The Land Untread

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I seek a land touched by few

Where from the sky I do not see the trails of man

Only the endless, endless underneath white puffs gliding

And I know in this place I will never place my modern feet upon

For if I do, then I will know a man has tread where no one has before

And left the refined dirt beneath my shoes upon the free and pristine wild

So if I find this land I will tell none

And sit with smile wide because I hold a secret touched only by sight

A secret that whisks over my heart with ache

Displacing my mind in yearning to become that distant spread unknown

Yet, I find myself here

In metallic, sleek flying tube soaring high above the jammed earth

Still searching

Still seeking always

And now I almost land on tilled asphalt, handmade world of my brothers and sisters

This concrete, sky-blocked place

Where I do not belong

– Lost Rabbit

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The Ledge of Madness

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I’m still plugging away at this book of mine, BOX. Thought I’d share a preview of chapter 5. Feedback appreciated.

DREAM 5 – CLIFF

I have walked. A million desperate miles between awakening, dying, coming back to life and now my familiar shoes are tired. I leave them behind, a fading memory. And as I shed the remnants of a worn out life, I miss nothing for I am willing to give up everything.

The eternal highway. An endless road of darkened sunspots littering the valley pass. My gaze rests frantically on a horizon that never seems to come any closer. The clouds, a great mouth agape and chomping at the bit in despair. I wonder if this giant row of red teeth in the sky would bleed sun rays should I reach up with the hand of a god and pry one loose. Better to let them be to continue their world devouring lest I unleash their gnawing vengeance upon myself. I let my mind float to the back of my memory while my body continues its automaton function of this endless drive. Somehow this all seems so familiar. 

The nightmare is the dream. The dream is the nightmare.

*Breaking News* – An explosion has rocked Continental City. Details remain scarce, but a large, red cloud bloom can be seen floating above. We can only speculate what caused the explosion. Stay tuned as we gather more information and report further.

Has it really been 5 days since I set myself upon his plan of escape? 5 days since I had died a little death and succumbed under the weight of guilt? I can’t remember the last time I have eaten. My emaciated body is starving away, serving as punishment for a black deed wrongly committed. My ribs are beginning to dance through the sweat of my shirt and I can feel the metabolic feast on my muscles as they slowly diminish.

Fortunately, I had enough survival foresight to stockpile the car with the water I needed. The leftover bottles are now serving an additional purpose. Over the past 128 hours I have grown into the habit of relieving myself into any receptacle I have lying around the car. Throughout my automotive guilt box are the scattered bottles containing copious amounts of yellow, rotten fluid. These aren’t the actions of a crazed man, but a desperate and disparate one. All I want is to get as far away, as fast as possible. I have made up my mind to only pull over and stop only for the bare minimum time it takes to refuel. Every minute I stop is time for my ruined past to catch up to me. My mind is running away from itself in search of a last resort to continue on with sanity. Forgiveness has to be somewhere out there on that lonely road of the shackled and damned.

Forgiveness. A fantasy bastion of hope. I know I am fooling myself into thinking that there is anyway to atone for what I have set in motion. My despair will be everlasting and a knowing badge forever imprinted on my aching heart. My eyes are beginning to glaze over and my thoughts turn darkly inwards. In my mesmerized and displaced state I can feel the workings of my body complying to what I need, to what I crave. My foot slams towards the floor of the car. My body knows what its master seeks. Speed! I need speed! More of it to get me further away from myself. Perhaps, if I drive fast enough I can dilate time and leave the difference of myself in the past. I can then be free of my own pestilence and separate into an alternate future where I could settle, find the great love of my life, live free and unbound. My children would know only wonders and I would be their proud, loving father instilling within them the wisdom only fathers can pass on. They would grow to become the great speakers and leaders of society that I never had a chance to become. When asked, they would unanimously point to me, their father, as their greatest influence and source of inspiration. I, Denree Lucien, would finally achieve greatness by proxy and future generations would revere my teachings and admire me, this humble man who came from the streets of poverty to produce some of the greatest minds the world would ever see. See. Fantasy. What a silly fantasy.

My eyes slowly come back into focus from my day hallucination. The red teeth above draw closer with their aching maw. This isn’t a trick my unravelling mind is playing on me. I thought I had been imagining it, but the clouds above have slowly formed into a giant clawed mouth descending upon my position in the world. The sun beats behind it, pushing it ever downwards upon a rail of devil hued rays. I have never seen such a sun with the intensity of Promethean fire; the fire of beginnings, endless beginnings telling me that I will forever be trapped in a cycle without the ending that I wish for. I am fixated. The great eye in the sky pokes through where a tooth is missing, bringing its gaze upon me and now we are locked in a battle of wills where the victor is already assumed. I am in a race to avoid being consumed except I am racing backwards towards my sins. If I win, my victory will be my demise.

This isn’t what I expected. I was promised the dream not the nightmare.

*News Update* – We have picked up the broadcasts of emergency responders and from what we can glean, there is severe radioactive fallout within at least a 10 mile radius of Continental City. Roadblocks have been setup and travelers in the area are warned to stay at least 60 miles away. All communications are down within city limits and, as of now, we do not know if there are survivors. All signs point to a nuclear bomb that was set off. More to come.

I’ve dreamt of happiness only three times in my youth. The first was the strength of my father’s hands around my tiny wrists as he spun me round and round into dizzying heights. That day had been a singular day between us of carefree and wanton joy. A father and his son spinning on a needle head point in time. Our laughter came from deep within our bellies when we both collapsed in a disoriented heap upon the soft grass at our favorite park. He rubbed my head and hugged me tight and in that fleeting moment I held in my heart an infinite space filled with pride and joy and all of the things that a boy feels for his father, his guiding light. The next day he was gone without a word. Abandoned. That was the end of that dream.

My second delirium of happiness was the first time I placed my lips upon the softness of another’s in desire. Truth or Dare. A stupid game kids play to test the boundaries of honesty and random exhilaration. This was how I earned my chance at my first adolescent kiss. Truth or Dare. I chose Dare and the salacious group chose Lust’s Kiss. I gulped in embarrassment and froze in place. I had never kissed another in that fashion. The thought of practicing had never crossed my mind for who would ever kiss a quiet, loner kid with few friends. The others randomly chose the girl next to me and turned us to face each other. Alicia was celestial and exuded the soft glow only girls knew how to give off. I was a brute in her presence. The pressure was building and others began chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” louder and louder. I raced to think on how to do this and then I remembered something my father had once told me about the first kiss he had ever had with my mother, “Gently, I took her in my arms and came face to face with her, eye to eye. I looked beyond the surface of her self and probed deeply into her yearning soul. I caressed her face and brought her lips closer to mine, but did not touch them. Not yet. We shared a momentary breath and when she finally closed her eyes, we touched our parted lips ever so softly. And when we finally released, I brought my gaze back to hers and smiled with my eyes upon hers. That is how you kiss a woman, son.”

This is how I proceeded, making sure to follow each careful step as related to me by my father. When the deed was done, I turned sheepishly away in tortured awkwardness and slunk back to my seat to grumble in despair and embarrassment. It was only when I finally looked up that I noticed the hush that had come across the group and the only sound that broke the silence was Alicia’s soft gasp, “Wow.” I walked home that night with puffed chest and the confidence of 100 titanic men. The next day I looked for Alicia to ask her to the movies, but when I ran into her with her mates, they pretended my existence was but a mockery. I should have known the natural order of high school would prevail and that we would go back to occupying our social roles. Forever the lonely kid wearing the skin of an outsider looking in. And thus my second dream was so easily crushed.

Is the third dream even worth repeating? It ends the same in desecrated despondence. It was just a dance. Nothing fancy. Just two people swept away in time and space to an absurdly maudlin song, but it was Her, wasn’t it? She was that Her that people talk about when speaking of soul mates and angels. She was the one who always walked with a spotlight tracking her and the wind blowing through her sex and form and forever locks of hair. Damn, Her! If only I had never asked for that blissful first dance, then we wouldn’t have wasted those many years between us in silent divide that grew too treacherous for both our hearts to bridge over. Damn, me.

That was then and happiness still remains only a dream

*News Update* – The space above the city has been declared a no fly zone until the radioactive cloud disperses. The cloud itself is predicted to pose no further danger due to strong westward winds blowing it across the surrounding desert. FEMA is being called in to manage the crisis and help emergency crews launch a survivor recovery mission. We have had no contact from anyone within city limits and we fear the worst.

Have you come to devour me? Your teeth are still stained with the blood of those scoundrels you have gulleted before me. Don’t think you can hide your intentions. You descend upon fast winds in a zeal reserved only for the most dedicated of fiends. Demon. Brute. Hellion. Rogue. You hunt and feast on the defeated. Does our ruin taste sweet going down? Your suffuse grin is answer enough. Then I suppose I will be a veritable smorgasbord. Piece by piece, you will nibble and gnaw on me, crunch on my bones, suck the marrow, and leave behind a husk of discarded bits you find unpalatable. I suppose even a fiend like you won’t swallow the bile of a magnificently failed man.

My foot is to the floor and, even though it may be inevitable that you will gobble me up, I race you to oblivion. It is the last thing I can try to do. If I must fail, then let me fail in spectacular fashion by outracing my steward sky that is falling on top of me.

There.

On the horizon.

I race for the ledge. See if you can catch me.

*News Update* – FEMA has provided us with hazmat suits and is allowing a small news team to accompany them on a search and rescue mission within the outer vicinity of Continental City. Inner city limits are still too dangerous to probe. Thus far, we have passed hundreds of stranded cars on the freeway. Each of them containing the irradiated and charred husks of those poor unfortunate souls who found themselves too far within the fallout blast radius. We have happened upon zero survivors. If we find even one, it will be a miracle.

I can feel the grin spreading maniacally across my face. I’ve found the finish line that has eluded me these past few tormented days. It is where the world stops and my escape begins. That steep ledge rushing to greet me poses the answer. If I must be ruined, then let me be ruined on my own terms. I won’t submit to your salivating lips. I can see you twisting and turning your tongue across your teeth in anticipation. Not today. You will have to find another meal to satiate your blood lust. We poor souls are not without means and this day one of us will claim his own destiny and respite from the demon head come from the sky.

You roar. I laugh. You chase. I run to that chasm where even you can’t reach. Look down there. That’s an ending you didn’t anticipate, I bet. You thought I would choose your type of oblivion, a desperation that plugs like a cork screw ever turning without pulling. You will have to be more alluring than that. Your ever expanding, lipless mouth is not the type of sexiness that I want to kiss with my guilty lips. These lips will be reserved for my windshield when I crash head first into the stop from the fall and they will kiss with a lasting smile crushed forever into my splintered face.

…no word from any survivors…

One time, I swam to a rock out in the middle of the Aegean sea. I swam with all my might to make the first handhold and when I finally reached the upper limits of my physical exhaustion, I touched hard, jagged land. I crawled up on top of that rock and looked back over the mile I had swam. I was fatigued, depleted, and forlorn not because I looked back upon that lonely mile which I would have to recross, but because I had not failed and drowned. The rock was supposed to be my unreachable goal. I was supposed to flail, out of breath for its salvation and fade from the history of man, but my stubborn body fought for life and kept my watery grave from me. I cursed that day, “Why?!” and received in answer the sound of an empty vacuum.

I ask now, “Please.”

Cliff. Ledge. Friend. Please. Take my sorrows and ram them into  the ground so that they may scatter and disperse back into soft dust. I am a wicked man who does not even deserve a wicked end. Just give me empty non-remembrance and save others from my flaws and faults.

…we can only hope…

You’re almost upon me and I can see into your esophagus. It’s lined with rows upon rows of churning teeth ready to systematically split me piece by piece and take me to your demon plane where you will use my soul to fuel your eternal rage. I can see the others struggling to climb away, but your tongue laps them up and undulates them into those vicious chompers. In the end, only hands attached to disembodied arms hang on and wriggle from nerves ending their death throes.

Give me more speed. Almost there. C’mon!

…in the night we hold each other in huddled prayer…

There is no more time for prayers. I have moved beyond hope for grace or personal salvation and if this is to be, then I will neither be for sacrifice nor damnation. I will dictate the terms of my own end. I will drop over that edge that is canvassed before me with speeding clarity and plummet to freedom. Freedom from the debilitations that course through my heart. When this heart stops, this insufferable, soiled heart, I will have the silence I need. I will close my eyes and give the only true smile I have ever given and fade.

…night fades into day and the search for survivors continues, but as far as the eye can see is the fiery haze of singed blight. There is doubt that anyone is alive out there in that tragic wasteland. The heart of a nation cries and mourns for friends, family, loved ones lost. Each day only brings a despondent silence…

I am ready. The last mile lays before me and I am reaching escape velocity. Here it comes. The launch. The downward tilt. The fall and tumble. I can feel it in my stomach. The trap door expansion in my gut that tells me gravity is an ever present force to contend with. I am determined to face this impact with presence and open eyes.

What is this?

I see in the rearview mirror your lashing tongue elongated and splitting into a multitude of curlicue tendrils fiercely licking at my rear end. Behind your Medusa tongue is a sickly, satisfied smile. The gas pedal is useless for these tires attached to nothing but rushing air. You knew this didn’t you? You knew that you would be able to reach me in this futile, free fall escape. You were only playing with your prey and giving me false hope. Oh, how insidious and methodical you are at this game. You truly are the great demon come from the sky to maraud and pillage the despondent fools who have lied and cheated themselves out of any wellspring of hope. I am such a fool and now you loom over me and show me the futility of running away.

It’s right there rushing up before me. That sweet, sweet dusty ground that waits with open arms for the potential of smashing machine and man together in one broken mass. And you will take it all away from me. This is it. Suspended between my mortal end and the hellfire of an eternal, crimson mouth.

I still accelerate downwards, but if you have the wherewithal to reach me before I twist into a mangled crush…

Have at it then!

…in the dead of night a singular miracle has presented itself. A signal flare has been shot from the center of Continental City. A lone survivor is reaching out for help. Emergency crews are now mobilizing in force and we can only hope there are more who have made it…

10 Reasons Humanity Is Doomed, Number 7 Will Blow Your Mind

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…Baited!

That was deceptive, I know. However, isn’t this the way of the world now? Our mental bandwidth is so stretched and inundated with noise that we, as writers, have had to resort to click baity titles to grab your attention. Not only that, but we have to limit our posts to 500 words or less in a tightly configured matrix. Forget about using the vast depth of our vocabulary. Who wants to break out a dictionary when reading a casual blog post? Anyways, big words are intimidating. They make us feel inferior for not knowing what they mean. Let’s just make everything amazing (or amazeballs), awesome, or mind blowing!

It’s even easier with listicles. Just post up some pics of dogs or cats (or awful people doing awful things) and give it some catchy subtext related to the post title. Thanks, Buzzfeed! The subject could even be about something as heady as quantum entanglement, but remember, I Fucking Love Science! Oh, and don’t forget that a blog post these days can even mean just putting up a video with two to three lines of description. The video can even tug at our heartstrings while directing us towards Thai Life Insurance. Upworthy anyone? It really doesn’t get any easier than that, folks.

All of these practices make me question why I’m a writer. I strive to create quality content and spend a great deal of time researching what I write about. Even the most random stream of consciousness posts are provided as a personal insight into the fun that can be had with free flow writing. My work in the human trafficking section of this site is where I dedicate the most important energy these days, but I have found that my most popular posts are the ones where I have to resort to these click baity tactics in order to spread awareness. Is this acceptable? On the one hand, yes, if I can get people to learn about the travesty of human trafficking and modern day slavery. On the other hand, no, because it is an insult, not only to me as a writer, but to the reader by pandering to the lowest common intelligence denominator. We have slowly moved into a steady state of pop everything…writing, music, art…

*sigh* It is the way of things and we either adapt or get lost in the noise. I will strive to adapt, but I will not sacrifice content. Ever. I will always remain an honest and true writer, remaining obstreperous (big word alert!) against the tide of rising, deceptive marketing ploys.

Done and done. Under 500 words. Did I get you to read this?

– Baited Rabbit

Facebook: BOX

or for my human trafficking work

Tweet me: @thewrenproject

Facebook: The Wren Initiative

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In Life and Death…

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…Love

What would I die for?

Love. That kind of love that asks us to drop all of our internal crying walls and truly know its healing essence. That kind of love that we should all open ourselves to before the inevitable end of our physical being turns our capability to love into ash. That kind of love that can transcend any regret we hold in our hearts over past deeds, freeing us. That kind of love we can pass into effortlessly and know that it is ok to embrace death, for we have known the living thrum of the world. Love.

What would I live for?

Love. That kind of love that shoots like a rocketing comet through the entirety of your being, transforming you into a giant that walks the world. That kind of love that is a mighty flame raised and passed forward unconditionally, freely. That kind of love that knows unilateral forgiveness and compassion for your fellow humans no matter the consequences. That kind of love that presents itself through the clear eyes of one who walks deeply in unison with its power, free from judgement, free from the self. That kind of love that gives you the freedom to free others. Love.

Live. Die. It is the same for me.

– Living and Dying Rabbit

Help me die for love. Help me live for love. Help me #FightHumanTrafficking #EndModernDaySlavery and #BanishTheX.

Facebook: The Wren Initiative

Twitter: @thewrenproject

 

Totality

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Resist The Mediocre Divide

[This is a companion post to Fractured]

Totality. The sum of us all. I’ve been deeply pondering this lately as I face my own inner struggles and diagonal skewing of my heart. Destruction. Construction. is there a way out of this seemingly endless cycle? Is there a steady state of completeness that we may one day find? Or is this cycle an absolute necessity of life for it to properly thrive?

I don’t know.

My own experience of growth has always been an evolutionary and devolutionary process. Constant reinvention. But this is the heart of an artist and an activist. It is a heart that sees and observes and is never satisfied because it sees that we are capable of more than what we currently have achieved. This heart sees so much more in all of us and seeks to challenge and perturb and pervade and piss off…and be comfortable with a steady state of conflict within and without.

People disturb me and surprise me. As I stretch myself emotionally thinner, I find that I can only commit a certain allotment of bandwidth to new people coming into my life even though I have a deep desire to see everyone achieve greatness. Yet, I know that I cannot create this platform for everyone, for in order to so, means to give myself away and leave behind a used up husk. I can only hope that, through example, I can show others how to create this platform of drawing out the best and hardest of truths out of each other. To be in totality of conversation and presence. People fight me with their subconscious minds because many are working from a limited framework of understanding. And when I delve deeper into them they view it as conflict on the surface and fight and pull their hair and gnash and claw at my psyche, but seemingly after that sensation wears off a consensus of understanding matures and deepens.  And the realization that we can achieve depth among strangers appears. We only have to be willing to push past that framework of being small minded and help each other rile things up inside to discover conviction, truth, and purpose.

It is exhausting.

I must say ‘no’ more often now to these new conversations and minds that only know how to fight my philosophical heart. I have realized I am only one man in a sea of crushing mediocrity and that I need partners in this endeavor in order to remain sane. I can only say ‘yes’ to those whose eyes are alive the first time you look into them for I know they are the ones with the potential to transcend and push and scale with fortitude that tsunami wall. Do not misunderstand. I will not leave the no’s behind, but I cannot spend anymore energy engaging. Instead, for them, I can only push forward in example and hope that this is enough.

A part of me, the part that holds true to a promise I made a long time ago to a beautiful, little girl, participates in this society and struggles with its madnesses of wants and needs and dissonance in order to show a greater way of living. The other part of me, the one that is my true self, wishes only to go away and stop participating and leave others to their madness. It is a paradox. I made a promise that I mean to keep because if my word means nothing then everything I say is useless, pretentious drivel. But this promise is also my trap that I have created for myself. I can never truly be at peace. Yet, I can at least take solace in my solitary drive to be in service above myself. The promise I made is the singularly most important defining thing I have ever committed myself to and it will lead me down the darkest of paths. Whether or not I come out the other side whole and complete remains to be seen. If there is an other side.

And when I finally have the luxury of taking my final breath, I may smile and be in totality of myself. Free at last.

– Fractured Rabbit

Human Trafficking – A Love Story

Once I had a dream,

A Story About A Boy Who Loved A Girl And The Girl Who Didn’t Love Him Back

Look at you there, sitting coy and wistful. You play and twirl with one hand your pretty curlicues as they drift in the open morning breeze that wafts in through your shabby, single room window. The other hand is having its nails nibbled on nervously by your trembling mouth. Why are you nervous? Is it the anticipation of my touch on your young thigh or the look of intention on my face? I intimidate you, I know. There is a lustful power between us and you fear being swallowed by the power of my appetite. Please don’t fret. I promise to be gentle and take you softly and slowly. All I ask is for you to submit to my love for you.

He is a beast and I am his unwilling consort. Must I act the supplicant toy and invite his lust into me? My youth is lost on this bed unfit for innocent dreaming. I stifle the cry and wails that seek to rise from my young, anguished soul. If I disobey and scream, my masters will flay me down to the bone and pump my veins with the dragon force that makes all that feed upon it acquiesce into turmoil. Best to open up to the beast and let him ravage me. Perhaps, it will be quick and painless.

There you go. Nice girl. You know the things I want you to do for me. Open up your soft love to me and I will relish in its enticing warmth. My love is swarming and it is all for you. You. The one who makes my loving sex rise to new heights. Only you could do this for me and I wish to reward you for your masterful seduction play. You truly are a baby doll of exquisite form and I will caress your precious and budding suppleness. It is all for me.

His hands are calloused. They are rough, scabrous claws tearing at my skin. He presses me down until my lungs are crushed and I am gasping for air. Sweat and drool drip like a torrent from his sickly, pulsating form above me. Every crash is a new agony stretching me further. I know he will feast on every inch of me before the night is done, but he will not have me completely. I will lock myself away deep within and throw away the key. And in the morning, I will plot my escape from this cruel world. Maybe it will be a razor run vertically down my skinny arms or I will petition my stomach to starve myself into oblivion or perhaps I can only hope that the dragon consumes me outright and leaves my mind an empty husk. At least then, I will not feel anymore.

Do you feel that my little darling? That is all of my love flooding into you. It is my sweetness that you will forever remember me by for I may not return the next day, but I will return eventually to have you share in my endless desire and love for you. You cry from ecstasy and I am glad that I could give you a moment of paradise. Now I am tired and must rest.

The beast has finished his ghastly feasting and I am gone with eyes blankly staring at the dingy, cracked ceiling above me. He pulls himself off of me and collapses in an obese heap next to me with a satisfied grin. I can smell his stink and its acrid fumes make my eyes tear up. But I will not cry. I will not weep and give him further satisfaction. I will turn my back to him and curl up into myself and try to remember a time when I had the future laid before me all bright and shiny. Perhaps if I close my eyes long enough that dream will come. Perhaps when I open my eyes again that dream will remain.

Thank you, my pretty little dove. I love you.

I hate you. Please take me away from all of this.

– Heartbroken Rabbit

 

Streaming Flood

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First Stream Of Consciousness for 2015

I’ve got a mental plug I need to pull and let loose the flood of brain crazy pent up in that potato chip bag I call Floritos, that’s right, I just called my mind a bag of chips, salty, processed, platinum bullshit fountain spewing boogers of inanity, what?, backup and pause, let’s rethink this puzzler, captain of conundrum and cognitive cryptograms, this is the name I have given myself because I am the fucking shit…muncher licking up the salt wound shit stains on the sidewalks of San Franpissco, why is this city so nasty with its broken down toilet seat escalators?, how’s that for irony?, ban plastic bags, get a citywide enema and urinary tract infection, alright I just got back on the gross short bus, sorry about that fellas and girl fellas, or should I call you hellraisers, fantastic exclamation points of walking human vibrancy, you are the secret stars of a city gone mad frenzy with self importance by lukewarm poseurs imitating pop artholics, yeah, bro, big data for the win! everything is a system to be solved and stuck under the thumb of analytics, hey, didn’t you know you’re just a number in a cog spinning 1’s and 0’s repeatedly, day in and night out, getting crunched by big servers with big digital balls, well, I’ve got some good ol’ fashioned fleshy cajones to wiggle waggle wibble wobble atcha, be the big X, that big anomaly .0000000000001 that makes those black boxes wrinkle with their petabytes of power and heat smoke stroke suffer shutdown hell, get those unblinking empty eyes with some life and live a little in the world or can you even see green trees anymore through that green screen of matrix dribble?, I’ve got chills/they’re multiplying/and I’m losing control, get on the Lo-Fang, forget the swarmy marmy Grease, but you don’t need no man, you don’t need anyone to give you lucid lectures that pin your spirit down under parsed semantics and technicalifragiliciousnous, fuck you insidious insipid ignoble ignoramuses, get out there and be in the world.

yeah, the sky says hi. can you even see it anymore?

– Rebel Rabbit

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Say Wha?

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A Great Day For Aphasia

I think what I want, but I am not heard. I’m finally awake in thought, but I’m trapped inside a malfunctioning body with the voice of a cretin. What a delinquent team we make. The irony is spectacular.

Fuschia!

Aphasia, dumb ass. Get it right. The word is aphasia. A-pha-sia.

A-flu-shot! I have a flu shot!

C’mon, man. We sound like we just got off the damn short bus. Everyone is staring and laughing at us. Make it work. Make the mouth say the things we want to say. How hard can it be? We know how to make our mouth move. We know what kind of thoughts and sounds should come out of it. Just fucking do it!

Can I…hrmmmm…piss in your water? I would like piss in your water. Yes. This I want.

What?! They’re really going to think we’re out of our minds now. Who wants piss in their water. Fuck, man. We need to piss so bad. Let’s just go look for the restroom before they call security on our ass.

I am so tired of all the incredulous stares with their mocking judgement. Their stares are impossibly suffocating and pin my spirit down on the spit ridden ground. It’s not my fault I’m like this. It’s not my fault a fucking drunk driver ran through the intersection I was walking through, throwing me twenty feet into the air to land head first. Fuck that guy. They never even caught him because he drove off like a cowardly dog running off with its shit stained tail between its legs. I spent three months in the hospital warding off the death spirits with mental hexes and wizardry. I thought that was the most difficult part. To fight my coma and make my way back to the land of the living so that I could get back to my life.

I had epic kung fu fights in my mind as I sailed from roof top to roof top battling shadow ninjas whose nasty mouths were filled with poisoned, serrated teeth that they plucked and threw at me like ninja stars. I dodged and weaved in aerial maneuvers that would make a nifty Cirque Du Soleil act. When I finally got to the temple of Wake The Fuck Up, I battled like Bruce Lee in Game of Death, making my way up each flight of stairs to face the boss occupying each level.

There was Sweet Cheek the goblin made of candy corns who fought with needles filled with saccharine syrup. He tried to kill me with diabetes. Diabetes! What the fuck? I got past that guy with the Toothbrush of Triumph. Don’t ask.

Then there was Black Anaconda. Let’s just say that battle was not pleasant in the stay away from my asshole with your rape stick kind of unpleasant. Fuck that guy. Fuck him with all the fucks in the world. I never actually killed him, but let’s just say he’s a tangled mess.

Suck A Bus wasn’t too bad. She was sexy as hell except when she transformed into a tentacled gaping chasm of man-eating teeth. I sure as shit never saw that coming. I thought I just needed to give her some of my patented Steven Chan sweet talk, but noooo she had to go all Japanese hentai on my ass. I actually didn’t fight her. I just ended up telling her about Black Anaconda down below and she slithered away. Those two were meant for each other.

The worst was Pooccini. That guy was a hot mess with his karaoke style opera. Imagine William Hung drunk out of his mind singing La Bohéme and then imagine William Hung drunk out of his mind singing La Bohéme while flinging his shit at you like a macaque monkey. Yeeeeeah. I had to get really creative with that one by plugging both his mouth and poop hole with my fists until he filled up with his own gasses and exploded. I never want to hear opera ever again. *shudder*

Fortunately, that was the worst of it in my unconscious land of crazy. When I got to the top of the temple all I had to do was plug in the alarm clock sitting in the middle of the room and BAM! I woke out of my coma.

Three months after that I was up and walking around, but instead of being suave Steven Chan darling of San Francisco General Hospital, I had become word-fumbling, dip shit swamp mouth Steven Tongue-Tied. Check this out. Who’s the president of the United States?

Robert Downey, Jr.!

*sigh* My speech therapist says I’m making great progress but she doesn’t know how long it will ultimately take to get back to normal. It could be months. It could be years. It could be never. Well, at least she’s hot, but I can’t even tell her that because every time I do all that comes out is.

I want suck titties!

I’m pretty sure she knows I have the hots for her. I’m also pretty sure she and I will never happen. I’m double also sure that I’m never going to get laid again. At least, not while I’m Mr. Suck Titties anti-smooth operator.

Despite my current inability to fully connect my thoughts with spoken word, I do have to admit it’s far better than that first year when all that came out of me was an endless stream of uh’s, hmm’s, and nonsensical noise. If I was hungry, all I could do to communicate it to the nurse was to open and close my mouth with that disgusting tongue smacking that people do when they’re missing teeth. Getting the right television channel on was an act in futility. I still couldn’t nod or shake my head, so all I could do was try to make one “Ruurrrhhrhrrhr” louder than another “Ruurrrhhrhrrhr” to signal which channel I wanted the nurse to stop on. If I had to go to the bathroom? Just fart.

Eventually, something clicked in my brain and I was able to start muttering incoherent strings of words. The first words I said?

Chicken Pussy.

Because I wanted chicken chow mein and I was horny as hell. You try laying around all day eating shitty hospital food and getting all worked up when your nurse has to help you clean your genitals during bath time without the decency of giving you a happy ending hand job. Vulgar and indecent thought? Yes. Still horny? Fucking hell yeah.

The fifty year old nurse who was there when I said my first words must have thought I was some kind of sick bestiality pervert. Fortunately, the doctor was able to diagnose that I had expressive aphasia and didn’t report me as some kind of animal molesting freak.

Two years of intensive speech therapy later and I find myself at the grocery store asking to piss in their water because I still can’t say the word restroom. Shit. Here comes their security. They’re asking me to turn around and get out of the store. I really need to take a mad piss. C’mon. Do your best to tell them why you’re really here. You can do it!

I want to give you my yellow rain Mr. Bacon Wrap.

Aaaand here come the handcuffs. Fuck my life.

– Rascally Rabbit

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I’m Tired, I’m Furious

Tired

Into And Out Of The Gates Of Apathy

Today I’m tired. I’m tired of thinking about ways to improve the world around me. I’m tired of trying to solve problems that are too big for me to solve. I’m tired of having compassion for people who only take and grind others through the mechanical gears of their trappings. I’m tired of standing up for justice and fairness and hopes and dreams. I’m tired of feeling alone and empty in a world gone mad with no place for the odd puzzle piece that is me. I’m tired of talking about finding happiness when it takes those willing to be unhappy to affect the burden of change. I’m tired of those who cannot see the difference between maintaining joy and chasing happiness. I’m tired of those who cannot see beyond their small minds and turn down the possibilities of a greater world in order to fit the world to their smallness.

I want to turn inwards and focus only on making my own life better. I want to chase that money and material wealth and boring comforts that will numb my mind to higher modes of thinking. I want to ignore the multitudes of people around me and shut down into a place more than a miles length away from the teeming hive mind. I want to be away from the yapping and idiotic conversations those around me hold with their little toy dog yapping ways. I want to break the faces of superficiality staring my way with their false smiles and indoctrinated pre-judgements. I want to be able to yell “Silence!” and have the world comply for once, so that the lips that move at a million miles a second shutter tight and ears that are filled with so much waxen filth clear out for just a moment to hear the crystal tine that tries to ring truth.

I want. I want. I want.

And then I realize how my wants make me just like them. Small in scope. Selfish in desire without a care for letting that desire go for greater living. Greater breathing. And then I realize that the fury that I thought was snuffed out was only softly smoldering, waiting to find a seam in my blanket of exhaustion. That blanket that is only a thin veil woven from desperation and sorrow and self pity. It burns away so quickly and I once again become that indomitable wrath that is inexplicably misunderstood as wild anger, but it is not. It is my tireless wellspring from which I draw to combat the iniquities of the world. It is the inner provocation that provides me with the impetus to defy. Anger! Defiance! Rebellion!

I have no more time for small talk. I have no time for the emotionally muted and stunted throngs. I am too busy moving forward to look back and see if you are still sitting there sipping your melancholic cocktail and eating your foodie heart out. When you are finished and wiping your mouth I will be up that hill sprinting to another world. That world over the horizon that is fair and just and teeming with the joys of peoples unleashed from their caged wants and desires to tap into an unbounded potential. I see it now. That flag waving for our right to peer with full sight, to hear with pure lucidity, to smell and taste the promise of inner freedom, beholden to no king or queen or president or congress who suffocates others for power. I will take that flag and raise it high above you lower masses and turn that elite pyramid upside down, burying the point deep under ground and all that will remain is a flat foundation with equal footing waiting for us to build that very world that sits on the edge of our minds, yet still just eludes us.

That is my anger. My anger is furious hope.

Fuck being tired.

– Rebel Rabbit

Defeat The Noise

noise_reduction-white

WAAAHAAARGHARRHGHBLLLBABLAPHAYRYRRBBY

I have an opinion. You have an opinion. I push my opinion out into the world. You push yours out, also. Our opinions collide and we debate in order to defeat each other’s opinions. The commenters watch in amusement, but then suddenly they feel the pull and allure of the comment box. What original opinion can I espouse that sounds halfway intelligent and clever? What angry thought can I push out in to the world so people will hear me, too? How can I play devil’s advocate to an opinion piece I don’t really have a stake in? How can I disrupt the flow of reason and troll like a 12 year old teenager masturbating in the dark?

I will research this opinion and pull articles in favor of it and post to my hearts content and when others wish to spill their noise upon my comment thread I will defend so staunchly and stubbornly just to prove that I am always right and then I will sit back and watch as people react to my profound thoughts that I have pushed into the world. I will watch the likes come in and the agreements flow like a river from my personal choir. I will watch the detractors seek to push their opinions upon me, but I know they are all wrong. I know! Because their noise is useless drivel and they haven’t thought about my subject as much as I have. Only I know the depths of what I am talking about. How could anyone else understand? No one is like me.

But then I will see someone present an argument that gains steam ahead of me. Their argument will also be irrefutable and their choir will be just as strong. I won’t allow it. I will react with insecurity in order to prove I am the better debater. No one shall mock me or diminish my opinion. I came first. I am original. Do you see? There are so many articles and studies that prove that I am right. That is where I got my information in the first place. I didn’t need to formulate my own thoughts on the subject because so many people before me have said the same thing over and over so it must be true. It must! I don’t have time to think freely and say things that come from me. I can only offer my opinion on other things that I have read. This article says this and this is why I agree. That article says that and that is why I agree. This article says this and this is why I disagree. That article says that and that is why I disagree.

I like my noise and you should like it, too. Click.

– Noiseless Rabbit