Marlon may throw his bag as hard as he might. Marlon may run from the apartment to scream. Marlon may punch the person next to him as hard as he wants, then watch their nose explode in tiny rivlets of blood and oblivion. Marlon may stare into the mirror, at least for now.
A journey to Crapcago requires the heaviest of boots and the roughest sense of innocence- almost innocence unawares. No journey is ever made with just the destination in mind, but then what trip is ever made with a real sense of finality? By that sense, what dreams may come are not the yieldings of our journey?
In the second floor by some stop on the way, Marlon met Despair. A loathing creature self set by lockjaw clumped down upon his final meal. Stuck with that bittersweet succulence that was the last chosen meal and now the only taste he will have for the rest of his life.
Despair hefts up his dog, Ignorance, by the ears to display for Marlon. The dog, for her part, can’t divorce the perma-smile on her face. Her yap screams out welcomes to him in a voice hoarse of a happiness deserted long ago.
Despair draws on the joystick through the open hole in his throat; the ember glows golden, then Despair moves the joystick, carving the humid and hollow air into words.
-If I could put her away from her misery, I would. I don’t know which of us is more miserable. Neither I nor she want it; neither I nor she could leave. Here and now is all I have. There is no future. There is no past. Only the here exists for me.
And each night Despair uncoils the noose, and each night the noose goes round his head. Then every morning he wakes afresh to repeat the process.
Marlon takes this memory and all the fresh memories from today and puts them in his box in his living room. The grief, the frustration, the anger, the remorse, the guilt, the despair. He banishes them out of his head and into the box, only to reminisce over them for the briefest of pauses. The humiliation and self loathing that belong to each one of them wink out from underneath the lid. He lowers the cord, then, in and around them in thick circles. He entraps all the misery and debt each one is owed.
Then he shuts the lid; it is all over for the second.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
349
- Hold steady dear friends!
Marlon doesn’t disagree with doubters dabbling in discrediting devolution looking no further than the degree of Crapcago’s paciphant system. According to the bylaws and restrictions laid down by the Double Secret Society’s decree that paciphants must move in pods or rove on as rogues. These are patient and keen creatures , they position themselves to opportunities to cast crowd’s constitutions to ensure the maximum populaced places are primed for the most painful moments of pestilents. Resistance is futile to the will of the paciphant’s persuasion; their sole credo consisting of creating a critical craptastical quota for the constituents of their services.
The emotion of elation and euphoria erupts and exits into the ether of a tiny death as the paciphant arrives. Even the slimy smells are supplied, while the particpant slips through the same dance of ceremony and the paciphant slides into the stoppage that is every sixty meters down the street.
To add to the morning, the merry meandering of a buzz buzz makes claim over the calm in an explosion of expletives with erroneous exception to the calm. In a pretension, far proceeding her province, the provider opens her buzz buzz with a sense of pomposity.
-Hullo? Who is this? No, who is this? Frack you, you called me, squawk. I can’t hear you. I’m on the fracking paciphant. Hullo? Oh, Smelly, how are you doing, sweety? Yeah it did end up being a good night. I wreak like the fracking joysticks, tea and the rest of the nightery. No, he is doing fine, I put him in a hackney. Oh him? No I don’ think that I’ll see him again. I just left him this morning. Is it so terrible that I didn’t even leave a note? What did you end up doing with yours? Ha, ha. Really mine is fracking small in the game. Oh, slash, I’m at my stop. I’ll send a message as soon as I get in.
To replace the retinance wreaked by the buzz buzz, a large conveynce pulls up to the paciphant. Much to malign Marlon, further, he marks the conveynce's occupancy the occupancy at one. Disparaging the disposition further, the marauder's dimension spreads, heaving his arms out, meandering them down to the muggajoe he sips at his own leisure.
Seeking away from this usurper, Marlon sees the protuberance of the traveler next to him steal his left arm in her gigantic bosom. The gargantuan glare from the girl’s face is twice offended. Once on occasion of Marlon’s initial onlook; on the occoasion, offended by the opportunity Marlon obliges himself to look away. Somewhere, some soul, marks the situation by releasesing the brown note.
The paciphant presumes its’ recourse, the will of society, the ocean of seas the ocean of storms. An infinite squeak squirms out of the sour sap stuck at the slack; buoyancy seeps inertia in a final salute to reveille, resuming the throng back to normalcy and baptising Marlon with a saturation from the novice paciphant rider who has been nursing his muggajoe.
It is always sunny in Crapcago.
Marlon doesn’t disagree with doubters dabbling in discrediting devolution looking no further than the degree of Crapcago’s paciphant system. According to the bylaws and restrictions laid down by the Double Secret Society’s decree that paciphants must move in pods or rove on as rogues. These are patient and keen creatures , they position themselves to opportunities to cast crowd’s constitutions to ensure the maximum populaced places are primed for the most painful moments of pestilents. Resistance is futile to the will of the paciphant’s persuasion; their sole credo consisting of creating a critical craptastical quota for the constituents of their services.
The emotion of elation and euphoria erupts and exits into the ether of a tiny death as the paciphant arrives. Even the slimy smells are supplied, while the particpant slips through the same dance of ceremony and the paciphant slides into the stoppage that is every sixty meters down the street.
To add to the morning, the merry meandering of a buzz buzz makes claim over the calm in an explosion of expletives with erroneous exception to the calm. In a pretension, far proceeding her province, the provider opens her buzz buzz with a sense of pomposity.
-Hullo? Who is this? No, who is this? Frack you, you called me, squawk. I can’t hear you. I’m on the fracking paciphant. Hullo? Oh, Smelly, how are you doing, sweety? Yeah it did end up being a good night. I wreak like the fracking joysticks, tea and the rest of the nightery. No, he is doing fine, I put him in a hackney. Oh him? No I don’ think that I’ll see him again. I just left him this morning. Is it so terrible that I didn’t even leave a note? What did you end up doing with yours? Ha, ha. Really mine is fracking small in the game. Oh, slash, I’m at my stop. I’ll send a message as soon as I get in.
To replace the retinance wreaked by the buzz buzz, a large conveynce pulls up to the paciphant. Much to malign Marlon, further, he marks the conveynce's occupancy the occupancy at one. Disparaging the disposition further, the marauder's dimension spreads, heaving his arms out, meandering them down to the muggajoe he sips at his own leisure.
Seeking away from this usurper, Marlon sees the protuberance of the traveler next to him steal his left arm in her gigantic bosom. The gargantuan glare from the girl’s face is twice offended. Once on occasion of Marlon’s initial onlook; on the occoasion, offended by the opportunity Marlon obliges himself to look away. Somewhere, some soul, marks the situation by releasesing the brown note.
The paciphant presumes its’ recourse, the will of society, the ocean of seas the ocean of storms. An infinite squeak squirms out of the sour sap stuck at the slack; buoyancy seeps inertia in a final salute to reveille, resuming the throng back to normalcy and baptising Marlon with a saturation from the novice paciphant rider who has been nursing his muggajoe.
It is always sunny in Crapcago.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Ny Chronicles part 3 intro
Growing up people didn't know what to make of me, I could fake a Jamaican, Haitian or Puerto Rican Accent with so much authenticity that no one ever caught on so what am I trying to say ... Well this will all tie in later so keep your pants on or take em off I don't care .
The last time I blogged I was visiting my buddy in NY who took off on an impromptu vacation with his wife, I was stuck hanging out with two of there friends well, now that I think about it they really were his wife's friends a Swedish artist and his chain smoking wife.
I was lead to a party in the heart of Brooklyn and while I was at this party a series of events took place that lead me to the witness protection program for several months .
The events that took place are some what true, the names of said persons involved in the upcoming Blog will be changed so that I and the BMC will not be tied up in frivolous litigation .
So please prepare yourself as we will embark on a little ditty ENTITLED .
NY Chronicles part 3 : Sodomy , Glory Holes, Ecstasy, and the Federal Government .
The last time I blogged I was visiting my buddy in NY who took off on an impromptu vacation with his wife, I was stuck hanging out with two of there friends well, now that I think about it they really were his wife's friends a Swedish artist and his chain smoking wife.
I was lead to a party in the heart of Brooklyn and while I was at this party a series of events took place that lead me to the witness protection program for several months .
The events that took place are some what true, the names of said persons involved in the upcoming Blog will be changed so that I and the BMC will not be tied up in frivolous litigation .
So please prepare yourself as we will embark on a little ditty ENTITLED .
NY Chronicles part 3 : Sodomy , Glory Holes, Ecstasy, and the Federal Government .
It's about Time
Finally I'm free !!!!
Free to reign the world of mortal man once more, for far to long I balddee2 have been hidden in the witness protection but now I am free !!!! Free to roam the hallowed halls of BMCDOOM free to bitch Slap Harmon's punk ass at a moments whim , free, I say to teabag all the coffee cups in the break room .
Yes I'm back, back to reign ....
All hail Balddee2
Free to reign the world of mortal man once more, for far to long I balddee2 have been hidden in the witness protection but now I am free !!!! Free to roam the hallowed halls of BMCDOOM free to bitch Slap Harmon's punk ass at a moments whim , free, I say to teabag all the coffee cups in the break room .
Yes I'm back, back to reign ....
All hail Balddee2
Monday, April 09, 2007
357
This is the orientation blah blah Marlon Maxey thumps down upon finishing The Wizard of Oz:
The blah blah continues in the same vein from there, however an oversized stain from a muggajoe rewords the remainder until rendered unreadable.
Mildly Marlon rethinks re-reading The Wizard of Oz one more time to see if the ending has changed, but showing an uncharacteristic restraint he instead regards the mirror onto the kipple of landscape interned before him. To the mind of Marlon there are millions of lives out there all tuned to the great collective, all desperately wanting to desperately want. They are the souls fighting the good fight for what they believe others are believing; one and all buying into pre-occupation with the battle so much so that they miss the letters from the war.
Unfortunate for Marlon, the momentary resoluteness allows for an unwelcome salutation from Peter “Pete” pRatchepeels. Peter “Pete” twills his tye knot with sporting sophistication intent that this motion is an ideal conversation starter.
-Why, say, Marlon isn’t it? Quite the strange things these tye knots are. How wrapping a piece of tarey cloth round a kneck gives the impression of distinction is beyond my realm of reasoning, another madness to make up for the un-magical. Vouchsafe, it does look a bit ridiculous—I say, is that a word book you’re reading?
-It’s one of Theirs. I thought it was a Trixie at first but it hasn’t changed at all and I only just finished reading it for the seventh time.
-Bullriggers and savages all, give here. What a boring existence it must be to do the same thing all the time. What department did you say you were in? The Practically Perfect Partment sPecializing in the Private Procurances of Policy Pertaining to Politics and/or Politicians? Ah the jolly old DextraP. I cut my teeth with them some years ago. Is Ramenthorpe still the division head? You must be someone special if you were able to catch her eye.
-I’m a Stoppgapper. The Agency just sent me over…
-Oh well, we’re all in the same Lilyfloat so to speak I suppose.
And Peter “Pete” continues down the same stream growing sick with word vomit enough to take a sit-a-plop next to Marlon offering further pimply hyperboles pertaining to the grandeur and glory of Crapcago anon. Meanwhile Marlon, for his part, does his best to listen until the half epoch allocated for his lin-lin has expired and he retires back to orientation.
The Department of Practise and Legality of the Fifth Realm of Crapcago has, by and large, a long and treasured history. Sequestered by the right honourable King Flinterock during his noble and optimistic reign over the Third Kingdom of Illanoyed the Department now serves at the pleasure of King Aftmorrow. The Department of Practise and Legality, or as it is affectionately known by employees and officials alike: Depractnleg, manages and creates legal policy for the people of Crapcago within the parameters created by the Third Kingd-
The blah blah continues in the same vein from there, however an oversized stain from a muggajoe rewords the remainder until rendered unreadable.
Mildly Marlon rethinks re-reading The Wizard of Oz one more time to see if the ending has changed, but showing an uncharacteristic restraint he instead regards the mirror onto the kipple of landscape interned before him. To the mind of Marlon there are millions of lives out there all tuned to the great collective, all desperately wanting to desperately want. They are the souls fighting the good fight for what they believe others are believing; one and all buying into pre-occupation with the battle so much so that they miss the letters from the war.
Unfortunate for Marlon, the momentary resoluteness allows for an unwelcome salutation from Peter “Pete” pRatchepeels. Peter “Pete” twills his tye knot with sporting sophistication intent that this motion is an ideal conversation starter.
-Why, say, Marlon isn’t it? Quite the strange things these tye knots are. How wrapping a piece of tarey cloth round a kneck gives the impression of distinction is beyond my realm of reasoning, another madness to make up for the un-magical. Vouchsafe, it does look a bit ridiculous—I say, is that a word book you’re reading?
-It’s one of Theirs. I thought it was a Trixie at first but it hasn’t changed at all and I only just finished reading it for the seventh time.
-Bullriggers and savages all, give here. What a boring existence it must be to do the same thing all the time. What department did you say you were in? The Practically Perfect Partment sPecializing in the Private Procurances of Policy Pertaining to Politics and/or Politicians? Ah the jolly old DextraP. I cut my teeth with them some years ago. Is Ramenthorpe still the division head? You must be someone special if you were able to catch her eye.
-I’m a Stoppgapper. The Agency just sent me over…
-Oh well, we’re all in the same Lilyfloat so to speak I suppose.
And Peter “Pete” continues down the same stream growing sick with word vomit enough to take a sit-a-plop next to Marlon offering further pimply hyperboles pertaining to the grandeur and glory of Crapcago anon. Meanwhile Marlon, for his part, does his best to listen until the half epoch allocated for his lin-lin has expired and he retires back to orientation.
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