Welcome, step right up, have a go, see the most bizarre spectacle known to man. I have momentum and I can't stop now. Slingshots and long underwear, forgo the convention of armour. Eastern European crime syndicates, lost north European youth, auto-destructive grime, devoid of any archaic romance. I dream of warm tones of parchment and my own loving and attentive strokes of script. Really. Beige and textured oceans of perfectly flat paper, and my own ceremonial efforts to make as humanly perfect and accurate, geometrically, of pure intention, those characters which will mark truth for precarious posterity. I understand why writing, as I understand the writing of ancient Hebrew script to be for example, was and sometimes still is regarded as a ritual intertwined with human efforts to achieve perfection, or some approximation of divinity.
Ryan makes a point, I miss it and then go collect background to see exactly what he was saying, not sure if I myself am thinking the thoughts myself or just coming to understand what he was trying to tell me. . . peace. ChElvChaPolRo. London. Paris. United States. The Turks always seem to be up to something. Triads. Russian, Albanian, Bulgarian. Czech. Kajikebleckistanislanabadkarthoum. North Africans trying to find their place in the world. Egyptians. Retired Nigerian diplomats. Royal families. Antwerp. Please don't let them get involved. I suppose it's too late. I don't fully understand what's happening behind millions of closed doors. We never have. Maybe some glimpses.
I smell a million rats. Glazed almond pastries. I-community starched collars. For loyalty, in desperation. What am I doing with my life? I am trying to get a decent picture of what the fuck is going on in humanity. In a broad and comprehensive sense. With specific imagery, accuracy, what -really- goes on her or there and in between. Should I try to be a journalist? Nope, that would close doors. I smell death. I see corpses. I feel money rumbling under the ground like a subway train, axles made of human bones, wheels tyred with cured flesh. Constellations of butterfly nets, six gun satellites that can shoot an old bean can out of the air with the lag of less than 10 seconds. No, these are not fact, these are sensed. Moscow, Washington, Durbin (sp?), South of Shanghai, container ports around the globe, Mexico City, Sydney, Havana? not that I know of. Montreal most certainly. Dehli. Jakarta? hmm. Ceylon, Sri Lanka, Laos, Burma, PR, DR, Td&To..? Whats up in San Diego? XXXFleet. BLAHCOM, a bunch of old Romanians. Young ones too. Dark hills in Wales. Learn Welsh in a Week. Hermetic China. Amman, *cough*shreal*cough*aluh*cough*ine*cough*stay*cough*pay..
If only I could just say fuckit and have that be that. Instead I need to build again. Have the means, have the feeling, have the button down motherfucking shirt. Know how to get the wrinkles out. Cut my hair and shine my boots. Give me information. Not for anyone else. Just fucking me for now. Las Vegas is a place to blend in. for a few days. Paper trails, electronic trails, "databases" dummy talk. Information is a lot of things.
Ok, Poindexter. I am not the type to want to get to know you, but how in heaven and hell did you get onto this one? Jimbo, Peter Pan, Co, what the hell are you up to? Some are good, some are bad, but I'm just not down with this latest Fad. Hollywood.
Dark corners of the planet. It isn't that big after all. you can pretty much ride your bike.
Let's go back to Eastern Europe. Whose responsibility? Vacuums like that will be filled. Where the fuck is the old colonial spirit when it counts? Ok, enough rambling.
Will find a place. Will find a job. Momentarily. Must go catch a train I can't pay for. What will they do? Kick me off? it ain't Siberia. clean as a whistle, fit as a fiddle, sound as a pound, head in the clouds and feet on the ground.
