a script, an eleven-forty tango with “CREATE,” the captain of mice

swimming fish

the car

just got back from spain where i had a 1.2 polo. small. but what a pernicious beast. it gave me confidence and i appreciated its character for what it really was (not what it tried to be). the rival it sat next to in the driveway was a peugeot 308, hdi, with all the excessive ergonomics of a marketing executive from a third grade ‘play-duh’ session.

one morning, having awoken from a mass exodus of accumulated urine in my lower chamber, i took this poignant sliver into the sunrise on a mountain road until its ready-to-wear-consumer-shoes began to beg for friction to forgive. incredibility, but reality is measured using ‘sweat factors’ of nine.

part of the trip… the start (at least)

serially, sunsets are manufactured consent. i appreciate it, insofar as i can express it. the burst of a “wider-than-life” bust is impossibly sexy, erotically undefined but almost always tragic and endlessly pessimistic. spain, a country of obsessed one-to-fivers, a playground for the tired, a bathtub of simplicity and a flabbergasted pot of unanimity. i became instant coffee, the moment the airport become a visionary reality. we touched down at some random time, on some random day, on a bed of chaos, the breaks of our bird fighting statistics and reminding its inhabitants of the futility of order.

next came the peeling off of the outer layer. we became exposed to the intricacies of religious miracles. a small “trocadero” reminded us that life in general is sometimes impossible to diversify, but for a slight notice that reads: add salt water, fourteen palm trees and nonchalance by the bucketload. who was i to dismiss novelty?

that the car really had a past

my first was a 528e. old, expressive, full of emotion. rust became it. i recognized its deficiencies, but really did not mind. my love for the animal (incognito) was a precocious prerogative that has yet to leave me. it was a 9-5 on the weekend that car. never will i forget it, never will i forgive it for spewing its guts after exiting one of the more major highways that makes its way from the west to the east, along a colourful barrage of allusions and beast-like accommodations.

second time, i failed equally. probability is a science. and i’m a lawyer. the 325 entered into my garage as easily as it would escape from a three point turn on a roundabout in the countryside. she had two-doors, love handles and a big smile on her face. i would take her out on breakfast, lunch and dinner dates. at the local gas station. insatiable, a love that made humans weak at the… 

my “mode” is now altruistic. my magnanimous inside is on a collision course with my aristocratic outside. walking saves the planet, and i’m convinced that the exit valve on cows are equally destructive. but i refrain from making more waves than is really required by the upper chamber of frivolous disgust and imposed “fees-for-life.”

i miss my two bmws, i will miss them for a while. but now, it looks like i may have a new love, a new hope, a new mistress. audi…

… thank you for making the r8.

…and without the means, the ends would have turned into knots…

50 mm 1.8.
+ kit.

i don’t believe in the kit, but the 50 is all i shoot with, religiously. 

i have shot with many, many camera[s] (+ obviously… ), and only really feel connected when (abstractly) attached to ‘my 50’ while on the run hunting for “the shot” or being hunted by those who feel my presence is leading their existence into a chaotic depression.

lens hunger is ubiquitous, but extremely unsatisfactory. purpose should really drive your appetite, rather than a desire to accumulate slash horde for socially inexplicable reasons. that’s just “my own” escaping…

an attempt… end?

so why was it explosive. why was it emotional. and why was it so disturbingly beautiful while at the same time satirically constipating. maniacal equations are required to explain. my small back pocket – and i have two – offer little in the way of “a solution.” it was life, full of it. the sand was neither moist nor dehydrated. we are all “counters” and at the very same time “weights.” egos define us and will eventually ruin us, slowly, bit by bit, until the last living seagull will find another “bone to pick.” but this is traditional. amorous, polyamorous and all of the feelings in between. on the record, there were no regrets, just impetuses and small hostile drags with nothing to pray on but ineffective plastic hairs and carbon fiber. meticulous. m…ind… n… umb… in… g.

ants live in colonies of x numbers. their abode is garnished with cubism, their artistic tendencies preferring the less double, the less famished. i’m stuck. seriously.

i’ll come back later. wait for me…


[note: these are excerpts from things that i wrote on the day i published this blog. these excerpts were not written FOR THIS PURPOSE, but came together to form what is before you. boo.]


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hra – better than nothing? and has the EU really made a difference?

the herd, lining up

hra – better than nothing? and has the EU really made a difference?

– what does that tell you about how much the HOME OFFICE (a creation of some prime minister or another – i think in this case it was his royal tony-ness that transgressed) really cares about the HRA

– in my personal and humble opinion (yeah right ;)), the answer will tend to be “not really that much”

– they are constantly entertaining a state of complete apprehension, a state of being that paralyzes their foresight and continues to entertain the grossly inappropriate blinders-on effect that has been the status-quo for way too long in this nanny-state of a country

– i guess the thought of queens, kings and KINGDOMS conjures up warm and fuzzy feelings of slavery and repression with its gardens of evil and sand castles of hardship for the promotion of the social collective, the nation and the prosperity of the PUBLIC (and the PUBLIC’S GOOD)…another deep-throat anachronism that even my grandmother has stopped paying attention to…

– everyone is hiding behind the ‘public good,’ while we, the voters, the deciders, want accountability

– but really, when the closet monster makes a boo-boo, s/he blames it on the need to promote the public good, or some other utilitarian smith-slash-mill-like hit-and-run argument.

[note: the above happened ‘on the fly’ or ‘in the moment’ and its contents are unaltered so as to not entertain an adherence to certain unfounded and unjustified standards of expression or formalities that only restrict the audience slash reader to a given matrix of possible interpretations. art, a creation, a process.]

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Into this world, I welcome a steamship. The sound, the melodic sound is whispering to me. Slow, begin slow. No need to escape into the unknown, just be wise, proceed with foresight, caution tape, and a large sum of vocal chords. Sometimes. Oh, sometimes, and then it kicks in. So delightful, let it guide you. I’m chewing on softness. Sometimes the vibrations can consume the mind numbing pain that my ears interpret on my legal behalf. You, see, you did it again, you interpreted the wrong side for a better one. Searching, methodological power.

a mental condition, present from early childhood, characterized by great difficulty in communicating and forming relationships with other people and in using language and abstract concepts.


a mental condition in which fantasy dominates over reality, as a symptom of schizophrenia and other disorders.

What fear surrounds the machine that built the citadel without performing another form of a ritual. And then the boycott began, the inside rescinded all contracts, purported to sacrifice and surreptitiously declared another war with the outside. The external. A door begins and bespoke manual contraptions reenter into the ‘gain’ equation. Forgive me, but the solarium awaits me to another side of this world.

– noun Psychiatry

The beginning of spring, economica. Grab another pen, sit down. Define for me, the following four letter words: M ON E Y. Fooled, but that’s the game, the nature of the gastronomic exaggeration. Voltaire once said, forget what Voltaire said, don’t paraphrase, quote as given and please attach all Mr. Potato Head subscriptions to my invoice. Another problem, another solution, and so the chain begins again, back to front, inside to outside, speaking two dimensionally, solutions attempt to reconsider. Small wombats don’t even speak this kind of fallacious language-ness.


|ôˈtistik| |ɔˈtɪstɪk| |ˈɔːˈtɪstɪk| adjective & noun


An introduction to hypothermia is needed. My brain works to consume a hungry batch of ideas, daily. I do not presume you’re incompetent, I know fully well how not to experiment with absentia. This one pathetic and small … I refuse to accept that just because your well paid neurons happen to also distinguish themselves among the non-swimmers, my equally potent prodigious few can also withstand the test of voluptuous consumption. You are equally boring; yes, you, the impossible apothecary of mind-numbing stupor and formidable turpitude in light of your astute denials, speak up. My generosity begs your forgiveness, my apologies yearn after your candour, my parasitic ineptitude mistakenly believe that you are their only ex-. Not even close to walking. Mr. Go get me some chips. Still in fucking spatial disruptions. Cannot crawl well, but can have the ineptitude to want to walk. Perversity imbibes me, from x to y, from x to z, from y to the left quadrant of indulgence without a discretionary warning sign to the weaker probability. This is the feeling that is intended to be transported into your harbour. Acquiescence is only permissible in those instances where your dog’s leash is impregnable. Listen, small infant of sequentially mentioned aforethought, dispatch the largest xylophone you can find between your pecuniary loss and the space between the most important members of your constitution, ethics and membranes that do not inhale when they breathe.

– early 20th cent.: from Greek autos

I feel determined, pre-determined, like a fabricated machination that only performs in code. It’s abysmal, but choice was not in writing and certainly not in contract. It is my agency, my debilitating dyslexia that recommends an otiose remedy to a large brown idealist on Sundays past four perimeter meters. There must exist a beginning attached to this dead end. Hope is present, but fallible and hypersensitive to other personal obstructions of justice. Emergencies are ephemeral and sometimes intransigent (at best). Should is not an attempt but a dependent variable acting in a rash field of magnetic violence. On the other hand, we can only be obsessed with what we can defend; the two points require a place to come and breed and dispel insidious violence and evil desires with a batch of ulteriour motives a la carte. At face value, you are bringing this temporary chaos upon yourself. And that can only be a reassertion of the existence – at the very least – of a chance, a hope, a magnanimity. To persist is noble. Your convictions are well founded, the oracle has confirmed them all to me, your caregiver, your personal concierge with a ‘but’ of ‘butler’ inside; it is a joke, you either feel it or you not only not get it, but you will never get it either. Advance, adapt, Autopoiesis.


– ‘self’ + -ism .

You barely passed the test, but you passed it. You may begin the countdown. You.


Your score, 43/438, equalling 12.356322 and a percentage value of 12.36 – rounding up for error skimming.

– autism |ˈôˌtizəm|

–v&p* //*08

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Do you believe that judges, from your own experience or knowledge, purposely although not always explicitly, undertake to create or construct ambiguous, aberrant and anomalous arguments, when establishing their reasons for why a case is to be judged a certain way, so as to promote and encourage the contentious nature of our litigious society with the intent to serve the self-interests, financial or otherwise, of lawyers and those occupying legal positions?

YES/NO? [feel free to comment]

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brain speak, in sentence form

    so the equation starts with an x and ends with a number, a virtual number, a temporary allocation of space

the flare
(c) – teamkonsol

it’s incredibly plain, incredibly vanilla. the fields of green are morose, the mountains of ineptitude, flagrantly bed-ridden. to offend in these instances requires insensitivity, but, finding the opposition in charge with your intellectual beheading is elusive and hardly pragmatic. you may, of course, begin by pedaling across your past in an attempt to clothe your naked misunderstanding that what is innocuous is friendly. other alternatives may also present themselves, all equally feasible but also equally impossible. how can these relationships exist, between foregone conclusions and pastoral and bucolic anomalies? it may be that diversity has impregnated the tempest via a most elaborate form, or tool of the mind, and that now, the specter of hope is flickering away.

    a departure interferes, maybe it had something to do with the light particles that entered during an inappropriate time

bigotry. a man in a white cloak arrives at his place of worship. he enters the establishment confident but rather amused at the arrival of controversy. the emperor signals for his attention. rather pompously, a mistress conducts a search of the person, whereupon it is found and subsequently established, that the weapon of deceit to be used in the search for treason was, as a matter of fact now, catastrophe delivered via an urn of spontaneity. to predict this fantastical situation, but obviously apparent to all the onlookers, would have been impossible, but for the whistle of logic and reason and the music of entitlement. distress materialized but only momentarily. the king, a temperamental person by nature or by other more insidious but historical causes and effects, remained at ease and indifferent.

    the smell of la-la-la-noxious went away

the act of intellectual intercourse, between an elephant a small dog [WOLF DESCENDANT] is deemed impossible. academics in positions of power vociferate against the existence of such anomalous and abstract possibility to such an insistence… no, [OR YES, YES] erase this incoherence. logical impediments should not come into effect, at least not so early in the developmental stage. but i am compelled to forego such considerations, not because my mind desires incoherence, but because this form of creation does not undertake to evaluate or judge the lack ofs. meh. the cat sprints, the ant barks and the lion sneezes. [NO NO NO NO!] in a perfect world, the opposite would be true, but what reality exists devoid of fantasy. incredible, these convictions, absolutely incredible and absolutely [AND, FOR APPLICABILITY’S SAKE – ARBITRARILY] applicable. the dark space that exists between my fingertips and the keys that are currently being stroked so as to allow for the creation of digital letters and subsequently words and sentences, is temporary, elastic [SAID BUT NOT THOUGHT] and fictional but yet equally important and desirable. the foundation of a small army inside a situational construction [OPPOSITE OF DECONSTRUCTION BUT NOT TOTAL DESTRUCTION] reveals the inadequacy of medium-sized pepper balls when confronted with gigantic but magnanimous fruits of anger, greed, malice aforethought, resentment and possibly apathy. i despise your incapacity to make sense, your lackluster record of underperforming and your bucolic attempts at rectifying what you yourself have created using infinitesimally but calculated strategic potions of an acidic and acrimonious nature. an acephalous regime is best suited for this style of ignorance.

    and to think that such, as you see it, had to make sense

the art of three, four, or five. the number of gregarious is none. latent indolence finds you. bag, zip, drive, walk. in time of nine, be with twelve, but forget about one. incredibly talented. you fake, you fake, you are fake. explain this rather complex problem to me, but be careful to forego establishing a solution. bluff, repeat, repeat, reexamine. inside chaos, the weather is moderate but the temperature indicates a permanent state of permafrost. did or did not, do or did, doing or did it. unify your attempts and capture virility, but do not sterilize it, instead, institutionalize it, befriend it. and modify if needed. i am such a slow bug, it makes me depressed. my friends find flying a bore, but i succeed at flapping – often. how incompetent is is for a word so short? you, me, they, us, for president, insulated, imbibed, prescriptions need homes too. why. why not. ugh. patience, patience young delinquent, you will eventually define yourself in the world of temporary incoherence. you want to act, but you do not have a ball to bounce, yet. air, suspended by a particular, accumulated particles, free but pre-determined. a lake. an ocean. four ponds, open mass.

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ToRo Arts Group First Annual Film Festival


Visit http://www.toroartsgroup.com/events for more information.

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one eyed purple-pee-ple party like monkeys with underwear on their heads

[experimental: 2]


the life of rock-star small mouth bass-like fish(ies). append your list of niceties here, and then replace nice with a creation that shadows your most excited state of being.

it all started out with two formen, drilling holes into a party scene that kept the spirit alive in both the letter and the decapitated latter. j1, plug extraordinaire and prodigy child winner of the 2007 Largest Plug without a Socket Award, while j2 had enticed monkey into a preliminary headlock, proceeded to award the latter party with the former party’s most dedicated piece of dentistry, a toothbrush. don’t fear what happened next. j2, upon discovering that spain had in fact defeated the british (in his dreams), then (and without doubt), extracted the foreign object from his sherwood forest of fairy-tales, three legged motorboats and detrimental affairs. it was tragic, but not as tragic as movie-speak. monkey was not impressed, of course. however, this time, instead of woofing, he barked and then bit.

d started to philosophize about suns and their correlation with other proximity objects, like [more] suns, neighbours and other first year anomalies. requirements aside, it all really started with a blow of the horn, a vicarious attempt at reminding the south-side that the kid they call ‘oprea’ really did exist and was not just a distant cousin of the party animal loch-ness. fuck you. and fuck snow white and the seven little chemists. how about that for a feature film review?


snow-fights only happen when wild colombians embrace pacifism with the intent to prosecute freedom and the expression of reproduction. without any concern for wild animals, small foreign game, or other superior creatures, the anti-socialist riot begun. left. right. back degrees. similarities, differences, exponential criticism – they all survived without the consequences of settled dust. and then there was the biggest government intervention of the Year of the Ceasca; consider this: if nicaragua had pinochet, we would all have been incarcerated for eating ice-cream and sucking lolly-pops.

d said mommy. or maybe it was mummy or maw-ma-wee. it’s the sun allusion that still survives. and then whisky was mixed with chili and they all spoke tongues that have not been heard for seventy-four dog years (ears are for the phonetically challenged, those with ADD and prolonged dyslexia).

resuming again.

some chevys, some levies, some pasta and s just asked if we’re blogging. d is talking about santa-claws. “and he let them know that he ain’t kidding.” t3, a strong chemical in and of itself wants to tell you a joke: “chuck naw-mate-norris just counted to infinity.” it’s true and so is t3’s dedication to early-pubescent virgins. i spoke too soon… or maybe it’s chuck norris that has that proclivity. fucking precocious.

nbc? mal-infringement? left and right leg? water? watertight? who the fuck is g4?

don’t read the below, read the above.

j3 wants to spank my monkeys, although, we will concede that the real monkey can’t and won’t have any of that nonsensical shenanigan(s with four plural ss).

here comes the 2007 award winner: “crocodiles without gats? small kittens? or fluffy snowballs, but really, i wouldn’t use that word to be perfectly honest with you…

ok, you can read now but skip…the diseased pet and the one-eyed flying purple people eaters…

p.s. t3 spilled a 97% empty can of ginger-ale on the macbook. donkey ass.

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