| Follow the Mello Yello Brick Road |
[01 Feb 2010|10:29pm] |
Tabitha remembers watching “Anna Arcana” on TV. She was six with a smile. This was before the Great War. They still had strawberry ice cream. Central air and heat. Now all they have is defeat.
Junk roasts a rat over the grill. The scent of charred flesh wafts across the wasteland. He shakes out the last drops of Tabasco. “Eat quick- we've gotta get going.”
Putrescent mutants are on their trail. The monsters want to eat Tabitha and Junk for breakfast. “We all live in a yellow submarine,” Tabitha sings. Her dad used to sing this song along with the spinning record.
Junk is growing a beard. He looks like Jesus. He remembers playing PS3 when he was seven, swinging Lightsabers and sucking on Life Savers. There was a gas station down the road where he would steal Now And Laters. Apple was his favorite flavor.
Lightning dances in the distance, tickling the mountains. Thunder echoes across the desert. Cold drops of rain splash. “The shaman says that rain is the Creator's tears,” Tabitha holds her hands out.
“Don't gimme that mumbo jumbo,” Junk stomps off towards Paradise City. “I can't wait to get home and take a nice hot shower.”
“We're already getting wet,” Tabitha giggles. “We have everything we need out here.”
“Yeah, and it's freezing,” Junk scowls. “Forget about the great outdoors!”
“Speaking of forgetting,” she holds up the greasy bag, “don't forget what we came out here for! If we leave this, Boss Harley's gonna be pissed!”
They walk down that ragged road, huddled together for warmth like haggard dogs. Broken husks of ruined cars sit in the street. Skeletons inside the cars have their hands crossed over their faces, as though trying to hide from some terrible sight.
Eventually, Tabitha and Junk reach the great wall of Paradise City. Someone had spray painted “There is no democracy in China,” above a rose bush with a pile of broken guns below it. Junk shouted, “There's no place like home!”
The giant crimson doors creak open and they slip inside. Boss Harley is waiting in the city, all dressed in white. She's got a cowboy hat on and is smoking a cigar.
“Glad to see y'all made it back alive,” she pats them on the back. “Didja get what I wanted?”
“Of course,” Tabitha pulls out the bag and hands it to Boss Harley.
Tabitha remembers breaking into the fast food restaurant and searching for Boss Harley's prize. It reeked of french fry oil in the kitchen but the power was still on. She dug through boxes in the walk-in cooler, assembled the item and stuck it in the microwave.
Boss Harley rips open the wrapper and ravenously eats the bacon, egg and biscuit. “Every good story needs a McMuffin!”
|
|
| bec |
[22 Dec 2009|11:03am] |
|
"we need more murder machines," she screamed. We're becoming caricatures. Killing is big business, gives benefits n everything.
|
|
| chatroom of doom |
[20 Dec 2009|01:53am] |
|
walnuts and m&ms. the undefeated fall. chopping mall. cold emotions found in bottles in ocean. mexico beach. sunset. beauty full hermit. hermes crab. animate expo. taught & caught, actor. parent.
|
|
| machine swirling swim |
[15 Dec 2009|10:07pm] |
|
i think myself is what is burning. there's a dedicated desert out there, waiting. who needs your elation. we had fixation on verbal multiplications. it comes on strong and wrong. we're all, we're all, we're all (lost)
|
|
| turkey & dumplings |
[14 Dec 2009|01:13am] |
|
we're all dying. we're all dying. we're all dying inside. whine grind moonshine. the machines are making it all easier. casual hexes in texas. mother said we wouldn't make it.
|
|
| failyear blimp turtle |
[22 Nov 2009|11:56pm] |
|
her orange eyes stared into his like halogen lights. "we can burn out like candles or we can burn out like stars." the choice is ours. the cops were tracing them by the gps chips in their wrists. the albino frog's long legs worked through the water. nathan slept in the woods. he had no home, no job, no mob to call his own. mom worried about him. he just got a new neck tattoo. it was a snake. its tongue flickered if you touched it.
|
|
| Posted using TxtLJ |
[03 Nov 2009|07:29am] |
|
Had dream i was in new yorky place i'd been b4. Superhighways, insane girl with two cool guy friends, creatures with crocodile heads n snake bodies r slow.
|
|
| black hate magic |
[03 Nov 2009|01:18am] |
"i'll always love you," she said and shoved the knife in.
something that looked like it was composed of black lightning walked by.
it shook its head. she stared into its empty eyes, like staring into the void.
"i can't talk now," she spoke. the creature sensed endless despair inside her.
she was a daughter of infinity, the cosmos slain like a deer on a cracked concrete altar.
blood pooled together like liquid shadows. sometimes you just gotta do the wrong thing.
songs on repeat to control consciousness. the villian grinned. ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffeeff
|
|
| scarstrip bloopers |
[21 Oct 2009|11:34pm] |
and in your wisps and wishes, the witches work their dark magic. we're falling out of space here, where the meant-to-be's are drifting, weightless with the asteroids. i'm living in a junkyard of treasures, cardinals flitting by. the things i've seen with android eyes. ghosts of great buildings stand before me and cartoon creatures. dust scraps, i only know what a sage once said, "you just gotta do it." i once considered changing my name (to cocaine) but i know that words are meaningless. we dine in darkness, skull lights, city lights sparkling like stars. the dogs are barking again, steel jaws- they can see the creatures dance in the darkness.
i'm remembering launching water balloons in lakeside now, which i remember being called oceanside. there are minefields there, mindfields. walk carefully. royko, loveglow, enigma. always the wrong and silent type. can you control? tobey or not tobey, obey jd.
blueberry muffins, banana, half a waffle, two sliced eggs and orange juice. excessive exemplary. follow the ghost trails, entrails. that old lady had the gasmask on but when i developed the film, her image wasn't in it. oldtype in your ocean, abe lincoln skin. it's pointless to think of things, junko mizuno my little ponies. i promised not to (insert symbology here) to protect the guilty. anubis, a new hiss. she speaks in steam. in time, in rhyme. can we rewind the cassette tape and play it backwards in the cat's mouth? i heard it can give you a different reading, bleeding. we are feeding on the memories of the ancient ones. i'd forgive you if you didn't make it this far- now i know why you have nothing to say.
|
|
| g(end)ame |
[15 Oct 2009|01:06am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
something you can't taste |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
something you can't see |
] |
"i hope the nightmares don't wake me up again," tabitha told him.
the doctor's eyes just blinked red leds.
"there's a feather from a father, now run and play daughter, don't be a bother." -mother.
sometimes i just feel like i'm remixing myself.
|
|
| easter island (zoroastrianism) black eyeliner / mascara |
[11 Oct 2009|10:28pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
dethalbum 2 / crystal castles |
] |
1.
"the government is still watching us," she whispered. jack just scratched an itch on his back.
"i've missed you, my dear," he told her, brushing bone white hair with skinny fingers.
her body was all machinery and empty tubes. "when you wake up we're gonna *** all the rubes," he told her.
she had black panties on, he couldn't help but stare into her swirling blue eyes. he thought he could see a planet composed entirely of water in them. it was sinking, falling away into black space.
2.
"this is quite a disappointment." her fingernails were painted blood red. we lay together in bed. her face was a computer screen. 8-bit wonder and blunder. her blonde hair had bits of glitter stuck in it. i called her aliss but i couldn't be sure i remembered her real name anymore. the tranquilovision washed us with its violet waves.
4.
pink breasts on display. we washed our skin under an electric thing. contraption with a lot of pipes, rusted in parts, black mold. stockings and garters, we'll make all your dreams come true. feathers. touch of **** from above. "oh my dear, you have nothing to fear." early mornings and cocaine. those sounds brought back memories of forgotten feelings.
|
|
| obscreen |
[21 Sep 2009|04:18am] |
|
the creature with the hammer head crawled down the dirty hall. it was hungry again and only one thing seemed to satisfy it. no thoughts, no feelings, just action. it had big purple veins in its arms. car alarms went off outside. some dude in the corner was cutting an angel's wing off. "this isn't for you," she told him. "explanations are so useless and unnecessary." just cut the fingers off. the simple-minded ones were always afraid if they thought too hard. so they didn't think at all.
|
|
|
[15 Sep 2009|01:18am] |
"With his mouth sewn shut, he still shakes his butt
Cuz he's Hitler & Swayze & Trump & Travolta"
|
|
|
[01 Sep 2009|01:42am] |
|
FOR SALE: Anything YOU WANT Painted. 11"x14" Canvas STRETCHED on WOOD. Acrylics. Only $50. Me LOVE YOU Long Time!
|
|
|
[31 Aug 2009|12:43am] |
|
push the needle into the brain. karaoke sounds seep out: sweet dreams. big black woman does the splits. emo chick with lip ring- love is a battlefield. shoulder shake. long islands for $6. pcb is a tropical wasteland, scooters. black road and the trees.
|
|
| if you promise you'll never change, i won't rearrange your brains |
[16 Aug 2009|11:44pm] |
i built a bot to bring me brunch. she smiled, gold teeth shine. sound like wind chimes when she walked. she'd never get bigger like those fleshy ones. i shivered, rain dropped. i think somebody called the cops and they left signs on concrete poles that said "quiet zone." we were praying that the worthy ones would come.
as we cut deeper, we could see the dreams and stardust that was inside. sometimes it was mundane and sometimes it shone like ghostlights. smelled like sulfur. the little gray cat was digging. it had no tail. we watched a fog surround the city from high above the rooftop.
she surrounded the dead man's body with bottles. beer and fear, my dear. he said it wasn't his time yet. they carried the body to the sea and dumped it in, letting the tide take it. little fish with sharp teeth bit at it. they knawed and sawed through decaying flesh, jumping in glee, fins shining under star light, car lights. the van was a dread black, red rust on top. they played a dusty dirge as ghost ships sunk. skunk smell.
"everything's bitter and better now, when the software doesn't crash," she rested her head against my shoulder. it was colder. she had a tiny key attached to a thin metal chain. he accurately predicted and profiled the goat killer. dan the decapitator, the press called him. he always had a mysterious grin.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
gimpjesus's journal