[088]
11/26/2010 03:11 p.m.

The cart on the corner of Irving Park & Kimball sells chicharrones fried in the fat of pure dissonance. The makers of these rinds regularly put the music of John Cage and Igor Stravinsky into a pan, caramelize it, and then deglaze the pan. What's made, the burnt and delicious l-glutamate heavy remains, those are added to oil in a deep frier. The process is laborious, but the outcome is well worth it, and you purchase bags of them for one dollar and thirty seven cents.

You crunch them lovingly, licking grease from your fingertips. As you digest the sounds, your neurons struggle to keep up.

The fail, they fail, and miserably. With each unsuccessful attempt to find a pattern in the sound-fat, your neurons spit out dopamine in luxurious squirts. You slowly but surely go crazy.

The dopamine overdose begets in you auditory and visual hallucinations.

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[087]
11/26/2010 03:08 p.m.

The Mexican cart on the corner sells chicharrones fried in the fat of pure dissonance. You buy bags of them regularly for one dollar and twenty five cents.

Thick and sticky and viscous, each bite sends a rattle of electrical impulses through your head-meat: behind your eyes and ears flash an array of hallucinations, chirp chirping and skreek skreeking, wending their way through the criss-cross of your corpus collosum.

The staccato of signals the dissonance causes releases surges of dopamine, delicious and enchanting. You are overwhelmed. You call up your childhood best friend and tell them how much they mean to you through a series of screeches.

They will have none of this goddammit.

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[086]
11/26/2010 03:06 p.m.

The Mexican cart on the corner sells chicharrones fried in the fat of pure dissonance. You buy bags of them regularly for one dollar and twenty five centers, and pick them up between three fingers, thick and sticky and viscous. Delicious.

Each bite send a rattle of scattered electrical impulses through the wending paths of your head-meat.

This is your primary reason for purchasing these chicharrones (seeing as most chicharrones are empty), for the dissonance they've been fried in causes a rapturous burst of dopamine to spout straight from your ear canals and into your blood stream.

You hallucinate wildly.

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[085]
11/26/2010 03:04 p.m.

He is surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people and the noise and proximity drive him crazy. The noise! Batshit insane! He can feel an aching in his temples pulsing dopamine into the dissonance, boom boom.

The sound of everyone is screeching like writhing hives.

He puts his finger where he oughtn't to put his finger and is stung. He swats about at the beastly little mite which sook to shank and it met with screeching.

The hive, attached through electrical impulses, goes goddamn wild and the noise the noise bursts dopamine through the dissonance and he can feel craziness coursing through his head-met -- I hope everyone dies.

The press of a button causes two parallel boards to slide against each other, and eventually they meet to form a hole. From the hole plops pure dissonance into your hand.

Dissonance is delicious and you know it back with the shudder of one practiced. You go quickly crazy, fetching!

The press of a button causes two mechanisms to slide parallel and meet in a small opening. From this opening, thick and viscous, plops a dollop of pure dissonance.

You knock it back in practiced relish and proceed to go crazy, fetchingly and with excuse. The noise rattles through your head-meat, a buzzing of scattered electrical impulses.

Behind your eyes and ears flash an array of hallucinations, chirp chirping and screek screeching, wending their way through the criss-cross of your corpus collosum, and you are acutely aware that you are being judged egregiously.

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[084]
11/26/2010 02:59 p.m.

she tells the future by randomly selecting a passage from "The Complete Book of Erotic Art Volumes I & II."

the day he found a church mouse in his printer, he understood the difficulties he'd been having with communication.

originally having believed that the heart is made of flames, she is disappointed to discover that it is merely a mass of pumps and valves and muscles. she supposes that the rest of the body will prove likewise.


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[083]
10/25/2010 11:09 p.m.

he puts his finger where he oughtn't to have put his finger and
he gets stung by the wasp that's waiting on the cusp. he cowers.

later he calls up his sweetheart and begs for sympathy and is
met with vitriol and spewing. he is ignored.

he is ignored because his sweetheart is secretly screwing the man who
runs the printing shop downstairs despite a massive gap in age, i.e. about
sixty years.

she is screwing the man who runs the printing shop downstairs because he
prints out the ebooks she's downloaded illegally for free and turns a blind
eye on her techno-terrorism in exchange for impeccable blowjobs.

her blowjobs are impeccable because back in the day, she was sexually
assaulted by an afghanistan war veteran who was twice her age and sent her
bestiality porn.

he sent her bestiality porn because his views about love, trust, and comfort
were messed up from post traumatic stress disorder.

his got post traumatic stress disorder because in the middle of the night in the
desert someone would yell "firing mission!" and he'd have to jump up and load
shells into a howitzer.

they used a howitzer because the people they wanted to kill were too far away
to kill with regular guns and for some reason the army still likes artillery.

the army still likes artillery because it is easy to train soldiers to load and fire
the artillery and they can fire a hundred in a night if they have to.

it's easy to train soldiers to load and fire a howitzer because it only takes three
and they can trick those soldiers into doing it even though it's very scary by
giving them fancy titles like "specialists."

they give them fancy titles like "specialist" because it draws people who want to
be slightly more than a soldier, like the afghanistan war veteran who sexually
assaulted her when she was a babe.

she was sexually assaulted when she was just a babe because she was nice and
didn't mind when people were sort of weird, and so she didn't mind talking to a
messed up fellow with a redneck upbringing.

his upbringing was redneck because he was born into a weird household in rural
kentucky with parents who was never married to begin with and who forced
him to work in a junkyard for his keep.

they forced him to work in a junkyard because early onset psoriatic arthritis
runs in their family.

early onset psoriatic arthritis runs in their family because of poor genes and
because people don't die from the things evolution would have them die
from these days.

evolution would have them die from these things to purge them from the gene
pool so that later on early onset psoriatic arthritis and a tendency towards sexual
assault wouldn't be passed on through the generations.

if it weren't passed on, she wouldn't be exchanging impeccable blowjobs for cheap
printing.

if she weren't exchanging impeccable blowjobs for cheap printing she may have
been emotionally available to her sweetheart when his finger was full of venom
and swelling.

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[082]
10/20/2010 09:24 p.m.

tangly insides, poetics are not appropriate, and what
do i do now? we eat dog food and get called dirty names
and quiet down. awkward sex, dry. i can fix it for you.
i haven't spoken to you enough, haven't fingered my way
through your dusty quirks all sinfully selfish stealing
these things and reusing them to describe relationships.
touching people by accident and then not shying away,
it's a test of gratitude intrinsic. smile at strangers
but everyone hates small talk. a woman like you should
never have to wait in line behind a woman like her. a
dime for a quarter, sweet jesus. brown eyes dip back-
wards, seen 'em do it. the parts that are extra-sensory.
"My girlfriends who cheated on me always wanted to stay
together. am i a bad lover?" slicks folds slicks eat 'em
up babycakes, some people have hotter metabolisms, they
exude heat like a furnace and lying beside them causes
discomfort and sweat. it's wintertime. your bed is a
horrendous mess of bodily fluids, there's nothing left
for you. situational comforts, anxieties. no writing
right now. GET AWAY FROM ME. the road crew for the
paranormal smokes so many cigarettes they could bury the
world, stick peeling all over too early to clean. SCABS,
BABY, SCABS. there's certain stains that might be sweat
or might be tears, you little pussy.

that tattoo was fucking stupid, that tattoo was fucking
stupid, god in chinese? suck it into your soul, you whore
of a person. all you ever wanted to do was fuck but you
were such a pussy about it, you dick. you're stupid for
rejecting her, you will never have a chance at anyone
better. you will always be full of hate and ire
ORGASYUM! she was lonely because people say that the
perpetual state of the human race is loneliness. making
people uncomfy, collecting sound-bites, sucking it down,
i'll dialogue your mother. trade it in for cave living,
climbing never seeing these people again you are such a
dickwhore and you are crazy as a cockroach what's been
stung by a wasp and is slowly being devoured, alive alive,
and you are meaner than a housecat on acid and dumber than
a flatworm, you cunt. you'll be killt upside the head.
driving a long way in the dark, that's music to cheat on
your sweetheart to. driving a long way, never had a deer
jump out, don't jinx it. hate the cops, angelface, and
hate the system. hate the government all you want, but
leave its soldiers alone. wesley failed miserably and so
he joined the army. it didn't get him off the drugs, but
he sure looks funny now.

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[081]
10/20/2010 09:16 p.m.

&: if i really want to freak you out i'll
just like, wake you up in the middle of the night
by making explosion sounds and i'll yell "drop and
give me thirty!"
#: no, what you want to yell is "firing mission."
&: "firing mission?"
#: yeah. that's what'll get me out of bed licketysplit.
&: what's "firing mission?"
#: it means we're being attacked.
&: by whom?
#: it means man the cannon.
&: what?
#: the howitzer. the big artillery. loading and firing
it was my job.
&: i can't believe we still use artillery.
#: we use it against enemies that are far away.
&: i saw you do that.
#: some nights we'd fire one hundred in a night. that
was fucking scary.
&: well now i know what to do if i really want to
freak you out.
#: you don't.

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[080]
10/20/2010 09:13 p.m.

&: no, but like, what is it with guys and drawing dicks?
#: girls don't ever draw boobs and vaginas?
&: not really. not as much.
#: it's like a pride thing.
&: seriously?
#: yeah like, it's an essential form.
&: fuck off.
#: no really. if the golden ration applies to anything,
it's dicks.
&: i think that depends on the dick.
#: i think you're just jealous.
&: of drawing dicks? i can draw dicks any time i want to.
#: but it's not the same. it's a guy thing. you wouldn't
understand.

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[079]
10/20/2010 09:11 p.m.

&: you mean like spiderman?
#: no, not like spiderman. nothing like spiderman.
the exact opposite of spiderman.
&: so like doc oc.
#: doc oc isn't the opposite of spiderman.
&: the green goblin then.
#: absolutely not. look, polonium 128 won't do
anything but kill you and maybe remove static.
&: i don't see how that's any different.
#: the radiation in your cigarettes isn't like that.
&: no?
#: not at all.

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