Some shorts

Posted on January 21, 2012 by walrus

Looking for Chief

Twelve dodos in a basket, where is the fun/
on the run, in the streets/
eating beets/
looking for Chief

Are you awake now/
under a different sun/
looking for eyes of glass/
among a confused mass

Look to ruin/
look to defeat/
you have been beat/
you will never find Chief

But then those eyes/
thinly veiled hate in disguise/
looking right through/
you

Speaks the dodos at last/
in your past/
never have you lost Chief/
and now you have only grief

Look to the eyes/
see their lies/
they belong to a dog-catcher/
match her cunning and reclaim Chief

 

Go ahead

Lock, stock and reload.
We have now achieved total control.
Looking around, it is abundantly clear,
that our future is here.
And even while it is quite hard to fathom,
why it would be so that unless you go -
you cannot be saved.

So to compare our cause to yours is unwise.
Only winners get to choose their lies.
In the end nothing will remain of your culture,
might or history.
This is our story.

The abolishment of you has begun.
All that you have done, will be undone.
In olden times, this would be called:
occupation, colonialization, annihilation.
We prefer to call it:
globalization through modernization.

 

Posted in Moronity | Tagged | Leave a comment

Churning butter in your mind

Posted on January 11, 2012 by walrus

Do your disco in the ‘hood,
chillin’ with dem mole rats.
Masterin’ your dreams,
eating only cake – will
undoubtedly make you fat.

Monkey tree, monkey wheel.
Have a good look now, see?
We do not come in colours,
we come in shapes and
sized for your appetite, live
among cacti in a maze.

Amazed only if you ever set
foot in these parts stranger.
Could you help my poor dog?
He just went past like a little
bolt of lightning, carryin’ in his
mouth a small sack of coins
for the newly departed.

Always saving souls one miner
at a time, lookin’ out for a
way to find out why, oh why
would you ever want to be
in a tree playin’ your arts?

Pasty, cookin’ over the dreams
of a silent cryin’ pig, blowing
his great nose in a pink hankie.
He won’t get a bite, he is mean
and evil. But inside, he is just
another me.

Have you come to raise the
dead from their slumber?
Have you come to see the
geese tendin’ to lumber -
mills or thrills, but get off
those damn pills.

For the dead sleep not in
numbers of silence and dirt.
We eat the things that hurt -
casting away all resemblance
of sanity, a social construct.
Like you and me.
Eternity.
And another word that
rhymes with free.

Someone give that squirrel
a nut. But make it dark,
roasted red to run with the
story of your newly dead.

 

Posted in Madness | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Creature

Posted on December 24, 2011 by walrus

In the darkness it lurked, waiting patiently. Hardly matter for how long, for when it finally would encounter its prey, it would move swiftly and with those terrible mandibles crush both bone and soul alike. It had waited for some time, for moss had slowly started to creep up its chitinous plate. That hardly mattered, for it had patience.

This was an old and abandoned structure that it had chosen as its waiting place. There were signs of thick and once lush carpets on what would once have been a stone floor. Now it played home to a thick, slimy growth that extended from somewhere around the creature’s base and into the area beyond that, we could think of as its lair. There were dark wooden lumps in the room, formed in an almost haphazard manner. Had it brought them there? Had it formed those piles, were grayish white bones shone through occasionally? What purpose did they serve? The growth was slowly covering them too and the creature could feel nutrients pulsate along it. A rat here, an errant bug there. But it craved something bigger, something sentient, for its last meal had been a rather long time ago.

Time, that was one thing it could not comprehend the same way we do. To it, all things happened in a blur. Some things had happened before things that would, in a conventional sense, have happened after. There was prey here, close to its lair. But there was also a lack of prey, with it and its prey seeming to wander down the old and damp passages of its lair. Three prey walked through each other under an archway. Somewhere in time, it was and would be right now hearing the pleasant sounds of a skull cracking between its mandibles, with soggy content running into its mouth and a pleasing gargle from the now limp body causing it a familiar rush of memories from a dark and hot cave somewhere deep underground, where nutritious water carried the sweet sugary taste of sacrificial blood to it and its brethren. There was a man standing above the pool, pouring succulent sacrifice to the Holy Ones. It thought, albeit not in the conventional sense, that it might too have been once one and would soon be one for a little while longer.

The pleasant snapping of bone and the screams of a young man being snagged into the depths of its lair, sobbing and clawing at the slime, the walls and the floor, while the broken body of his date was dragged along with him, awoke its attention and it rose slightly. The mandibles were soon wet with fluids again. The sobbing and shrieks of terror went on long, so very long, but still, they had not yet begun. It had now a bloated underbelly and it could feel things squirm and move inside, somewhere in the darkness. This could have been worrying, but it had no use for such, seeming to lack higher cognitive skills. It knew that it was already dead, with its spawn having burst out from between the soft flesh between its chitinious plates, but it also knew that it had not even yet had that chance encounter with a potential mate, all those thousands of years ago. It had dragged the squirming thing into its lair, in a deep and lush jungle somewhere that could have been north or could have been east. Prey was abundant in those days. And would be again. The other of its kind had tried to wiggle free and tried to force it down. A lengthy battle, where it would triumph and mate, leaving the other wounded and full with tiny seedlings that would one day hatch and be birthed violently through its flesh. It knew some form of glee at the other remaining trapped in its lair, with the mark of its victory slowly tearing it up inside, spreading the madness that birthed its ancestors and seeded them in the future.

The lair lay now silent, with only a miasma that rivalled an open mass grave on a hot summer’s day. Only there were no flies and there was no light. Even the soft glow of the slime had dimmed, as if sucked away by the crawling and creeping little horrors that would in an hour or two erupt form their host-father. In a million seconds or so, they would have torn to shred all the weak ones and soon glide forwards on half a dozen legs, seeking the priests who would nurture them in the holy pool. And as the new brood would rise from the bottomless caves under the sacred mountain, the old men would gather to tell their chieftains of the blood that must be spilled and of the sacrifices that must be made, for the horrors could not die and thus, must have eternal life, until death itself would die. The skull crunched pleasantly between its mandibles and the creature, was to an extent quite content.

Posted in Madness | Tagged | Leave a comment

Sneaky update from class!

Posted on November 8, 2011 by walrus

Very sneaky and completely pointless! Bwahhahaha!

Posted in Moronity | Tagged | Leave a comment

Around the times of distant futures

Posted on October 27, 2011 by walrus

It is not unlikely, that one might go mad from moving. However, that is not the case, so let us not discuss it.

Instead, let us remember that there are people in the world, eating that cheese, dancing those dances and there is nothing you can do to stop them from eating your profitability as well. Now, in darker times, you would get a pitchfork, in modern times you stand by some buildings and holler slogans. I am not championing a return to a more brutal age – no, since we never left it, but instead calling you all a bunch of wankers.

And talking about wankin’, you all know where this is goin’.

Around the time a third llama does appear, one shall stand in the shadows of Mt. Shibibabodelobeloo and ponder good times, bad times and other terrible atrocities in the name of music. Or your own personal soul, assuming you haven’t started hi-fiving Satan every time you pass him on the shore. A great man.
But I digress towards the egress, which all things considered, is more or less yogurt. It doesn’t matter that trees wave and sway in the cold late autumn air, my eyes are heavy and my mind is weary. Summarizin’ my plight against our mechanical overlords, I too must attempt to feed more kittens. It is not always easy to remember, what remarkable things can happen to one who takes care of his shoes.

Stay frosty y’all, winter’s comin’.

Posted in Informative | Tagged | Leave a comment

She Who Holds the Truth

Posted on May 13, 2011 by walrus

The encampment was vast. On the outside it was surrounded by tall mesh wire fences with barbed wire on top. A handful of heavily guarded gates led in and out of the place, with machine gun towers guarding the long stretches of the fence. The encampment has an airstrip, machine shops, a hospital and its own water powered power generator, which supplies the place with electricity. Tall, sour and very tense men inhabited the encampment. Their boots were black, even in all this dust and sand. And their uniforms a dark grey that reminds you of a large burrowed spider, waiting to strike. Officers wore hats, privates wore metal helmets, painted a dull grey. Their eyes were hard and their faces showed no sign of ever having known mirth. They believed their cause was just. They believed it to be the truth. They had killed for it and would do so again. This was to be their finest hour.

Large military vehicles rumbled past on the dusty road between tent rows. I peeked outside and was immediately awarded with a strike from my owner’s whip.
“Stay inside the tent” she muttered in her harsh and unforgiving language and returned to her report. I obediently did so.
My owner, as I thought of her, was a middle-aged blond woman. Quite tall, with shoulder length hair and a very cruel disposition. Owner was the most fitting word I could think of. Slavery and something associated to that would have been more truthful, but I knew that one slip of my tongue would indeed cost me that very tongue, so I merely referred to her as my owner, to avoid such a fate.
My job was to keep her tent clean, to cook her meals and to prepare her equipment. I was even let to handle live ammunition. Not that that did me any good. There was nowhere to escape and to attempt to take out a couple of these bastards before they’d kill me seemed like a waste of my life.

The country’s war machine had rolled out over my homeland some years ago. I had heard they had invaded other nations too. Far away countries in far away places. In my hometown they first executed the members of our regional council and set up their own. After a few months they started rounding up people and taking them to collective farms. In spring people were taken from those farms and sent to camps up in the mountains. I had never heard of anyone who would have returned from one.
My imprisonment was due to an accidental injury sustained by an low level officer who tripped and fell on my land when he stepped into a pothole. I was sentenced to “corrective work” and given to the woman who now owns me. That was two years ago. In the time after, I had learned to speak their language to an extent.

In the time that has passed, the great war machinery of these people have rolled out over the continent and subdued many free nations. With my owner, I have travelled quite far. I don’t know where this hell-blasted shit-hole we are currently in is even on the map, but what does it matter. My owner keeps telling me that once they war is over, once they have won and created the perfect state, then people like me will be let to live in the outskirts of that great nation. Our task will be to create supplies and to service them in great factory cities. Long ago, when I first heard of this new world, I decided that I’d rather die than be made to serve under another one of these bastards.

It was in the hottest days of summer, when news started to spread amongst my captors. Word was that their war effort had been repelled in the east and forces opposing them were gathering in the west. Anxiety started to spread. One soldier hit me hard when I walked too slow in front of him. Another threw a rock after me. I didn’t mind. I was intrigued by this new development. Among the other slaves word was spreading as well. Mostly wild speculations and rumors, but I was sure there was some truth to it.
Then the wounded started arriving. Soldiers from battlefields in the region, who had been hit hard by opposing forces. Soon the anxiety was gone, having been replaced with fear and uncertainty. And one day I overheard my owner getting a phone call, telling her that the Grand Temple in their capitol city had been bombarded and their clergy had been killed. She started drinking hard and whipped me more than usual. I started to formulate a plan.

There was another officer who visited my owner quite frequently. She too was tall and blond, but her face was set into a permanent snarl and her eyes were cold. She wore a colonel’s insignia and would sometimes give sermons to my owner. I had not seen her since the rumors started, but one day she came to visit in the middle of the day and took me away with her.
She didn’t say a word as I walked obediently after her between the tents, towards the main cluster of building that served as offices and living quarters for the higher ups. Once we came to the yard that lay in the middle of the buildings she stopped, turned around and spoke.
“You are to do as following” her blue eyes flashed as she spoke.
“Inside this building is a containment cell, in which you will find a person. You are to talk to that person and to find out if she has forgiven me. That is all.”
I stood there, looking at her a bit stupefied as the hot ray’s of the sun burned my neck. The yellow dust swirled around our feet and from somewhere far away the sound of gunfire erupted.
“Go! You have not much time! I have divined into this, you must find the answer for me!”
On wooden legs I made my way towards the house, feeling confused at her words but even moreso at the panic that had been creeping into her voice and that was plainly written in her eyes. This was not the person I had understood she was. Before I could ponder this more, I stepped inside the building and was halted by the eerie silence inside.
A man sat slumped in the chair by the reception desk. I could see that he had been crying. Infront of him was a gun, a bottle and a small prayer book. When I stepped inside he looked up at me and shook his head.
“Death penalty for entering” he muttered and raised his gun at me, but then let it fall back onto the table. “What does it matter anymore… go wherever you damn please you cancerous vermin.”
I took a few tentative steps forwards and inquired about the location of the cell. His head jerked up and his eyes widened. His whole body started to shake and his voice was splintered as he spoke.
“Has the Blood Maiden sent you to deliver? I cannot believe that this has all come to be. That all was for naught” tears streamed down his face as he spoke.
His head sank into his hands and he started to sob quietly as I waited for him to continue.
“How could this be? We were on the right path, on the right way to paradise… All we had to do was to create harmony and the perfect world would be ours!”
I told him that I did not know what he spoke of, but if his perfect world ment people dying and suffering, then it didn’t sound so perfect to me.
“No, you wouldn’t understand. You cannot understand! You are inferior, broken, imperfect!” He howled and threw the bottle at me, which I quickly caught and helped myself to a sip, feeling rejuvenated by all this confusion and chaos.
My words were simple, telling of pain and suffering, of families torn apart, of injustices done, of murder committed to those who were innocent and when I finished I picked up his little prayer book and showed it to him with the following words:
“You consider yourself a man of faith? Well, I too share the same faith, but would not recognize you in it, were I ever to meet you in a temple”
At my words, he sobbingly raised the gun to his head. “I’m sorry” he whispered and ended it all. The gun fell to the floor, from where I picked it up, pocketed it and continued onwards with the bottle, the prayerbook and a set of keys I found hanging next to the door on the wall. Otherwise the building seemed deserted. A large explosion somewhere outside shook the walls briefly and showered me in plaster, but I pressed on.

After some searching, I found a cellar of sort. It was a dank and musty place, which seemed unreal in all this heat. Cold water dripped down the walls and fungus and rot was slowly spreading out over much of its surface. The cells were not empty. There were people inside. Unfortunately, or luckily for them – I couldn’t tell, they were all dead. Upon closer inspections, it seemed that they had all been tortured to death. I felt repulsed by what I saw down in that pit and quickened my pace, trying to find the cell I had been sent to find. “It seemed as if even the rats have left” I thought for myself and opened a heavy iron door at the back of the pit. Behind was a room, with a table and an assortment of equipment my mind was immediately busy trying to figure out the purpose for, while my sense of self-preservation lay sobbing in the depths of me. A small holding cell, with metal bars was also in the room. Inside the cell was a person, huddled on the floor in excrement.
The person seemed to be a small woman from the world’s easternmost islands. She was dressed in a filthy loincloth, with a large metal collar around her neck. Otherwise she was naked and most obviously missing her arms at the shoulders. It looked as if they had been amputated with a rusty saw or some-such, for the scar tissue was a mess. This must have happened quite long ago, since the wounds at her shoulders had healed, but the wounds all over her body hadn’t. My guess was that someone had quite recently amputated her breasts as well – probably with the same rusty saw. The wounds were fresh, inflamed and leaking puss. Had I a lunch to vacate, I would have done so, but instead I took a few steps towards the woman, who raise her head to look in my direction and yelled in the language of my owner a perfectly sensible litany of profanities at me. This was when I noticed that she lacked eyes. Someone had sown large flaps of skin over her eyes in a very crude fashion.
“I’m not with them”
She spat in my direction
“No, really, I have been a slave under one of their officers”
“Why are you here?”
“I was told to come ask if you have forgiven someone”
“Who sent you?”
“The Blood Maiden” At that she spat again.
“I’ll let you out, I have the key” I continued before she could reply.
“Something is happening to the base, there might be a chance to escape”
“Escape where?”
“I don’t know”
“Death is all I want”
“I could shoot you now if you wanted me to?” She shook her head at that.
“Take me to the Blood Maiden, I want to talk to her”
I opened her cell and gently tried to lead her out of the pit.

After a long while we emerged from the building. The Blood Maiden was waiting outside still. Dust now covered her long overcoat, turning it into a black-grey mess. She gasped as she saw the woman and yelled at me.
“Why have you brought her here? Why didn’t you do as I instructed you to!” Her hand went for her gun, but I pulled mine first.
“Now. Drop that and start talking” I ventured in a calm voice, while pointing the gun at her. “What is the meaning of this and what purpose has torturing this woman served?”
“She, she…”
“What are you people trying to accomplish here?”
“We… I… I have divined that this encampment shall be destroyed if we cannot unlock the truth. If Ayna there is willing to give me the truth, this shall be the turning point of our efforts! We shall drive back all opposition and free the world from war forever!” She cried out.
I shook my head and showed her the prayerbook.
“I found this with a man inside, who shot himself. Quite some following you got going here”
“Religion is for the weak!” She snarled.
“And your grand temple?”
“We are building a new religion! One based on truth and power!”
I shook my head again.
“And this you will reach by doing… this?” I pointed at the woman she had called Ayna, who had been silent through the entire exchange.
“I saw it in my divining! She is the key to changing history!” The Blood Maiden cried out, defiantly.
“How?”
“You couldn’t possibly understand!”
“You are right, I couldn’t. I am not a monster like you.”
“What do you know of monsters!” Her voice was trembling with anger
“Enough” Ayna spoke. “Shoot her and let us be gone from this place”
Her words made the Blood Maiden jerk around to face her.
“No, no…” She muttered. “We are so close to achieving everything we have fought for…”
Gunfire erupted in the distance and the ground was shook by mortar fire.
“I have foreseen this” She continued. “The land shall burn with napalm and no trace of us shall remain” A feverish look came over her face.
“Quickly! Follow me to the dam! There is still a way out!”
I looked at Ayna, uncertain what to do. She shrugged and nodded. “Let’s go. If she tries anything, kill her”
We started walking. Soldiers were running towards the gates and no one seemed to pay us any attention. We passed my owner’s tent and I called out for the others to stop. I darted inside the tent, quickly. My owner was pouring over maps, talking frantically on her phone and giving out commands. But she was alone. I called out her name, she looked up in surprise and I fired my gun into her face at close range. The back of her skull erupted over the tent canvas and her head slammed into the table. A look of shock played over her face as I left. Outside I told the others to move again.

We arrived finally at the dam. Someone had shut off the water and the ramp leading down into the depths of the ground was no longer flooded. People had been gathering here, some I recognized as other slaves, some were soldiers. They had been stripped of their weapons and were being thrown into the ramp, bound and gagged.
“What is going on?” I asked a man I knew.
“We are going to use the ramp to escape. We’ll partly open the floodgate and ride the water down into the tunnel and out to sea” he told me. Someone recognized the Blood Maiden and people started shouting for her blood. I grinned, waved my gun in the air and told them to go ahead. She screamed as they dragged her away, tied her up and threw her into the ramp. I helped Ayna down into the tunnel along with the other escaping slaves. Makeshift rafts awaited us at the bottom and the gate to the underground tunnel had been opened. We got on board, someone upstairs opened the floodgate and the great waters came rushing down the ramp. Before the deafening roar took away all sound from the world, I could hear the bombardment begin overhead. The Blood Maiden’s scream as the waters washed over her and started to fill her lungs was the last thing I heard before the waters washed us all away.

Posted in Dreams | Tagged | Leave a comment

At the Court of His Highness

Posted on April 14, 2011 by walrus

Said King Cake to his loyal subjects: “Indeed ’tis the time of peril. We must build a stronger kingdom, another new land of keys and key-like objects”
Spoke his loyal chamberlain, Lord Whatsyourface:
“Me liege, surely we can fight them on the beaches, in the air, never eat another salad, never see another rock. In the immortal words of the bald one; Jawbreaker?”
“Surely you jest!” Cried out the town crier, for that was his job.
“How could we ever see the great skies of gold, unless we spoke true of aim, purpose and thought?” He coughed. “Has it not been declared in the golden pantaloons, that we as a people are far superior to everyone else? For King and Country, we shall hold the grandest bake-sellout in the history of forever and hereafter?”
Nodded the King, his mind deep in sleep, for these conversations bored him so.
“Hush” Spoke the royal maid “For his highness is dreaming of more vivid things”
She curtsied at the throne and tried to ushered all of them out of the royal hall.
“We must hold true and remember that he is an old man, with no heir. We mustn’t worry him so, or you’ll feel the back of my hand, this I swear!” Her words came off harsher than she had hoped and she blushed slightly.
“But indeed!” Spoke the knave, who was off his rocker again. “The heir lives and there is nothing stopping him from taking over after his father”
This comment caused a lot of hubbub in the court. People were fanning themselves with small white and black fans something ferocious, others plain out fainted – lords and ladies alike. But most of the ladies only did it for show, for they wanted to know where this was going.
“I do say” said the Chamberlain, quite unsure of what to say. “There is no need to make such allegations about our sire!” He made a face and rested his head on his majesty’s feet.
“Indeed we are the perfect people! The perfect land! Our merit is far and deep, like the ocean and the sand! Our rule will be eternal, with a helping of extra wax every day of the sun!” After all this chatter, he fell silent, unsure how to continue.
“Indeed not!” Cried out the town crier, who had been elevated to the position of Mayor by his sleeping royal highness. “We are of a singular built, with forces to match! Our prowess shall be beyond words, as we bring salvation to savages far and wide, bringing the wisdom of his highness to all!”
“Piss poor!” Yelled the royal maid, who had been promoted to Rear-Admiral by a random fluke. “We shall never set sail to foreign shores, for our evil must not spread!” At that moment she was made a duke (or duchess, as it is – surely you know this?)
“I do declare” said the jester, who had until now been hiding under the crown. “Unless you all have something intelligent to say, nay – unless you have something intelligent to do!” He chuckled at his own wit. “You mustn’t argue so!”
“He is quite right” mumbled the Duchess. “And that’s quite a fright!” She hurriedly darted off to see her duchy and made a mental note of seeing all these fools quartered and hung.
“Such insolence!” Cried the Mayor and helped himself to another sugar coated tree house. “Understand ye not, that in this knot, the only thing between insanity and vanity is our faith! Our drive to be great! Our seeking of the heavenly mandate, attempting to grasp the threads of fate!”
But his voice was cut off by a sharp cry, which became a burbling sound. Coughing soon followed, with a few wheezes and finally an audible sigh. For the King had stood up and crushed his neck with his golden scepter. The court drew back, whispering to each other.
The King looked angrily around, his white beard a mess, his royal hat at an unconventional angle, his grandfatherly face red with anger and sweat dripping down his temples.
“How many times” He finally spoke, in a slow ragged voice, chest heaving. “Must I say! That I cannot stand! Such lazy wit!” And with those words he fell back onto his throne.
“Lord Whatsyourface?”
“Sire?” Came the answer.
“Find me another Mayor and Maid!”

Posted in Madness | Tagged | Leave a comment

Battle avians

Posted on April 13, 2011 by walrus

Heavy artillery fire fills the air. Eagles swoop in, cluster bombs explode. These are the dying grounds, where majestic eagles crash and burn, where hawks burst into flame and trail fire across the sky. Penguins waddle forth, tommy guns singing and cigars in beak. Robins aim, fire and reload, sending mortars over their heads. Owls hoot out their commands, sending bluebirds forwards to their death. An army of sparrows dart back and forth on the field, carrying away the wounded to the ravens and magpies. Giving out last rites and patching wounds, they slave away, while the screams of the dying echo around.
A thunderous roar sends a swarm of missiles into a dodo tank battalion. Swans hi-five each other and reload the missile battery, while ducks with heavy rocket launchers pick of stragglers. Turkeys in machine-gun nests  battle geese in humvees. Chicken snipe off fleeing falcons.

A lone vulture listens in as his ostriches and emus report in. He buries his face in his feathers, picks up the phone and gives the order.
With calm wings, he picks up the bottle, takes a drink and sends his officers away. He takes another drink while the sound of retreat blares out across the battlefield. A great shadow darkens his tent and he raises the gun to his head.

All sound dies away outside. Everyone points to the skies. Some weep, some pray, others try to crawl away. Flying in from the sunset, its shadow brings terror. Seagulls point their own guns to their heads, seeking quick release, before the land is washed in fire.

The albatross has arrived.

 

Posted in Madness | Tagged | Leave a comment

Say it with a cake

Posted on April 11, 2011 by walrus

Summon the serpent, slash your flesh, watch the blood flow down in rivulets, forming pools  in your mind. Take back that though and cast your neo-cultural satanism out of my microwave. I deal only in numbers higher than three.

Seek no redemption of the written word. Seek no comfort in sanity. Do not revel in insanity, nor claim yourself to understand either. Normality is a gift only those with a healthy self-esteem can enjoy. If you continue to punish yourself for imaginary or real sins, you will keep falling deeper down the rabbit’s hole. Cry all you want. What does it all mean?

Have you seen the rainbow offer love and freedom to those that seek only grace? Make sense of the words that are mixed in turtles. But remove the shelled ones before you start to dig. Those unable to act, must not be hurt by your wanton acts. Seek your roots, only to find an ancient oak. It is your ancestral mother. Show some respect.

Where do you drag three lizards in the shade, when the shade is all the lizards want?
I really should see that movie.

So scream: scream and beg, yell, threaten, demand, beg again, hope, dream, cry, gamble and parley. But you cannot have your innocence back.

When you seek the stone beyond the three crates, the three grates and the three fates; you find only a rabbit. Mr. Fuzzy will now take your call and soul. You will need neither where you are going.

As no one is attempting to make sense of this, I shall revel in my own shortcomings and stab some fish. And rejoice in what I am. For I am the Walrus.

Let the cake roam in your tummy.

Posted in Moronity | Tagged | Leave a comment

Days

Posted on April 8, 2011 by walrus

“Cake in our time” said the man with a face of bone. This made sense, since he was wise beyond his years and a most charming fellow.
“In our times…” the assembly muttered and made waves with their chopsticks in the air.
“In our wines…” I echoed and chewed on a lizard’s leg.
“Now then”, said the man with no feet. “We gather to uphold that which is cake, to end that which is soft and to eat those in between”
“For so sayeth the great sky squid” the fellowship echoed and drank the purple cool-aid.

Around this time I woke up to my horse making its moves on Senator McGriffin. Fully contempt in not knowing more, I immediately shut down all higher cognitive functions and had another beer. “Where the fish roams, I fly a kite” I murmured and chewed on a wet sock. Ah, the flavours of a life lived out well inside your own armoire. Moving with the sloth on their eternal spirit journey through the cemetery of your underwear. Dirty ones too. This all comes at a price. A most terrible price. That of a dodo and a Tahitian woman. One of them is a myth, the other a legend. But with the scream of “sic sempre tyrannis” they still drive their steel daggers through your fridge, looking for any ship to consume and devastate.

And while you might not understand the glories of cake, let me assure you that after three days on the moon, even your average whale will more than happily dance the cancan to get out of another lecture on quality. These words are connected and these words make sense, yet you find yourself always asking for another alligator. Let’s call it Phillip. But that’s just retarded, so delete, redo and rince.

This is why you must remember the teachings of old David, for he had many heads. Some were sour, some were sweet, but most were inedible and full of rotten cheese.

And to all a good cake.

Posted in Madness | Tagged | Leave a comment