Gaps are for learning

Don't fucking giggle, it's not funny

The rage

Time to make a few things clear. I am sick of your fucking insanity and stupidity. I'd like to take a nice big knife and carve my name into your arm and then, realising it could be traced back to me, I'd have to scribble lines all over it. What part of this don't you understand? You are mental, I am fine, I am fine, you are mental. Actually, I think I might be a bit insane myself because I'm trying to reason with a person who's obviously clinically cuckoo! Fly away little bird, leave me be. Talk when spoken to. Fight back after the first punch has been thrown. Don't fuck with me until it's all in.
Why-why-why-why. I can't take this any longer. Get out. There is no logic, there is no cause, there is nothing to keep you interested. I am quite confident in saying that. No, I'm not joking. Yes, you are a dumb animal. Actually, sorry, Polly, I didn't mean that. Why are you trying to make sense of something that really isn't there? Your mind cannot handle the illogical, that's why. For something to be possible in writing it has to be real, therefore it has to make sense. Even when it doesn't. That is one great piece of logic, you nitwit. Tired, tired, tired, tired of your bullshit.

Sleep forever, forget everything. I am so tired, so sleepy, so bright and so full of life. I want to do somersaults and clap my hands while standing on my head. No, the other one. It's really not that hard when it is. Release me from this prison. End my torment. Now we are one. He picks up the rod that was left from when the tree was stabbed. He punctures his left eyeball. Blurt. He can see the world in a way different way now. Isn't that awesome? Look at me, I'm a screwdriver at a screw ball. Hello? World? Not there really. He lifts his left eyebrow in contempt. Still not there, old boy. Now that should be the joke on all of you. Why would you read Shakespeare and tilly-tally-o Kant and Aristotle and the list just never ends... when you've got this? I'm sure that this is entertainment and sophistication enough for the modern person. If that were to happen Flip-flap flip-flop. Fap-flop. That's brilliant, Steve! What a pervert you really are. Half-Polish, half-Russian. But all Jewish, mm-mm, yum-yum. The stuff cannibals would buy.

If you like this, then you really don't know what you're talking about. This isn't worth even wrapping your chips in. You are silly for having paid money to read this. If you did that is. If you stole it, you are a fucking idiot for having gone through the trouble. I hate you. Just leave me alone. Let me be and always call me after midnight. Just so that you can wake up the snake that dives into the sea and shoots a bullet from its mouth.

Don't get me wrong. I am happy bunny on LSD and weed and just a bit tipsy and orgasmic. I have everything I want in the world, except... her. And her. And her. And maybe her as well. And I wouldn't mind a new car, a driver's licence. I mean, I would have to be utterly nuts to drive without one, right? Anyhow, happens. But other than that, really, I'm as well off as anyone can be. If you offered me anything other than those aforementioned things I would probably accept it. Just because I don't like things going to waste and also because it's always a good thing to get something for free. Au contraire and im Gegenteil! I'd rather burn things to crisp and obtain the maximum energy potential they have than give something away for free. Selfish? No, just another mouse. You're scaring me now, you're becoming more violent in your imagined outbursts. Or are they imagined? Maybe I am? Yes, you are, congrats. Oh? Really? Ok, that's fine. I always did think it was a bit funny how the world worked.

Take a step right through the floor, time's-a-wasting! Tick-tock goes the clock, he grins at this sack of blood. Life so insignificantly significant it's so ironic it's not even funny. Or maybe it is but in some twisted neo-evil way. It's not quite evil but it's definitely not good either, the closest it gets to anything is slime. Yep, green or red or blue or yellow - it doesn't really matter. He takes a step up the stairs, one step, two.

He creates summer. For all intents and purposes it has not existed before. He likes it. Yes, it is artificial. Yes, its existence serves only a passing purpose. Yes, it is a bother to explain every single thing when you don't even listen. You rarely listen and most of the time, when you do, you're too intoxicated to retain any of it. Yet, it is a thing of joy and love. Infinite. In the coldest time he brought light and warmth, an escape from Hell freezing over. A little patience gets you far. Sunsets are worth working for, especially if you've got the company to enjoy it in. Chocolate and Massages. Favourite levels of detachment. He sips his piña colada, one sip, two.

He rapes her in his mind. In his mind he is raped by her. Ever-caring, further-stretching chains of the weak. Bleary, blurry bebop brings it to the top. “Ouch”. Drowning in her sweat, blood and tears he challenges the standing order. But the Status Quo does not walk the walk, instead it chooses to balk. Oh, bark Status Quo, bark! That's all you've ever been good for. Take your tail and stick it between your legs! Run away Status Quo, run away! We don't want you here. We don't like you. We hate you.
It will not budge.
Aw-shucks. He brings a sledgehammer to it. Creak, crack, prick. Pickles await you in your next unlife you little piece of cardboard boxed in with boxers. Beast-fighting is a really naughty thing. It's like firing blanks. It makes a bang but it doesn't make you feel good. You're not doing it properly. And nobody ends up pregnant. What a loss. Don't make me cry!
Bang. The doors are coming off their hinges. Bang. The sound rolls down the corridor - goosebumps. Bang! It gives me the creepy-chillies. Bang. Irreversible destruction. Bang. The cold gets in. Bang! Goosebumps.

He tickles a tiger by its toe and walks the walk. There's no point in talking. Tigers, despite appearances do not have a great sense of humour. Their lack of IT is absolutely gargantuan. They don't use computers, they are in the middle ages when it comes to banking. They sure as anything don't know a thing about virtual reality. It's far easier to just get it over with physically rather than do the whole mental mumbo-jumbo. Slap-bang in the middle of the top apex and it starts working again. The great Reference refrains from calling upon the referee to sort this mess out.
Status Quo, come here boy! That's a good girl, that's a good girl. Running around like that! You must've exhausted yourself you poor thing. Come to daddy.
The tigers grin, they find it funny. How awesome is that? Pretty damn cool, I'd say. He freezes back to life.

Victimised, he finds a knob. It's linked to chain-mail. Bloody knights, wearing Spam! No wonder no dragon wants to eat them .- it's not fire, it's sick. The stench of these apes is too much for these sophisticated creatures and don't get any of them discussing the way humans voluntarily clad themselves with tinfoil, plastic, dead things and plant produce. Ever wonder how most of the things you do are completely against the nature of beings? He whispers something in her hair. Domination irrelevant. Shut up silly slit-slot slut, you're straight out of luck. No more best bang for the buck. No bang whatsoever. Not that you need it anyway, you've got plenty of your own.
He fingers the bell in his hand. He finds it heavy. It confuses him.
He charges through the veil. One blink, two.

Did you know that paradise is the Isle of Ewe? Guess not, chestnut. All sheep want to go there but when someone hands you the tickets you start baaing for a catch. Smell the coffee. It's good. Builds character. 90% bullshit 5% funny and 5% ingenious. Multiply that by 6.7 billion, divide by two and you're bound to end up with something real. It's not about desperation, it's about knowing exactly what you want. He stops halfway through that pint of water. Then chugs it down like a heavyweight champion should. His pulling his, definitely. Inevitable like an iceberg.

A butterfly flies him by. He clenches his fist around it, yet he does not harm it. He has not the army to undertake such a tiny task. The tiny thing sits in his hand, sucking on the life force coming from the lines marking its cage. The tiny particles it is made of contain an innumerable multitude of worlds. He is there and there is a smaller he and yet an even smaller he and so and so on infinitely until it comes full-circle back to Him. In an alternate reality it bats its wings. Baseball bat, home-run vampire. Public harmony number one.

Saints bury all sorts of goods. There's foods and shoes and different kinds of moods. Mainly control. Maintain it. Never release it. Then you are your own king. Singing he throws away his crown. He simply does not care. The moon is his for the taking. It should take him until noon and then he can proceed through the glassy look he has given himself. He laughed at fashion. What's in next? Living babies? Ridiculous, aye? Feudal relations are always so strenuous.

He knows that everything exists. Creation of something original is impossible. It is simply the presence of a fairly limited background system that allows for such blasphemous ideas to be perpetuated. He feels morning sickness. Do not be afraid of throwing up. It is his way of cleaning up after himself. All the tar and oil and nicotine and slaps on the wrist merit a good half an hour. It's mighty peaceful. His lips linger on her fingers. Conclusions are for averages only. Surpassing defeat will not necessarily bring victory. Yet, he is not fond of giving up. In fact, he doesn't. Ever.
He grins like a chessboard. He started the fire. He can do it again. A headstand! He surrenders.
One submission, two.

Smartstruck he grips the dumbphone. A hundred different mishapps to show exactly how shallow you are. Imagine the possibilities! He giggles like a little girl. He likes it.
Little girls are a special treat. It's because they're so sweet. Sugar peppers and chocolate canes. All the way to 1958 china. Warm beans on a porcelain piece. Sweet cream all over.
Flashdarkness - streamlined and aerodynamic, it will satisfy all your needs. An' if it don't, you betcha you get all your monies back the very same instance. Customer satisfaction over plantation health Power poverty. Row today back into tomorrow. He watches his cheque.
Bit by bit too late. Cash dictates my time, your time and the other person's time for change. Push it in and pull it out, imma gonna bring it not.

Dear Status Quo,

he is writing to tell you that we bring to you the brightest minds and their greatest achievements. Do you mind? What, who? Me? I have no mind. The television and the Internet. Pretty fucking cool, eh? And every word they say and every single thing they show you is the ultimate truth. He cheers them on. They are the capricorns of the seven seas. They are the dot over the letter i. They are the biggest, most terrifying wolves this red riding hood of a world has ever seen. Don't get me started on their teeth. Massive, a'ight. Gobble you up for lunch kind of large. Speaking of which, he hasn't eaten much since her. But that was miles ago. How about a bottle of coke mixed in with some peppermints? Sounds nice, lovely in fact, gets you high right away. But back to them. They are the guys who stink like the man your man should stink like. They're not on a horse, they are the horse and the man. Centaurs.
He takes a step back. Centaurs? Really? What kind of a rally is this? The four-legged party?
Sighing he puts down the pen. For ever and ever, pinky promise. Only to return in half an hour. Jail break, you see.

Yours ever passionately,
010011010100110101011000


Status Quo, a magnificent beast in a self-imposed cage. It waits and it hungers. For kiwi fruit and possibly lemons but definitely not soap. It knows that the time is neigh for it to be released into the Winds of Change (TM). It snarls at its opposition but it knows that whereas escape is inevitable there is still plenty of time to roll around in the mud and cry for freedom. Status Quo doesn't actually exist beyond our imagination. It is actually cruelly defiant of any physical manifestation. Deterioration. You're dumber than you look but that goes for pretty much everyone. Ultra-violent light. Post-Siberian anti-terrorist group in North Dakota.
Exuberance. A lovely word. Retreat to the back seat, no need to fasten your seat-belts, everything will be fine. Nirvana is here.
This morning he wakes up pretending to be a different person-
The art of least resistance will lead to the path of most deception.
It coils around him as it pulses in the dark, or rather not pulsing but that's what he senses because it would be too much of an effort to emanate light or to cause actual movement. Urinal cakes.
Imagine if you had the power to be who and what you wanted to be. Who would you be? Cowsplatter. In demonstration of his virility he chopped his head off.
Status Quo, you are all sentenced to life row. No escape and death is futile. Truth hidden within a truth. She is good. The whole world is an indigestion system.

By the way, where's moomoo?