torsdag 15 juli 2010
In'suffiecent Fun'ds
Alas, forthwith morever and ANON, canst therefore, in subsequence, these our truth-bearing stacks being coin or cash nor furthermore of a currency divine. Fall, my love, into my lap, recline thy pretty head, and fluff your hair and shake this treasure from your HAIR, YEs, fairest mine, it is all about the money.... Let Gods despair for lack of attention, while I wrangle alone a couple of extra dollars from the earth spirit, all together we feast, and fester, Please, Count this, my lovely jewels beset thereon, in between the heaps of choice tokens, of gold or silver, spinning and a couple of books of wet bills. i'll dry them with love on the radiator element, even though burning sun torch my flesh and eyes, I am the power to spending this. all of heaven smile on my shopping, but yes, you will bestow the moneys VERY SOON
tisdag 29 juni 2010
Wyrld K'upp 1
Greetings friends, you have all my best wishings for that your team can be of a winning goal with such strengths and power to prevail for may the best team winnings!!! Now is the Japan team in a match against Paraguay. if you know who shall win, then you know at least twice half as much as some of your best friends in the continent of your choosings. pleeze play a good game
October 19, 2006
It's getting close to the time for us to get going. I'm a little drunk. Listening to King Crimson playing "Cirkus" live in what seems like the latter part of 1971, oh the mellotron. The saga continues. So it does.
We still have some cleaning up to do, and I've got some packing to perform. Can you believe that we're going to be in Paris in 8 hours?
måndag 26 april 2010
Count Ejacula
Count Ejacula paced along the northwest parapet glancing into the gloomy distance. He nervously fingered his antique Syrian topaz ring, like as if it was going to help matters. The sky was pressed low and menacing upon the castle. Dark purple foggy clouds swept swiftly across the upper towers of the massive stone builiding. Near the jagged horizon, faint streaks of lightning occasionally flashed, but they were not audibly present in the least.
"She will come.....", the Count whispered. "She will renounce her devotion to Malignath, and perpetuate the continuation of the myth, joining me in my quest to achieve total domination of the Fifth Quadrant!!"
He was referring to Princess Illuminoma, Grand Shepherdess Superior of the district of Frontesia, which comprises the outer counties of the northern section of the Fifth Quadrant. Illuminoma sent a courier to the Count not more than a month previous with word that she would join him as soon as the High Priest Malignath was properly punished for his countless crimes against humanity.
"I hate myself!!!" The Count screamed at nearly the top of this lungs. He let the sound of his voice echo a little then continued....."I'm so burnt out. There's nothing left. The ancient ashes of my dusty nothingness never even came close to resembling my true power. I could have conquered Turkey and the Holy Land, maybe even Rome. I might have eaten the carcass of the Pope and washed it down from Cognac out of the Holy Grail.....What grief these mine entrails declare!!! Rejoice!, for the silent thunder is aware of my over-reaching insignificance."
His gleaming golden bracelet glimmered as another bolt of lightning flickered. Count Ejacula spread out his tarot cards on a little table which was flanked by raging torches. "Fucking Five of Swords again! Damn this foamy-mouthed plague, this blonde bitch of cackling night!!"
He tosses the cards over the railing, then watches them plunge 8 or more storeys down into some white water rapids below. Just then, the butler, Tyrone emerged from a ornate steel door with hardly a lack of grandiloquence. Tyrone gracefully approached Ejacula then paused before him, awaiting permission to speak.
The Count spoke: "Oh, good evening, Tyrone. Have the guests arrived?"
Tyrone answered: "Precisely, sir. The Stones and and a journalist named Umbrellica Pierce."
The Count quickly shot it in: "Yes, of course. She's with with the Herald. But what is Ignora wearing?"
Ignora Stone and her brother Chip comprised the aformentioned "Stones". Ejacula had given Ignora a special amulet to wear when she visits so that he won't be able to just lean over and bite into her neck, which is quite deliciously tempting for our vampire character. Chip Stone has always been aware of the Count's urges to dip his fangs into Ignora's lovely rosy white flesh, but somehow this fact didn't really bother him. Chip trusted Ejacula's modes of precaution and safety so it was expected that the amulet would serve perfectly to facilitate a powerful magical barrier to any bloody indulgences.
"Well," Tyrone answered, beginning then pausing to do a quick scan of his short-term memory banks. " I believe she's wearing Emilio Pucci. An exquisitely snug but flowing black and silver dress. There are a few blushing flecks of striping ribbon embellishments across the mid-lower torso region.......One pearl necklace....Let's see....uh......The hair is swept over to the left and pulled up in the back. Perfume... some sort of Chanel or something...Quite frankly sir, I'm a bit puzzled by her delightful scent."
Tyrone made a very brief, nearly imperceptible bow at the conclusion of his statement.
"Excellent. Thank you Tyrone. You are now and will always be a genius. But more importantly.....you are a great man."
"Thank you, kind master, " Tyrone responded, again just barely making a faint bow. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the same door-shaped opening in the wall from whence he appeared not 90 seconds previous..........
"She will come.....", the Count whispered. "She will renounce her devotion to Malignath, and perpetuate the continuation of the myth, joining me in my quest to achieve total domination of the Fifth Quadrant!!"
He was referring to Princess Illuminoma, Grand Shepherdess Superior of the district of Frontesia, which comprises the outer counties of the northern section of the Fifth Quadrant. Illuminoma sent a courier to the Count not more than a month previous with word that she would join him as soon as the High Priest Malignath was properly punished for his countless crimes against humanity.
"I hate myself!!!" The Count screamed at nearly the top of this lungs. He let the sound of his voice echo a little then continued....."I'm so burnt out. There's nothing left. The ancient ashes of my dusty nothingness never even came close to resembling my true power. I could have conquered Turkey and the Holy Land, maybe even Rome. I might have eaten the carcass of the Pope and washed it down from Cognac out of the Holy Grail.....What grief these mine entrails declare!!! Rejoice!, for the silent thunder is aware of my over-reaching insignificance."
His gleaming golden bracelet glimmered as another bolt of lightning flickered. Count Ejacula spread out his tarot cards on a little table which was flanked by raging torches. "Fucking Five of Swords again! Damn this foamy-mouthed plague, this blonde bitch of cackling night!!"
He tosses the cards over the railing, then watches them plunge 8 or more storeys down into some white water rapids below. Just then, the butler, Tyrone emerged from a ornate steel door with hardly a lack of grandiloquence. Tyrone gracefully approached Ejacula then paused before him, awaiting permission to speak.
The Count spoke: "Oh, good evening, Tyrone. Have the guests arrived?"
Tyrone answered: "Precisely, sir. The Stones and and a journalist named Umbrellica Pierce."
The Count quickly shot it in: "Yes, of course. She's with with the Herald. But what is Ignora wearing?"
Ignora Stone and her brother Chip comprised the aformentioned "Stones". Ejacula had given Ignora a special amulet to wear when she visits so that he won't be able to just lean over and bite into her neck, which is quite deliciously tempting for our vampire character. Chip Stone has always been aware of the Count's urges to dip his fangs into Ignora's lovely rosy white flesh, but somehow this fact didn't really bother him. Chip trusted Ejacula's modes of precaution and safety so it was expected that the amulet would serve perfectly to facilitate a powerful magical barrier to any bloody indulgences.
"Well," Tyrone answered, beginning then pausing to do a quick scan of his short-term memory banks. " I believe she's wearing Emilio Pucci. An exquisitely snug but flowing black and silver dress. There are a few blushing flecks of striping ribbon embellishments across the mid-lower torso region.......One pearl necklace....Let's see....uh......The hair is swept over to the left and pulled up in the back. Perfume... some sort of Chanel or something...Quite frankly sir, I'm a bit puzzled by her delightful scent."
Tyrone made a very brief, nearly imperceptible bow at the conclusion of his statement.
"Excellent. Thank you Tyrone. You are now and will always be a genius. But more importantly.....you are a great man."
"Thank you, kind master, " Tyrone responded, again just barely making a faint bow. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the same door-shaped opening in the wall from whence he appeared not 90 seconds previous..........
måndag 1 mars 2010
WILD BOAR du JOUR
Wild Boar du Jour
Matthu Stull August 2009
August 3 1909: When the rats finally went to sleep, after nibbling at my extremities for some odd number of hours, and after the hazy blue vapors of dawn had transferred beyond the noxious stream of mistly sunlight, I crawled toward my whiskey bottle and took a nice big slug. It was the best breakfast a man could ask for in this freakish landscape of endless jungle nightmare.
In my youth, I had quite a romantic picture of the jungle in my mind. I imagined the parrots and primates and jaguars all frollicking gayly amid strange coconuts and huge flowers of violet and topaz. This fantasy continues with me loading my rifle, kissing Veronica, and shooting a 30-foot long python through the left eye at 40 yards. Then we find the ancient temple full of rare gems and various treasures and whatnot. But no! It's not like that at all! It's a shitty dump full of flesh eating insects, diseases of absurd variety and power, and untold scores of cannibals and malevolent savages.
I took another big gulp of the scotch, then took a piss on one of the slaves we brought along to carry all of our shit.
“Goggo!, wake up, you lazy piece of smelly shit!”, I screamed as I kicked him in the ribs. But Goggo didn't so much as flinch in response. Yeah, you guessed it, he was dead and half rotten now too. His face was all shredded up and eaten up by rats or something else. I carefully took back the few coins I had paid him for last week's work, avoiding to actually touch the slimy dirty skin of the nasty little corpse.
“Son of a bitch.” I mumbled, then staggered over to my rifle. It was time. It was time to kill.
“Hey, can someone bring this stuff to the palace?” I yelled. But there was no answer. Where were all of the slaves, I wondered? How am I gonna move the tent, the kitchen stuff and 3 or 4 crates of rare books to the hunting fields at the Palace of Queen Threenfthra?
“Fuck it.” I muttered and then emptied the whiskey bottle into my mouth. I tossed another one into my rucksack but noticed with no small amount of terror that there were only 4 bottles left. But oh well, I was sure the Quenn would have plenty of drinks for me, as long as I could bring her some wild boar meat, for which she always had a unrelenting craving. But it wouldn't be easy to get there without a horse. Charlotte, some old horse I was using, was eaten 3 days ago my pirhanas. Poor thing, I tried to pull her to safety, but her legs were just bloody bone after about 30 seconds in the Amazon. And then I was even bitten a few times too. I started shooting into the water with my pistol but without much in the way of positive results. Aaahhhhh, the fact is that I must cross roughly 30 miles of dense jungle on foot, without a single guide or servant.
August 6, 1909: I've just hacked a tapir to death with my machete. I have the sharpest machete on the planet. No joke, that's a fact. What, you don't believe me? It cuts through tapir flesh like a samurai sword cuts through marmalade. But it's probably sharper than them jap swords too. I give a fuck, anyway, whether or not you trust the inherent veracity of my claims. The point is this: I got a dead animal to cut up and eat and a half bottle of Scotch to pour down my gullet!
August 8, 1909: I think I took a wrong turn at that village yesterday. I asked some cannibals there which way would take me toward the Palace of Queen Threenfthra and I automatically assumed they were lying to me, so of course, after shooting them point blank with my Laird & Murphy 6 ö 5, I took the direction going exactly opposite to the one they'd suggested. Now I almost rather regret that choice. I'm just surrounded by silly white foamy rapids now, and that silly constant roar which I guess these kayak people just adore. But I adore the roar of the boar. Only maybe slightly less than that of the whore. Furthermore, what matters it now just after before? I'll take this chance to apologize for my meanderings of mind. Perhaps it was not wise to eat that strange mushroom from the jungle's floor......This incessant churning of river ravages me. I must get going and buy a map at some secret kiosk some such place or other. Pray for me, you heathens!!!
August 12 1909: I met a strange old Syrian man today under a steaming cataract of blood at a mountainside of alien vegetables. He gave me a fascinating book called “The Code of Sirozon”. This book has drastically altered my consciousness, so much so that I've developed an amazing psychic ability to navigate this wilderness. With certainty now, I am on the right path to the Palace of the Queen. And I've built a sort of laser spear using some crystals I found in a foggy canyon. I put these crystals into the end of a long branch of some half burnt tree that I found. Then I soaked the staff in a peculiar resin which flowed from a pile of stones under a vast prehistoric terrace of mild richness. Finally I tied it together with some glowing blue spider webs I also found in the foggy cavern near the the canyon of canyons in a land of canyons and deeper gorges than can be believed on this here planet. Of this Laser Spear, it can be said that it is a powerful device, but that I instinctively understood that I must charge it under bright moonlight, preferably a full moon, which was the situation last night. A feeling of supreme power surges through me when I use this laser spear. I have tested it on a few time on some random boulders and I hope you will forgive my sincere delight as I watched these huge rocks dissolve into a fine powder after being struck by the powerful pink beam. The only real drawback is that after 2 or 3 shots, it becomes very weak, not shooting at all, just giving off a subtle and softy rosy amber light. Still, if I charge it and use it only in dire necessity, I will be most happy to have it in my arsenal.
Now, let me take a moment to write a little more abou this ancient book I received. Upon first opening “The Code of Sirozon”, a peculiar mist seemed to swirl around me. The words on the page crept forward almost like Satanic insects, they seemed to levitate before my eyes and at the same time I thought I could hear a muffled chattering murmur of dragons or something, in a language I cannot hope to describe at all whatsoever. After my initial shock of the nature of this volume, I began to perceive actual words in the English language. These words are bizarre in the extreme and I will copy some sections here:
from page 19: “That withall causeth fine timber to squeal up into this there then of rapture's flotation. Canst whither thin milky vapors having blackest shape of eye came narrow. But seest thou how pendulum enformed twin turbo didst bake not blast the fourth vacuums of Quantum Thrust? So too true the cavern lit manifold aflame thereon, caress the sand of bridges whence time simmers in that implosive pulse. Make do with mine envoicings beyond horizon, for that which makest of mine foamy nebulous is therefore contained and optimum to that which alas is of might and broad balance. Still twixt be it conceived to employeth new pistons of stone for thine but the engine it Breathes in fair light of naked raptured effects!”
Of course, any savage can tell you this passage is nothing but rubbish. But to me, as an initiate of The Knights of Exxylcroth, I knew with not even the faintest shade of doubt that there was here in front of me a serious code of interdimensional grandeur. I have only read 32 of the 412 pages, but already something radical is taking place within me. And not just the thoughts in my brain, but all aspects of my being are going through some kind of intense esoteric transformation.
Matthu Stull August 2009
August 3 1909: When the rats finally went to sleep, after nibbling at my extremities for some odd number of hours, and after the hazy blue vapors of dawn had transferred beyond the noxious stream of mistly sunlight, I crawled toward my whiskey bottle and took a nice big slug. It was the best breakfast a man could ask for in this freakish landscape of endless jungle nightmare.
In my youth, I had quite a romantic picture of the jungle in my mind. I imagined the parrots and primates and jaguars all frollicking gayly amid strange coconuts and huge flowers of violet and topaz. This fantasy continues with me loading my rifle, kissing Veronica, and shooting a 30-foot long python through the left eye at 40 yards. Then we find the ancient temple full of rare gems and various treasures and whatnot. But no! It's not like that at all! It's a shitty dump full of flesh eating insects, diseases of absurd variety and power, and untold scores of cannibals and malevolent savages.
I took another big gulp of the scotch, then took a piss on one of the slaves we brought along to carry all of our shit.
“Goggo!, wake up, you lazy piece of smelly shit!”, I screamed as I kicked him in the ribs. But Goggo didn't so much as flinch in response. Yeah, you guessed it, he was dead and half rotten now too. His face was all shredded up and eaten up by rats or something else. I carefully took back the few coins I had paid him for last week's work, avoiding to actually touch the slimy dirty skin of the nasty little corpse.
“Son of a bitch.” I mumbled, then staggered over to my rifle. It was time. It was time to kill.
“Hey, can someone bring this stuff to the palace?” I yelled. But there was no answer. Where were all of the slaves, I wondered? How am I gonna move the tent, the kitchen stuff and 3 or 4 crates of rare books to the hunting fields at the Palace of Queen Threenfthra?
“Fuck it.” I muttered and then emptied the whiskey bottle into my mouth. I tossed another one into my rucksack but noticed with no small amount of terror that there were only 4 bottles left. But oh well, I was sure the Quenn would have plenty of drinks for me, as long as I could bring her some wild boar meat, for which she always had a unrelenting craving. But it wouldn't be easy to get there without a horse. Charlotte, some old horse I was using, was eaten 3 days ago my pirhanas. Poor thing, I tried to pull her to safety, but her legs were just bloody bone after about 30 seconds in the Amazon. And then I was even bitten a few times too. I started shooting into the water with my pistol but without much in the way of positive results. Aaahhhhh, the fact is that I must cross roughly 30 miles of dense jungle on foot, without a single guide or servant.
August 6, 1909: I've just hacked a tapir to death with my machete. I have the sharpest machete on the planet. No joke, that's a fact. What, you don't believe me? It cuts through tapir flesh like a samurai sword cuts through marmalade. But it's probably sharper than them jap swords too. I give a fuck, anyway, whether or not you trust the inherent veracity of my claims. The point is this: I got a dead animal to cut up and eat and a half bottle of Scotch to pour down my gullet!
August 8, 1909: I think I took a wrong turn at that village yesterday. I asked some cannibals there which way would take me toward the Palace of Queen Threenfthra and I automatically assumed they were lying to me, so of course, after shooting them point blank with my Laird & Murphy 6 ö 5, I took the direction going exactly opposite to the one they'd suggested. Now I almost rather regret that choice. I'm just surrounded by silly white foamy rapids now, and that silly constant roar which I guess these kayak people just adore. But I adore the roar of the boar. Only maybe slightly less than that of the whore. Furthermore, what matters it now just after before? I'll take this chance to apologize for my meanderings of mind. Perhaps it was not wise to eat that strange mushroom from the jungle's floor......This incessant churning of river ravages me. I must get going and buy a map at some secret kiosk some such place or other. Pray for me, you heathens!!!
August 12 1909: I met a strange old Syrian man today under a steaming cataract of blood at a mountainside of alien vegetables. He gave me a fascinating book called “The Code of Sirozon”. This book has drastically altered my consciousness, so much so that I've developed an amazing psychic ability to navigate this wilderness. With certainty now, I am on the right path to the Palace of the Queen. And I've built a sort of laser spear using some crystals I found in a foggy canyon. I put these crystals into the end of a long branch of some half burnt tree that I found. Then I soaked the staff in a peculiar resin which flowed from a pile of stones under a vast prehistoric terrace of mild richness. Finally I tied it together with some glowing blue spider webs I also found in the foggy cavern near the the canyon of canyons in a land of canyons and deeper gorges than can be believed on this here planet. Of this Laser Spear, it can be said that it is a powerful device, but that I instinctively understood that I must charge it under bright moonlight, preferably a full moon, which was the situation last night. A feeling of supreme power surges through me when I use this laser spear. I have tested it on a few time on some random boulders and I hope you will forgive my sincere delight as I watched these huge rocks dissolve into a fine powder after being struck by the powerful pink beam. The only real drawback is that after 2 or 3 shots, it becomes very weak, not shooting at all, just giving off a subtle and softy rosy amber light. Still, if I charge it and use it only in dire necessity, I will be most happy to have it in my arsenal.
Now, let me take a moment to write a little more abou this ancient book I received. Upon first opening “The Code of Sirozon”, a peculiar mist seemed to swirl around me. The words on the page crept forward almost like Satanic insects, they seemed to levitate before my eyes and at the same time I thought I could hear a muffled chattering murmur of dragons or something, in a language I cannot hope to describe at all whatsoever. After my initial shock of the nature of this volume, I began to perceive actual words in the English language. These words are bizarre in the extreme and I will copy some sections here:
from page 19: “That withall causeth fine timber to squeal up into this there then of rapture's flotation. Canst whither thin milky vapors having blackest shape of eye came narrow. But seest thou how pendulum enformed twin turbo didst bake not blast the fourth vacuums of Quantum Thrust? So too true the cavern lit manifold aflame thereon, caress the sand of bridges whence time simmers in that implosive pulse. Make do with mine envoicings beyond horizon, for that which makest of mine foamy nebulous is therefore contained and optimum to that which alas is of might and broad balance. Still twixt be it conceived to employeth new pistons of stone for thine but the engine it Breathes in fair light of naked raptured effects!”
Of course, any savage can tell you this passage is nothing but rubbish. But to me, as an initiate of The Knights of Exxylcroth, I knew with not even the faintest shade of doubt that there was here in front of me a serious code of interdimensional grandeur. I have only read 32 of the 412 pages, but already something radical is taking place within me. And not just the thoughts in my brain, but all aspects of my being are going through some kind of intense esoteric transformation.
tisdag 23 februari 2010
The Cathedral
Twenty Thousand Trumpets all scream,
The Terrible bricks in Alignment Glitter,
Theirs are Dimensions in holiest formation.
What sequence persists, forming Monumental Shadows
and Breathless sepulchral Views, One Hundred Times True!
Bony-eyed Gargoyles Teeming on Towers, vaulted and arched,
stretching for sunlight in the Optimum Gloom.
Here While our chanting Brothers resist the Poking Gentle
Spears from Above,
The Catacombs Whisper a soft stagnant Meadow of Sin.
The Terrible bricks in Alignment Glitter,
Theirs are Dimensions in holiest formation.
What sequence persists, forming Monumental Shadows
and Breathless sepulchral Views, One Hundred Times True!
Bony-eyed Gargoyles Teeming on Towers, vaulted and arched,
stretching for sunlight in the Optimum Gloom.
Here While our chanting Brothers resist the Poking Gentle
Spears from Above,
The Catacombs Whisper a soft stagnant Meadow of Sin.
måndag 22 februari 2010
Unknown Master of North Indian Percussion....Jiarwad Bhagavishnivad
Many people know of the glory of Indian music traditions. It's totally groovy, though, when one discovers that one knows nearly nothing about one of the most incredible percussionists of all time. The secret and silently legendary beyond human conception mastery and mystery of
JIARWAD BHAGAVISHNIVAD has left some scholars wondering: "WTF"
Virtually almost hardly nothing is not nearly known whatsoever about this truly enigmatic character of mythical proportions. I happened to find an manuscript a few years ago that gave me some idea about how far-out were the techniques of this dude. The book was only about 13,000 pages long but i read the first half in less than 8 years. By the time, I'd reached the 83rd chapter, I realized there was a cypher wedged into the strange narrative that was impressively unsolvable by machines and humans alike. I spent weeks studying the cryptic codes but it was obvious that the information was much more advanced than anything I would ever be able to comprehend. There was also that weird book chapter about Asad al Fahd and the connection between Persian musical proclivities and the intermingling of these styles with the north Indian traditions. Well, essentially Asad al Fahd and Jiarwad Bhagavishnivad are believed to have played a duet in the legendary "Hall of Records" located under the front paws of the Sphinx near Cairo in Egypt. This would have taken place in June or July of the year 1889, but there is no way for anyone to confirm whether or not this actually ever happened.
Anyway this book changed my life. I didn't want anyone else to find and read it and learn all of the amazing rhythmic secrets it contained so I burnt the son of a bitch a couple of months ago. If anyone knows anything at all about Jiarwad Bhagavishnivad, please tell me everything. And if you have or know anyone who has ever seen a photograph of the man, it is a holy imperative that you get me in touch with this.
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