tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52157996477127762512025-03-19T13:06:57.832-05:00absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-72498303115907311652022-04-29T14:54:00.000-05:002022-04-29T14:54:01.878-05:00

A kangaroo with humans hands and a blue racing stripe down its back hops out from behind a bush and starts removing complicated looking pieces of glassware, tubing, clamps and stands from its pouch. It starts to assemble them together precariously with great care but due to the shortness of its arms and the unwieldiness of its long tail it has great and comical difficulty, constantly knocking

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-53860144092471037282015-02-28T10:07:00.000-06:002015-02-28T10:07:34.858-06:00

I’m extremely bored. I would vr but my mh monitor turned it off because it says I’m bored. I argued with it for a while, but it had a lot of hard data in the log to back up what it was saying, and then it changed my status to argumentative-due-to-boredom, or some such shit, and I am SO not playing that game. It just does anything to keep you out of “Undesirable Emotional States” so it’ll just

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-77238431595844674112015-02-05T23:13:00.000-06:002015-02-05T23:16:17.208-06:00

A thunderhead drew up in the sky. Many miles away a ripened fig dropped from a tree and an ant scuttled over it in a manner that would seem like curiosity to a thing that was not an ant. A guy somewhere else was just sitting somewhere doing nothing. Then, just as he was about to nod off to sleep a carriage pulled by four tremendous horses arrived outside a house in a different country. Inside

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-87206734435822819392015-01-25T07:49:00.004-06:002015-01-25T07:49:38.240-06:00

Ah, where were we all on November 12, 2014? It was a Thursday, and sure, all Thursdays have that certain something about them, an impression refined by degrees in our subconscious into a kind of distilled Thursday-ness that echoes within each Thursday like a kind of anthem mouthed wordlessly from the moment of awakening until the eyelids, finally, must close. And it is only those who have, by

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-32976359761382542332014-04-23T17:33:00.002-05:002014-04-23T17:33:28.467-05:00

p, li { white-space: pre-wrap; } There was no man. There was only a cat. The cat was, strictly speaking, an ordinary cat. The cat laid on the ground in the shade, flipping its tail lazily as it felt breezes run over its whiskers and fur. Perhaps I should be honest with you. There was a man after all. The cat was a man. He wasn't a man that was turned into a cat or some kind of were-cat or a

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-10507737876360436512014-04-04T06:56:00.001-05:002014-04-04T07:00:20.940-05:00

1. Have fun with your war! Sure, we all know that war is amazingly profitable and an excellent diversionary political tactic, but war should also be FUN in and of itself, if you're not having fun you might want to ask yourself why you're fighting this war. 2. Think outside the box. Don't limit yourself to the Geneva Convention. Torture isn't torture when it's "indefinite detention." Stretch out

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-69907086037130864792014-03-31T18:07:00.000-05:002014-03-31T19:55:03.310-05:00

"I assassinated the entomologist," I said with poised smugness over the uproar in the back of the dim bar in which I was lurking that evening, but my declaration had unexpectedly locked the room into a powerful silence. "He was a dangerous epileptic," I ventured defensively. The silence only grew more formidable. It seemed that I had made a miscalculation, even the riffraff at this hole in the

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-11430677185644913772014-03-05T23:10:00.004-06:002014-03-06T03:29:56.126-06:00

My clock is an asshole. My clock fucked my wife. I come home one day after work at the gourmet cheese shop, there he is with my wife in the kitchen with an arm down her skirt. After a moment of astonished silence I set down my briefcase and loosen my tie with my eyes turned to the floor. Then I look him right in his fucking face and say, “You fucked my wife, clock. You fucked my wife.” He just

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-74809100789280808792013-10-18T22:23:00.003-05:002013-10-20T17:34:39.797-05:00

We will be dead tomorrow and yet it is no call to action, for there is absolutely nothing to be done. Even if some divine imperative, spoken through cloud and thunder, be pronounced from the firmament, I, gathering all my faculties, could not be made to see its necessity, for what God wills is not asked, but is rather directly manifest in the heart of causality... ...and what could God ask for?

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-82032693688491671272013-06-30T14:44:00.001-05:002013-06-30T22:45:31.099-05:00

My dreams lifted off me like a sheet of cellophane. Misplaced desires and directions from the night clung to me still though my eyes were open and taking in the morning light that fluttered through a part in the curtains that were hastily closed the night before. The names of old friends were in my mouth and I addressed them as if they had been there moments before. Nebulous feelings of peril at

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-86007344880300039702013-05-15T18:00:00.000-05:002014-04-04T03:24:02.232-05:00

The flies swarm upon the manuscript as if it were rotten flesh steaming with new death. The pages, stapled at the corner, are swept open by the wind like a surgical incision revealing the organs coiled inside, each one blasphemously metaphorical, stray drops of rain strike the page, allowing it to bleed appropriately. Sorry for the flies that this ink is made of pigments less palatable than blood

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-41222332036720093942013-05-14T01:54:00.001-05:002013-05-14T01:54:20.636-05:00

I have been smashing cockroaches with dictionaries, turning them into sordid pancakes sprouting their gleaming legs like a leftover game of rancid pick-up-sticks, and where have the children gone? What made them leave their game, however disgusting, with the score untallied? And where have the cockroaches gone? Though I have to admit that I admire them for leaving behind the pancakes, so

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-38574778262798038952013-04-26T12:32:00.000-05:002013-04-26T12:40:37.221-05:00

I can’t go anywhere anyway. My eyes rest on each other with an immutable resonance, like the cat’s eyes looking into them, resting on top of each other in an etheric wordlessness that detonates in crashes of sound that do not scare the cat or myself. There are no people and they are all dead. The cat can never leave. The ground can never open up, breathing out interlocking lacework

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-68196705899754305002013-04-06T03:22:00.002-05:002013-04-06T03:22:22.737-05:00

The sun’s thoughts are strewn among its magnetized plasma whirlpools. Chiefly, it worries about paying bills and taxes, for the solar mind has by chance accreted a set of experiences and perceptions that is much like that of a low-class, partially employed, personal trainer down to his last three clients. He drinks a cup of coffee in his dingy apartment as he stares at a pile of bills trying to

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-3411865371974587322013-02-11T20:38:00.001-06:002013-02-11T20:38:51.616-06:00

The omnipresent rectangle rises before us all spurting rows of carefully ordered light and sound. I rarely touch the face of it, revering it like a statue in the darkened interior of a shrine with smoke from ceremonially lit incense sticks hanging sideways in the air as the striated atmosphere of Jupiter or another giant planet tuned to a scrambled channel. But even the static is digital now, to

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-80427729006672497512013-02-11T02:44:00.001-06:002013-02-11T02:51:26.377-06:00

We went to a movie about things that ought not to be. The hook was that in this movie these things were very real. Disturbingly real, I mean, really high production value. All the actors really did their best pretending they were scared by the things that happened, even though they had never experienced anything like it in their lives. Probably the worst any of them had ever experienced was maybe

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-28857008657773934682012-11-13T17:06:00.000-06:002012-11-13T17:06:20.595-06:00

I wake up and jolt out of bed into a standing position, one hundred jumping jacks right off the bat, hoo-rah, I learned that exhortation from my brother who got kicked out of the marines. I would have joined the marines, but I decided to show solidarity with my brother and all that. The sacrifices one makes for family. Then push ups, I don’t even count them, I just do them until I fall down,

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-28459770835113161412012-08-01T01:26:00.002-05:002012-08-01T04:49:50.124-05:00

Shall I compare thee to a Michael Bay? Thou art more lovely than a thousand exploding helicopters, Your hair cascades down your shoulders with more grace than the blades of those same helicopters as they erupt rapidly out towards the audience, who respond emitting appreciative oohs and aahs or merely by adjusting their bulky 3D frames over their bulkier thick-rimmed ones and sigh, 

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-88008703117302880212012-07-04T11:29:00.002-05:002012-07-05T02:44:10.829-05:00

More springy matter, latched onto with light, gleaming mandibles and claws protruding from slight but powerful legs tumbling down and so on; now on the path to wherever it is, laid automatically, a scenic route is good enough, leading around a leaf and over the slowly disintegrating hollow bones of a fallen pigeon, not so poignant as a fallen dove, but who can even descry the difference as they

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-8508974103201546002012-03-06T03:02:00.004-06:002012-03-06T03:02:58.403-06:00

★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆  by George I am highly disappointed with Margul's latest entry in its line of virtual cephalic upconverters. I find  it has high levels of cognitive noise and associative drift and while its low energy spectrum resolution is quite fine, as Margul is known for, the high energy leaves much to be desired. After about a month of use, I noticed just yesterday several tumors

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-90647326750745749392012-01-20T03:40:00.000-06:002012-01-21T19:26:46.792-06:00

Jeff woke up violently into a bed sputtering and flailing for purchase. It was the bed he had fallen asleep in the night before. Wiping saliva off his mouth, he inspected the bed with great care, paying special attention to the grain of the wooden posts. He was astonished that they were the same, but gradually came to accept their verisimilitude, though if they remained identical to their

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-26672245128033313242011-11-07T01:46:00.002-06:002011-11-15T15:14:40.809-06:00

Froth just out, only bond itself. Our time together was best avoided. Eat the hours. Get alone your shed for hours, Dad.  He's rods to gone. At the lake awake I knew drink, would again. Beers down again as before, curdled flesh as ashes drifting from the shore, vomit. Blurring our eyes couldn't content, got our whiskey to share with the rangers, tipping our hats time and time again to them

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-75137031340373295052011-11-01T05:11:00.000-05:002011-11-01T05:11:24.947-05:00

I have noticed recently that the backs of my eyelids are covered in a small script only visible under certain levels of ambient light. Too bright a light, for instance, the rays of an angry summer sun brutally searing the earth as if to remind it of the foolishness of trying to escape the crushing gravity of its bulk by cowardly circling about to postpone the moment of its ultimate capture like

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-85119571607565203282011-10-25T04:15:00.001-05:002011-10-25T04:15:06.078-05:00

Growling in the sewer light the dew of the underground mounts the walls dripping green down and sideways a centimeter where soiled brick meets mortar. a frail vista on the open end seemingly in miniature is hardly worth mentioning the rats aren't squalid or foreboding, they only lie at the intersections of every smell and sound and taste and sight here resounding in their skulls

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5215799647712776251.post-68508439384997642902011-10-20T04:21:00.000-05:002011-10-20T04:21:52.395-05:00

inert finches fixed to branches murmur speaker phone static throats whistling rumbling scratches jerking away in flip book stutters calling out from hollow slumber confused phrases spoken sundered a congress of demons parses the noise consorting like broken finches speaking to each other in sounds like struck matches shearing the bindings of marooned perceptions and counseling them to cannibalize

absurdsensehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08979836092291163488noreply@blogger.com0