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MYTHAGOE / Blog

demons love me this i know

i feel that my cosmology is completely animistic, it seems to me as if the individual spirits of each particle of all material in existence have awakened me, and now present themselves to laugh and jeer at me. the low and slanting ceiling of my attic apartment grins and looks in at me with its solitary eye window; my guitar and the microphone stands are doubled-up and quivering. the very dust motes join together in a precise and menacing ritualistic dance, they portray themselves as horrid caricatures in my likeness and lurch toward me in a myriad of infinite perspectives. the bare light bulb at each end of the room casts its radiating luminousness in impossible arcs that meet and combine over my zenith, then with a terminal velocity, clamber upon me to drench me in a pallid glimmer. the air conditioner becomes the voice of these demons and speaks to me in curses and filth. but the air is the worst of all, and as such, i breathe all the air out and panic at the thought of my next dispossessed and labored inhalation. the demons are inside me.

demons love me this i know

demons love me this i know

i feel that my cosmology is completely animistic, it seems to me as if the individual spirits of each particle of all material in existence have awakened me, and now present themselves to laugh and jeer at me. the low and slanting ceiling of my attic apartment grins and looks in at me with its solitary eye window; my guitar and the microphone stands are doubled-up and quivering. the very dust motes join together in a precise and menacing ritualistic dance, they portray themselves as horrid caricatures in my likeness and lurch toward me in a myriad of infinite perspectives. the bare light bulb at each end of the room casts its radiating luminousness in impossible arcs that meet and combine over my zenith, then with a terminal velocity, clamber upon me to drench me in a pallid glimmer. the air conditioner becomes the voice of these demons and speaks to me in curses and filth. but the air is the worst of all, and as such, i breathe all the air out and panic at the thought of my next dispossessed and labored inhalation. the demons are inside me.

baby's first battle ( part 4 )

baby's first battle ( part 4 ) that same evening, long before his bed-time, he had decided what he would do the next day, still, he lay awake the entire night, wrought with his determination.� he would cut off his golden hair. the morning came, and he, with surreptitious vigil, observed a time when the rest of the family was elsewhere and busy. quick and quiet, he prowled into his parent's room.� from a large clay vessel, that held the household's petty cash, he was able to pilfer the money that he would need. all that day there was a pendent display of respect from the group of young men that had been involved in the battle. immediately after school had been dismissed, he and Howie Price, without speaking a word to each other, walked across������ the tracks and then the four more blocks to reach the corner of the town square. he did not hesitate, and they entered the barber-shop in stride, but, no-one seemed to notice them.� then, he confidently spoke in a clear, cool voice. " sir, please cut it all off. " up, into the chair he climbed, the scissors chimed with a staccato, metallic, snippety-snippety snip. and in a flash, the friendly barber whirled him round to have a look in the wall-length mirror. he gazed upon himself, then noticed that everyone else stood inquisitively waiting. stealthily, he gave a smile, and then, a barely perceptible nod. there, on the floor, all in clumps, and with their girlish length intact, were his tresses. they now, pitifully hedged a semi-circle around the chair. he knew his golden locks would make a fine sentimental keepsake, to be presented to his, soon to be stunned, mother. " sir, gather, please, these relics of my childhood, and wrap them in a fine tissue paper. soon i will return for them." he turned then to address Howie, made an open handed gesture toward his conservative attire, and said. " Mother must come to understand, i am to dress now, as a man. "

baby's first battle ( part 3 )

baby's first battle (part 3) he felt hands grab, pull him away. his eyes were closed but he swung his fists wildly. after he was pulled clear the other boys hurrily let him free. he heard a thin voice call " he's killed Benny. " he opened his eyes and met the bewildered gazes of the other boys. " who is next? " he asked flatly. then he snarled " i can fight you all at once! " he struck the boy closest to him squarely, sending him reeling into the others. he tried to swing again but the entire group turned and began to run. their reaction caught him by surprise. he shook it off and entertained the idea of chasing after them, but his attention turned instead to view the crumpled figure of Benny, who now had begun to stir and groan. he noticed for the first time that some men had crowded around close at hand most had come out from the bar across the street. And what these men were saying reinforced a new foundation in his self-esteem. " now thats the way you show 'em kid! " " you beat him like a no-good dog! " " you're another Muhammid Ali in the making. " with dirty hands he tried to wipe the perspiration from his brow, but managed only to smear a grimey brown streak across his face. his hair was tangled in a matt, his vest was ripped, missing a button, his white shirt was showing stains of blood, suddenly he tried to picture how his mother would react... he did'nt care! he had successfully defended his honor in his very first battle. with an air of pride he turned and started toward home. then he saw his father, who had observed the entire altercation. he felt his father take him by the shoulder, then give a reassuring squeeze. they looked each other in the eye and with a quick wink his father said " violence seldom solves a problem. "

baby's first battle ( part 2 )

baby's first battle (part 2) word reached his father one afternoon that he had been pursued home by a boy half his own size. this shameful incident was observed by a congregation of neighborhood gentlemen and they had recounted it to him in a playful manner which had left him feeling somewhat bothered. he then became enraged when he heard his son ruefully admit that not only was the story of such cowardice factual, but that he was extremely scared of a physical battle. his father grabbed his vest and roughly pulled him close to his face. " you will have to decide right now what it is that you are made of." he growled through clenched teeth, then he shoved him out of the frontdoor and roared " son, if you do not go and defend your honor, then i will give you the beating of your life! it is simply up to you. " for a moment the little boy did'nt know what to do. but upon remembering the other times he had tasted the effect of his father's anger, he readily decided that to battle for his honor was indeed a respectable cause. he left, looking a litte shaken at first but as he got farther from the porch he was getting firmer in his resolve. he knew he could find his fellow combatant two blocks away on the corner hanging with the rest of the neighborhood group. as he strode up they laughed and their looks were supercilious. the boy that he was to battle stepped toward him with a scowl and said " you're nothing but a sissy, go let your mother tidy-up your hair. or i'll- POW! BOOM! a round-house with his left and then an upper-cut with his right, the boy flew back then down to the sidewalk. he crashed on top and really let him have it, he raked across his eyes and landed solid blows to the face. he gripped him by his hair and hammered his head against the pavement. the boy never had a chance to fight back and after screaming in sheer fright and flailing with his arms he suddenly grew limp.

baby's first battle (part 1)

baby's first battle (part 1) no one was a better mother than i, but during my son's boyhood i caused him considerable pain and suffering. you may be of the opinion that little boys are made of snakes, snails and puppy dog tails, but as for me, i consider that particular rhyme(the poor fallow mind which created it!) to be a curse inflicted upon all children. and as such, dressed my son like little lord fauntleroy. ned taylor and howie price and the davis boys and other fellows of that young group that long ago held captive the west(across the tracks)side of bowling green had less strict mothers who allowed them to dress as they wished and do, what amounted to, most anything they damn well pleased. i was not of this mind set. my son wore a starched white shirt with a collar, velvet knickers with a matching coat and vest, fine white stockings and silver-buckled shoes. and as additional insult to masculinity, forced him to have his golden hair grow in long curls that fell sweetly on his shoulders. his youth was not a happy time for him. i restricted him from joining in the so-called "horseplay" that children of that age had resorted to, and by no means could i ever permit him to battle with another human being! as other kids were tumbling on the playground or wading in the creek or smashing themselves together in the local football game, he could always be easily found delighting in a pin-wheel or in our garden vigilantly peering through the field-glasses at a rarely seen species of bird . of course this made him all but excommunicated by the neighborhood children. they nick-named him mama's boy, said he was a coward and tried relentlessly and mercilessly to provoke him into a battle. i proudly report these attempts were futile. he remembered his mother's congenial rearing guidelines and would retreat with his dignified manner of command from the onslaught of the no-good-nicks as they hurled their matter-of-fact conclusion drawing remark that he was in fact a "SISSY". Often he would turn and run, and they, as a pack of animals, would take-up in chase baying and looking as if they were out for blood. he always made it home where he could safely but shamefully whimper into mother's loving embrace.

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a fatal error has occurred

jan 18 2011 2:39 am

the human continued to think silently, while no one was observing. standing on a rock this time he is aroused as he overhears a hopping robot shout, to no robot in particular, " the smartest robot has lost his mind " suddenly the sun disappeared behind a cloud and there twilit within this shade rolled the smartest robot. within the fringe area of the cloud's casted shadow gathered robots in large numbers of all shapes and functions. and all along the horizon, within the view of the human, there accumulated such a vast amount of robots positioned in the distance, taking on the appearance of bees swarming toward him, the hive. ostentaciously twirling the smartest robot was humming with resonant reinforced vibratory electro-magnetic wave energy. for where was his mind? Had he forgotten it? Could something have erased it? How was he to function? The " bees " all wanted to help so they buzzed unanimously " ask smartest robot to search for mind " but alas smartest robot was completely helpless without his mind. a toaster-like robot, with glowing wires,thought he knew the answer and suggested " we will have to back it all up on external read-only hard disk " even though by now the smartest robot was much too frozen to upload or download anything. the hopping robot of course bacame hopping mad at this sort of language, he considered himself better than the other robots, as there was only one of his design and model number. he was their spokesperson robot, his model number was; GURU999. so he proudly proclaimed " i have the answer " he coughed awkwardly in the interim moment " we will ask the human " but the human had fallen asleep. all this time it was mighty obvious to the smartest robot that the other robots knew nothing about the mind. and as for all the contempting ideas.... well the smartest robot did not care.... the lost mind was his own variable.... and after all he did have a re-boot floppy in his auxiliary disc drive: b. .... a fatal error has occurred

Damn straight...

web log rockstar date 11:11 PM thursday jan 13th 2011, practice is now under way for a new project entitled " Mythagoe " ( pronounced - Mytha' goe ) subjects include; Artemus Sumetra voice and guitars, Julia Fisher voice and guitars.