Out of Control
Consider that phrase.
I'm working my fat ass out tonight, listening to a little melodic anger, and watching a little Tellyouwhattodovision and up pops the question: "Out of Control?"
Dunno whom "they" were accusing of that mortal sin. Don't care.
The question grabbed me. Out of Control?
Out of whose fucking control?
It's like those Stiff Little Fingers once said: Law and Order, I don't know what they are. Law and Order, there's no justice in it.
I still wanna know who made the rules. A cowardly Republican or a pussified Democrat? Most likely some guy who either couldn't get laid or couldn't resist his urge to beat off while thinking about his little sister.
From Chaos, harmony: Despite the worst intentions of some power-hungry, sexually ashamed, fat, white guy this world can't be ruined. Yeah, it's a filth pit, overpopulated by ungrateful, egotistical, easily corrupted fucks. Granted. Life can be sucking your cock one minute only to bite your balls the next. People lie, cheat, kill, exploit and lean toward cruelty. It's a sham.
So why has my disposition been so sunny lately?
The truth. Been embracing it lately. Been throwing it where it's unwelcome. Been using it like a weapon of mass desperation. It's the only thing I've got left. And you know what? It's a powerful sonafabitch. Lies are for the lazy. The truth, especially where it's unwelcome, is like pissing Ajax. Lies are junk food. Lies are TV. Lies are plastic. Lies are Disneyland. Lies are Fox News. Lies are Jerry Bruckheimer movies. Lies are teen-aged girls with breast implants live in concert. Lies are what I tell myself to protect from having to leave the couch. Lies are the product of fear.
Well, I'm on the wagon from fear. Hell, I might fall off, but fuck it -- the first step toward recovery is admitting you have a problem.
And what truth?
I'm fat, bored, white (in a bad way), creatively repressed, angry, restless, selfish, unrepentant, doubtful (in a good way), driven by appetite that's bottomless, fighting for my life, unwilling to quit, no longer concerned about perception, a big hairy puss, no longer willing to take it without the goddamned common courtesy of a reacharound.
I do believe that the god of Pat Robertson -- Pat's guy -- is HIV positive. He got it from the purple Teletubby. Pat's guy will soon become ashen and sore-ridden. Pat will blame me and mine. But I'm okay with that. Because, Pat sucks cock by choice. No, not felatio. He sucks the big red, white and blue cock that spurts fireworks and cash and rings every time its balls get tickled. They say Rome was brought down by too much cocksucking. Same here north of Mexico, just a different method. When we go down, it'll be because we went down on greed instead of giving. And when I say giving, I'm not talking about at the office or as a fucking tax write-off. I'm talking about spiritual photosynthesis.
What makes the light go on in a limp mass of bone and carbon? Some dude called God, as far as we know. Well, what if he ain't got a beard? What if he doesn't speak Hebrew or (gasp) English? What if He's neither He nor She? In fact, what if this nonHe/nonShe isn't even a single entity? What if we are all the pieces of God? What if the Big Bang was this God blowing his brains out to give us life, and our job is to put nonHe/nonShe back together again -- Humpty Dumpty style? Like some monster amoeba blown apart and the pieces are lost but trying like hell to find there way back to each other to become whole. What if everyone of us has a piece of God inside and our job is to do whatever it takes to release it back into the universe? What if abandoning inhibition is the key that unlocks it?
Maybe the heart -- you know, that invisible entity regulated by emotion -- is that piece of God. And whenever we dig into that part of our being and release something, we're doing what we were given life to do. Maybe, if by some miracle, the world did that in unison, we'd know the meaning of life. Love isn't so much an individual experience but a single pixel in a vast fragmented picture of some higher intelligence's idea of existence. Not saying I'm right, just saying I don't necessarily buy what I've been told.
Yeah, it sounds crazy. But how's it any crazier than fig leaves, apples, talking snakes, horned demons, winged angels, cruise ships full of animals and 40 days of rain, locust plagues, feeding the 5000, pale horses, 7-eyed rams, flaming chariots, myrrh-toting wisemen or the Book of Lamentations?
There it is. I'm a heathen. Call the Moral Mastabatory. Tell them the little bastard from Cali avoided the Tijuana coat-hanger treatment back in 67 and now he's telling everybody who'll listen -- and thank Pat's guy that there ain't many of 'em -- nothing is true; everything is permitted.
Think I'll have false prophet business cards made.
Shit, this truth telling feels a little out of control.
I'm working my fat ass out tonight, listening to a little melodic anger, and watching a little Tellyouwhattodovision and up pops the question: "Out of Control?"
Dunno whom "they" were accusing of that mortal sin. Don't care.
The question grabbed me. Out of Control?
Out of whose fucking control?
It's like those Stiff Little Fingers once said: Law and Order, I don't know what they are. Law and Order, there's no justice in it.
I still wanna know who made the rules. A cowardly Republican or a pussified Democrat? Most likely some guy who either couldn't get laid or couldn't resist his urge to beat off while thinking about his little sister.
From Chaos, harmony: Despite the worst intentions of some power-hungry, sexually ashamed, fat, white guy this world can't be ruined. Yeah, it's a filth pit, overpopulated by ungrateful, egotistical, easily corrupted fucks. Granted. Life can be sucking your cock one minute only to bite your balls the next. People lie, cheat, kill, exploit and lean toward cruelty. It's a sham.
So why has my disposition been so sunny lately?
The truth. Been embracing it lately. Been throwing it where it's unwelcome. Been using it like a weapon of mass desperation. It's the only thing I've got left. And you know what? It's a powerful sonafabitch. Lies are for the lazy. The truth, especially where it's unwelcome, is like pissing Ajax. Lies are junk food. Lies are TV. Lies are plastic. Lies are Disneyland. Lies are Fox News. Lies are Jerry Bruckheimer movies. Lies are teen-aged girls with breast implants live in concert. Lies are what I tell myself to protect from having to leave the couch. Lies are the product of fear.
Well, I'm on the wagon from fear. Hell, I might fall off, but fuck it -- the first step toward recovery is admitting you have a problem.
And what truth?
I'm fat, bored, white (in a bad way), creatively repressed, angry, restless, selfish, unrepentant, doubtful (in a good way), driven by appetite that's bottomless, fighting for my life, unwilling to quit, no longer concerned about perception, a big hairy puss, no longer willing to take it without the goddamned common courtesy of a reacharound.
I do believe that the god of Pat Robertson -- Pat's guy -- is HIV positive. He got it from the purple Teletubby. Pat's guy will soon become ashen and sore-ridden. Pat will blame me and mine. But I'm okay with that. Because, Pat sucks cock by choice. No, not felatio. He sucks the big red, white and blue cock that spurts fireworks and cash and rings every time its balls get tickled. They say Rome was brought down by too much cocksucking. Same here north of Mexico, just a different method. When we go down, it'll be because we went down on greed instead of giving. And when I say giving, I'm not talking about at the office or as a fucking tax write-off. I'm talking about spiritual photosynthesis.
What makes the light go on in a limp mass of bone and carbon? Some dude called God, as far as we know. Well, what if he ain't got a beard? What if he doesn't speak Hebrew or (gasp) English? What if He's neither He nor She? In fact, what if this nonHe/nonShe isn't even a single entity? What if we are all the pieces of God? What if the Big Bang was this God blowing his brains out to give us life, and our job is to put nonHe/nonShe back together again -- Humpty Dumpty style? Like some monster amoeba blown apart and the pieces are lost but trying like hell to find there way back to each other to become whole. What if everyone of us has a piece of God inside and our job is to do whatever it takes to release it back into the universe? What if abandoning inhibition is the key that unlocks it?
Maybe the heart -- you know, that invisible entity regulated by emotion -- is that piece of God. And whenever we dig into that part of our being and release something, we're doing what we were given life to do. Maybe, if by some miracle, the world did that in unison, we'd know the meaning of life. Love isn't so much an individual experience but a single pixel in a vast fragmented picture of some higher intelligence's idea of existence. Not saying I'm right, just saying I don't necessarily buy what I've been told.
Yeah, it sounds crazy. But how's it any crazier than fig leaves, apples, talking snakes, horned demons, winged angels, cruise ships full of animals and 40 days of rain, locust plagues, feeding the 5000, pale horses, 7-eyed rams, flaming chariots, myrrh-toting wisemen or the Book of Lamentations?
There it is. I'm a heathen. Call the Moral Mastabatory. Tell them the little bastard from Cali avoided the Tijuana coat-hanger treatment back in 67 and now he's telling everybody who'll listen -- and thank Pat's guy that there ain't many of 'em -- nothing is true; everything is permitted.
Think I'll have false prophet business cards made.
Shit, this truth telling feels a little out of control.