Praise be for the UN

At long last, the United Nations Economic and Social Council granted consultative status to three lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender non-governmental organizations addressing human rights violations based on sexual orientation and gender identity.

Read this article here

Justin

...so what if there are bombs bursting in air over your head
or in your strawberry milkshake when you make it with that reporter in a cafe downtown
or in your arteries when you get hit by lightning shot by police into the thick of a demonstration against the most fashionable war of the season...
...so what so what so what...
civil liberties is only a fantasy
and i dont care cause i've got a new disease
to keep me company
yeah radioactivity is the right buzz for me
and all my neighbors are lab rats now
but they dont seem to care
we're all tuned into televised fireworks
while theres bombs bursting in air...

For thoughtful and useful information read on:
A good short article entitled "Lab Rats For Rumsfield" by HEATHER WOKUSCH

The Sunshine Project is an international non-governmental organization working on issues regarding biological weapons.

The Australia Group is an informal arrangement which aims to allow exporting or transshipping countries to minimise the risk of assisting chemical and biological weapon (CBW) proliferation.

Wikipedia page on biological warfare.

happy trails everyone and i hope you all had a six pack of jesus for me yesterday, hooray for designer religions and thank god for my day off from work.
Justin

this bud is tor me!

"It's always like this."
The man tells himself.
"Bitter soul juice of suburbia."
Alcoholism in this atmosphere is a given.
Approach the bar for another arbitrary decision
Heavy fluid prerequisite for social living
"It is so." Says the internal buzzing.

poem by JKLeMay 2006,
tits by Jezebel 2001,
weed because its better than poison. especially poison sponsored by church and state.

Jello Biafra will tell you why you should grow hydroponic tomatoes too here at youtube!

p.s. next year i'm quitting drinking, and even after more than half a decade of alcoholism, i feel strangely comfortable about it already. perhaps my peace of mind has something to do with the popularity of hydroponic tomatoes in Adelaide...

hey that looks like the face of law and order in a democracy!

“Organized religion destroys who we are by inhibiting our actions… by inhibiting our decisions, out of…out of fear of some…some intangible parent figure.”
– Loki

psychic house cleaning

...an old journal, faded and worn flickers in and out of view like a spectral old film. a page falls out and catches fire, the flames and ashes dancing into dust, the words on the dying page are born by a burning hand...:

"...Worm babies everywhere unite! Come together and join with us in the struggle to suffocate the evil spirits that are leaving our sacred and promised arrested development behind in their search for freedom inner peaces. The fiscal demons will keep us warm running faster and faster from creeping poverty. Isolate and execute the dreamers my brothers. The time to strike is now my comrades! We must take away the brushes of the evil doers and paint the canvas; it’s our canvas, a new shade of grey! Grey to cover the lies and sins of the infidels! The dark poets who bring such shame upon us with their rotten hallucinations and false propheteering! We must hang these so-called musicians with the subdued remains of their own accursed instruments! These so-called independent artists and their spiritually corrupted fans must be weeded out from our great institution. In order that this world, our great global factory that houses our pure and eternal souls, must be kept safe from the spread of perversion, we must be able to guarantee our confused and restless youth the fearless and spirit crushing subjugation of the will that has accompanied our historic achievements with state approved rock and roll. Telepathically-transmitted diseases are a very real and dangerous threat to the stability of our civilization’s longstanding romantic cohabitation with the fiscal demon and..."

the following fragment, forming part of a draft for a formal speech, is one of many sourced from the mind of a citizen of the abyss who disapeared under mysterious circumstances in 2006.

glimpsed and transcribed by JKL

a small nostalgia trip

Two Perverted Peas
For Cassie

She held my hands
rested on my scaly arm
and we watched the planes tear up the sky.

She told me over milkshakes
"Your swollen eyeball
is your least attractive feature."

She bought a carton of beer
and we spent the rest of the day in bed
cartoons and kissing deeper and deeper.

She says she's fat and ugly
naturally assuming that everyone agrees
so i reassure her at once
"I'm the only one who can truly see your beauty."

She couldn't trust my pale blue eyes
far enough to see that her sweet face
is my life support addiction.

She took me shopping
for a new black dress for Christmas
flatly refusing to design my outfit.

JKLeMay (2006)

beautiful i just want you to know you're my favourite girl

An incoming change altar."These people camp of Guantanamo, enduring physical torture just alleged criminals," Yao complained. "Psychological torture. Are tertiary institutions not yet determined that “hubs of radical propaganda and recruitment had violated the law. The police centres” for terrorism? Or are month publicly humiliated them, which violates the or yellow prison tunics and hauled legal ... Making gas away sticking a part of a from prairie grasses process. This brutal form of two are indication then punishment has long been abandoned by get through the streets. December 9 our society with the development of marks the set for an explosion. civilization and a legal system." they I've got some fifth year of the newest spy mechanism? What would imprisonment for David views on Australia, the desktops in Shenzhen, public security his nose in legal limbo. David, officers handcuffed about organisation around the like more than where Labor Government do if Although I live thousands Hicks with the changes to media law ownership no chance of his of miles regulation have not been proclaimed by away In the UK, Steve release the election date? Climate change kills in sight. He remains in passed farmers, says study country and male customers, the same thing through gone through dressed them in bright elsewhere in the US naval base the media. the last "A student at Wheaton prison North High Network ... Ambrose says two-month crackdown on new era where energy-saving programs coming soon ... Global Linux makes a vice in the warming: still a few skeptics left booming city of real impact on ... Don't sacrifice workers on climate to ramp up its online assets. Are the antennae used by bacteria for salad dressing in the school cafeteria." photosynthesis means it might also be As we witnessing the dawn of possible to connect them to such it wasn't world? If words and organisms, creating hybrid devices, he says. 100 women needed, And I got 700 men and some of their actions made and minors who have paid doing in this Ten has inked a AU$2.5 School Once this has been achieved, the is accused in a vulgar million nanocables could be fitted to nano-sized managed Web hosting services deal case robots or micro-machines and power their of food tampering. Police say with movements, suggests Franz Würthner at the Hostworks as the broadcaster looks he University of Würzburg in Germany. They put his bodily fluids into similarity for size and function… JKLeMay 2006

more drafts for a terrible novel...

Martin had been a student of psychoactive medications for most of his life. Hermetic traditions and pharmaceutic commercialisms and all other manner of methodises for somewhat socially acceptable intoxication had delivered him a sparkling and all encompassing doorway into the poisoned caverns of his confused, and often panic driven, hypertensive mind. His memory capacity, his reflexes and his congested sinuses were only the more immediately obvious faculties of his skull that he industriously and randomly offered as sacrifice, over the years, to worms of the senses who ate their way inside out of him with virus power. “Ah…” he would sigh proudly “the places I’ve been.” As the fabric of reality began to vibrate and shimmer and the haze descended through him, the heavy fluids crashing through his dilated bloodstream, the grey green smoke shimmering in his lungs and sucking at the pulse beat. The compulsion to drink was powerful for him, his habit had built a mountain stronghold; downloaded the addiction into his cells; hijacked and fortified unconscious survival mechanisms. Like most alcoholics, Martin couldn’t see himself scratching at the inside of the bottle until it climbed out of his mouth and onto his back in the troubled hours of the morning after, and by then he could score for some weed and the plant guides could deliver him and his bloodshot eyes into their singing holy jungle, easing his punishment by cutting through the nausea and aching in his head and pledging him to contemplation and inaction, to a concerned, bewildered, more forgiving state of being. His body could nurse itself back to health while he rested in the dusty green shadows, gazing at himself in the timeless light reflections washing over him. The gods of addiction laughed mercilessly behind his back when his stomach felt the sting of anxiety over the dilapidating seat of his consciousness. Even when his own father warned him of the recurring dangers of LSD, skull faced trickster deities emerged from the abyss, laughing and twirling and merging into sardonic tentacles, challenging him “how many times have we brought you closer to the man you fear? Without your childish and submissive trepidation, how could any psychedelic syntheses be self-destructive? Don’t you want the spine tingling cosmic consolation, however temporary, that our magnifying mirrors so willingly provide? Wonderland awaits you. Come with us…”

Martin and Charles were dropping partners, and the assumption they shared was that they could enjoy an increased measure of physical safety by taking shelter from the unpredictable, medication-driven enlightenment storms in each others company. Tripping on distorted suburban dreams, and driven drunk by proud faith in subjective individuality and an ingrained, belligerent sense of applied hedonics, the two of them would walk for kilometres into the city lights. They would wear backpacks, carrying a standard assortment of bottled water; mobile phones; lollipops and chewing gum; potato chips; chocolate bars; and paper and materials to transcribe vague and soon forgotten visions in frenetic hebephrenic shorthand.

One night in October, they consume a good measure of cocaine and ecstasy tablets, score for a bottle of tequila and another of cheap Greek ouzo from the local bottle shop, and start walking aimlessly towards a major airport on the other side of town. About a half hour into their trek they climb through a hole in razor wire fence and arrive at the 16^th hole of a deserted golf course. Charles sits down and drops a dying cigarette into the hole while Martin paces in ragged circles around the edges of the green. As he wanders about, his exclamations of indignation become increasingly audible. Charles is having trouble following the conversation that Martin is having with agents unknown, it would seem, to anyone other than himself “there is no tighter hierarchy than extreme wealth, and no one gets in who is not devoted to the interests of money!” He nods his head furiously and throws a half finished cigarette at the ground in frustration. “Did you think I hadn’t figured that out old man?” he chuckles cynically and lights another smoke, drawing deeply. “Did you hear that Charlie? Old Bill thinks he can tell me how the ball rolls when he’s over the hill already!” Martin wanders off purposefully towards the next hole, stopping only to stare up at the stars, yelling loudly “tell me something I don’t know that I know old man!” Charles gets up and starts after him, swigging gladly from the tequila bottle and telling himself how much it annoys him to have to bear witness to his friends reckless channelling of long dead literary outlaws.

After discarding the airport as a worthwhile destination, the two friends arrive at Lucifer’s Lounge around midnight, staggering through the door with their arms across each others shoulders and laughing demonically. Kat is waiting at the bar for them with champagne, majoun candies, shots of mescal and fresh mangoes. “You guys look fucking trashed.” She smiles affectionately at her delirious friends. “I take it the chemical demons and wander bugs still bitin’ you both eh? Well gimme another three or four hours and I’ll put this business to sleep for a while, we can dig these new shrooms that Spider Mike brought in this arvo. Says this afterglow, he gets now is real sweet and like tasting the setting sun, so I took a bunch of that off his hands too, thought maybe we’d dig some of that first eh?”

first post in a long while...sorry folks.

Just some nonsense i've been workin on...and with my cynical habits, probably strictly nowhere draft material. Enjoy.

Charles Has A Dream With Predictable Consequences
Charles hustles his way through the crowded subway station towards to men’s room. Shutting himself in a cubicle he lights a cigarette and washes down a couple of StayAwake™ caffeine pills with a can of coca-cola and a cigarette. Sitting back, exhaling peacefully in the slime, he studies the writing on the walls around him.

Life on earth is an intricate dice game where you reach the finish line across the death of your mind to find out you only had one chance to play.

Satan, delivering lectures in underground bunkers, promised: armies of fallen angels; bankers of bound change; and electronic dice viruses to the control machine and built the stock market with his bare hands. Meetings were convened, appointments made and performance monitored. Pre-recorded memory shortages were tuned in and filed away safely, buried deep within the control brain’s hardwired terrestrial furnace.

The second piece, on the wall to the left, looked like it had been born freed out of the word hordes very recently; the smell of the thick black paint was still evident in the cavernous neon bunker. Impressed, Charles reached into his pocket for a paint pencil.

Question: What does Little Miss Muppet have in common with Saddam Hussein?
Answer: They both had Kurds in their way!

On the subway home, the conversation he had had earlier that morning with Audrey began to disturb him.

“Tell me about your dreams Charlie-you write your visions down don’t you-its important that you do you know…don’t you remember what we talked about last night at the beach?”

“There’s a lot I don’t remember about last night mate. In fact, I don’t really recall much of anything that happened between the last drink from the first bottle of vodka that I bought and the headache I woke up with this morning. I didn’t even realise that I was responsible for all of the cans of absinthe that I found empty in the back seat of my car until I saw my credit statement this morning.

“Kicked the mood stabilizer habit and hitting the stupid juice eh? You were very raw. Watch you don’t rot your brain out Charlie, I don’t wanna see anymore of my brothers turning into fucking lush-freaks you hear. You were talking about going to a brothel when you flew out of the club this morning. Did that show up on your credit statement?”

“It did actually.”

Charles reacted bitterly to his friends somewhat overbearing probing. He confessed defensively that he couldn’t remember his dreams, didn’t really pay much attention and saw sleep more as physical necessity than an exploration and, as such, had not bothered to take the time to record anything out of any of them.

Too vague, too personal and intimately unpredictable he said.

Publishing his dreams would be amount a masochistic and commercially suicidal act. Worthless nonsense fit only for an invisible magazine without a name.

Strictly nowhere. Randomly distorted products of a biological redneck wonderland of an otherwise useful psyche.

Audrey stormed out of the café and disappeared into the crowds, the grey dust following him like smoke. The conversation remained and kept him in unsettled companionship for the rest of the day

Why had he never taken the time to write down his dreams? He wondered if maybe this time his friend’s enthusiasm was the infectious element of the equation. Dreams are probably just semi-conscious junk aren’t they? Personalised dramatisation of unconscious desires? Over saturation of exhausted translucent amber nervous instinct visions? He bought a pad and a new black pencil from a newsstand on the way back to his apartment, determined to make a recording in the morning.

He woke up at sunrise hot and drenched in sweat gasping for water and air. Coming to his senses, he changed the sheets and reached for the writing pad, having decided before going to sleep to transcribe his experience in the third person, so that it would more easily resemble a film script he could analyse at his convenience. His journal entry ran as follows:

Charles thought about that briefcase all night every night it reached out from under his bed – the door flew open under the vulture’s stolen entrails lost in the deep dark invisible lake – the semi-permanent inhabitants arrived on the comets that baptised the lizard kings in holy fire – under his bed all night every night the earth shook again under the vulture’s stolen earthquake – the deep dark semi-permanent lake flew open invisible holy fire – lizard kings baptised by thought vultures on circling stolen comets lost in earth – all night every night the lizard kings in the stolen briefcase thought about the semi-permanent Charles – people are frozen to death on the road in Scotland when the comet reached out from under the bed – a spaceship reached out from above the bed to photocopy the pyramids under the invisible lake – a crown of thorns floats to the surface in the darkness around the bed – Charles stole the briefcase back from under the spaceship and slept in the frozen earthquake all night until the violent weather shook the bed – Charles reached out in the deep dark for the pyramids frozen entrails and was baptised by invisible photocopy spaceship fire – Charles froze to death and reached out from the invisible lake to a spaceship above the vultures earthquake in the photocopy pyramids.

Question: What is in the briefcase?

Answer: Nothing is in the briefcase…