I've been listening to a bit of experimental electronica from the 40's 50's. Lots of "noise music" with birdsong, or other recordings, run on loops or played at different speeds. I've also been fascinated with  Oskar Sala and his sound texture work on Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.  As I fooled with this bit, I was imagining some 60's era clubs where poppers and acid were a bit more prominent. Where your likely to loose track of your undies, but not loose that Crisco smell.

Lost Panties 9 16 21

Greg thinks he wants shoelaces, but he can't find the cobbler shop in the mall. Fortunately for Greg, he finds a different store. The Wizard won't sell him any laces, but the Wizard also knows what Greg really wants. There was a sickness thought the country hate was prevalent and war was imminent. Greg had some of this madness, his mother was warned. She would get the memories of Aaron, whom she used to be. Things get crazy in a hurry, with Kasumi going as far as acting as though she was still him. She is even given a chance to be Gregg again. Swapping bodies with Barbara seemed like a good idea at the time.

Lovers from a Past Life

The wide elastic straps will accommodate most sizes, and the attractive thong style back design offers snug maneuverability. Insert a flared-base dildo into one of the included metal O-rings, snap it into place, and you are ready. I have many photos of cars and emblem detail shots that are not on Etsy. After a good ass flogging, Exxon enthusiastically returns the favor by servicing Minnie with some pussy licking before Marvin takes it over with face-sitting and a hot sixty-nine. The other stroker is open-ended to pleasure the entire shaft, lined with stimulating nubs for a massage with every thrust. Enjoy an intense vibrating experience, solo or shared!

An Addict Dreams Of Pantyhose 1 9 22

Setting the ignition contact point gap may eventually become a lost art, since the points are replaced in modern cars by electronic ignition. Even some owners of classic cars find it more practical to replace the points with an aftermarket electronic system. Every day after school he gave Alison a little white pill with orange juice. He might be shooting blanks but, if he wanted to watch the little slut with other men, he was going to want to avoid unwanted pregnancies. The men he was going to get to fuck her wouldn't care.  The best way to do this is to remove them from the distributor and put them in a vice -- if it's possible to do this without damage.  If the dwell angle is not the same for all cylinders , the result is rough running and poor fuel economy because the moment the spark-plug fires varies from cylinder to cylinder. The fluid amount used in this type is 500-1,000 ml. The doctors may ask you to hold the fluid in your anal opening for a long time to release the stool completely. It stimulates the lining of the colon to cause bowel movements.

The Orgy Of The Ood 1 26 22

Into this simple storyline, he packs an astonishing mix of sadness, yearning, humor, and kick-ass songs with a little Platonic philosophy tucked inside for good measure. Wind pushes into me I am a sail for the wrong direction. What do you think? Do you think love lasts forever? Legs spinning madly the constant fluid movement I'm pedaling nonstop. How did some slip of a girly boy from communist East Berlin become the internationally ignored song stylist barely standing before you?

Trapped With Karenn 3 7 22

I chose the color royal blue, in size M, I am 1.59 Mt and weigh 55 kilos, according to my measurements, in the table I am M, but if you like more fitted, size S would be perfect. These discs do wear but last a long time compared with other options. As he prepares to start work as an aerobics instructor Klyton recalls his harem girl training. Our clothing may run larger or smaller than the size you normally wear. They should get rid of the fishing tackle style box, which is really too large for what it contains. It includes the themes of Cuckholding, drugs, blackmail and sissification this will lead to exploitation and organised crime in future episodes, an indication of the mixture of drugs and hormones used will become more apparent then.  Buy the 3M and don’t try saving your money, they aren’t a replacement.

Spanking The Thingy 5 31 22

I still remember the first time one of the boys in my class asked me to touch his penis, he was just a year older than me.  I think it gives it a slight tug cause of how the balls tend to like retract into your body when you cum so those stop that. Give it a try, see if it's your thing. It's a little challenging to measure silicone with calipers, but these seems to be pretty much exactly as specified. The next few moments are a bit hazy to me as I just stood there with cum dripping down my face.  Even if you are very careful not to screw the cap into the bottle tightly, you will get rubber dust in your drink. Now I had nursed at a woman's breast, masturbated her and came in Scooter's mouth for our first ever oral.  I have no clue how to get the right size. Silicon one keeps pulling on my hair and the metal one is too big. 
     
     I am on birth control. You desperately shove your dick into a wad of toilet paper, but that only makes your balls hurt. My mom bought these for my transmission cooling lines on her 2013 Audi A4, they looked slightly bigger than the original, but after installing it held up nicely with no leaks. "Let's get started." Sally said. We have all night. Eventually, you stop thinking. The rubber rings on the legs of my 12-year old Joby Gorillapod had deteriorated and become sticky. I turned to see Scooter's brother and John, his best friend, staring open-mouthed at the three of us. " Don't go putting this on me, like I've somehow gone out of my way to surprise you. I've got places to be, man. "

   The 2-inch auger is perfect for this task. It goes into the soil like a hot knife through butter. I wondered why they were here.  I can't be playing hide-the-actual-salami with the Terminator's younger, shittier cousin. I would recommend to save the plastic foil that covers the suction cup. I felt his hard penis against mine. I knew this was where I belonged. This and the Don Quixote one show that Penis Garrison has zero reading comprehension skills.  Of course you can swap the battery to keep recording. Come up next to me. One of you on each side. Suck later. 

(Quick reminder that if you have to label your political messages in your drawing, then maybe they're not as effective as you think)

Rings And Things 7 6 22

When conjoined twins dream, are they still conjoined? How do we look into the universe and attempt to find some sign of life that we can't fathom? How does a person know the gaps in their own knowledge? Does cooking with alcohol make a big difference in the flavor? Can collecting silica gel packages cause me any harm? I Haven’t seen this before. 

  Would you still be charged in this situation? WHat does it mean when your cat stares at you until you look at them, and then they look away? Do you have agreements on the kinds of dynamics you & your partner can be in outside the primary dynamic? What is the average of all averages? 50%?  What does it mean for life to be a dream? Do you guys have any drills you can do to help develop softer hands?

   Is it true that when you flip a dog over, they get stuck? Can you sense it for me? Why does it seem like all of Reddit is concerned over a balloon? Are people more lonely now or are we just more aware of it? How many pills do you think I can take? What jobs are unobtainable for a person with a misdemeanor in the US of A? 

  This isn’t a fun screen to see when you’re shopping and finally decide on your 2nd order of the day. Is atheism a lack of belief in a God or gods, and assertion that there is no God or gods, or both? Could Cupid survive a time loop paradox? Can someone call the cops if a woman wraps her legs around a man to force him to finish inside? Do you view kink & poly as the same, structurally, or are they different & how?
Which LC pieces would be essential if I only cook vegetarian meals? Only essentials?  
Is it possible to send some photos of the item that shows the defects?  Is hierarchy more "acceptable" in kink relationships, & what does that look like to you? What is the best pen for a long exam? For those of you who have love bombed someone or an ex before, did you really love that person? 

  Should you tip when the delivery is $5?

Your Nice Soft Hands 1 28 23

People doing role plays and calling it ASMR

The game is controlled by thought. 

I’d encourage every adult in this story 

To obtain a cactus enema.

The players CPU is connected

To a central computer 

Connected through a cable

Plugged in at the nape of their neck. 

Congratulations Cactus Girl!

you're now in the same photo

As that guy sticking his dick

Into an apple pie. 



It was an accident,

On the set of a Russian film. 

I’ll take the wicker dildo cactus

It has more tomatoes. 

Following the completion of the

“Winds of Change” album,

Dunbar was replaced. 

IR has absolutely gone insane

And attacked a hospital. 

Eleanor has seen her fair share of dicks

But no amount of rosaries prepared her

For administrative work.

In the department of silly walks

The charting is so onerous, 

So pervasive,

That the hospital has to hire

Donny Baldwin to help me keep up 


I would have lost my mind

If when she asked the guard his name

He answered; 

"Why don’t you come back

When you come up with something 

A little more creative

You sack of poorly packaged poo!

It’s called cranial resonance."

My mind went on 

To more integrated cranial translators


He Explained the science

Behind the biosignal processing discs.

That sounds horrifying

And it is

Just to let you know ahead of time,

I’m not BDI

They are nothing but twat waffles 

With syrup between the cranial cavities.

I should cover up this cat stick 

I got it ten years ago.

I’m personally bothered

By the room she’s recording in,

All of the shelves 

Are just as bare and used

As that soft tissue in her cranial cavity.

It’s a clown world now 

And every one gets fucked 

With a cactus dildo,

There’s no lube on site. 

This recording was taken 

From an abandoned Warforged 

Lab outpost near the south border.


Yes, the Red Scimitars 

Are a mixed gene-seed chapter. 

There’s no way this guy was ever serious

If your not basically fingering your asshole

When you wipe

You need help. 

Initially nothing changes 

As these are small animals

With little means to record information

Or use tools. 




Cranial Field Recordings 3 8 23

This is the sound of two drum machines
Falling further and further out of sync
Battling for dominance,
Eventually being fired out of a cannon 
Into a factory 
That makes cuckoo clocks. 

I was conceiving a story
Of a wealthy oil tycoon from Texas
Who begins a passionate affair
With three quadriplegic ladies
Who don’t speak english

Being mistaken for a male prostitute,
Our hero questions his own identity
Our hero keeps a secret
Our hero overshares
Our hero goes to meetings

His rhythm is put off kilter, 
His schedule is disrupted
Slight variations 
Have huge consequences
It seems a profound plot

But it’s not very sexy.

Rythemic Disphoria 3 22 23

He wanted to create music
that was both mathematically interesting and pleasing,
so he used Euclidean geometry,
and a shitty piano.

To create a more complex rhythm, 
the pulses can be arranged in a non-uniform pattern,
with some pulses closer together than others. 

Stroke, speed, evaluation rate, interval time, 
and alternation time can be adjusted arbitrarily. 
The perfect sex machine.

In this context, the Euclidean pattern
 will dictate the syncopation of notes, 
not their pitches.

As you didn’t explain How you’re doing this, 
in hardware or software,
it’s hard to get specific.

Is it really about discipline and being punished? 
It's one of those kinks that are multifaceted, 
and people have very specific relationships with it.

This gasket is meticulously manufactured 
to ensure proper fitting and sealing performance,
reducing the need for maintenance and repairs.

As the hood pins wear 
closing the hood may become more difficult
lining up the latches can become frustrating.

Like many ancient Greek mathematicians, 
Euclid's life is mostly unknown.
He is accepted as the author of four mostly extant treatises.

Archimedes and Apollonius vaguely reference his existence. 
Archimedes strangely uses an older theory of proportions, 
rather than that of Brian Eno.

Twinkle Twinkle 5 1 23

A lot of firsts today
A lot of personal growth
A lot of things to think about
This poem doesn’t rhyme 

First time an audience left alive.
My first honest review, 
first time I thought that I could do better. 
Today was the very first time.

First time using FL Studio Mobile.
First time I’ve made music at work. 
The crotch ripped out of my trousers today,
this wasn’t the first time.

Haunted Constallations 8 13 23

Looking at a few sexy machines 
they look very similar to a Hismith.
They they seem much more reliable
than the fellas I’ve been dating. 

I’m curious but kinda conflicted
about trying 69 from the bottom
while a guy fucks my girl from behind 
it sounds hot
but I’ve never had balls in my face before
Hitting the floor for games, 
the slots were enormous screens of confusion.
We were lost just trying to figure out 
how to play the games.
I dropped 60 bucks in 10 minutes
then just watched the crowd.
Seeing rows of elderly people 
putting money into a machine that just eats it
had me feeling a kind of sadism 
I’d recover from.

I'm looking to buy a machine 
one that can be controlled through tipping. 
Are there specific features a machine needs
or is that a separate interface?
Getting paid makes me cum, 
and cumming gets me paid. 
I loosened the knob on the wheel
to try out the stroke length adjustment. 
The knob, wheel  and all it’s assorted pieces fell to the floor. 
I have tried different combinations in these
I am no mechanical engineer,
I feel like this should be very simple,
but it just isn't working. 
It slips in then works for a few seconds,
then gets pushed out. 
There are scraping sounds, 
which it never made before.

Best Vibrator Ever 10 10 23

He stopped making beats, and started looking for something.  
He was trying hear the Morse code embedded in the recording of Tubular Bells, 
the code which emanated from the Chinese embassy in 1973.
Somehow if he could accomplish this, 
the static would seem more valid. 

Fredric, contemplated a conversation 
where he would tell his friend Jake at the lab 
about the friend that has date nights with his wife on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
It’s not like it’s any kind of secret,
but it’s not really something to come up in casual conversation either. 
It’s difficult to come out as something you have yet to define. 

He ran the app on the 2016 Leaf sitting in his living room. 
The thirty kilowatt hour battery had dropped to Eight bars in August of twenty-two.
He got the warranty claim processed and accepted in September. 
Thirteen months had passed.
He’d forgotten what it was like to go to the bathroom without walking around the Nissan.
Tonight just looking at it was filling him with a sense of emptiness.
He needed to hear the message in the noise, some direction, some connection.
The concrete in the whimsical, that’s what he needed. 

After hours of focus on the nuance of Tubular Bells.
He looked at his phone. There was a text from Jake.
“Self sucking is more like sucking cock and less like getting it sucked. 
All that stretching and I don’t really know how I feel about it. 
Can you help?”

The Dead Guy In Fur 10 15 23

She walked by like syrup rolling of my pancakes,
she left a trail of broken hearts with every step, 
sometimes when you leave all the wayward bleeding 
The town runs dry and you find there’s no one left. 

When you built it out of straw bales and sticks,
without thought for a foundation or a frame,
You thought it’d be enough to get you over, 
then you wondered why the hell nobody came. 
Now your motherload ship it isn’t coming 
and you find yourself needing someone else to blame. 

Well you know I’m sorry that your ship is sinking,
but it’s not like you didn’t see the water coming in.
You burnt down every bridge as you crossed it
now you're mad because you haven’t got a friend. 

You knew better than to put all your eggs in one damn basket, 
you bet it all without a single dime to save, 
putting millions into a sketchy narco submarine. 
Lord, how your fortunes sank beneath the waves. 
You put the cart so far ahead your horse can’t see it.
You beat it ‘till there’s nothing left to save.

Transvestite Oscillator 10 17 23

He tried to hide the tube of lube 
and find the whereabouts of the flogger. 
He was trying to compose a story in his head,
as to what he was about to tell his husband 
about the disarray of the bedroom. 
He resolved to pretend it wasn’t there, 

“After mistaking them for poppers 
I will never look at Elizabeth Arden products the same.”

It's the fact that the veggies are deep fried in pig fat 
with bacon bits and grease on top, 
and served with a stick of butter. 
Saying you're eating healthy ingredients might be true
but deep frying the whole damn thing in lard 
negates any benefit you have from it.

Cans of cheap beer lay open and leaking 
on the beautiful upholstery. 
Jack and Karen stood in the doorway marveling.
They looked around the room trying to imagine
the glorious debauchery that must have just taken place. 
Oskar tried to sit casually. His anatomy betrayed him. 
Lube and beer were not the only things 
leaking on his expensive corinthian leather sofa. 

In the awkward silence, every move seemed loud, 
His labored breathing, his twitching muscles, 
His cock deflating under the layers of taffeta. 
Finally Karen spoke, so earnestly trying to break the spell. 
She tried to get time flowing in the right direction. 

“It’s a lousy idea to keep the lube 
and the Procion dyes on the same shelf”

Lincolnshire Foxtrot 153624 11 6 23

The automated home of the future,
sat in a dainty neighborhood 
littered with other technical marvels of its day, 
like a museum exhibit bordered by carefully measured gaps 
of real grass made to look like astroturf. 

A still small voice spoke from a cracked speaker. 
It sounded like it might have been a lymeric,
maybe something about the pancakes 
cooking in the stovetop griddle. 
The Prep Batter Dispenser resonated 
behind the wall covers that probably once looked like textured drywall.
A pleasant bell chimed and the near perfect pancakes 
slipped off the cooking surface and onto a bracket
 holding a couple of shards of a broken plate. 
They slipped past the levers and tracks 
onto the ever growing rubble on the floor. 

The voice on the broken speaker changed its chant
as the broken plate whirred along a pair of chrome plated tracks 
to a small table with a gingham cloth. 
Precisely thirty seconds later, 
the shards returned to a cupboard 
where they were automatically sprayed with hot water,
 then soapy water, then rinse water,
then received a light misting of No Spot. 


Presently the front yard hosts
a trio of lawn tending machines 
trimming the grass to a height specified 
on a menu screen somewhere in the house. 
An optical system senses the grass is imperceptibly dry
thus a mist settles over everything in the morning sun. 
The machines narrowly avoid the mannequins 
lying where they were knocked over. 
There’s no automated system for righting fallen people. 
The fiberglass dummies 
look like an advertising department's idea 
of who might be the inhabitants of the house of the future. 

A sign on the front door welcomes visitors
to look around and relax, 
in this magnificent yet affordable home, 
where “dreams all come true.” 
Below that is a small plastic plaque 
indicating floorplan number six.

Sierra India Xray 1 3 24

Rose steps out of her room
into some wondrous realm
where the physics she’s always known are only vaguely valid.
There seems to be a sea and a sky, 
but there’s no sense of one being separate from the other. 
A cold wind, couples with her excitement and sense of discovery, 
to make her shiver. 
At her age all new experiences seem wondrous. 

She’s never thought much of hell, or how she got here. 
It’s a hell made of one part guilt and two parts fate. 
She looks out from the railing of the old ship 
to see the sea in this realm gets hazy.
as if it were a painting left unfinished. 

She’ll be on this ship forever 
though she won’t experience hell as being hell. 
The ship sails on calm seas, 
the weather is beautiful, 
the meals are delicious. 
She wakes every morning 
expecting her lover Jack to join her in the evening.
She drifts to sleep each night disappointed. 
She wakes up refreshed, 
eats the same breakfast, 
walks the same grand old decks,
 gambles in the same casino, 
has the same conversations 
with the same strangers, 
as if they’d never met. 

She is forever young, 
forever hopeful, 
and forever oblivious. 

From time to time she senses a gap in the delusion.
It floats just above the twilight, 
and then is quickly forgotten.

Palm Trees 1 7 24

She makes a living writing ads
and box literature for adult novelties.
She once spent a month writing an instructional pamphlet
for a butt plug shaped like a cabbage. 
She and her girlfriend were looking for quaint country home,
in Cocks. 

West of Goonhavern, 
the girls hoped to find a small barn conversion
with plenty of kitchen space, and an office.
They found a real estate agent who spoke passable Cantonese,
but always seemed to be struggling to form sentences. 

She mostly wanted to see stone and lumber.
She wanted ceiling beams, she wanted bricks.
She wanted to live in an old place, 
far away in every way 
from the metalic starship where she grew up. 
She wanted to live on a planet
where most of the inhabitants 
are bipedal and have only one head.

She read about Cornwall, 
and always dreamed of living there,
where local stores sold clothes that only have one head hole.
People all wore shoes,
because none of them knew how to levitate. 
She had high hopes of living where,
even if the people weren’t like her, 
at least it wasn’t so obvious.

A Plethora 1 17 24

“It’s one thing that they travel through space’” Peter twisted his head as if the thoughts manifesting in his mind held a tremendous weight. “Millions of miles, thousands of lightyears, aimless directionless, but also on a specific trajectory. Weightless, but not quite without mass.” 

 Peter took a long drag off his menthol cigerette, taking a moment to notice the ring of lipstick. He breathed a deep sigh, took a sip of scotch and continued. “They travel from stars, a byproduct of the fusion reaction. So amazingly small, especially when you think of the vast scale of the universe. They travel so far, so fast so many of them yet always so alone.” 

 Kevin had long since lost pace with what peter was saying, but knew enough to know peter wasn’t really talking to him so much as signaling from his inner voyage. 

“It’s comical that the mass eigenstate fluctuations of neutrinos are related to flavors, as if they were a kind of ice cream. As if these barely there tiny bits of the universe, were just bolting out into the infinity of space alternating between strawberry, banana, and rhubarb while no one is watching.” 

With another deep sigh, Peter hoisted himself up from the tiny bed, to the mirror. He stood naked, leaning over, slowly running a comb through his hair. With each long stroke he leaned back then righted himself as he lowered his arm. He was looking for something but it wasn’t on his face. 

“Some of them travel throught the void, through atmosphere, through asteroids, planets and moons, without ever contacting another particle. An existence of microseconds or of near infinity, all alone. Without sensing anything about realities beyond. They grow and change all alone, unknowng and unobserved. Likewise we live our own lives safe in the belief that we see we know, and we are valid. While we imagine some great mysticism beyond our own tiny lives, we but mostly we exist within our own tiny shells. We’re flung on a trajectory so vast we don’t even sense it, nor contemplate the end of it. We believe we see and are seen, so we don’t really look for anything more. Like those ghost particles we’re alone and don’t know enough to know otherwise.” 

  Kevin opened his eyes, to watch Peter swaying before the mirror. He moaned in soft agreement. Subtly pulled from his revelry, Peter turned to face his young lover, then took another sip of scotch. The pause was long. The pause was very long. 

 “There’s a lot we don’t know” Kevin mused, “but sometimes all we have are our own rudimentary senses.” “Take a look at me. Run your eyes over my body.” Kevin took a deep breath to accentuate his chest. Then without looking down he used his foot to slowly slide the blankets down exposing his sizable cock. 
“Can you honestly think that I’ll ever be alone?”

Ghost Particle 1 24 24

Aren’t you supposed to have wings or some such? 
I’m not that kind of chicken. 

I watched a video the other day
of a fellow giving a presentation and tutorial
on the finer points of a Korg Volka Nubass
while just in the other room,
a much older man dangled his cock
in front of his own camera.
There’s a lesson to be learned here,
but it’s far beyond my understanding. 

There’s a birthday cake in the break room 
decorated to look like a pack of Marlboro cigarettes.
It says “Happy Sixty-Ninth Birthday Peggy.” 
I don’t know who Peggy is. 
In fact this cake makes me think
there’s really a lot of things I don’t know. 

He was trying to come up with
some innocent sounding scenario
for what he was doing with his friend Dorene 
and her dad. 
He started with a few half sentences,
as if some epic story was about to come to mind.
I would have just left, they’re consenting adults,
and I had been on my way to have a pee,
when I heard the racket they were making.
Now I was willing to hold off a little longer,
I wanted to hear the ridiculous story
being formed behind those awkwardly blinking eyes. 
Finally the awkward silence drew on long enough
that one of them couldn’t stand it any longer. 
“It’s Cristco,
I know it’s a mess 
but I know how to get it out of the carpet.
No problem."

Residue 1 30 24

I joined a Westclox collectors collective 
the guy there said I was looking hectic.
I just sighed.
I sipped some wine.
What does hectic mean? 

He asked if I was a Westclox owner, 
I said not since I’ve gotten older.
He just sighed.
Did I waste his time? 
I was just about to talk
about about my Nana’s clocks
That’s when he cut me off

I felt like I’d reached an alternate dimension 
where they’d lost track of social convention.
Obsessive behavior,
this was now the rule
We talked as if our words were being timed. 
We spoke louder and faster, stories misaligned 
I was out of wine.
This was fine. 

He went on about early alarm knobs, 
then the point of the story was a missing washer.
Then I,
glimpsed crazy in his eyes.
He asked if I knew about bell end covers.
I said no, but I have a bellend brother.
I thought I was being clever.
He picked something off his sweater,  
then said fine, 
I’ll just show you mine. 

He said I seem to have a thirst for knowledge,
then asked about horological college.
I said no,
maybe I might go.
That’s a big step for a staunch beginner. 
I realized I seemed a bit over eager.
I just sighed
And got another glass of wine.

Chapter House 2 2 24

How do I simplify the transition? 

Behold the ritual music of Odo Island, 
Watch the trucks and camera crews, unpack and stretch out. 
Be annoyed at the sound of the person yelling into a bullhorn. 
Notice the roads blocked off, the lights, the booms. 
Godzilla is coming to Odo Island, real or virtual. 

Akira Ifukube writes the music that brings Godzilla to life. 
Akira Ifukube made the monsters roar. 
Over 250 bits of music put to film, 
Snow Trail, a forgotten bit of celluloid, puts him on the path. 

Godzilla flares in a scarlet chain reaction.
Osaka up in flames. 
Fighter planes scurry to stop the carnage,
or maybe to add more fodder. 
People die, planes crash, buildings crumble 
Godilla still advances. 
More planes, more bombs, machine guns, smoke rises, 
a model tank looks menacing 
in situ behind some trees.

Godzilla Legend II Voyage to Dream Quest plays on cassette,
on a dust covered boom box in the corner of my shop. 
I’ve been crouched beneath a tractor, 
an oil change and a five hundred hour service. 
How long had I been there,
watching the stream of oil,
wandering blissfully at the music of Godzilla?

Picture the orchestra and conductor, 
overblown horns, giving voice to a terrible monster
that didn’t as yet exist.
Those reeds and playing unison trills,
screeching in minor keys,
what must they have thought of the cacophony,
leaping from the score. 
All those people are gone. 
Godzilla lives on, 
undefeated by time and apathy.

I sit up from my work, 
I’ve been here long enough that my legs don’t move. 
A lone vocalist sings a lofty refrain. 
A Japanese man stands in the center of the door, 
he’s a silhouette in the strange blue light of sunset.
He’s been watching me. 
How long has he been there? 
He’s about to ask me a question.
A long awkward silence passes,
while I attempt to get my legs to move.
While I try to convince myself he’s really there.

Streetlight 2 14 24

Tequila Confessions 02 21 24

Let's talk a little bit about the music I’m uploading tonight, which depending on the context by which you're reading this, it could seem like a return to source or a completely bonkers collection of half finished stream of consciousness. Consciousnesses?  

Today a nearly eighty year old man was gifting me with his insights into the state of local politics. I’ve tried to portray a sense of what this sounded like in my head as he lead up to some crescendo where took to beating on the hood of the customers car I was trying tune up, while telling me that if I didn’t vote for his favorite candidate it’s actually tantamount to murder, and I would surely be condemned to the hellfire-like realm of the eternally condemned. 

I started this piece of music with audio hacked from some vintage porn where a woman writhes around a hotel room fondling her lingerie wrapped breasts, while maniacally telling you what a loser you are for watching so much porn. I used a stretch algorithm to slow her down to half speed, so she sounds even more drunk and demented. I took this as a baseline to run from channel five in the mixer into channels six, seven, and seventeen. Channel seventeen has my stash of absolutely chaotic plugins and presets that I’ve taken to calling Terry. 

 To try and simulate the sharp pain that comes from the stress induced crick in my neck I decided to take the tempo which began at about ninety beats per minute, then melded the melancholy digit into an automation track in the shape of a hockey stick then measured that into measure length machinations, and put them into a random order, so that while the scornful remarks of Mistress Something-or-other, are almost coherent she randomly breaks into high pitched squeaks. Terry was then given the task of distorting and repeating these squeaks in the most cringe inducing way. 

Riding the relentless throb of misguided misogyny I set some reverberations and echoes to de-enunciate the vowels to create a whalesong like wail out of well selected times that required a painful application of maths. Somewhere between fifty and one hundred milliseconds the blathering goes from a sense of ethereal majesty to that of simple repetition. I really don’t really know how this works, but I had a pretty good idea down deep in my heart. I wasn’t going to let that stop me from pulling chaos from the hexahedron of obsession.  I then took about two hours to watch a decidedly uninspired documentary about the history of high heel shoes. 

As the credits rolled I found myself wondering about the validity of my life’s decisions. After that existential crisis I remembered what I was trying to accomplish, and took to creating a crazy chord progression in the form of a piano roll. I set up a series of software synths to presets that were printed as pads. I made some other adjustments to my mellow waveforms but I really can’t be bothered to try and remember what they were. 

Speaking of things I can’t remember, I clicked and dragged on hundreds of icons, and made progressively fine adjustments with the fantasy that there was some sense of direction I was trying to adjust to. I was in essence having a dream about having some profound passionate dream. Well that’s what I suppose I was doing, I don’t honestly remember. 

I’d like to thank all the participants, people and animals alike that frolic like a nun named Maria in the cranial airspace I call my mind. You're the wormy deals that form the monster eyelids that keep me going.

Tequila Confessions 02 21 24

It won’t be long
before people think of the year twenty-twenty
the way I think of nineteen-twenty.
I’m planning to buy five sets of identical outfits
to wear every day to the office.
It’s pointless to engage in self-expression.
Of course, by making such a choice
I’m still expressing myself,
just differently.
I’m going to begin my journey
by studying pictures 
of a museum style chastity belt being made. 

No one talks about events on March first
being a day late on leap years. 
This is my first bondage related woodworking project,
thus I would like some praise,
admonishment. 
I would also like advice
on what to charge 
for a twenty-two second custom creampie video. 

Why do dudes over 40 all have stories
about finding porn in the woods? 
If I found porn in the woods
I probably wouldn’t bother telling a story about it.
Maybe I have, and I just don’t remember. 
Looking for something wank worthy in my local library.
Someone was making noise a few isles over,
stern warnings
that’s not allowed. 
Nothing is as quiet at sleeping,
that’s not allowed either. 

Odie needed to make a decision; 
keep the car or turn it in for a full refund. 
This was a teaching moment
It’s very fortunate that eating
is a rather enjoyable activity 
considering how often we have to do it. 

Someone asked me to compile
a comprehensive list of social platforms
based on their overall toxicity.
I just can’t remember who or why. 

There’s a video called “Manifest Your Gay Dream Life.”
No matter how many times I watch it,
I still have to get off the couch, 
often putting on clothes
in order to get tacos. 
My gay dream life seems far away.

Pay Odie 02 22 24

He took a sip of wine slowly, deliberately.
The glass was in his hand mostly as a prop,
he was trying to remember the name
of a campsite he visited a few years ago.
It was a person's name,
maybe someone from the local lore?
Maybe it was the name of the people
they displaced to build it. 

He was sitting on very expensive looking white couch
watching a couple of drunk strait people fucking
on the glass topped coffee table. 
Every so often they would stop grunting
long enough to steady themselves 
from tumbling onto the floor. 

He felt himself trying to look interested
in the show before him.
He tried to fix his face
 pleasant enough not to seem scornful, 
but not so interested
that he might be asked to participate.
The space was cramped; 
loud incoherent conversations
only drunk people have.
Too much anxiety to be genuinely bored,
he was imagining long highways, high cliffs.
His mind wandered to where it was calm,
where the scale of it all
left a lasting sense of awe. 

Eventually one of these drunk people
would fall onto him and his perch
knocking the red wine onto the white couch, 
he'd excuse himself,
to push past the bodies,
into the kitchen for a towel, 
ritual wiping of the white vinyl
would preface a slow gracious exit.
For now though,
He could only hold this pose,
he anticipated this move,
and rehearsed it in his mind.
A socially stalwart exit
to this drunken sloppy sexual limbo. 

That's it!
The campsite was in limbo!
Limbaugh Canyon Trail!
Everything was going to be okay.

Ygam 02 23 24

Today I’m attempting to describe my infatuation
with a porn star named phil. 
It’s strange how we use the term porn star
to describe anyone who gets naked in front of a camera.
But then you don’t really have to be completely naked
to be a porn star, 
maybe you just like using some kind of adhesive tape
to spread the cheeks of your ass. 
It’s not really clothing, 
it’s not really being dressed.
It’s also not really sex
If you’re the only one there.  
This isn’t truly naked 
and it wouldn't in and of itself 
put your content into the bondage niche.
Though with other elements 
of sexual shenanigans
it might. 

I guess in the end there’s more emphasis
on porn than star.
Often people dedicate a special room
in their house to get some freak on,
they refer to it as a sex dungeon.
I imagine it adds to the overall gestalt,
but it’s not as if it’s going to be mistaken
for any other kind of dungeon.
Lawd!
How many dungeons do you really need? 

I’m sure that if you asked Phil
about his being a porn star
he’d take some kind of issue with the title.
While he lays prostrate on the floor,
his prostate bearing the brunt,
amidst the moans and grunts
a blunt oversized silicone phallus
driving in and out of him 
like a jackhammer journeyman
with a brand new Hilti. 

I make music and a few other things,
and when I’m tired and feel like a wank
before bedtime I bed down beneath the blankets
and begin the porning process,
watching Phil passionately filling an orifice or two
and imagine some profoundly implausible scenario
where I might join him in the revelry.
I eventually reach some dopamine induced euphoria.
Then awash in post occurrence clarity
I imagine how many fellas I see on a regular basis
might be engaging in some spectacular hobby
they generally don’t talk about. 

Next week He’ll be making another vid.
Next week I’ll be writing another rant.
Maybe it’ll be another about Phil.
Creation is something we just have to do.
We have to,
because we can.

Terrible Fashion Show 02 21 24

I make some strange things from time to time
What I’m making now is a glib observation,
spawned by existential disdain. 
I can hear the gurgle of the now cold bath water
running down the drain.
It’s a teasing reminder that soon 
I’ll be sitting in an empty bathtub
probably shivering,
too lost in a moment that’s already passed
to stand upright.

Time doesn’t travel in in a strait line
nor at a constant speed. 
A drum beat gets annoying 
without a change in tempo 
or some kind of break.
Maybe we grow to need that annoyance
maybe it’s just buoyancy.   
Similarly this principle might appy
to the department of motor vehicles
or the dentist.  
Some rhythms schedules and Itineraries
go on and on relentlessly
Time passes quickly
running a simple circuit
from one goal to the next. 
Then there’s those times of wonder
when where we were 
and where we might be
Are less defined. 
Good or bad we may remember those fills 
those gaps, variations 
far past the curve
where we are no longer
the person having the experience. 

I think though that the rhythms,
the beats the steps
are as important as the glorious gaps between them. 
Sometimes as I look at the strange phases that become a life 
I can’t help but to think of it as a bit of music, 
a graph, a rhythm, a series of movements.
A guitar solo just doesn’t ring the same
without a few verses about some existential crisis.
A cum just isn’t the same without a bit of depravity
A punchline isn’t the same without a story.
Unless of course it involves a bowling ball
or a rubber boot. 
Time specific commitments, 
spacial commitments,
goals they make up the rhythm of our lives. 
There’s a towel hanging by the sink,
that seems so far out of reach,
of my corporeal mass,
and my will to leave this tub.
Needs must, I arize
with no small amount of trepidation.
I have to write this down.

Bathtub 03 07 24

Jack has grown accustomed to this strange corner of the universe,
 it’s a room with glaring fluorescent lights,
 but it's still difficult to see what you're doing.
Old stage lights balance precariously pointed at stacks of sawhorses. 
Jack's tools are gathered in buckets beneath them.
There is a door on each of the five unfinished walls.
The only one that isn't locked has lettering stenciled in white spray paint “Woolworths.”  
Massive metal ducts curve into the absurdly tall ceiling 
along with conduits, plumbing and the occasional stray data cable. 
This is the room in the mall, where all the seasonal decorations are kept. 
There’s no hallway to it, 
you wouldn't find it unless you started checking random doorways
in the back of the anchor stores. 
One of them used to be a Woolworths. 

There’s a giant throne at the dark end of the room.
 “Santa” is inscribed in the scrollwork,
 in case there was any doubt as to who was meant to sit there. 
Laundry bags full of costumes are piled up in the seat.
Fanciful fiberglass trees lay in loosely stacked sections. 
Cardboard candy canes, in various stages of disrepair 
litter the floor of a half scale manger scene.
A huge fiberglass leprechaun leans against the brightest wall, 
casting film noir shadows in every direction. 
There’s a big hole in the back of his head 
where the hoist attaches to move him around.
 It’s the very edge of the reality that is the shopping mall.
Architects, designers, and marketing experts run out of vision here.
Jack often calls it the backstage. 

Jack spends most of his day here,
doing jobs to big for the maintenance crew
and too small to warrant a call to a contractor.
It’s hot in the summer, 
he emerges in between projects into the general mall populous.
People just slightly over coiffed search for something to fill some unseen need. 
Jack finds it easy to avoid eye contact
 though he can feel the constant gaze.
It’s unusual in a shopping mall
for anyone to walk with a sense of purpose or direction.

Frenetic 3 27 24

Derision 4 1 24

Algorithms, are much like gods,
Maybe they're helpful today, 
but usually they are not. 
Sure there’s the whole galactic overarching view,
unfathomable statistical calculous,
and the historical perspective given by omnipotence. 
Given all this you’d think all these gods and algorithms
could just complete simple tasks like rigging an election, 
or playing the song I just barely remember
written by some guy that’s
about his favorite kind of cheese. 
I guess in the end
they do have an agenda to push,
to make the most popular thing
even more popular with all of us. 

Still it would seem 
that after I've listened to sixteen dronescapes in a row, 
then listened to minimal modular jams for about an hour,
a god or an algorithm might surmise that 
I’m not likely to be disposed to enjoy the stylings
of a preteen boy
imparting the nuance of his “real playa life.” 

“La la la selling weed,
La la la la I like titties”

There once was a function of search and result
where one could search a term 
like “concerto for for oboe and theremin” 
and a screen full of results would show up.
You could simply play them in order 
as if they were songs in a list which in fact they were.
Progress happens,
 people change 
and so do gods and algorithms.

I can now play a selection from my search,
ideally a jaunty composition played on an oboe, 
accompanied by a theremin, 
then expect the next bit of music,
after a jingle about a cream for psoriasis,
to be a slow cover of some song from Metallica,
sung badly 
by someone who’s name is a car they can't afford.

Derision 4 1 24

Glen was pretty graceful for a man in his 60’s
wearing thigh high boots and corset. 
In the low light of the hotel he tried not to wake his lovers,
all lovely people were scattered around the room 
as if arranged for some kind of movie set. 
Glen had managed to locate the shiny pleather clutch 
that held his rather unglamorous wallet and keys. 
He’d even located his leopard print coat,
negating the need to actually get dressed.
Hopefully they would be a stealthy drive home
after this glorious night of debauchery. 

First, there was the matter of a lacy pair of black panties
that simply had to be located. 
It’s not as though they were worth much,
but someone gave him those panties,
someone who really liked seeing him in them. 
The person that gave Glen those panties
told him they were magic.
Looking around the room at the bodies,
breathing in the scent of sweat, Final Net, and Old Spice,
it sure seemed like they really were. 
Glen scanned the room for movement
s he felt the crevices for one particular soft satin shadow. 
Anyone watching might think Glen the most glamorous, 
the most bold cat burglar there ever was.
He was Silent,
his task mysterious.
He was like the letter D
in the words Bundt cake.

Totality 4 13 24

Repetition is based on body rhythms, so we identify with the heartbeat, or with walking, or with breathing.  It's hard to say what I meant by "as we know it." I'm not about to go up on a mountain on new year's eve and wait for the lightening to strike. She was petite, and a sexual spitfire, though you wouldn't know it to look at her.  It's about the manager of a sex theatre who's forced to leave and flee to the mountains.  In particular what is most important to me is the transformation of a sound by slowing it down, sometimes extremely, so that the inner of sound becomes a conceivable rhythm. He was kind, he was funny, he was a bit of a nutjob; you just couldn't help but love him.  Look at prohibition: all it did was make a lot of criminals rich. Then from the continuous sounds, I cut them into different durations and sliced them together again. Superimposed them in different layers.  There are five runners running simultaneously in different configurations, and there's always a torch bearer running together with these sound runners. I’m so excited to have sex on camera again and since I’m back and forth all the time I can be in Los Angeles in a few hours. I use a huge gong of about 5.5-foot diameter, a Chinese gong.  I've agreed to do at least three or four, as long as they don't go weird. One spherical auditorium was realized according to my suggestions in 1970, in Osaka, during the Folsom Street Fair, by a German architect.  I didn’t quit porn and become a square. How did you manage this?

P. Parallax

Pinned to spotlight

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