Sunday, May 1, 2016

Resurection Night

It wasn't until the mid-00's that the gameplay for Goldeneye was "supposed" to be based on stealth.  I'm not very good at Goldeneye per se.  I've always played with cheat codes that made me invisible and put a laser machine gun in each hand.  I can stand in the same place murdering infinate computer enemies for five hours and not be the least bit bored, and sometimes I still do manage to get killed when I ignore armed enemies in favor of pistol-whipping civilians to death.  Not the skull but the ribs, one at a time, slow.  Yet if there were no people to kill; if you were the only person to exist on planet Goldeneye,, it would still be the best game ever made in any medium for so long as it has office chairs that fucking explode man, or as long as you can still commit mega-suicide by laying a hundred proximity mines in the same room and than shooting one.

I once told my girlfriend that I wouldn't spend a cent on Christmas lights if I were a billionaire an she got generally mad.  I'm okay with house lights.  If someone wants to put up some Blue Oyster Cult lasers around their house all year long that would be cool but Christmas lights; meh.  It is not Christmas as such that I object to but Christmasismo.  Not even that Fox News War on Christmas shit either, that's fish in a barrel.  Too obviously a case of white people pissing on "our" culture to bother noting.  I mean the loudness of it all.  Fuck special Christmas episodes of Two Broke Girls is what I mean.  I mean fuck anyone who insists on turning off Curtis Mayfield for that pompous pseudo-Old English caroling shit because of the calendar date.  "We Three Kings" is a nice gothic jam but fuck all the rest. I could say fuck bowl games but it's fuck big time sports more generally like and anyhow it's kind of amusing to to watch two 500 teams with no defense for colleges that probably aren't real have it out in Bakersfield or something.  Most of all fuck god for sure and fuck it being all cold with winter just beginning.

Kyle has the right of it.  Fourth Of July.  When I had my van mom would wire wire me $200 to go to Missouri for cherry bombs and other forbidden-here bombs.  i would generally have lunch in KC buy the fire at one of the shops along the Kansas line in the bottoms than cross back to Nebraska at
Brownville because the river smell in summer is all spiritual like.  It was chill.  Sometimes my cousin would come home for the Fourth from Sacramento and he would stop in Wyoming for much the same thing. In Wyoming you see there is simply nothing at all forbidden to white men.  There is not a single character in the Mad Max universe that could survive twenty seconds of Wyoming. Its birth rate can only be guessed at because while abortion is socially anathema bearing a child to no greater end but to serve it to the father on Easter brunch is routine and need not be reported. As recently as forty years ago Jeffrey City WY was a mining town of over a thousand but is near abandoned now.  Because one June winter day back in 78 the grizzly that they all prayed to demanded blood forever. 

My family collectively spend over $1000 on fireworks for real.  That's how white rural we are. The show generally takes over an hour with the job of launching typically that of the younger generation of grown men same as war. Phosphorous burns are acutely painful for several hours after injury even if you nurse them right.  It's fucking worth it man.  Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom Boom.  The experience of being Uncle Josh MC of Fire is one of those that can't be told of.  You either feel the liquid of endorphin flowing from your mind to your meat or you don't.

Hemingway's widow passed off his suicide as an accident so he could have a Catholic funeral.  Why she felt the need to do this I've no clue.  Nor do I know why his choice to sunroof himself and not forty years of writing 'have as much sex with as many as you can kill as many wam bodies as you can and fuck god" is what would have made a church funeral off-limits. 

The level of hangover that isn't really painful but entails a slow heavy feeling on the nerves between your brain and sense organs. You can relieve this with coffee but that brings on the blood pressure headache.  RIP me.  Biscuits & gravy with an egg stack on top mild hot sauce. Hash browns left a touch soft cooked in the sausage grease. An always drunk brain would give my writing more of that flighty controlled chaos style that I've always liked but than again I can write more if I live longer. When I'm sixty and aware that my life is 4/5ths over or so it's going to be weird as hell to buy groceries or drink Mountain Dew or lick a stamp or vote for the candidate I think will help bring the better future.  I know it's cliche but I am communicating with the reality of 2300AD right now and there will be no 2300AD.  It's not being dead as such that I fear because of course nothing is neutral. I did not exist for ten billion years before 1982 and it was fine. That scene in 2001 where HAL can consciously feel the nothing coming on, that's what I fear.  Knowing that in five minutes they'll be people in the room crying or otherwise doing things while on the other side of the world someone will be seeing opposite-sex genitals or eating feta cheese for the first time except no they won't.  I want fucking stimulus to make me feel good or bad forever.  I suppose we all do.  Never mind my body let it rot except no. Have me stuffed and put me on stage next to major heads of state giving major speeches, making wry comments of your choosing through text like the Yellow Kid. One had might as well believe in Christ as that singularity shit I realize.  It isn't happening man.  Or if it does it will be reserved for no one but Henry Kissinger so he can Lovecraft torture-god Latin America forever. Or I've always gotten a purgatorial feel from Kubrick and I think he'd do just fine for a god.  An eternity of walking down illuminated corridors with sporadic breaks of tense euphemistic dialogue while somebody holds down the same two synthesizer notes for eight minutes at a time.  It would be something.    

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