ve been better to let the whole fucking thing collapse. Instead of “saving the free market” Bush cut the ribbon on the road leading to tyranny, and now Obama as Grand Marshal begins the march.

My friends, my friends, let me remind you that it wasn’t deregulation, free markets or freedom that caused this mess, it was government, which treats its citizens’ rights and money like a subcompact rental car.

Enough about pollytix.

Hope you’re enjoying the new year. It’s ridiculous that a man-made invention like calendar time has the power to transform people (more like resetting a computer with a virus) but it seems to help, a little.  New Year’s Day is a symbolic bullet in the head of the corpse of Xmas to assure it’s dead.

Blessings to my 3 readers of the non-sex posts and to the tens of people who read the dirty stuff. Here’s to more sex and filth in oh-nine.

Without ham or hope

Monday, 18 February 2008

Show me a poet and I’ll show you a shit. –A. J. Liebling

Five after midnight, 77 degree Florida winter. I’d finished manually saluting a beautiful fat woman in a norpographic video and the computer was off.

Now the machine is on again. Something won’t let go and from what little is known It’s not Great Art.

One of my previous mini-poems haunts me with its poor quality. I should destroy it, wipe it off the blog. I was insane with grief when I wrote it, tugging in desperation on the jacket of the ghost of Richard Brautigan, a writer I love whose work couldn’t outlive the infamy of his suicide.


I Feel Horrible. She Doesn’t

I feel horrible. She doesn’t
love me and I wander around
the house like a sewing machine
that’s just finished sewing
a turd to a garbage can lid.

My head aches like a pressurized cabin.

I keep forgetting to breathe which is good: breathing is a filthy habit.

Things will get worse before they get worser. Heh.

Whatever It is that started this idiotic post is now gone. It slunk out of here with no profound insights and I can yawn again, tired as tar. It’s almost 0100.

The highlight of the evening was jacking off to the norp vid of the sexy fat woman. It always is on these disgusting warm nights without ham or hope.