Showing posts with label humanity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humanity. Show all posts
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
March 20, 2009: Bar Brawl
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 20, 2009
Rough night in Gotham City. Rougher night at Happy Harry's.
Insider tip mentioned illegal business being conducted at Happy Harry's bar. Two broken legs later, business specified to be banned combat sport. Had to investigate.
Prepared for anything. Every night dangerous, this may be most dangerous of all. Bar patrons are ants from the seedy hive of the city, whose queen ant is crime.
Pornographers. Addicts. Whores. Hippies. Clowns. All have had their path crossed by LOLSCHACH at point in time. All have potential vendetta.
It starts with mule-kick to door. Deer in the headlights. Cigarettes drop from fearful mouths. Money-for-pleasure talks freeze in time. Clearing of throats, choking on saliva and beer. Can see it in their eyes: brains begin to cognate alibis, lies. Wheels are turning, hamsters are dead.
Walk to the back of the bar, approach Harry. Behind me, door swings shut. Then opens again.
Heard a joke once. Difficult to retell. Will try.
A black, a Mexican, and a Chinese man walk into a bar.
Snapped the Chinaman's spine in half. Black and Mexican whimper unidentifiable phrases, defecate like undomesticated children.
Crying.
Funny joke. Everybody laughs.
Harry tells me to head to back of bar, behind alcohol shelf. Please, don't kill anyone, he says. Ha ha. Funny. Always funny when he says it.
Enter barely lit chamber, the smell of sweat and testosterone permeate the air like locker room full of athletic hobos whose diet consists of booze and garbage. Screams of men watching sick form of gladiatorial combat.
What I see next disturbs me. Loss of words.
Crustaceans used for the wagers of violent men. Violent sea creatures, murderers of mollusks, blood as cold and as dark and murky as the briny deep that spawned them.
Born from dark oblivion, butter-knife fighting till return to darker oblivion. Ehhh.
Fifteen minutes pass. Twelve twisted arms, two broken bottles through ribs, five men going to the emergency room. Money litters the floor as survival instincts make men take flight. Benjamin Franklin, dead presidents unimportant at moment.
Take lobsters to local animal shelter. Know they will find good home for them.
Good deed for the day.
Rough night in Gotham City. Rougher night at Happy Harry's.
Insider tip mentioned illegal business being conducted at Happy Harry's bar. Two broken legs later, business specified to be banned combat sport. Had to investigate.
Prepared for anything. Every night dangerous, this may be most dangerous of all. Bar patrons are ants from the seedy hive of the city, whose queen ant is crime.
Pornographers. Addicts. Whores. Hippies. Clowns. All have had their path crossed by LOLSCHACH at point in time. All have potential vendetta.
It starts with mule-kick to door. Deer in the headlights. Cigarettes drop from fearful mouths. Money-for-pleasure talks freeze in time. Clearing of throats, choking on saliva and beer. Can see it in their eyes: brains begin to cognate alibis, lies. Wheels are turning, hamsters are dead.
Walk to the back of the bar, approach Harry. Behind me, door swings shut. Then opens again.
Heard a joke once. Difficult to retell. Will try.
A black, a Mexican, and a Chinese man walk into a bar.
Snapped the Chinaman's spine in half. Black and Mexican whimper unidentifiable phrases, defecate like undomesticated children.
Crying.
Funny joke. Everybody laughs.
Harry tells me to head to back of bar, behind alcohol shelf. Please, don't kill anyone, he says. Ha ha. Funny. Always funny when he says it.
Enter barely lit chamber, the smell of sweat and testosterone permeate the air like locker room full of athletic hobos whose diet consists of booze and garbage. Screams of men watching sick form of gladiatorial combat.
What I see next disturbs me. Loss of words.
Crustaceans used for the wagers of violent men. Violent sea creatures, murderers of mollusks, blood as cold and as dark and murky as the briny deep that spawned them.Born from dark oblivion, butter-knife fighting till return to darker oblivion. Ehhh.
Fifteen minutes pass. Twelve twisted arms, two broken bottles through ribs, five men going to the emergency room. Money litters the floor as survival instincts make men take flight. Benjamin Franklin, dead presidents unimportant at moment.
Take lobsters to local animal shelter. Know they will find good home for them.
Good deed for the day.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
March 18, 2009: Hot Day
LOLSCHACH's Journal: March 18, 2009:
Busted thermometer outside tenement building. Mercury leaking. This city is boiling.
Turn up the heat in order to purge impurities? Hurm.
Children in street, hydrant opened. Water springing forth, cleaning the gutters of the filth accumulated.
Sweltering under face. Good. Comfort is for the weak, for the intellectuals in their high rise offices. Not for LOLSCHACH. Walk among the vermin, clean them out myself instead of relying on wealth and science.
Walk down street, behind slow walker. Large woman. Sweats profusely. Forms interesting pattern on back. Symmetrical.
Considered gross by everyone. Everyone but me.
Busted thermometer outside tenement building. Mercury leaking. This city is boiling.
Turn up the heat in order to purge impurities? Hurm.
Children in street, hydrant opened. Water springing forth, cleaning the gutters of the filth accumulated.
Sweltering under face. Good. Comfort is for the weak, for the intellectuals in their high rise offices. Not for LOLSCHACH. Walk among the vermin, clean them out myself instead of relying on wealth and science.
Walk down street, behind slow walker. Large woman. Sweats profusely. Forms interesting pattern on back. Symmetrical.
Considered gross by everyone. Everyone but me.
Monday, March 16, 2009
March 16, 2009: Ice Cream
LOLSCHACH's Journal: March 16, 2009:
Long night. Red Bull not such a good idea.
Took off face. Prepared for daily routine. Walked past landlord. Screaming child at her breast. Complained about hygiene. She smells of dozens of men, a human dumpster for the stuff babies are made of.
Rain. Angels pissing on the artifices of man, flushing out the gutters of humanity's filth, sex, and filth.
Lots of rain needed for that.
Saw Dreiberg, eating at fast food place. Big Mac. Bigger man. Soft and dumpy. Soon to take a dump.
Hungry. Decided to take a walk. Stopped by place called "Maggie Moo's." Sells cold, flavored milk products in delectable waffle cones. Potential for Oreos. Had to investigate further.
Long night. Red Bull not such a good idea.
Took off face. Prepared for daily routine. Walked past landlord. Screaming child at her breast. Complained about hygiene. She smells of dozens of men, a human dumpster for the stuff babies are made of.
Rain. Angels pissing on the artifices of man, flushing out the gutters of humanity's filth, sex, and filth.
Lots of rain needed for that.
Saw Dreiberg, eating at fast food place. Big Mac. Bigger man. Soft and dumpy. Soon to take a dump.
Hungry. Decided to take a walk. Stopped by place called "Maggie Moo's." Sells cold, flavored milk products in delectable waffle cones. Potential for Oreos. Had to investigate further.
Pimple-faced high school students greet me with artificial smiles, showcasing their artificial dental appliances.
Asked me what I want. Strawberry Skydive? Chocolate 2 The Xtreme? Mt. St. Nutty? Cotton Candy Ski Jump?
Why are there so few normal flavors of ice cream left without marketing disorders?
Walk out with two cones - one vanilla, one chocolate. Separate. Don't mix. Combine separately in the dark corners of my digestive track, melting into one cohesive lava flow of milky goodness. Knew for a brief moment what bliss was like, like Romulus and Remus sucking at the teat of a cartoon cow, filling their bellies with milky delights as she stares off in silence, probably chewing hay or grass.
The smooth talkers and intellectuals will not be satisfied and ask for their Toffee Plunges and Udderly Butter Beboppers, cramming increasingly ridiculous lies down their insatiable gullets until they've realized they've gone too far.
The world will look up and shout, "feed us!" And I'll whisper, "no."
Went home. Took a Dreiberg.
March 16, 2009: School Musical
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 16, 2009
Auditions for annual school musical today. Determined to land leading role. Practicing all week.
Step into auditorium. The nauseating odor of hair gel and Axe Body Spray nearly incapacitates me. Writhing, chattering blobs of yuppy larva purchase such quantities of luxury products with their daddy's money, then proceed to use them so liberally. Meanwhile, an old man dies alone and cold on the street. The cost of one pre-faded retro Ninja Turtles t-shirt from Hot Topic could have bought him food for a week. Hurm.
Step up to the stage. Drama treacher, Mr. Chernagle, eyes me. Eyes start at chin, then unmentionables. See the look on his face and realize the part is lost. "Drama teacher". Synonym for "child molester". Wants a boy who'll sit quietly on his casting couch, clutching his manhood in their mouth while he dries their tears with promises of roles to come. No interest in me: hopes for lead role die along with his insustainable protuberance.
Sing heartwrenching version of "Carmen". Chernagle stops me halfway through and tells me to leave.
Did not get the part. As suspected, part goes to Brent Springwood.
Brent. Captain of the varsity football team. Lead contender for valedictorian. Senior yearbook's pick for "Most Popular". Mr. Perfect.
The whores rush upon him like a torrent of cheap perfume and plunging necklines showcasing breasts of eight year-old boys. Serenade him with medley of dull praise. Brent looks at me, completely alone. Flashes me sparkling, shit-eating grin that probably got him that red convertible from daddy.
Enough.
Right hook my way through the pile of pre-legal hookers and seize Brent by the collar, slamming him against wall. Two hundred and six bones in the human body. Could break them all three times over before the police pull out of the donut shop.
People screaming. See Chernagle leaping from his seat and rushing for the exit. I unsheath my grappling hook, take aim. Hook catches him in the buttocks and I reel him in. Catch a glimpse in his eyes an instant before his consciousness fades. Look of pleasure. Sick little man. Enjoyed every minute of it. Slam my boot down on his jaw. Slam it down four times. Five. Lose count. His pleasure will cost him a year's salary in dentistry bills.
The police arrive. Fail to notice them until they're upon me. Stupid. It takes four police officers to subdue me. They drag me out into the parking lot. See my reflection in the window of the back door.
Mid thirties. Not even in high school. What am I doing here? Who the Hell is "Brent"? "Chernagle"?
I leave the police in a pile of groaning, career-ending injuries and return home.
Find my medication still sitting on the kitchen table.
Forgot to take it. Again.
Friday, March 13, 2009
March 13, 2009: Fish Fry
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 13, 2009
Overslept today. Woke up with face still on. Groggy, tried to drink coffee with face. Unsuccessful. New blot is a reminder to remove face before sleep. Coffee stain on coat dries to a unique shape, breathing new life in such old fashion, forming a new, dark, aromatic continent. Like an eclipse at the moment of a caffeine supernova. Beautiful.
Stomach grumbled.
Walked down to diner. Closed. "Grease fire". Possible arson? Must investigate further. Found flier floating around in the broken concrete sidewalk advertising "fish fry".
Corner of Tyler and Harrison. The building and its steeple stretch up. Trying to touch the face of God.
Hurm. Keep trying.
Walked among the others without true face. They did not know. No one does. Surprised. People put on best face. Their discrepancies hidden while gathered inside. Did not feel disgusted for first time in months.
Food adequate. Catfish sat on tray, laying comfortably next to a side of slaw. Hush puppies slept at its feet. Like a food family, murdered in it sleep. Mused over the irony of the catfish's passing. Lived in water. Fried in water. Like being in a room of pure oxygen, breathing in its purity, then lighting a match and inhaling an inferno. Life turns to smoke, grease. To be consumed by worms and the earth.
Consumed by LOLSCHACH.
Overslept today. Woke up with face still on. Groggy, tried to drink coffee with face. Unsuccessful. New blot is a reminder to remove face before sleep. Coffee stain on coat dries to a unique shape, breathing new life in such old fashion, forming a new, dark, aromatic continent. Like an eclipse at the moment of a caffeine supernova. Beautiful.
Stomach grumbled.
Walked down to diner. Closed. "Grease fire". Possible arson? Must investigate further. Found flier floating around in the broken concrete sidewalk advertising "fish fry".
Corner of Tyler and Harrison. The building and its steeple stretch up. Trying to touch the face of God.
Hurm. Keep trying.
Walked among the others without true face. They did not know. No one does. Surprised. People put on best face. Their discrepancies hidden while gathered inside. Did not feel disgusted for first time in months.
Food adequate. Catfish sat on tray, laying comfortably next to a side of slaw. Hush puppies slept at its feet. Like a food family, murdered in it sleep. Mused over the irony of the catfish's passing. Lived in water. Fried in water. Like being in a room of pure oxygen, breathing in its purity, then lighting a match and inhaling an inferno. Life turns to smoke, grease. To be consumed by worms and the earth.
Consumed by LOLSCHACH.
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