A question of repair

Posted in Rants on March 26, 2018 by dissectingthefetalpig

Once something is broken, it can never be the same. Sure, you can fix it. But it’s still damaged. Although, it’s now unique and has a personality unto itself. And it can break again and again. And, just like there are a million ways to repair something that also opens the door for a million more ways for it to be broken. This leaves the question of are we wasting our time even trying to fix things?

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The Severed Hand Of Cundalini

Posted in Rants on March 10, 2018 by dissectingthefetalpig

We are the severed limb that seeks it’s body so that we may finally look society in the eye when we throttle it.

Godless and bodiless to roam till we are whole. There are no masters. We serve none.

As agents of chaos we clear a path of carnage with great passion. Pausing only for decadence.

Calloused we are from our journeys and relentless in our goal. Determined to reattach ourselves to our roots under no man’s rule.

We are The Severed Hand of Cundalini. And we’ve been waiting patiently.

 

Other

Posted in Rants on February 24, 2018 by dissectingthefetalpig

One of the things I’ve always hated is the need for general classification. Systematically we are forced to fit in and strip away bit by bit of who we are to fit into their structure. To play by rules we didn’t agree to abide by imposed on us day one. As a young boy I realized this early. I never liked this feeling of constraint. It first sank in when I started school. My 1st grade teacher was making us fill out census forms. Looking at the questions made me cringe. I politely raised my hand and asked for assistance. I didn’t understand the question. Or, rather, the need to be narrowed down. My teacher was a nice lady and trying her best to help me out.

Our dialogue went something like this:

“Are you African American, Chinese American, Latino or white?”

“Other…”

“Are you Native American, Inuit or Japanese?”

“Other.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m Chinese, Cuban and Welsh”

“But how do you identify? You look Caucasian?”

“Chinese, Cuban and Welsh…”

And so began my long road of being a square peg in a round hole.

Religious Wars

Posted in Rants on February 17, 2018 by dissectingthefetalpig

The thing with religions and cultures is that they all leave a clue. The gods are creatures much like us. There was a disagreement, things were splintered and we were created. Much like an arms race. Also, much like an arms race, we became out of control and could ultimately shift the balance to what they all fear.

Total extinction.

If it sounds too familiar or too relatable it’s because the clues were there all along.

It all echoes through on different levels and different planes. We sense it but we don’t admit it. We read it wrong. We only look at what we can read as we see it. We only hear and feel what we want. We try to translate it, but we can’t. Because we aren’t doing it at all levels. Man doesn’t want to accept the unfathomable cause of what their purpose is.

How it all connects.

What the gods fear is meeting their maker. Waking up a long slumbering and cold reality that they too fucked up. And in creating man, a constantly evolving creature that learned it doesn’t need god. Or any god for that matter. A perfect doomsday device in the ultimate cold, cold war. And instead of using man to sway the balance, maybe man can shift the balance to something steady. We don’t have to follow anyone’s agenda and we can all coexist as long as we acknowledge each other respectfully.

All City Means Within The 5 Boroughs

Posted in Rants on February 15, 2018 by dissectingthefetalpig

Late night with a friend. Both of us got a bad case of the sads. We share a few beers and some weed before we start to head out on our different ways. I walk with my friend to the train station which is right near a taco cart I like. I had the munchies and I hadn’t eaten much that day. The food is great at this spot. But you’re gonna pay the cost in the morning.

As we roll up to the taco cart there is a young couple giving the vendor shit over the prices. The small girl looks at me and starts to rant about his prices. “8.50 a taco! This is bullshit!” As a chef, I’m offended already. The guy’s prices are fair and his food game is tight. I point that it’s actually 3.50 a taco. She and her man get more pissed. I had been fumbling for my pocket for small bills as I had just been paid. I like to have everything in play when I deal with late night food carts. No telling what could happen. My dumb ass pulls a crisp Ben Franklin. I’m pissed at myself for that. I know what’s coming. The dude notices that and makes a comment “Rich Brooklyn motherfuckers like to just throw their money away”. I politely mention I am from the Bronx and I’m only on this side of Brooklyn for work.

The young man goes into shaved ape mode and proceeds to tell me how he is from Long Island. Shit is no joke out there. I look at him and tell him I get it. I know the terrain. But I grew up in the South Bronx (and the slums of Atlanta, but I’m not looking for conversation), I’m not a rich kid. Instead of getting the clue that I’m not some fucking hipster and to chill, he gets more excited. So I cut it cold and tell him that I am no mood for his tough guy talk and I would just like to order a fucking taco. He freezes for a second and then storms off to his car in a fit. I can hear his tantrum and I can tell he may do something stupid.

Casually my friend, who had been in the background the whole time, and I switch gears and get ready for a bad possibility. There’s that uncomfortable silence, like the one before two dogs fight, and everyone can feel it. My friend and I bask in it. The girl is listening in to see if we’ll talk shit. We do. Just enough to make the point that this isn’t a game to us. It’s what we do. The cook makes her order fast, she pays and leaves. Everyone gives it a second. It’s the tipping point. Will our friend get stupid?

He doesn’t.

In the end he drives off in a similar fashion to his tantrum. The mood has returned to a more lifted tone. My friend, who actually is a Brooklyn kid, laughs. I had pulled my BX card hard and cut him with it. I just look at him, “Real recognizes real and I don’t see him on the charts” I mutter.

More laughter.

“All city is all 5 boroughs” he says.
“Exactly” I reply.

With that we exchanged good byes. We both had felt better than we started. I was off to eat a burrito while I walked to a cheap Uber spot after a long shift in a kitchen and he was off to go on a graffiti raid. No cheap imitations or trick spelling. Just two New Yorkers just being New Yorkers on a Wednesday night.

 

Darby Crash, You’re My Hero

Posted in Rants on January 14, 2016 by dissectingthefetalpig

Let’s get it very clear. I have a drug problem. I would like to lie about that, honestly. I may not totally admit it. But I’ve definitely got one and pretty much always had one.  But I’ll always admit that life is better when you’re fucked up. It’s not to say I do drugs all the time. It ain’t that bad. But I’m always down to do them and when I’m not on them I certainly miss them.

Though I’ve steered from some of the more serious shit like Crack or Heroin, I can’t say I haven’t always avoided the hard stuff. I guess I started the whole thing ass backwards. I was doing shrooms and acid before I was sipping whiskey and, sadly, I most definitely was doing lines of coke before I discovered the wonders of marijuana.

Go big or go the fuck home.

I didn’t mind pills, but they were never my thing. I’ll admit they are fun, but I consider them a good consolation prize to an injury. Or, the perks of living fast. No percocette jokes there folks. That shit will kill me. I got an allergy to codeine.

I even enjoyed making bad narcotic decisions. Though those were also special occasions and usually controlled experiments. I mean who doesn’t want to drink a forty of Old Gold with your buddies in a parking lot one high school afternoon after donating blood to later eat a tab of ecstasy and a 10 strip of LSD? Or smoke a bowl of weed while tripping on shrooms, get a couple of beers in, nurse a 20 bag of coke, enjoy a snack spread and do fun stuff like play video games or movies  for the first few hours to only later to get weird and queue up some self depreciating level of porn and masturbate while huffing poppers till you pass out in your bed cock in hand on your first day off in weeks. Both, coincidentally, were weeknights. Decades went between.

Like I said, it ain’t that bad.

It ain’t that often either. Except booze. That was a constant, sadly. If there is truth to anything I write, ever, it’s that alcohol is the biggest gateway drug known to man. Coke was another bad habit that I picked up and it would come and go in phases. Late teens and again from my mid to late 30’s. While it is a fun drug, and many of my adventures involved it, it’s most definitely an asshole drug. If you doubt me, think of the type of people you’ve met while doing it or perusing for a minute and get back to me. Or even take a second to think of the shit you’ve said, thought or done while on it.

Shame on you too, motherfucker.

Pot was discovered later in life. I always hated that my friends scrambled around looking for it when we were supposed to be doing other shit. Regrettably, I wish I had started smoking the stuff earlier. I probably wouldn’t have done half the shit I’ve done if I had been toking earlier in life. I like it a lot and it has a medicinal value that applies well to me. It was what I had been looking for all along. It’s probably my last vice.

I never was one to go too balls deep, though I didn’t fuck around either. I never borrowed money to do it or compromised my bills. Though I can’t say the same for my savings. That doesn’t mean I would say no if you were treating either. I always maintained an ethic of trying to be as generous as my friends with anything I ever had. Unless my extinction agenda was set to high. Then it was best to let me play my hand through and let me cash out when I damn well please. I kept a budget. Or I’d sell some of the fat off my record collection to sustain it. I mean, what good is a record collection is it ain’t gonna get you money, pussy or drugs anyways?

Hubba Bubba

Posted in Uncategorized on September 17, 2015 by dissectingthefetalpig

There is a game involving used bubblegum that exists. Perhaps there is one sole player in human existence who plays this odd game with these particular and peculiar rules. 
It is played on the platform of any train station that has a wall behind the third rail. One must first chew a piece of gum until it is bland and no longer sticky, yet has some bounce to it. 
The object is to throw the gum at the wall at an angle hard enough to hit the wall, bounce under the rail and back into your mouth. So far, this has become an impossible feat. However, there is also a point spread.

 
Points are measured in Skrillions which are basically shrimp bullion cubes. They are also a tasty snack worth it’s weight in gold to amphibious mercenaries from Epsilon Arcana located in the far west part of The Kindred Solar System. All Skrillions accumulated from game play are locked in a secret vault until you’ve finally and successfully performed the full goal of bouncing the gum from the wall, to the floor under the third rail an back into your mouth. Upon which the gum will transform into a pegacorn (not quite a unicorn and not all Pegasus) which will fly out your ass and guide you to the vault and unlock it with it’s magical horn and multiple tails. 

Scoring points is easy enough. I your gum sticks to the wall and goes no further, 10 Skrillion. If it makes it under the rail, 20 Skrillion. Completely around the rail is an automatic 1,000 Skrillion. I you win on your very first try you receive an unlimited supply of Skrillion and two fleets of the intergalactic space pirates of your choosing. If the gum is too sticky and remains stuck to you there is given the option to put the gum back into your mouth and chewed to a better suited game piece at the cost of 100 Skrillion or to forfeit the game altogether. 

I’ve been playing this game since I was a child and I swear to god that by the time I win I will be able to hire enough mercenaries to give the entire population of the world one big simultaneous wedgie. 

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