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Entry #371

The Performing Monkfish

2013-08-25 18:36:10 by nietzlawe


The performing monkfish was sat at the table, reading books, kneading dough, needing cough medicine for that persistent struggle against writers block. Whatever could be the solution? With every conceivable thought came a brick wall. How could he nurture his gift for creativity again? What would it take to resume from where he left off? To hit the ground running. To do something to prevent the downslide, as the downside was that he couldn't transform his fortunes. Couldn't turn the tide, he was helpless to do anything except take a job as a food packer. A clean job, but somebody has got to do it. And he was unlucky enough for that somebody to be him. He was always the odd one out, the one who always drew the short straw. Oh well, what can you do? Get a sponge and bucket, dream of that holiday you wanted in Phuket, then say, 'fuck it, that wont be happening now.' Its your fault, you didn't spend every hour making your dreams come true, you just spent every hour cumming in your dreams. While you were sleeping the whole world was working, always alive, twitching like nerve endings, thriving and functioning, grinding and grafting while you were sleeping. You missed your boat, luckily that boat was the Titanic. Damn, you dodged a bullet, and avoided going on the Titanic. You can't spend the rest of your life dodging bullets, pulling your legs upwards and wide apart to evade being penetrated by shell casings full of hot lead. You can't let yesterday's misery get to you, today. Its time to leave the past behind, move on, look to the future, aspirations, hopes, dreams, goals. These setbacks are unsettling, you're unsettled, its upsetting to see. That's just me peering through a keyhole, I can't see all the world, my whole life is in freefall, disconnected from life, people. The lonely destitution just makes me want to write evil, but in a nice and peaceful kind of way. Its the only way you're going to climb out of that deep hole. By finding your feet before you fall down that steeple. And you have to haul yourself back up with these scrawls that make your diseased skin, crawl. You have opened a window to Pandora's Box. A portal to hell, a frail mortal using words as a tortoise shell, a defence mechanism, hence the exorcism, dispensing an offensive sense of tenseness, that has risen tenfold.

Wait a min, the last blog was wafer thin, it wouldn't even fill one inch of a waste paper bin. So... Let's add more beef and swim across the Coral Reef Barrier without being prevented from venting, cementing these seeds, planting trees that wont grow for 33 years. Can't help but drop the Nietz bomb, or eat one, so that it blows up in my stomach, and leaves one, hell of a mess. But you can't just stop and rest, or the rut will get the better of you. An arresting slump, you're stumped, but all it takes is something to pump you up. Don't sit there like a great big lump, doing nothing for yourself. Do everything for yourself, its for the good of your health that you're self-sufficient. Don't swell to the size of a balloon before you're too big to fit through the door of the room. You'll be so fucking fat that you'll need me and Doomroar to pull you through the hole that we've just drilled that afternoon. Its crazy to be lazy, so what if the junk food is tasty? The cakes and puff pastry will make you look pasty as fuck, and make your waist look absolutely wasted and you'll need a nip and tuck, a hip replacement and on top of that you'll feel sick as Huck, although he wasn't fat he was Finn. In fact you could see the bones poking through his skin, like a living skeleton, a good beef Wellington wouldn't have killed him. Neither would the venison. Anyway, what was the point of this whole piece? It wasn't really anything Nietz, just a little way to give your soul some release. A chance to shake the fleas off your fleece, a kind of liberating freedom of peace. Peace of mind, People might see this as maligned, but trust me, Nietz ain't that way inclined. I see us all as one, or all as none, one or the other, related as brothers, even though we're all suffocated and smothered on the Green and Blue. And all we humans usually seem to do, is scheme or scream at each other and beef until we cease to breathe. But don't get cocky, from here on in, things are gonna start to get Rocky... all motivated to fight the tall Russian, even rushing up the steps during training while its raining, to the point where the strain is so painful. But so is the feeling of defeat, and if there is one thing that Nietz wont tolerate, its the sense of failure, all spent and stale, but you can't let anything in this world derail you.


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2013-08-26 02:43:10

To the address the end of your blog... yeah, fight when and where you can, because time can suck the fight right out of you. You start to feel all those years of work should be paying you back for all the scars, broken bits and time lost.... but won't :|

nietzlawe responds:

Our real greatest enemy is ourselves.


2013-08-26 03:08:54

Good thing that he was not fat, that way i don't have to work again making that hole in that wall, because i myself am lazy enough, which reminds me, you know what fuck it, will upload plain pencil drawings for now, and then maybe a current WIP of that old painting, wonder if all that could go to the dumping grounds lets try now! holy shit im actually making an upload after all this time.

nietzlawe responds:

*Ring Ring*

"Doomroar, it's me. Listen, I need to use you again. I have another wall that needs drilling on 155 Baker Street."

"Another fucking one? I've already sat down to eat my pizza!"

"Can you not put it in the microwave and warm it up later? I really need some help drilling this hole. The guy weighs 55 stone, we might have to knock the internal wall down."

"For fuck sake. Wait on the corner, I'm setting off now!"


2013-08-26 16:13:11

Beep beep, out of the way, I'm a drunk driver and this is my road!

nietzlawe responds:

You nearly knocked me down in your car.

So who am I? I'm a drunk driver, survivor.


2013-08-26 17:51:09

As i was arriving i come across a random drunk driver, i try to dodge the crash, but in doing so ended crashing into the very wall i was supposed to drill, i guess that whole hole case is drunkenly solved.

nietzlawe responds:

Eric was the drunk driver that you dodged. This case is starting to make more sense. Except one thing. Just why the hell was Eric drunk that night?

Eric, please write your statement on the line below:



2013-08-26 18:34:48

Bumpfiring M1 Garand

nietzlawe responds:

I live in the UK, you'd probably need a licence just to own a water pistol over here. A strict permit is required if you want to douse pigeons.


2013-08-27 21:26:16

But Eric was too intoxicated with alcohol, his brain suffered too much damage, we fear that he would never write again... well we really don't fear that at all, in the contrary, we are quite glad, Eric used to write such dreadful poems and threatening letters, finally the world of postal mailing will rest again.

nietzlawe responds:

He settled down and give up the booze once he met Post-Stalin and Mae-Ling.


2013-08-28 17:03:00

I was drunk because of lady problems. That's right, I was having my period. It happens every week or so, sometimes fewer. I don't know, depends on what's going on with my fictional and frictional vagina. It's a portal to another world, one that swirls. You can never see it, I keep it in a jar. But if it's menstrual that means that in the other realm they must be warring again, enough that the blood spills through the dimensional rift.

nietzlawe responds:

I'm on my period... A period of self discovery.


2013-08-28 18:05:56

Seems like communism is mailing him to his postal address.

nietzlawe responds:

Communism is mailing him his new head dress to his address. Everybody has to wear them now, it's the law.


2013-08-29 15:21:23

Oh, I was just having fun with the poetry, as for the response with that, "Rahdedah", my last post was more of a writing exercise than anything, taking my meaning of the song's lyrics and turninng them into a very personal narrative.

nietzlawe responds:

Music is the most powerful outlet in the world for creating an array of personal and heartbreaking thoughts.


2013-09-01 00:11:40

I meant to post that for little miss Doomroar. Because we had a bit of a misunderstanding. He didn't realize I was Eric, and I tried to post a combination of poetry and a threatening letter. Unfortunately for him, I did write again. His criticism was not unnoticed.

nietzlawe responds:

An omnibus of ominous Edgar Allen Poetry written on a stone rhombus.


2013-09-01 05:11:08

Equality for all the people! down with the caste system!

nietzlawe responds:

Social castration.


2013-09-01 05:34:37

Ah i see... so Neverhundred WAS (or i guess he is) Eric, now it all makes sense, well not really.

Also now i am a missus?! what a turn of events! damn i'm wasting my maiden years here, what do women do anyways? if i cook for myself does that makes my.. my own wife? does that counts as masturbation?!!!

nietzlawe responds:

I don't like fair maidens, unfair maidens are better as they know how to make completely unjust decisions that piss people off. But tough leadership can be good. The fair maidens were just letting everything slide... even the penises between their breasts.


2013-09-01 20:26:28

So the fair maidens are slutty girls and the unfair maidens are bad girls... well i don't know, i like more to be served than to obey, so a maiden that is all though bodybuilding style, not really that appealing, i will get myself some fair maiden with fries and a soda, no make it an orange juice! you really can't defeat tit jobs...

nietzlawe responds:

Fake tan boobs. Make them noobs regret ever going under the knife. The surgeon's scalpel. Botox, tit job, sick op - eration, mouthful of mouth wash, watch what you're saying Nietz, you need to find something to get those teats under control. Rinse, spit.. now floss.


2013-09-02 16:38:39

What is dis, yo yo yo, we gots ta respect bitches! DAYUM!!!

nietzlawe responds:

We gots to respect bitches, and drink their juice with bitumen, but we don't want to have bitten off more than we can chew man. That's true man, like Harry Truman who always spoke the motherfucking truth man. Ain't no lie! Sleeping dogs I'm leaping off Richard's Cliff in clogs. But we don't care if we pop our clogs, or have our clogs popped for us. This house is a fucking fortress you ain't getting in. You'll have to knock or learn how to unlock the door from the outside, its like being cockblocked. Its like eating from soup kitchens, I'd rather scoop shit from a group of pigeons or be brainwashed by a tape that is infinitely looping religion in my ear all day long, trying to convert me to be a Christian, what sort of shit they be on? Nietz is an A-Theist not Piri Reis. That's just the way it is. Religion don't float my boat, it just bloats my float and weighs me down so I can't go. Sowwy Satan, you can stick a pitchfork up my ass but I ain't changing for noone, I don't care if you've got chains and hooks in the cloakroom. I'll kick your ass Satan, I'll throw you over the Berlin Wall so far, you'll smack your head on the Great Wall of China.


2013-09-02 18:30:51

To regret an operation to get a more bountiful bust, look at dem boobs, so fake and so bold, it drives away the cold. Old citadels are over, the new walking towns with their own mountains, with bodies that cheat nature, are everything except fair, air on television every Saturday, full of themselves with plastic and other compounds, an ego bigger than anyone could ever hope to count, what is the amount in those cunts? is 0 no meat is between those breast, no dick gets close to those pears, or should i say watermelons? chameleons, with surgical aid they change appearance, dominance, to absorb attention is their occupancy, fancy, the hours eyes spend on them, it gets to frightening terms.

nietzlawe responds:

Tit-for-tat. New tits for fat dollars. Imagine having a eye job, so that no matter how much they try to focus on breasts, they look sideways. And if breasts are at the side of you, the eyes focus forwards. That would be a crazy eye job. The Plastic Surge of Jerry, he performs his operations so fast that the silicon implants don't quite sit right. She got silicone? Ain't she the silly one! She was the one in a million whose boob job went tits up.

If you pardon the expression.


2013-09-04 00:28:49

Tits up! tits down! tits left and right! behind and in front! is a boob planet, this place is the tits, it fits perfectly with the eye operation of absolute indiscretion, look at that guy over there, his eyes looking sideways, must be fixated on some great bosoms all the time, everyone is getting dem eye silicons, the secret is out, is so mainstream that is pointless, all the real boob appreciators avoid them, on the other hand they asked Jerry for another 3 pair of eyes so they can see even more boobs!

nietzlawe responds:

It's like a giant booby trap. The popularity of Eye Silicons just keeps growing, ironically like the tit jobs. Growing exponentially, potentially ending impotence eventually.

B ( . ) ( . ) B S.