Two rotten molars, a blinding headache, and a broken foot. Let us quarantine ourselves in a seven story igloo hospital, for we shall be safe there. And the world shall be safe with us there. And there will be ample ice for our beverages. The sunrise bourbon buffet for insomniacs is a great meeting here. For those sleepless souls looking to enjoy the beginning of another day together. Sleeping not permitted.

The animal of my trade is the donkey. It’s not glamorous, but it is predictable.

There’s a rogue elephant that likes to sit in on business meetings. If you find him in your office it’s best to just ignore him, he never owns up to being there anyways. He was last seen in downtown Chicago drinking from the lake.

Oh settlers, the earth has cracked in two. The ice is splitting its fire at temperatures never felt before. There’s a gala, a benefit, on a train to promote relief. It’s filled with musicians that are already dead, playing instruments no one’s ever seen. And here JR is whispering softly, singing at frequencies never heard before.

A whirlwind of flames spiraling high danced across fields, bringing traffic to a halt.

This is my initiative to have no more initiative. Get rid of the illusion of control and let myself be engulfed by the wave of carnivorous cannibalistic consumerism.

There’s a man that lives in a house surrounded by extracted bee stingers. He’s convinced this is all the home security he will ever need.

My pocket watch stops time, as longs as I don’t say anything.

The price cheapens the item. The essence of the thing. Adhesives are a thing of evil. If anything, the price belongs on a noose and needs to be hung.

For one Absinthe Sparrow Delicatessen catch one unsuspecting Sparrow in mid flight and drown it in Absinthe. Light the alcohol on fire and voila, thy bird is cooked and ready to be eaten.

Let us swim dear friends. Let us swim in the lake in the sky. It is only accessible by an old rickety bridge. Our journey will be long, but the reward shall be great.

Three Doberman guarding butter and spoiled children acting like piggies. The dogs turn into sirens and swim away when the giants come home at night. In the water they beckon me to join them.

Are Bears still barefoot when they wear shoes?

There's a spider in my sugar. But fret not dear friends, for I shall make spider tea.

Flower petals fill the air as the trees all die in unison. Protesting our cities and machines and lives. Floating up towards the stars, they take their place in the heavens.

Shut your vision dear eyes. Look not into the crowd. For they are ordinary and ugly. Their smiles and serious inconsequential concerns are grotesque. Gaping. Filthy and stuffed like piggies waiting for slaughter. The layers of their faces jiggling as they gleefully over-enjoy music in elevators.

My people, live your lives as I do. I come not from the now. I come from the future and the past. I have lived the everlasting mind numbing cycle a thousand times. For eternal spinning continuous living follow my life. I peel the flesh off my face. Tear out my jaw. Saw off my head. Walk into a dessert and bury the pieces. I rot in the ground. My bone begins to disintegrate with time. And somewhere in the distant next day I am found and transformed to my previous glory by a warm and blinding light. There I find myself again in the beginning, only to repeat my offenses in the morrow. This my dear people is the key to the drought of forever.

Listen here, you living. You progress. You people of revolution. Know thy reaper! He comes not on a pale horse. He carries not a sickle. And he wears not a black hood. He plays not chess for goodness sake! The reaper is an old foreign woman shrouded in ninety-nine blankets. She wears no shoes. She can be seen crossing bridges at inconceivably slow speeds. the same frozen expression on her face no matter how hot or cold the weather may be. She is an apparition. An eidolon. And she sees not the world you and I do. She inhabits a subset. A compartment of reality in the form of a frozen tundra. And she can only project her image to take the wasted lives from the nothingness whence they came. Cut the fat. Heed this warning, oh good people. For today she comes for you. And she's mightily pissed off. As she should be.

The river thaws as the ocean boils. Fishermen were hungry, and too lazy to drag those damned creatures out of the water. So they threw in stick after stick of dynamite. Raising the temperature of the seas to make a nice bouillabaisse.

Have you ever seen holes in the ice that reveal violent tides underneath? That's leopard seals, you see. They've automated penguin hunting by installing giant underwater vacuum machines that suck up the cute aquatic birdies. It's a shame really. These devices are causing pointless tides. Completely screwing up the migratory paths of wales, who are now mysteriously ending up in small lakes across landlocked countries. And those good for nothing seals, they just hang about and get stoned, chewing on poisonous algae while over penguining the oceans.

Oh in this age of records we remember just as little as before. Spinning round as the broken record howls its foul tune once more.

Where am I from you ask? I am a citizen of nothing. At home nowhere. Especially not in this place. What am I doing here? I got lost on the way to transcendence. So come you lost dogs, you brothers of infinity and zero. We shall have some fun in this heat. The flames roaring louder every time we laugh. Smile like fools and drink to tomorrow and yesterday, for today has already been wasted. As the fog eats the consequences of our actions let us quietly slip into Chinese lanterns and float away. Over some great big ocean of antiseptic toilet bowl cleaner and into a land of blissful irrelevance.

Oh, to the disgruntled. Thou blood boils at such a beautiful temperature. Clearly there is reason in your befuddled mental state and capacity. Grovel, oh you disgruntled ones. Grovel before those you dare not offend. For what is worse than coming down on the disgruntled? Care not for your past, present, or future. Do not justify your actions. For thou art holy now. That is all that matters. Let thine swine anger trickle down to your inferiors, for they deserve all they can get. They, after all, have the pleasure of your existence, and love the very soil you tread on. For what could they feel more akin to than the dirt you step on every day?

Freeze my friends. For there is no glory in being warm.

Row my compatriots. Row. Let the salty breeze kiss your faces. Stare at the heavenly bodies falling from the sky. Don't look back at civilization. Those lights are just coffee stains, and its inhabitants are just spent waitresses at roadside diners. Go forth like those before you, and disappear into something wild. Body and Mind. For there is no soul. Time is of the essence.

Sit on a plate of ice my friends, join me in floating down the river under a misty moon and stars. I've got a fire going and I'm frying up pigeons in old hubcaps, while my homeless friend Thomas plays a rusty harmonica--whistling away like a drunk sparrow. As we near the ocean, the fire will melt through the ice. But not to worry, the pigeons are always cooked perfectly. Bloody and rare. Oh how we'll laugh while scoffing down our flying city rats. It's hard to imagine anything more beautiful. Two dusty vagabonds, with nothing to gain, drifting into the open sea. Finally, some peace.

Hear ye! Hear ye! Some poor saps will delude themselves into believing that what they're doing is special. It isn't. Most of us simply stumble through life for the sake of it. What's supposed to separate us from animals is the pursuit of something more than feasting and mating. But for most that's all there will ever be. So go forth my fellow man. Dilute thine blood with irrelevance. Join the herd of mindless automaton beasts. And die without a glimmer of consequence. Your peril awaits in a dark alley behind a convenience store.

Stupid birdie. Bluebirds don't fly backwards. Dot the hard thing stupid birdie. Fly forwards. Good birdie.

Pile in. Pile in. Oh cattle. Trade your legs for motorized death machines. Stand back. Stand up. Sit down. Stay clear of exiting cows. Evade the razor sharp metal doors that yearn to cut you in two. Moderate exercise can get you there in half the time, but nay! Your destinations will arrive in the order that is most insane. Waste your bodies. Decaying and unused flesh swelling around ever brittle bones. The effort of utilizing our design is too much to give up the comfort of standing huddled with rotting strangers. Moo, you cattle! Oh moo, you silly things! Moo until your hearts are so content they die! Just like your brains have.

Come my people. Don't lead or follow. Stray from the herd. Rid yourselves of the complacency of ordinary responsibilities. Leave the hard life. Live easy. Recognize the insanity of organized life and dwelling. Mark my words on your bodies. But don't worship them as gospel. Realize their monotony. Grasp that they've been spoken and heard a million times before. And that the insight of their repetition has as well.