Wet leaves, exhaust, library.

I imagine heaven in a gray blank expression, command prompt, empty friend, welcome void. I imagine heaven in the scalding neon of a fluorescent bulb, heaven in the snakes of light that direct me, like lines on a highway, through the corridors of the hospital. I imagine a tiny facet of heaven sparkling in every mote of artificial white, microcosmic heaven-stuff that burns the eyelids and yellows the teeth and skin. In imitation of the divine, hospital light is specially manufactured to lacquer sickness with sharp gloss varnish and drown it safely away, like heaven’s rays, turpentine pure, like streams of white neon issuing from the mouth of Jesus and onto my mother’s face which is lined with valleys and rivers, all dark. Landscapes where heaven’s glow will not penetrate, and her eyes are wet with tears, and the fluorescence clings to her teardrops like pond scum. Twenty steps without sound, clipboards and fake smiles as the whole place melts, everything soft and malleable under the melting curse of the hospital, handprints on the furniture, greasy wounds in the walls. Hospital, cream-colored dungeon, crushed rotten body embalmed in perfume, stinking pastel predator, pink shadows and white walls and gleaming surfaces clotted with beige and marble. Styrofoam tone pushed through tinny speakers like dry shit through a sphincter. My hands pass dust over my face, wiping away screams in favor of shuddery exhales that stir the burned, colorless air in the pseudo-chapel. Here amid drifting ghosts of plaque and disinfectant and old sorrows. Here the lights are dimmed, here my shell unplugged and cooling in the rent-a-church where the rattle-buzz of circuitry is smothered by the soft damp pillows I cough up with each muted sob. I imagine heaven beyond gates of pearl, speared pearl gates rending form to void, pearl gates like shining flesh into Paradise, that great precision city with its eldritch white spires twisting upward into a coliseum of burning light. Throngs of enraptured genderless souls, white-eyed, moist and hairless, like infants, all wailing and worshipping before an unfathomable titan throne. Seraphim, grim and enormous, living mountains of unsculpted holy flesh whose crags are laden with nesting flocks of fat cherubim, eyes rolling, mouths gibbering wisdoms and truths and wondrous equations of varied length. The mathematical cities of Paradise, palaces beyond opulence, vivid cubes of folded eternity comprised of precious metal geometries scoured transparent by wave upon mirrored wave in that searing sea of light. The streets are soft slow rivers of reflective honeyed gold that smears wetly underfoot, and it is impossible to run without slipping in the brilliant murk. Fall, choke, drown. A chilling landscape of blinding effulgence driven fast into the nothing on an endless soaring cacophony of song a trillion octaves wide. Above the din can be heard the beating and thrashing of divine wings, a sea of wings, the sky is a sea of wings and blood and eyes and the whole of everything wasted beaten seared pure and sallow by the inescapable stare of faceless absolute benevolence. Drown in fathoms of blind idiot love. Crushed and smeared. Divine hammer. Forever and ever. Hallelujah. Amen. I imagine heaven in pleading white and trembling red. There i witnessed a flock of angels descend upon a sinner and tear her to pulp and shreds between fist and teeth. There I saw them squabble like vultures over blue glowing soul-chunk. I wept when one stretched her ruined genitalia over its beautiful face and parroted her pleas for mercy. I gagged at the sight of the living book and the lamb. God saw fit to reincarnate me as a pig. A man binds my hooves and holds my head against the cold floor with his boot before decapitating me with a chainsaw.

Show flyer. Sister Fucker is also playing this show. It will be mega-awesome.

Vacant thrones

After reading Judy's funny funny funny comic today i decided to draw her a picture of Varg. You should look at hers if you haven't already.
http://crudelydrawnpen15.blogspot.com/2010/04/this-will-always-symbolize-my-failure.html


Today i met a wet, cold, and shivery pekignese tied to a post who asked me to alert his master to his unsavory condition. He pointed out the fact that this particular post was dangerously close to traffic and exposed to the rain, while there were safer, dryer posts only feet away. Noting that this was true i obliged, but found to my dismay that his alleged master was a blocky ceramic man-roid wielding a latte, completely incapable, or so i thought, of communication. i made the appropriate neutral hand gestures to ward off an attack instigated by petting his property. Surprisingly his empty glass eyes, corneal paint peeling away in tiny flakes, slid toward me with an audible scrape. His immense rectangular jaw opened and shut in irregular intervals, and a voice deep inside spoke:
"Dude, some bitch inside just complained about my dog. I can't fucking believe this shit! Over at blockbuster video some other lady threatened to call animal control or something, said I was torturing my dog. Dude- its just water from the sky. It isn't torture at all."
"You can tie him up out front if you want. He'll be out of the rain, so people will maybe stop worrying about him...?" I replied hesitantly, unwilling to provoke a violence.
"Yeah, I guess so, whatever. That isn't the point though, dude." Ceramic scarecrow-wad said, untying his zippy leash thing in order to relocate his dog. The pekignese gentleman thanked me for my trouble with a wet-eyed nod.

Awaken, O Sleeper
Father of saurian majesty
Oldest tyrant, trapped in dreamless tomb
Awaken and drag us wailing to your bosom
- Inscription upon the ruined altar of N'Kulh'Utt'ht

It was the sixth hour. Plesiocles slid belly-down across the metal floor. His state of prone deference allowed him to witness firsthand the custodial oversights that patterned the cold steel with smears and stains. Muttering to himself regarding the slovenly character of the janitor witch, he made his crawling, wriggling way to the reliquary ward to inspect and catalog the torpor of the amphibidirge. The halls were sparsely populated this evening. He slithered past a few wretches who, their slave-clocks expired for the time being, snared furtive sleep in narrow alcoves huddled beneath the living statues. Plesiocles clucked irritably at the excrement that still clung to the legs of the effigies; the janitor witch would be flogged sufficiently upon his return to the dormitories. After a few more twists, he found himself before the warded door. Plesiocles stretched his hand onto the sigil at its base and spoke the necessary prayer of mutation in order to receive entry. After some time, the door swung inward and Plesiocles slid through the threshold into murky blue darkness. Careful to keep his eyes lowered, Plesiocles raised himself to his knees shakily. His reliquary tank sloshed heavily against his bowed back, and he nearly lost his balance. A few breathless moments passed wherein he was sure his blasphemy had been noticed. He awaited a swift, sticky punishment in vain; the amphibidirge remained still, bloated and languished as it was upon its enormous throne. Cursing his foolishness, Plesiocles made a quick inspection of his reliquary to ensure the eggs were intact. Finding nothing amiss, he set about his business of moistening the scrolls, greasing the spore chutes, and ensuring that the brainwaves were of an appropriate christ-like caliber. He hummed a reedy tune quietly to himself as he worked. Other than some mild bleeding at the base of the chastity screw, the pungent bulk of the amphibidirge was pristine. The hibernation had not yet ended, and all was in order. Plesiocles scratched the last of his calculations into his log and exited the shrine, careful not to jostle the tank as he returned to a crawling position. The ultraviolet gleam of the chapel hall was severe by comparison. Squinting, Plesiocles pulled the door shut behind him and set off in the direction of the dormitories. As he passed the populated alcove a second time, he stopped to watch one of the wretches writhe in squawking agony under the electric shock of its tardiness alarm.

Yesterday i went to the dentist. They yanked my mouth around a bunch and stuck all kinds of apparatus in there and asked me to raise my finger if it hurt. The dentist was really, really mean to his assistant. There was a clog in the suction drain thing and they had to expunge my bloody mouth mess manually, which made me feel like a jerk for some reason.

Sperm Whale

For my friend Jason's tattoo, maybe. Observe the amazingly professional and innovative paper-extension method used. i wonder if this even translates to tattoodom at all.
What do you think? i am bad at natural objects, really, but i like him/her, he or she is the essence of Kali as destroyer. Should she have four eyes?

Doodles,

Today i was walking to work and i cut through this parking lot under the freeway
i saw a strange multicolored pile in the very center of the empty lot, i thought at first it was something horrible and wet and shambly, but as i drew closer full of loud heartbeats
it turned into a huge altar of shredded porno
VHS sleeves, magazine photos, tons of it, all ripped into pieces of varying size
small mountain of glistening genital fragments
leering half-seen expressions, red pink blonde spermy confetti
Some clever person also changed the 'No Parking' sign in a different parking lot to 'No Farting'
i wonder if the same person erected smut-monolith
i want to thank you, anonymous nightrunner, for shaking my monotone a bit

Lilliputian

p.s. sorry for the melodermamamomatics
p.p.s. i dropped your orange

Discomfort

very small comic, easy to digest