Welome to the product of My Angry Snatch*
This part of my universe contains the greatest of my rantings and ramblings. Not intended for viewing by the weak at heart/soul/mind.
*For more information about the origin of "Angry Snatches," listen to Tori Amos. (Most specificly: "In the Springtime of His VooDoo" on the album Boys for Pele.) Soon, I will have links helping you accomplish this. Proceed with caution.
This area is under almost constant construction. Check back soon.
Red floating divinity in a coffee can. The bread box is watching silently. The monster that is my mind has exploded into an expensive array of unknowing rabbit fur. My finger hurts. I can't become a burrito supreme without sour cream. It oozes from the payphone with frightening speed. I don't believe my own nose, which knows the truth. The truth about lying. I live each day to bring toe jam to the world of refrigerator/freezers. A blooming sand-box in the sky. My car keys are missing. It was not my fault. It was my fault-line. A twitch can mean you're faulty. I think it means you're guilty. There is no reasonable excuse. My shoelace is untied. I can't reach it because it's somewhere else, but I'll trip on it none the less. Is there life on other planets? Is there life on our own? The pond scum is watching me. I know because of the smell. It smells like sour cream.
****SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE FOLLOWS****
its the kava-kava it was always the kava-kava you need kava-kava everyone loves kava-kava you cant live without kava-kava it is the key to everything kava-kava without it the world is a dreadful place kava-kava with it everything is okay kava-kava dont try this at home kava-kava written by a professional lunatic and kava-kava addict
******END SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE******
guess what else
i've discovered this cool button on my keyboard it's always been there but now i have found a use for it it does this:
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well it really does this ` but if you hold the shift key down it does this ~ and if you hold the shift key down and the ` key down at the same time for a long time it does this:
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shut up and puke my flattery you know you can't dew drop in little martian pastime theory
not if you expect to be a zamboni driver when the operation takes place mat on the table of contents
don't mention the question because i can't see the cannery from here anyway and if i could i don't kick the light on the trail of blasphemy
foogiefoogie was really a blank check but know how to tell mom the anger is revolting la bastille is falling like the sky walker in a rest-home with no old man to keep its toupee in place
i dont know when but point in time is now and later melting iron in your fiber diet.....make sense? does it really? then you scare the hell out of me.
the calendar that time forgot was wasting away inside a dirty lava lamp. i can be very non-linear when i want to be, but i can't seem to find the cotton balls on warm winter weekends when my nose starts to suffer blindness. sometimes i stay up late thinking about butter. i have warped my mind under indigent cows and laughing dalmatians. the itch is incredible and insatiable. that doesn't matter because i couldn't reach the itch with my twitching paradigm. that magic marker didn't stink nearly so bad when it was a small whale....in a past life perhaps....in a parallel dimension, under stars that weren't nearly as stationary as they seemed. the last time i saw my shoulder it was crying from the burdens of speculation, a talent i don't exercise nearly enough to fix all of it...all the dream sequences in the world can't deliver the goods on time. what do you do when the world around you falls up the stairs? do you then begin your quest for rubber cement? or ear wax build-up? or do you simply realize that what we call solutions are really pacifiers in the mouths of starving babies? a true solution will always shift its continuum until it becomes unrecognizable. how else would the problem have vanished? i don't know...i'm feeling testy...i'm extremely dissatisfied with the state of awareness that i find myself lurking in, even though no one really believes that i am here. i can't offer them what they call proof, but only because they won't specify what kind of proof they want....80 proof? water proof? proof proof proof aaaahhhhgg that's a weird word. saying it makes my face twist in a totally mental expulsion of lunacy. what was that theory? that postulate? that hypothesis? what was it again? see? you have already forgotten what we discussed last time. there's no sense in arguing; i had forgotten it before you. bee for ewe...that must sting a little. i remember the littles on saturday morning cartoons. they had tails. i thought that meant the CIA was tailing them. i was jealous. no one was tailing me. everything was failing me. i once got over the aftershock of delving into my psyche, but my universe stopped expanding. then i ran out of air. a spasm of space and time greeted me at the entrance to aslkfghjakll. it denied me access. so here i am.
I keep my soul under my pillow. There it remains safe, warm and, most importantly, concealed and untouched by the world. After all, it is far too important to take with me everywhere. What if I lost it? What if it got dirty? What if it wore out and no longer functioned properly? I don't know that I could find a replacement soul.
My refrigerator must really suck. I've got nothing in it to nurish my mind and soul. You can't buy the things I need at Super Wal-mart. It seems the supplies that I have on hand are inaccessible.
I'm well read...I AM!!! When I find myself in the midst of solitude, there is a tid-bit for every occassion. Poe, Shakespeare, Byron, Emerson, Ginsberg...all of the classics. It seems that my solitude sustains itself in a manner with which I am unfamiliar. As long as I have no intrusions of minds outside of my own, (I have several minds of my own by the way) I am brilliant.
I have a mind for love and compassion, but it gets me in a lot of trouble.
I have a mind for science, but it tries to take the mystery out of life.
I have a mind for creative lunacy that may or may not be well placed, but I have little control over it.
I have a mind that plays normal from day to day, but it is the window to my aggrivated soul; the facade has become numbing, and I find that I hate the control that I have over me when I am coping with the World by existing peacefully beside it.
There is no place for right or wrong when nothing and everything continually plagues me. We have a choice don't we? Is it expression with or without consequence? or is it inexpression with AND without consequence? I can emphasize NoThInG and yet it says so much about me.
Let me think for a minute......
When that minute is up, am I supposed to share that thought or thought process?
It wasn't relavent, but niether am I any more. All I can do right now is refuse to censor whatever mind seeks to be seen. *your guess is as good as mine*
I just want to know what the point was supposed to be when I started this thing...when I tell myself, I'll let you know.
I'm still fleeing...fleeing what I don't know, but the chase is intense. Eventually it will close in on me and swallow me whole. Maybe then I'll re-emerge, like a post-metamorphic butterfly. Drying my wings and spending the rest of my life dodging windsheilds on the information super-highway. Or maybe I was just bored.
I had this insatiable urge to go...to go where? I studied the hallway intently, and noticed a lit doorway at the end. It was the middle of the night, and a deep chill had settled in on the unbelievably large yet podunk town in which I live my meager life. I rose, and began walking toward the light. I knew I had to get there fast, or I'd no longer need to be there. So close to me...each step was a painful reminder of this enigmatic task at hand. The shadows played their shadow games, taking on an out-of-place depth.
Upon reaching the lit doorway, I hesitated. Was I really sure that I wanted to do this? The consequences were, after all, a bit unsavory.
I felt ashamed. Any shred of adventurous spirit had fled, and I returned, unfulfilled, to my room and to the restless nature that awaited me there.
After all, eating late at night always gives me heartburn.
� 1999-2000 Lisa E. Stratton
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