Monday, February 29, 2016


Oscars postgame learned:

* they don't call him Leap-year Leo for nothing.

* Leo's story proves that if you keep plugging away as my dad always used to say, keep struggling, pushing through, against all odds, against all memes, when everything is against you, when it's impossible, when everyone has given up, year after year, disappointment after disappointment, Heisenberg will be defeated.

* come on, humanity, we must see ourselves as one or we will perish. if rock paper scissors can do it............besides, that whole thing where paper defeats rock by covering it is ridiculous.

* i had the greatest pee afterwards. i held in that coffee for five frickin' hours.

* Leo was not middle-fingering the Academy. doesn't everyone hold their things like that?


* i love Rey's tats............Daisy Ridley's star tats on her foot.

* Stacey Dash had to dash.

* i know a real-life Mad Max scenario would be horrifying, but it would also be kinda cool.

* The Force Awakens's new marketing campaign: it's Mad Max: Fury Road in space!

* it was always the three of them, it was always that trio, as far back as you can remember, it was always the good ol' droid gang of C-3PO, R2-D2, and BB-8.

* is Andy Serkis playing Gollum, or is Gollum playing Andy Serkis?

* my hair was like The Weeknd's for the past four months...

* if Captain Planet can't do it, if Al Gore can't do it, if Cigarette Smoking Man can't do it, maybe Leo can save the planet.

* y'know my favorite part of each Oscars is when they show five-second clips of all the foreign and animated shorts and docs. they are always vastly more interesting than the major films. i always see a style of storytelling there i've never seen before. if only i had the time to actually watch all this great indie stuff.

* can't wait to see that new Ali G movie.

* Louis C.K. is everyone's sober uncle.

* Inarritu is jealous of Michael Keaton right now.

* oh, Room, not The Room...

* Saoirse like inertia

* come on, humanity. if Suge Knight and Vanilla Ice can make up...

* Priyanka just broke my twitter.

* next year go for the greatest troll of all time and broadcast the Technical Awards instead.

* what an upset! Leo won!

1. tell us your top 3 flaws and shortcomings: i'm late for dinner, i've never won an Oscar, and i secretly hate baseball.

2. who do you look up to the most professionally? Sasha Grey sexually? Sasha Grey

3. how do you like to be comforted when you're sad or upset? a) hug/acknowledge my struggle/sit quietly with me b) talk therapy/advise/uplift c) leave me the fuck alone/wallow/misery d) work out, be active to distract myself and up the endorphin and dopamine

endorphin and dopamine don't mix, it's like oil and water, oil and vinegar, sandwich and sand, coffee and beer, Hell Dust and iced-tea mix, mania and depression. you start to get into an x-and-shrooms hippie flip situation. this is the advice of my health-care professional. my health-care professional is Dr. Steve Brule.

4. which parent do you identify with the most? Sasha Grey. mom made dinner, dad and i tossed around the baseball once then he was my tennis partner. i love them both with equal passion, i can't choose, that's like asking me to decide between endorphin and dopamine. my serotonin levels are dropping...

bonus: if you had to choose one thing you were most passionate about, what would it be and why? my parents, equally. and i guess i like to write. but i can never find the time to make it good. i wish there were 48 hours in a day. i wish Steph Curry's long shots counted as 4 points. and for my last wish i wish for more wishes. yeah, that's good, that's good, this is gonna be a good story...


Friday, February 26, 2016



* Happy St. Paddy's Day!

* narrator: got your rabbit's foot?
Vault Boy: no. bye.

* narrator: life is fragile.
Vault Boy: in the postapocalyptic world?
narrator: in general. it's a coin flip. go ask Harvey Dent. or Alice.
Vault Boy: in my case, the coin never flipped.

* narrator: luck is a mystery.
Vault Boy: no, it actually makes total sense in this random universe.

* Vault Boy shoots the giant fly in the eye. no effect.
narrator: didn't your mother tell you you catch more flies with honey than bullets?
Vault Boy: is Lady Luck my mom?

* Vault Boy: the magic bullet theory. makes total sense now.

* Vault Boy: oh my glob! i got a shitton of bottlecaps! what are they worth?!
narrator: whatever Alan Greenspan says they're worth.

* a handsome desperado in a cowboy hat and duster valiantly saves Vault Boy's life with his gun.
narrator: well that was lucky.
Vault Boy: not really. that was my father. we're estranged. as you can see, he left again.

* narrator: your misfortune can become someone else's fortune.
Vault Boy: i'm happy for she hot?

* narrator: Vault Boy! the black cat! it crossed your path!
Vault Boy: no, i crossed ITS path. it hissed and ran away like a cat out of hell.


happy Oscars (copyright encircled c)

Wednesday, February 24, 2016


Cotard: what was all a dream?...............................just kidding.

Codrus: you're not far off.

a train comes barreling towards the two seekers. unnatural. with Soul Train bounciness and smoke a new color no one has ever seen before.

Cotard grabs Moby's scope and looks out beyond the horizon into the deepest space. clouds are forming. the sky is the perfect Grey. he checks his watch for the scores:

there are no games being played today

Cotard: i don't need to check the weather. not digitally. i can rely on my Godgiven abilities. my face feels the raindrops before a computer ever could.

you can see the thunder crackling down in trifurcated tridents. the sound of the lightning booms and brays.

Codrus: oh don't bring pops into this. relie is more like it. i will be better. i am different. aren't you sick of waking up each day not knowing what the fuck you're doing? the big questions always swallow up the little ones. chili dog with jalapeno or green hot dog (green cos it's rancid), bowling alley or boudoir, gum or gun, job or joke, purpose or puff. no more. it finally ends here after eons of eternal inefficiency and ineffability. no more shouting at the wind, cursing the clouds, crying cracking till ducts turn to dust and go arid. and the silence, that silence which crushes ear canals and fills them with concrete cerumen. it's enough to make one burn the wood he was created with, shun that scalpel of a whittle, whistle into our coffins and lick the insides of our empty cornhusks when we're done eating, pasting them all over our bodies and replanting ourselves into the soil so that we might be grown again. this time we will get all the answers. mystery is one thing but this is murder. the questions were never meant to be answered until i came along and found the teachers' manual.

Cotard (takes a long breath which rifts into the universe and gives it a much-needed release): few! i need a break. i need to laugh.

Codrus: it's like those infomercials on tv. the annoying ones that replay every break. doesn't it seem like every week there's a new product? that's cos these products have exactly a one-week shelf life. if they don't hook you within that one week it's on to the next thing. all the paper orders turn over and split and the trucks haul something else next week. like your truth, you have it, you make it a product, and it instantly starts to lose value. you crack the truth and it falls and encircles your pan like a runny egg. it coalesces nicely and begins to harden. you smile as you sip up all the yellow gunk. but there was a bit of shell hidden in the white of the egg you never noticed as you downed it. your nose goes runny and you don't know why.

Codrus takes the Willow Curve and applies it around his hamsa. it doesn't work. it doesn't relieve any of his pain.

Willow from the movie Willow pops his head out, takes a look around cutely, surveys and succumbs, sees that his time has come and gone, and with dignity and pride dances out of frame on his own two small feet.

Codrus: relive. that's a good sign. my energy is different.

Cotard: wrong shape. that has to be it. i mean if you can't trust a Ted you must trust a Chuck.

Imzhan takes a piece of uncooked bacon out of his pink case and snaps the case back without noticing he caught his penis in the middle. much pain. Codrus takes out a knife, his Miracle Blade, and halves into a hardboiled egg. the crumbly yellows falls to each side, leaving one half fallow. right down the middle. he gingerly puts the knife into his mouth, where the yellow has stuck on, and tongues it clean. despite his best efforts he ever so slightly nicks his teeth and grazes his throat and he starts bleeding internally. gold. Codrus then plants a crop of wheat and with a wave of his hamsa it turns to oafs of bread. he digs into the bread, burrows a hole inside, and rests. the three praying bums are wondering where the rain is coming from when they first spot the Grand Oak, it was hiding behind the clouds, no, it was hiding in plain sight as a cloud, the top fluffiness forms the leaves and the mighty trunk shows itself in the night sky, massive and metallic and gray.

Codrus: the Grand Oak. i've always had a thing for her. you shall be mine.

Codrus plants a flag in the surface of the new moon. he tries to behold his insignia on it but it can never materialize into any other color but white. no, that's not white, that's that indescribable color, a white mixed with a little black. he looks at his prized possession, the two stone tablets, still wet, the new Commandments, but all of his inscribed laws have been deleted with the click of a button. all that remains is

Error ∞0∞

and punk stone is freedom---Kurdt


Codrus goes for the scope but it's taken. Sid, Glidden, and Rumi are holding it together, silently, invisibly. Codrus closes his eyes and opens them again. inscribed on the bifurcated stone is now just one line that spills across both tablets:


he takes the pole out of the flag and it turns into a penis which he places to his mouth.

Codrus: this microphone isn't phallic, it is in fact my penis. see? no more tricks, just crystal-clear crib notes from now on. i will make reality great again!

Josh Groban snatches the mic before Codrus can bloviate.

Codrus: i prefer command.

Josh Groban: *tap tap* is this thing on? why can't i sing? i can only speak? how ghastly is that! i can't live like this, what's the point of speech if it doesn't eventually become song? 

Codrus: i gave you aphonia, dear boy, everyone knows that. 

Codrus is holding with one hand while drawing lines in the sand with the finger of his other. 

Codrus: H.G. Wells, Big Wars, i got the expansion pack.

the three remove Josh from the divine retribution of Codrus's strangling grip and massage the poor boy's neck back to health, shining his precious pipes with gold oil. they sense the ripples in the atmosphere and guide swaying outer-space rhythms back into their new instruments. they all play their dither instruments, which are a combination of the zither and their dongs. eventually they get the original 


Josh Groban: i love that song. i still can't sing! maybe i just need to give my voice a rest.

at the football field Carl Sagan is explaining the cost-efficiency ratio of the onside kick. he loses his chalk in the grass. Codrus removes Sagan's football helmet and dons it himself.

Codrus: we can't see your face, professor. it's distracting to just hear a voice. only i have a head big enough to befit this helmet. please, go on.

Carl Sagan: what is a catch?

Codrus removes the right pole of the field-goal uprights which were once the moon flagpole. it forms into a trident. Codrus smiles devilishly. the top of the trident is a blivet. he inserts the blivet into his mouth to form his new dentures. he smiles gregariously and shows off his pearly whites. he plays the blivet denture harmonica with his tongue. the bleeding in his gums is gone. nicks nipped.

Codrus: it can't end, i won't let it end. i will temper the tempest of time. secure the sea of space.

Cotard: but mon frere, the ending gives it a beginning. breath is born of burden. it's within the limit that we are able to perceive the unlimited, within limits of course, out there, the truth, always just out of reach, beyond our scratching fingertips. sex is science. the notes leave but the nougat remains. we forget the lyrics but not the feel. music is melody. i was getting tired of that new-age off-beat trash rock with the screaming. deliberately disharmonic and off-kilter, off-rhythm and out of sync. if you're not gonna do something nice do nothing at all. i'm all for guttural, and garage, but not gutter. i crave the simplicity of silence. otherwise it's just one big giant gooseegg we've laid. death describes destiny. life lines love. my coat is catholic with a cut c. the top line is, we are here to be rekt. for all of us there must be a reckoning.

Codrus is about to turn the microphone into his middle finger to give Cotard a universal flick-off but Wolf stops him, putting his hairy palm over the god's finger.

Wolf: ain't nobody tryna see that. that is legit rude, man.

Codrus: i really want to punch you right now.

the two cats crawl up into Cotard's lap, flanking him each side, licking his face to oblivion. MEANWHILE Codrus places Cotard on his lap and spanks him.

Cotard (licking his cats back): my chili homedogs! i love you both! my beautiful kittycats! my beautiful beautiful kittycat family! i give up love of myself so i can give it to you two equally. no, no, don't go over to that multicolored bridge, stay here, always stay here with pop.

Codrus takes out the left pole of the uprights (it's all one pole, just bifurcated), and uses it to repair the broken golden lever of the last train car. the train zooms right into the tunnel.

Fuerza: all my friends are dying. friendless Fuerza. everyone's getting old. it's depressing. sure Monica is monied and Mary is a man, but Nancy broke her noggin and Patricia has pnemonia. i can't visit them all, the roads are blocked. i get so many offers for money. i give to St. Jude's but there are as many cancer charities as atoms. have i done enough? did i give up too soon? i would make the call but the lady on the phone was rude. you waste more energy being nasty than being nice. takes more breaths. Miss Fuerza if you're nasty. where's my food? i slaved over a hot stove all these years, you should feed me now. you can learn a thing or pi from me, mijo.

Codrus: there's a clock on the stove. yes, you were telling me these past two thousand years about the difference between men and women. and the races. and genders. and cultures. and animals. which makes no sense cos we all have the same alien DNA.

Fuerza: it's complicated but we are all different. we must be treated as such.

Cotard: we are all brothers and sisters but i only have one sister. i made the hardboiled eggs for the week and she ate them all on Wednesday. that's a lot of work and i did it to save time. to no avail. but she deserves to eat well. she deserves whatever she desires.

Codrus: can't we all just get on? with it?

Codrus transforms into Oprah Winfrey.

Codrus: wow, this is different. but the same. i have a sudden craving for bread, stress-free bread that i can eat daily and not gain weight. i suddenly care deeply about my weight.

Cotard: you're gonna carry that weight. it's impossible to understand someone if you aren't them. you can't make policies for them. write for them. you can't understand the vile prejudices and sadistic slander they've endured until you take a long sniff of their shoes. outside of the bowling alley. a whiff so hard it's wet.

Codrus: i know, that's why i'm doing this. i'm not doing this for my mental health. i see now. i see how all commercials these days are mildly misandric and anti-white. well who cares?! suck it up! you had centuries to grow and now you're dying. front of house ain't free no mo', privilege has a price that persists.

Codrus frames his face with his two hands forming a curve with his fingers under his chin.

Codrus: this is how women do it, right?

a man in a long studious red robe peers out from the horizon. ascetic and able. his mind is on fire, literally. he has a monk's mustache but a playboy's puss. keeps the dirty jokes to himself and his son. Scorpio scofflaw sexuality. harnessing hormones with homo erectus. made of salt, not clay. he carries the first edition of his book and a typewriter suitcase. he is the Master of the World. he takes one look at Cotard and nods his head. he is gone before Cotard can thank him.

Cotard (under his lips): thanks, dad.

the Grand Oak from whence all blessings flow, as well as the upside-down rain, starts spraying milk. Codrus collects the sacred milk into a baby bottle and forces Cotard to suck it down.

Codrus: look at me when you're sucking. look at my eyes. there, there, baby, pop will take care of everything. you look upon my huge face of presence as a baby does his parent's face, as if it is the very face of God *hahahahahahahahahaha*

Cotard (chugging): i don't care how uncomfortable this is, this milk is SOOOOOOOO good.

the milk turns to red.

Codrus: wine. right on cue.

Cotard: no, darker. soy sauce.

Codrus: got it. i'm multicultural, baby. AZN, right?

Cotard: no, blood. congealed dark blood.

a phoenix flaps its ashing wings, leaving feathers everywhere.

the blood drips alongside Codrus's arm, the side where there should be no vein but there is.

Codrus: ah, it is red. this means i'm an Indian now. i may dispense with the pleasantries and not wear the headdress or do the mouth thing. i'll keep the hatchet though, got some ratchet to cut. i feel their plight, i'm in their feet. something to do with baseball. football. sportsball? know, i think i'll just stick with being Oprah for now, the most powerful being in the universe.

Cigarette Smoking Man (after a puff): take it from the most dangerous being in the universe, what you are doing is folly. the people out there don't believe in God. they believe in Steven Universe.

Codrus: behold! no, seriously, look. look at Moby's final train car with the one triangular step in the back. wha? it's not there anymore, heh heh. what happened to it, heh heh. it's on the back of the train scalding towards you for the past two thousand years.

the wheels on the train do go round and round but they are rimy with frost.

Cotard: that reminds me of a rhyme. the wheels on the bus go round and round. round and round. that's it. round and round, perfect rhyme. perfect round.

Cotard takes a coin minted from 100% the Stones out of his invisible frock and places it on the railroad track.

Cotard: i hate handling money. i can do this cos i'm the richest being in the universe.

the train hits the coin on the track and explodes. but the train reverts and turns into an elephant. the coin turns into a mouse and scares the giant grey powerful pachyderm with the tail in front. the elephant elechants and turns into the Elephant's Trunk Nebula. then the train turns into a tardigrade and the coin turns into a tardigrade and the two butt heads. then they bump uglies.

then the train turns into the Starship Enterprise...

Cotard: where no one has gone before...

Codrus: man, man, not one.

they're in a flying fortress which acts as the stage. the soundstage to a taping of The Cosby Show. the first-season theme plays. the Statue of David is there amongst the tall houseplants, the real David, not a model. David slices himself down the middle leaving only his bottom half. Codrus tries on the Cosby sweater but it itches horribly. rash. hives. hides. Cotard plays Dr. Huxtable's friend from the gym. see, Dr. Huxtable is hiding his potato chips and pudding pops from Clair in his space room downstairs. the Starship Enterprise is a model that hangs on a wire in the room. the contraband is stashed in a compartment that is accessed by opening up the head of the ship. the room is lit with stars.

*canned laughter*

Cotard: i suppose i'll take it. so why are we in this weird room, Dr. Huxtable? and you still owe me ten reps.

Codrus: shhhh, keep it down, man *canned laughter* i'm tryna lose weight here, man. i'm hiding this food from Phylicia Rashad. she still thinks i eat ten rice cakes a day. Ahmad Rashad and i have a deal, as long as i get my food, we're cool, ya catch my drift? *canned laughter*

Cotard: mmm, mmm, mmm, i'm a man of the cloth, but mmm mmm mmm that Lisa Bonet. *whoo! sound* makes me want to pick up a galactic guitar.

Codrus drops to his knees on stage.

Codrus (wearily): i'm losing a lot of blood.

Cotard: see that blood out there? from the tree? that's your blood eviscerating all across the cosmos. *canned laughter*

Cotard opens his mouth and *canned laughter* emits out.

Codrus: when does it stop being funny?

Cotard: you tell me.

Codrus: it doesn't. never will. i answered my own question. people will always need a laugh. no matter what. no matter if it's hearty or heinous.

Codrus collapses in a heap. a pile of puddles.

Codrus (disembodied voice): see? you can never win. who's on that train? it's you, dear Cotard. it was you this whole time. i've won. done like dinner. you were late. you are not steering this train. you are riding it. and you don't know where it is going. you don't know its final destination. the tickets have all been tore up. the train just keeps going going going going. crazy. forever. never stopping. never resting. no explanation, no answers, cos there is no conductor. he's too busy with other matters. rather like hell, or heaven, same thing. as for me on the other side, i have seen the other side. i have seen the other side of the Big Bang. i have seen the end which is the beginning which is the end. admittedly very scary without a time machine. i have created new worlds where there are no humans, just globs of goo with eyes and their brains in their butts. my outer space is green, not black. like the comics. i've invented the blanet, which is a planet with its own blanket to keep warm.

Cotard (trying to ease the tension) (to himself): how very Swedish of you. are you sure you don't mean yanket?

Codrus: the universe is my own etch-a-sketch, it's my puzzle and i have the whimsy puzzle piece that is shaped like the infinity symbol.

Cotard: the key word being like.

Codrus: sure, it's nice when you're riding a train on a warm romantic afternoon and you stick your head out and the breeze nicks your lip and catches your breath. but now you are entering a tunnel. a tunnel of interminable length, width, heighth, soundth, and depth. and that other dimension. you will not reach your terminal. you will ride the black. there is no lightning. this is the fate of you and your old guard. this is you, you in the darkness for all of eternity.


Monday, February 22, 2016


1. how many people do you really trust? see the first pic above. finale tonight! only on Fox (Mulder).

2. what are you excited for? talking to friends again...

3. have you had sex today? .......................................................................................................yes

4. when was the last time you talked to someone until you fell asleep? what relation are they to you? my sleep doctor. he helps me get to sleep. i talked with him all night. until the cock crowed. i need to get a new sleep doctor.

5. what is your opinion on sex before marriage? CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

it's hard. i feel guilty. when you're raised Catholic, you always remain Catholic. even when you stray and your new bible becomes the gold Legend of Zelda NES manual booklet.

bonus: does your present lover know any of your past lovers? how well? see this is the thing when you live in a small village...



Friday, February 19, 2016



* Vault Boy: charisma? i thought you said another word that sounds similar.
narrator: that's disgusting!
Vault Boy: carrom, i thought you said carrom.
narrator: no.
Vault Boy: nok hockey?

* meatball sub: $55
narrator: hey, you have to pay for clean and wholesome.

* that guy deliberately aimed for and hit the mother of the family in that picture with his dart! not cool.

* only Lando Calrissian can do the fingerguns.

* narrator: Vault Boy! don't trade your teddy bear for a fan! you can't love a fan!

* ponytail woman stabs Vault Boy in the eye.
Vault Boy uses charisma.
ponytail woman only stabs him in the hand.

* Vault Boy: what's in that clear jug of alcohol?
ponytail woman: eyes.
Vault Boy (wanting to appear manly in front of ponytail): aye *swigs*

* Vault Boy comes to outside tied to a post and naked.
narrator: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas....................cos there is no more Vegas.

* a big bear approaches naked Vault Boy and licks him.
Vault Boy: okay, this is nice, but this is not the bear i want.

* a dog bites into Vault Boy's bite suit.
Vault Boy: this is not right. this is not how it should be. something's wrong here. you are man's best friend. i am man. or boy....................wait, i got it.
Vault Boy exits and returns with a cone of shame around his neck.

* sing a love song to yourself. nobody else is gonna do it.

* loyalty is hard. buy a gun.


happy weekend

Wednesday, February 17, 2016



a horse rides boldly across the plains, like an oncoming train, proudly defiant as it eyes its target. its love target. no sand colors his legs for long, always on the move. striving.

Cotard: we can live without a map. we must live without a map. but we must have an internal compass.

the horse jumps into Fuerza's arms and licks her like a puppydog, wagging his two tails, shooting white mucus out of his nostrils that had been stopped up in there for eternity. Fuerza's smile beams brighter than it could have alone.

Fuerza: there, there, you're a good boy.

the horse's eyes turn human at this.

Manny the horse: call me Manny. the horse.

Fuerza: you are sadder than The Last Stallion. you, mijo Manny, are the first stallion. well this makes up for you hurting me earlier, mijo.

Cotard: me? what'd I do?! tend to your other son.

Fuerza: you hurt me with your epitaph. i brought you life to save you from pain. i'm jealous of your wife. her voice is so........disembodied.

Cotard: those words hurt more than getting rammed by an oncoming train? i don't remember my wife...

Cotard transforms into a star and meets Fuerza, who's already a star, and they form a bistar in the sky. next to them is another set, a twin star, the eyes of Yayray's grandmama who doesn't speak but her eyes say a thousand things.

Codrus reaches into the last train car and takes ahold of the gold brake. he elides his rough skin and smoothly slides it to the very end other point, to COMPLICATEDNESS.


Codrus: well this is an emergency. i fear no evil, for i am evil. go ahead, old man, give me your worst. or your best. MEANWHILE i see Fuerza in booty shorts, her tramp stamp on the small of her back showing, reading EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY.

Codrus: mom!

Cotard: mom! please act your age.

Fuerza: and what is age, son? i am merely being who i am. at all times. and spaces. i'm modest, i was there when modesty started, i added ONLY, for that's who i am. but there is no shame in nudity, it is as pure as it is original. we must learn to start from the heart and not the head.

the two brothers collectively hang their heads in shame and head on over the fence to a private area where they begin making snow angels in the sand. Cotard steadily makes full wide weightbearing halfcircles while Codrus cheats and whips his triangle point fingers back and forth skittily in a razor-sharp motion.

Cotard: y'know, when i saw my mom outstretch her arms like that for Manny, it reminded me of how terrible i was to my baby sister.

Codrus: you don't mention your sister much. and i know everything about you.

Cotard: therein lies the problem. she's adopted and i was always too busy for her. there was always something more important......which was never important. i feel i subconsciously shunned her because she wasn't my real sister? that's a terrible thing to say, but this is what it means to be human, you are eventually forced into taking a secret, internal clear-eyed accounting of yourself. she grew up a blank slate, and when the prodigal son came back, she had become a woman but was still the girl i had forgotten. she bore the drip of disappointment in her lips, her face was full of abandoned eyes, noxious nose, and she spoke in a foreign tongue. for the first time i was the older generation. when she was a baby she innocently held out her hands to me. it was halloween and for some dim idea i thought it would be funny if i put on a very scary wrinkly skeleton mask with sharp teeth and hollows and said boo. she was terrified and i caused her pain. so much trauma in the world and i was her first. i should have been her brother but i was her bother. the last shard of my heart silently blew away. i changed. i became cold, distant, lonely forever. i had denied the eager humanity in front of me. i don't deserve her friendship now that we're both adults. for she is the only adult here.

a hand remains invisible and Cotard begins to weep inconsolably and it forms the first river of this new moon. Codrus hugs Cotard to no avail.

Codrus: it appears you are inconsolable. and your father?

Cotard: the beautifullest of men. i don't talk about him to spare Fuerza. he will never demise in my eyes, he will delight in his senses, he won't deign but reign his brain, he will sprinkle me with his spirit each morning when i kiss his framed photo and send me from my shackles. before he died, the Unabomber case was hot, or rather cold.

Codrus: Unibomber? that was before my time, but i am eternal so i remember now.

Cotard: yes, he was the Uni bomber, Ted, the professor who become a skewed symbol of what happens when one devotes all his time to academic studies and none to interpersonal fuckings. you gotta get in there, y'know, gotta get down and dirty, gotta leave your tower and get in the mud, gotta live, have fights, be dumb and love someone, lose your mind over somebody, so you don't lose your mind and lose bodies. he struck us especially personally cos we were kinda like him, eggheads with more ego than elegance. at a movie theater dad relayed some advice given to Ted by his Mexican penpal: "a life lived completely alone is not much of a life." or something like that. words to that effect.

Codrus: all effects are special. Ted, what a devilishly disarming name. what are those two long marks along your wrist there as you open your palm over? tried to kill yourself?

Cotard: how could you say such a thing? i thought you knew me. that area of my wrist where the veins are, i'm so sensitive there i don't ever touch it. even in happy times. i would never do such a thing. that was from my cat Kiss. or was it the other one? didn't i tell you this story? don't you know it already? they were playing around with my computer wires again, the frayed brown extension cord with the heavy bulb. my poor cat got caught in the cord and couldn't wriggle free. Kiss woofed and panted and snarled and in trying to get the cat head out, Kiss bit me on my wrist in self-defense. that was the first time i was proud of my blood, so i licked my red wound. it was just two small bitemarks and my tongue was enough of a clotter. the scars are longer than the initial injury. that's the nature of scars. poor kitty, Kiss could only do what Kiss could do. the good news was my cat was free. to freedom.

Codrus: gah! my god do you gawk over these subs. why would you bow down to these troublesome rodent replacements? deign for these dumb animals? i just don't get it.

Cotard: it lies in the heart of family, which is the only not-lie. for all of the wasted time, and timewastes, and wastes of time, and wastes of space, the memeification of memory, and the endless wars which are in fact a necessary good as they are the only proven method of population control, you come across one of your species, not your kind but their kind, that you look up to, not away from. a good new-fashioned good person that is the summus of our simian species. we must confront all the disturbs in our minds lest they become demons. we mustn't cage any thought lest they fester and become feral. light not only disinfects, it dazzles. hate lives in the hidden house. for all the body-modification horror, and not being in control of one's genes, we were able to produce


the concert is being shown on the water circle that Sid, Glidden, and Rumi have created arms outstretched and interlocked they are and they are medipraying. it is the last concert before the prayer circle turns into an infinity symbol.


Cotard: it's good not cos it's good but cos it's not fake. you witness and you know there is a fire that burns inside, one refreshed and grown larger by each 8-shaped glass of water drunk each day. Boxed Water Is Not Better. forget FIJI Water. i'm talking about warter. i'm talking bout tears. from fear. and sweat. from sacrifice. scarifice.

Codrus: huh, pre-internet, when popes were men. the good ol' fashioned days.

Cotard: has being in a female body taught you nothing?

Codrus: it's a slow process. women are foreign to me. now that i see how women think i'm like whoa. turns out all of human history has to be reexamined from the woman's point of view. they lived lives in this life, too.

Cotard: all the colors of the rainbow, that's what light comprises.

the two are finished with their conversation and finished with their snow angels. as expected, Cotard has formed a half-circle in the ground. Codrus's shape is a wedge.

Cotard: music. we have lost the ability to communicate to each other. we talk to, not with. we are too tied to ideals and expectations and looking cool on the internet. do you know what's worse than faking? having to fake. when our words fail us, there is music, the great communicator that spans globes.

Codrus: i shall be composing my first song soon, and it is the first song.

Cotard: praise Jesus. the other one, not you.

Codrus: hey, at least i'm not Yeezus. but music is overrated. if you've heard one melody you've heard them all. there are only so many chord progressions. man is limited. imagine the anthems that could be created if there were more, undiscovered notes. new instruments. muses as far as the eye can't see.

Cotard: oh it is a perfect set-up is it not? we are set up for sure. we are abandoned on earth to fend for ourselves and the only way to represent our struggle is through the soundwaves we produce with our human instrument and instruments. they float up past the clouds, disappear from our discernment, and carry high into space for all of time. do they land on alien ears? never, for we are all one. it's so complicated when you see the pieces but not when you see the whole. and everything is destined to become whole again, round, a circle, a dot on a screen, fall back down to an earthen surface, to the infinitesimally-packed marble of the Big Bang. the infinite was once contained in a circle, the perfect shape. what was there before the Big Bang?

Codrus: the old man. and his rocking chair. on his porch. he was always old. he always had a porch. he always needed to sit. he knew he couldn't handle it all himself. imma cut across his lawn.

Cotard: maybe it's an old woman. she'll be nicer. i think. music is a meritocracy. like sports used to be. sound is colorblind. sound is blind. does it matter if you use a drum or a trash can? if you use a bass or have that bass? is it fish or fishes? or fishies? when British singers sing, they sound American. they lose their accent. for the longest i had no idea Adele was English. i just heard the english.

Codrus: poor Lionel Ritchie, i grew up with him. time flies. and conquers all in the end. and in the end is all that matters.

Cotard: does it matter if "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" is sung by an atheist? does it lose its sting? no, it inspires no matter what. it just has to be sung mightily.

Cotard passes his palm over his heart. his heart turns into the sound hole of a giant guitar in the sky. the two marks on Cotard's wrist, where the sensitive two veins are, become the guitar's fret. he touches that squishy creepy gentle shivering cold clammy disgusting area of bad dreams on his wrist for a soft moment which strums the invisible string of the guitar. the guitar emits a wave that becomes a sound wave that becomes a gravitational wave.

Cotard: musicians are the real prophets. the only ones we listen to anyway. it's like they get it when the politicians and epigones and snake oilmen don't. they're in the streets with us, they say what we want to say but the rest of us have stage fright. sure they can't solve any of the world's problems. sure their songs don't directly speak to you, yourself, your individual set of crises. they speak to humanity. and some aliens. they didn't save you from that overdose, you saved yourself, by buying that record. and of course they all die young cos they only really have the one message that no one is hearing. there's nothing more for them to do, they're not static mathematicians, they understand waves. they're sick of the world truth be told. constantly sick of the world. baffling. unintelligible. yearning. that is their eternal refrain. that is what all their lyrics mean. they want more but there is never enough, it's all been dried up by the sun. they say stupid stuff that sounds better when put to music. when you dive into desire you hit your head on the bottom of the pool and drown. they're angels with bent wings all gathered round for supper.

Codrus: and what a swingin' club that is! i'd love to dine at that table. hello, i'm Adam and i will be your server today. sorry, folks, out of water. we got pies for appetizers and pipes for dessert. my first edict when i become president of reality is the return of the neverending breadbasket. complimentary. oh you humans are a clever bunch, huh? you're getting very close to cracking the riddle, aren't you? do not fear, that was the old riddle. i am the new riddle. and i'm nice 'n' easy. it's just me here. you should have seen your faces when you finally discovered everything there was to discover, when you mastered math and solved space and tempered time. i wish i had a camera. or at least a phone. but there's no one to call. at least i've stored that time in my hernia for safekeeping.

the next concert (which is technically the second-to-last concert) (and what a display of technique!) takes place in the two ovals of the infinity symbol marked in blue with an EX and a WHY:


Sid, Glidden, and Rumi (around the prayer circle): that's what was missing. there's nothing quite like a woman's touch.

Codrus enters the theatre for the second showing and sees Uvula on stage singing, spotlight on her. it's a little cold, the air is getting through his crumbly skin, so Codrus has to pull up the flaps of his bomber jacket around his neck. despite the grand scale of the show with all its complicated moving of large set pieces and getting the timing just right and making sure Uvula doesn't explode when she's flying all around the room hanging on by a tripwire string attached to the diamond ceiling and making sure her poofy hair doesn't get wet when the artificial overhead raindrop sprinklers turn on, the concert goes off without a hitch.

well, there is one thing: the lights don't immediately come back on when the concert ends. Codrus remains in the dark for awhile.

Monday, February 15, 2016


1. in winter does your sexual appetite go on a fast? it's does indeed come fast. it's okay, though, when you lose one appetite the other appetites are enhanced. i'm so hungry right now...

2. what do you do to kick-start your libido when in a sexual slump? CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

3. what is your favorite type of foreplay to receive? as long as it ends in cum, i'm thirsty.

4. mutual masturbation, yes or no? that's the last line you fill out in the eharmony application.

what is your technique? look lovingly into her soul-windows with my smoldering gaze...

5. do you give your lover a massage? how often/ how long? as long as it takes. she gets the yoni, i usually opt for the temple massage. my head is constantly pounding.

6. do you give or receive more massages? i like to use needles...

BONUS: if a clone was made of you, would you have sex with it? what would you do first? yes, that is the motivation behind every scientific discovery man has ever achieved. the internet was supposed to be for information. i would take off my stovepipe hat, tip it, and introduce myself to Phoenix A1 as Phoenix Prime. then we would go see Dirty Grandpa.


Friday, February 12, 2016


Valentine's Day learned:

* did you know that Baby New Year is related to Cupid? that's not true but it sounds like something that could be true.

* Venus, Cupid's mother: hey! what are you doing with those sharp arrows?! you could hurt yourself. gimme those! *confiscates Cupid's quiver*
Cupid (crying): WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH stop treating me like a baby!!!


* now THAT's commitment.

* the man puts out the fire in the fireplace.
man: what? you said you wanted to be with a fireman.

* the man takes a red bracelet box out his ass.
man: what's this?
woman: i don't know.
man: i don't know either.

* woman: how'd you know?
man: i listen.
woman: what's my name?
man: what?

* man: let's see if it fits.
woman: *tries on the spoon* it doesn't fit.
man: you must acquit...............sorry, that's back in the air again.

* woman: what are all the red pieces in this cake?
man: blood.

* woman (on the phone): mom? he got me a spoon!
man: sorry i slept with your mom.



* if one or both of you are furries, this is a very different experience.

* we endorse Bernie Sanders not cos he's from Vermont. we endorse Bernie Sanders cos we demand revolution.

* 4 1/2 inches, i mean, feet

* narrator: guys, face it, flowers die.
goth couple: dead flowers are romantic.

* narrator: chocolates get stale...
Phoenix: my penis is shaped like an unwrapped Toblerone.

* narrator: guys, she's gonna ask you if she's fat. you do not want to go there. instead, just say that she's not as big as the teddy bear.

* woman: the teddy bear and i are eloping.
man: announced elopements lose a bit of their power. what happened? i thought we had something.
woman: thank you for the teddy bear, honey. when you weren't around, i spooned with the teddy bear and thought of the teddy bear, not you. i am sorry but i'm leaving you. the teddy bear and i are running away together.
teddy bear: do i get a say in all this?

* woman: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! honey, i told you i was ursaphobic!!!
man: i thought you said nymphomanic.


have a sticky weekend. i love you all.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016


Binny (holding up her ipad mini): the thing about this life all eventually fades away....
Rumi: what's that say on your insta? nice tits?
Binny (scrollin'): nice tats. which is strange cos i don't have any.
Rumi: tattoos?
Binny: breasts.
Rumi hugs Binny in time. Binny tries for the kiss also.
Rumi: after all our accomplishment, cancer remains a mystery, coming in like an unwanted shower to sweep away our boldest and brightest. to think it all starts with a cough.

Codrus: not anymore.
Codrus has grown to be a giant. Sid can only take the measure of the man in space.
Sid: fe fi fo fum
Codrus: that's racist. or the other one. i'm an Amazon. resist the rasist in you. we must all be better. bigger.
Codrus removes his Abraham Lincoln hat and places it by his statuesque side as a memorial. he takes the tiara off his stone sister and places it regally upon his head.
Codrus: beyond human. unlabelable. evolved out of evolution. new for the first time in herstory. behold! the night mare! as foretold in the only book left.
Codrus begins sniffing up his nose white planets, star systems, holes in the universe. comet trails are left on his nostril sides like mucus. he never breathes out, only in. it makes a sound of a horn call to arms. a warning.

a majestic steed gallops its way across the galaxy. there are no end to ends anymore, so it gallops forelegs through space and hindlegs through time. from one angle it's on fire, the other, ice. it has that look of nobility, of finality, of carrying out a mission, it was bred for this, it bears its bearing in its flaring nostrils as it huffs its way toward the apocalypse, this current one anyway, bearing down on poor Quinny in its path. at the last moment Glidden saves Quinny, grabbing her by the shoulder, pulling on her aside, taking her one side, preventing her from being trampled.

Quinny kisses Glidden. in the mouth.
Quinny: almost got punched in the mouf. canned. cammed. my hero! so whaddaya say, old boy? i don't have much time left.
Glidden makes the Neil deGrasse Tyson motion.
Quinny: i see. yeah, it wouldn't work out. you're not on my level.
the two smile at each other, clearly for the last time, and give each other indian burns.
Glidden: not into girls. not into anything anymore.
Quinny: emo or asexual?
Glidden: why must everything be about sex? why can't i just be sick? yeah, people think that but this isn't makeup, i'm just light-skinned. HEY BIG MAN UPSTAIRS IN SPACE! i can do animals, too.

a BMX bike wheels itself to the surface from the other side and peeks his handlebars face at the scene. he takes a long hard look at what's in front of him. he can't see everything beyond the peak he's on but he sees enough. disillusioned at the space where the horse was, the bike wheels himself backwards, his handlebars hanging so low they act like a kickstand. he doesn't have the will to ascend the hill, instead he quietly retreats, so softly his tires make no tracks on the surface. if you look closely, which is impossible in this light, you can see a small down crack in the V of the handlebars.

the BMX bike: the thrill is gone..................................................................................................

Glidden transforms into a murder of crows that flies to the sand planet, the last planet, and then into a wedge of pink swans which begin to form a circle...

Codrus: ah, my horse. i will not name you, that would limit you. i will not mount you, that would stain you. somehow. you have no color, you are progressive. but i will say you were better than the first horse i made. that was a starter horse. no good. weird. bucked its master. the prototype rarely works out, that's why you must always replace it, and replace the replacement.

a glue monster spews itself to form from the moon crater.

Bump (holding a red ball): tell me about it. do not fear, it's me, Bump! is there something i should know? don't stuff the box, give me time.

Kobe Bryant: yeah, give me space. space to see my winning personality. you only saw one side on the court, where i created space for my shot. see my smart. see my funny. see my lingual. you like me now, huh? it always works out that way. as long as you live long enough. life is not a numbers game.

Codrus transforms into a giant Hilary just to cast her shadow over Bump.

Bump: that's just cruel, boss. after all i was loyal to yous. you can't hate your way to success. it eventually just burns you up.

steam inhales Bump back down the crater. the steam pushes Kobe out into the stars.

the horse rams its way to the Center, sacrificing itself to the ever-increasing altar of Fireball that's becoming less and less sky. still no explosion though. no grand. no Big Bang, this current one anyway.

Codrus: what does it take to start over?

Cotard: that's horrible. that's one thing i will not abide. animal abuse is not art. how could you be so callous? have you forgotten your animality? i like my gods to pass their primality test.

Codrus: now there are no more messy prime numbers. everything makes sense. oh it's just doing its job, a loyal mountless soldier, equestrian equanimity. why do you care so much?

Cotard: horseracing is a crime. the sins we have committed in the name of pleasure. just cos we were top dog. and we never had a cat.

the last train car is making its presence known bigger writ on the sky. it sits there like a stone but it does not thud, its oven burns brightly and is becoming the only light in the galaxy. Fuerza hangs her big butt on the open window of it, warming her bresciani socks by the pizza fire. the calluses are burnt off her feet. it's hard to discern but the darkness is slightly overpowering the light. Fuerza's yellow mixes with the blue to form natural green. Codrus's red mixes with the blue to form violent.

Codrus: civil war is so uncivil. why not combine our differences?

Cotard: be careful, mama. hey how did you enter that thing? there seems to be no front door. no entrance.

Codrus: yes, Mama, i need to speak to the man of the house.

Fuerza: that's sexist. he's right here under my skirt.

Moby emerges from inside the coal caboose after a sucking sound.

Moby: ah, ahem, yes. what would you like to know my good and bad man?

Codrus: i don't know how you're doing it but i still can't access your car. the train yes but not your specific car. what's driving that thing? forcefield?

Moby: forcefield he says with a straight face. do you know how much energy that would take to maintain? even free energy has a price.

Moby: you can see inside my coal chamber if not be inside it, which is enough. this oven provides the energy of the multiverse. my job is lonely but lovely, vicious yet vital. i am solely responsible for shoveling coal into this thing. hourly. if i slack off, everything turns to nothing. i've seen nothing, it's not a pretty sight. i can't take a sick day.

Cotard: what's the coals?

Moby: they used to be plentiful in the universe. you could fly right up to a fluffy star trail and pluck them out. they lined all the rainbow roads. but then man was born and fucked everything up. last i heard the stones normally floating around space were being harvested and painted with tin gold flaking by a cheap hand.

everyone looks at Codrus who gives the deGrasse hands-up.

Cotard: what's that switch?

Codrus: my, shiny.

Moby: this here is the golden lever. made of real gold. there are but two positions: SIMPLICITY and COMPLICATEDNESS. i keep it in the middle mostly. each morning i pop my head out the window and pop open my telescope to take stock of the stars...

Codrus: nice scope. see how the winds are prevailing. thanks, it's telescopic, telephoto, and eidetic. most importantly it's long. i'm entrusted with keeping things balanced, even-keel. it can't be too complicated out there that it's unsolvable, yet it is ultimately simple. the clues are the ones hard to decipher, that's the key on Mabel's sweater.

Moby looks out and waves at Tob on Tob's planet who waves back.

Codrus: why do anything? did the old man put you up to this? he's so lazy, always napping when you need him the most. so forgetful in his old age. he's the standard starving artist who finally eats some bread. he's the creator who ends up destroying his own franchise out of ennui, contracting out the homework that needs to be done. always do your homework or you won't be prepared for the changes. you must never be caught flatfooted. change your socks. he's Chris Carter.

Cotard: hey.

Codrus: alright, alright, let's just see how it ends.

Fuerza: let me touch your stick, mijo, after all i touched your stick.

Moby (exasperated): NO WAIT! ONLY I CAN TOUCH MY STICK!

Fuerza handles the lever up and down and turns it to SIMPLICITY.



it's funny how when things are coming to a head, things get shorter.

Sid, Glidden, and Rumi are engulfed in fire, by their own heads. the acid rain falls down on them and combusts.

the circle strengthens, it's not just a surface circle anymore. Sid, Glidden, and Rumi cry out in pain equidistant from each other, forefinger and thumb clasped, only breathing out. calmly. in rhythm. eyes closed. edges of the universe start to quiver again. the swans in the middle of the circle scatter away as waves begin to form. it's looking like home again. small flames appear above the heads of the three spiritual surfers.

Moby: music. when you can't think of a joke, music.

Sid, Glidden, and Rumi: something's missing.

Cotard: you're right. i've been missing my music. chants aren't enough. i've been missing being funny.

breadcrumbs thrown by Codrus.

Codrus (laughs): so easy.

breadcrumbs enter the center of the circle and bring the swans back in as they lose their grace and fight for dominance over who gets the bigger piece.

Codrus laughs. internally this time. he pictures in his heart, located in his head, his finger twirling, and the backwards rain is made right again. and made acid from his yellow drips.

Codrus: and it was good. i'm seeing it. now to fix the twirling of the universe. there's gotta be a better shape than swirl.

the three bums begin singing. their voiceboxes grow heavy with vibration created anew in the void. their boxes outweigh the boxes they are in. the power of the group. they form the first harmony. as they sing, rain emerges from within their prayer circle, rain that falls upwards. plain rain.

Monday, February 8, 2016


you don't have to be lonely this Valentine's Day. join an orgy.

postgame learned:


* if you're dealing with opioids, you have much bigger problems than the bathroom. don't you guys watch Dr. Drew?

* the turf was green, slippery, and made of kryptonite.

* who was that woman who sang the National Anthem so gorgeously?

* "before the National Anthem's over, it's already 14-0 Panthers..."

* Cam didn't go into that pile cos that's not what Superman does. that's more what Batman does.

* the Commercials weren't weird this year, you're just in the weird part of youtube.

* if they wanted to go hard, it should have been Radiohead.

* Beyonce didn't almost fall, she created a new dance move right before our eyes. bow down to your Queen.

* once again the Super Bowl Halftime Show continues the tradition of strange musical combinations that somehow work. Marilyn Manson is joining One Direction as Zayn's permanent replacement. reached for comment, Marilyn Manson wasn't coherent.


* every living thing likes Doritos...

* Peyton: one decision i will make right now is to have a Budweiser..........................i'm so happy i'll even let that idiot kicker from the Colts get liquored up with me.

* Eli be like damn you big brother.

1. list 3 benefits of living with your significant other: i don't have to cook, we just eat out, we're always there for each other even when it seems she's invisible, and we can read each other's minds, or maybe i'm hearing voices.

2. have you ever reunited with a past lover and begun a relationship? was it as friends or lovers? reunited and it feels so moderate. platonic love is the noblest of loves. i never get the "just friends" part, being friends is the best. being friends is its own benefit. a friend in need is when you see that friend. remaining friends with your exes is important, they're there to give you advice on your next relationship.

3. do you think someone is more sexy if they regularly read books or regularly work out at the gym? need both. brains and brawn. no pain, no gain. Crime and Punishment is leg day, the Bible is a marathon you'll never complete, and Infinite Jest is tennis, anyone?

4. how likely you think it is that your marriage will end in divorce? π

5. who has more power in your love/romantic relationship, you or your partner? i'm a power bottom, which seems like a contradiction in terms.

bonus: describe the best Valentine's Day you ever had. i was covered in chocolate and eaten by a giant bear.


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.