Stinky Drips Part 4

*Hubris walks out onto his balcony, looks up, sees nothing but cleanliness and smells nothing but Toronto's semi clean air. He sighs a great sigh*

Thank You.

The American in Me

Because there really is some kicking around in there.
I find it weird how one can change so much from where they started and yet still be attracted by those parts of early life. Fighter jets for example. I used to be totally enthralled with everything about them when I was a child. I wanted to fly them. Use them like a roller coaster. Flying around the world to support the noble decisions of the United States Government. Quite a lot is different now that I am conscious of the reality of war - or worse, a career in operating a machine of war.

For me, firearms are no different than those jets. They look neat. I find them fun to use for the practice of sharpshooting. But they are very powerful. Not like the varying power that spews forth from the different types of weapons, but rather the kind of power something retains on its own - without human contact. Like fire. Or the oceans. A power that must be inherently respected. I do not believe in aiming such power at people. I know many people feel otherwise and thereby decreasing my life expectancy for such situations but honestly, I just might rather die than face a time when I steal the life from another human - bad or good. I see no justification. Only extermination.

Hunting for food is okay with me. For the record. Michigan's dept. of natural resources is fairly reasonable about animal hunting and population control.

Anyway... Shooting. Tons of Americans love to shoot things. Its a hobby. Some of the more decent folks out there prefer inanimate objects as there target. Like me :) And like my oldest niece. She's only 17 years old but good christ, can she work a 12 gauge. Check this shit out (said the proud uncle)



Don't ask about the Star of David around her neck. It is strictly ornamental. Dangerous looking no? I'd cast her in an action movie for sure.

When I got home today, I looked out my windows to see nothing. Void. White noise. I knew that nearly the entire city can be seen and yet it isn't there. My outside world has become something of an ambient radio show about the city. This is an unexpected occurrence. Not because I can't grasp the concept of zero visibility when there is this much moisture in the air, but I simply never thought about it before from up here. The most interesting thing about it is its beauty.

It makes me want to hear nothing just for a while again. Pure silence. When was the last time you heard nothing?

33

(Chapter One)


Have you ever started your day dreaming about work? You go to bed right on time most nights thinking you're being responsible for yourself. Seven hours at least. That's not too bad is it? Sleep well. All except for that last part where you drag yourself out of bed, to bathe, to transit, to work. Right as you get to the door, on time and clean, you snap out of slumber by the sound of your alarm nailing its way into your skull. It was a fucking dream. You now have to do this twice in a row on the same day. Its not even worth bitching out loud to yourself about it. You just fall from bed with a groan.

So that one could be at least two or three times in a lunar cycle. What about the others? Are there others? Times when you wake up late because seconds ago, some man in a business suit wearing his face upside down informs you that you accidentally shut off your snooze three hours ago. Just try to explain that when you finally get to work. How about the one where you come out of the subway to find everyone on the street floating along and dragging the tips of their toes? Or another when you were a teacher with a class of noisy disobedient children and they all had wheels instead of hands and feet. You order them for the last time to quite down before someone gets shot right as you get hit in the face with a spitball. Impatiently, you lower the barrel of a pistol grip shotgun and go to work causing the kids to scream far louder as their wheeled extremities clumsily roll, slip, slide and topple onto each other trying to escape the massacre.

There really are people out there like this. No rest. Like every dream you have ever had felt like a highly distorted state of full consciousness. Like your body literally cannot register that sleep and rest happened the night before. Technically never sleeping. Just slowly dwindling and fading that (usually) hard line between reality and subconscious fiction. It can drive one to desperate measures for sure. It can write volumes of terror for the one afflicted. This is just such a tale. Well, not a tale so much as an account of what took place in our subject's head. It isn't even fair to call it fiction. It is as real to him as the waking world. Jerome Trendt. That was his name. He moved in down the hall three moths ago. He was a virtually a drone in the customer service department of a large bank in the financial district. Six days a week. Fifteen smoke breaks per day, along with four hundred telephone calls and three thousand emails. It seemed ridiculously unfair to him to be expected to put up with the mundane life that awaited him at work after traveling the wildest corners of his imagination. You see, for him, it wasn't the subconscious he feared. It was his own imagination. Creativity for good but mostly ill ran rampant through Jerome's sleep and any attempts cause a change toward a healthier slumber were barely effective if at all.

How long would you give yourself? Months? Years?

Masks

Many more to come...

no current works or rants to speak of at this time.

Thanks for watching

Happy Halloween HNT

So I like to make masks all of a sudden. This is the second one I have made & I now plan to make many others over the years. Maybe even once per year.

Maybe not.. I have a fun idea...

HHHNT