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Already planning a hunger strike against the inhumane draconian right winger/neoliberal gun bans. Gun control is also one of the worst forms of torture. Without guns/weapons its like merely existing and not living.

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Dream a Little Dream with Dok

Started by Doktor Howl, October 18, 2011, 05:31:20 PM

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Doktor Howl

I'm having one of those times again.  Doubling the dose of my Lorazapam, to flog my brain into not dreaming, or at least not allowing me to remember whether or not I dream.  And while these times are fairly conducive to productive writing, they aren't exactly a treat, if you know what I mean.  So here I sit with my bones melting, and the room a little...off at the corners.

It wasn't like this, back in the day.  Things were better then, life was simpler.  There was not a mountain of stress on my shoulders, while people with skewed faces jam their heads in my office and screech gibberish about artificial deadlines and bellow their incomprehension concerning why it takes so long to troubleshoot a problem.

Fuck them.  They're a bad dream, bad signal from an alternate universe where some stupid fucking Texan set the national tone for a decade, and all anyone can talk in is absolutes.  Not like our world, you and I, where people are reasonable most of the time, and people hardly ever get their arses kicked by the cops for no reason, or just disappear.  

Somehow, I've fallen into THIS future, though, and every night I am pursued by the sculpted horse from the legal district...and on his back is Benjamin Franklin, breathing fire and screaming indictments at me, while little dolls with their stomachs stitched together run alongside singing some Elton John Song.  I'm pretty sure it's Burn Down the Mission.

I think Pushkin wrote a poem about this, once.  But it doesn't really fit, because I haven't lost a loved one, so maybe it's just coincidence.  There's a lot of coincidence floating around these days, here in America, where everything is beginning to look like Coney Island.  Rusted, cheap, dismal, and run down.  She's an old whore, America, and no, she's not the one with a heart of gold.  Her heart is more a giant pile of shit, cold shit with undigested bits of The Dream embedded in it.

Anyway, those clanging bronze hoof beats chase me every night, while Franklin screams out his questions and his indictments..."ARE YOU HAPPY, NOW?", "WE RISKED OUR NECKS FOR THIS?", "WHY DO YOU CRAWL?  ARE YOU A MAN?", that sort of thing.  And I flee, not out of fear of the horse's hooves, but to escape that old man's never-ending condemnation of me and the nation I live in.

That nation IS Coney Island, you know...A rusted old joke that somehow still attracts people, long after it had anything worthwhile – or even fun – for them.  There's a hundred year habit involved, and no matter how awful it is, people keep going... in the hopes that one day it will be shiny and bright and magical, like it used to be in some mythical time that never really happened except in the blurred minds of the very elderly.  So they wander the midway, trying to smile in the midst of the squalor.

Then the dream changes, and I'm up to my knees in snow, back in Newfoundland...Back in the 70s, the golden years of that unhappy province.  My dad is trying to get that piece of shit Volvo going, and I am  happy in the knowledge that by now he CAN'T get it going, and he'll spend the day with me and my brother.

That having been established, we get on the city's only bus, to go down to what passes for a museum.  On the way there, on the treacherous Barnes Hill, the driver takes his hands off the wheel, and turns to us.  My father sees nothing wrong with this, and says, "Hi, Ben!".

Ben Franklin leers at me, and says "See?  You were born free.  You had a good childhood...An excellent one, in fact.  A first rate education, followed by experience in arms and shady stuff that every gentleman should experience..."

His face distorts, the mouth stretching impossibly wide.  "...SO WHY AREN'T YOU FREE?", he roars, with breath like Dresden and Tokyo and Nagasaki.

My father laughs at the joke, as the bus careens out of control toward the harbor.  "We're going to crash!" I scream.

"Damn right you are, you little shit.", Ben laughs, "What the hell did you THINK was going to happen?  You honestly didn't see this coming?  Are you a FOOL?"

And then the bus hits the water and begins to flood.  My dad won't get us out...He keeps talking, instead, about how I must always be careful on Barnes Road, because it's even dangerous when you walk down it in the wintertime, because it's icy and slippery and, "The trick, you see, the great trick, is to never lose your nerve."

And I wake up as I begin to drown in the frigid water, as the last air pocket fills up.  The last thing I hear is my father, who tells me this is all probably stress related.

Then I take another pill and go back to sleep, hoping that I'll get 3 hours of half-ass sleep.

I am typically disappointed.

Okay for now,
Dok
Molon Lube

LMNO

Aw, hell. 



We have seen the abyss, and it is us.

Juana

Wow. Really, really vivid and a little bit unnerving because you're right. It is Coney Island, decrepit and full of dark corners with nasty stories to tell, and all the park's docents really do is keep visitors away from there and maybe re-chrome a couple of the rides and the railings. But even that's half-assed and it peels right off if you scrub at it a little.
"I dispose of obsolete meat machines.  Not because I hate them (I do) and not because they deserve it (they do), but because they are in the way and those older ones don't meet emissions codes.  They emit too much.  You don't like them and I don't like them, so spare me the hysteria."

Luna

Death-dealing hormone freak of deliciousness
Pagan-Stomping Valkyrie of the Interbutts™
Rampaging Slayer of Shit-Fountain Habitues

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."

Quote from: The Payne on November 16, 2011, 07:08:55 PM
If Luna was a furry, she'd sex humans and scream "BEASTIALITY!" at the top of her lungs at inopportune times.

Quote from: Nigel on March 24, 2011, 01:54:48 AM
I like the Luna one. She is a good one.

Quote
"Stop talking to yourself.  You don't like you any better than anyone else who knows you."

Payne

Quote from: Luna on October 18, 2011, 06:20:46 PM
Shit, Dok... 

Yeah! Shit everywhere.

They all deserve it and it's what Ben really wants.

Might even improve the look of the place.

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

Sometimes you wake up and find that you live in the Denver airport.

No wait, that isn't quite right.

Sometimes you wake up and your lungs are collapsing and your head feels like a truck (a real one with a steel frame) and before you fully regain consciousness you're already angry even though you can't remember why.

And then you realize that you live in the Denver airport, and the fucking train is always going around and around like a Matterhorn ride, chiming its little tune at all the stops, and the horse... oh god. The horse.
"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


Doktor Howl

#6
Please come to Denver with the snowfall
We'll move up into the mountains so far that we can't be found
And throw "I love you" echoes down the canyon
And then lie awake at night till they come back around
Please come to Denver
She said no, boy, would you come home to me

And she said, hey ramblin' boy, why don't you settle down
Denver ain't your kind of town
There ain't no gold and there ain't nobody like me
I'm the number one fan of the man from Tennessee


Or words to that effect.  I think.

Molon Lube

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

Between Bluecifer and fucking Anubis, a girl can't get any good sleep around here. Not to mention the cheery chimes every time the train doors open.

CHEERY

CHEERY

CHEERY

CHIMES.
"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


Doktor Howl

Quote from: Nigel on October 18, 2011, 06:59:00 PM
Between Bluecifer and fucking Anubis, a girl can't get any good sleep around here. Not to mention the cheery chimes every time the train doors open.

CHEERY

CHEERY

CHEERY

CHIMES.

But at least the train is on time, yes?  And that's important, so you can get where they're taking you you're going in a reasonable amount of time.  And, when you get there, work makes you free.  In the comfort and safety of your own home, to the pale glow of the television that tells you just how lucky you are to be smothered in debt, because you're a good American, a fine American, unlike those filthy, perverted America-haters that fill out streets and our parks bitterly complaining that somehow, someone fucked them.

But you and I both know it's their own fault, because they didn't get on the train.

ALLLLLLLL ABOARD!

Choo choo!
Molon Lube

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

The train just goes round and round, Dok. I'm starting to think there's something really wrong with this place. I don't remember going to bed last night but I woke up angry. And there are some kind of sigils in the floor, embedded right in it.

I don't know why they had to put Anubis there. He's gone now, but he's still there, staring, and the horse just looks angrier and angrier. I can't even look outside anymore.
"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


Mesozoic Mister Nigel

"I'm guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk," Charles Wick said. "It was very complicated."


Doktor Howl

Quote from: Nigel on October 18, 2011, 07:04:02 PM
The train just goes round and round, Dok. I'm starting to think there's something really wrong with this place. I don't remember going to bed last night but I woke up angry. And there are some kind of sigils in the floor, embedded right in it.

I don't know why they had to put Anubis there. He's gone now, but he's still there, staring, and the horse just looks angrier and angrier. I can't even look outside anymore.

What's to see outside?  An angry Egyptian God?  A cat?  Those people walking?  Sometimes you see things you don't want to see, like that one time at the courthouse (BUENO!), so when the universe closes the windows, maybe it's for the best.  You can still look - I try to - but you have nobody else to blame when you see shit you don't really want to process.

Sometimes, it's your SO making out with someone else.  Sometimes, it's the guy you apprenticed to, looking just as good as he did when he was alive to look at.  Sometimes it's the sideways people, with their noses pressed to the glass, which makes you jump 3 feet in the fucking air.

Better to do what you have to do, until they go away.  Most times, they go away after you've had some good sleep, but sometimes – if you're unlucky – they stay.  And then there's a series of visits with the doctors that try to smile, try to explain to you that these cases that come on acute and late in life, there's only so much they can do, and that's why it's best not to go to those doctors.  They have no answers, they tell you that you're sick, but how could you not be sick in an insane world that displays all the moral qualities of a weasel with paint stripper on its nipples?

In the daytime, I can focus on tasks, that usually keeps the spiders out of my head.  At night time, though, at night time, I have to listen to Frank Sinatra, who said "Music, bourbon, pills, whatever gets you through the night".  So you stay awake as long as you can, and then smash yourself in the face with those pills, those wonderful pills, and sometimes they even work, and you can be Mister Roboto the next day, and nobody notices.  Your secret is safe for one more horrible day.
Molon Lube

Doktor Howl

Weird board outage has slain my pill-induced mood.

Maybe more tomorrow.
Molon Lube

The Rev


P3nT4gR4m

I can't help thinking that your enemy is hope. Hope for this fast-sinking clusterfuck they call "civilisation". Hope that it'll all work out in the end. Hope that things will get better.

It's a trainwreck, Dok, and my advice is give up on it. Now. Abandon hope. Bury your optimism or, better yet, stop digging it out and it'll get buried by itself under the mountain of shit that's piling up around every good citizen's ears.

It's easy to hang onto hope. Just like a real trainwreck, everything seems fine if you just don't look out the front window. Look out the sides and everything seems fine. Stare at the pretty landscape flying past and you can believe you're going to to reach your destination, safe and sound. Right up even after the first car leaves the rails. Just don't look forward and it'll all be fine until it's too late.

Fuck that shit. I'll enjoy the buffet car while it's here but I'm under no illusions. I'm ready to jump. I'm ready to watch the whole thing go up in a tower of burning wreckage. Truth be told I'm looking forward to it. Buffet is over priced and tastes like crap anyway.

Newsflash - Americatm is sinking. Get ready to swim for it.

I'm up to my arse in Brexit Numpties, but I want more.  Target-rich environments are the new sexy.
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Awful and Bent Behemothic Results of Last Night's Painful Squat.
High Altitude Haggis-Filled Sex Bucket From Beyond Time and Space.
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walking the fine line line between genius and batshit fucking crazy

"computation is a pattern in the spacetime arrangement of particles, and it's not the particles but the pattern that really matters! Matter doesn't matter." -- Max Tegmark