In the beginning there was a Plan.
And then came Assumptions.
And the Assumptions were without form.
And the plan was without substance.
And darkness was on the face of the Workers.
And they spoke among themselves, saying
“It is a crock of shit, and it stinks”.
And the Workers went unto their Supervisors and said
“It is a pale of dung, and none may obide the odor thereof”.
And the Supervisors went unto their Managers, saying
“It is a container of excrement, and it is very strong, such that none can abide by it”.
And the Managers went unto their Directors saying
“It is a vessel of fertilizer, and none may abide its strength”.
And the Directors spoke among themselves, saying one to another
“It contains that which aids plant growth, and it is very strong”.
And the Directors went unto the Vice Presidents, saying unto them
“It promotes growth, and it is very powerful”.
And the Vice Presidents went unto President saying unto him
“This new Plan will actively promote growth and vigor of this company, with powerful effects”.
And the President looked upon the Plan and saw it was good.
And the Plan became Policy.
This is how shit happens.
boneless 3d thugs
psycho work movie
masturbating for work
indian arang robot
obelix hunting shoe-chicken in 3d
robotic scizo construction psycho
painted shoes confusing drugs with masturbation
jacuzzi orders forget the hands
slither in the soup of the fat Chinese Jacuzzi
masturbating across the street
it is not for everyone
to flail against this world
as a lonely death-filled mutant of cold
aloof and ailmental intellectual
hater of the bourgeoisie aggrandizement
the paradox: the recluse; the conflicted elite.
damned narrow-minds, their conformity, so effete
petty, shallow, and empty pseudo-intellectuals
with laughable satisfaction
in clean homes
a good-paying job, a sense of duty, and endless distraction
the happy ape that robs
no you’re a state of consciousness
concealed from the rest
free from the rabble
a divider at best
who longs for love
goes mad and, while off-course,
looks for an equal, a mirror
like the Turin Horse.
Ahh these hum-drum days pass forlorn for you
Anything is better than nothing
even suffering will do
sadly, you must stick with this life
so have a laugh,
life is short
explore the many selves
find the missing truth always lost
since you know it all already anyway
go back through you to the endless you
and pick up the pieces
til the Ultimate Reunion occurs
to return us to the Source of All
gone far far beyond mere modes of existence
those obscure illusory clouds of knowledge
vaporous in the distance
alleged appearance of order and pitiful claims of Truth
nothing compared to the pleasure of
a True Self’s whim and fancy, forsooth
free from suppression
desirous of all pleasure to your self;
‘fuck the rest’, you howl
gone beyond the little self’s magic hour
that the rabble believes is It
as they stumble blind where shadows keep
the mundane, so-called lives of lost sheep
learn to love life’s changes
every step of the way
while on the path to immortality
I notice a little bit of you in everyone, I say
those who despair depravedly
with a rejected struggle over bad breaks and isolation
Yet, it is not for everyone.
Though I serve to provide dictation.
Last night I dream of retuning to a house I used to live in with my parents. Things were afoot there. For one, some natural phenomenon caused serious flooding to occur in the living room. I watched it happen. Maybe there was an earthquake, or a pipe broke, and water filled up our neighbors pool til it overflowed and water flowed right into the front door of our house, into the living room. My father took charge ordering my mother to make calls, to do this and that. Somehow our living room seemed like it was outdoors and junk lay everywhere. A hotdog stand was in the living room. I ran off after the flood looking to get out of that house and left them to deal with it.
IN the next segment, I live in some mansion with a relative. We discover a dog locked away in a chest that looks exactly the same as one of the dogs I have know, only younger. It must be related to her. Even though the dog has been locked away in the chest, it comes to life as if it has only been a short time but it has been a very long while. The dog should be dead. It turns into a twin of my sister and comes to live in the mansion with me and my relative. I don’t know her though but she seems like a good guest and stays out of everyone’s way.
It takes a long while to walk from one end of the house to next and no one lives there except for the clone of my sister, my relative who is a woman, and I live there. The lighting in the house is diffused almost, purgatorial.
I find myself in England, wandering around aimlessly with new friends. After walking through various areas of England such as boat docks, highways, pubs, during the day and night some plot unfolds. I make some new friends, and they tell me someone I know has been kidnapped by criminals. We have to save this person. I don’t recall what the persons relationship is to me. She may be family or my wife. Time runs out. We have to find her. I set up a server identifier that scans for servers. Test it out. Prepare to bring it into the neighborhood I think they are in. My friends play a recording or maybe let me hear a phone call of her being tortured and screaming. I have to leave. I can’t listen to it and set out to find her.