IT GOES WITH EVERYTHING

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

happy halloween weekend

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I AM A MAN: RAGE TOWARD THE MACHINE, MAKING SURE TO CATCH IT AT JUST THE RIGHT ANGLE OF MOONLIGHT

Ty, Tudey, Scootch, Base Fase, and Mario relocate just outside the city. Base Fase has a big-enough hole in the wall in the neighboring city for the bunch to hide out in till the heat dies. Fancytown on the other hand is awash in live protests, firework explosions on a non-holiday, street riots, riot police using tear gas to spread open the eyes of the protesters throwing rocks and stones, creating a hole wide open to let in their military, outside-the-city rabblerousers causing trouble, Lofton's police being the biggest instigators, all directed with technology by Lofton sitting on the futtock of his pirate ship.

Ty: you lied to us, Base, this turned out to be nice, not a hovel. and you're still sure the owners won't come back at night and scare us?

Base: lips are sealed, i know the deal, i walk the streets, squat or no squat, i avoid the pop.

Scootch, Base Fase, and Mario sit next to each other on the couch and share a joint.

Scootch: it was smart to leave the city, but be right next to the city, next to the property line, we can still see the ocean and Lofton's garish pirate ship. his thugs can't reach us.

Ty: and he would call us thugs. don't underestimate him. this is a stop but not a cure. the running around before gave me time to think. that's how i fill my days now, with thinking and computing on my ipad, researching.

Mario: and fucking Tudey.

Ty: thank you for keeping that on the down low. it was not my intention, furthest thing from my computing mind actually. i don't need a distraction, the goal is all that matters. but it happened naturally as the best things do. thank you for keeping here on the couch when we're in the next bedroom.

Mario: you remind us of what we can achieve, my blood. and it doesn't hurt to get a little second-hand smoke wafted our way.

Ty: you can afford to be passive smokers, but i must be doing the smoking when the time comes. the plan is set, right fellas? we've been over this. everything is in place.

Base: thanks to me you have your gun.

Ty: shiny one, too, nice and dull and shiny. this is proof that you never know what's up a friend's pocket. best to make many friends so as to have many pockets to stick your hand into.

Scootch: while we're assigning praise, remember it was i who suggested leaving the city and its rules.

Ty: i forgot you in the commotion but i will never forget you, my brothers. nobodies become somebodies in the forge of purpose. and numbers reign, oh do they reign, a cause is nothing without many minds sharpening the spear. when many contribute, the one becomes fortified. it is still one, lost in its combination, only the one shines through, but the memories of the individuals who shaped that one's spear call out at the moment of impact. though forgotten, you are never forgotten because the very existence of the spear was proof of your being.

Mario: you have my bullets, right? they are special bullets, they turn counterclockwise when fired instead of the usual clockwise, they are poetic like that, i love seeing things in motion, round and round and round, i desire that spinning of intent, i cannot afford to be idle.

Ty: yes my friend, you are my arm that plunges the blade, that knifes the life, truly. the weapon is set. i may think i have all the answers, but you guys remind me that thinking is flawed. in action is resolve, in action is result.

later that night, Tudey returns through the shadows to the bedroom and curls up with Ty.

Ty: dat u, boo? i was having the strangest dream, a nightmare where i wasn't the leader i made myself out to be, i wasn't man enough for the job, i wasn't the man you or the guys expect me to be.

Tudey: leader problems. what about me? i am certainly the woman for this job and then some. the things i've had to do to that man. but it's all for the cause i keep telling myself, when he holds down my head, opens me up, and pulls my hair.

Ty is incensed internally and it spills out like incense externally. he offers Tudey a comforting kiss. these two solemn naked folk kiss with their big lips big love for each other and hug forever.

Ty: do not spill the details, i don't want to know. i can't picture the face of mine enemy at this moment doing such horrid things to you, and that is for the best. best to be cold when coldness is required. please spill the details, did you get any dirt on him and his locations?

Tudey: i have some things that i will whisper in your ear. do you think my big bro would approve of this?

Ty: i hope Dry is smiling. i did not want this. i did not want you. i did not want me. this seems convenient, not romantic, like it was borne out of necessity rather than lust. it's the fireman who moves in with his fallen fellow fireman friend's widow. Dry, i do hope you know that we do this out of a bonded concern for you, this is in memory of you, this isn't about us, it's about keeping the family unit together, for though the two of us were strangers not too long ago, we are family now, and families have a unique way of keeping themselves strangers to each other.

Tudey: you say the sweetest things, my brother, you sure know how to make a girl feel special. it's incestuous and messy yet not. in the end, it's a coming together. whether it's because we are the only two people in the room, bodies seek comfort whatever their locations in life. loneliness is the one enemy which cannot be gotten rid of easily with a gun.

Ty: until you use the gun. my eyes are starting to go, they're straining in this pale light. i need to wash the blood off my face.

Tudey: that's just redness. you get hot easily.

Ty: true true. my face burns now than ever before. even after i shower, the refreshment lasts but a minute. i need to douse my face with water constantly, keep my eyes open with soothing liquid.

Tudey: you have to remind yourself to wake up, wake up, always be waking up. perfect, now that you've awoken, you have time to listen to my day. time to talk about our feelings.

Ty: i think not, i am an animal of feeling, i am ready to listen and fully engage.

Tudey: the change occurred gradually, it seemed natural, then one day i woke up and snap, just like that i quickly realized that community organizing was not a thing. i want to be a nurse.

Ty: feel, it's to honor Dry. his death makes you want to save others as a replacement for the one person you couldn't save.

Tudey: will everything in my life be about my brother? when does my own life start?

Ty: as soon as it's done, and there's closure, except the chapter is never closed because Dry Dream wasn't able to write his epilogue the way he wanted, it was written for him by a dirty, inky hand holding a feather.

Tudey: i miss him, Ty.

Ty: i know. that's the only thing i know. i feel it, i don't just think it. but you are forever my bitch. more importantly, you're my sister. we'll get through this, but only together. no man is an island in the middle of the ocean on a ship.

the two kiss on the side of their mouths and smile internally. Tudey tries to get up but Ty playfully hangs onto the white sheet.

Tudey: i need a glass of water.

Ty: oh to be able to drink water than have to splash it on.

Ty gazes at Tudey's large naked butt as she walks away. his gaze moves right and covers the entire bedroom slowly. his point fixes at the open window where the thin curtains are being dragged back and forth by the sea breeze. anchors and bells are thinly sounding in the distance. Ty can sense the shadow of Lofton's ship in the offing, he can't see the shadow but he senses it. next, Ty scans the bedroom's open closet and notices a white nurse's uniform hanging on a hanger, drooping.

he gets up and goes to the washroom to wash his face. he collects the dirty rented tap water into his two palms and throws the water ferociously into his face. his big mouth drips and drips and drips. he tries to look himself in the bathroom mirror but the image goes right through him. his face starts feeling warm again, pins shock above both ears, his head is in turmoil, he's remembering, thinking back to the dream he had, the swirling colors of the afterlife, Dry trying to add color to Ty's manic confused dream, letting him know that he is there, his friend lives, the cacophany of the beats and the rhythm and the vocals of pain and anguish,

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

Ty: the two of us share the wound of fallen family, the five of us share the wound of being under the heel of the boot of tyranny. no drug lasts forever, we all wake up the next day with the truth, bleary eyes stay bleary only for so long, water resets the face and the day but never the reality of no more days ever. the five of us were bars of pig iron, always the Man's truffle hogs, now we merge and melt and fuse together into steel to slaughter the pigs, with a blowtorch unseen by the tyrant. this flame was boiling the rock underground into lava, unnoticed for decades by the tyrant too busy on top of the cool ground amassing his wealth and influence. cracks in the ground are beginning to form, the lava is seeping through, things unchecked have a way of checking themselves into balance again. the time is nigh. the time is night, black as night.

Ty listens to the silence. he hears through the window the quiet. the storm and the inbetween storms, that's where the sea lives. the moonlight is a bright dull column tonight, catching white on his face for a split second, bathing the waters and one side of the pirate ship. nothing can be seen on the ship, it's too far away, except for the discernable tower of shadows it casts over the land. he hears the metronomic tone of the waves, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

TO BE CONCLUDED...

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TMIT: PONDERING WITH THE PONDS

1. what are you most afraid of? pickles...Mr. Pickles the dog from that adult swim show.

2. do you believe in life after death? all i know is that there is death after life...

3. what is your purpose? TMIT

4. where are you going? i am never going, i am always cumming.

5. do you fear hell? why or why not? yes. because i am going there. and the place is run by the Beast from the Doctor Who episode "The Satan Pit." i mean, just look at that guy! the Doctor wasn't scared of him, but we all don't have sonic screwdrivers in our hands do we. some of us just have our hands.

6. do you feel free? only when i'm writing...and when i go pee in an open field thus foregoing the need to touch my crotch as i ask for directions to a bathroom.

bonus: why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but people don't point to their crotch when asking where's the bathroom? i do. i have found in my travels on the TARDIS with the Ponds and the Doctor that there are many planets out there, and all like threesomes and foursomes. some planets regard the pointing to the wrist as an act of aggression, of flicking off, of saying FUCK YOU. other planets, like the one where everyone looks like Michael Keaton, regard the crotch as sacred and something to be pointed at and held...in high regard. it's all a matter of degree, it's all relative, like time, which doesn't exist. crotches exist.

CLICK HERE FOR MY PURPOSE.

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PLAY

so was he always there? or did he join them just then? my last friend, at college, debated this with me long into the chilly night on a campus road lit only by the moon Halloween eve after we watched the film for free cos we were cool viable registered actual students with discount cards. we had made it, only perks from here on out. exchanging our ice breath, we came to the conclusion that he was cooler than me. i had remembered my fall coat.

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy halloween/weekend

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I AM A MAN: MAKE SURE THE RAGE DRIPPINGS ARE USED TO FUEL YOUR OWN MACHINE

Lofton is quite efficient at cleaning up messes and making everything nasty go away. as soon as daylight strikes the tired smoke of Halloween night in Fancytown, any news of the shooting of Dry Dream is gone out of the mind of the city, like a dream, which is what Halloween is once a year. it was a nonstarter, it never happened, Dry officially became a number because it was just another unsolved shooting. neighbors dare not speak, snitches get stitches, especially the ones who witnessed it, cos eyewitness testimony is the most unrealiable as ironic as that seems. others more powerful and learned are quickly paid off in hush-hush rooms and the brighest smile in the room and the city always belongs to Lofton, he is brighter than the sun who peeks behind a cloud this day and radiates a disinfectant over the gory details of Fancytown.

Lofton quickly sends his squads to go hunt for Ty and Tudey. or maybe he doesn't. Lofton just has to make it appear that he's searching for them. it's not the actual fear, it's the posibility of fear. Ty and Tudey understand this, the two are huddled with a group of other three by the railroad tracks. Tudey convinces Ty that this is the safest place there is, the most abandoned, the river here is so polluted not with chemicals but by a broken heart of never being visited and tended to. nobody comes here, it's not even fit for the cement of those gangland murders in the city's past, the cement becomes too easily warped, it doesn't hold correctly and evenly, the clean getaway can't be accomplished cleanly.

Ty: this is Akira Hall?

Tudey: well i'm hearing through my sources that that place is booked. man, i never thought someone as important as Lofton would care enough about two nobodies like us to send his top troops and military police to scour the countryside for us. i mean, shit, on any other day, Akira Hall is full of abandoned pool tables.

Ty: this entire city is abandoned, full of people and abandoned. that is the drug of anonymity, you can hide in the shadows. once you're known, you can't be erased, other than by a bullet. you are a target for life.

Scootch: i don't know who you are. i barely know this girl. i was told there was a leader who could bring hope and change to this area. is that you? i don't got time to wait to see if you have the stuff, i've got mouths to feed, detailing to do, my cars...

Base Fase: i'm a worthless basehead, but worthless basebheads are people, too. isn't a society based on dignity one that bases its moral compass on how it cares for its most-pressing helpless citizens? who's to say i won't get clean and end up president, where i can keep all the gold for myself and finally have myself a delicious, paid-for chicken dinner? we all have dreams, i am just as important a cog. without me to step on, other people don't achieve their dreams. i'm vital. call me a basic bitch, but we're all basic. we're all humans, that's what unites us after all.

Mario: i'm here to help, to fight, to do whatever, i am the fist that grips the sword, Ty, i am the loyal soldier. i don't believe in anything, much less myself, but i believe in action. not so much action bathed in purpose, but the motion of action, the kinetic energy, i like to see things move in a circle, in a pattern, my thinking goes off into weird patterns, i can't make sense of why point A feeds into point B, but i do understand the basic concept of action turning point A into point B, that is something felt. a punch, a kick to the head, that matters, the matter in my head, unkicked, is useless mush.

Ty sees a knife stuck in the middle of the dried-up dirt. he picks it up strangely. he doesn't pull it out by the handle, he pulls it out by the blade-end. his palm bleeds.

Ty: all knives are unsheathed to start with. the handle is a crutch, a manufactuired, put-on illusion that you are safely wielding power. the knife cuts both ways, you have to be ready to accept that. as you cut, it cuts you.

Base Fase: better than nothing.

Ty: Tudey, you keep this knife. think of it as me when i'm not here to protect you.

Scootch: what do we do now? the meeting is adjourned. i'll take the minutes later. we all know why we're here and what we want to have happen. the dictator must be overthrown. if we have to give our lives to do it, our lives will have not meant anything cos they will be over. if we don't so anything, our lives are over and meaningless. i suppose it's a matter of community, nihilism goes down more easily when shared.

Ty: i got this. i'm masta detective. no shit, Sherlock, just the straight shit. i know where to look for clues. i know i can prove he murdered your big brother, Tudey, eradicated him in cold blood. my blood is hot on the case. i'll check you guys late. we are united, friend, never forget that. when your blood is spilt, mine is. when you die, i don't die until i die and we are united, there, finally. united in ceaselessness. keep safe. skirt trouble. avoid the through streets. seek out cul-de-sacs.

Mario: but we're trapped in cul-de-sacs.

Ty: no, you trap them. is that them? fuck! who's running at us?

this happens frequently, Ty can't tell if he sees a shadow, a police gunning for him, an officer running at him, or a jogger on an afternoon stroll. oh to have a lazy Sunday again.

Lofton owned a ship. he built the pirate boat, actually, piece by piece, sail by sail, pole by pole, an exact replica of an early model, every detail perfect from those times pirates ruled the seas. the ship was docked by the railroad tracks. nobody in the town knew about this pirate ship though it was moored out in the open for anyone to see. either the citizens didn't care, were too busy getting shot at, had their own problems, were too busy dancing in the clubs to avoid getting shot at, had their own problems created by Lofton's government so they were busy with that, or because it was at the area no one went to.

Mario: we need guns, man! the fucking government has confiscated all of our guns, every single one. Lofton is an anal asshole. he made sure every single square inch was ransacked. every house, every single location, every edifice, every building searched from top to bottom. no guns on the streets except for the police's guns. but there is no backlash because crime rates have dropped, by one fucking percent. that's enough to keep the status-quo floating atop the sea. we are powerless. it's like bringing a knife stuck in the ground to a gunfight. it's like ten thousand

SPOONS, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

when all you need is a knife that can block state-sanctioned bullets.

Lofton is aboard his vessel. the parrot on his shoulder is his earpiece, listening to the police radio wirelessly and spitting commands into his headset.

Lofton: you have the body? an agent of mine was embedded in that ambulance. good, you got it. cremated? good. send the urn by drone to my location.

Lofton takes off his headset and taps the shoulders of his mateys who are diligently looking through golden scopes and donning red-and-white-striped shirts.

Lofton: release the nets! we shall catch our prey yet! i own the ocean.

Lofton sits down on his heavy coat. he doesn't feel the sea breeze on his cheeks.

Lofton: ah, i remember the last time we netted. we caught a whole bunch of old weapons at the bottom of this sea. fuck this city was a big pile of mess before i cleaned up everything. there was one knife in particular that struck me. it had a distinctive blue handle with a two-blue symbol that cut me too blue. it was blue as the ocean, the ocean now, the ocean when i was a child, it wasn't a handle, it was an ocean gem culled from the bottom of the clean sea, made shiny by the years and years, layers and layers of dust, soft dust not hard dust, and swarming life. i love the life down there at the bottom of the ocean, it goes swimmingly unimpeded and unnoticed. this knife struck me, it struck me in the abdomen leaving this permanent scar boil here. hurts like the dickens but i wear it proudly as a war wound. i had to make tough choices, cut the heads of those in power, i had to wage a one-man war against the city that i loved before chaos turned to order.

Lofton takes off his shirt to show the men but the men are too scared to turn around and leave their post.

Lofton: this is what we're fighting for, gentlemen. scars are reminders of pain. but pain is transitory unless it's permanent. hopelessness is permanent pain. there is good pain, pain which brings about the end of pain, a temporary prick which prevents the gusher from bleeding out. i am the bandage, the simple brown-colored restraint who decided to take a stand. i am the bandage that covers over the area where the dutiful pirate's limb used to be. in the name of pirates everywhere, renegades, raiders, i carry on the tradition as your captain.

Lofton receives the urn of Dry Dream's ashes by covert plane. it's dropped in his red palms.

Lofton: to you, Dry Dream, as i've come to know your name. my shooting of you was random, that's what makes it magical. it has helped me out so much. there is truly an interconnectedness of all things that we don't see. even when we try to avoid things, we fall into them, they land in our laps, they land by air courier. who could have imagined that all my problems would be solved by one flick of the trigger? my hand really did slip this time. oh greater purpose, it was destiny. hughhughhugh, it makes me think. all those times i intentionally killed people, always turned out in the end to be unnecessary. i get a little paranoid and, well, whatever, it happens. such a shame. so much crudity, crudeness, vileness, it's such a bloody messy scene, *hugh*, there must be a better way.

with that, Lofton shakes his head in disgust and pours Dry's ashes into the ocean. he cuts himself on a rusty jagged shard that is coming apart off the cheap urn. his blood mixes with the ashes which mixes with the salt water.

TO BE CONTINUED...

TMIT: I'M WATCHING THE CAR GETTING TOWED AT THIS VERY MOMENT

i'm tired of this. and i'm tired. now i have no mode of transport. i'm stuck inside my house. like usual. the walls are closing in. where are the flying cars? i was promised flying cars...

1. what CD is in your car's CD player? "Two Princes". that's the last song i heard on the CD format, the last time i touched a physical CD or had the occasion to use a CD player. once again, the Spin Doctors beat the odds and become historic.

2. turn on your car radio. what station is it turned to? Schweddy Balls on NPR.

3. what is in your glove box? gloves

4. any bumper stickers? GO FUDGE YOURSELF from a local cookie store i frequent.

5. any car stickers or car magnets? one time, i placed a refrigerator magnet on the hood of my car. the gravitational force was so strong it fucked up my engine. the engine couldn't start again. i called the towing guy to come pick it up. this happened just this morning.

6. when you drive, do you have a favorite beverage? yes, but i can't drink it cos i don't have a cup holder in my car. i only had money for either getting my rims done or the cup holder, not both. i had to make a choice.

7. what is the most unique thing about your car? it flies.

8. have you modified or decorated or enhanced your steering wheel? my WHIP glitters more than a teen heartthrob vampire. it's adorned everywhere with Shaggy Rogers stickers, Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. it's actually not a steering wheel anymore, it's a huge joystick. i love the feel of squeezing that ball atop that long cylinder.

9. if your normal mode of transport is a bicycle or motorcycle, what have you done to personalize it? i added an E.T. basket just in case. every full moon, i pop my head out my open window and scan for any long glowing fingers. most of the time i spot my neighbor waving at me with his infected red finger...

10. if your regular mode of transport is public---bus or subway---what do you do to pass the time on your rides? i tap people on the shoulder and ask them if they'd like to answer a few questions. when they start getting angry, i explain that it's for my youtube channel and that calms them down.

bonus: what is the sexiest thing in your car? you with those boss sunglasses on.

bonus bonus: what does your choice of personal or regular mode of transport say about you? that like the lyric i am a victim of this age. i'm not a car guy at all, i'm not macho like that, i prefer to walk everywhere. i loved it in college when i literally could walk everywhere: i could get a Slurpee at 7-Eleven on my way to the library. when i got kicked out of the library for bringing food in, i could walk to the BART and quickly be in San Fran for a concert and some grass, i mean concert on the grass. it was cool, free, and easy, and carless. without a car, without a care in the world.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

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DO KITTEHS DREAM?

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK, TO FIND OUT.

THE STRUGGLE IS REAL. spirits roam this month. we creatures lose the line between dream and reality, we cross over and mistake the two. spirits are spirits, but we make them into nightmares, situations we can't ever imagine getting out of, sides to ourselves we shudder to show the world, show ourselves. quick! before the mirror breaks! that glimpse, gone forever. who will come to help us at our darkest hour? are you the savior? who will come together with us? the journey is solitary, inside the head, the mind, the imagination, but it is all us, it is not foreign, we travel to foreign lands but it is all our space, just spaces we have yet to explore, we return to our heritage. precious kitteh, human soul, fear is transitory, as are situations, but what cracks through fear is a seed resilient and a new perspective. it's all for a new look, a new way of being. what you were, the witches and warlocks you served, is in the past. what you are is in front of you. precious kitteh, human soul, you can be a bigger cat, you can be king of the jungle. merely place your paw one in front of the other. oh, and choose a different path this time. there is nothing to be frightened of. when you get scared, keep telling yourself: it is only the dream, only the dream, only the dream, it is the dream...

happy halloween

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I AM A MAN: DIGGING INTO THE PLOT WAY OVER BY ITSELF, HOPING NOT TO LOSE IT

incensed is not the word. the word is charged.

Ty sees Dry die in front of him on a dark Halloween night with a convenient streetlamp busted so as to cover who shot and where the shot came from. a figure clouded in a white ghost robe is by Dry's body. Dry's hulking body on the alone cold street is the sign of death. Ty recognizes for the first time the time for firsts is now. he walks up to the secret man, who is obviously Lofton.

Ty: look at me, take that ridiculous costume off and look me in the eyes for the first time! man!

Lofton does not obey.

Lofton: blood, you don't order me. now i'll let that slide cos this is traumatic. i didn't shoot this poor thug. the guy who did it is getting away. he went that way, hurry!

Ty: i won't let that one slide, you didn't know this man. this man was named Dry Dream, he was the only person i ever called friend. do you know what a friend is? or is your heart as fake as your laugh?

Lofton: hughhughhugh. blood, i don't believe i've seen you in my town before. now that i see your face in the pale moonlight, i still can't believe you look this way. where do you live? i know everyone. you shouldn't be out here, it's not safe on Halloween, tonight is when all the perverts come out to play and roam and lurch and linger. don't worry, leave it to us experts, we keep my city safe. no lurching now, no loitering, no lingering, hughhughhugh.

Ty: i am an orphan of the streets, and this man, Dry Dream, is the first person to know my name. i cannot say "was" yet, i continue to say "is". he lives in me, do you know what that means? do you know what humanity is? courage? living against hope? do you know what these things are? only when you are low do you contemplate and experience such things. you've never known these things, you are always high. i don't know what Dry did to incur your wrath, to you he is another statistic to take back to your police buddies, but he is a real person, real flesh and bone, blood, not your blood, my blood, his blood runs in me, IN ME!!! and i am still alive, i live for both of us, and that, my brother, BROTHA, is your nightmare.

Lofton quickly removes his ghost costume, crumbles up the white sheet, and scrunches it forcefully into his pocket. his pants have a ridiculous bulge.

Lofton: the night casts things in a strange light. i don't know who you take me for, but i assure you, i am not that man. i am a man.

Ty: of course it was you! who else would it be? a rogue agent? a subordinate who didn't follow orders? they are only following orders after all. you are the head of the snake. plausible deniability is such a fucked-up oil. uh-oh, i see your brow tensing, you're dealing with a smart nigga here, one who doesn't toe the line, who is slightly askew, who doesn't buy into your civil patter because i am not really from here, i am more from me. i think independently, i walk in curves, i don't vote, i don't care, but when i care, i care until the end.

Lofton: it's not that you outmatch me in words, it's that i need to see the bigger picture here. i don't have time to verbally jab with you, i live in a world where the jabs are real, they hit the face, they pound flesh, and they kill. if you won't call an ambulance to pick this poor man up, i will. i'm busy. i've got things to do.

Ty: scurry into the night as always. i hear the red lights storming. hide before your own police force does any real investigating for the first time. don't lay claim to Dry Dream's life just because you claimed his life.

Lofton is gone into the night. Tudey opens the front door after a minute.

Tudey: i heard everything from a safe distance...

Ty: you didn't hear everything. neither did i. there is no safe distance. i'm still in shock. i'm shaking, give me your hand, Tudey.

the two embrace and cannot quell the shakes.

Ty: you haven't had time to cry, but we will. i swear to you, in a short time you are my family. it is not the length of time but the force of time. you are my blood, i have none. all my blood has been drained filling the top of my head, constantly bathing my brain, keeping it active trying to figure out the impossible. making sense of things which are doomed to death. wondering what life is.

Tudey: how am i gonna go on? how'm i gonna live without my big bro?

Ty: i loved big brother. you look at me, our eyes meet because we are people of good stock, of truth, we don't cast askance like Lofton. we don't put on airs in the name of power, we are not air, we breathe air, and there is an accounting of such things. tragedy is not the word, balance is. when you destroy a life, you destroy all the lives associated with it, and the black tip of the candle wick is forever singed until water is doused on it, a water pure with the intentions of justice. such bad things cannot stand alone and left out in the rain. i was alone, but i am understanding this. i was a bystander for so long, reading the numbers in the papers like everyone else, but the numbers are us, i am a number, you are a number, and yet we live, we are nimble numbers, numbers that move and think and avenge. the bystander effect will not affect us. i bemoaned the condition of my city and hid in plain sight at the bus stops for years, never talking, never walking, never stirring. i have come to learn that change requires action. and there is no action other than your own action. perception is reality, your perception is all that exists. i love you, Tudey, but i can never love you, i only know my own mind, bathed in excess blood, pumping so hard to understand.

Tudey: there are a couple of folk i want you to spit at, tomorrow when things have calmed down. we are cool cats sick and tired of being sick and tired. i've always wanted to be a community organizer, now it's not a game, i live my dream out of necessity, and everything i do from this point is for my brother. i'll set up the time and place, at Akira Hall.

Ty: i will not rest until i prove it was Lofton who killed Dry Dream. nay, the proof is in the pudding. what is justice? a long wait to futility. there is justice that is felt and justice that is read about in the papers. i prefer feelings, my feelings now. i love to feel, i've never felt before, always held it in to think, now i let loose and never think. Dry is dead, so the afterlife is here, the after-lives of me and you, Tudey. nothing matters anymore, there is no life, not in this unjust world. an author doesn't write to feel passively accepted by his critics holding paperbacks of his works years after the initial hoopla, to become a dream, he writes in the here and now to push a sword through the prevailing wisdom of the times. that sword is his strength, his power, for what is power but finality? the jury doesn't hurt, i hurt, and thus i quell my hurt by making the one who hurt hurt. for how else can those who own the world be slowed down other than to end their time in this, their world? they have fixed their philosophies, they look inward and justify their lofty goals of domination, how is the weak and powerless underling to respond? how does one live waking up to a world that doesn't recognize his existence? is he to live in the shadows, every breath he takes, every move he makes, unwatched? when will he step into the light of a streetlamp and light a Halloween firecracker that charges up into the sky and explodes, explodes because of him, forcing the head of the elite, the government, the king, to turn in shocked acknowledgment and see it? i must make him feel, myself, not wait for the slow hand of faulty evidence and loopholes and pay-offs and celebrity justice. feelings are feelings, they have nothing to do with thoughts, they are fed with blood. freedom is scary. freedom works both ways. i am not a number.

Tudey grabs Ty by the arm as the horrible cacophony of police sirens and swirling reds add to the confusing visual displays of mechanical mummy noises, vampire bites, pumpkin moans and fake blood littering the city tonight. Lofton's glorious gang, the city police, screechily brake onto the scene, the house that isn't Ty's home anymore, onto the body left as a piece of rotting meat, a lug of weight whose words held so much weight, on the ground where we all dwell. in this town, the police always arrive first, the ambulance comes later.

Ty and Tudey, the two fugitives from life, have an impromptu Halloween adventure racing to the cemetery after one quick pit stop. there is no need for artificial scares, real life has intruded. no need for daring the other to enter the haunted house, the murder has transformed their lovely home into a haunted house. through the gas, the wisps of nothing in the air, the night sky so so black, everything the world so so black, the two make it to a quiet spot at the graveyard. white ghosts fly all around the city, but in this one place, black smoke collects and blankets. Ty searches for a plot of land way on the other side of the field, not close to any other souls, any other tombstones, any pristinely-bought shiny headstones carved immaculately with names and titles, at the edge of the property gate. Ty is ceremony-conductor.

Ty: Lord, we thank you for this moment of peace to fit in our prayer. God, i do not believe, but i believe in evil, i see it with mine own eyes tonight jesus.

Tudey huddles on her knees by the empty square of brown dirt, holding in her sobs by cupping her mouth.

Ty: lord it is not raining right now. these are tears. i cry and Tudey cries, and we cry because we've lived, we've lived long enough to care, but when you care, oh jesus when you care, your blood can't help but to boil, it's been activated, and the blood needs to go somewhere. to my nigga Dry, real name withheld, not able to be known, that's how the city saw him, unknown name, unknown statistic, may you be treated somewhere else that's not here, may you know realness. may you know love. my brother, this affects us deep down, you we heart, our heart is slain, forever crumbling, we cry forever, tattoo tears 4eva, you out, you outta da game, but we never out. i'm fucking fed up. but i am fed with blood. things change now, but they change because i am the agent of change. there is no future, for

I AM THE FUTURE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

with that, Ty takes a pause. then he tears the brown-paper bag holding a carafe of milk and pours the milk onto the unmarked grave with no head.

TO BE CONTINUED...

TMIT: SEX SPECTRUM

this one goes out to Chris Columbus, not the filmmaker, the other guy, the one who discovered that huge chunk of land everyone thought wasn't there after those other guys did, you were my main man for many years, nowadays you're increasingly becoming a controversial, polarizing figure, folks don't know if we should be celebrating you anymore, but at least for now, you're still giving us that day off of school and work, so if only for that i am eternally grateful. i don't work.

colors symbolize different things to different folks. from your life, tell us about an idea, object, or experience related to each of the colors of the spectrum:

1. red: the color of courage, fierceness, fire, boldness, of going out on Sunday (when you're in the lead) and dominating the field on the links, not letting any fucking sand from any fucking sand trap get in your shorts. well it used to. nowadays i find myself increasingly drinking Jack Nicklaus lemonade-iced tea mix.

2. orange: i have a special affinity with orange, it's always the best flavor of anything, whether we're talking about candy or soda or Doritos. the simple joy of peeling an orange with your hands, breathing in the natural toxic fumes, and letting its juice fall on your lips is what being human is all about. i eat oranges in bed, that's what all the stains on my sheets are.

3. yellow: the color of snow.

4. green: the color of money, of which i have none. also the color of luck, of which i have none. i held a four-leaf clover betwixt my thumb and index finger once, but wind came out of me and blew one of the leaves away.

5. blue: i am always blue. i constantly feel small. oh, i get it now, i'm a Smurf, that's why i have such a hard time every morning reaching the keyboard on the computer desk.

6. violet: i have a distrustful relationship with violet cos it sounds like violent. i just can't bring myself to embrace violet. i like grapes fine, but i'm scared of the entire purple spectrum in general. purple is dark and mysterious, it's the color of royalty, of authority, of not being in control of your own life, of relinquishing power, of not owning your agency. also when i was a kid trying to enjoy my first cheeseburger at McDonald's, Grimace busted through the doors and swiped my fries. he had just gotten fired but i didn't know that, i was just a kid. i still look over my shoulder before i eat fries.

bonus: what is the color of sex? the same as the color of cum and the color of the universe itself, both life-giving entities: a kind of creamy, off-white cosmic latte.

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STAND ON END

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NOTE!!!!!: this Off The Air episode is 11 or so minutes long. i know the media player says it's 5 minutes long, but just wait until the end of the first 5 minutes and the next 5 minutes will come on. don't want you missing any of the follicle fantasticness.

thank you, Juli, for the pic! *)

happy halloween

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I AM A MAN: I PLACE MY HAND ON ASPHALT EMBEDDED WITH HOT HISTORY

Dry: i'm tired. i'm so tired. tired all the time. i want to disappear. but i wouldn't know how to by myself.

Ty: what do you think it is? the environment or you?

Dry: not sure if you can divide the two. growing up on these mean streets have made me numb.

Ty: i'm glad they didn't make you mean. no pot for me, thanks, i'm cutting back.

Dry: that's not weed, it's a plant i've been studying. see that huge Mendel book over there? i've been killing time with that.

Ty: coo. that's why you're in such good shape, lugging that thing around in your Dennis Rodman backpack.

Dry: make yourself at home, what's mine is mine and what's yours is mine, especially the sixth Snickers.

Ty: true dat, one love, but please don't bring our esteemed leader into this.

Dry: i'm so tired i feel like dividing into two people, one to sleep so long it challenges Rip Van Winkle, and the other with the energy to escape our lot in life.

Ty: it's not over until it's over. oh, precious pooch!

a dog comes up to Dry gingerly and licks his face ferociously.

Dry: he's a hood dog, he knows to be careful, even with me. but once he sees ya, he sees ya for life.

Ty: what's his name?

Dry: there's a tradition in the African village where we're from. your first pet is unique, you don't name him, you wait until a special new person enters the family and you let that person name your animal. that strengthens the bond between everyone in the village.

Ty: old ways. i'm honored. let me get back to you on that.

the dog pokes his head away. he senses something terrible. it's a hot, sticky Halloween night. the jack-o'-lanterns lining the streets are already jacked.

Tudey: no man's gettin' my stuff till i'm ready. i am in control of my body. my self-worth, my agency, my identity.

Dry starts to cry.

Dry: Moms would be so proud. she's never home but she would be so proud of her offspring. i love her. i love my dog. i love my sister. this is all i've got, all i'll ever have.

Dry wipes away an inky tear from his cheek. he holds his head down in his private space.

Ty: you okay, blood?

Dry: a man should never cry unless it's in public. i wasn't crying, though, i was resting. i'm always tired.

Ty: get your fat ass off the couch and let's get some grub.

Dry: there's a Church's and a Wing Wizard up the block. you like chicken?

Ty: only if there are biscuits. it's not quite the same without fluffy biscuits.

Dry: fluff makes you soft. hardtack makes you hard. Moms prefers we go to Church's, sounds holier. everything else is the Devil's work she says. stick with me, kid, i'll show ya everything. Tudey, guard the house, okay? don't go trick-or-treating until Moms comes home. fuck this place at night. what are you supposed to be anyway? a princess angel spandex swimmer superheroine with a stick?

Tudey: a slut. and i'm holdin' a dildo. just playin', bro, i got this, i'll be careful. fam is bae.

the chicken shack is closed because it's Halloween night in Fancytown and a large section of the city is cordoned off with yellow tape and markers. protest lines are chalked over and erased again with sewer water. the night is heavy with gas emanating from the sewers mixing with the police's tear gas. large shouts, racial slurs, and explosive epithets cloud the clouds in the sky. a full blood moon illuminates the blood below. evil spirits are out and about tonight.

when the two get home, the small shack of a home is darker than usual. the entire neighborhood is pitch black, with only the lonely drone of the sewers to break the eerie silence. it's quiet but not placid. at any moment tension mounts and gets out of hand in this town.

Dry: well that sucks. i'm so famished i could die.

Ty: same old same old. let's get you inside, you don't look good.

Dry: thanks, bro, i got the door. i feel terrible. i need to do something here, man, i can't keep living like this. what do you recommend?

Ty: maybe we should cut back on the chicken. eat better. i dunno, exercise, isn't that what they say?

Dry: as long as you're not talkin' bout Lofton, i feel ya. i need to drink better. see, there's a reason to meet new people, they at least can provide new ways of looking at things. new ways.

Ty: when i was a kid, my moms would talk about the simple beauty of peeling an orange with your hands, biting down on the white skin, and letting the juices refresh your body and soul. eating an orange, it's as simple as that.

Dry: simple ways. did your moms and mine go to the same bingo? i heard dat same thing. i tried it once, doe, and it wasn't for me. the acids and putrid gases which came out of that peeled orange infected my eyes red and made my lips teary. i was thinking about something the other day, i haven't drunk milk since i was a child. that's what i need to do more of. i want to feel healthy again.

Dry takes out a large glass carafe of milk from the fridge. he sits down on the couch and slowly chugs it. his throat sways back and forth savoring the white creamy liquid. he closes his eyes and lets the milk fall down over his lips, down his chin to his shirt. he finishes the full bottle in one swig. his sigh of relief is the biggest sigh of his life.

Dry: what a relief from this world. i feel CLEAR, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

the streets are so hot they are glass. Ty notices something through the black window. the dog is already there.

Dry: i need to exercise. this is what i call ghetto yoga. simple ways. new ways. easy ways. ways of necessity. no fancy mats in Fancytown, simply place your head upside-down on a pillow on the floor and stay there five minutes. let all the blood rush to your head.

the dog barks. Ty is barking. Ty bum-rushes the dog and frenetically unhooks its jaw from the ghost's leg. the ghost is standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, illuminating the black area, the streetlamp is busted. the word "mangy mutt" is voiced vociferously, but it's unclear if it's directed at the dog or Tudey, who is beside the ghost in her high heels.

Ty: come on, Ty, come on, boy, let's get back inside. hurry, i don't want anybody to hurt you.

Dry's eyes widen from the blood to his head. Dry's eyes widen at the scene through the window in front of him. the ghost is talking to his sister. Dry rushes outside without opening the front door. he lunges at the ghost and separates Tudey with the same hand. the ghost's pimp hand blocks.

Ty sees the smoke and the loud bang but his wish is not granted, the neighborhood kids have long ago put away their firecrackers and gone home to count their candy. Dry is unceremoniously thrust back, his head is rushing with blood, gushing with blood.

there isn't the luxury of slow-motion though everything from this point does seem to take an eternity. Ty raises his fists into the air and begins to cry, the biggest cry of his life. his shadow enters the light, he begins to feel emotions he never knew were there, bubbling and seeping through the fossilized embedded layers of his being, spilling out through the sewer grates. a force not his pushes him from the back of his head, a motor propels him off his worn sneakers and lifts him up. he hovers in the sky and his outstretched arms become wings. he rushes to confront the white ghost. he falls on Dry but is too scared to look at Dry's face, he wants to be with him but doesn't want to see him. he's glad that he doesn't see Tudey there anymore. or is the streetlamp busted?

Dry lies on the streets forever.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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TMIT: AMNESIA IS FREEING

memorable sex is not necessarily amazing sex, though amazing sex is certainly memorable---i heard this once whilst meditating, just popped into my head as the soles of my feet touched my cheeks...my face cheeks. i have kicked my own ass before, but that was something different.

memorable: hard to forget
amazing: startlingly impressive

1. what are your top 3 amazing/and or memorable sexual experiences thus far in 2014?: 1) my MMORPG wedding 2) that one time when i was completely alone in my room 3) when i touched my cheeks with my feet.

2. what made the encounters memorable/amazing?: 1) because it turned into an MMORPG orgy 2) i NEVER get the house all to myself, i treasure any peace and solitude i am afforded. 3) i'm not healthy, my body is physically weak, so any exercise i can do to make myself more bendable is an accomplishment. Sting is my inspiration, i want to have sex like he does, for days and days non-stop. my goal is to be in a perpetual state of sex forever.

3. what is memorable and amazing about you? i am constantly tired, my mind is a jumble, but i try each day to make at least one coherent, clever instagram comment to try and put a smile on someone else's face.

bonus: which of the things listed below should be infectious?
a) smiles b) wealth c) laughter d) good health

i know this one, c) laughter, i was an English major in college...

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JUST IN CASE YOU'RE STILL NOT WATCHING ATTACK ON TITAN...

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happy weekend

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I AM A MAN: CERTAIN SYNCOPATION FROM THE NIGHT BEAT

Dry Dream: Fancytown, what an ironic name. everyone frontin' but we the same as everyone else.

Tyrone: you talkin' to me?

Dry Dream: you standin' there aintcha? these raves are lame but it's the only thing in town. connections if nuttin' else, feel?

Tyrone: what's your j-o-b?

Dry: those aren't the connections that matter. name's Dre, but everyone but my moms calls me Dry Dream. i came up with that.

Tyrone: um, Tyrone, yeah, forgot my name for a minute.

Dry: good to visit for a minute. haven't seen you round these woods. transfer?

Ty: nope, born and bred, all my life here in this one little shithole.

Dry: time to get noticed, nobody.

the ravemaster is donned in resplendent garb in the middle of the abandoned auditorium packed with revelers. his shiny coats attempt to outshine the overhead lights. but nothing beats the disco ball. he raises his creaky fingers and a giant golden microphone descends from the smoke. he addresses his flock. one twitch from his lips commands a hush from the room.

Lofton: i am the pimp. can you dig it? i dress as such, because i am the one who demanded the mantle of leadership. this town was fucked but i curbed it. never forget that, my thugs, it was i who ran towards while all of you ran away. you spited me, spit on me with your spite, i'll never forget that, but i told you i'd prove to you that i was the best. i fucking told you. now here we are, my thugs, just like i predicted. no more random gun crime on the streets, instead all the colors are mixed in here dancing instead of shooting. why it brings such a tear to my eye that i'm tired of these white lights, get some rainbow colors up in here, all the colors of the rainbow in this bitch, all of Fancytown in racial harmony under my iron boot. hughhughhugh


there's a delay converting the white light of the club over to rainbow. Lofton's fake smile isn't turned until the disco ball shines rainbow as well.

Lofton: somebody's gettin' fired for that, hughhughhugh. now all the guns are in my possession, my gang has them, and as such, i am infallible, i am the final authority here, but you love me, don't you? i'm a benevolent dictator just like i said i'd be. the proof is in the pudding, and i love me some chocolate pudding.

Lofton hugs tight his black girlfriend dressed in a fur coat. she has afropuffs in her hair.

Lofton: hughhughhugh, sit tight, baby. no worry, folks, it's faux fur, hughhughhugh. less crime, that's all that matters. more fun, that's what life's about, why worry your tiny heads over complicated things like city management and social echelon? be merry, get drunk, and live instead of die. does it matter who's in power? i'm one of you, fam, i party hearty like you do. shit, i throw the greatest parties this dumb town has ever seen, we always strive for a

BIGGER PARTY, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

Lofton: whoo, that was a track! continue raving, folks, don't mind me, but i will leave you with one nugget: i want all of you here, gathered here, collected here, when you think of me, i want one image to pop into all of your minds, in one collective Borg hive-mind thing: I AM LOFTON, I AM THE POLICE.

the crowd has their eyes closed, listening and listening to when the music will start up again.

Lofton: yo, blood. over there, right corner, get the lights for me.

Ty scootches back into the shadows, leaving Dry to get the lights.

rainbow resumes, darkness, flickering, the beats beating up the noise.

Dry: impressions? we can talk now, they're playing indie, not hip-hop anymore, hughhughhugh.

Ty remains silent.

Dry: living in this place before him was a nightmare. everyday, a random killing, even kids were the victims, by which i mean kids killing kids. guns flowed freely here like a deadly waterfall, man. it became impossible to distinguish who was the enemy, which was the good gang, folk just tryin' to go to school to learn about the magic of Mendel, workin' and eatin' at McDonalds, only to get shot in the face when they rang the doorbell to they own house.

Ty: feel. and now the trains run on time.

Dry: yep. don't matter, doe, it's a fait accompli. living here, everyone's just waiting to die, more precisely waiting to get shot. that's why everyone dances the night away, no one cares anymore, it's an unfixable situation, everyone would rather get numb to the music than think about it more. we all riding the ups, there are so few ups, but we know the end of the wave is a slit wrist.

Ty: you aren't buying Lofton's hope?

Dry: keep the change. i believe you can't change your station in life. you are born in a certain setting, with dreadlocks or a beard, a certain race, belonging to a certain tradition, and you are doomed to it.

Ty: or blessed, blessed to be alive. i think life is what matters, not what race you are, what you wish you would have been.

Dry: sorry bout that, my failsafe is self-loathing. i herd dat.

Ty: nigga, you ain't black, you Life.

Dry: hehe. nigga, you ain't about this life.

Ty: with a capital L. neither are you. wanna bounce and get some donuts?

Dry: sure. man today was wack, i had been waiting for weeks to get the new update for my ipad mini but i had forgotten my passcode. i finally remembered the passcode is the same one from my, well whatever, i do it and wait a long-ass time for that thing to download and upload and download again, and now my fucking ipad is slower than before! i mean shit, i have to push on the damn glass three times to get the links to go to that page. i have to update my instagram shit or all dat shit will get erased, all my hard work down the drain. i should have never bothered at all, the old way was better!

Ty: all that work and waiting and anguish just to find out there's no gold at the end of the rainbow. lesson fucking learned. but the old ways aren't always better, it's just a matter of finding the best new way.

Dry: shit, i hate my ipad anyway, can't read anything, the letters are too damn small. can't fucking type anything with my chubby fingers on that microscopic keyboard. and with these new improvements, it's so herky-jerky, so sticky. it sticks. it stinks. you click on a link, and, seriously, i actually saw this, the blue line that goes from left to right to indicate that the page is loading? yeah, that thing started going right, then got cold feet and went back left again, it didn't want to load the page! when it finally is at the page, there's a blank screen, then 5 minutes later you see the page. feel like chucking the thing into the safe streets.

Ty: the struggle is real.

Dry: i was feelin' existential yesterday. i took out the last Snickers from my pack of six and savored the crinkling of the package. i knew if i ate this, i would not have a Snickers for the next day and i'd be fucked. why do they sell them in six-packs? there are seven days in a week! it's the same with beer.

Ty: it's the companies' way of providing for sobriety. i feel ya, except my weakness is Kit Kat. i look at it this way: think about the pleasure of enjoying the candy right then, right now, instead of the future without it. live in the moment.

Dry: hashtag blessed. you need to stop by my crib and philosophize to my sista, she will eat you up.

Ty: she cute? only if she cute.

the two shove each other into the safe sticky stinky streets outside the club. they turn back to see the turnt inside. the back door swings out and in giving an animator's view of Lofton at his high post in the club, herky-jerky pics here and there, this point and that, trying to form a clear view of Lofton's face.

one thing is clear. Lofton is white.

TO BE CONTINUED...