Current poems in progress...

cold war is a seasonal virus he rambles

A grab if in,
if not
we wait.

Monday:

Let us tackle a scientist from a side door shuffle,
muffle his mouth with a sock smelling of lavendar dryer sheets
and a trihalomethane compound, "Hello. We won't hurt you. Maybe we should have used
something not carcinogenic"

Sudden pain in his face, as a spectral entity
impounds his non existent soul.

Sudden sniffer's death
and black rental vans stolen
for this purpose.

Guilt all around.

Let's roll.

Thursday:

Try again, this time more gentle.

Duct tape and a date rape drug
bought from a thug we had to put
down due to
rabies. Sorry dog.

This time we have a GMC Envoy that belongs to someone's neighbor.
beg, borrow or steal.
just don't kill.

We pick the target up for our date,
and all is well.

Back on Northern Blvd,
we set him with some food and a comfortable couch
in a big tent inside a big empty warehouse.

We want to ask some questions.

Johnny, he holds the list.

He always gets put in charge of these things.

He hands it to Katherine. She has the voice.

She begins...

Do you know what happened?

Where they went?

Are there any theories on this "rapture" or "abduction" so far?

Even though there is ample space between each,
this one seems to be stressed into mumbling,
"This is a very complicated problem since every object has not only a fundamental tone
but also a complicated series of overtones, which vary radically from one body to another."

That's very good,
but can you tell us where they went
and why.

By Friday morning,
we've gotten nowhere.

We may never find them.

We know the places to go to hear their voices,
but we also know who lives there now.

That's a mission
we haven't the stomach for.

Sunday:

We rest. Wait. Watch.
-------
ah. and this is why mother said never accept a date from a gentleman who drives a van.

your organization is most interesting. you have your newbie mistakes and foibles, you're young but you're hungry. there is potential indeed.

-Crowley


-------
Don't be an arse, Crowley. They are trying to describe the challenges of an impotent couple. See how 'he holds the list' while 'she has the voice'. Clear incongruity between two compatible human beings. The victim is the ovary, an anonymously donated egg ready to be cracked by a random swimming sperm cell.

After the procedure, they rest. Wait. Watch.

-fr0 ;)
-------
I thought it obvious, but I guess I did cypher it into an absolute wallbanger.
204.181.152.2 is what I was describing, localised down to the subatomic level
of critsolo 1 and my observation of it. I shall change my key and return again through the window. But I enjoyed the last interpretation. I would like to take a swing at that.
/
ct fx
-------
well, we cannot expect everyone to just 'fall' into our social circles. huh huh.

-fr0
-------
also, i can probably ski better than anybody @ 204.181.152.2. you say 'bond', i say 'blitzkrieg!'.

or something :) -fr0
-------
p.s. is that the mistake? is that (above there) the mistake i might make where it becomes ok for all the personalities to piss on me?

-fr0
-------
Aren't we the personalities? Have we not absorbed all the voices between us? Is that why it grows dimmer, and quiet- ambling toward some event horizon where all may be reborn? Shadow play and Legion crawling across the sky, etching initials into Yggdrasil, while laughing and crying?

Sie sprachen blitzkrieg. Ich sage Man muss noch Chaos in sich haben, um einen tanzenden Stern gebaeren zu koennen.

We google ourselves to arrive at the answer, but our filter is not designed for the task.

Or in layman terms, "Hello Neo, I'll be your Agent Smith for the evening."
/
ctfx
-------
Hello, Annupam Nigam. -fr0
-------
Hello Mr. Baig. How come ringing the doorbell of 67.23.26.39 produces nothing short of a migraine on the caliber of singing into the darkness. Are you now my Patrick McGoohan? Shall we play mentalist? Or perhaps a nice game of chess?

Global Thermonuclear War?
Biological?

Shall we Scan the room? Ephemerol anyone?

No longer Annupam Nigam. I am Arjuna. Who shall play my कृष्ण?
/
c
t
f
x

-------
Hello.

I like the way you make your last name become. 'f'. I mean 'x'. It's very nice. Who shall pay my Lord Krishna कृष्ण?? -fr-
-------
He's been paid plenty with pyramids.
/
f xtc
-------
Φαίνεστε να κάνετε την αγάπη με τις λέξεις -mousi

unborn in cinemas

my father was beaten daily,
until he rescued my mother
from a minaret or a pagoda,
or a torah.

when i signed up for my assignment,
i did not realize i had to wait until
fucking hemingway gave the go ahead.

that is fucked up shit, as a virile young agent.

i fought some bulls, and a lot of bull's shit.
and then in 1923 (yes 1923, read it up) a being came to me
and told me that i would be able to live on forever in cinemas.

now, i am not a boastful man. i like to take things in grain.
i like to test concepts that are put upon me, just in case
they might come out to be true.
who knows what is true?

who knows what is really happening?

then there is a switch i am not allowed to touch, given my dental condition.
a nurse, buxom, says, "Do not touch the switch."

Obviously no man touches a switch untold by nurse buxom.

-fr0

Are the right people asking you if you are falling asleep?

bert
-------
so, you're a professional cynic, but you're heartz not innit?


-------
i just want to be bond. james bond.
-------
007 for the more retarded amongst you.

my new favorite writer in writing

based on deception,
anupam nigam.
with a name like that
how can you bend?

the best self-conceptions
is how can you blend?
anupam nigam
i'll psyche you out in the end!

-fr0 (i know it's short, i'm stil w...)
-------
you won't psyche anyone out. you lack the intelligence to tie your own shoes. you can't even break out of the simplest of ruts. your writing has been a saturated stench in this place for so long that not even the rats remember when it smelled only faintly of waste.

learn how to bend.

psych you out in the end /anupamniggam
-------
riiiiiight. you're a little boy.

CCiCViper Wins.

Everyone else just please shut the fuck up. -fr0
-------
no.
And Entropy poons CC1cViper.
what a cinderella story, gabe.
yes ...3mj, quite the poonage indeed.
-------
double no, -fr0, and there aren't enough creative ways to express the depth of your wrongness.

Speed.

It is a time of a season where you are a *man* around town.


-------
usually miss girlfriend.
whatreve3r, whatever, miss her a lot. :)so
so i watched the little show abou7t how it is tried.

pigeons are fucking at my window again.

i miss my my girlfriend, and i hate that i have to make everything suck just so the humnans be cute.
-------
I miss being able to make her know what I mean, and such. -fr0

i don't think yor koans coincide,.

i don't remember how you'd hide?
want to play games together,
eternal darkness, my friend.

what was last year? 20991?

wikipedia.org/wiki/Eternal_Darkness

-wish people can write gooder.

-fr0
-------
"The game's standout concept, patented by Nintendo,[1] is the "sanity meter", a green bar on screen which is depleted under various conditions, generally when the character is seen by an enemy. It can be restored under various conditions, such as performing a "finishing move" on an enemy. As the bar becomes low, various effects occur, reflecting the character's slackening grip on reality. If the bar remains empty, further damage to sanity decreases the player character's health."
/
ct fx
-------
they make fun of your save card. -fr0
-------
you player character ;) -fr0

He'stheonewholikes to Shoot.

Reproductive morgues?
He is the one who will like repro=du8ct5-34 ?

I'm here to your hand. Whenever that happens.
I need to be here to hold your hand whenever that happens, ok)???

He like to sing along and likes to shoot along.
And YOU dont KNOW what it it meanss, heh heh.,

He is the one who likes all the pretty songs. He likes to sing along.
He likes to sing along. He's the songs who all pretty likes who one,
i miss my girlfriend i hope you'll not waste further timne,

and you DONT KNOW WHHAT I MEAN :)

Am I the one who

IS THE ONE, WHO LIKES ALL YOUR PRETTY SONGS?
AND I LIKE TO SING ALONG AND I LIKE TO HAVE A CONCEPT.

WHO THE FUCK ARE THESE IDIOTS? WHO LIKE TO HAVE ALONG?
WHAT?) THe SPEED and I love you all. and when we I come
for you. you'll beg at my neck.

I miss my girl and I kmow I'nm kinda doine. Doesn
t matter what happennts to me, I'm just here for fun.

And I miss my girl and I'm the one, and I like to miss my fun,
and I miss ny real love.

she['s hurting me every time.

So, ok. I don't hate any of you. I'm trying to find the sluice. -fr0
-------
this is more tripe. you really suck, and i hope you start breaking down soon so that you can be banned.
-------
I have never been banned. I posted some urls, and was automatically removed, but nothing I've done has actually gotten me banned.

If you want to get banned, I suggest you do something funny at arcanumcafe.org. There is a guy named Joe who will delete you.

-fr0
-------
you should be banned. i hope you will soon.
-------
hold your breath. never can tell when a bunk next to Lisandro will become vacant. -gman

wish i was not an automated spamming program by entering the current password.
i'm wacthing criminal minds that was given some leeway, cos the fat guy started to feel sorry about everything.

I miss my girlfriend. i miss hw hNSA. really miss her.
I've half a mind to dig her up. and tie her to the bed again.

the internet is not supposed to be your outlet

The Internet is supposed to be the place where you find new people.
It is not just 'your outlet', not just a place for you to seek victims.
On the Internet, you can read literature, and jokes, and quaint ideas.

A lot of people are using the Internet for their on nefarious reasons, now.
Honestly, it disgusts me. Because I'm a snob like that. I'm an Internet snob.
THey don't even know what they've gotten themselves into.

On the Internet you can find girls, and food, and culture.
Yeah, you can find culture, on the internet. Lots and lots of culture.
Also, you can hire someone to murder you on a future date (make sure its EST!).

-fr0
-------
i like how in line 4 i spelled 'own' as 'on' wtf brain?
-fr0
-------
[...]
-------
Yes. On the Internet one always sucks. Data. -fr0
-------
[...]
-------
Cobwebby lolz.

Well, I have always known about bleak. Laserbleak, eject! my mother would say.
I luv soundwave.-fr0
-------
i've put 'cobwebby' on my twitter. wait till the blackberry hears of this! -fr0

i have nothing useful to say. excapt: YOGA KNEE! join me at twitter.com/baigey

yoga is an ancient artform that was made by people who eat vegetables daily.

these people are powerful. i like their knees. they look cute. that is all

also, next time you want to 'flame' me remember my triple combo. yes. pleae include the mashed potatoes.

-fr0

closely monitoring all your spending habits

made a joke about about young nuns
can
't type to make any sense longer ...
still on line two, imagine if this was heroin.
i know where to direct my eyeballz.

-fr0

Writing as a Writer

The best thing was when she swallowed my cum,
simultaneously saying that I am a "Writer's writer'.
Meaning that I produce work that other writers
take their time to look at.

Tomorrow morning I will probably h8 myself,
but today I am free. I am allowed. I am Alladan.
I'm your genie, and you are allowed to wish for more Wish.

Don't ask about the Wish :)

-fr0

when peepull run in circles itt's a mad world

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N3N1MlvVc4

when i went to school i was very nervous. no one knew me.

-fr0
-------
happy birthday! -fr0

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT IS IT THAT MAKES ME JUST A LITTLE KWIZI?
I FOOOACK DAID PEEPULS! IN THE SKULLS. RATTALAIN BOANZ!

I gave the lungs e-checked out of axe rays! 0fr9

Ideas Man

I am what they call in the business.

That's it, there is nothing else.
Using things inappropriately is my forte (with an accent).
For example, one time I used a text-editor programme
to woo sexual favor, internationally.

"Did you really love her? Did you did you?"
people keep saying these things to me,
not realizing that they are completely
missing the *whole* point.

The point is not about some kind of cheap
male chauvinist pig pleasure.
I'm not like this just to declare myself --
I'm like this because I'm trying to eat a noodle with a spoon.

Only some people realize what I'm doing,
and none of those people ever give me any love.
They label me, tag me, like I'm some kind of corpse
flown into the morgue by helicopter.

They don't realize that *I* was the one landing that chopper
on that building rooftop, precisely upon the letter 'H'.
I flew my own body back home, thank you very much.
Don't need you losers to do everything for me, nor your 'lovely little children'.

Making love to electrical sockets is never easy,
but it is zestful, full of life and more fun than,
say, managing all your time every night in dream state,
waking up fresh. All that is so overrated, and not good.

If it's my dream, then let me dream it.

-fr0

Helping The World To Absorb Moisture

At My Company, people often ask what is it exactly that we do. No question mark there, since it is a statement. You add the question marks only when you are confused.

We try to help all the humans that are around us to see the splendor of the world that is around them. Not the sugar substitute, but *real* splendor. For example, imagine a lush tropical forest being shot at you from way back in time -- it's like that. Like a time-travel experience, and your kids wonder who brought the baby along for a ride?

This is what My Company does. It is what we are good at, and it is what we will be doing even after your last grandchild has died. We like to show you what the coffin really looks like from inside. We like to detail the varnish. We like to spend extra on paupers, because paupers are funny people.

But most of all, we like to waste our time writing thrilling little bits like this -- oft forgotten but never unremembered.

Thank you.

-fr0

Wake Up Neo, The Ego Is Calling

I know you have been running around as a simple id,
messing with all the defense mainframes, playing like
nothing matters.

You went into shock. And you have been running ever since that
entire debacle, like a crazy person, when in fact
you are not crazy.

We worked on your body with finest needles and threads, weaving your soul
back into some kind of form or shape that we can, as a group
look at and admire.

I know you were hurt the last time, and you said some things that not only the world balked at,
but even you did, yourself. you stuttered at your mispronunciations,
knowing full well.

wake up neo, the ego is calling. go ahead and make it somebody's day.

-fr0

operatic by voice: Ghost Story NIN

Trent was wasting his breath trying to pimp his latest shoes, selling at whatever price they would pay him. 'How nice', is the obvious joke but there was nothing 'nice' about hiking into a bloody forest located in Madison, Wisconsin.

Emma was getting bored by 'artistic reason', so she started a conversation with Peter. "Tell me about your old gf," she said.

Peter's eyes popped out of his skull, literally. "What?" he exclaimed, turning over to Harry, to check whether the father would allow such insolence. "Nobody said she is old." He looked desperately at Harry.

The father just nodded, like there was nothing else to do. "Say 'what' again, motherfucker," he said.

"You really want to learn about Nadine?" asked Peter.

Emma nodded. "Do I look like I mince words?"

Peter examined the little girl, and SAW that she was not kidding around. "My relationship with this woman is kind of more complicated than some common child's fantasy," he said. "It's not like 1-2-3."

"Hah," laughed Emma. The path into the designated zone had taken a turn for the more leafy. Everywhere around them, the vegetation grew. Some of the deep trees began to bark. "This was always the section I had lamented having to watch you produce, ever since we locked eyes."

"What?" said Peter. They took a turn around the corner, and suddenly, they were there, where Bobby had been murdered by a cult. Peter noticed that he'd not had to say anything about Nadine at all. "Oh, this place," he said.

Everybody then turned their head towards him, and in the horrible place of the pagan child sacrifice was a huge mansion instead. Decor circa 1873, windows by the ego of somebody who just named himself 'Fenestre'.

"Now, will you not fuck me like an animal?" said Peter, his anus constricting according to the homely temperature emanating from the house.

-fr0

Immoral Fuck

, i've been trying to contact you regularly,
just to tell you that we will no longer be contacting you.
You have outspended your cool cache,
and all the art that you like has become passι.

We can't even go to museums with you, you embarrass us so much.
And I can't give you my credit card because you're under age.
How am I supposed to pay you, without such economic facility?
And what brand of parmesan do you usually order from the stores anyway?

I return to life, resuscitating like the father who supplied arms.

-fr0
-------
pure crap
-------
And what brand of parmesan do you usually order from the stores anyway? -fr0
-------
and that is precisely why you suck.
-------
Parmesan, motherfucker, do you speak it? What kind do you usually get?

-fr0
-------
Or is this going to be like that one time you didn't know how to rhyme with brie? -fr0

mycroft solves the enigma without math or magic

nor -fr0
-------
Much maligned, with malice, alice drops
firecrackers down the rabbit hole
until the stars align and sign
her to their new cast.

His arm in a cast, he still writes,
although it's just to scribble messages
and signatures of imaginary friends
on the plaster with magic marker.

Alice is now scratching her head
too much from lice
and other puzzles, her eyes
pleading, she runs away
from embarrassment.

Later, she changes her name
to Mary Jane,
and when that doesn't work,
she shuffles the deck
and plays the queen.

Now she isn't persephone,
never quite that pretentious
or phony,
she phones it in.

Reborn an avatar,
she is

Ζon Flux,
and sucks with her tongue
as well as blows with her lips.

But doesn't he as well,
or does he keep his mouth
pursed,
coins on his eyes,
telegraphing pigeons
with the precision of a
brain lesion.

They walk the same streets.

Travel the same highway.

The walk the same streets.

The tagging isn't the problem.

It's a matter of territory.

Mask your pheromones,
and or make change
for your mind,
and pay the parking meter.

Quit being so suspicious
like a private dick
out in public.

And maybe

the sun will explode,
and none of this will Matter.

- to fr0, fr0m two
-------
enjoyed the work -fr0
-------
fr0 gets more attention from you than I -mousi

Sometimes it is possible to love a little 'too much'

Normal human beings know how to condition their experiences.
They use tools like meters, and gauges,
or in that Quantum Physics something they like to call
'The Cat'.

In science fiction terms, the concept is abused, of course.
A lot of writers simply take fancy after flight,
after which you get some aeroplanes not landing properly.
but at least the experiencer ends up with 'Sully'.

That is a sullen comfort, at least.

Normal people would harness the seatbelt,
and the voice activated cellphone,
and the rubber mattress 3000 feet below the 'call for help'.

At which point, we reach the concept
I'd been originally talking about.
In a normal car, you have all the safety features
but in a sportscar you still have them,

but they don't work in ratio.

-fr0

pazuzu made you slaves

"Don't come crying to me about your two-bit philosophies
when I already showed you who did it, humanity."

She turned the scroll, and found yet another example of his crimes.

"Pazuzu made you all slaves, not me," she continued, reading on. This was getting really interesting.

The man made the mistake of questioning whether Pazuzu ever even really existed. Imagine, being that man.

-fr0
-------
line 5: "The man made ... " = "The man had made ... "

-fr0

untitled

Sweep the leaves from the porch,
and do not think of how you will be repeating.
Hallucinate the smell of baked apples,
the exhaust from dryers
and the barest tease of possible snow
falling. Smile,
and oh yes,
whistle while
you labor,
and daydream
of vocations
that would let you
take this vacation
forever.
-------
excellent work -fr0
-------
As autumn turns to winter, so does the warmth of my heart. I hope for spring. -mousi

bin-theory-laden

www.ted.com/talks/david_deutsch_a_new_way_to_explain_explanation.html

-fr0

untitled

The only way I can talk to my aunt
regarding her estranged son
is to insert ain't into can't
and confuse non with un.

Shortly after the minutes begin,
I start to make a cake from scratch
tick tocking and pencilling in
the vanilla and flour into the batch.

By the time I've interrupted her to say
just one thing which might penetrate her brain
the timer goes off and I only have a little play
to doddle while grabbing the pan and trying to explain.

When finally we say our goodbyes,
I'm amazed that the house is clean
and I've cooked a cake and pie.

But I didn't get a chance to say what I really mean.

Oh well,
all is well
all the same.

Gently Grasp The Next Bottle

For, as you have been told countless times,
it *could* be your last.
Just remember, never give up.

She has a slender neck, and says 'pop'
when you make her.
She reminds you recursively about
her -- that other her.

Sexualizing concepts, pornographizing ideas.
That's what you do best, isn't it?
Bring out the essence, the flavor, her

pungency. Always about her,
when was the last time you thought about yourself,
you blind bastard?

-fr0

Some Benefits of Being Mindlessly Disposed

One of the lessons you learn is about how everything is not 'black and white'.
Because you were born in the late seventies, way after color was invented.
Too bad you got injected right into the eighties.
I remember your face, whenever they produced those ... 'scenarios'.

You were, like, "dude, i can totally pwn this."
Like thinking about how your baby brain had been operating,
at that time, not knowing anything about 3D glasses,
or invisibility suits.

Have you even thought about sniping somebody just based on sonar?

-fr0