Tehatchapee Exception

Going down the Tehatchapee river in a classic car wearing nothing but shorts and a light blue push up bra, you saw some shit. you...saw....some..shit. You were aware. You thought you were amazing. It's hot out though. You hate it. It's ruining the experience for you. It's making you miserable. To be fair, it's better than larding out on the couch watching TV all the time. At least I thought so, you didn't. Just push it a little harder. Ignore the hardships. Take a deep breath, take my hand, realize I'm not the bad one here. I can be here whenever you need but you have to make a little effort. I am the exception. You are scared of it all happening again, I assure you it will not. Now straighten up that bra, pick up your feet, look towards the horizon, forget about the heat, forget about discomfort and take hold of the exception and evolve.

Woozy Boozy Microhouse Brain

Hey Boy. It's smoke time. Tugging on your beard and you think it's weird but you don't make a sound and you force yourself to realize that it's alright, and we are all just a little sick in the head. Talking to yourself while looking in the mirror at all your flaws and faults you crack a smile and realize you're already gone. I pick a wussy strawberry box up from the farmer's market. 3.99 a box are you kidding me! This place sure does have the right stuff! I came and I came and I came and you went and we all had a great time. We all put our priorities in line. A smile on the face of a chronic depressed first dispatcher is worth more than your life. These people are saving lives. Step into a suit and you never have to wash buckets again it's like a time loop finally cracking to reveal what's right. Are you sure you are having a good night? Sorry for the short notice. Sorry for the drama. I think I'll take a nap soon and get this woozy boozy brain to the sleep train. Take the dyslexic taxi straight to a plate of Poutine. Smother yourself in curds and gravy. The blasts of microhouse echo throughout the deepest parts of Malibu Canyon. At the top is the house of a rich person you can never get to. Figuratively, literally. She didn't want the piece of jade. They all thought it was ugly but they forgot it was worth a lot. Then they cried. It's smoke time. Hey Girl.

Yeah you see we got goggles

Light refracted through her glasses/twisted/turned/bent/flipped out. The smile stretches across the face so much it might start to hurt. She grabs your hand and takes you to the portal. She sticks little needles in the sides of your eyelids and tells you to "wear this", it's a weird helmet. It has lights and noises coming from all over the place. She grabs your face and asks if you are ready. You shrug and say yes. She opens the door. Grabs your hand. Opens a box on the floor. Sticks her hand inside and seemingly flips some switches. Lights in each four corners of the room hum and come to life. One green. One blue. One red. One orange. The tones are beautiful. A sudden feeling of nostalgia washes over you...or was it deja vu. Now you are in some sort of larger box that kind of resembles a wheel. In fact it's just like that crazy thing Cobra Commander used to ride in when he was feeling fancy. Yeah that thing. The buzzsaw wheel vehicle. Well at any rate it begins to spin. She takes off the helmet, places goggles on your face, kisses your cheek and softly whispers your name and "are you ready for this time?" it all fades in and fades out then colors blast through from every direction and you are home except shit is definitely not as it was and for some reason you are missing your right ring finger.

Reviving the Dead

it's getting better all the time. go left when you are supposed to go right. hit the bricks and get it started. the rhythm hits you just right and you see something that blinds your eyes. please tell me to stop. you sound like the guy from Devo. devolution is the way to go baby. deconstruct yourself. break your mind down to why you are doing what you are doing and be concerned with your actions. your actions may or may not affect those around you but just in case keep your mouth shut and don't make trouble. you could hurt someone. don't talk shit like it's high school again. we are in high school again. gurrl eat that vomit. suck it back up like it's going out of fashion but you know still at the cusp of being cool. gurrrrrl you know what to do. speak your mind and get burnt. keep your mouth shut and lose your chance. this world is not kind to the likes of us and it will keep churning out those that oppose you and those that bring you down. hold your head up high. play that guitar the way you want to. hold that brush the way you were told not to. spit in the face of all that shall wrong you, abuse you, keep you down. eat that vomit with a smile. they will keep spewing it all over you. eat that vomit with a smile girl it's the only way to keep them distracted from the knife you are holding at waist level behind their back.....right before........well ya know :)

An Ocean But It Wasn't Deep

Oh did it always make sense to you? Well it never made sense to me. An ocean but it wasn't deep. Did you look down as far as you could go. Have you hit the bottom like all the rest? What's down there? Could you please tell us. We would really like to know. Is it bits of crap along the bottom? Should we bother bringing anything back up? Or should we just leave it all to rot and catch on the bits of wire and metal down there? Oh you've had a change of heart. You don't want to stay down there? You want to crawl back up? Maybe if you're really good we will let you back up to join us here with the living. Maybe we'll chop up some fresh veggies for you to eat. Looking up at me the whites of your eyes begin to glow a faint blue. This is not right. Something is fucked up. What did I forget? Where did I miscalculate? Do I really fucking have to go back in time again? But, I just went back yesterday! Wasn't that good enough! Didn't we fix everything...I guess not. End transmission. We cut it but it doesn't bleed.

Level White Bag Of Dicks

Level White not impressing me with your horrible poetry and tacky videos. If this is what you feel is the standard for art than I want no part of your white world. You say that white contains every color but I don't believe you, all I see is bland, uninspired flash art. You feel you have the authority to see good art? I haven't seen one shred of evidence supporting your claim. You say you want to connect with the world, but not the whole world, just the part of the world you deem is positive, artistic and commodified enough. You want an elite society of snooty artists to basically shit all over the art world. Your level white is dirty and tainted. I can't take advice from a grown man in a shiny silver track suit and Kanye glasses. Your trophy girlfriend isn't fooling anyone. You are out of touch. You remind me of a shaved Ricky Gervais with absolutely no real talent, sure you programmed myspace but you wouldn't be able to see real beauty if you tried. This might seem negative but there is one positive thing for you. For you Mr. Level White with your fractals and your fiber optics. There is still one award for you. We would like to present the award for the uber-exclusive position of worst person I have ever met. This goes to you good sir, you are the worst and one day I hope to be part of the brown smudge that ruins your perfectly white world.

CCP015-Parrots and A Purple Horn

Drowning out the parrots with a loud steel drum. I look up at the sky, straight up and see the parrots flying by. They are worth thousands of dollars. If I caught one I could pay rent but I don't have a net big enough and I'm not limber enough. The sky screams with the anger of a thousand disturbed parrots. We grabbed his purple horn and pointed it straight up. The blast scattered these creatures all across Sierra Madre. The miners took noticed and started burning coal. We had no idea this was the signal they were waiting for. Steam began to rise from cracks in the pavement. We sniffed the air. This wasn't clean air at all but noxious fumes squeezing through the cracks. Gasping for air and seeking somewhere cold to escape the great heat from below. We scatter across the landscape. Throats closed, eyes burning, tears turning to crusty salt deposits, all this and no relief in any direction. Pretty soon orange drops of some kind of liquid were trickling down from what was now a burnt Sienna sky. The drops burned on contact and began to eat away at our skin. Only people in windbreakers were spared but for their faces. Holes eaten away in their cheeks exposing cheekbone upon cheekbone as far as the eye could see. We fucked up blowing that horn and this is all our fault. If it weren't for that cruel urge to disrupt the parrots then the coal wouldn't burn and our faces would still be intact