Autistic or artistic? A bit of both like Jiovanni, either way I love to write this weird barmy shit which is like a form of self-harming, or a misfit joining the army because he thinks he is signing up to bigger and better things. Like saving the world, saving it from what? Himself, when he takes it over? Fucking misfits. All these soldiers in charge of big nuclear bombs and arms and tanks and backed up by corporate banks. They have this world stitched up, so pardon me if I sound like I'm bitching. But this was no unexpected surprise, whereas a text message from Jesus would have been nice at this moment in time. But I've always been an Atheist, a believer in absolutely nothing except You Make Your Own Luck. If your life sucks, try and stop being a lazy fucker. Or not. Keep praying, keep saying shit to the invisible man, he might get back to you by next May. He may not. Say whatever you want to him, so you look daft and everyone can have a good laugh at your ass. As you beg for favours and an end to your sadness, then the next day you slip on a pile of banana skins. A slippery lark like this shitty fake Noah's Ark shit. Just reading about it gives me an unnecessary apoplexy of narcolepsy. But maybe that was just the Pepsi. 98p for 2 litres. They can't give it away these days. Must be all that harmful shit contained within like these incessant Credit Card letters. Barclay Card, I'd have to be barmy to sign up for one of th... oh wait. These fuckers prey on the weak.. fuckers who pray every week. We're all flawed to the core, even Atheists are not Amethysts. Some of them are meth addicts raising babies and trying to make ends meet. And we have a Government determined to beat them down even more until they die, while giving themselves pay rises. We need a Government that will say nice things about the vulnerable and bewildered, encourage them with some Ray Price music. The song... may I choose it? Time to come together huh? Like a penguin huddle, cuddle up nice and tight against bubble butts and cellulite. Snap pictures on jailpho... I mean cellphones. Getting ready to turn your home into a zoo cage? When you become just another GPS dot. Small world. There's always Pluto. I've always wanted to live on a Mars ice cream. It was a nice pipe dream. As was crawling through the pipes in Super Mario Bros and smashing rock solid blocks using only the top of my head. The magic mushroom will soothe my pain. Time to enter the Magic Room, a place where only good things happen. Like writers that get access to a free pen... full of pigs rolling in mud. As sickly as a stickler with a sickle trying to etch perfect Chinese calligraphy. Why not just use Skritter instead? Swipe your finger across a glass screen. Just like nature intended! A world that is no longer labour intensive, like the self-scanning at my local Blackburn Town Library. Bye bye to the librarians. Those wonderful conversations and memories becoming more rare by the day. Soon we will be paying our fare to the robo bus driver and instead of sitting next to the Auschwitz survivor. The passengers will be synths that like to psych you out. Like on the TV drama Humans. Humour will be a lost art. human hearts will have lost arteries, since technology has become so SMART. A replacement for our kind. As the APIs create these accurate analytical charts which pick apart our character flaws and convert it to raw data for the Nominated Ones to intervene and become our dictators.
And that's why I'm feeling so blue. Even though a part of me is looking forward to the storm brewing. This project will eventually reach its conclusion as I see through this resolution and teach how to start a revolution. Then I'll die wondering what all the fuss was about. Time for a fresh batch of humans to fuck the planet up in new, evolutionary ways. But I don't care like a careless carol singer called... Anne that knocks at my door at 2 in the morn, chanting We Want More Ning! We want more Ning! When do we want it? Want what? The Yuan currency or the blackcurrent flavoured drink that's currently residing in my fridge. Secretly Skyping a pile of 98 year old icing sugar. Fuck the sugar honey! Honey tastes like stale piss. But don't worry there is no tale to come of this. But I can tell you about the time I was drunk and ate 3 raw bell peppers out of the fridge of a girl I barely knew. Genuine bell peppers, not euphemism for penises or anything. I'd rather have peppered Belle with my seed. Its fair to say that I replaced the bell peppers the following day after I had sobered up. I said sorry. That day I vowed never to drink again... until the following week. That wasn't part of the vow, I just relapsed. Failure is horrible. There is nothing worse than failure. Except Failure times Infinity. Infinite failings, who could cope with such a shackle of neverending and comical bad luck. What's that ringing in my ears?! Oh its Shiny Happy People. Damn, she looks good in that red dress. Shame you can't see her identity. Just a figure hugging dress. And that figure was a man called John Pendant. I bet there is not more than one person called John Pendant alive on this Earth today. That's what makes him a unique soul... His comical crappy name. And despite his name being a blatant allusion to wealth, he is actually broke as fuck. As broke as Eric and Me when we split up the music band. Spent it all on fast cars, average women and slow-acting drugs. But some of the times were good. Just travelling on the Tour Bus laughing and swearing all the way home. It should have been called the Tourettes bus really. Swearing out the window as we passed some Nuns. "Show us your buns! Show us your buns!" They didn't. Against their bloody religion apparently! The religion that they were born into, like any other sperm in a testicle right now waiting to be born so it can follow one of the currently already existing religions, depending on which country and culture it was immersed in. Everybody is born an atheist until they get indoctrinated. Even we atheists have been brainwashed into believing there is no God. Its genius! Actually I believe one day we will meet our maker, and it will be a German Shepherd dog wearing a top hat holding a trekking pole. Then it will leap on you and give you the most lethal licking of your life. You'll be spending the rest of your first day drinking dog tongue fluid, and become fluent in French kissing. Making out with your Maker now that is an afterlife you didn't envisage. I don't want an afterlife, I wanted a beforelife and didn't get one. I was shortchanged, promises were made and not kept and now it is time to unleash havok and shock you using a Pavlov method. Pav loves to play mind games, as do people who visit mindgames.com. Games Games Games, always with the games. Is that the future of human life? Games and apps? While more companies look to aim for a gap in the market to sell more shit to consumers who were once human but are now doomed to live in a new Truman-like Show. What the hell are you going to do about it? Delude yourself more? The solution is not Duke Nukem.
And now that my brain's thawed, its time to reach once more for the chainsaw. Force the spectators to sit through the same show yet again. How many ways can you say the same shit before that same shit ain't fit for purpose? How long before it becomes surplus to requirements? What will it take to get out of the quagmire before you start lighting up the campfire again, and become the King of satire? I'm sat here, ire. tired and weak, this fatigue is undesirable. Pedalling paragraphs of jeremiad.