--text in ( ) excerpt from Homozapiens by Victor Pelevin--
(changes in the image produced by various techno-modifications can be correlated with a virtual psychological process in which the observer is forced to switch her attention from one event to another and select the most interesting content from what's taking place, that is to manage her own attention as the makers of the program manage it. The psychological process creates its own virtual subject which for the duration, exists in place of the individual, fitting into his or her consciousness like a hand in a rubber glove. What's taking place can appropriately be called "the experience of collective non-existence" since the virtual subject that replaces the viewer's actual consciousness is absolutely non-existent.)


your crooked teeth are fine to eat, are fine to greet with.
but your crooked stare, that's where "aware" goes from here to where there's glare.
look at me when i say
hi, how are ya
hi, how ya doing
hi,
you look fantastic
you look amazing
you look beautiful

but where's your person?

(assuming the condition of homozapiens, the viewer becomes a remotely controlled program)

words, once let loose by my lips, go unused by your cortical tissue.
they float away in defeat through a sky now replete with the signals that keep you refreshing your feed.
bye!

the girl exists in places where electric friends and vacant stares feel human.
i visit almost every day but "here", i thought "is my escape" assuming

she'd be a person, you'd be a person

well, just be a person
be a person
be a person
be a person
be a person
be a person 
be a person
be a person
just be a person

Dinner With a Homozapien

you’ll start a name brand revival
i’ll keep my off-brand survival
and in this grand brand-colloidal
life we’ll mean nothing at all

things will outlive us though living
isn’t a thing things are willing
to think on and their misgivings 
about our survival are sound

feathery,
wispy things.
paper man. plastic tag
reads 
“new and improved”

you’ll start a…
at some point you’ll have to 
stop

the thought of a will in something
inanimate is funny.
none of us saw this coming 
as
little babies

Dramaticon (Peter Banning)

nothing works
pieces fade

i've lost years of my life like i lose parts of the drive from your place to mine when it's late and dark outside

the pathways i ride to revisit the times caught by thousands of lines cast from brain through my eyes and my senses (all five) to pull events inside of my mind, they flake and they crumble and disappear in time.

let me visit 5 more minutes while i'm still able
leave me in it 5 more minutes while i'm still able

i promised a dog i'd stay off auto-pilot
in the end everything fades but i'll focus and notice and i will enjoy that slide cause what's one to do but choose to be fine?

"well best of luck! you're gonna miss it, but i'm quite sure they'll let you visit"

I Promised A Dog (Auto - Pilot)

the loved will haunt the lonely
like an apathetic ghost
my friends all said
it's just in my head
but that's where it hurts the most

i've used gin to drown the hurtin'
i feel the poison in my blood
but the memory floats
like a paper boat
sailing guiltless in the flood

the pain; 
once we overcome it's come over once 
again

i've been hurt for many reasons
i don't care to reveal
sure, the fracture then
that meaning extends
time slips in to heal

but clocks can be unfriendly
when a minute's without end
with ache diurnal 
and recovery eternal
the break ain't gonna mend

i no longer seek the answers
by crying out to space
from a broken home
reading an old tome
with tears running down my face

I don't know if there's a heaven
but i know no-one can say
yet you scream your books 
full of words there put
by people blind with faith

it's the love i'll never love
it's the change i couldn't change
it's abandoned vicarious belief
but i call it all the same

it's pain.
i may not know all of its faces
but i've damn sure learned its name

i don't know where i'm going
cause i haven't gotten there 
but it's absolute 
if i'm not with you
i'll arrive the worse for wear

and i don't know if you're willing
to be here by my side
but it'd be much better
to face pain together
until we fucking die

Achy Breaky Heart Revised

Two girls had (on separate occasions) shouted asking where she got her dress earlier that night.

Hear Joanna Newsom laugh then subsequently fall deeply in love with me after I make a cute little joke at her show.

Me Making Joanna Newsom Laugh in Tempe in 2010 (us falling in love)

Give it Up! (for the Girl)
A one act play

Characters
the Girl - a representation of the strong women in my life
Nay - diffidence, fear, self-doubt, anxiety. And the scoundrels who exploit these things to bring the Girl down
Lookyloos - lookyloos
Narrator - me

Setting: Ancient Rome. Or on the Serengeti. OR inside Ralphie’s body!

(Nay enters from stage right, scowl on his/her face.)

NAY:
Babe,
assimilate NOW. 
Get in line.

NARRATOR:
Her toes, they move over the grooves you’ve made in the ground.
Her toes elude (yours) and make her groove.

LOOKYLOOS:
We tried to adjust 
as soon as she fucking moved,
but we just found ourselves 
eating her dust 
as she moved on to find another marriage to annul.

NARRATOR:
(unwanted/unwarranted marriages)

LOOKYLOOS:
Give it up for the girl!

NAY:
Babe,
assimilate NOW.
Follow the rules.
Blend in with the crowd.

NARRATOR (breaking 4th wall):
Dear, 
the most honest, important thing
is not what I sing.
It’s what you bring.

LOOKYLOOS:
It’s hard to adjust.
Just keep on moving 
without giving a fuck
and we’ll all give it up.

Give it up for the girl!

(Cheers ERUPT)
Exit, pursued by a beer

Give it Up! (for the Girl)

izz my litte baby brotha fo sho
wit hiz hair all ova da flo
whoozagotsa da mighty flows
wit da nasty wit dat cutz juss like those

sizzas sizzas
sizzas sizzas sizzas

iz me

Sizzas

does anybody love america as much as we do?
i really don't fucking think so
we look like fucking superheroes

look at the flags on our shoulders
these win us points with the god of abraham...lincoln

A-M-E-R-I-C-A

Young Americanz

Lyrics:
Just come a little closer
It’ll come a little closer.
When it moves a little closer…THEN I’ll know it.
I’ll just know it.

I found a way to get me out of bed. 
What oughta do it’s a bullet through the heart and through the head.
There’s nothing to it.
It’s getting closer to my heart, it’s getting closer to my head, and I feel it!
I feel it pass right through it.

Use this.
I know I’m alone with my own devices.

The heart (with blood) and the pen (with ink) will percolate and bleed in sync.
I feel it in my blood!
I feel it in my soul!
I feel it in my fingers!
I feel the bullet hole!
I knew it! I fucking knew it!
Intuit into it!

Use this.
I know I’m AT HOME with my own devices.

(Oh but)This coffled growth is awful slow.


Note:
Most of this was recorded on my Apple iPhone by Apple. Mixing and fuzzing around with stems done on Garageband using my Apple MacBook Pro by Apple, the company. I am not affiliated with nor have I been paid in any way by Apple, the company that brought you great products like the iPod and iPhone and iPad and the Newton.

Intuit Into It!

They'd gather us 
to partake in the Eucharist
and to teach us
the legend of Mythyphus

Force his love
into those who don't want it
Drink the blood
Eat the flesh of Mythyphus

No
We say no

Revelation!
We forsake that which don't exist
This invention
the Advent of your Mythyphus

Mythyphus

here comes a song about yellow shoes.
heh. ladies you know what i'm talking 'bout 
right right right?  kick it.

 i'm gonna get my yellow shoes and
dress up for halloween man.
had to use a yellow spray can
to chk chk chk change my white vans       
 
oh no i sprayed up the concrete

see the stains on the yellow toes
i mean the 
   black marks on the yellow toes
my vans were really dirty near the toes
now there's black on my yellow toes
on my yellow shoes

yellow. oh no i sprayed up the concrete

hold up girl i got to get to singing about shoes. shoes are the best thing in the world when they're yellow

like dirty honey, no mustard. i see eggs sunny side up but burnt up a bit.

yellow shoes

I want the answer
and she wants weed.
See, she's got cancer and it helps her sleep.

She's hurting after
the surgery.
A little hit brings laughter and it helps her sleep.

What's the answer?
Her answer is plainly "mijo, I'm ok"

In the silent dark come mama's cries
scattered in like stars in the night sky,
illuminating a thought
and I see the thought in mama's eyes
"nothing in this world survives forever"
but that's not what she wants

she wants a call

I'll call today. I'll call to ask if she's ok.
a call to call ama.

now, who's got weed?

Cornelius Flux

Yoli (A Call to Call)

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