Honoring Hothar Diggity

Hothar Diggity Dam

There once was a loser named Diggity
Whose ‘woo’ came off just a tad wiggity
So, when he made a pass
Girls would say, “Kiss my ass!”
He thought them to be rather biggity.

Hothar is by now in spirit
With a love song for those who will hear it,
And, lucky for him,
Those would be Seraphim.
Their grace, his heart doth endear it.

With no motive to sling pipe a lot
Hothar’s someone whom ‘love life’ forgot,
So would you give a dam
For where Diggity swam?
And, do truncate his first name to ‘Hot!’

Radar Room

Radar Room

A space to grow is a rose in bloom.
A place where my heart is true to roam
The mysteries of wires and all they connect
Is a chamber I’ve chosen with utmost respect.
A workshop and play land is my home.
Of late I do favor Radar Room.

Radar Room is a state of mind,
A way of life and sacred ground
For a techie detective exploring Ohm’s Law.
I’m at home with my soul in the midst of it all.
Tinkering tools and passion abound
With gadgetry of every kind.

Fried salmon and onions… sea salt and solder…
The air is a crispness embracing the dew.
The antenna rotates and radiates well.
The local oscillator rings like a bell.
When something needs fixing, I make it anew.
Were it not so, there would be nothing odder.

 Frequency surely is the key
To aligning the transceiver known as self.
What others see on their displays
Should alter not my chosen ways.
I place all loneliness on an empty shelf
Then tune myself to higher ‘me.’

Switch

Many a dissonant mind you may boggle

Oh, wondrous Pole!
Hail, glorious Throw!
Science and leisure applaud your facility,
Honor your cause, and respect your ability
To make a thing go
Or withhold its soul.

 Rotary, Push Button, Solid State, Toggle
Variety’s but virtue, and you are the core
Of life’s inner dealings and outer expression
While greeting electrons in rapid succession.
Evolving more complex than ever before,
Many a dissonant mind’s  yours to boggle.

 Hail, Changing State!
The nub of your being
Is bi-stable bliss for device uncontrolled.
You’re a tidy technique for a thing to behold.
As believing breeds seeing,
You make life great!

Electric i

There once was an i on a table...

There once was an i on a table
And attached was an interesting label:
“If you plug in my cord
You won’t win an award,
But, i’ll dot myself knowing i’m able.
 
“On the other hand, if i am cain,
What’s been stated is offered in vain.”
Being silly like this
Turns my bitter to bliss,
Or else I would end up insane!

Trickle Down The Moon

Trickle Down The Moon

Go with the flow,” she says to me,

As e’er I compare and in vain I complain.

To Be is ALL there is, you see.

The rest is serendipity.

Be bold as the lily in the field of rain.

It does its dance.  It asks no fee!

My Middle Name Is UNDERSCORE

My Middle Name Is Underscore

As morning peeks
Up window pops
Under liquid screen where night was spent
It says I’ve erred, and by vain intent
The Cursor stops
The heart’s techniques

Then my name can’t be writ’ the more usual way?
No Spaces Or Other Such Hanky Panky!”
Well, characters were never that special to me,
And I’d just as soon see them take flight and be free
Of unworthy stages so cluttered and cranky.
So, I’ll just change my name.  Surely that is OK?

 

 

 

News Nazi Knowledge

What Every Young Heart Knows

Do Gorillas Have Wings?

Of course not, dummy. Why do your ask?

Well… I just saw on TV where a whole bunch of left wing gorillas went berserk over there in those ‘I’ lands. They did some terrible things.

‘I’ lands?

You know. Those places over there people are always talking about – Icame, Isaw, Igotherefirst… those places over there.

Dude, you need to stop watching the news. It’s not for your eyes. It’s not even reality.

Oh. I thought everything on TV is reality. Everybody seems to be very interested in what’s going on. People spend a lot of time and energy putting together the stories in such a fun to watch way. It’s tragedy rapping with a beat… almost as erotic as a video game!

Then, maybe that’s just one kind of reality. The kind of reality that most people are most familiar with most of the time. The reality is that if a gorilla has a left wing, then he probably also has a right one, given he didn’t lose one or both in battle or something.

But, the Oracle sometimes also speaks of right wing gorillas. So, I figured one winged gorillas are pretty cool because they can use their gorilla arm and their gorilla feats and tail to swing, then switch to their gorilla wing for the kill.

Well, for one thing, gorillas don’t have tales. They are apes, although I’d never tell one that to his face. Secondly, mono-winged gorillas stopped using their wings for flight – especially in battle – generations ago. With only one wing, they tend to fly in tight, small circular patterns, causing prolonged flight times and wing-side exhaustion. If they are all of one wing or the other, no other problems occur when they are flying. But, when they’re mixed, there are numerous serious head-on midair collisions.

Is that why they don’t get along… the two wings?

Maybe… They need to work them feathers out on their own, because flying gorillas are bad trip!

 

Don’t Die While You’re On The Toilet

You Won't Harden Fast Enough To Stay There

You Won’t Harden Fast Enough To Stay There

Well… hello there! Welcome back. It’s certainly been a while. The girls are still missing. Where the hell have you been? What happened? We really couldn’t give a rat’s ass anyway. We’re just being polite when we ask what keeps assholes like you trying, and what remarkable implementations of self-destruction you may indulge when you give up for however long. It’s like watching TV. The flesh is a temple of the divine and a tissue for convenience for the manly of mankind. Pussy smells – period! But we normal folk delight in being drawn by the nose to standing waters in gutters and upturned garbage can lids worldwide. We haven’t gone anywhere. As a matter of fact, we haven’t skipped a beat. The girls are still missing. We’ve stopped pretending to care. It’s open season on dark meat, both on viral and on criminal justice fronts. Oh, and did we mention, the girls are still missing. Did you really think something would change while you lay sulking in your shell the past several months? No, my friend, this world hasn’t missed you one bit, and when you’re dead and gone, your only requiem will be provided by generations of earthworms and the rectums of visiting fowl. Who the fuck would listen to what you have to say?

…Tell you what. Why don’t you sit back for a change and let us feed you some content. Tricky? It just might do you some good, Mr. Magic… or whatever the hell you think your game is. (You know, you really ought to consider changing that lame assed title of yours. People really don’t get it.) Let’s start with some useful trivia. Excretion is one of several bodily functions that continues on for some time after the body dies. That’s because most of your wretched flesh is made up of microbes waiting for your sorry ass to drop dead so they can feast on what’s left. The gas that the bugs create causes the expulsion of whatever matter is left in the colon. So you might just want to include a rugged butt plug and a clean pair of skivvies in your suicide kit. We all know you keep one; we’d know everything about you if we could withstand the boredom. God may know how many apples are in a seed, but only we know precisely how much fabric has been stained by yours, all because you’re stupid enough to tell and not even be aware that you’re playing the perfect fool.

Wanna know what’s really wrong with you? Then grab hold of your ears and cop a squat because this is heavy duty. You seem to see all too clearly the ‘dots’ of calamity that punctuate your life. Allow us to connect a few of them at your expense of course. Oh… Okay, we can understand why you’d want to keep something from spewing back at you. Let’s just say you’ve had some remarkable run-ins with the Feminine aspect of this time-space reality. And by now, you’ve come full circle, from ignorant, virgin misogynist to moon quaffed cunt crusader extraordinaire – and… the girls are still missing!

Yet, they were always there… in your mind and in your dreams… like lollipops dangling from invisible strings. In second grade, Sister Mary Joseph said that your nines looked like lollipops. She assigned Hilda to stay behind during recess to show you how to make proper nines. Hilda was sweet. She was pretty. She had blue eyes and golden curls like Goldilocks. You sat behind her. Often, you’d play with her hair. She would always turn around and giggle. You were in love with her. No one really knew or cared. But, alas, the girls are missing.

You stumbled through your troubled teens with feelings as clumsy as your limbs. The girls would laugh. The boys would laugh. The staff would turn in ignorance. You would be devastated. And to this day, you still can’t charm a hand full of water down a vertical river. If a girl should wink, you’re in flight mode, not giving her the opportunity to ever reject you. You married the first woman desperate enough to offer you the chance to play human. Through her, you betrayed the entire human family. In that delirium, you longed for her girls and girls all over the breathing, bleeding cosmos. And because the girls are still missing, a woman who’s merely human is not enough.

Dude, here it is. For some God forsaken reason, you chose a heavy duty path. Yes, we can all go along with the idea that life is a school and that we’re all here learning. But you just have to play games with it. You have to stick your face in it – smell it, touch it, taste it… Know it. If you were as tenacious a student of ‘the right stuff,’ you’d have made it to the White House before Obama.

So, you are here again, and we are not… at least, not necessarily. We’re all in the mind that is yours alone while at once nonexistent and omnipresent – incandescent of truth or relative reality. If we could but afford it, we’d love to see it your way. So you passed through someone’s hole in order to get here to be with us. Terrific! We all did for the most part. What’s with the sentiment? Why the fixation? If you had a world to belong to, it would be one where it is common practice for a ‘gentleman’ to bow upon sight in reverence to the hourglass temple of the divine.

If we were our brother’s keeper we would grab you by the Brillo and stick your head right in the toilet. Wake up! Snap out of it!! This is reality. There’s a good reason why the Arabs keep their women covered from head to toe. If divinity and enlightenment through the sense of sight were to be encouraged, then people might be distracted from productive, worthwhile endeavors such as war and desecration. This world is about power – brute force power, rational power, intellect driven power, the kind of power that can pulverize mountains and flatten nations. This world is about fame and fortune, and about getting all you can get before the getting’s gone.

Yes, mister oddball, you’re a fairly sick puppy – just as we created you to be – an even more dysfunctional reflection of us. Why don’t you tell us you were drugged and raped by Bill Cosby back in the 60’s, mistaking you for something else? That’s the kind of perverse shit we’d rather hear about. Forget your misplaced love for the sacred feminine. There is no such thing. And, guess what…

The girls are still missing

God Has Awesome Sex. That’s Why There’s Such A Big Bang.

God Has Awesome Sex

When life becomes worthless be righteous
Take up arms to that group or they might just
Do the same unto you
Seems a kind of a flu
That makes earth men coax God to fight us
I once visit upon this Ball, and every time I see you all in
Each a different costume… the same must-y smell
Through echoic rhythm my flesh can tell
From the last dance we share in eternity playing past
Snorted some CNN but a stroke ago.  My, my God sure has good sex!
This issue from the East has such wide hips
And that matter over yonder has booty to ponder
Knocked me to my knees with just a Headline
To instead poke one’s Head up a legged clam
Is attention seduced from reign and terror?
Put down that gun; that’s really no fun.
Watch me pee up a rope as I sing and smoke dope
I’ll do that if that’s what it takes… I’ll do whatever I can
Your god takes it up the rear end, is it true?
And does such a notion abominate you?
Well, my deep-throated deity sucks the stripes off a zebra
And wears neon bloomers for beanbag with angels at the swamp
Doesn’t mean that I do that as well, nor in defiance would I be cast into hell
Funny how words can engorge the flesh through a tight-assed mind
Woman knows the only reason for words is because half of us can’t read minds –
A secret as secret as The Secret