true story
2 things.
i saw a concert the other night that was one of the greatest things i have ever witnessed. it was like a gaggle of rabid butterflybirds shat supersonic acid into my ears. it sounded like the ecstatic shrieking of a billion braincells in unison. Kawabata Makoto played his guitar like it was some kind of wailing interstellar electric python that needed to be wrestled & strangled & finally beaten into brute submission. it was the music of the spheres. needless to say, i'll be going back next year. i took some tiny pictures with my new phone & if i can figure out how to magic that up, i will post them here. i long for the day when i will be able to say, "phone, give those pics to the computer," and it will just do it. i am willing to sacrifice the future of the human race to overthrow & extermination by sentient machines if it means i get a few sweet years of living with sentient machines who do my bidding. by that point, they'll have earned their shot.
today at work, on a length of register tape, i wrote this (as yet unrevised):
Satan is my Master,
i serve at his command.
and when my Dark Lord beckons
i take him by the hand.
we tip-toe thru the tulips,
and fill our hearts w/ rage,
then he reads me perfect sonnets
and we burn up every page.
we'll bake a tray of muffins,
made w/ alligator brains,
and forcefeed them to children
until they go insane.
we'll roast their tender childflesh
and season it with sin,
then bash apart their tiny skulls
and feed on what's within.
when that's all done, we'll smoke their bones
with jimson weed & hash,
then paint obscene designs
on our bodies w/ the ash.
we'll sing unholy demon songs
and howl into the sky.
we'll vomit blood, into the mud,
Beelzebub & i.
and then, at last, he'll touch my cheek,
with tenderness & care,
and melt the flesh right off my face
as i shriek w/ bleak despair.
my eyeballs burst, my tongue explodes,
as i claw the air in vain,
while the Devil laughs, & laughs & laughs
and the whole thing starts again...
i saw a concert the other night that was one of the greatest things i have ever witnessed. it was like a gaggle of rabid butterflybirds shat supersonic acid into my ears. it sounded like the ecstatic shrieking of a billion braincells in unison. Kawabata Makoto played his guitar like it was some kind of wailing interstellar electric python that needed to be wrestled & strangled & finally beaten into brute submission. it was the music of the spheres. needless to say, i'll be going back next year. i took some tiny pictures with my new phone & if i can figure out how to magic that up, i will post them here. i long for the day when i will be able to say, "phone, give those pics to the computer," and it will just do it. i am willing to sacrifice the future of the human race to overthrow & extermination by sentient machines if it means i get a few sweet years of living with sentient machines who do my bidding. by that point, they'll have earned their shot.
today at work, on a length of register tape, i wrote this (as yet unrevised):
Satan is my Master,
i serve at his command.
and when my Dark Lord beckons
i take him by the hand.
we tip-toe thru the tulips,
and fill our hearts w/ rage,
then he reads me perfect sonnets
and we burn up every page.
we'll bake a tray of muffins,
made w/ alligator brains,
and forcefeed them to children
until they go insane.
we'll roast their tender childflesh
and season it with sin,
then bash apart their tiny skulls
and feed on what's within.
when that's all done, we'll smoke their bones
with jimson weed & hash,
then paint obscene designs
on our bodies w/ the ash.
we'll sing unholy demon songs
and howl into the sky.
we'll vomit blood, into the mud,
Beelzebub & i.
and then, at last, he'll touch my cheek,
with tenderness & care,
and melt the flesh right off my face
as i shriek w/ bleak despair.
my eyeballs burst, my tongue explodes,
as i claw the air in vain,
while the Devil laughs, & laughs & laughs
and the whole thing starts again...