Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Pretending to be a mermaid.

my day has been made.

gots me a letter in duh mails.... ANNND the bike shop called and said they're gonna replace my frame WITH A 2011 MODEL ANNNND A FREE CRANK!!! :DDDDDDDDDD

I'm so happy.

Sunday, August 21, 2011


my bike broke.I am one sad, sad scuba shoe.
the bike shop said it would take 1-2 days for "services" to process the request for my bike to be shipped for warranty evaluation and if it's accepted, it will be 4-6 weeks til I get my new bike.
dasss uh lottah forrrz.

and that.
 is a looooooong time to be without Bicyle, my frand.

on a different note, I find myself very conflicted on the effect advancing technology has on our lives.
you know, whether or not the "positives" outweigh the "negatives".
the romantic in me wants to believe the world would be better if we tore down our buildings, scrapped our cars, and burned our clothes.
the pessimist believes modern civilization, although it will surely destroy the world's pre-civilization environment, has persisted for a reason: it works better("higher standard of living", lower mortality rates, longer life expectancy, blah blah blah)-for the collective- and since that is a true fact, it is impossible to topple it as a minority.

look up "ship of fools" by theodore kaczynski. its a good lil story.
ya know that brings me to somefin else...
he (kaczynski) tried to change the world. he failed. know why? because he was STUPID.
he mailed bombs to people as a political protest against technology and to get leverage against media outlets.
"air my manifesto or I kill more people."
and although I found it very informative(industrial society and its future), why did he care so much as to try and force people to accept his belief system as superior? all he ended up accomplishing was being labeled as a psychotic terrorist AND life in prison. angry people do angry things. nobody's perfect, I suppose. but its funny how some hate authoritarianism but they themselves preach it. violence to end violence makes no sense. WHEN WILL PEOPLE SEE THAT!?

rayray-san says: don't fight current, 
but don't give up and float away, either.
the river'll flow with or without you in it.
rayray-san says: follow along its banks to your destination.
It'll make your travels much easier and efficient...

-end jibber jabber.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

this makes no sense. nothing I write makes sense.

reminisce of tear filled shadows
discarded in broken street lights and passing cars
unwanted passengers on a two lane disaster
where's your master, who left his trash as my treasure?
"It's a pleasure," says an angel at my side, "for love is bountiful between my legs."

carbonated thoughts burn through throats
and maggots line the inside of my coat, censoring your canvas of moral decay
with skin smelling like lilies in may, open sores should not be displayed
we'll blow kisses to wounds from tomorrow's infection
to show our affection for rust clad whores.

so once more, a heavenly creature festers at the seams
she's a dark roaring ocean that'll tell of our dreams
with tacos, tantrums, and cyanide pills
fourth meal is calling, come get your fill.

I know I will.

a love that is fashioned from raisin bran and melting stars
it is ours to forget in a busy world of busy bees
us larvae lost in a southwest sea of tortilla reveries
no metamorphosis of memories, you see.

sevens to eighths, with firsts in between
all time spent was perfect to me.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Toro y Lechuza


There was a toro.

A toro who, in his free-time, liked to drink hard liquor and wander around in life harrassing everyone he crossed. He'd throw bottles at babies, chuck bats at old ladies, and steal candy from the corner store(which he was very good at, I might add).

His evil deeds went on and on, starting on the day he left the prison walls of a chinese torture facility(back in '06), to his untimely demise...
But we'll get to that later.

Toro had no friends. People didn't like his drunken banter, nor did they like getting whomped by bats or pelted with candy poo. Toro had lost hope in people, and himself. He had become the person he hated most,


Toro woke up one day, hating life more than usual, and decided he wanted to die. He dreamt a super stylized suicide like it came straight outta Hollywood-or Afghanistan-either way, it was of super-epicness proportions. Atleast in his mind, ofcourse. He had it in his lil toro head that he was gonna stuff himself with as much nitro glycerin he could steal from the army men, run from their tanks and stealth airplanes, throw a noose over a tree in a quaint neighborhood park (disguised as a pinata, no less), and let the kids whack away. then they'd all go boom. Toro sighed in satisfaction as it played over in his head. No doubt Toro wasn't doing too good. Some might suggest he go see a therapist, but Toro would never hear of such things. He'd just scream and hack and scream some more in his dizzy stupor.

So as Toro started writing the last hate letter to Ms. Streisand, a knock sounded from his door.
Toro rose from the chair and turned to face this surprising distraction.
"...Toro? TOROTOROTORO!!!" screamed the bewildered little toro.
The knocks did not stop.
Toro, thinking that maybe there really were people that read minds for a living and that they had found out about his master plan, started teeter-tottering back and forth. Were they now here to take him back to his old dungeon abode? He shuttered at the thought. Toro stumbled about trying to burn all the evidence of his illegible scribblings in mureeka's fishbowl. mureeka didn't mind too much since Toro thought fish just ate their own poo-like he did. As he continued to stuff the little blazing bowl, his door opened enough for a beak to peak in.
"whoooOOOoo?" an eerie woman's voice called out.
Toro had not noticed but...
He was on fire, and not like denzel...in that one movie, but really REALLY on fire.
Toro teetered and tottered some more, until his mysterious guest flew over him like a rescue copter and hosed him down with a bucket of mop water.
Toro now sighed in relief and looked up at his new found friend-his only friend in the whole wide world-and thought to himself, "Love..."

So from then on it was no longer Toro, drunk and alone; it was Toro and Lechuza, living free and together.
It's all they needed.
It's all they wanted.
Toro gave up the liqour, random violence, and forgot all about his Hollywood post-mortem movie deals.

Remember how I said Toro died? Yeah, well, That part's comin'.

So after a much needed visit to the optometrist(for the longest time
Toro couldn't tell the difference between tequila and olive oil),

Toro y Lechuza decided to head on over to the local REDBOX to rent a nice movie to cuddle to.

They arrived outside the HEB down the street, wondering what fantastiful movies
were held for them inside that fabulous red box.

Unfortunately, there was a line. So Toro waited patiently, and took a seat on the bench.

HURRAY! HUZZAH! The moment had arrived. It was time to make a selection.
After clicking through many of the different titles, Toro came to a conclusion on what he would pick: nothing. Everything was either about dane cook being a manslut and changing his ways or an 80 foot anadoo (half anaconda, half dugong or manatee or whatever the fuck it's called).

Toro felt a familiar heat rage through his veins.
A heat that built in his heart and whizzed out his ears.
A heat that fueled a fire that spread like buttered butt cheeks.

As Toro's returning anger flooded his mind, he glanced over at Lechuza, sitting peacefully in the truck.
Toro collected himself and got his head right. After all, he had love! They didn't need no stinking movie.
Once again Toro was a happy-go-lucky little toro. He loved babies, old ladies, and even retards.

And with that he headed to his sweet pookums, awaiting his embrace.

Then a Ford Explorer ran Toro over.

The End.

kindergarten kings

 mississipi sounds from the crinkling of white sheets; a search for laughter, to quench an angry thirst.
me first.
giggles escape, along with wasted air; spending tokens from the edges of bleached ocean. from punch to slap to tickle to kiss, the smiles will never fade.
so promises were made.
hands grasped hands that were after slender thighs and an innocent natural high.
I wont lie.
I promise-if that means much at all. for a call to arms, that bend 'round breasts, is not a useful plea.
so now it's your turn to lead.