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.



Saturday, February 9, 2013

new writing direction...

ITEM ONE.This neanderthal magazine is going to try to turn a profit so if you want to buy and ad get to me soon beofre i talk to a few close friends who want the close freind discount. -this week editing and pricing
                                                                               -next week get bukowskaholic up and running,
                                                                                plan party,
                                                                                2nd mag edition, a magazine every week that i work on...hopefully

    goal # 1 volunteer for other small presses to get idea possibly invest together on a for profit dirt bag/neanderthal/dyke/music/lo   
fi/mag or series of mags...

    make more each time with goal to store the unsod ones in a storage locker and auction those lockers off....stash journals away
     turn them into saleable words right infront of the world...if there isnt an "IM charles bukowsi" competition its high time there was....

the hits keep coming....find a partner , call it bukowskaholic enterprises, this is the last of neanderthal industries free entertainment dfor the masses division.  im starting my career as an alchemist.  turing my thoughts into things.  things that have a value but would rather be traded to you for a night on your couch.  each magazine a travelog of where i was just staying....
fictional interludes include
the stewardess and the tennis coach
neanderthal nanny

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