'America' Is America's Porn Name

Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the objective and complete the mission, though I be the lone survivor... Do you mind if I keep my socks on?

I can now more effectively segment my life.

Thanks to the drugs and the army training.

For instance: on my facebook profile I neglect to post about the drug deal/hockey game/you owe me sex fall-out/screaming match; and in my journal I take it for granted that I am beyond hating hockey – I just don't care – our out-of-town/foreign mercenaries bought and paid for by billionaires are better than your commercialized athlete-of-fortune hired by billionaires. I mean, fcuk, I can't even give a shit.

What I am basically talking about is compartmentalization – without the psychosis.

Being able to accept (laugh) at the contradictions without identifying with any of them or losing yourself (or myself) in one or another or interstitial zones of between.

It's not that I ever believed in a Platonic ideal – it's that I thought I was a Platonic ideal.

That or the poor shit-heel chained in the cave or the monkey of it's own shadow.

So now everywhere I lie and I speak the truth.

Only the wise-asses know the tell of it.

I can sit on a stack of Bibles and cut off your legs just below the knee with a cunning phrase, or I can disembowel my own truth with a few choice words.

Today it was 21/69 and girl-woman at the register was wearing an armless winter coat (in this heat).

Her only fat was mammary perking her nipples and trying to create dimples on her bum. Poor objectified thing.

How I would like to help her cock the leakage in her segmentation.

It's good to be whole.

Evil Clown

Jesus was my bastard son: back when we worshipped the sun.

- Litotes The Clown

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I'm Perfectly Sane = Imperfectly Sane

Stop Clowning Around; Reasons To Be An Evil Clown, 221 - 230





221. Quit while you're getting head

222. Your mother is a whore. My pimp told me so

223. More Homeomorphism

224. Malice is to love as wind is to fire, it extinguishes the small and kindles the great

225. American Idol is the Devil's workshop

226. Silly kids – trixs are for whores

227. Even from the box of my emotional compartimentalization I want to beat my fists to bloody stumps half way down my forearms... and laugh, laugh, laugh

228. Don't get your panties in a twist sugar britches, just get me another beer

229. Every cloud has a silver binding

230. Jesus slept

Evil Clown

Life is a dog and peony show.
- Litotes The Clown


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Paper Cuts And Insomnia Incongruity And Societal Criticism

I Can’t Remember Where I Hid The One True Good

Evil Clown Sketch: Sometimes It Hurts To Be Crazy, Pencil on Paper

The monstrous can not be unqualified and produce funniness. Whereas it may be weird, it must also clash with harmony so that, like, we can, you know, compare and contrast it to that superannuated ideal.

I am Sailing To Ganymede and my fingers get up and walk away.

Those plebes’ whose ambitions are inessentially pedestrian are in themselves a grotesque warning of the yearning for the false solace of currency and the implications of victory over others, over the system and the demands of self for self demands.

In the same moment they deem simple rules and procedures concerning how to handle the dangerous substances of good and evil as self evident and, further more, that these principles are fixed and resist all attempts at relativism or the troubling mundane circumstances of day to day mortal life.

Like the fact that my fingers are a big spider.

Contest these hack philosophical questions simile predestination vs. free will, why evil clowns prosper and the towers of our self projects fall into ruin, despair and fevered introspection and what is justice or the good anyway and why the hell should I care anymore? After that poisonous little princess tossed my heart into the ashes!

Why should I even try when I'm this tired. I wouldn't even be writing this if Julie didn't have a loaded camera to my head.

Evil Clown

The Consolation of Philosophy? Comic irony is meaningless.

- Litotes The Clown

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Litotes The Clown Monkey Dream

Evil Little Monkey Impersonator

Negotiation Time : Acrylic On Paper

There are little monkeys all over the place, tiny ones, like spider or green monkeys. They can sit on your shoulder. They seem friendly, but keep their distance.

It's hard to keep track of them all as they jump around chattering at each other amiably.

It's a big, if gloomy, enclosure; ropes, trunks, simulated trees and a few toys. It's just blackness above, with no sign of a door. But there's no hurry.

Their friendly play is everything we go to the zoo for.

The monkeys freeze. Screaming, they run around ricocheting off the rocks, couches, trees and walls. But they can't leave. Something has gotten in with them.

A predator. Is it him? The howling and frenzy increases and I check over my clothes to see if I'm wearing anything that might be wrong.

Impossibly fast it bounces around like a rocketing rubber ball. The concaphony and fear are intense. I chases it around and try to stop it or distract it from the monkeys, but it is small, low and fast.

Off a particularly rubbery wall rebound, it attaches itself to my leg. There is no sensation of impact, only the wrap-around grip. It looks up at me and grins.

Nausea, revulsion and fear are only words.

Desperate shaking becomes frantic kicking, becomes wild unbalancing spasms. The grinning monkey is unmoved. With slow deliberateness it sticks it's ass out, then thrusts its hips forward and begins humping my leg.

The howling of the others has become a distant wall of sound compared to my breathing and struggles. They are gone; hidden or immobile to the point of invisibility. It doesn't matter anymore. They don't matter anymore. I have to get it off.

It gathers steam like a lascivious locomotive, the movements oddly mechanical, a machine cranking itself over in fits and jerky starts. Penetrating my leg with an organic and bloody squish squish.

Nothing will shake it loose or knock it off; my hands, leg, the ground or useless bits of woods and debris.

Its going at my leg in a frantic rhythm now. It licks and bites my thigh and looks up at me with raised brows on a quizzical and bloody face.

My screaming is a constant siren.

The world is a blur of thrashing background and monkey howls.

At every thrust the pen is getting longer. I feel it under my skin. It turns metallic, the claws and teeth are bloody and deep, the pain sears through my body overtaking all other torments.

I beat at its head ineffectually with a stick, cutting and bruising my leg. I want to cut it off.

The monkey face is a paper mask. Behind it, a tiny human face begins to sweat through, a look of gleeful, spasming eyes in an unending fit of ecstasy. The needle pistons higher, about to enter my body.

Rolling on the ground over rocks, desperate and on fire.

Thrashing and sweating I awake and rub my leg, I run my hands through my hair. I find the light and rub my leg again.

Time to go to work.

Evil Clown

I went looking for clowns and found only the evil apes of their ideas
- The Clown who was Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

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