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Rehabilitated
“ Rehabilitated? It’s just a stupid, made-up word, so boys like you can sit behind a desk, wear a fancy suit, and feel important. You’re a jerk! And I had sex with your mother last night. And I swear to God, you let me outta here, first thing I’m gonna do is kill again! ”…
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You can’t understand, with your books. By degrees.
Something i thought, sometime after waking today, pleading to nothing, nowhere, “I have to find a solution! A fucking solution is out there, i know it.” and then, i remembered, as the late, Layne Staley (sp?) once murmered midst all the heroin likely, something like the following, which i believe, and have seen first hand…
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Any way you do, that’s al-right now Mama
For anyone who dared read the incompleteness of the crapness, a pox upon … me! For a clumsy lout! So, here’s that bit– i suppose, I might say with some truth– which haunts me… but, only sometimes… because i thought it seemed pretty far out, so to speak. Indeed, the hypnogagia is a realm from–…
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First Amendment Principles
I wrote the following, as commentary in reply to an article in Yahoo! Politics, concerning the irresponsible rhetoric of an author, allegedly the President of the First Amendment Center, Ken Paulson. If I understand correctly according to the text, this article is authored by Ken Paulson, President of the First Amendment Center. Forgive me if…
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Oh yeah?
Aw, go Tweet yourself! Like this, you Flock-ing FaceSwatter, TwittBook fair-weather flunkie! This one is On This one is not Indiscriminate on the fake discriminate on the rook it’s nothing ever had it’s every never took poignant: not cool exquisite revisit not This
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Buster I. Brown
fate like folly grate Rx enamel squeaks one too many mustn’t sleep copied from elsewhere, as authored I and discovered, only God knows why: the God Damn Fake Rook
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Articulate Weeping
Without discrimination, waxing toward focus– if not waning by now– aspired in genuine concert, yet wrought so slowly; all but extinguished for this pitiful articulation, I muse over your blood. Spill, it might– by chance a delightful, art-like form, but must not, for it is the lashing for that very yield which I can not…
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“Do you have a plan?”
The inquisition: That’s what they ask, you know. You know, that query; that anomalous invasion into one’s psyche, whereby the inquisitor might say as, “Do you feel suicidal?”. If the response is anything other than ‘no’ (or, some variation thereof), the follow-up inquiry is, “Do you have a plan?” “[plans], i don’t have. I do…
About
Published in 2006, What’s On Your Brain is the personal blog of @ajaxStardust
It’s composed mostly prosaic ramblings.
