Dreams? Yes dreams. Mostly mine are too disturbing to pass along. I can’t properly embellish the sensible features of them without invoking goblined imagery too obscene and grotesque for most sensible folk to suffer thru. But here’s a dream I had the other night.
I sat in the living room. The walls had been covered with striped felt. Maroon. Then green. And again maroon. Something from the bohemian markets in San Francisco. Two children burst from my abdomen. They were screaming in garbled and synthesized voices. The torn flesh and stretched membranes covered parts of their bald heads. Anger and angst forced them to clench their fists around my dangling interior organs.
All the while I sat. I drank cognac from a large snifter and gently rocked when the fan passed. Really I was enjoying the trumpet music she had brought back from India. The door opened. She had returned. The children shut their eyes and dove back into the gaping wound at my abdomen. The flesh sealed and the scar melted into the remaining portion of my tummy.
In three words or less I would describe the dream: Fucking beautiful.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
WORK SUCKS
In this strange dream I had a while ago, I looked down and noticed that my member was just a wispy flap of skin, only slightly thicker than a hair. Panic set in when I realized that I wasn't wearing any pants and that I was in a room full of people who were staring and laughing at me. I tried frantically to cover it up and pretended that what they saw was just a pubic hair and that my actual member was hidden from their site. This was only the second most frightening dream I've had involving my penis.
The worst dream was as follows: I was at a dinner party where waiters in tuxedos were serving hoar-devours on fancy silver platters. One of the waiters came over to me and asked me if I would like to try my own penis. I looked down to find my own limp Johnson on his tray. There might have been a couple others there as well. So I picked it up and wondered how I was supposed to eat it. Then I woke up and vomited in my mouth.
The point is that some weeks are so awful that I would rather eat my own severed penis than go to work.
In this strange dream I had a while ago, I looked down and noticed that my member was just a wispy flap of skin, only slightly thicker than a hair. Panic set in when I realized that I wasn't wearing any pants and that I was in a room full of people who were staring and laughing at me. I tried frantically to cover it up and pretended that what they saw was just a pubic hair and that my actual member was hidden from their site. This was only the second most frightening dream I've had involving my penis.
The worst dream was as follows: I was at a dinner party where waiters in tuxedos were serving hoar-devours on fancy silver platters. One of the waiters came over to me and asked me if I would like to try my own penis. I looked down to find my own limp Johnson on his tray. There might have been a couple others there as well. So I picked it up and wondered how I was supposed to eat it. Then I woke up and vomited in my mouth.
The point is that some weeks are so awful that I would rather eat my own severed penis than go to work.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
Thursday, February 08, 2007
NOT DONE YET...
"You hear that sound? That's the sound of your
bullshit hitting the whirling dirvish [sic] of anger that is
my fan. You are about to find out what happens when
you piss of [sic] 145 pounds of bitterness, rage, and semen.
You are entering a world of pain.
Mr. Dickface Know-It-All Lawyer, I'd like to know how
to post things on that self-indulgent, masturbatory
piece of shit you call a blog.
Mr. Pretty Boy Everything Is All Pink And Squishy
Economist, Make your damn music video. I'll get
famous and bang Playmates and shit. Plus, I like
Ziggy Stardust. Some of us still listen to rock and
roll music and not Eurotrash synthesized techno
bullshit.
In the immortal words of Wyatt Earp brilliantly
portrayed by Mr. Kurt Russell, 'YOU CALLED DOWN THE
THUNDER? WELL NOW YOU GOT IT!!!!!!'
Eat shit and die, Hart"
"You hear that sound? That's the sound of your
bullshit hitting the whirling dirvish [sic] of anger that is
my fan. You are about to find out what happens when
you piss of [sic] 145 pounds of bitterness, rage, and semen.
You are entering a world of pain.
Mr. Dickface Know-It-All Lawyer, I'd like to know how
to post things on that self-indulgent, masturbatory
piece of shit you call a blog.
Mr. Pretty Boy Everything Is All Pink And Squishy
Economist, Make your damn music video. I'll get
famous and bang Playmates and shit. Plus, I like
Ziggy Stardust. Some of us still listen to rock and
roll music and not Eurotrash synthesized techno
bullshit.
In the immortal words of Wyatt Earp brilliantly
portrayed by Mr. Kurt Russell, 'YOU CALLED DOWN THE
THUNDER? WELL NOW YOU GOT IT!!!!!!'
Eat shit and die, Hart"
MORE MUSINGS FROM THE HARTSONG
"Dear Motherfucker, I don't recall giving permission
for you to prostitute my innermost thoughts and
feelings, to say nothing of my covert machinations,
for all to see on the interweb. Take this as notice
that you are temporarily relieved of your duties as my
attorney while I engage a rival attorney to obtain
restitution for the theft of my intelectual property.
After I have taken posession of all your belongings
and assets you will then resume your duties gratis for
the remainder of my life. Also, if you publish any
further communiques, I will castrate you before you
have a chance to sow your conjugal oats."
"Dear Motherfucker, I don't recall giving permission
for you to prostitute my innermost thoughts and
feelings, to say nothing of my covert machinations,
for all to see on the interweb. Take this as notice
that you are temporarily relieved of your duties as my
attorney while I engage a rival attorney to obtain
restitution for the theft of my intelectual property.
After I have taken posession of all your belongings
and assets you will then resume your duties gratis for
the remainder of my life. Also, if you publish any
further communiques, I will castrate you before you
have a chance to sow your conjugal oats."
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
HARTSONG WEIGHS IN
"It is wise of you to send me an invitation to your
wedding. I was planning to attend whether invited or
not. However, if not invited, I would be forced to
lurk in the rafters of the church until the
penultimate moment of the ceremony at which point I
would swing down to the altar tarzan-style wearing
nothing but hot-pants,cowboy boots, and a backpack. I
would then remove an infant goat from my backpack and
quickly slaughter it with my Rambo knife, spraying you
and your bride with the warm blood of the pure to
demonstrate my indignation with your discourteous
social slight. So, clearly it is in your best
interest to send me an invitation, or a "save the date
card", or whatever gaywad thing you are calling it. I
hope I can join you and Priya on your special day
without bloodshed. Kisses, Hart Attack"
"It is wise of you to send me an invitation to your
wedding. I was planning to attend whether invited or
not. However, if not invited, I would be forced to
lurk in the rafters of the church until the
penultimate moment of the ceremony at which point I
would swing down to the altar tarzan-style wearing
nothing but hot-pants,cowboy boots, and a backpack. I
would then remove an infant goat from my backpack and
quickly slaughter it with my Rambo knife, spraying you
and your bride with the warm blood of the pure to
demonstrate my indignation with your discourteous
social slight. So, clearly it is in your best
interest to send me an invitation, or a "save the date
card", or whatever gaywad thing you are calling it. I
hope I can join you and Priya on your special day
without bloodshed. Kisses, Hart Attack"
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