When I go for walks, I like to explore...
I leave the paths and roads and trails and see the areas less traveled.
Fences, alleys, dirtpiles, and rocks are just a few of the common landmarks on my expeditions around my neighborhood - but one day I found something different...
One day, I saw something I'll never forget...
It all started like this:
I was trudging along on a detour of sorts that had taken me down a steep hillside to a creekbed with stone shores and mossy, flowing water... At a certain point, half a mile or so along my little voyage, I found a patch of ground - surrounded by dirt, dead grass, and pebbles... IT WAS NOTHING NATURAL. It was skin. PINK SKIN. It was about 2 feet in diameter - with all of the characteristics of HUMAN SKIN. - With it's little hair folicles - and it's pores - and it's veins - like nothing I'd ever seen before. I touched it. It felt like skin. So I got a stick and poked it. As my stick drove into it - muscle tissue, veins, and cartledge were exposed - like a wound on a human body...
It bled. I drove the stick deeper (it's only ground, after all) - and I think I even felt bone. Blood. Flesh. Skin. It made me sick at my stomach so I decided to leave it alone. But I couldn't resist returning to the scene the next day... So as I approached it - I was surrounded by the most horrible smell... It was infected. There were flies everywhere. I covered my face and walked up on it - and pus was oozing up from the hole like lava from a volcanic eruption... It sucked. So I went to Sam's and bought a crate of hydrogen peroxide... I nursed the wound back to health... Now it's in good shape. I rub lotion on it everyday...
...a person with mouths for eyes (or better yet - an eye where their mouth should be).
I'm into The Edens. Polydactyl Cyclops. The Bronsky Treatment, Philemon, Tragician, Captain Howdy, Storm of Souls, and Astronaughtica... Lately I've been listening to a lot of Mifeprex Junky and Rotwag the Inventor. Beautifuck. Bang Utot. The Silent Screams, The Antdisestablishmentarialists, The White Trash Bags. Handy Cane. Insectual Predator. So What, Oh Well. The Rahludes. ShE-Mailers. Nerotic. The Plaite Techtronics. Paraplegic Cockroach. The Scrapes. The Find. Virus of Discontent. Disgrunt, The Dying, the digitilligitimate child, BLACK WOODEN WINDOWS. I love the Living Organasm. The +. the rival messiah. Supremium. Anhadonia, The Deuchen Smile, The Limbs. Audiac. Siolence. Make Me. The IN. The Intoxicated. The Electric Mayhem. The Humanimals. Pygmalien Spacecraft. The Devilopes. The You. Oval, Halfwit, Queed, Junior High... Did I mention The Sciolence?
Anything starring Aloisius Snuffle-Upogus...'Wild In The Streets' with Richard Pryor.Drive-In movies rule!
The term 'avant-garde' first surfaced at the end of the eighteenth century to designate the elite shock troops of the French army whose mission it was to engage with the enemy in small, intense battles so as to pave the way for the main body of fighters. -They often died themselves... Then, by 1830 utopian socialists started using the word to describe the visionaries (artists, scientists, and philosophers) who would usher in the NEW, IDEAL SOCIETY.I know that has nothing to do with television - but who cares? I think it's an interesting little useless fact... WHO REALLY CARES WHAT I WATCH ON TV????
The first items in the press to which all men turn are the ones about which they already know. If we have witnessed some event , whether a ballgame or a stock crash or a snowstorm, we turn to the report of what's happening first. Why? The answer is central to any understanding of media. Why does a child like to chatter about the events of it's day, however jerkily? Why do we prefer novels and movies about familiar scenes and characters? Because for rational beings to see or re-cognize their experience in a new material form is an unbought grace of life. Experience translated into a new medium literally bestows a delightful playback of earlier awareness.
The press repeats the excitement we have in using our wits, and by using our wits we can translate the outer world into the fabric of our own beings. This excitement of translation explains why people quite naturally wish to use their senses all the time. Those external extensions of sense and faculty that we call media we use as constantly as we do our eyes and ears, and from the same motives. On the other hand, the book-oriented man considers this nonstop use of media as debased, it is unfamiliar to him in the book-world. MARSHALL MCLUHAN - Understanding Media
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