Sunday, April 09, 2006

Flee from me, Keepers of the Gloom...These Things are clear to all, from time to time...

John Steinbeck was a master because he was able to capture the gritty realism of conventional hardships without coming off as pretentious or preachy, nor making any moral judgements, more of the penultimate journalist... so true is the last page of 'Of Mice and Men', let alone Grapes, yes, like I said, when George blows Lennie's brains out with the .22 pistol, making sure Lennie's last moments alive were happy, with furry rabbits and all... I mention this again, because 'hats off', 'hats off', I've identified the perfect recipe of frequencies to create the perfect living hell. Based upon the basic theory of relativity, it can be replicated infinitely, in a multitude of manners, so insidious, yet not so clever as to go along the lines of 'suffering is comfort in disguise' or other self protective mechanisms of the mind that takes the burden caused by one's own doing, and implants it upon the uncontrollable events of external affairs, letting the wind take you anywhere and nowhere... I've identified this magnificently torturous recipe for a living hell where there is no benefit... now, you must know relative depravity, and feel it, and know that it means far more than anything physical, as you know that physical pain can reduce the most virtuous man into a ravenous malicious invalid... i've identified after 28 years, a species of hellhounds that the english language cannot describe sufficiently... i've identified this configuration of dry tears because I'm in it.

They ask no quarter. The pain, the pain without quarter. They ask no quarter. The dogs of doom are howling more!

3 Comments:

At 1:11 AM, Anonymous goldman_sac said...

steinbeck = human multiunit theory. One cannot understand the organism without knowing the context in which the organism lives. Novelists these days are too chickenshit to roll the tortilla flats. They just watch CNN I guess. Or make shit up (Candace bushnell = purveyor of doom)some chick I did not know well (aged 39) offed herself on Friday. Why? The absence of hope. The numbness of consciousness or whatever. She felt NOTHING, basically. So folks like us (born in 77 I assume, as was I) we like to bitch, but as long as we’re bitching, we’re probably okay. Right? Goddamn right.

 
At 11:23 AM, Anonymous LOCKHEED said...

Felt Nothing though, so it was a coin toss if she lived or died. Yes, born in 77. 'as long as we're bitching, we're probably okay...' I agree to an extent. But being ignorant and unaware that there are some damned awful things attacking you, sometimes, seems less burdensome, and in a way, feels okay.

 
At 9:09 PM, Anonymous gs said...

you're to fucking smart for your own fucking good. go kill a few more trillion cells. bliss =

 

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