What's on your Brain.

Objectivity affects what force, before Subjectivity is manifest?

Violent Vehement Dagwood

[ All this, Fiction, for your entertainment, ] if you haven’t noticed [by now], i’m bored with this … until then i disregard your pain, for mine, selfish ass i beesnesthead, concern myself more ’bout ma own these days, sukka! but don’t feel bad. i have someone to blame … blamin’ be sa easy, yo– and till the last bit-o-breath floweth ‘tween ma nose-holes dere, dirt-nappin-like, dat bitch …!

Pardon moi, did i offend you? Didn’t mean to. I’m just teeter’in, dat’s all. teeterin’ lika chair ’bouta fall right over, ya know? Problay needsa be locked up, i’d say. for chrissake, dey know it– but somehow– i’s breathe me some free air ‘nutha day. in yo face, Man! uh-huh, take dat, Johnny Law, and your half-ass’d pshychiatrist-sidekick dey sends witcha, goddam Community College … kinda-guy, seemed like. what do i know. i know one thing. i know how i scum

’cause Lord knows I’s crazy as a shithouse rat– what, wit all dem wildass drugs i dun smoked, popped, snorted, inserted, disolved, and evacuated out magoddamn colon all dem yeerz ago. holy crap! but at leas i’s knows betta dees days. deez days, my docta write its on him paddy pad thingy, all this whack scribbly writin’, and goddam if they dont give me all dis shit when i rap at one of dem dumbass pharma-chicks be workin’ all deez pill joints, dig? i mean– awwfuckit– aint even woth much more mention, but you know. you know who i mean, dontcha? yeah, you know how dey scum. what’s worser even, dey think dey even know some’n. dumbass pharma-chicks, i tell you what. but, once i get da simplist info-ma-shun tru dat head-there, dey usualee come ’round, and i’s gets ma shit aint too much truble i spose. huh?