quote-unquote
The black death killed nearly a third of Europe’s population in its time. In comparison to that this Coronavirus seems trivial. All this panic around this virus is the truly scary thing to me. For one, it has shown how effective the media can get people to panic, which then makes people complacent to authoritarian government responses which creates a precedence and a justification for potentially more authoritarian policies in the future. Two, this panic has exposed how fragile our global system is. If a virus with a relatively low death rate is causing this much disruption to the system, then if we had a black plague 2.0, our system would surely collapse. Ironically, medieval European societies were better organized to deal with a plague like that than our modern, global system.
Pandemic followed by a recession followed by a depression.
Better be busy obtaining my weapon permit.
She reads, not to educate herslef about the past preseant or future,
not to research a paper or pretend she knows anything more or less than you,
but to experience something she has never know before, a person, a place, anything to take her mind off of all the thing she may never get the chance to do, something shes never heard before, something new.
She writes, not so you can be awed by the words swirling in her head, not to aquire any money or notoriety, not to push upon her view or opinion, but maybe to create a place where she is the hero and not the villain.
She lives, not because she wants to, not because shes afraid of what may happen if shes gone, just to make sure they dont ever have to write to feel like someone somewhere might be listening, so they dont ever have to feel like they're all alone
reflections
Why do you do this stupid shit?
What is wrong with you?
Dont you see what its doing to your family?
Do you even care?
What do I have to do to make you see?
Your a miserable, selfish person; you destroy everything you touch and im done with you.
The mirror only reflects the discust on her face, mocking her as the tears catch the light from the dim bulbs above.
She turns away from the mirror, wipes the tears away and walks into the kitchen to finish molding the raw cookie dough she left on the counter; with any luck she can create for her children the happiness she has searched after for so long,
Tjung-gra
Have any of you heard of the great Aboriginal artist
George Tjung-gra
who dissolves like sands of the hour glass
into the retina of the mind's eye, and then
transfigures a miracle at the base of the mid spine
within a mere matter of mortal seconds?...
I first became aware of his most holy of presences
when I treked the rock shelters at Madjedbebe
of Nauwalabila.
My third eye opened as he winked into my conciousness,
and that was all I needed...
I instantly converted to his art cult that required constant awareness
and 24 hour attention to all of the pop art sensationalism that was he
which begs a person give up all earthly belongings and jump aboard the
Tjung-gra train for an 7 easy payments of 5,000 and 34 hundred dollars
every new moon...
His art is so impossibly huge is girth that Tjung-gra is dwarfed by the audaciously
moutainous size of it, and appears like a small infant child when standing astride it.
Why do you not know of Tjung-gra?
Why do you not breathe Tjung-gra?
Why do you not bleed Tjung-gra?
I have already paid in blood and removed my second testicle to satisfy his insatiable hunger for sacrifice.
Tjungra promised he'd mount me and then create a painting of the act for all to see at the next Australian council.
He is my life-blood and my internal unborn fetus. My creatitivity incarnate though I am sapped of all my juices when he demands them at constant intervals.
Tjungra satisfies. Tjungra never lies. Tjungra is my sun and moon...but who I pray tell is your sun and moon?...don't tell me you rely on yourself?...that is much too fickle!...
Tjungra should be your Daddy Momma and I swear that if you tickle
his belly button just that way
he'll cure you well into your dying day.
03-06-20
Slack i Salessie
Art by: George Tjungurrayi
Here I Go, Out of Control Again!...
Feeling sick and sly,
or is it slick and high?...
Not sure which or whether the later...
...saw you postioned on the top rung of your ladder...
Why are you there/when will you fall
to a place where we can talk this out?...(you're so remote!)...
...Right now you only fuck about
when I need for a better answer...
Rome was not built in a day, and all your posturing
it only says how cruelly incomptent are your ways...
I think your kind's seen better days...
Your brain is festering on a tray
out on the lawn where a
passing mutt stops to linger,
then to piss on your pasta primavera that passes for a
simmering cerebellum...
...The fuck you thinking?...
You overwhelm them that dare to dream
while your thick stream of diluted shit's like
a reflective pool of gasoline at some
bowling alley parking lot that's been forgot...
I think I have run out of steam
examining what could of been, but then
you twitch a wretched eyeball in your socket(corner pocket),
and something shudders undercover in a place that seemingly
I can't control...
OH NO!!!!!!...
Why do you continue to insist
on a blighted existence when you should kiss
your life goodbye by walking out
in front of traffic???...
...I now imagine
your arms and eyes and limbs tear off from a bus
when it tears through you at high speeds...
...but still I'm down here,
on my knees
begging for a shriveled piece of pie...
...Oh my, oh my...oh why, oh why???...
...Fuck if I know, but here I go!...
Out of control again!
02-13-20
Slack i Salessie