Anything Helps: Exploits of a dark matter technician, Part ONe

The Book was Better

            My father was not a storyteller, feelings have no form, words are not action and I was barely born. My perception has always built up, always stayed the same. Every breakthrough is hardly a change. The odds of elegance is the grace of eloquence. The cost of consequence simplifies the remainder. Ambiguous discrepancy management eliminated technology, the deficiency of human error. Discipline is ignorant of flavour.

          My brother is very much my father’s son and my sister my mother’s daughter, and yet I am my own, at sheer odds of my own world. I know my own birth as well as my own death, under assumption of its existence.

          I know what books are, they are either what movies were or what they will be. We are grandfathered into this system and like to forget who started it. We are only twice removed but sometimes it seems so difficult just to pick up the phone, just to say hello. It is expensive, the expense to toil over just so we may have the option of perspective, the opportunity of perception.

          I know what you’re doing. I’m not going to let it stand. I’m following your rules so they may forget, so I may remember; I am my own, you have seen to that.

          His hair turned red as soon as I knew he was becoming angry with me. It was obvious that he was shaking because I was. Maybe I should declare my candidacy as a free man. Maybe I’m afraid for no good reason. Maybe I’ve been lying for all the wrong ones.

          An impossible situation, we don’t understand how this can be, me as you and you as me. We confused her with our misleading argument, two trucks fully fueled.

          Does our house like you better than me, can it tell the difference? Do the neighbors understand what they see? Has this really all been happening to me?

          Let’s celebrate our repetition and dance to demonstrate admission, regrets are far and few between, so listen good to see what I mean. It doesn’t matter what people say, we’ll get around fine anyway. I’ve been stoned so long that now, it doesn’t matter anyhow. Retrace the steps so long as they count, no matter how deep the quicksand is we loose the noose and jimmy the lock so we may in time get out.

           

Blink Ink

      

“Angels no longer have wings when they realize there’s nowhere left worth flying to.”

       Upon waking you have been given an ice cream cone. You have never seen one before but you know exactly what it is, and upon this realisation its continual 2-dimensional frame becomes seemingly fake, you forgetting the simple names you thought you knew. Alternating darkness shrouds both the ice cream and its frame, and you have no ideal urge to reach out and grab it. You’re already holding it. The dessert is pink, perfectly formed and unmalting. It doesn’t even seem cold. The medical office where you are inclined doesn’t even seem occupied, and you know it’s late, it’s probably dark outside but the room doesn’t have windows. You take a bite and plummet back into unconsciousness, but it’s okay, you still have a sense of flavour and an overwhelming trust in your rigor mortis like grip, assuring you from dropping it. The substance moves in your mouth, over and around your tongue, and the flute gets louder and louder from over the mountain. Your entire plane of perception goes pink from behind closed lids as the sun slowly rises over the mountain. Birds chime in with morning song, as well as a clarinet and lightly rolling timpany. When you now open your eyes, ice cream doesn’t exist yet.

      

I knew I had lived a lifetime with her, retracing my steps and I don’t want to lose it. She had put the cat in the bag. She developed a crutch and was slowly changing.

the elevator was broken.

I was in socks

I had a drug problem

I knew by her acne that she was younger than me, Asian grace Kelly. She touched me and I touched back, under the dark sun. My friends would disapprove, we were too similar to everything we once cherished and now remember. Her family liked me because I was so out of place, I didn’t make sense and they wanted to understand. But as we left the restaurant I placed their god on the trashcan; I had no other choice, I was in a big hurry. The only other white people were two female sushi chefs who bowed as we left.

Yes They Could

          Cursive is a dying art; I swear the next generation will have no idea what I’m talking about. We don’t need it, not in the age of passwords, those essentially personal beings. It’s not our name, number or combination but a reciprocal, something required to prove it’s us. Otherwise it could be anyone, just as long as they’re here and now.

It doesn’t make sense to argue anymore, to inflict bloodshed or to expect death. The only difference makes all the difference, between you and me, man and woman, immortality and eternal life. The only way to press on is to push the envelope, when we only get tired of keeping it to ourselves.

I am a genius, an expert, a professional. I don’t care what others say or do because they don’t exist, not like we do, nowhere near as well. Very possibly they will have their time or have had it, just as well, in the blink of a weeping eye it’s gone, blurred from memory, never to return. All that remains is the fundamental truth that we’re all in this together, regardless of gender and sex.

We will not, may not move forward unless and until we agree. It is our job to convince each other, to ring a bell and call it a key, to break the bread we were told to so long ago and far from here.

A ticking alarm clock fades in and explodes. . .

          They call them duezies here because if you’re wielding one it’s practically impossible not to end up in a duel, and someone thought they should have a cute nickname. Harvey shot me twice in the gut and I lay there feeling myself bleed out as I thought about him running down the corridor, up the stairs, then confidently striding across the lobby and back to where he was sitting, picking up his newspaper where he left off and lighting another cigarette. Or maybe Truman had been following him. Maybe he had to casually walk out that door, hail a cab and lose him in afternoon traffic. Or maybe my hunch was right all this time, maybe it’s all in my mind and I just shot myself twice in the gut. Anyway, it’s not going to bring April back, I know that much.

          Now that I think about it, I haven’t been shot. I’m lying down because I was tired, I’m not bleeding out. My eyes aren’t even open. I’m sleeping in the hotel basement because I’m hiding, hiding from someone who does not exist. Jesus Christ, how was I supposed to know I’m just a character in a story, one I came up with and wrote down? It only keeps happening over and over because I keep reading it, a little different every time because of where I am and how I feel. I only really didn’t care about her when she told me she didn’t care about me anymore, as if she ever did, but that’s still not gonna bring her back.

          Now where was I? Where have I been? Oh yeah, a ticking alarm clock explodes, an insignificant action. This world was invented when the slave decided to be its own master and not the other way around.

          I don’t know what her question means to me anymore, I don’t even remember how she put it, what she looks like. Who is April May? She could be anybody, any slight subtlety that possesses me to a second glance. Because it only has to happen twice.

          The average lifespan of a human is nine months, which is completely relative, the formative consumption is due to the light that hits it. We’re all in this together, this Hell, with airtight talents and a proclivity to jealousy, for power, for the other half, for vice. Take care of yourself, she said, but not because she wants to see me again. No, just the opposite. She doesn’t want to care anymore, not for me. I told her not to worry, that means it’s over for us. A lot of good we’ve done each other; I’m broke and she’s poor. It doesn’t matter. In a world of hurt it doesn’t matter.

          The low hum caught my attention and then I noticed the shadows moving, no longer standing still, a creature of wrath, a choking sentinel for enduring residue. My friend, I know who I am and what I have become, the terror of my own heart, my father, the true calling of justice.

         

King Richard of Potatoe

          I am a dark matter technician amid harbingers of desultory circumlocution, I used to think we were the same until I realize our clashing epistemologies, our antagony, that we don’t really get along. What we have is not love, not for each other, and we are too far from each other learning to get it right.

       I’m the guy that cares for everything you take for granted, you don’t need examples because that’s my job and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the same thing over and over. It’s time for a change.

       As long as I write I only become more right, only become more of a writer. I forget how easy it is to fix things because everywhere I look is a solution that I don’t really want. They are only there to fix the mistakes of others.

       I’ve been getting nausea quite frequently too, a very physical reminder that I can’t do this forever even if I wanted to. I’m not living here like I have to even though I do. To make a choice is to choose and it doesn’t really matter anyway.

       It will get colder soon only after it remains warm, the moment of forever is closing in you’re doing a good job keeping up.

Toxic Markers

         

I found myself in her room again, a master of self control. My underwear were crumpled on the floor in the daylight and I was going through her jeans looking for ones that might fit. She was in the other closet watching a small television inside hanging clothes. “You gotta see this one,” she said.

        I had just been all the way downstairs, at church, where I had been midwriting my band’s name on an elaborately geometrical glow in the dark surface when an uncontrollable filth obviously took over and I had to get out of there. It was dark but I found the switch for the overhead fluorescence. My mind was racing as I thought where I could go to get cleaned up, but I was only still drawn to the room.

        Perpetual daylight, they’ve thought of everything. Why have I been living in a cave when it’s been so gorgeous lately? Have I done something wrong? Of course, if I can’t remember, I must’ve lost my place whilst dramatically avoiding cliche. It naturally hurts to be wanted only when you know they hate you back, that it will be over soon and it won’t make a fucking lick of sense. I’m indifferent to her charm, her sensible ways, because well, I don’t want to hurt her feelings but I just don’t find her attractive. She’s got a winning smile that I don’t believe, that I find misleading and it’s only a matter of time before she hates me back. That’s why she won’t help me. She’s sick of the sight of me. Can’t stand to be around.

Rules

1. If it doesn't have a name, I'm not playing.
   
     1a. If it doesn't have a title, it's for me.

2. There are no secrets.

3. To win is to get your point across; the object is a trophy.

4. The one with the closest upcoming birthday goes first.

5. Wins are directly proportional to losses.

6. The only difference is a matter of time.

7. The goal is to score a task

     7b. The task is to score a goal.

     7a. The score sets the field.

8. Ambiguous discrepancy management must save the world so that externalised intrinsic motivation may save the world.

9. Don't sleep at the office.

     9a. Make all calls during the day (10 a.m. -10 p.m.)

10. A single rule is meant to be broken.

I Name You Thee

my universe is my universe nothing more I forgot the movie is already written and I'm just practicing my part for when the time comes quiet on the set and action its all there in black and white doesn't matter the petri dish a melting pot and whod've thpught that time for got she asked are you harboring terroriss straight out just like that I responded of course but don't let them find out and rain on my parade they don't respect me like they used to when I had all the potential in the world and stars flocked from miles like wisemen I had been introduced to acute modern actress once whom I did not understand I was not ready for what she would learn to show me and how was I supposed to know we were on the same page all in this together all in or nothing bust falling and boosting just like that in the dark rolled in like the nothing it was now ever present and un ignorable I know rhetoric when I hear it but if its not vocalised its hard to tell when its written on a flat surface without without without its very difficult to tell and there is no end to the neverending endlessness I like to think I'm good at what I do thats why I'm still here I'm conscientious to my own personal worth and boundaries I have set myself up for success yes I have success yes I success ssssss ssssss ssssss the difference is the distance between smoke and mirrors and the music the byproduct the ceasing fold increasing magic persisting upon the china hutch we remember it smelling like corrugated embodiment supposing migratory vehicular dispulse I am reminded here of a quote by the famed psychologist all neuroses stem from mans attempts to escape lifes legitimate sufferings and she must be here to balance the scales afterall her name only appears in print at marriage and death its only right mortification of the fresh and the clean sit around long enough youll feel what I mean its not a pasing fancy all this time youve spent wasting to savor a certain flavour on your sabertipped tongue I know I'm plenty stupid and young the electric display works my bones to the knife and I twist and I cry for my nearly lost wife I cant lose myself now not in meaningless prose and purpose unknown I'm showing a gown on a gnome to the homeless in distress the cold desert of nevada peppered littered in dead sparrows and canarys if youre going to print this out you should cut the lines in strips and glue or tape them end to end at random

Yes They Could

     Cursive is a dying art; I swear the next generation will have no idea what I'm talking about. We don't need it, not in the age of passwords, those essentially personal beings. Its not our name, number or both but a reciprocal, something required to prove its us. Otherwise it could be anyone, just as long as they're here and now.
     It doesn't make sense to argue anymore, to inflict bloodshed or to expect death. The only difference makes all the difference, between you and me, man and woman, immortality and eternal life. The only way to press on is to push the envelope, when we only get tired of keeping it to ourselves.
     I am a genius, an expert, a professional. I don't care what they do or say because they don't exist, not like we do, nowhere near as well. Very possibly they will have their time or have had it, just as well, because in the blink of a weeping eye its gone, blurred from memory, never to return. All that remains is the fundamental truth that we're all in this together, regardless of gender and sex.
     We will not, may not move forward unless and until we agree. It is our job to convince eachother, to ring a bell and call it a key, to break the silence like the bread we were told to so far from here and so very long ago.

The Punchline

     A man walks into a bar. He sits down and a woman brings him a glass of water. The man removes his hat, places it on the table, and takes a drink of the water. He sets the glass back and removes his gloves. The woman asks if he wants anything else. The man asks her for a moment to decide and she says she'll come back. The man picks up the menu in one hand and opens it with the other, thumbing through the pages and reading by candlelight. She comes back and he orders a double whiskey and a coke back. When she comes back again with the drinks he orders fries and closes the menu, placing it back on the table. He continues sipping the water, smells the whiskey and looks at the coke. The fries arrive, she sets them in the middle of the table along with ketchup. He pours an adequate amount upon the red and white checkered paper near the edge of the fry basket, dips a fry and carefully eats it. The man drinks the whiskey, sips the coke and then holds the water glass. He continues eating the fries and sipping the water. Before he finishes the fries, he drinks the rest of the coke, sips the water again, and puts his hat on. The woman comes back, asks if he wants anything else and sets the receipt face down on the table. He shakes his head, she smiles and they thank each other. The man puts more than enough money upon the still face down receipt, puts on his gloves, gets up and leaves.

Two Breakfast Tales with Elbows

Kitten Me

In the present day near-distant future/ in space, we find our hero, Kitten Me! (that's right a kitten version of me)
Kitten Me gets distracted from anything productive by playing with an alluring dangling shiny mystery wonder device. Kitten Me chases the wonder device for 17 hours and falls asleep.
Kitten Me is astral projecting, so when he's falling asleep in space, he's waking up on Earth. And Earth seconds are different length than sleep/space/dream seconds.
Kitten Me sucks cause we're afraid of ourselves. Even though we're cute, we should probably be armed with a shank. Kitten me for example would be walking down the street, looking cute, when all of a sudden, a bad guy leaps out from the shadows. But with our new shank, we could stab the bad guy, after exclaiming, "Are you Kitten Me?"
The bad guy ended up just needing someone to talk to. Kitten Me made the bad guy feel better by listening to his problems and letting him pet us.

The end

The mail-order bride

Once upon a time, a mail-order bride decided She'd quite like to go to America. She crawled into a large box, where she hung upside-down as a bat, resting before her final metamorphosis into bride.
She met a pirate on the ship on the Atlantic. He was a handsome stow-away looking for valuable goods. The girl who does have a name, was singing in the box. Her name was Joan.
The pirate was thrilled to find his very own bride, because he had just swiped a wedding ring. It seemed like fate that he'd come across a perfect match for his latest steal.
However Joan had already been bought by a snake Tycoon and restaurantrepeneur. She was to arrive at an all-male school for how to be a nasty sick coughing magazine clipper.
The pirate turns out to be an alien, and his ship is way faster. So he takes her onto his pirate space ship. At first, she loves it. It still takes two weeks to get there. But then she got sick for like the whole time - the food was so terrible. Plus there was puke in the sink and the floor wasn't shiny. But then she got there and everything was hella chill.

The End

I always forget about everything that we talk about anymore (2150)

I saw a scary movie filmed in black and white without sound starring a group of unknowns

ne touchez pas la lentille

I'ma schizo hypo city kid, terrified of prison and torture, comfortable and complacent, sitting like a ghost on your own front steps, wafting in your direction. I am in good company, good light and good time.
pets do not read or watch television or wear pants. make sure you know who your family is.
plant treatment water

Touchy-Feely (questionable subject matter)
simple symptom
hint of acknowledgement
sign of depression
broken home
systematic stemware

Apology takes practice. It's never too late
They've thought of everything
I imagine you standing before me now. You are very smart and rich but you are not beautiful because you know you are not beautiful. You just woke up and I will make you some coffee.
I know virtually nothing about you, this is an extremely interesting situation. Who are you and where do you come from? I've seen you before im sure of it but im not sure where. Are you sure you don't want any coffee?
There is something better than nothing:
water, sunlight, bakery, bread knife, toaster, almond butter, coffee
they did not teach me nonviolence or self control which are obviously different
I'm not trying to confuse or argue with anyone its just sort of happening
something is nothing
Acid definitely got the better of me. I was sitting down when I wrote this.
How can you teach evil; that is a rhetorical question. It is impossible. I have secrets that you will know nothing about.
Nothing works everyday, only fights when she can. Puts on her makeup and drives into town. Only sees her friends when she wants to, nothing cares so she can. It's very important that nothing maintain a steady income so only may continue to enjoy the good life.
I had a dream where everything happened and I had to wake up and do it again. I knew it was not a nightmare because I had the chance to sleep in and it felt really good. It was so sunny out but I just lay there thinking about the dream I had that soon told me I would wet the bed if I did not get up soon. So I peed in a giant waterfall, got a drink from a glacier and went back to sleep on a vast pile of happy boneless kittens.
Raise your hand if you have a credit card. Now raise your other hand if you have credit card debt. And now let the fearless blast into space like a fleet of senseless bacteria!
left is wrong
It is obvious that the rulers today are figureheads carved from wax. I went to san fransisco and saw the real barack obama he was very lifelike.
Lewis Water and Clark Bar
Sack o' Jolly Ranchers
Government Field Trips
It is possible to survive on convenience food. They want you to, the dreamers. They want you to go to space because its big and black and scary and they want to see what's on the other side so bad it's obvious we need to secure our understanding of dark matter. I'll say it before like I said it again, I like my dark matter like I like my coffee - infinite and mysterious.

FEAR IS OVER if you want it