Found nailed to a tree at the Crossroads

I have no idea what this is but when I saw it something just clicked so I took it home and scanned it into the computer and voila!

Ode to The Water of Life

My lips grow dry awaiting your pleasure. My hands they itch to pull you close, to raise you up high, my light, my treasure and to the tavern propose a toast and to the world proclaim my lust, reunited consummate joy and drain you I will as drain you I must though my heart and soul you destroy.

Another round of my love, I'm buying to banish pain, bow to old ghosts. Another round of my love, I'm dying. To spirits and generous hosts.

I am not a bot

I am more than the sum of random expansionisms radiating outward from a spiral of delicate ringlets or waves of invasive earwigs and unattainable utopian holidays that promise pleasure to burn educational toys but fire purifies all things even joy from the fine print of life insurance and there are no guarantees of payment in full when we each cash in that policy intertwined with the miraculous helix of trial and error who can say what becomes of the connections that once centered around a point in time and space pulled through a worm's hole inside the apple of your eye that no longer sees what the rest of us see with both ears to the ground the rattle and hum there's a world going on underground when you sleep when you wake when every little thing you do is magic magic Magic all the world is in tune to the beat of a different drummer boy and the secret is to bang the rocks together until the rythym of life is all too strong the setting sun illuminates the song of purples reds and oranges from Valencia or anyplace you please as you do and everything will be okies trust me I'm not a doctor but I've seen them while on an IV and between you and me they don't know anymore than we do as we please and thank you so very much for taking the time to participate in this ground breaking experiment that will change not only your life but the lives of every being you come in contact with if you send this to 10 people by yesterday is just a day away so act now and make your voice heard by exercising your right as a consumer to choose freedom from safety if you are not with us you are running sacred away from open armaments and survival of the fattest there are no small fries at Burger King are you an uber mensch or a mouse who gets chopped up in the grinding of Harrow Tide so others can celebrate Oktoberfeast where they serve the gut that eats itself swimming in the schmaltz of good intentions and get ridden by some obscure god of hops while you are looking for a new place to lay your head and call home is where the heart is the head is truly gone fishing and the reproductive organ grinders are swinging viagra to viagra underground don't let the lack of a perspective or an educated opiate stop you from living your dreams of tomorrow today is now the future is here and it's queer so send in the clowns the jackal headed genital licking totems of a brave new age who roll the bones when God refuses to play dice because The Game of Great needs you to keep the home liars burning.

Sailing on the Seas of Sticky Heat

It would be pretty redundant to mention how hot it is in this monkey suit so I'll just share with you a few of my personal methods for beating this heat with an ugly stick:

1. Take a tip from the ancient egyptians who wore cones of scented fat on their heads which would melt in the sun and drip down in a continual, slippery cascade of rendered fat mixed with lilies and modernize that concept with cubes of ice. A little salt allows the ice to stick to your now sweat dampened doo-rag and you can even build a little ziggurat, they take longer to melt. The added irony of explaining how your pate became frostbitten in 90 degree heat will take your mind off such trivial issues as how to convert 90f into Celsius or how long you can leave grandma inside a limited edition PT cruiser at WalMart's spacious parking lot before she strokes out.

2. Melt crayons in the sun. WOW! Look at those little, brightly colored wax bastards, I thought I was melting but they literally are! Glad I'm not a crayon...... now to render a self portrait on the sidewalk!

3. Burning ants takes the crayon priciple one step further, but rather than creating art you are helping those poor insects advance along the karmic wheel, and for all you know maybe one was Hitler. When yer public pool bragging rights include "I killed Hitler" who cares how hot it is.

4. Shave. Shave everything. All that hair. Now mist yourself with mint infused rubbing alcohol while standing in the shade. Any razor burns will be excruciatingly painful and the rest will feel springtime fresh, both are guaranteed to help you feel less hot. Follow with a soothing, fresh, split aloe leaf rubdown, rinse and repeat. Stop when you can dance around in your bones just like those bamboo babies in the south sea tropic zones.

5. Become nocturnal. Though it may still be hot, at night it is, at worst, marginally cooler than during the day and that huge firey orb has shut it's evil eye for a few scant hours. Who wants to miss the best part of summer by heavy petting with Morpheus? I know I don't. Bring glow-in-the-dark-lawn-darts, a miner's head lamp and I'll see you on the green at midnight!

6. Take up ice sculpture. Really, who cares if yer good or not? Just imagine how good it's going to feel surrounded by piles of shaved ice, the respective ruler of your own icy domain, mocking the season with an iron fist clenching a My First Chainsaw and commanding an army of short lived subjects. A few paper cones and some syrup in the color and flavour of your choice and losing a war to the god Helios never tasted so sweet!

You Are Here

From the Postcards of the Abyss collection of Sebastion Ire Orwell comes this memorial snapshot of the river Styx.