Mr. Roark – nazi scientist, Gestapo interrogation and psyop expert … https://youtu.be/fTJCfbllDgs?t=1849
becoming a minister …
Les Miserables, in the park: now playing, Portland … Seattle? – soon … Ferrari of Seattle is still selling Ferrari
it will be worse for us, than for the Romans, when the collapse hits …
defining “collapse” merely in terms of electricity is funny …
great ideas defy critics and the state – like “space travel”. are black markets stronger than the state?
For things that are feasible?
Regulation FOLLOWS the market …
GRESHAM’s LAW : bad money chase out good money … and counterfeiting …
“How do you become wise? … fuck up a LOT … don’t die.”
“On the road to Damascus, I found a joint.” – Dr. Freckles … God is kind.
you have to breed turtles with tigers …
a tiger, with a shell … nearly bullet proof …
Could you imagine building a cringe out of glee?
Can you see the monkey tribes?
Did the last king of Minneapolis leave you starving in a cage, drowning, sinking, slowly beneath the waves?
Are you going to be a go-getter, and set the world on fire?
Do you have asbestos soup?
I’m gonna have to change out my mold harvesters …
been growing black and green and yellow and red mold …
but purple mold is big now … for fun “on the go” sports drinks, for young people that think there’s gonna be a Christmas this year … but December will be cancelled.
“What kind of dlimbus is that?”
“That? shit, that’s munkit meat …”
“Where you get that?”
“From Hal, down by the Chevron station …”
“You mean the one that sells stringous-juice and horse-pie?”
“So what’s munkit meat again?”
“Shit … nobody knows.”
when the black clad freaks come for me?
I’ll be chasing down the viper kings of Houston …
when the frunkis-butt-heads of Soongo come for me?
I’ll be smoking meth and drinking battery acid and tied to a horse filled with dynamite
when death comes for me?
I’ll set a claymore
All gronkis lords …
report to redoubt 12 …
feed the liger army the toasted goodies of dead things you found yesterday on your walk by the Duwamish …
ensure the commie-dundis-folk of the UW are covered in fecal juices, as they are wont to be …
And #seattle becomes GOG.
there was a language we spoke, and it arose before “no” …
there was a language we knew, as children, and it existed before “maybe” …
there were words, barely in sight, not nearly on the surface nor well lit …
dusky chunks of youth …
a time of words which would play
“I am a winner.”
I say it, like a prayer to the rat monks of lower Queen Anne …
“I am a winner.”
I say that to the bus driver, not knowing what dirty looks I might get
“I am a winner.”
I speak to the old hounds that congregate on Jefferson, near where that dude was killed.
I was born of ape and muskrat …
I was carried to the great waters of Noorb, and anointed leader of the Oolongit tribes of eastern Ballard …
Torbis, the priest of Xax? – he showed me the lights that would glow … he showed me the musky taverns filled with old stale drunks.
“I formed 8 committees before I was two.”
– Dr. Freckles, Lord of Committees
Most people agree, my view of #Seattle is casually nice …
you want a roll top desk too?
you think you’re gonna skate by the vodka billionaires, as they toss acid at your face?
why don’t you find a bag and fill it with rocks, and find a commie and tune up that mother fucker?
Because the street freaks feed on baloney and dog rice
in an age of puritanical blue bot cowboys …
scarred by years of SWAT and CHIPS and Hill Street Blues … and other stories of how a man can be sent to the dungeon and raped and beaten on for 20 years because maybe he smoked some reefer in the club?
You seeing the angels yet?
“Yeah man …”
“You hear about old Vrunkal?”
“Vrunk? That old gypsy?”
“Yeah, you hear?”
“Nah … what?”
“He was working down by the #Seattle center, digging holes … some duded tossed him into the protein recovery truck …”
“He’s taco meat by now.”
ALL PROTEIN CUBES WILL BE ENHANCED WITH MICRONUTRIENTS MINED FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE DUWAMISH RIVER.
ALL WATER WILL NOW BE RECYCLED FROM YOUR NEIGHBOR’S TOILET.
ALL LOVE WILL BE SOLD AT THE CHEVRON STATION, NEXT TO THE CANS OF NALLEY’S CHILI.
ALL HAIL #SEATTLE.
“I was meant to be the LAST of the Klungous-Lords, not the first?”
“Son, if the Lord of Ballard doesn’t have his flesh-contract, he’ll split the city in two …”
“THEN LET #SEATTLE BURN!”
(Old Klagg, first over-holder of plimbous, swore he would never trigger the fusion bomb)
A CDS, with credit event declared, is the new “o-face”.
“You were on watch, what did ya see?”
“Come on Glimm, you and I are old friends from the spungous-farms …”
“I DIDN’T SEE NOTHING …”
(Glimm, looking sadly through the porthole of his living unit, staring into the bleak #Seattle nothingness)
“… just pain.”
By the year 2034?
I will have already built a home made of creosote and old cinder blocks and rebar and chunks of whale bone …
By 2036 …
I will have forged my first sword made of titanium and pain …
By 2037 …
I will marry 8 wives, and fertilize them with love oils.
A conversation from 2029 …
“Yeah Cindy …”
“Mel … I’m thinking of moving …”
“Mel … I’m thinking of moving to Bellingham …”
“THERE AIN’T NO FUCKING BELLINGHAM NO MORE!”
“I hear things …”
“What the fuck do you hear?”
“I hear the commies have died, it’s safe to return.”
I think it’s ok to conceptualize eating squirrel …
I think it’s ok to abstract out rat-stew ..
I think people should meditate on the proteins and oils that can be gleaned from the nasty sidewalks of this dark and wretched ho-dom … a land of whorish delights, and real estate
“How much for that car?”
“That car flies …”
“HOW MUCH FOR THAT FUCKING CAR?”
“That car flies, and has 2 x 4.5 mega watt rail guns …”
“MOTHER FUCKER! HOW MUCH FOR THAT DAMN CAR?!?”
“It has stereo … hi fidelity”
(Trangis, just released from the memory jail, beats him)
The Seattle greases call out like a thirsty bitch filled with old beer and cigarettes and whatever tampon nightmare is sticking to the walls of that moldy old lady’s room …
You can smell #Seattle now … like a dead whore down by the Duwamish …
You can hear her, like flies.
Skankus, was meant to be commissioned as the prince of impossibility …
Drumpis would splay out NYC before the Atlantic council, and the 4th bishop of Marseilles would speak in riddles …
But porcupine dreams can’t keep these mother fuckers from their water ski homeland.
“… get down …”
“… get down man, they shooting ho-balls …”
(ho balls are fiber glass projectiles that contain stomach spiders that eat you from the inside out and leave you writhing and swearing and pissing your pants as the sky turns black, red)
pharma grade no laxatives cocaine …
(I’m thinking I need to step up to flavor country)
by 2045, I will have been ruler of #Seattle for 12 years …
many busty whores will lay themselves out for me …
the kings of Vancouver and Spokane will do my bidding …
I will harvest the ape meat and feed upon orca flesh and drink scorpion wine by the bay …
I’m seeing so many commie freaks now, and gronkis lords, and mask-head-unicycle-pony-boy-surfers …
and most of them do meth down by the overpass …
and that’s where they end up dying … broken up by their own miserable desire for one last bloody night of revenge and turmoil
“I AM GENERAL HRAGG!”
“Yes you are …”
“I AM RULER OF DEATH ZONE 72 …”
“The coolest death zone Sire …”
“I FEAST FIRST UPON THE WILD FRENCH BULLDOG MEAT!”
“You get the frenchie first, you sure do …”
(the general’s sadness could not be broached by no fucking bullshit)
On my trip today, a dude was screaming at me …
This happened …
At the bus stop near Union and 23rd … he just kept screaming “I DON’T SEE NO BLACK PEOPLE!”
And I just stood there … no mask, staring into the distance waiting for my fucking bus.
And he looked at me …
“Lay back, take it easy …”
SKY-VOX 3345 would speak from super loud mega phones …
It screamed in the night “TAKE IT FUCKING EASY!”
But we didn’t take it easy …
We didn’t take it lying down …
We built a trebuchet, and loaded it with tannerite and frenchie shit …
We launched volleys …
We drank the wine of victory.
I was a whisky fisherman …
I foraged for grapes and crabs and squirmy things … down by the marsh.
I was chased by coyotes, before it was cool.
I was leader of the glingen-hunt, I shaved the walrus for 50 bucks …
And yet #Seattle is still a boil, and I the lance man?
“What’s that, over there?”
“That’s a sklunket … fucking mutant frog-ape-raccoon … they live under the cars …”
“under the cars?”
“That’s how they hunt …”
“welcome to #Seattle fucker …”
(a conversation from 2033)
“But that’s gross …”
“IT’S FOOD YOU HARLOT!”
“… don’t say it like that …”
“I love you baby …”
“You gonna let me eat some of that rat stew?”
“I made it for your birthday …”
“I love you honey.”
(a conversation from 2025, #Seattle, Belltown)