nonsense
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in the "steve" journal:[<< Previous 20 entries]
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08:13 am
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you know what the goddamn i'm talking about!
snake rattle and roll! shake and bake, fish monger! flip out on the front lawn. dispose of the evidence. crumple up the solution. cut off your eyelids! free sleep is an illusion! it's mexican! can't you know what i'm seeing without being the enemy? a cough syrup concoction and crabby flame flavored never never land stinko cop rocks. troll dripping nutball dinosaurs did it. they did grand apple salesmen to the teeth. they can eat meat without mirth. dudes like us know the score. we can see without eyeballs, because with sight unseen, we're like mothra's missionary position on the eiffel tower. on the empire state building my body can fall flat like a squished bowling pin, dammit! fits of tongue twisting tornado force wind, winding up. light up, timmy! the score is on for you and your kind, god awful bitch! your vision is gonna dry out, son! you'll lose your fucking sight, man! it's a sign of the times, it's time to sigh!
i feel terrible! why did i just write all this crap? why? why? why!?
hey!
i made some slideshows!!
check 'em out, kids!
music and photography by me
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07:36 am
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i'm back (here's johnny!)
excommunicate my villainy, i'm the porcelain sex drive of hillary! believing in negative megatron eventualities and succumbing prostate to the master of time and ruby red dime bags, climbing around in the garbage heap, looking for lost time and unethical preemptive vengeance. an unnatural quandary compounded by the stakes raised higher on fire like wooden steaks driven through the trough of man's thoroughly uncleaned animal heart, mister! incredible revelatory darlings misplaced by stinging blinding bagpipe greed, inept seeds take root in the wasted criminal intellects at the heart of the numeric desert populated by cold and unfeeling integers. provided by howard stern and predicted by the quest, outrageous fortune at best, too hot to handle, my moist malleable messiah!
preparations are at hand and the boiling point is upon us once, this time. time out for fun, she said, the smile becoming wider like judith's canal. wherefore art thou, romeo? skinned and shot full of glorious barbiturates, the habitat for inhumanity to man belongs in the dumper i say, i say. brilliant dubious villainous degenerate poets cleanse each other with clamato in a european street, sea-side. secular prawns betrothed by queen knit text message hell-heaven, questioned by this sodden god, unorthodox yet fully aware of the titular force which binds us.
i dunno, man. clams. clam bakes. all these lobsters, and puppies too! UPS, senator! ball burning oil drums drilled to the core, apple brown betty! betty's pornographic page turned to reveal the prurient ad devised by a corrupt governing entity at the heart of sociological uprooted liverwurst silliness. digging deeper, we find the cuticle and the source of various seeds springing forth from out the ether. either/or, mad manga ogling ophelia and carnal cal are having a shin dig at the taxpayers' expense. an all expenses paid vacation to have fun. no! silence!
Current Mood: good
Current Music: Butthole Surfers - Birds
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02:01 pm
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jazz!
"ride the skies" by the band lightning bolt is the most impressive thing i've heard in quite a while. i can't recommend it highly enough! the power wielded by the two people in the group is unsettlingly immense. just awesome. five stars, favorited.
i no longer work in frozen food. the old coot that bossed me around there thought i wasn't good enough or something, and now i'm doing the hardest job on the night shift: the "water" aisle. heavy boxes and plastic-wrapped bottles of water, gatorade and soda, hand shelved by yours truly! i haul these immense pallets of liquid down the aisles by hand, because we aren't allowed to use the power jack on the new tiles. i can take it, though. it's good, i need the exercise. i will gain strength from this. i just need to drink more water. water makes me feel very good now. i like to drink water.
i sang over a midi of "just the two of us" that i didn't write. it's pretty silly. i want to be able to sing a song "straight." i can do it, i can do anything i put my mind to. i cleaned my room, and i wasn't even on diet pills. i threw all kinds of shit out. it's basically the essentials, now, although i seem to have misplaced my cell phone, but i don't really care.
i still like to drink mountain dew. it gives me energy and it tastes great. i think i should brush my teeth. why am i writing such boring drivel?
nothing's changed.
i put fresh aluminum foil on my window and put up my painting of gg allin. the psychedelic eyes of my self portrait stare from behind my upright synthesizers leaning against the wall. the box fan hums and gives me a pleasant cool air current.
today i bought some t-shirts and made a deposit to my bank account. thrilling, i know! but it needs to be documented! i'm the mark twain of excruciating minutia. sheesh!
that's all she wrote!
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12:53 pm
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i'm an artist
i did a cover of the cure's "just like heaven" recently. here's a link to it.
i need to go to sleep pretty soon...
have a nice day!
Current Mood: flabbergasted
Current Music: melted men
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07:45 am
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d. x. pewtrid, scamp of our time, scorn of a nation
colonel d.x. pewtrid, resplendent in putridity, owns a third of the bald men at his third annual backyard barbecue. the situation is nominal and requires little of margory's inept down-home south kentucky input. by george, the liquored up lads had it right all along! all along that quilled silty dong (bong!), the sedimentary salad days surrounding that capital haze, purple with prendergast majority. loading the dock and strapping it down, laughing clown. shredding spaghetti laced solos for your listening pleasure. aural sex, spun out pests coming out of the woodwork, hazy and delicate torn asunder plunder dead man's chest in the crow's nest.
dead medical mouth-pornography in a newspaper delivery. form without void, torn without sport. betrothed by the sun, liquidated for no reason at all, atlas. at last! skunk skagging like nobody's skeezy pantaloons. barfed and bathed belittled knaves stave off starvation liver disease slave. heart scarred burnt torn asunder eloped with quiver-lip sandpaper bags to have fun! i'm sonic!
medical form inside dumpster gnome, norm. petting dead dogs wrapped up in ostrich down. levying eugene's fantastic non stick coating against the tides of darkness from which we run. running down the gutter, storm draining like those that cower. simple pedestrian sickle cell hammers marching two by two towering, laminated, crying, diseased, lying...
perfected utterances loud outstanding. true romance calling collect, outdated liquor, saintly insect. ruling with a metal boxing glove on boxing day, eating hay and getting engaged to oysters just for the flesh and happy times coming to a head, master plan banister man! scantily clad hamster reveling in his stupidity owning one half of our most precious resource. one fourth of sally forth's sticky demise.
quadrupling the income and rusting nuts beginning to sense stagnation, sagging bunk bed mythology rotates counter-clockwise to my horror. i never want to see what i saw, a seesaw in action propagating patriotism by way of greece and rome, mismanaging my situation, pissing away hard won well worn assets at the drop of mr. peanut's top hat. praised, braised, ruined to perfection, never sensing that blood red silky malnutrition, the cause and effect of routine bad vibraphone sensation from inner skull torment figment stimulation.
a simulation of greed. buns of oatmeal. weeding out the cream of the crop and dying your hair blonde. a razor blade of incredibly potent opiate power taking a piping hot shower.
international! these are foreboding times indeed.
Current Mood: fine
Tags: blah blah blah, rhymes
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12:30 pm
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two times in one day?
yes, i am this virile. i will infect, i have no regrets. my spine is skewed but i have become truer and truer as time flies. the maggots have grown into the flies of time and the way they buzz is like a chainsaw cutting apart my central nervous system. divided, we cannot stand. how can i survive my last stand if i'm in pieces? i fall to pieces like a reese's candy product in your pocket, everlasting gumdrop milkshake muckraker trapezoid beer fondler! i'll reproduce carnage if i like and i'll pretend to smoke the leaking dike! you can smoke water by inhaling with your third eye. your second butthole i will pry with the aid of my trusty rusty crowbar that i got in the alley of the bar where i guzzle truth and spray mystic serum on the bathroom walls as those around, appalled, scrunch their noses in mock disgust but i don't trust those fiends. friend is a four letter word as far as my birthday cake is concerned. fie on satan and all his accomplices, his sexy drugs, rock and roll, and nonsensical philosophies.
it's too late, i must retreat to dreamland. the only refuge from this assault of late day sleep deprivation insanity/inanity! oh, sure, blame something else, blame anything but yourself!
i am the blame, i'm the night train. bringing darkness where there once was light, i hope to delight. yeah... thank you.
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09:55 am
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zamboni pepper
preparation h raymond loves everybody at the game. they have come to shave, dripping with their offerings, bearing striking resemblance to ants. australian arthropods crawling in hairs discontinued by the mob minded singularity. pot rattled raising hell, dispel! residents with an acute sense of smell, rotating blindly through their meticulously calculated unforgiving wisdom. uncompromising ineffable truth.
portuguese hedgehogs whimpering in the noon day sun, unadorned by the ruthlessly contested garb of velveteen auto pilot plumbers. mythology interspersed with purposely withheld forged documents describing the demise of humanity. leaping through the letters of the alphabet, subconsciously annihilating rational thought. plagiarizing scientific scripture for our own wicked ends soaked in gasoline tinted vinegar, salting down our lips just to get a taste of that sensation. quick sensation, ribbed for her theatrical feigned pleasure. dollars and horse sense, ripping out the spine of the savior god and presenting a secular conclusion at the expense of our majestic miscarriage of logic. using occam's razor to slit your wrists is the wisest, most efficient decision you'll make in this elaborate chess game.
slicing up an effigy and snorting up vital quantities of effervescent epiphany powder, we unravel the universe and wrap it around our naked bodies using raspberry marmalade as an adhesive. this true calling of unquestionable importance will render all other ideas impotent. salvation does not demand the red hot tongs of scientific method. method and red can't even get out of bed! dust off the jacket and get to the store - i implore you to! be especially good at bed wetting and resetting the table of contents for the make believe guests at the all you can eat buffet of the mind.
pity he wasn't circumsised! an oversized avatar representing greed in the extreme! a taco dripping with sour cream. antarctic knights applying vaseline to their jousting javelins, what an uproarious heaven sent malapropism! developmental difficulty perplexes the best of us as we're under arrest and sent to the zoo to be ogled by unwitting identical unstable rubes!
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01:33 pm
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i'm not afraid
who said that? too much paranoias. i'm sick of these lackluster updates. it doesn't add up. tickle the ivories and move on dot org. i don't know what it means, nor do i know how to peel potatoes in an efficient fashion. i can design the experience, but i've neglected my own need for extreme experience. not enough mountain dew for that kind of adventure, clem. gonna need a six pack of gear to get the show on the frickin' road, ya know? peel out under the hill, be untoward to the dollar bill, reveal yourself to others through the art of conversation, having satisfactory smalltalk. the age of socialization. can i be a socialite without sacrificing my integrity as the foremost artiste of our time? i always knew i was the center of the universe, from DAY ONE. get back in line, lionel! i own this metropolis! now who's shouting orders at imaginary lackeys? now who has the skeleton key that will unlock this mystery of life? i'll slap who i want, i have a cane and i am from singapore. i have many knives at my disposal. i will shove the hand of the offender in the garbage disposal and press play. just press play, dude looks like a lady, can you feel the love tonight? glory days, born in the USA, dream baby dream. the dream never dies, it just mutates and shivers accordingly while singing sobbing and playing the accordion, lee! who's laughing now, baby jack? those stews were lies designed by devilish women! they had their own sit com and a key to the city. an underpass to freedom that never lasted. the dream went down (no pun intended) more southerly than mr. jack daniels himself! a gentleman of a most extremely sublime rarity. toppling the white stetsons like dames rolling on the floor laughing at the head chef on aisle sixteen sizzling as if you knew the secret to the probable cause of this most banal sentence. banality will get you nowhere, if you have the right friends. friends are like underwear - when they go bad, they stink! wash them out in the sink!
goodnight, good day, good forever, the dream is here: experience it. i'll be dreaming of peppermint patties tumbling down gently sloping green hills in the crystalline azure adoration of the sickeningly ecstatic singular revelation of the sky. bathe in the pregnant wisdom of all the dead writers that created our language, and give your money to a musician. it helps and it always has, hasn't it? i'm not going to pull anything out of my hat, though.
bye!
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09:07 am
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enjoy this week's love gift
new "laugh out loud" edition of the goldenhog muxtape!
you're welcome!
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12:40 pm
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the key to happiness
don't be afraid to get dirty.
also, forget about your inhibitions.
i might be wrong, though. i've been wrong before!
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12:28 pm
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i'd like to thank my fan base...
anyway, things have yet to be done in these times of greed. the crisis is at hand. have you been dealt a final stand? have you lost control so soon after your operation? after operation desert storm we fell back on our safety net proactive reserve treasury. the fine fine finances were in order and lined up to go, but the split decision pea brained squiggly soup nazis got the last laugh at the expense of our well to do foot soldiers on the front lines. penetrating deep into enemy territory and pissing on every fire hydrant they could find, fining civilians for thought crimes. beguiled by this animalistic sensation, bedeviled by harrowing heroin pushing heroic hang gliders of the infinite sky dimension. the infinite sky glows pure blue and symbolizes the folly of the hermetic hoarding oafs of this miscalculated disheveled generation of rotting putrescent slimy swine swarming with loudly buzzing stinging flies. batter dipped to perfection and in tune with the resurrection, many of anthony's ponies quiver with anticipation. the desire for the making of the first move is paramount. it's an uncontrollable urge for a romantically calculated uninhibited preemptive strike. us or them, seed and stem, repugnant malaise from a dripping spout of garbage pail legislation or flip flopping hamburger servants in the service of the queen with a pulsating slug for a butt.
rejuvenated and shallow, our prehensile periwinkle snouts below the belt are going round to round with this fragrant symbolic visionary pelt. round and round the bowl goes, where the snake strikes, nobody cares. dominoes and pears, lady! mistaken for a bumblebee, the lonely mosquito sweats nervously and the cascading droplets arouse suspicion and the contempt of the supreme court. elephants never forget and quails never regret the things they do or the people they screw over to get what they want when they want at any time to any mime without an iota of forethought or so called premeditation. how could there be uninterrupted meditation in a place like that? baubles and dogs revolt against the plagiarism of an outrageous fortune cookie. monster of rock without a combination lock rolled down the hill and into a toppled dumpster looking for cookie crumbs, feeling hunger. rumbling like damnation come home to roost like the hundredth starving dalmatian at the end of the line at the soup kitchen frostbitten and forgotten like a foregone conclusion. henry the eighth knew for sure, but he wasn't delicate enough with the situation. my situation is all screwed up like the sistine chapel being unraveled digitally, thoroughly. we're strong, forthright, and explicitly thorough. we are scholars. we holler. suits us fine, ma'am. we're digging a hole to a logical conclusion, can you feel me?
Current Mood: artistic
Current Music: noise, probably
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11:07 am
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join us - it's bliss
sweet relief! straight pillin' it, pullin' the rhubarb out of your back yard!
i cold layed this mother up in chains like a chain link fence gone awry! i spilled some beans in the sky! i'm cold holdin' a pillow and talkin' smack like richie rich! i'm fulla choklit and i'm ready for action! i'm a man of my word, m'lady! gape in awe and stutter and mutter all ye want, but my pirate hook hand shall come down hard upon ye merchants of cheap death! whores all around, these salty streamlined beaches and canyons over yon border patrol peppered with pepperpot skin-tight hip hugger tightwads! skin petrol onward to flame grape like the setting sizzling sun from sarpino's pizza! skybound, betrothed by nutritious evergreen strip-logic! scheduled for four o'clock s'mores be tilted quilted mega men, but nevertheless bored and pardoned like dolly south of hollywood in a beer filled cowboy boot at the bottom of the barrel! miniature and replete with damaging good looks and ripe smelly alluring feet, baby squeals revealing her lasagna and pulling the lingerie off with her teeth seductively!
toothsome redwood metropolitan grazing by frat boys confused about their sexuality! midnight movies in the drugstore, populated by video game entities looking to settle the skizzore for rizzle and unwrapping the riddle of my personal mystery while eggs fizzle and slyly fry on the dinner plate in a vain display of outright contempt for conventional oven harmonics. perfumed silk petals flow melodically through the air around your flowing blonde hair and the wind is full of angelic chiming and gentle sighing in a semblance of happy go lucky sinister fun loving joyous folly. good vibrations, noble emancipations and sore eyelids surrounding this most holy visage. the illusion of life, manifested by so called fatalistic internal intentions. spiritual indigestion overloaded pin prick sensations sullying my heretofore unheard of mental wealth. sullied by sally and her gap toothed bridesmaids! unearthed by the rug and swept under the table and swept away! the way you sweep me off my feet, you could have been a push-broom! stick it to the man - always.
Current Mood: good
Current Music: The Dickies - Mental Ward
Tags: madness, rhymes
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01:18 pm
[Link] | it's a hell of a time for carpet baggers eating knuckle sandwiches at the top of the eiffel tower! they're snide, and they can climb. it perturbs many but perplexes few as sneaky men make hidden stew. ravenous rejected social outcasts dance to outkast while sipping earl grey tea in the presence of the military. bulbous bouffants raining like men from heaven in a sunday birthday suit of gold. confusion is taking hold, if i may be so bold (i may!)
the color black strapped to my back as i tumble through this royal rumble. the peppermint's delivery was on time and it rhymed with the word 'rhyme.' i can sneer and gaze with sticky eyes upon the fresh flowers of this forsaken god given silly society as the worms within my skull devour and ensnare my own idea of a "fun time" and the inside of my teeth struggle to reciprocate my tongue's physical affection.
a vulgar display of divinity. the scepter is good and plenty. overpowering wrath will descend if coupons are not clipped. my hair will turn purple if the invisible slaves aren't whipped. actions have consequences and problems have solutions. you know and i know the true score like an elephant taking a long hot relaxing bath in the proud company of ruth christmore. barbie cruller was a fantastic power dame. she wields welding rods and puts men to shame. she shaves the backs of yaks and can cook a tasty concoction. she sold my soul at an unholy auction.
i'm stuck in a rut, but i don't care. participating in capitalism to get things to wear. fashion plate, fashionable victim. truth or dare? bare naked bear! you get a kiss, mister, cuz i respect your blister. who's fooling who? metaphorical jew. persecuted electrocuted and cute too! this is the way. i'll sue!
enough! i wonder what's for dinner...
i guess i better get going!
and here is your daily dosage of beautiful classical paintings rife with stunning symbolism
Current Mood: same as it ever was
Tags: art, rhymes
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12:23 pm
[Link] | i always stay up too late, and it makes me feel terrible. i'm going to sleep!
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10:13 pm
[Link] | i had a dream that my maternal grandmother was an alcoholic dog. her mouth was strapped shut to prevent her from drinking as she sat at the dinner table. later, she ate some meatloaf and sang a song.
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12:21 pm
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PS:
Current Mood: jovial
Current Music: rood
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11:37 am
[Link] | i got the audio editing software "sonar 6" in the mail yesterday and i am figuring it out. this is power overwhelming, and i think i deserve it. beware, music business...
Current Music: Swans - Your Property
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11:35 am
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i know the difference between right and wrong
self preservation is essential to the survival of the species as a hole (sic). partial regurgitation completes the life cycle of the oligarchy's failed virtual organism. bed time in the church of the subhuman. sub animal sandwich eye gleam. a self fulfilling prehistoric prophesy. manic devolved red rimmed punch bowl anteater soil graph. huge slam on the wedding cake with a basketball. churchill in charge. gripping the ebony whip and having a fit. be still, my beating prostate. beating the eggs and trimming the hedge and spilling the milk and crying about your guilt. staining the quilt with wasted tears. i have done nothing wrong, i'm just singing a happy song. deluded ego tripping, ravenously consuming the fried raven carcass as we caress the bald purring hog. i eat fried cars and drive vibrating carcasses to work where i earn my living by being cool. it doesn't have to add up, i was never good at math.
the true nature of things is that they are what i bring to the table. under the table is a secret handshake and friendly exchanges of cash for goods and services. breach of contract, 321 contact arrested slime pudding in the hand is worth a cloud in a bush house white frog tombstone time repulsive wine sign crime minimalist sextet divine.
i'll push over the red banner-waving miscreants without a thought because to be that bold is like a falling arrow substituting the wrong for the right during flight. i'm a substitute teacher of the mind and it's time to hear this through the grape vine: all ill has ceased to be perplexing as i'm texting you this asinine grade F essay about nothing and no one in particular, because it's my mission to confuse and romanticize the dadaist principles of shimmy lamb bake tin tin tin capri!
i'm just a down home revenant pook ghost citadel ram muffin ding dangler with several spanglers! toot sweet! to the stew cleaners from mao moo tonsil felvit elvis mexican sensation poot.
i hurt! what if there's a sandstorm?
Current Mood: bored
Current Music: The Moog Cookbook - Whole Lotta Love
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10:47 pm
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i'm one of those guys now, i guess.
well, i done bought a turntable. i like it! now i am experiencing that "warm sound" that all those people were raving about. i suppose it does sound "warm!" having minor issues with my cord... whatever.
if i plug it in all the way (aw yeah) i don't get both stereo tracks, just one! i was listening to "light my fire" and i couldn't hear the fucking organ! holy hell. i pulled it out just a little bit and now i can hear it. what a nutty thing.
this is how music was meant to be heard? i like it, it's fun, but i'm still getting a lot of hiss. maybe i need a new stereo? i'm using a "karaoke machine" to play it!
i will purchase melted men albums. they release music almost exclusively on vinyl. i will also buy any vinyl young god records releases i can find. and i wanna get some of those swans test pressings that are for sale... yeah.
word!
Current Mood:  giddy
Current Music: the doors - light my fire
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05:16 pm
[Link] | have a nice day.
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