The Future's Slanted

As the United States bickers over petty black-white squabbles, Canada quietly creates the coming Eurasian super-race. "Multiculturalism" is the future of eugenics.

Britain Is Better

From an article on bookshelf etiquette:

The 'I'm desperate for a shag', male version

Must include prominent copies of The Golden Notebook and The Second Sex and any dreary rubbish by Ian McEwan lying around to show you are in touch with your sensitive side. Best to hide any well-thumbed copies of Belle du Jour and La Vie Sexuelle by Catherine M under the bed.

North American equivalent: prominent DVD copies of The Notebook and Sex and the City.

The Dark & The Hum

No one is waiting. The ideal messiah figurine only exists insofar as imagination dictates. You can get drunk or high on peyote and become Him, but that's as close as the stranger can get. The problem is the expectation. There is no one to expect. Love is an example. The concept of true love is a messiah complex. A messiah complex is the idea that perfection is out there, that the puzzle actually fits. If only. We settle, and then we retroactively make our settlement seem less like surrender and more like the terms of victory. Love is a false messiah. If you want a messiah/lover you have to twist/manipulate the object until it conforms to your preset specifications. Then you can pretend it was anything other than the subject of your own insomnia-inspired design. I fight solipsism but music at 3:24 AM is all the Other I have to subject to myself. Internal dialogue is the snake that eats itself. I twist my knuckles and stretch my muscles for redemption hallelujah but the facts remain. The Great Uncaring. If I were to say that salvation is in an altered state of consciousness I mean that there is no salvation outside of oneself. Since pricking the bonds of reality is tough without a flood of ancestor-endorsed chemicals, alcohol comes right in handy. I don't mean alcohol is salvation, but that salvation is sometimes accessible through the push and shove of a slap to the self-senses, often provided by an altered form of self. Sleep would be easier. God has blessed me with certain characteristics. Among these are painful self-awareness, a false messiah complex and ugliness. All are gifts in one altered state or another, so one altered state is another. If I scratch myself enough inspiration might come. In the meantime endless flagellation until sleepytime. I wish I could pretend this was meaningful but in fact it serves the function of mimicking meaning enough to give me a good night's sleep. Wisdom Almighty is slated to return shortly. The dark and the hum await, good night!

Thoughts Of Deletion

Burned all my notebooks, what good are notebooks?

The Death Of Michael Jackson

Who will think of the children?

As Above So Below

The urethra is the passageway to the stars.