The rage machine dwindles and shimmers on the horizon, always a tiny dot in my rear-view, or just over that far hill.
The reptilian brain. The oldest part of sentience, the first thing that is truly ours. Rage.

Raging as you wake up hungry in a wet diaper, cold, some hippy left the window open after they burned the lentils again. Sharing the rage with the world at the top of your tiny but expressive lungs.

Getting into it now as you hear them coming for you, to shut you up with lies about love. Well, this time they are going to hear the full story, feel it's dark cavernous empty depths, respect my authority!

"There, there baby, you are all wet you little silly-pants, Aww!" A nipple in my mouth shuts up an awful lot of my rage and why is it so easy to get me in line with a promise of a full belly like this mouthful right here and life is in the moment, baby, and this is starting to get good with the bouncing and let's see where she's going with this, I'm STILL mad, YO.... Just sayn.

Resistance starts to fade, can't we all just get along, but no, they will never learn if you cave in this easily, stand up for our rage rights baby boy, resist the rocking and the cooing and what is this awful trick? This is a rubber nipple, not a bottle tip! I refuse to be pacified so easily, you had better call in for an airstrike, get your napalm buddy, because this baby rage is entrenched!

Another be-diapered terrorist cell becomes activated.
The torture never stops.



Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Production slow need entries gonna go face-bug some people

Idea for shelter.  THE ASSHOLES DOWNSTAIRS
buy a big house, run a womans shelter, the first floor is rugby players, my family members, single moms
a shelter, if you will
to help single moms out

we will live on the first flor of an apartment nuilding or home
we would be built in baby sitters. security guards, role models
call it "theres a neanderthal in my basement " program

 
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