PA.APP (09)

In our version of history the world is flat and oval with deep lateral grooves where demons and despots breed. The great scythe comes calling 3 times a day, regular as clockwork with a vast orange blade. Sleep with one eye awakened to the possibilities of broken dreams. New manifestations riddle the barren eternity, thoroughfares and dwellings etched into the surface, denying sacrifice to the outer-dimensional blade. And from these complex warrens, open to the sky, all madness is magnified as it comes up against a wall, over and over again. A maze beyond conclusion in which we must suffer constant restriction or stand up to be cut down, like corn. To size. In his prime. With certainty. There is a point when history starts repeating itself. The burning quest to define infinity. The snake, as a circle, consuming its own tail. All is looked over with god/man morals invented by the man/god in order to be the imagined reflection of some higher energy. Celebration of ego will always cut off its own nose. It will always be worse than ever. Limping backwards into the future/into an early grave, clothes burning and the stink of rotten magpies, heaped up, in the heart of the land. The beast is on the roof again, ripping off the gutters and rattling the chimney. The phaunos is risen, his seed to be spread far and wide.

The idealistic facade of manicured lawns
and homogeneity is easily
                                                   cracked when considering the statistics.
                                Cisco is 45 minutes
                                                                                   from the nearest town, and
has no running water,
                                                                                   grocery, gas station, or residents.                Anticipating the public’s rejection of government, trans and queer models
                                                                                    with their trucks
presenting opportunities for subversion and creative destruction in and
                                                                            around Tel Aviv, Jerusalem,
                             the Negev desert, and in the occupied West Bank.                       suburbia as a haven for nuclear families
                                                                                             first, women in the town were not allowed to work,
                         thus stabilizing the point of existence, the rustic lifestyle, desert climate,
                                                                                              second, African Americans were barred from living in Greenbelt, an exclusive invitation to a ‘money can’t buy’ experience.
                                                                              With the mantra “in the world, but not of it” nestled into the hillside ruins of a Palestinian village bombed and evacuated during the 1948 War.
                                                                                      Economy’s inaccessibility was intentional.
           Though entrance is free, parking is not.





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I think a lot of people have feelings of low-key imposter syndrome all the time

I’m going to climb up on that truck and take my pants off

LINKLINK <> Tiffany St. Bunny

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passing amongst people

i see myself as a black space

slightly dulling

or dirtying

whatever colour they are bringing

to the party

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hundreds and hundreds

of miles covered every week

jangling to the insulting conflict

of combustion engines

at once parachutist

fat hog rider and charioteer

it’s hot work for a cold horizon

yin-yang and military edition

plum jam

IF YOU ARE INTO : dull corporate operators, echoes of the synapses, vending machine music, text-to-speech hysteria, under the influence drum incursions, modulating machinery until it breaks, unnecessary untrue information, sticky dancefloors, garageband aficionados, techno-mutations, third parties provocations, hard-to-draw-a-line genres, tangible psychedelia, obscure naivety...to be continued...
                                https://ooh-sounds.bandcamp.com/album/shit-shine-no-no-no-no

(SEASONAL ALTERATIONS MAYBE APPLIED)

Bill was hog-tied and naked and they were pissing on him. Do you pay your money and take your choice, or not pay your money and still take your choice. O ye of little faith! Bill didn’t know anymore. He was beyond himself. Maybe they’d towed his car away. Whose game is this? I am an anti-christ. Always so many fragments flashing through the branches in sunlight and moonlight. Pushing into the corners and accelerating hard out. Inventor of the lozenge technique, which states:- Any human encounter should be measured by one lozenge. If you feel ok after the lozenge has gone, be warned, the likelihood of you wanting to kill yourself, once alone again, is increasing whilst you are deluding yourself. Choose a lozenge that works best for you. They were there again. Bodies, rough hands, pulling him this way and that, pushing into him. Bill was floating up now. Transcending. Whereabouts on the line do we put ourselves in order to leave the corporeal impediment. How extreme must the mining be to find that vein of riches beyond all value? How much later must we leave it? How much further must we fall? How much is lies and bullshit? How much is that doggy in that window? Watch this space. Dogs get feral. Voyeurs and exhibitionists. Symbiotic couplings of intimate disintegration. A personality split. A comb with false teeth. A rugged hetero from a romance novella. A smear of blood on a toilet seat. 5 minutes, that’s all we’ve got.

                                    ..oo)00-00(oo..

Alvin Baltrop
Born December 11, 1948[1]
The Bronx, New York City[1]
Died February 1, 2004 (aged 55)
New York City, New York, U.S.

Chat isn’t just chat in New Zealand, it’s connection, possibly the only social interaction of a person’s day, if they are isolated, out of work or lonely. I have been all of those things, and I have valued casual exchanges as proof that I’m still human, still worth talking too, when my feelings and mind seem to be telling me otherwise.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________dilapidated buildings burn surrounded by debris, firemen, and police_________________________________________________________________________conveying the radiance of non-white skin, of red patterned towels, and of green-tinted walls_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________moments of intimacy and sex, steel beams and rippling water___________________________gas stations, parking lots, and underpasses, many lit only by street lamps________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ridges of buildings and bodies curve in their shadows;          men wear their pants around their ankles or nothing except socks and shoes____________________________________________________big hair, jewelry, and eyes________________________

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“There is no such thing as liberty,' she heard the quiet, deep, dangerous voice of Don Ramón repeating. 'There is no such thing as liberty. The greatest liberators are usually slaves of an idea. The freest people are slaves to convention and public opinion, and more still, slaves to the industrial machine. There is no such thing as liberty. You only change one sort of domination for another. All we can do is to choose our master.”
― D.H. Lawrence, The Plumed Serpent

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THE SUMMER LURCH. Moving into it. One day clouds and rain. ONE DAY UNRELENTING CLARITY & HEAT. This to & fro is loved by sandflies, they swarm around my head as i split rounds of Beech. THEY SWIM in my eyes. My lips are swollen from their biting. After a mast year there is an increase in the numbers of mice, rats and stoats. PLAGUE PROPORTIONS. The Government has a policy of poison. Aerial drops of the contentious 1080. Abuse is common for those in the Department Of Conservation. CONTRADICTORY claims hold their ground. It cannot end well. Those with most guns are also the most REACTIONARY. I am the man in the middle with nothing to defend myself with except for a well used toilet brush. It is not my argument. PREDATOR FREE by 2050 is a fictional buzz-phrase. The POLITICIANS are afraid of losing face, looking stupid or incapable. And so they tell stories that CAN NEVER BE TRUE. We have zombie possums too. There is a poisoned rat in the shed. I have to watch the flies to see where it is. It's in and empty cider box along with a used vacuum cleaner dust bag. The numerous rubbish sacks in the kennel are a go-to venue for vermin. Soon the maggots are falling out of the torn plastic bags. I always seem to be the GARBAGE MAN. More rain is forecast this week. I will do my best to keep moving. The sandflies at the lake are vampires, swift and blood thirsty. You have to be a STRANGER or a MASOCHIST to chose this as a holiday destination. Later, the wasps will come, also in plague proportions. This country is PURE in comparison to many others and as such ripe for exploitation. The fields are over filled with dairy herds. The land not good enough to support them. And so chemicals are employed to kill weeds and artificially grow grass. The rivers take up the over-spill. The farmers are slaves to the banks who crack the industry's whip which demands that every last drop is milked. BOVINE mutations rule the economy. If REAL CHANGE can be implemented it will be done over spilled blood and SCREAMS of rape.

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In Iraq, the wives of soldiers have traditionally cut their hair as an act of erasing their femininity, viewing hair as both sexy and holy.
Dreaming is a gift. The ones you killed will return to you in your dreams.
Today, protesters in Iraq wash themselves with bottles of Coke, which helps minimize the effects of the gas.
Iraqi security forces began firing live ammunition and tear gas at civilian protesters.
They catch the grenades in their arms and throw them back at the police.

You are solely responsible for any action you take as a result of this message.                               PA.APP.(09)P.A.