Tag Archives: truth

lies, lies, lies v 2.0

I suppose the whole 2.0 thing renders lies, lies, lies the original. …the first.

Lies, Lies, Lies

version

1

…point

…oh.

or whatever.

And whereas in any medium other than tech-shit, the original is the best. Superlative, even…. pure. When entering this Brave New World of version-istic technology… of a product revealed with such melodramatic grandiose gravitas (bullshit)… innovation, as no one could have ever imagined, showered unto the masses… the original is just a test subject. The hype, like millions of smoke screens (à la a foggy carcinogenic smoke-filled bar in Manhattan in the late 1990′s), protects (hides) its status as ‘test subject’ saving its reputation as ‘so fuckin’ cool… so, like, right now… I’m dying… I totally just died because this thing is so fuckin’… I can’t even… I just… I can’t deal’ and the pseudo-communist (more dirty hippies in communes; less “we don’t need no education” meat grinder marching) idea of ‘everyone’s opinion will be heard’…

woah, I digress.

I’m done with all of that. right now.

I’m just sayin’, that whole original lies, lies, lies thing… it happened. The call-in. All that.

And maybe I want to cover all my bases (ass), but:

Things one may want to know (or not)…

I was drunk at the time.
It was approx 1 1/2 years ago.
Yes, I may sound like a child. …but I’m so fuckin’ not 12.
Adderall is a raging dirty crack whore mirage.

what-the-fuck-evah.

so… oh and these call-in shows where celebrity experts (regardless of experience and degrees attained)…. I mean they cater to-, strive on, rely on… the damaged, crack whore who may or may not find some comfort in listening to a ‘professional’ on the radio.

all like, “maybe they care… about me”.

stupid.

…I mean, all intentions may, in fact, be pure. And this is all the stuff that I could have gone without learning.

… one rarely just falls into an open man-hole cover of “celebrity”- anything.

It happens.

But…

…I need to take a shower.

see…

present day [23 dec 2008]

…I put it out there.

the where-with-all… the attention-span. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophesy; but maybe it’s just what it is.

The Truth.

I’ve never had it. And now, blaring in all it’s glory… my inaction has brought forth evidence.

It’s not a matte of if I’m good. I mean, what the fuck does “good” even mean? I mean, I know what it means. But this is a dry dry, arid sponge absorbing every last drip of… it’s own cerebral spinal fluid… it’s lymphatic fluid… saliva… blood… urine… stomach bile.

it absorbs everything that is itself and swells to grand proportions.

Disgunstingly… swells.

and nothing about anything about it is new… is learned… is anything.

and most importantly, I don’t need any of it. I don’t need to write. I don’t need to feel. I don’t need to take a knife and stab below my collar bone… deeeeeep and dragggg diagonally.

because I don’t need to know what my heart looks like. I don’t need to see the rich maroon sac beat and pump. I don’t need to stare… then

my mouth… I don’t need to touch my mouth to this rich rich pumping, twitching beat. valves and veins… the blue rendered purple as the red runneth over.

I don’t. need. anything.

ohhhhhh… but I want to need it soooo bad.