Hawkeye (Not What You Think)

Gold, frankincense, myrrh, and the miles I placed at your feet.

All these things given in the name of hope.

A second in your time, a millennia in mine.

I am now on the other side a continent away.

Chipping away at a life more lost than the last.

The blood that is not there feels warm at my ankles.

Can I walk through that wall? I don't know, til I try.

If I thrust these shears into my thigh will I feel better?

Can I somehow balance it all out?

You're not there, but you are there.

Chasing my thoughts between the alien and surreal.

I think you might have been real.

I think you could have been more at ease with that fact.

It doesn't matter.

Woodland spires stretch above, as I read Hawkeye with a tiny black dog.

This is me now.

I'm here.

If I Was A Wrestler

I've always had an off again, on again relationship with wrestling since third grade.  The last few months I've entered another on again phase and I've been taking notice of the Divas more and more. Male wrestling gimmicks range widely from menacing to comedic.  However, the female half seems to stay on the girly and sexy side.  The tedium of this has begun to bother me, perhaps because I, myself, am so dislocated from my body.  

I know in theory, the world looks at me and sees me as female.  I often forget this as I don't see myself reflected in society.  I don't feel female, nor do I feel male.  Inside, I'm a habitation of twists of vines, lumpiness and scales.  I've latched onto the closest description that feels right.  I am a velociraptor.  I tried sexyness on once like Cinderella's glass slipper for a time.  It worked for a while, until it didn't.  Fine lines and chinks began to spread upon the facade of glass.  One day it shattered completely under the weight of self.  Now sexyness feels cloying and claustrophobic.  My tiny hands itch to open doors, and devour what's behind them, and so I do.  I can't be sexy for you.  I'm too busy eating.

It's hard not to want to see reflections in society.  Little things that you can hold and say, I understand this, all while you look through the world with me colored glasses.  Much like the things I want most in life, I have to daydream those things simply because they rarely exist.  So, today I daydreamed of being a wrestler.  It's not a terrible stretch.  Wrestling dogs, wrestling people, tomato, tom-a-to, at least, to my mind.  

I think I would be called The Hadron Collider!  I believe this to be a sensible moniker as various bodies would indeed be knocked down in collisions with me.  I'd of course be wearing a cape, at least for part of the time on my way to the ring.  I believe I would go with my summer cape, pictured here.  It's my lightest and most festive one.  Not to mention, there's dragons on it.

I don't think my ring gear would deviate too far from what I generally wear.  I would wear a different sci fi or comic related shirt each match.  The only thing I would add that I don't possess would be a retainer with headgear just for the sake of added drama.  This way if a match got really heated the announcers could say "Uh-oh, the headgear is coming off! They're in for it now!"  Then after a most devastating volley of fisticuffs I could paraphrase from Stone Cold Steve Austin and say something like "The Law of Thermodynamics says I just kicked your ass!"  Which doesn't completely make sense, but it's wrestling so it really doesn't have to.  Then after winning a match, in the most Downton Abbey-esque manner possible, I would celebrate in the ring by sipping a cup of tea. Earl Grey. Hot.  

Oh and for intro music it's probably obvious and goes without saying but...

Throw off the cape on the way to the during the really synthy part, "Science!"  If there's a videotron, there would of course be backwards walking dinosaurs.  Everything somehow looks better when you roll video backwards I've noticed.  Or maybe it just resembles my thought process, I've never been sure.

Anywho, the only question remains, are you ready to face The Hadron Collider? 

Maybe She's Born With It, Maybe It's Wolverine

"Tell me what you want, Bradley." Sandra said stripping down to a corset and panties.

Bradley answered "Do your hair just like Wolverines!"

"Wait, what?" That was not an answer she was expecting.

Bradley repeated. "Do your hair just like Wolverines. I've been thinking about it ever since you got it cut."

"And you thought, jeepers that would look so much better if... wait...are you sexually attracted to Hugh Jackman? I mean, I could understand if you were...I mean.."

"Wolverine isn't just Hugh Jackman pookie. Hugh Jackman is only one facet of Wolverine. For example have you read Savage Wolverine?"

"Uhm, no."

"But, it was Wolverine fighting dinosaurs for a while there. Why are we even together?"

"I don't know." Sandra shrugged tugging up her corset and adjusting her boobs in what she hoped was sort of a sexy way and less of a boobs are inconvenient and heavy at times kind of way. "Maybe because we have a shared Sam's club membership?" Sandra giggled.

Bradley smirked a little. "Yeah, that's exactly why I love you. Discounts on large reams of paper. Now how about you get in the bathroom and style your hair like silver age wolverine, maybe put on a little yellow spandex and we'll see where the night takes us."

"You got it Bub." Sandra said heading to the bathroom. What else did she really have to do? It was summer and everything on tv was mostly in reruns and she had already cleaned the kitchen

It took a while and a lot of product but Sandra found eventually she had some nice wolverine peaks going. She worried it might not be exaggerated enough. But, it was the best she could do. Rummaging in the laundry room she found some yellow shorts and a shirt, not exactly spandex but it would have to do.

Sandra burst through the door, and held a crouching pose. "You ready for sex? "I'm the best at what I do, and what I do isn't very nice".

Bradley paused taking Sandra in. After a minutes consideration he said. "You know, I didn't really think this through. Maybe you should shower."

Sandra stood up. "Yeah... probably a good idea. I didn't know where this was going either and my head itches from all the gel and spray."

Fin

My Dharma

When you were young we had adventures.

You bit the ocean, and dug at the lake like a surface of glass.

We hiked for miles and found new things.

I remembered the joy the first time I let you run, after only a few days together.

You flew and I giggled.

You were beautiful and free.

At times, I couldn't see you at all, only weeds moving.

The beach, the woods, overgrown fields and reeds, you tore through them all,

like they were nothing.

You were speed and joy.

You came back to me.

A playful spirit even in the house. 

You'd only play with another person, never a dog, never alone.

It's a myth dogs don't think we're weird.

I mean, it has to be, right?

I could see it on your face at times.

But, still, you always came back to me.

Because you were weird too.

You didn't bark and you disdained the noise of those that did.

You peed on too many of our neighbor dogs heads for me to suspect otherwise.

Your long suffering sighs spoke volumes as did your manners.

You nudged a hand, or a bowl just enough to make a clinking sound.

Sometimes a little cough or grunt, if we really didn't notice.

And once, you picked up an empty fiji water bottle and dropped it on my head to wake me.

But, you only barked if you really had something to say. 

A rare surprise visitor or joy these were your only occasions to be marked with sound.

You stole from me. I didn't mind.

Even those nights I woke up cold without blankets, I could only smile.

I caught you red handed once, my covers in your mouth, your sheepish expression.

You hoarded odds and ends like a magpie.

You never chewed, never destroyed, only tucked things away under your bed.

I'll never figure out how you got my debit card.

But, I'm glad it was under your bed along with seven pairs of tweezers.

I never knew what to expect from you.

I was impressed upon waking finding you wearing my exercise bra.  You almost had it on correctly.  

I put it on you properly and let you wear it for a few days just to try it out until we both tired of the attention.

You typically didn't like your own kind. 

You preferred humans, I preferred dogs, together it worked.

You had your moments of tolerance and your outgoing days.

We understood each other that way.

You loved food.  And well...eating poop but let's not mention that.

One of your few flaws.

You lit up when you found some new flavor you liked.

Any new experience required contemplation though.

The question evident on your face, "Did I like that?" 

Car rides were like running, while not having to run.

You backseat drove, grunting noises of disapproval at every long stoplight.

If you drove, we'd drive through every red light.

You were not always the cuddliest. 

A little Aspie yourself, at times you needed space.

But, if you ever heard me cry you were there, always there, nose a few inches from my own to ask me why. 

You came back to me.

In snow, in rain, on sunny days.  You always came back.

Until you couldn't.

You fought it, but I knew, you wouldn't come back this time.

Signs screamed at me, and I walked with a no, no, no, no, no running through my head.

I poured my heart out like I do now. My favorite memories with my face in your fur.

I sang to you a little, one of my weird songs, the one to the tune of Peter Cottontail, I sang sometimes.

Even though it was inappropriate to sing, it was ours.

And I told you how much I loved you and hoped you could feel it.

I stayed with you and watched you eclipse.

At the end, I'll be alone but I made sure you'd never be.

 I hugged you one last time, knowing you couldn't come back to me.

I call for you inside. Sometimes, it's a scream. I fight reality like the tides.

I can't help it.

I miss you.

There's been no friend so tangible and real as you.

No loss as great til now.  I could do them all in my sleep.

They all seem so paltry and merely dust in comparison.

I'd drain their collected life force in exchange for one more day with you, if I could.

But, in this weighted sadness there's also peace.

In a dream state you told me you have friends. 

I've had to try to remember who Ralph Waldo Emerson is as I struggled to wake.

Others I had to look up.

You can't come back to me.

But, I know you are somewhere else because you were always so much more than anyone would ever guess. 

I have to believe, the world is too.

And so I dream of you, in all the places I'd rather you be.

The Tub Pervert

(Based on one of my weird dreams.  Not that I have normal dreams, but this one stuck with me.)

After a life in apartments, it seemed unimaginable that such a large house could be had for so little.  The only caveat was that all of it's eccentric charms were to be accepted sight unseen.  Acceptance meaning they were to remain unchanged.  Seven rooms, for the obscene rental price of $150 a month in an area brimming with job opportunity, who wouldn't sign such a lease?  It seemed a trivial matter that the homes garden tub existed in a room the landlord intended to continue using for personal storage.  One could easily survive a bit of hoarders glory in exchange for a lovely old cottage.

Thus, I charged into this undiscovered country, books and action figures in tow.  Sparse furnishings and troves of empty shelves greeted me upon incursion into my new dusty wonderland.  The bathroom was a vast savanna plain compared to tiny apartment bathrooms of the past, housing a shower, a sink and two toilets. No, not a toilet, but a bidet!  What a delightful surprise and a new experience I was very much looking forward to.  No more OCD backside cleaning!

It was only entering the next adjoining room that gave me pause.  It wasn't the heaps of boxes, the piles of newspapers, the lonely baseball bat or the rack of stale clothes that bothered me.  It was the man in the crisp white shirt, black tie, and red nylon sleeping bag lying on his side on the ledge of my new garden tub.  I had to call the landlord.

"Hello, this your new tenant.."

"Ah, yes, how are you finding the place?  I'm afraid it's been vacant for a while now."

"Oh, it's lovely.  The shelves are great!  I have so many books and the bidet! I'm so excited about the bidet!" Best to start on a positive note, I decided.

"I"m glad to hear it.  Well, I've got to go..."

"Uhm...but the man?"

A huge sigh on the other end of the receiver and a pause, followed by.  "Just some things I'm storing. Nothing to worry about.  You're welcome to use the tub.  It is your tub, afterall.  Just don't make a lot of eye contact and you'll be fine."

"Wait, so you're storing that man?"

"Yes."

"So he...what? He just lives on the edge of the tub?"

"Yes."

"And I just take a bath with him there?"

"Yes, well, like I said just don't make eye contact and you'll be fine."

"Wait. Why can't I make eye contact? Is he dangerous?  Am I living with a dangerous man in my house?"

"No, no, no, nothing to worry about.  He never leaves the edge of the tub, although he is capable of moving about.  He doesn't even eat or use the bathroom."

"What? Seriously..."  I broke in.  My new landlord continued on, hardly pausing a breath.

"Really, I promise, nothing to worry about.  He's just this stray investment banker my wife picked up for some unknown reason when she was out getting aluminum foil. We didn't really know what to do with him.  Putting him out on the lawn with the garden gnomes just seemed weird, so we put him away.  Just pretend he's not there, like an old sock.  It's only the staring has bothered the other tenants. But, like I said if you don't make eye contact then you won't notice him staring. Have a good day!"  

The proceeding dial tone held no further answers.  I listened anyways, collecting my thoughts.  Then, I promptly ignored those thoughts and proceeded with unpacking.  Books arranged by category, action figures arranged by fandom, the mundane activity of organization and cleaning consumed the daylight hours.  By the end I was sweaty, dusty and tired.  Standing in a shower didn't appeal. Upon testing, the lackluster water pressure didn't encourage matters, especially to those of us that had the hair of a small alpaca adorning our heads.  Besides, I had dabbled with a bit of nude modeling.  I was no stranger to uncomfortable, fussy environments, I could bathe in front of a strange banker in a sleeping bag.  Of course, I could!

Green eyes opened as I entered the room.  His perfect, brown, weatherman hair remained unfazed by sleep.  He remained on his side, perched on the generous ledge of the tub.  His eyes closed as I removed my shirt. Was he being gentlemanly this first meeting, I wondered.  It didn't last, his eye lids opened a sneaky crack, as my shorts slipped down.  

"You may as well look." I said, turning on the taps.  Even at invitation, I wasn't prepared for the open staring.  Nudity held no scandal for me but, I could understand the complaints of former occupants.  The intensity was a little unnerving as I stripped.  

"Well, this is me nude!" I proclaimed doing a turn, arms raised in the air.  My attempt to break the ice was met with silence.  Perhaps, it was better to ignore him as the landlord suggested.  I slipped into the water and kept my eyes averted.  It was okay.  The water temperature wasn't to my liking but it was okay.  I fussed with the taps a bit more.  Old houses tended to have tricky plumbing.  The rush of ice water came to fast with too little of a turn.  I shrieked.

"Here, let me." He said.  

I leaned back and was rewarded with drifts of incoming snuggly warmth. 

"That's so much better!  Thank you!"

My tub pervert seemed a little stunned.  "No one has ever said thank you."

"Well, they should.  Do you have a name?"

His brow contorted.  "I think I used to?  I don't know...  I'm just here now."  He looked around at his garage sale kingdom and then went promptly back to staring at my vagina.  Somehow, his eyes seemed to hold more kindness now.  Kindness and lechery, I could live with this.  

"A little warmer?" He inquired.

"Mm, yes please.  I like it just short of scalding."  

He obliged and I sighed sinking into my steadily warming contained ocean and watched as he picked up my red spiderman body puff.  

"Would you like me to wash your feet?" He offered.

"Oh, that would be lovely!  Thank you so much!"

He smiled.  "You're welcome.  No one's ever been this nice to me.  I'm happy to do it."  

Thus began a beautiful friendship.  It never grew sexual.  There was only innapropriate staring, warm baths, and helpful washing.  He became a ritual at the end of the day to look forward to.   At least, until cops barged in at my suspicious lack of complaining and forced my tub pervert to join society and work at a record store.  If I had complained, or if I had been a liar I could have kept him.  But, because I hadn't, I was consigned to subpar baths for a while and he a life of explaining why The Cure's Disintegration is such a great album.  The fifth assault of glacial rush into lukewarm tub was the straw that caused me to seek him out.  Miserable, surrounded by hipsters, he looked positively wounded in his new role.  It wasn't hard to twist his arm, but, it had to be a secret.  He was part of society now and had a work schedule to keep.  Thus, I reclaimed him on Thursdays. The rest of the time I showered, and worried about the possibility of Norman Bates like shower murder, but on Thursdays I had the best baths ever.    

Majestic as Fuck: The Tale of Reasonably Priced Cheese

It was Tuesday, nothing special.  Just another day of work, gathering shopping carts in stifling humidity, with Carl.  The rainbow, at first, was a welcome break from hour three of Carl's Billy Idol impression. But, then they saw it.  

"Ed, is that...?"

"Can't be..."

"But, it looks like a unicorn." 

"We have heatstroke, Carl. Or we're having a stroke."     

"What..both of us?  At the same time."

"Yes."

"That is a fucking unicorn, Ed.  That is majestic as fuck.  Look at it!  Slowly coming towards us, like a fucking regal biscuit or something coming down an escalator."

"I'm officially changing my answer to delirium now." 

They watched in silence as it slowly descended.  

"Welcome to Trader Joes!" Carl shouted as the Unicorn set hooves on the hard pavement with a determined clack.

"I know we allow service dogs, but this really isn't in the manual."

The unicorn met Edwards blue eyes. 

"Is there anything we can get you?"  He asked baffled.

The creature stared back with a weird sort of indignation, then opened it's mouth wide.  

"Holy fucking shit!" Carl screamed as streams of lemmings jetted from the unicorns open mouth, immediately burying both Carl and Ed in a pile of furry rodents that somehow dissolved human flesh.     

From the half shade drawn windows customers and employees watched in horror as the unicorn approached the automatic doors.  

People scrambled away from the magical being as it walked by the bananas that you buy per banana rather than buy the pound like at most stores.  

One brave, but incredibly stupid, child darted from her mother's grasping hands running full throttle to the unicorn shouting "My little pony!"  Soon after, that child was dissolved in a pile of acidic lemmings.  The mother soon followed, which, the unicorn decided, was her fault. She saw what happened to the child. If she didn't want death by lemmings she would have stayed put.  This was all forgotten, as soon as the unicorn reached the cheese section.  Delighted, it selected a nice chunk of gouda and headed to the register.  

"Just take it!" The clerk shouted, terrified.

Tempted, the unicorn considered, but conscience won out.  Taking the cheese would be stealing and stealing is wrong. The unicorn locked eyes with the amoral demon whore and began to open it's mouth.

"Shit! $2.95 then!" she corrected.

Smart girl, that was indeed the exact price marked on the selected cheese.  The unicorn was pleased, and stamped it hooves.  Through the power of childrens laughter, love and sunshine $2.95 magically appeared on the counter.  

"I'm going green!" The unicorn announced, to the bewildered clerk.  

"Shit, it can talk!" One man shouted. Naturally, that man was promptly dissolved by lemmings. The unicorn proudly took it's wedge cheese without a shopping bag like a good environmentalist, and returned to it's rainbow.   Even terrified, despite the sizable wedge of cheese in it's mouth, everyone had to agree, it looked majestic as fuck.  

  

Denial

Pupils blown, breath hitching,  you are glass, wrapped in a red towel, in my arms.

You can let go...please let go.

I stroke the bones of your neck feigning comfort, because I am lost.

Will she ever come for you?

Or should I simply move my hand and slam the gates to your air?

The mercy of a monster, five more minutes I would have faced who I really am.

Terror masquerades in the hope of others.  

That I would close my eyes and in a flash of light be trapped in my past.

Caged eternal with them, with her, by immobile bars of pearl.

I wish for you to go like a painless dream, forgotten upon waking.

The relieved ennui of stars consumed by a black hole.

I wish for an end to your pain, and for me to have better wishes.  

Post-its

"Corine" he said, "It's after ten already, what are you still doing in bed?"

"I'm focusing all my mental energy on killing the sun, of course!"

"What? Why?" Mark was clearly alarmed.

"It's for you darling, it's all for you.  It's our anniversary after all!  The first year it's traditional to die in a horrible fiery collision with the sun, I think?"

"No, honey, I think it's paper.."

"Paper? Really? Paper burning in a horrible fiery collision with the sun?"

"Uhm...no."

"Oh, are you quite sure?"

"Yes, for fucks sake! I'm sure!"

"You don't have to shout." Corine pulled the covers up to her neck and thought.  "Well, you do like post-it notes, I suppose I can get you that."

"Post-its will be fine, dear.  Come out when you're ready."

"Mark? Will you make me some bacon?  I'd like five large plates, piled high with life draining bacon."

Mark blinked in incomprehension.  "I think we're out of bacon, there's some cereal in the cabinet when you're ready to get up."

Corrine sighed, "I suppose that will do."

Corrinne watched Marks quickly retreating form feeling relief wash over her when she was finally alone.   With a smile she closed her eyes and muttered.  "Post-its it is my love, post-its burning in a fiery collision with the sun!"

Citalopram

50 milligrams, to hone that which is not precise.

I am left twisted, reveling in my own strangeness.

It is a relief.

The desired effect was not that I leave society behind.

But, I am good at keeping secrets.

I claim this silence as mine.

You gift me digital parchments of your words.

I hum their rhythm,  feel your typos etched like scars.

They jangle nerve endings and make me smile.

Ricochet, images sent next in concerted resolve.

You've taken the queen too early, any master knows.

In this patchwork of obvious realization I only find tedium.

All I need is a precipice and the ability to jump.

I run back to that which is really me.  

I'll always be the exception to your spectre of normalcy.

You'll never know.

Biological (Panic Attack Poetry Theater Pt. 2)

I watch them fill their parchment full.

Lines and breath made of concentric circles.

I drift in void space.

I want to hear the echo that resounds in their ears.

Mute sound to reanimate their limbs.

I know what you want. 

But, I can't lead this jagged shadow army. 

Pain is the ultimate excuse.

Can I disengage this frayed cord and let it fall?

I'm so tired. 

There was once more than this.

Once...

Those screams, that's your real mother.

Biological warfare is pretty.

Shiny.

Sleep now.  Panic will sing to you.

Shamble to Me, My Love: Zanticore and Cthulhu Watch Zombies Fuck

"Cleo my darling, shamble to me, my love.  Let me unhinge my jaw and pleasure you."

"Muuuuuhhhhhhhhh." Cleo groaned with either enthusiasm or dismay.  Brian could no longer tell as so much of her face had rotted away.  It didn't matter.  Cleo was his moon and sun.  Among her many positives, Cleo retained her breasts.  Usually, the breasts were the first pieces to go, falling to the earth with two soft thumps.  Most zombie women tripped over them, never noticing the loss.  The preoccupation with acquiring brains was far too pressing, oddly more so for women than men.

Preparing for sex Brian unfastened his rags and secured his penis with an extra layer of duct tape. For although his right foot was now a distant memory, the penis was one appendage he planted to keep.

"Should we be watching this?" Zanticore whispered to Cthulhu.

"YES, WE SHOULD WATCH THE ZOMBIES FORNICATE." Cthulhu shouted.

Zanticore flinched, halting his movement on the playground swingset.  The zombies didn't react. Perhaps, they had lost their hearing.  Or possibly they were simply disinterested in a pair of non-humans. Although, Zanticore looked human, he retained an otherness that clearly marked him as the god of au gratin potatoes.

"How many times must I ask you not to yell?"

"I AM THE GREAT CTHULHU.  I ENJOY YELLING.  ESPECIALLY IN THE PRESENCE OF THOSE THAT WOULD SCARE OFF ALL THE CRUNCHY FUN SIZE HUMANS."

"Please."

"Fine." Cthulhu grumbled waving his tentacles.  "I'm just angry that all the moving displays are vacant of snacks."

Zanticore sighed, raking fingers through his shaggy mane of cheese colored hair.  "They're called children.  This is a playground.  It's not a moving buffet."

"I'm hungry."

"Don't start that, you ate that woman at the dollar store only 15 minutes ago."

"Her lower casing was marked juicy.  She was NOT juicy!"

Zanticore smirked."Humans call them sweatpants, not casing. Albeit, pants with "juicy" prominent on the backside are not considered elegant couture.  You really should keep apprised of such matters since it pertains to your cuisine! "

"She still was not juicy."

"The dollar store is always a myriad of disappointment.  We really should have gone to K-mart."

"BOTH STORES ARE IRRELEVANT. WHY DO YOU LOVE SHOPPING AT IRRELEVANT STORES?  WHY CAN'T WE EVER GO TO HOME DEPOT? ALSO, YOU ARE DISTRACTING ME FROM WATCHING THE ZOMBIES FUCK."

Zanticore stood doing an unnecessary cape florish.  "The shouting Cthulhu!"

"You just have your panties in a knit because the boxes of potatoes au gratin would not worship you, no matter how long we shouted at them."

"20 minutes of shouting "Worship me!" and still they did not bow." Zanticore sighed.

"They will learn their lesson when you devour them tonight.  That's why I like you.  You eat your followers, like me."

Zanticore smiled.  "It's good to have a friend who gets me.  Oh, look they've begun the fellatio!"

"FINALLY!"

Zanticore and Cthulhu Go to K-mart.

"Hello, I am Zanticore the great god of potatoes au gratin."

"AND I AM THE DARK GOD CTHULHU!  ZANTICORE IS GIVING ME A RIDE."

"There's no need to shout Cthulhu. Use your indoor voice." Zanticore chided, turning his attention once again to the bewildered K-mart employee.  "We are looking for a specific kind of wrench."

"WE SEEK THE WRENCHES OF ALLEN."

Zanticore sighed.  "Honestly, Cthulhu.  Again with the shouting."

Cthulhu glared at Zanticore.  "IT HAS BEEN 14 MINUTES SINCE I'VE LAST EATEN."

"Yes, you relayed the message that you are hungry 12 minutes ago."

"15 MINUTES NOW!! LET ME EAT THE HUMAN!"

"You can eat later.  For now I simply need to pick up some allen wrenches and some drain cleaner."

The two immortals fell into threatening silence as the young boy stumbled for words.  "If we have allen wrenches they would be in tools, back of the store."

Zanticore's brow knitted.  "If?"

"IT HAS NOW BEEN 16 MINUTES SINCE I'VE LAST EATEN."

"If?" Zanticore was not swayed, his voice almost a growl.

"Yes sir." the employee now trembling.

"Do you know what I can do to you puny human?  Do you? It is the stuff of nightmares.  You can not fathom what it's like to be cheese, potatoes and a casserole dish all at once.   For, I, Zanticore, can turn you into a freshly baked pan of potatoes au gratin. Is that what you want?"  Zanticore paused to do a dramatic cape flourish.  "Well is it?"

"Uhm...what?" The employee now not only violently shaking but very confused.

Zanticore studied the display and smirked.   "Fine, we'll go to home depot.  Cthulhu eat the human who works in the irrelevant store."

"Huzzah." Cthulhu said politely using his best indoor voice and gobbled the tiny human.


Fin.

Musings Collected

On being an real adult...
--------------

"You probably play with toys." she told me.  I had to stay quiet, because quite frankly, I do.  I reminded myself I was at work,  a place I maintain a pretense of normality via silence.   But, this comment bothered me as I scissored away my day.  I wondered, what am I supposed to do?  Be a real grown-up?  I thought about what that might entail.  I envisioned an alternate reality where my free time proceeded as follows.

1. Slip off high heels that I somehow know how to walk in.
2. Pour my self a glass of wine and not spit it out like the Doctor does ala Doctor who. But, instead I some how enjoy it and not complain it tastes like nyquil and goats ass.
3. Reminisce about sonnets?
4. Watch the news instead of sci-fi or cartoons, and not giggle in my pyro trance state when I see fire, but see that it actually is pretty horrible.
5. Grown up me, would never build a fort when I'm sad.
6. Dress in layers for some reason.  No capes.
7. Wear real bras, and complain they're uncomfortable.
8. Wipe off make up with some sort of fancy rag?  Not to mention know how make up goes on.

Admittedly, things are becoming vague.  I play with toys, I build forts, I wear a cape, know the theme to Spongebob by heart and yes I'm 33.  I'm different, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

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Is there Twitter masturbation announcement etiquette?
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I'm in the habit of following perverts, they are supportive, enjoyable company.  Some days, I find my timeline brimming with masturbation announcements.  I've never been sure as to the proper response to this, so I simply say "Enjoy your masturbation.".  It is no doubt an act they find enjoyable enough to announce it so, I feel the need to wish them well, much like if they were going shopping.  I have found I am the only one doing this, however.  Perhaps, there are no etiquette guidelines for wanking. I believe that there should be.  In lieu of set pleasantries there should, at the very least, be an Irish blessing akin to "May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back."  I'm not sure what would be a prudent choice for such a saying.  "May your stank not linger long upon your fingers." could possibly work.

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Pervert Originality (or the lack thereof)
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I've denied several follower requests lately all entirely due to lack of originality.  Not to mention diversity.  As an Aspie it's sometimes a challenge for me to open my mind beyond my personal interests.  Not everyone wants to listen to me ramble about Tori Amos. I have to be fair and listen to them ramble about their children too.  I may not have much to contribute, but I do try to listen.  Or at least read, since the majority of my interactions come in the form of text.  However, some twitter types can be entirely focused on sex.  I'll often peruse though someones tweets before accepting someone. In my heart I'm always hoping for a someone who can talk nerdy to me.  A great many perverts are fantastically nerdy.  Geek plus pervyness often combines for an enjoyable perspective.  Sometimes in my initial assessment, I realize the unfairness that the label normal buys.  There are those in the pervert flock who tweet only about sex.  I'm hard, I'm horny, I'm fondling my bits..etc. etc.  Pages of it, and nothing but.  Yet, I'm the one who is reminded by Asperger's literature to branch out.  Almost makes me want to live tweet episodes of Doctor who...

Oh look it's the Tardis!

Rose is dressing in period garb.

Christopher Eccleston is walking!!!!

Yeah.... no one wants to read that.

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Pre-mature Ejaculation is efficient
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I recall watching an Axe deodorant on Hulu.  I've seen the ad many times, but this is the first time I realized the ad was hinting at sweat being like pre-mature ejaculation.  I understand the embarrassment of it occurring, but not the stigma.  It's remarkably efficient.  I've personally never had an orgasm with a man, so to me, it makes sense for a man to come in his pants.  It would speed things up.  I want the experience of being desired, he wants a nice cum.  Win/win.  Now, I can watch Battlestar Galatica.  Although, that may be my inexperience showing.  Not to mention the fact that I'm unsure if I ever want to have sex again, currently I'd much prefer a Bobba Fett action figure.  Pre-mature ejaculation is the ultimate compliment if you think about it.  A man finds you so attractive he positively explodes in his pants.  What's not to love? I like the clarity and directness of it myself.    I've always thought of sex being like baking cookies for a man.  Yes,  sex is basically wanking much with someone elses bits but it's like baking too.  You get the joy of baking and the pleasure of making the cookies, he gets the satisfaction of enjoying the fruits of the baking.  Pre-mature jizz is perhaps more like Chips Ahoy, quick, messy, satisfaction in an instant.

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Zombies
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I was listening to Usher's song "D.J got us falling in love again." while at work.  I rarely listen to the radio, unless I'm sleepy.  I happened to fixate on the lyrics "Thank god the week is done, I feel like a zombie brought back to life."  I had to take issue with Usher at this point of the song.  Zombies are technically the living dead.   If they weren't some form of alive then how would they go about merrily consuming brains?  How would they shamble?  Are they not, in fact, alive?  It's unclear, and vague, and lacking the essential polish a true wordsmith would bestow.  Is Usher comparing himself to a zombie whose humanity has been recently restored?  Or a zombie who was beheaded and re-animated but is still a member of the unholy zombie nation.  I find this dissonance truly appalling.

Wretchedly Clean

Vibrancy shatters into crystalline dust. 

Elements of time and the theater of a year dissected.

I drift through your sunlight hoping to be warm again

I can not bring back what once was.

I can not make you want to.

Only the vile dismantle hope into want.

Small victories consecrated in blood.

We hold them like refuse in the morning.

Words felt by touch but never penned on blank pages.

Particles of self drift, longing to be whole.

White light illuminates but does not see.

I can only want and settle like dust.

Defeated particles to gather on a window sill.

Once wiped away, so easily forgotten.

A shuddering scream into the void.

To become clean.

So wretchedly clean.

Fotc Photoshoppery

Paula Deen and Fotc:

"Hey Ya'll I'm setting fire to your building."

No explanation for this other than I have too much time on my hands.

Jemaine chucking ewoks at a Llama watching heart surgery on tv. What's to explain?

Self explanatory

l

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (Jemaine pictured with a casio DG20 as Mr. Darcy)

l

Werewolf Jemaine

If Jemaine were my dog bather. (Happy Thought)

No you can't have me Jemaine. I must be free like the wind or sticks.

This has to do with a black seeds song "One by one". In the beginning lyrics you either here the word corn or call. "Summon everything you’ve got. All your forces under the sun

Put the ____ up into the sky." I fill in the blanks firmly with corn! Corn goes in the sky for a very good reason.

l

I appreciate your cooking Jemaine.

l

Jemaine chasing turkeys on a Star Wars AT-AT vehicle.

Parody of a parody of a romance novel cover.

l

Jemaine unleashing destruction and dancing on our planet.

l

Bret and Jemaine ready to ride a moose through Target.

Nixon, Jemaine and the Hadron Collider

Jemaine granting the eraser head baby's Christmas wish of watching a Buffalo take a dump.

Hell is Sentient (An Ode to the American Mental Health Care System)

Limp, meaningless heap of girl on the floor. Humanity stripped, in green room, imprisoned.

She screams at the stun guns jolt, head submerged in a drugged ocean.

They watch as she pees. She might leave, before they can help her.

Soon she will be dumped in a room of masturbating men, fighting to stay awake.

If she sleeps, they will rape her. No one will bat an eye. Read the magazine article again.

Words dancing on a page, nothing absorbed. Stay awake. Remain calm. More drugs.

Relief in a ride home in the back of a police car, watching unknown country pass.

Refer to ignore. Pass the cold lumpy potatoes to the next person. Do it again.

The hardest thing is not to ask for help but to receive it.

Hell is sentient and breathes.

Effigy

I'm good at waiting, even while screaming inside.

He exists only because he isn't you.

Another pallid replacement eclipsing shadows of boredom, haunting your trail of breadcrumbs.

I press my skin against the stone divide.

I am not tempted to look, because you do not wish me to.

I belong to your structures, permeated only once by your touch.

It was enough to mark me with a fingerprint of your own.

A scarred etching, painted on the sworls and loops of my soul.

I want to be your peculiar something that can't be quantified or understood.

A conformation to a blasphemy that denies even the most perverse mediocrity.

A walking abomination to even the most libertine societal outcast.

There are no rules, only yours. Only what we deem possible.

If only it were possible.

Acceptance is defeat cloaked in civility, but dream savages it's confinement.

White picket fences burn in effigy.

I come again chasing the remnant ghost of your touch.

Soaps For Crazy People

Tad: "Jessica, every day I prayed you would eat this slice of toast. Now it has mold on it. Why didn't you eat the toast, Jessica, for shit's sake why!!."

Jessica: "Because I have rabies, Tad!" (sobbing) "Because I have rabies."

(Jessica stops sobbing and scratches) "The bugs are back Tad!"

Tad: "Holy shit, the one's we can't see?"

Jessica (Looks out the window not answering) : "The sun is out! How long has this been happening?!!"

Tad: "Oh no!!! It can hear our thoughts!"

Jessica: "It's getting brighter! Quick Tad, tell me you've been saving jars of our urine in your car."

(Tad looks at ground sheepishly)

Jessica: (concerned) "Tad!!! (Jessica screams in the most dramatic way possible). You've been hoarding our urine, haven't you?"

Tad: "I didn't want people to think we're mentally ill! Wait.." (runs to kitchen, get's foil) "Quick Jessica put some foil on your head."

Jessica (considers): "Shouldn't we make hats? It seems improper not to fashion it into a hat first."

Tad: "Damn it woman, there's no time. Don't you see that sun is out??"

(Tad and Jessica now have foil scrunched about their heads).

Jessica: "Tad, can you put on that cd that we own."

(Tad selects their one and only cd. It has 17 tracks. Every single track is tubular bells.)

(15 minutes of an unexplained still picture of a Boohbah.

Return to Tad and Jessica.. Tubular Bells in the background)

Tad and Jessica (together) : Bruce!

A man, who resembles the Brawny paper towel man appears. Teeth glisten with a plink sound.

Tad and Jessica (together) : Ooooh

Bruce winks, makes a finger gun gesture, then disappears.

Tad then crouches on the floor, head clutched in hands and rocks back and forth. "It doesn't matter what comes, fresh goes better in life, With Mentos fresh and full of Life! Nothing gets to you, stayin fresh, stayin cool, With Mentos fresh and full of LIFE!!! Fresh goes better! Mentos freshness! Fresh goes better with Mentos, fresh and full of life! Mentos! The Freshmaker!"

Jessica: (rolling on the floor) "The Rabies, it burns!!"

~Fin~

Zombie Reject Bride of Doom Pt. 1

Fluid, moving in runnels, flowing in streaks upon flesh.

It wove like vines through her very marrow.

First want, then need, until all became love.

He left her in fragments bleeding in the snow.

Like deer, caught unaware he was swift.

Undead she became pieces.

She remembers snow and that Leonard Nimoy was on Star Trek.

Love is not real.

Destroyed, she will hunt him on Christmas Day.

TMI Tuesday

I haven't blogged for a while so I thought I'd try this TMI tuesday thing. Enjoy?

1. What ’80s or ’90s fashion did you love but would be embarrassed to wear today, even if it came back in style?

I doubt anything would embarrass me. Nothing I wore was trendy for my area even if it was remotely trendy at the time. My town was boots, jeans, and western shirts. I did everything from goth, punk, grunge, neo-hippie, semi-steampunk and finally settled into some sort of odd pre-raphaelite look. :)

2. What current fashion do you wear and love? Or What current fashion do you wear but probably shouldn’t?

Capes. :)

3. What was your favorite toy as a kid?

Tie between my little pony unicorns and peagus, card board boxes and dirt. Holy crap, did I ever love dirt!

4. What is your favorite “toy” today?

I have a small knitted Cthulhu toy a friend made for me.

5. Did you ever own a Sony Walkman? A boombox?

My walkman is the only reason I made it through my childhood and teens. I kept it on constantly. It drowned out my grandmother's preaching nicely. I still have a boombox, use it everyday at work. Yes workmates we have to listen to Tori Amos all day long! Repetitively, for 9 hours straight. Wonder why I have my own grooming room?

6. What’s the most played song on your mp3 player?

I don't have one. My most played song on I-tunes currently is Walk to Dublin-Tori Amos

7. Who was your best friend in elementary/primary school?

I didn't have one. I never could figure out what to do with the other kids. I had an imaginary friend that was an old english sheepdog and later as a teenager I had an imaginary grey haired warlock, I hung out with named Peter.

8. Who is your best friend now?

He lives far, far away in a magical blurry land by the ocean. I'm also pretty sure he's a spy and weirdly enough he looks like Peter. Alas, he's not a warlock.

9. Who was your favorite musical group in your early teens (age 13/14)? Post a photo.

Andrew Lloyd Webber to the extreme!!! I thought maybe adding "to the extreme" would make me sound cooler? Did it work? I remember doing the running man in my room in the whitest way possible, under my mirror ball to Starlight Express for hours. Starlight express, answer me yes, I need you to be here...." To the extreme!!!

I don't think anyone particularly wants me to post a picture of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Just a hunch.

10. Who is your favorite musical group now? Post a link to a song of theirs that you like.

Tori Amos. To the extreme!!! Still not working? Darn!

http://www.last.fm/music/Tori+Amos/_/Space+Dog

Bonus: What do you think is the secret to a good life?

Xanax