Insane Text Exchange

WARNING TO ALL READERS: OBJECTIONABLE MATERIAL

This is the most recent and most entertaining Text Exchange between SpaceDog and Myself. Enjoy.

SpaceDog: U need to pull up your pants and clean up your voicemail. Did u know that men with unclean voicemail are 95% more likely to contract Syphilis and 180 timeshare likely to infect their partner? Its horrible i tied my own tubes. But i feel like u get Syphilis more than me hence my text. Multiple shots in trader joe’s to be the most Portlandia crime ever.

Les: First I’m not wearing pants so Ah-Ha! I like my voicemail FILTHY like a Pecker. 180 times that’s it?!!! GREAT now my Crabs have Syphilis AND HERPIES! Shots at Trader Joe’s SHOTS! SHOTS! SHITS!

SPaceDog: Lol

Les: Headed home from Porn Shop, gonna grab some Pickled Eggs, and Budweiser, Hit you up when I get back to Base Camp (Named after all the Cocaine Smoking or Free Basing going on there.)

SpaceDog: I just like gay hulu and i get a massive cock. ok cool.

Les: Also to get rid of Crabs soak Your Junk in Vodka and then cover it in sand. That way the Crabs get Drunk and Stone Each other to Death.

SpaceDog: Id like to do that to get my crabs to work again, between 20 year old Tweens doing vaginal stretches and the male lifeguards moving out of masturbatorial range my life has been no bed of roses. Im just watching cool gay stuff online.

Les: 

Les: Worst Dick Pix EVER. LMFAO!

SpaceDog: There goes that orgasm…clean your voicemail. I dont mind not talking to you i do mind being drunk and not being able to Express my freak.

Les: Gave my voicemail a well needed Bourbon Enema so Speak Your Freak.

Thanks for Reading,

SpaceDog & Les Sober 

A Fire Under My Arse

As I woke up feeling completely refreshed for the day at the everlastingly early hour of 9pm, I decided to do things different. This whole equinoxial load of crap had been taking its toll on me. Science says it has to happen but the far trappings of my mind are pure fire and brimstone.

Half and half? Half and half, you say? Well fuck that. Would you really want half and half in your daily life? I mean sure if you are my father you can put it in your coffee. The real world outside of your morning joe says oh the fuck no. Your wife is pregnant, so that is good. But the other half of you is on Maury being told emphatically, “You are NOT the father!!!!”.

You could have only gotten half the answers right on a test. You work at a bank and randomly decided to give half the people the right amount of money. You get halfway to an orgasm. So yeah the general principal does suck a hell of a fucking lot. I want things to be whole. I want myself to be whole.

Truth is when it comes down to it, we are all just a bunch of fragments bunched up into the frame that we were given. Molded together however we so choose to be.

Enough of the crap though this is not why I am really here. I am ready to have a bowel movement. The good kind. The kind a doctor would loom over the toilet bowl peer down at and say, “Why that is a healthy shit sir!”

Don’t you worry though my friend. I am not taking it on you, you or you (yes you, you lazy fuck you know who you are). My sphincter has its eye set on one person and one person alone. That is you Ms. Tori Amos. (thank you Less for getting me all riled up)

The thing is though I haven’t really always hated Tori Amos. In fact, I was one of her biggest fans. I bought all her albums, her b-sides, went to the shows. I even planned to follow her cross country, but alas that is an ill-fated tale for a blog never to be written.

I will say one nice thing about her though and a bit of a counterpoint to Less. Yes, her lyrics are extraordinarily vague but half of artists out there are vague as fuck and then the other half are Justin Bieber and friends. This is actually one of her stronger points. If it’s all spelled out in black and white sure more people might relate. Vagueness does inspire a certain group of haters. I should know I prefer to be vague as it is much better to maneuver around half truths, unspoken words, and the like.

Still though for years and years, I had this deep admiration for this woman. Call it youthful ignorance, call it what you may. I met some of the best friends I had ever had because of the love shared for her. It was a bit Me and A Gun.  Other times it was a Sorta Fairytale and A Cloud on My Tongue.

That all changed on one fateful night. Ten years ago. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I got to meet my hero or well anti-hero. I did not know what to expect.  Someone who was charming and wanted to meet her fans was a good start in my head. I did not want to come across as too cheery but who am I kidding? There is only person in the world who can make me that cheery. Thank you Molly.

This waif of a woman walked over. She was a hell of a lot fucking smaller then I had ever imagined. I mean she is a woman and I did not expect her to be Brienne of Tarth. She just looked like someone who I would walk up to on the street and be compelled to pull a cookie out of my pocket and feed to her. That cookie, you know, I may even have to chew it for her. I instantly knew what the song Girl Disappearing was about it. It was about this cokehead chick.

So you know the celebrity jitters like instantly wore off and my mom’s voice saying, “If you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything” came rushing through my head. My friend Taylor spouted off some kind of soapy bullshit and had me take a selfie. Then it was my turn. I may have said something nice or how my other friend plays her by ear I’m not really sure. She was just so uninterested that I kinda soaked in the same general vibe. Maybe she caught my aghast scowl.

That night changed me. It was like the last bit of childhood naivety being ripped from my chest. It started the moment I was 10 and found out on the news that the Tooth Fairy was a fraud. It ended with you Tori Amos.

I must say as uninterested as you were meeting the fans with your generalized look of Feed Me, I’m A Professional Widow on your face you did put on one hell of a show. In fact the best I had seen until I had the chance to witness Pearl Jam several years back. It was a cold rainy autumn evening and the playlist was reflective of the sort. Then the song that changed it all played. Famous Blue Raincoat. It was the song that played my innocence off the stage, out of the building, into the ether.

I cannot blame you for all this directly so maybe this blog is more of a Hershey squirt and less of a dirty Sanchez for you. I probably should be thanking Leonard Cohen just as much for that song, but it was you who took me there.  I guess that song playing itself out with my one of my greatest loves I will ever have taking his life and the other love in my life rapidly becoming dead to me.

I could not relate as much to your music, mostly the new albums you dropped. In just that one moment, something shut off inside of me. It may be a good thing, there’s been more calculation and clarity since that moment. I guess opinions vary on the end of innocence.

Everything though about that night. I had to wear sunglasses at the show because of the lighting, I realized that my epilepsy was real and would have to live with it. Just so much of a flood of horseshit that at the time I could not even recognize. So Tori Amos… I have a few choice words for you. Fuck you. Thank you. I’ll Make Sure to Wipe.

 

By Spacedog

Centralist by Spacedog

I am not a fuckin’ savior. I peel away at people like onions. We all do. Some of us are the peeled and we cry. Some of us are the instruments that scalp. Away. Away. Away.

 

We peel away the layers.

We peel away the sunshine.

We prefer it this way. Peeling away until there is nothing but barren terrain. Nakedness of the soul.

I see that barren flesh. I run. I hide. I capture but I do not seize. I growl at myself. I cannot kill the already dead. I cannot usurp what is already fallen at my feet. I plot. I ponder. I smile, I beckon them forth.

 

Centralist

I have always stood in between time and reality. I have always liked my part in this pathway towards truth, towards honesty, towards good.

I have always hated my lack of proofreading, my lack of utter care over things that most writers would throw hissy-fits about. Is this proper grammar? Am I spelled this write? Yes I know right.

I play dumb for the prey to think I am as such. It is not a very nice thing to do, but do it I shall. It was how the wolves conditioned me. Maybe I’m still just a wolf.

Most likely though, I fall in between. I am a centralist or centrist. I care not to look up spellings in dictionary.com. Usually words flow in my head that don’t make sense. Nine out of ten times, they are real words and I do a little spellcheck and poof they become what they were intended to be. Microcosisms of my head spewed out to the masses herky-jerkedly like a disenfranchised orgasm at a self-righteous porno store.

Yes. yes. YES. !!! I would think if I had a bigger ego, that yes I am the fuckin’ Dr. Phil of the next generation. I have been in the middle of many things. I somehow italicized my shit and have no clue how. I havent been in the middle of any bi relationships but if I could have would have just so I could enlighten you all further. But that is not the point of this blog. The point is this………………………………………

there comes a time…….. when we as people need something more. I need more. I hear my friends call me after many a beer and I hear my friends after many a sober evening. I do not hear stability call. I hear everything but.

I write and write and write some more. There is no sense to the melody. There is no reason to the rhyme. Perhpas if I could hear the music. I could tell the tale better. But I have equal melodies of those captured by the waves of the substances and I hear equal melodies of those not captured by such.

What road should I travel? What road will hurt me less? I care not. I care to live.