Friday, February 5, 2016


this Sunday there will be a little game of catch. and some running. the Broncos hope not too much running.

pregame learned:

* no matter who loses, the NFL wins. just think about that as you're placing your illegal bet.

* team game, win as a team, lose as a team, not gonna blame the kicker.....

* it's not Super Bowl 50, it's Super Bowl L! see?! i'm not afraid of Roman numerals!...........well if you're gonna give the L sign on your forehead you can at least paint your fingers gold.

* Golden Anniversary, Golden Gate Bridge, ooooooooooooh, i only got that just now.

* the Dabber vs. the Doctor
Newton vs. Fig Newton
the Smile vs. the Sheriff
Big Handsome vs. uh, well, doesn't Peyton Manning have the perfect face for comedy?

* Peyton, the Sheriff, riding off into the retirement sunset with a final victory? his last rodeo as he himself said on the 50-yard line? John Elway had the Helicopter, Peyton will have the Drone.

* okay so this is the year, i vowed to myself, this is the year i take my bathroom breaks during the Commercials.

* i know, there's an elephant in the room here. not Trump. the HGH. look, there's no proof. well there is proof but it's not what you think. why is Peyton's forehead so large?


have a superb owl weekend.

so..............................................................WHO YA GOT?

Wednesday, February 3, 2016


the scene up on screen transitions to an old '20s black-and-white featuring a steaming oncoming train, a damsel in distress tied up on the tracks, an evil villain in a Lincoln hat twirling his mustache, and our hero in baggy beige pantaloons and Stormy Kromer cap trying desperately to untie the maiden before it's too late. no talking is necessary, which is a nice change of pace.

the woman of course is Mama Fuerza. she is tied up not by coarse burning rope but by spools and spools of tendons swirled together made up of billions and billions of Red Strings of Fate, all of them in fact, all of them in the universe, which is all known now. they come out of Codrus's left hand, his unique hamsa. Codrus is still leaking gold throughout all this but no one seems to notice.

Fuerza: oh mijo, save me! either one! sacrifice me as a martyr, that is the fate of all mothers with angry sons. or save me so i may exist one more time to show you all along.

the actors can still talk you see, the audience sees placards with their words on them under organ music, but the actors are talking to each other in real time, if not real life.

Cotard tips his cap to the fourth wall to the silent roar of the empty movie theatre. he quickly takes off Codrus's hat while Codrus is distracted twirling the handlebars on his nose and replaces it with a Gravity Falls Grunkle Stan fez, the one with the Pac-Man fish gobbling the one pellet.

Cotard: that's more you, cryptic yet symbolic. you shouldn't sully the legacy of the stovepipe hat like that.

the movie always ends the same, whether you watch it from the beginning or the end or in medias res. the villain wins. the villain always wins. bad triumphs over good. the train hits Fuerza and the screen fades to black cos that's too much violence for young eyes. when it resumes the camera pans to the face of a giggling Codrus giving one hell of a prolonged evil cartoon group laugh with himself. Cotard can only feign fainting by putting up the inverted palm of his hand to his forehead, his hamsa out, and shouting up to the ever-clogged heavens:

oh woe! it is not fair. why are we born to die? what is the point if death erases life? time is not the ultimate currency, memory is. what kind of man am i that i could not 


Cotard: i tried, Mama, i tried, but i am not strong enough. you kept all the strength in the family for yourself. damn genes. you showed me the way but kids are contrarian by nature. i tried to fight Codrus but when we engaged, the punches took on a rhythm, as they do, we went back and forth, punch and block, feint and counterpunch, a fence on the fences. back and forth, back and forth, oceanic. we never landed or missed, we danced for eternity. seriously, though, what's up with those group laughs at the end of cartoons? nobody does that. one person laughs, then the next person, and it catches on like wildfire till the whole room's laughing.

Codrus: they fascinate me, i pattern mine after them. so collegial and strange. not something you see in the real world but imma change that. if real life were more like cartoons.............

Cotard: you want a medal?

Codrus: a trophy filled to the brim with olive oil'd be nice. but you see mon ami, every story has the other side. i wasn't laughing, i was laughing. who you saw as Fuerza i saw as my beloved mother.

Cotard: the block of stone over there?

Codrus: exactly. i mean no. that is my mother. i know two things about her: she's a Greek Empress. my queen. and she's beautiful. i'll never forget her. that's why i keep carving her. so i don't ever forget. i love to burn things so. i could never burn stone in my youth so i made up for it in adulthood. i didn't have much of a teenhood, there was no bumpy transition. i'm not a pyromaniac, i just like to watch things burn. so this train here acted as the perfect giant chisel. it pounds against my mother and shapes the block in one fell swoop. much easier to mold after it's been hit like this. so hard to affect that first crack. now it's manageable. you need to get hit on the head to see things clearly for the first time. the image comes into your head finally, it's already there hidden in the cold block of nothing nondescript stone, you just have to remove the extra pieces and caress the face till it's smooth. i came up with that, you know, Michelangelo copied me. he was always the most annoying Turtle. and he worked in bronze, that's cheating. i had an overactive imagination as a child, imagining everything inside everything. this isn't the end, it's the beginning!

all the planets and alien skies and ARVs and creases and comets and anal probes and white and black holes and superclusters and novas and doublelarities and dimensions and space zones and outer time and airless atmospheres and red dwarves in the entire known and unknown universe have converged on this one point in the crowded private movie theatre. they are tightening into one small yellow pellet on a Pac-Man grid.

Codrus lines up exactly one thousand matches all along the area of the train tracks. he waits for the movie to start again, the train to start back again and zoom toward woman.

MEANWHILE Cotard manages to find the ballroom again. he has to stumble through many dark rooms before he gets there. crawling entirely on instinct. he sees Fuerza slipping forever on that puddle, it's become a welcome sight for him now. it's comforting in its metric. he looks at her face.

Cotard: come on, mama, now you're being ridiculous. before you were wryly smiling, sticking your tongue out, but now you're straight-up gurning.

Fuerza: whatever's going on in my life, i go with the flow. it's all you can do, mijo. touch my shoulders. steady me, son, as only you can. go on, give me a good shove.

Cotard does and sees his mother stop swaying. and her arm is cold stone.

Fuerza: see that? my shoulder healed, better than ever. it's stronger than it was before. the tendons are less sinewy, more like thick spaghetti than spaghetti. if i hadn't strained it, it wouldn't be as strong now. i dislocated it only to locate it again. that man with the mustache was right. now can you help dress me? i haven't showered in weeks, well except my feet here. wait till i come out of the bathroom. i'll lock the door and be away for awhile but don't you worry, i'll open the door again. and it will be gray all over. but think of it as steam, not fog.

Cotard: i can't, mom, i'm tired of this. i'm busy with the world.

Fuerza: it's okay, Cotard. i see your brother coming on the train over there. on the caboose, that's where all the sleep railcars are, right?

Imzhan is indeed sleeping on the top bunk of the car furthest away from the action on the railroad track. he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, his most hated activity, and some of the dust from his eyes powers his bed which glides out the car window and flies over blackened rooms to Fuerza. the rest of his eye dust turns to monsters offscreen.

Fuerza: mijo, help me with my socks. they're bacon socks as you can see.

Imzhan: yes, mama. your toes are wrinkly like bacon slices.

Imzhan licks Fuerza's feet, savoring the grease on her ankles.

Imzhan: your calluses taste of bacon bits.

Fuerza: that's why i named my daughter Calli.

the train hits the matches at lightning speed, igniting them, bonfiring them into linked chains of comets shooting all over the sandy desert. the path of their fireball bullets exceeds the design of their pistol as they leap off the screen in realistic 3D into the universe cramping together, setting ablaze all of old creation. all the lines come together in geometric gentility, the invisible fishing lines no one knew about, circle back and all coalesce around one bright bulb, the flash of the camera readying to take one more photo for antiquity before the end. one last shot...

Codrus: with the fire of a thousand matches...

the fire spreads to the yellow spot on the water by the invisible castle where it stays lit on that spot for all time, constantly motivated by a spark of new creativity, oiling it, motoring it along. the sandcastle where our surfer heroes were gets washed out to sea on the next wave before the hopping fireball has a chance to reach it. it bounces on their vacant spot and into the invisible castle, exposing it for the first time. the flames outline all the edges of the huge castle on the hill by the town by the sea of Creation. the castle takes after the Pillars on which it stood, purple and gray and majestic, all the turrets are there, the drawbridge, the stone bricks unevenly stacked, the windows shaped for arrows to get through, amber arrowslits, like a Castle Grayskull playset. you can see the thing for the first time! it lights up its own existence, an inferno illuminating sense, as a protest against the everlasting night sky.

Kenyatta: i'm just starting to get into social media again after a much-needed absence. break or broke. yeah all you really need to do is follow all the rappers. they make the wordplay in this age. they've come up with a cool new catchphrase before you even knew that was a thing you could do sexually or in the business world. poetry has come to the streets and not a moment too soon. it was stagnating in its ivory tower.

Kenyatta (with her eyes reflecting the fire like glass): and what's up with this fire? is anybody gonna put it out? you wonder sometimes when a fire just happens someplace in the world. you hope there will be people there to handle it. but what if there are no people around? what if no one knows about this particular fire burning in the desert? what happens to that fire?

...the train comes out of the silver screen, crashes the dot, and breaks on through to the other side. it seems to be on invisible tracks in space. soul train. at the helm blowing the whistle is the bald-headed Bum.

Cotard: you look different with a conductor hat on. i'm recognizing you better now that your face is framed. who are you again?

Moby: Moby.

Cotard: that's it! yuge fan. you are my spirit animal. messianic music. i knew you but could never place you. you were always on the tip of my tongue. you know, you should go monk and let your hair grow out.

Moby: i did go monk, i shaved my head. people always forget that the last car isn't the sleep car, it's the car with the furnace in it, where you shovel in the coals.

the immense heat of the traveling fireball tries to burn the train down but it can only hop on the hopper cars and is successfully absorbed by the oven in the end railcar, with steam coming out of there, and smell-lines like in a cartoon. the train ends up on the dusty gray surface of an unnamed moon in the middle of the edges where it brakes without a brake and slowly lies on its final repose by a stone, the coal-furnace boiler-room of the end car sticking up like a butt.

the universe is an eternal row of rectangular apartment rooms, packed like space sardines, a furious favela, one complex with everyone and everything inside, darkened, no lights.

light is having a hard time playing here. it is completely light and completely dark at the same time.

all of Codrus's red strings glow, encircling the heart in his head as it pumps burning yellow.

JUST THEN the homesteader enters the theater and transforms himself into a giant gun that shoots a warning shot over Codrus's shoulder. Codrus startles and his light turns orange.

homesteader: heh heh. now THIS is a gun you can't take away. mama always said to believe in yourself. that's what i like to see, i like my gods to retain a bit of their humanity.

Codrus's red light emanates all around and goes towards the yellow light in the middle.

Fuerza's yellow light, her favorite color, emanates from her bunions all around and goes from the yellow light in the middle.

the sky is midnight blue. you can't see anything but you can still use your other senses. there's a distinctive smell of pizza wafting from the end oven of the train. pizza with those pepperonis burnt to perfection, lined with black, pools of grease, tasting of coal.

Monday, February 1, 2016


my travels take me to Iowa where................wait, stop filming please. what am i doing here? what's the point of this? what's the point of any of this?

1. when was the last time you changed your windshield wipers? should they be now changed? i had windshield wipers on my eyeglasses but i don't wear glasses anymore. i had windshield wipers on my sunglasses but that made them less cool.

2. when was the last time you got your hair cut or your hair ends trimmed? this is so apropos. ever since my mom's shoulder my hair has grown two-months' worth. she got my hair did. it's all scraggly and unkempt, i look like a true artist. i purposely leave my ends split, it's a statement against conformity in a world gone mad. i'm wondering if i should shave it again or keep it monk-style. i missed all that dandruff. i have a constant reminder of winter on top of my head.

3. when was the last time you checked the HVAC filter in your home? check it now.

His Very Attuned Compassion
Hidden Virulent Airborne Contaminant
Hot Vixen And Condom
Her Vibrant, Apt Condo
Heavy Viscous Airy Chocolate
Holy Venal Atheist Contemplation

and you mustn't forget the R. refrigeration is important. without refrigeration we'd be frying our eggs on the sidewalk not only to see how hot it was. without refrigeration the milkman would be all of our fathers. and you wouldn't have


4. is your car due for an oil change? last time you had this done? never. my flying car runs on free energy, the energy of the universe. really saves on gas. did you see my ancestor on tv last week? i hated when those filthy humans shot my great grandfather but i must admit my great grandfather had a nice butt.

5. check your fun gauge. when's the last time you did something truly fun with a loved one? i'm checking my dashboard here and there's no such gauge on my car.

6. when is the last time you tried something new sexually? what was it? did you like it enough to repeat it? all holes at once. meaning four holes. our alien anatomy is slightly different from you humans. it's all part of the probing process.

bonus: how do you nourish the connection between you and your loved ones? (parent, kid, significant other, best friend) bread. and butter.


Friday, January 29, 2016



* 111: Illuminati Just Starting Out

* postnuclear nuisances suck, but if you have a picnic basket you can at least get rid of the bear.

* narrator: Vault Boy, what are you doing? why aren't you shooting the enemy soldier at the location we've specified for you will be a 100% success rate?
Vault Boy: i'm lookin' at those magnificent hearts underwear he's got on. hey, enemy soldier, where'd you get those snazzy shorts?
enemy soldier: Macy's.
Vault Boy: haven't worn clean underwear since before the War...

Vault Boy: relax, it's root beer.

* enemy policeman: hey sonny, what's written on your bag there? LOOT?
Vault Boy: TOOL, TOOL! i'm a huge fan. best music videos around. Tool and Bjork, that's the list.

* child: you stole my candy and comic book!
Vault Boy: they're both bad for you, kid.
old woman: you stole my dentures!
Vault Boy: it's fun to eat steak through a straw.
injured soldier: you stole my crutch!
Vault Boy: your leg will grow back. with all this radiation around, none of us are humans anymore.

* Vault Boy: i have an extra eye.
narrator: that's good, Vault Boy, you're learning. the third eye, the sixth sense, you're growing spiritually.
Vault Boy: no, the eye is floating above my head.
narrator: oh. you're crazy then.

* Vault Boy: i'm not a good sniper.
narrator: just takes practice. and for you to turn cold.
Vault Boy: is there anywhere else to practice besides this completely barren desert? it's kinda hard when you have to hide behind the one small cactus here. are there any buildings?
narrator: what about your Vault?
Vault Boy: i don't like to take my work home with me.


happy weekend

Wednesday, January 27, 2016


the door...........................was locked all along.

Cotard: i can't get to my mother. but i can see her. she's slumped over on the bed, wrapped too neatly in her covers, forever, never to move again the darling. i want to be with her, but not like this. i want to comfort her and hug her forever but i don't want to see her. if i stop waiting, the hours will stop, too. i'll be locked in a blissful state of timelessness.

Cotard looks through the tiny peephole of the doorknob. it's dark so you can't see anything. he takes out a pebble from his invisible robe but decides against ingesting it. instead he places the pebble to cover the hole. light breaks but you still can't actually see the hole.

Cotard: never knew where that thin slanted metal key that looked like a bent lead pipe that opened that room was, Mama hid it well and keep the secret to her grave. funny cos there never seemed to be anything between us. we were connected, no secrets, that's what familia is. of all the things i'll remember, the most were the times i could deeply feel her love of me, it emananted from her lips like no love ever before or since. we were one human being. when i scratched she itched, and scratched. when she saw me ram my head into that couch with the metal buttons pretending to be Super Grover, she did that unique thing Spanish mothers do when they cry eghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh and breathe inward hastily through their slack tongue. no, no, that was just her, uniquely. that was my mom. fuck Sesame Street. and her and finding things, finding solutions. she was the practical one, Dad the intellectual. i took after Dad but i had my mom's face. and her deep-seated humble religion despite my forays into self-righteous smart. i absorbed both and adsorbed none, the only film left was the one i played out in my head. even in her old age, she infirmly one-upped her son in the street-smarts department, one last time to rub my nose in it. my ipad mini suddenly faded to black. at the worst time. right when i was in the middle of the church bake sale. without those profits from the pandan cakes i make when i'm bored i can't keep living in the Sanctuary. it's not the electricity, it's the need for brand-new lead pipes. don't drink the water. my pandan cakes are special, they're both lime AND strawberry. i was pissed off for the last time, my energy had run out. i gave up. for the last time. gave up my dreams. died. but Mama Fuerza kicked me out of her bed and suggested that it was the white wire, it had been chewed to bits by the cats. and her tablet and the same white wire with the white bulb, perhaps it could work. it did!

Fuerza: see? mama, mama.

Cotard: and this woman knows nothing of computers. that was Dad. her love saw her through. always.

Cotard returns to the ballroom where Fuerza is eternally slipping up and down on the spot.

Cotard: rub me in it, dear madre, rub me in your glory. o that i could hear you wail EGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH one more time.

Cotard kneels down before the wet spot and lays his head for a nap.

Cotard: i need a nap date.

but instead the still water runs deep and Cotard's head falls through what he thought would be a pillow into more of a dunking of his head. his tongue overmoistens with unexpected dark water and shrinks like a sponge. Cotard is now fully up and awake.

Cotard: she's always knowing what's best for me.


on the screens...........somewhere: Camera Guy: what are you doing now?
Donald Rumsfeld: app. and not the ones at TGI Friday's senior menu. i decided to take an ancient game out of antiquity and introduce it to millennials. it's like solitaire but you use two decks. cool, huh?
Camera Guy: so this is how you're retiring? after all you've done, it's just about cards now?
Donald Rumsfeld: sure, everything else in the world is too complicated. i like things simple and to the point. cards. cards are comforting. i'll be playing cards on my porch when the world burns.


Codrus is now a ten-year-old boy. the morning light hits his eyelids and fries his eyelashes. the boy is very distrusting, more like a feral animal, as he negotiates the sandy terrain. his heart is pumping furiously, and leaks of gold begin spilling out his many pores. the white even sands have since become stained and are now more brown and red and dusty in his presence. he retreats to his pile of rocks and begins stacking them into various people. Angie, Mohd, and Stew approach him.

Angie: hello, little boy, wanna play?

Codrus: my, someone, told me not to talk to strangers.

Mohd: that's good policy.

Stew: how's it feel to be on the other side of the age gap? you can't boss us around anymore just cos you're taller. i mean, yeah, i wish somebody had taught me about


Stew: but don't worry, we'll treat you harmless. take our buckets and shovels, like the oceanwater it's all free. we learned compassion somewhere. we recognize your pint size and realize you are a defenseless animal, we don't take pleasure in hoarding our height over you, we'll take care of you.

Codrus hisses and jumps in the middle of his circle of stones. he's leaking oil constantly but he manages to quickly arrange his stones into a stone mama wearing a leaf wreath, a stone dada wearing a crown, and a stone sister wearing a lowcut dress and tiara.

Angie: that's good craftsmanship. they look so realistic.

Mohd: and that cloud of smoke that was going on while you were working, it shows. everything is so polished, no rough edges in sight.

Stew: i've seen better stuff on youtube. it just goes to show that quality has nothing to do with how large your audience is. i swear fame has nothing to do with justice.

Codrus: *with an official voice* before you is Me, of the Royal House of Stone, uh, Henge. our family started everything, we were the first humans, the first humans with magic anyway. that's my dad, i'm SECOND-in-line to the throne cos of my stupid sister who brushes her pony's hair more than hers, and my beautiful mom, only learned of that word recently. we've always been hanging out. there's no hole to fill as you can see, the circle is quite complete.

Angie: are you serious, kid? where's your real mommy?

Codrus: i know your tricks. i was told never to talk to outsiders, they'll confuse you with their questions. yes, yes, don't talk to nobody ever again, they're scary. let no one in, everyone out there is trying to have what we have, they're trying to infiltrate our harmony. trust no one. not even yourself. only rely on yourself. hate others, they always lie. only you know if you're lying to yourself. only when you're completely alone will you feel it. nirvana comes only to the lonely. art isn't pain, pain is art. those who are fat can never know the motivation of those who are skinny. which is ironic. that IS my mommy! i know me better than any else selves. i've only ever known myself...

Mohd turns the boy around and looks directly into his eyes made hard by the constant glassy winds.

Mohd: whoa, he's serious. his heartbeat is calm for being so racing. you know what they say about children, they believe, they're the true believers.

Stew takes a gander at the boy as well.

Stew: yep yep yep yep yep, boy's got that look i had as a child after a few pints in me, that malaise glaze after buying that overpriced video game, bargaining it down to 50 bucks and celebrating with a box of fruit punch, the good kind of punch, and some hard-as-stone animal crackers. they never seemed to serve fruit punch at the bars in my youth. shame, always had the hair color for it. my childhood was something.

Codrus doubles over in pain. the heart pumping gold is fast and furious and coming out of his chest, literally. Codrus steadies his mind but it's like his string of fate, a wire, has been cut. he tries with all his might and Stone drugs in him to reshape his bleeding heart. he molds it back with his mind into more of a manageable ball of mass. the mass grows veins and soon becomes a brain which he replaces with his own.

Codrus: mind of matter.

with that, Codrus poofs back to his old self again.

Codrus: hahahahahahahahahahaha. you can't kill a god that easily!

Codrus spins his finger at the sandcastle he was working on and traps his three former children inside.

Codrus: three bums trapped in a small space.

the three bums: we're used to it.

the clouds above turn green and begin chirping. it appears they are just moving with the tide in the sky but they are in fact sprouting wings and flying away. Angie, Mohd, and Stew transform back into Sid, Glidden, and the cigarette-smoking man. the cigarette-smoking man has to cut a piece of his lit cigarette every so often with his Scissors cos the cigarette never lessens into ash with each drag.

Glidden: i thought my pink hair would be joyous for him. kids don't like clowns?

Sid is drinking from a pint glass.

Codrus: you, you're too young to drink. and you, drop your cigarette butts somewhere else or help clean up my beach. get your butts outta here!

Codrus floods the castle by breaking the dam and drawbridge and letting in all the moatwater.

Codrus: just call this my last act of government malfeasance.

the three don't drown in the bad water but they can't communicate with each other underwater, either. they all point up and surface.

the three bums: we really got to work on that. we're surfers after all.

a dripping cigarette-smoking man: wait, let me try something.

CSM turns Codrus around and looks deep into his eyes.

CSM: who's your daddy?

Codrus points to the stone father.

CSM: fascinating. adult. he's an adult. he's trying to adult anyway. he's not lying, i can see his heart pumping out of his chest, literally. it's all in his head. it's viciously pumping but in a very truthful way. he would pass a lie-detector test. it's more that his heart and mind are about to explode. too much pressure. it's not good to be king.

Codrus starts to rap and point his fingers downward:
you got nothin' on me
i'm a different class of villainy
what you think you see
you don't see
you'll never see me
cos i am free
you can't pin my work on this or that
i am new, that's a fact
you debate, you contract
i contemplate like a brat
reduce me and you reduce you, fool
you box in, i box out
you don't know what i'm about
you will smile, i will pout
i'm angry for the sake of it
i complain cos there're stakes in that
i'm a different class of villainy
(and i am classy)
beyond good and evil and psychiatry
it's not that i want to see the world end
but how 'bout we just start all over again?

liquid gold streams out of Codrus's ears, nose, and throat. he's making a mess on stage.

Codrus: mac 'n cheese, my favorite. just like Mom used to make.

when the liquid spill reaches his eyes, Codrus is transported to his private movie theatre where also sits Cotard and Fuerza.

Fuerza: let's sit in the middle row. not too close, not too far.

Codrus: what was i saying?

Codrus is on screen. literally. he's in the movie playing on the screen right now.

Fuerza: you were probably in the middle of a rant, mijo.

Codrus: why you calling me mijo?

Fuerza: everyone's my son. it's a mommy thing. you take care of your son and your son's friends. you'll learn when you become a mother.

Codrus: yes, i remember now, i invented, i invented everything. i was in the middle of my speech. i was angry but i forget why for. inflamed in fact. something about math, the uselessness of it. yes, i was showing a pie chart divided up into sections, showing this graph to dispel graph theory. there is no perfect graph, no claw-free graph, there is always a claw, didn't you watch Inspector Gadget when you were a kid? my sister always had it on. the brute-force search takes brute force. proof by exhaustion is exhausting. there is no mathematical star, i am the only star, i make the stars. and then something happened, something always does, and i got mad. i don't remember the beginning, or the middle, but i do remember the end, we always remember the end. i ended with a declaration, i turned around and said to...

at this precise moment Cotard joins Codrus up on film. Cotard is right at the end of his rant, and the two men say and stay in unison as they point pointedly at Fuerza:

if you remember

Binny: i swear these ipad minis. i just don't get it. that was the one thing that struck me when i finally got mine. the fact that you needed to power them up constantly. that was the stupidest thing in the world. why couldn't they just work? run on free energy, the same energy of the universe that fuels our cars and craft. do we want to be beholden to foreign electricity?

Wolf: hi guys, what's happening? been talking heavily with Baleen on insta again. they call me the Gram Grandpa now. he's not doing well, not in a good place. whatever he was high on before, be it cocaine, heroin, the Stones, or life, it's over. crashed. always seem to crash eventually. he's back to being depressed. he's lonely again.

if you remember one thing, one damn thing about me and all of my life living, when you remember me, when you see my face in your dreams, you remember that i hated my life. in fact, i hated life. yeah, yeah, i hated the concept of life. you inscribe that on my tombstone. and leave the dates off.

Cotard sheds tears which flow upward. the fluid out of Codrus's tear ducts is dust dribbling out and disappearing.

Fuerza: boys, boys, stop arguing, stop talking over one another, i can't understand either one.

Monday, January 25, 2016


or did they? another episode tonight!

1. when did you last sing a love song? what song? did you sing it to someone? the Toni Braxton biopic's trailer's got me singing "Another Sad Love Song" when i bake apple pies by the window sill. a little birdie lands on the sill and says i'm a little pitchy. always loved Toni Braxton, she deals in heartache, she ain't like those others, she deals in pain.

2. how do you want to spend a special day with your lover? stopping the venal conspiracy of a few elite men taking over America then the world. ISIS, Russia: smokescreens. Roswell: smokescreen. using the energy of the universe as fuel, scoop scars, the whole deal. and then afterwards we have some scoops of Baskin-Robbins mint chocolate chip.

3. what is the ideal number of texts/calls a couple should exchange in one day? why? the Mulder-to-Scully plan, you text one time a day just to let them know you're still alive, still breathing.

4. with regards to work, what do you enjoy doing again and again? getting abducted by aliens. each time i see the face more clearly. i'm different from the others in my rehab circle, i don't get the little green or grey men, i get abducted by one short balding man each time who looks like the top pic above. have you dreamt that man? yeah, me, too. that's what God looks like. God is going bald, that explains so much. or it could be mental conditioning, social engineering, dream manipulation by the government secretly putting fat into our sodas. classical conditioning was started by the Russians. just sayin'.

5. are you on track with your work career? are you where you want to be with education, training, position? ever since i could dream i've wanted to be a pop star. my best mates Punch and Judy went on to become a nurse and Air Force pilot, respectively, but i instead opted to stay in my basement my whole life with a microphone in my face eating apple pies that tasted like sawdust. one day i'll earn that bird's approval.

6. what do you want to avoid in your job/career? peaking too soon. i want my first #1 single to come when i'm 100 years old so i'm mature enough to handle it.

7. money---do you have enough? as long as i have enough money to care for my cats, i'm good. and like maybe one indulgence per week, one KFC Nashville Hot Chicken a week, the tenders with the pickles. biscuit game buttery. when i can't eat well i can at least watch Daym Drops on youtube.

8. on Valentine's Day do you usually buy your loved one a romantic gift or a practical, usable gift? both. the Red String of Fate..................................which can also be used for shibari.

9. are you being paid fairly? yes seeing as i do nothing.

10. what's the most money you've ever given away? one million dollars, loan to Trump.

bonus: what's the biggest personal change you've ever made? the day i said fuck it and shaved my head. i felt free for the first time in my life. i started getting into religion again, i watched Bill Maher religiously. i started getting into politics again, 24/7 with 24.


Friday, January 22, 2016



* E=mc2, formula for beer, right?

* Fred: there's a lotta bush gonna be sold!
Barney: so we're at the bar right now, right? not the prostitution den? it's just i don't want to get on Betty's bad side.

* Barney: 5 o'clock. quitting time.
Fred: there's a quitting time? the afterwork rush is upon us. let's get behind the bar and serve these people.
Barney: but why do we have to do this?
Fred: just go with it.

* Barney: the beer business is hard work. got a smoke?
Fred: here you go, one of these cigarettes is like smoking 20 of these cigarettes.

* Mr. Slate enters. Fred and Barney dress up in disguises.
Fred: what kind of beer, sir?
Mr. Slate: um, you're clearly not women, you're just affecting really weird, halfhearted accents.

* Barney: how about some raises for your key men? here, have some Busch, stranger, it'll do you good. don't worry, it's not spiked.

* magical woman's hand appears above and rubs Mr. Slate's head.
Mr. Slate: wow, you have a really seductive voice. but i'm married.
woman's hand: i know, i'm your wife!
Mr. Slate: oh.

* Barney: have some more Busch, stranger, it'll do you good. this one is spiked.

* Mr. Slate: Fred, Barney, don't be late tomorrow morning!
Fred: but sir, why did you stick around if you knew all along?
Mr. Slate: for the handjob.

* Fred: *trademark laugh* Busch is the best!
Barney: i don't know, he seems kind of low-energy to me.

* Fred throws the bird like a dart.
dart bird: you do realize i'm a baby pterodactyl, right? i'm gonna grow up and eat you. karma is a new concept in these times but it's still a bitch.


happy weekend

Monday, January 18, 2016


we are all special snowflakes. we are all different, that's what makes us all the same...

1. what are your sexual strengths and weaknesses? i'm a good sucker. i suck.

2. as a couple, what are your sexual strengths and weaknesses? i'm not a couple but i've been called a couple of things in my time. for the purposes of this question let's say i married someone. online. in a MMORPG. not saying i did, just saying for the sake of saying. it's like say Mario is El Chapo, Kate del Castillo is the Princess, and Sean Penn is Bowser. a lot of pipe was involved. would i do it? for Kate del Castillo, yes, she's adventurous. i'm not saying when Sean Penn mugs to the camera without makeup he looks like Bowser...

3. how do you make intimacy a priority in a relationship? send it through Priority Mail. the Post Office still exists, right?

4. how has your sex life changed in the last five years? no change. though i've found i'm a better overall typer, i make less typos which is good cos when you mean to type "nice shot" on instagram but type "neverending shit", you start to lose followers.


5. has blogging helped your sex life? how? tricky. blogging for me has always teetered on the edge. i look back on all that i've written over the years, the sheer volume of it, and wonder if any of it MEANS anything in the end. or is it all destined for the ether. i have met some awesomesauce folk through it, though, that's for sure. and some saucy folk. and some sauced folk.

bonus: has loneliness or emotional hunger ever caused you to "fall in love"?: what is love if not loneliness? what are emotions if not cancer-causing bacon burgers? what is flying if not falling? this sounds less lame when put to music. unfortunately my electric guitar's in the shop. along with my ipad mini. it's gonna come back as an ipad guitar with the naked fretboard and the ipad screen as the sound hole and strings, like that dude from Muse.


Friday, January 15, 2016



* narrator: don't stick out your tongue, Vault Boy, that's not falling malt balls!

* narrator: the fallout will turn ordinary citizens into decrepit rotting beings who've lost their ability to reason.
Vault Boy: politicians.
narrator: they will be without common manners and quick to anger.
Vault Boy: voters.

* narrator: enthusiasm will only take you so far. do you know the percentage chance of shooting that zombie?
Vault Boy: yeah, 100%, but i don't feel like shooting that zombie today. from now on, please address me as Vault Emo Boy.

* narrator: let's try that again.
Vault Boy: nobody understands me. i don't care about this stupid video game. holy fuck, did i just come back from the dead?! now REALLY nobody understands me.
narrator: tell you what, finish the rest of these promos and i'll give you Lazarus's number.

* narrator: watch your penis there, Vault Boy, there may be a Vault Girl...

* Vault Boy: i'm a fuckin' underground ninja.
huge mutant rats attack Vault Boy.
Vault Boy: why, Master Splinter, why?

* Vault Boy balances himself above with his finger plugging the mouth of the bottle.
Vault Boy: this is my yoga. this is also how i avoid becoming an alcoholic.

* Vault Boy assaults an unsuspecting dreamer.
unsuspecting dreamer: i am you sleeping! you just killed yourself.
Vault Boy: that's deep. but this is all a dream, right?
unsuspecting dreamer: yes. now go out there and live your dreams!


happy weekend

Wednesday, January 13, 2016



Codrus: it's gonna get real sad.

Yayray kicks up the white sand and crouches in a footballer lineman's position ready to strike one-punch. the green bird tries to chirp around him.

Yayray: ain't got no time for bird sex. take care of this fool and my virgins await haha.

Codrus: ah but you see that's where i got you by the scrotum. i've already won cos i know your motivation. you wanna get neck. you want pussy in cars like any young man do. it takes down the most powerful of human male. don't matter how much wealth you attain by avoiding smarting by smartly keeping conservative in your gambles and never uttering an untoward word, your conservative values will break your dam once that hot actress starts paying attention to you out of the blue. the more famous the actress the heavier the flow of your cum river. i mean what's the point if you don't get something for all your hard work, right?

Yayray: that is why El Chapo did it, ultimately. i'm young but i get it. i've sat on my own balls before. i had to grow up fast unfortunately.

Codrus: El Chapo? *looks down* ah yes, i get it now. it's cute to know that alternate dimensions are carrying on without me. but not for long.

Yayray: i represent all the anger of the world, all the unfair slights, undeserved deaths, and virgins like me who were never allowed to shine. all the injustice that was never overturned. it all burns into a giant fireball which i embody. i spit out the fires of heaven onto you, foul demon!

Yayray tranforms into a giant red crab with scary sharp super pincers. his fire eyes belie the cute sputtering he does with his many frilly legs along the seashore.

Yayray: i can see the entire fight in my fire eyes. it's already already happened. i know his weak spot. this is for you, aunties, video games weren't a waste of time, they saved my afterlife.

Yayray boxes right, left, and right again onto Codrus's vulnerable chest. all 10 times. and 100 more, each time the flame coming out of his claw grows steadier, surer, and purple when he really gets frustrated and fatigable. each time Codrus simply shapes his own blocking fist into the shape of the perfect hole for Yayray's stroke, in and out, in and out perfectly.

Yayray: i'm taking the gloves off!

Codrus: you ain't got no gloves, son. what, you got little red claw-shaped gloves on ya? that would be cute. and videogamey. look at that perfect symmetrical fit, no matter where you go directionally i have the answer counterbalanceally. i'll keep this particular poetry from the Dead Writer, it was just too good!

Yayray: what's the matter? your weak spot moved?

Yayray looks up to meet Codrus's powerful gaze. bad mistake. Yayraj immediately clutches his chest, with his pincers so it hurts doubly, as a heart attack kills him again.

Codrus: what's matter? you can't attack my heart. nobody can touch my heart. my heart is gold, literally. i only give my heart away to a very special least for now. when i leave it, you'll know.

Yayray: where am i?

Codrus: same place, i control where folk go now and i haven't designed the room yet. there's a huge backlog of people and aliens i put in a space cube that're just there in suspended animation, like a casting-call cattle-call in a warehouse, looking for a ton of dark-haired dancers for the next Grease. you'll see a white film forming on your eyes.

Yayray (weakly): yeah...

Codrus: that's what everyone sees when they see the light. this film is blocking all your petulant anger over earth matters, dousing your eyes like a summer shower across a campfire. i know, mom always said i was a wet blanket. you'll find yourself calming now and not a moment too soon, all your misguided erratic steam and misplaced rage would have taken out a few solar systems in a blaze of selfish inglory. do you play for the NFL or something?

Yayray: i wish i could have. i wish i could have done a lot of things. i wish i had a billion dollars so i could live the life. i wish i had a girlfriend. sure it's pure sex but now that i'm on this other side i would have cherished a good woman by my side, IM'd her, i would have hugged her side when she cried and thanked her for cooking our oxtails and offered to do the dishes by hand with the sweat-stained towel around my forehead. and afterwards we'd have a conversation that was half-profound and half-silly. i'm young but i understood all that, i knew that that was what was what. i'm fading...

Codrus: embrace that you are Yayraj...

Yayray: you know i still can't talk to my folks. my aunties are too busy with their gadgets.

Binny: we've decided to just make our own homemade churros.

Quinny: you know when you look something up online? like Vietnamese. it gives you places of Vietnamese food, not the Vietnamese people. but what's the point of food if you can't share it with people? what are you eating for? oh i miss people. i miss when we had people.

Yayray: and my grandmama remains strangely silent.

Codrus: you're not at her level yet. she was so sickingly good she is literally made of stars. she could talk to you but what would you two talk about? she is of a past age.

Yayray: i want some advice. from any -man who came to earth, lived another culture on mars, had a pet spider. i understand that now, parents are just helping, they do know more simply because they lived longer, it's annoying but true. and changing customs don't affect the basic core of humanity, they don't chip away at what we all want, what we all deserve, what we all think we deserve. i want to have it easy for once...

Codrus holds up the Dragon Balls which were scattered but have come and fallen together quite conveniently next to each other in a circle artfully indenting the pristine white sand of this place.

Codrus (spinning them on the sand by twirling his finger): these are the only powerballs you need. my version of them. the lottery is a scam, after taxes and dead relatives and live relatives which end up dead, you're left worse off. stoned. another in the long line of life disappointments which begins and ends with God with Santa in the middle.

Yayray: i feel truly lonely for the first time. i can't talk to the universe anymore. there's nowhere to turn. i reach for the void to see if it wants to chat, even chaturbate. but it remains silent as always. it's not cool to play hard-to-get. not anymore. surely you have something to say, void. and don't call me Shirley. my name is Yay...raj. i wish there were celestial beings my age, i want to play...

Yayray's crab-shell body turns pale opaque spiritless white as his blood turns inward. his penis shrivels up and disintegrates. and he tips over and stays upside-down as he begins to float away into the sky.

Codrus: there are no second lives in politics. right Bump mah boy. and politics is a lot like life, just more glorified.

Cotard sees that there's a floating turret hovering on the hill.

Cotard: i'm excited i'll be able to see the Surf Club again! i can sense the Shack but i can't see it, it's just off my range of vision. but i sees the hill, that's good, that's enough, patience for the other stuff, but man that's got to be an invisible castle or something, right? i mean there's just that one turret sticking out flying in the sky, where's the rest of the castle?

Codrus: it's a prop. for learning. didn't you love when the teacher brought visual aids? you won't be seeing those bums again, i'm in charge now, they've been put away permanently. *sigh* it seems i can't kill them yet.

Cotard: or kill whatever they represent. thanks for ruining my mood.

Codrus: you ruined your own mood or have you forgotten? remember when the teacher would use the overhead projector? i miss that piece of equipment, it was regal and elegant and most importantly ahead of its time. it did the best job of explaining things that no stupid computer screen which followed would ever. that was real tech, evolved from my beautiful ancient Greeks' using of tree branches and leaves. and what were those films called?

Cotard: blue?

Codrus: no, those clear pieces of wobbly paper that the teacher would write on with a smelly blue marker? i always loved it cos this was the only instance where we saw math done in ink.

Cotard: i was too busy getting rapped on by nuns with yardsticks. and then the nuns at my particular school would rap. with sunglasses on. it was their way of letting off a little steam. transparencies?

Codrus: yeah, transparencies! viewfoils. for this guest lecture, i'm gonna let a very special teacher take over. he's come all the way from San Francisco. the alternate-dimension San Francisco. i'll just be the Supernintendo Chalmers in the back grading the teacher, which i know the students love.

Sid and Glidden and Rumi have taken their seats in the back row of the classroom, the only students in the room save for Cotard and the Monty Python French medieval soldier guarding the castle. Sid takes a straw out of his third eye and shoots a spitball which lands perfectly on top of Codrus's precious hair but Codrus doesn't notice. Glidden and Rumi are generally rabblerousing and horseplaying with each other, wrestling on the floor which hasn't been swept in ages. neither does Codrus notice when Codrus sits down on the seat currently occupied by Sid. Sid smiles wide. Charles Darwin takes to the overhead projector in the front of the class and takes out a shitload of transparencies from his modern faux-leather suitcase and begins inking his Theory of Evolution first step by last step. it takes a lot of transparencies jotting everything down, each species with elaborate illustration, lines of lineage, connecting this gene to that,

Darwin winks at the students in the back, he sees them...

Darwin: ...but i'm focused. is everyone in the class getting this, seeing this? in the back? a teacher is like a mom, eyes in the back of the head, an extra pair of eyes willing to look at things differently.

Codrus (clapping): there's nothing in this room. except for the smell of blue ink in the morning. and the smell of that smelly Frenchman. what you have done, mon frere Charles, is systematically, thoroughly, methodically, detailingly, clear-eyedly destroyed God. that's beauty, brother, pure. that's a de-lovely destruction. and now for the kicker.

Codrus removes the last transparency from the overhead projector, tears at the edges of it, rips it in half, and crumbles it up into a ball Big-Bang-style. and he gives the whole projector box a strong knock-knock which reverberates its strong hollow emptiness inside.

Codrus: all that work, Charles, for nothing. what did you get out of it? what did you get? you see this film? filled with all your equations, all the known and even the unknown equations, but they're all the earth equations. the universe equations, the religion equations, the religiously universal equations, the one new faith for all. that's all that was in front of you, that's all you ever knew, that's what was projected to you. but it's not the real deal. see the condenser lens up top? that's the devil making sure everything is compacted to its lowest basest form. the stage glass, my favorite kind of glass, is god, now the old god, full of light and the see. the fresnel lens is now me. and the light which shines through, the bulb? *puts ear to the base* i'm hearing the dregs of its battery running out.

Codrus takes the whole of the heavy projector and kicks it out the turret window into a crag of seaside rocks way down below. at that precise moment Codrus turns into a little boy against his will. he's seen on the shore playing with the newly-cut-off shards of gray rocks. he seems to be making people out of the piles.

a moonlit spot graces the water outside the turret window but there is no moon. but the yellow on the water is soothing, natural. there Cotard confronts his mother Fuerza.

Fuerza: son i want you to get the bag, you know the bag, not the small one or the large one or the just-right one, least you can do, take out the saveable trash, put it in the bin, you should always recycle, even yourself. then i want you to get me my tea. and make sure to spread out the frijole. i was spread for nine months cos of you. then do this, and that, and this.

Cotard: DAM, MOM! COS OF YOU I MISSED STAR WARS! by the time you healed it wasn't in theatres anymore! it's not the same netflixing it. no chill. now you tell me what's the point in living anymore. i mean if a young man can't have his Star Wars, what other frilly thing walking down the street can mean anything? what has that shine? what smells better than a walking carpet? speaking of, WHO dies?! DAM, MOM, SPOILERS! ruined! you ruined my life! i hate you and i hate me and i hate this. i need to get the fuck outta here. i literally need to go to a monastery to get some verifiable peace and quiet. if i don't go to a monastery i will die of stir-craziness inside this insane asylum you call a household.

Cotard (living this but also watching this from a second body): but y'know, there would always be periods of calm after the blowups. my anger jags seemingly went on forever. but they didn't. the moon would rise and quiet the air. and no matter what hurtful things were said in the day, at night Mama would always politely ask me to do the windows.

Fuerza: close all the windows, mijo, i'm turning on the heat.

Cotard: i loved doing that job. i'd go around the house methodically pushing in all the windows. a simple task. the best kind. it focused me. it was something to do other than fret. and when i was done, i was enclosed and safe and secure in my mother's hearth. i never felt the heat from the air conditioner, i felt the heat of her warmth as i drifted off to sleep...

in the memory, Cotard kicks his laptop through the yellow spot in the water and up into the window of the turret through inside the invisible castle. the laptop smashes into pieces. Cotard does not play with the pieces.

but then that day came

cotard: i felt so small. after another one of my off-my-anger-medication rants, mom had had enough and she sheltered in place in her room, locking the door. hours passed. no mail. no dinner. she didn't ask me to do the windows. had she fallen asleep from my exhaustion? or.........was this the last time? had i actually let my mother pass away without first telling her i was sorry? i didn't want that answer. i twirled into a frenzy, flapping my wings and chirping on the inside. forgiveness is hard, but regret is stone. my tears turned to sweat.

Cotard stalks his mother's bedroom door, leaning into it but not opening it. he grabs hold of the knob, slowly turning it right but then back left again. it seems he can't quite bring himself to open the door.