UNTITLED

Ripped apart at the seams,
Great men use fairness creams.
Troubled waters, still and deep,
Watch the Power puff girls, yet never sleep.
Truth and reason, prejudice and crime
All happy Ghostbusters in their prime
Merry spirits soar up high,
Watching Mary J. Blige eating apple pie.
Wondrous mysteries slowly unravel
As Yoda scrapes himself on the singing gravel.
Laughter echoes, resonant through the ages
While lava lamps spill, and Bon Jovi fans rattle their cages.
At last comes a hush, the silent world waits
As young Abe Lincoln skillfully rolls on in expensive skates.

AGGLUTINATION

The next world war will be won by the French…
Fries.
Although, some might find them to have no Class…
Room.
The yellow birds that wallow in the Marsh…
Mellows,
Chirp and twitter, telling us not to speak of Katrina…
Kaif.
And they say too much Candy is bad for your Tooth…
Pick.

THE AUTHOR

I am the true artist. The most beautiful, the grandest, the unimaginable…the greatest images flow from my pen. Words are the paint that I dip my brush into. And my canvas, you ask? Why, your mind of course. Swiftly and slyly I slowly intrigue you with a thought, with a question, with an idea. Like a skillful puppet master I make my words dance over the stage of your impressionable mind. And draw you in slowly until I hold your imagination within the palm of my hand. What happens next? That’s for me to decide. Will you feel sadness or outrage or wonder? Will your heart skip a beat in suspense, or will it fill with relief and joy? Nothing pleases me more than to play with your head and leave it squirming in the throes of uncertainty. Responsibility? Perhaps. Power? For sure. In my own story I play God. Who gets to live and who has to die-these are things I have the privilege to choose. After it’s all over, will you be forever changed? This I can’t know for certain. As you turn the last page my power over you ends. But as your eyes travel from word to word and each sentence fills your mind, in these very moments you are completely and inextricably mine.

SPAM

chutney chutney frilly? panoramic, bicep panoramic.
norm frilly emery talc bridgeable vigil, crucify
talc chutney h elliot quirinal.

excite collide resilient

compton thirsty bloodline? thirsty, uncouth vigil.
lackluster talc norm thirsty accidental thirsty, bicep
talc zazen frilly frilly hovel.

chutney centipede centipede

crucify accidental oriole? h, bloodline frilly.

lackluster uncouth.



*NOTE: This is an actual email received by an unfortunate soul who later spent several hours attempting to decipher what appeared to be a hidden message encoded within the strange and unusual combination of words. The attempt was unsuccessful.

THE METHOD OF RANDOM THOUGHT

Steel Green Time Project Change Heat External Writing Stripes Jetter Gripper

some say random thought does not exist. nothing is random, it just hasn't been fit into a pattern as yet. the above phrase may seem extremely random at first, but if i told you that they are not just random words but rather things that i perceive around me. by this simple knowledge the "random" gets a pattern and is hence not random anymore.
so, am i saying here that random thought does not exist?

Soda Mine Catastrophic Singular Pea Within Seventeen Coral Monkeys Ecstatic Over Salad

what i wish to propose here is there is in fact such a thing as thought without pattern. however, there is a method to such thought and is not merely words from the top of ones head.
as opposed to common belief, randomness is not easy. true randomness, as i said before, is without any form of pattern or any meaning. a psycho-analyst may disagree but it is not blabber of the unconscious mind. in fact it is without any latent meaning whatsoever. it is very much a conscious effort consisting of choosing thoughts without any relation, meaning or pattern.
within this process of random thought, one must discard thoughts or concepts which have meaning to each other or to the thinker. random thought is defined as thought without pattern and thought with any pattern is thereby not random.

THE DEATH OF INDIVIDUALITY

I am the Every man. I have no name, no face. I have only thoughts. And these thoughts are not my own. Everyday I roam the streets, just another faceless face in the crowd. The quest for identity has long since ended. Now all that remains is acceptance. I am my own person. But my own person is only who they tell me to be. Nothing escapes the rules of the Collective Conciousness. That which is not understood must be condemned. That which is strange and does not fit the sphere of the normal can only be dangerous. And hence it has no place in the ideal world. Maybe, if we close our eyes and pretend that it does not exist, it will go away. Maybe, if we poke and prod it and drive it to tears it will change for the better and become one of us. We never think about the future. We never question where our mentality is taking us. We do not share foreboding glimpses of turning ourselves into mindless drones driven by voices that belong to us, yet speak a language which is not our own. But we listen. Because it enables us to become part of something that is bigger than ourselves. Uniqueness is an unforgivable crime-nothing but meaningless revolt. It can have only one punishment: Death.

TWISTER

*Mary made many mice mince the magic mushrooms menacingly, mixing most to make marvelous margaritas which might make Mandy Moore make mmmm sounds.

* None knew the knowledge needed to knit Nick carter’s neighbors new knickers.

*Pepperoni Pizza peppered wit pecan peanuts provide particularly pleasant provisions for a prosperous pilgrimage to Paris.(Hilton)