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the abridged textual film short
Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.
[ << Previous 25 ]
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2007.05.27 08.53
last one
well. the fortune teller peddling idle misfortune isn't going to hit the nail on this head...
time to clear the rot out of this immediate space.... praps everything will work out
praps.
g'bye.
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2007.05.18 20.21
A frame all blue and quiet. My heart is a pounding anomaly in this scene. A rattling pinball in a tin can torso. No exit - this is a center stage still.
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2007.05.16 16.39
summer 1
I just watched an old, old woman under my window scrap around the sidewalk for twenty three minutes. She was holding two cardboard boxes and bent over so as to increase the convenience of touching the ground.
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2007.05.12 02.03
He isn't sure if he is grateful for his accident of birth, which occurred during his mother's exile. Her punishment was an endless fall in an abyss which had been formed by a buggy infinite loop during the initial programming of the world. By endless, they meant six years. She was pulled from the abyss by a lifesaver, clutching a small boy in her arms whose idea of forever then was a freefall of 9.81m/s2.
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2007.05.03 11.07
verbosity negates humility
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2007.04.29 17.14
Brass is fleshed
everyday is today for flesh
the eyes are small perforations in the mesh between the fireplace and the living room
real-life fleshed-out girl meat
haunches and paunches
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2007.04.17 12.14
items: pindaan, minda, kawan-kawan
Ingat tak zaman dahulu bila burung berterbangan dalam langit yang penuh jerebu
hari-hari muda
macam bayi kuda
skrang suda mati terkandas di tepi longkang buruk
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2007.04.16 15.58
the first house
the house next door was shrouded in dim yellow light reflecting in blunted shards off the hardwood floors, both luxurious elements in my childhood of mosaic splintered tiles and efficient fluorescence. it had a gumball machine in the corner and carpets seemingly flung with reckless abandon. it is now what you would reflect upon as a "pleasant memory". gumballs falling out of fists.
there was a woman who lived in the attic. her name was "bee-ing". as a three year old, i was fascinated with this "bee-ing"; during our encounters i would frequently tack on the prefix "human".
"she is a human bee-ing," i screeched often. the irony of phonetics played a big role in my life even then. i would sneak up to the attic to say this while she was sleeping on her little pallet after which, i would close the door to give her privacy.
my mother finally got irritated with my ritual and said, "You can't close the door. Stop going up there. Auntie Bee-Ing has suffocated to death because of you."
she hadn't. coincidentally, a short time later, she moved away, having received a lucrative job offer in another state. this was not explained to me, leaving me to harbour the intense, stabbing guilt of having accidentally murdered somebody through asphyxiation.
In this time, I met another individual in this house. My mum's best friend, her name was Jules. The first time I met her was when I learned what a character was. What a character it was that swept like a whirlwind across the room, picked me up and said, "Look at my hair! Ha ha ha! Do you like it?"
My mother said it looked awful, but she was smiling.
"It's both long and short," she said, as if that was the most hilarious thing on earth. "Did it myself." Later, she and I danced while the others watched a new movie on VHS: Jaws. The sharks were a tremor through my childish nerves.
So I got this awful new haircut today that is a Jules tribute. So here's to thinking of you, Jules! My mum's never been quite as happy since you died!
I'm glad I remember... cheers!
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2007.04.13 13.29
the pope was poked off the papal parapet.
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2007.04.10 14.26
eno - salts to settle your stomach
The confines of the vessel would have been unpalatable to someone less agoraphobic than Finch. In her younger daring days, she had ventured out with her suction boots to explore the wide wide world. Ten minutes into the affair, she had managed to drag her convulsing hyperventilating body back to the old atrial doorstep.
She was the keeper of this place and that was how it was meant to be. As was her mother before her and prior to that, her grand-uncle. The selection of keepers resulted in the installation of specialized functions in the chosen individual. This was both painful and a terrific honour, after which Finch had picked herself out of the slime pools to .... do what she had been programmed to do.
In recent years, the random fibrillations had grown and she felt disheartened. Her task of cleaning the 5 hidden chambers and the 4 primary ones was growing to a close. She knew this as instinct, though she would have not expressed it in words if you had asked her. She would have just looked confused.
A mucus slime was her outer-most epidermal covering, which she used to maintain the state of the outstretched capillaries in the hidden chambers. The maintenace was her program but the walls glistened with her greatest, greatest hope
one day, real people would once more be trapped within these halls instead of the screaming echoes that persisted once they left. Maybe one day. And maybe one day she would once again have a decent conversation.
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2007.04.08 13.47
the enteric pathogen that could
Theobald of the Salmonella enterica genus was standing on a rocky ledge of feces. His cape waved with the feathery flapping of his previous hosts: the chickens.
How degrading to have been housed in such lesser creatures. He was aiming for an upgrade. The larger accomodations therein could house his entire family. Maybe they would get a plasma T.V. And one of those swank black leather couches, with angles. He had heard that angles and lines were all the rage these days.
"Yad ho, chickens! Yad ho!" the signal cry came. Every fibre of his being snapped to the ready, rippling shockwaves through cytoplasm. He swung his staff around to give him leverage,
and leapt!
The keepers of the abbattoir came in, swinging their fists left and right, leaving chickens in their wake. The skills he had acquired while living within the twine of ostrich intestines in the Royal London Circus had greatly increased his acrobatic motility, a rare function among his kind. Theobald clung tightly onto the edge of a keeper's wool sock.
"Maria!" he screamed.
"We're here, Theo!" they cried back. All ~10^9 CFU/mL of his wives, some of whom were also his children, awaited their salvation.
"Grab on... to my cilia!" the urgency of the situation was not lost on anyone. Theobald wedged his staff into the sock and anchored himself with a stray ankle hair peeking from the side with adroit speed. They extended themselves enthusiastically, a miasma of Salmonella spp., extending from the fecal surface.
"I've got you!" he panted with relief. Maybe this plan would really work. He hoisted the entire bunch, hanging one off the other like a pathogenic bead necklace. "I've got you!"
The keeper who had halted to stretch his extremities did not pay attention to this frantic drama at all. He grabbed a chicken by the neck and yawned, throwing it into the cone-shaped killing device. The animals were packed like a six-pack of beer, whereupon he slit their throats and cackled, thinking about a funny joke he had heard on that hilarious sitcom 'King of Queens'. Of course, this was construed differently by the doomed creatures who squawked their disapproval at this inferior etiquette: mocking one at the moment of death was a primitive practice by any standards.
The impetus of the keeper's slaying swung the escaping group off-balance. "NO!" Theobald screamed as the cascade shrieked and slammed against the side of the boot.
"No worries, Theo! Just keep pulling; we're still holding - aiiugh!" The sudden caterwauling of numerous souls stung the core of his being.
Theobald's eyes widened as all the Marias began to melt, trickling away, out of sight, out of his increasingly darkened heart. "NO!" he insisted loudly again. "I did it for you! I.....did....it for you all."
"Heeeelp us, heeelpppmargh..." the pleading Maria chorus diminished and drowned in the screams of dying chickens.
"What about our plasma widescreen?" This inquiry was met with silence.
The pre-emptive implementation of disinfecting foot baths had cost him dearly, but he didn't know it. Residual chemical coating on the boot was the culprit in eating the skin off the Salmonella bones. It seemed but a cruel phenomenon to him, his entire family melting into sour-smelling slime before his eyes. He hung his head in incomprehension. "It should have worked," he murmured. "It should have worked."
If a bacterium were ever to cry, this would be a formidable avalanche of tears.
"All alone." he crawled into the sock and held his staff like he might his dead children. "All alone now." In his head, he could hear the hestitant strains of a broken synthesizer. It was this sad music that would accompany his eventual arduous ascent to the top of this monolithic being.
The sad music ran right up to Theo's deciding moment. This moment occurred at lunch time.
The keeper sat down to eat some Kraft Dinner packed in a fold of extra underwear by his new lady, Marge. This one was a classy one and always looked out for him. Maybe they would last. He smiled at this thought, not knowing that both of them would eventually be in the worst fight of their lives, duking it out to see who would get to defecate noisily in the toilet first.
Theobald sensed his chance. Processed food had truly convenienced him. He wrapped his cape around him
and leapt!
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2007.04.08 02.41
the beams of the house creaked and croaked through nary a skull. the house was empty.
the beams of the house stretched like
particles beams splaying across the sky.
the house itself was empty and
sleeping
the beams had a solemn countenance as they considered this
at least they had each other
but now, it was time for freedom.
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2007.04.04 19.55
erotic poetry night
the culmination
combination
of years padded onto bare skin
tears through like the vengeance of a full moon descended to earth
equipped with scissorhands
i am dutiful
i am duty-full
he says "
i am akin to God, who may have made you from a rib,"
touching a rib.
"but i made you -
right here."
touching
years padded onto bare skin
i am dutiful
i am duty-filled like a stony satellite stiffened by gravity
the moon shines deep
onto me
and grandfather
grandfather
don't won't leave me
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2007.04.02 15.46
empowered nothing
i feel incomprehensibly juvenile again
am gonna use negative prefixes - in-, dis-, un-
to build the whole goddamn story.
dismembered day
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2007.04.02 13.33
Chemistry notes
The big picture. The Big Apple. The wavelengths of light ricocheted off the surface of the Earth,
I am just a little worm wishing I were an enzyme. They wage war
Crazy war on the sidewalks.
"Aglycones ahoy!" Aglycones - non-sugar part of a glycoside. Produced by the action of the nefarious glycosidases.
What happened? Cell rupture and failure of compartmentalization by the clotting factors?
"Fruits don't clot you moron," said my chemistry professor.
Decreased solubility for the anthocyanidins
polyphenol oxidase took o-diphenol as wife who begat o-benzoquinone who transformed into anthocyanins as an
"alternative life choice"
The fruit patrol went 45-60s raising metabolic processes to 90-100C,
sulfur dioxide came at a glorious 30 parts per million merging with the screams of
the evil but defeated degradative enzymes.
- Anthoxanthin is responsible for yellow colouring --> yellow flavonoids.
- Anthoxanthin is angry!
- His place is usurped by the domineering carotenoids, "sorry you have no prestige little brother"
Look at Figure 18. We remember organic chemistry, yes. Yes... FLAVONOIDS
Different permutations based on degree of oxidation of the 3-carbon link in double-ring structure dictates light refractivity (colour).
The flavonoid zombies held only by exoskeletons crawl from the fruity swamps.
Dihydrochalcones, chalcones, isoflavones, neoflavones, aurones - no basic skeleton but still, still
family.
hugs!
- relationship between colour and unsaturation --- if i had a double bond i would be a colour pigment too
i don't have additional electron pairs to attract anybody....
so..... lonely....
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2007.03.29 02.53
If you were Hades
I'd like to get off my arse and give a grotty real girl the old in-out in-out
when she's bleeding sweat and grime into my, my, my
real horrorshow-like bleeding
Hahah. The movie was way better than the book. I play it on repeat in the atmosphere. It is much more interesting than a real sky.
Consequently, old Tony spends all his time by Cocytus in his never-ending soliloquy....
sometimes, I throw monkey poop at him to see him dance.
Hahah. I like to laugh in my old age.
Too bad the freshest dames hereabouts still shit themselves during intake
and their cavities feel like raw chickens defrosting
We still haven't installed indoor plumbing. Still, I'm going to, um. Take a stroll around the fresh meat bins.
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2007.03.27 17.10
sexual innuendo with modern-day seers
The sun sprouted - at the bus-stop - an oracle
who said "it's a nice day for a popsicle"
and I pulled one out of my clavicle
said "would you like to see my cubicle"....
she said
"drink up drink up
that's the hugest cubicle i've ever seen
it could fit three people who are bent on
talking,
talking
talking"
and i said
it has before
it has,
prior to you
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2007.03.23 10.53
the future is a candy cane in my cotton candy mind
and i ask: is it done, is it done
hydroscopic hedonism: can't be spun
water can't bring you down
18.01 g/mol
my ass = mass
it's my fucking sandbag
yo
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2007.03.23 06.07
NEVERLAND
aaaah sex and violence are super cool
but they're like femme fatales going "come on, you know you want to get wit it."
and then i'm like "no can we just play a game of ping pong as friends?"
and they're like slithering around the place leather-clad and conformism personified
and i'm like i'm joining the FUCKING MONASTERY so i can get some peace and quiet guys
and they're like ooo wonder how long she's going to last eh?
just picture a girl sitting on the edge of a lotus pond
..
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watching tv, masturbating and eating bbq chips with the other hand.
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2007.03.22 17.14
current thematic disposition
picture a piece of dough rising, rising, rising
but punctures unnoticed to reveal a piece of shit
that's how goddamn ineffectual all this talking is
where's the war?
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prosaicwhore's journal