Friday, May 05, 2006

It's so easy for me to bitch cruelly and general. Quite difficult elucidating the complex goodness all around me.

Top of the morning gents,

Reminder and self check motherfuckers.

You are the beacons of light and sole protectors of
the innocent from evil. Amen?

As me and bunnik ease ourselves back into the ghetto
res, we've been greeted by surprisingly large numbers
of folks smiling from ear to ear and hugging us more
than appropriate for a cross-eyed culture built upon
incest.

We may exaggerate the negativity, hatefulness and
racist resentment of my browner Mrs. and my Nordic blond
hair and blue eyes, but the vast majority of folks
here in Kotzebue are truly fond of my Siberian Mrs.
AND me. Don't that beat all?

I’m asserting that the minority and governing hate
groups of Inu darkies will forever loathe darker
folks, lighter folks etc. and are the very same
miserable miscreants that hate their own skin color
and hygiene, hence projecting hatred in all directions.

"You can't love an evil hearted woman" (W. Jennings).

This applies to the buggered overweight chumps that
will never appreciate the phenomenally bright lights
all around them. Ya see, misery enjoys company.

Which coincides with the obnoxiously loud rednecks we
see on TV every time there's a disaster. Remember all
them sufferable niggers screaming for help in the wake
of Hurricane Latrina? Poor is a state of mind and low
wage workers are paid according to the productivity
they offer the rest of us.

Now turn the mirror over and examine the most
outspoken aboriginals bitching for free money in the
ruse to repair their culture and rect communities.
Same shit. It's forever stressful whenever dumb ass
James Mason gives them airtime or shoves an ignorant
microphone in their puss.

"That cunt will surely suffer us all to Hell!" (D.
Beuler-whilst arresting me for justifiably beating the
daylights outa Renee Burkhead).

After an evening of good business unloading a quarter
elbow of cat piss diesel paste, I returned home to a
drunk monkey bitch waving my own gun at me and
screaming for reasons why I didn't her leave a coupla
cups of blow before I went out.

What do you tell a drunk biach with 2 black eyes?
Fucking nothing, ye already told her twice. Nuff said
mates. Charges dismissed cuz the 10-17 was removed
from the courtroom for drunken outbursts and shrill
accusations that yers truly was a drug dealer and kilt
a dude named Kevin Zabrisky from Kotzebue and pitched
him in a dumpster somewhere near 85th and Greenwood.

For me to restore the bright light and surreal glow I
was born with, I had to extricate myself from Lem’s
Mortuary and Crack House and git my bitch ass to a
place where I could again shine.

I had a butt load of swap meets unloading the cars out
back, the guns I never touched and donated the rest to
a man named ‘Larson.’ I also disconnected all the
utilities, advised the landlord of my vacation of
premises, and returned to where God intended brilliant
ass fucks like me to go: back to the university
campus.

When queried by a sharp gal here in Kotzebue how I can
remember so much from my philosophy coursework, I
balked at the obvious and joked about massive brain
damage from frequent beatings and lots of drug abuse.
I was lying ye know. Everything I ever learned was
either already inside me beaten into me on the
playground or here in the smoking section of this cat
box I staked off in the ways back of your oversized
reptilian, amphibian and mammalian brains.

Truth be told, I just can’t seem to drink it off my
mind.

I can’t forgive nor forget shit. Ipso facto my
misdiagnosed hyperactivity is secretly a racing mind
much like a million lectures and documentary films
I’ll never cease and desist. Hence the virtue of zero
imagination save the massive creativity I’ve sublimely
brokered from all you gents retelling tales from YOUR
memories, not mine.

When I lay awake late at night, I’ll simply watch my
lovely Siberian Mrs. sleep in peace unheard of in her
waking. Then I’ll close my eyes and fire up the rapid
recall memory vault of everything I ever saw,
experienced and felt. In light speed fashion my mind
fetches enjoyable old anthropology lectures from
Professor Tarrant how the oldest human fossils in
America possess zero Native American DNA and
philosophy lectures from Dr. Benesch how abortion is
perfectly acceptable if we refrain from referring to
the masculinity of that blessed little prenatal micro
dude.

Don’t fight it mates, y’all likely experience the same
thing. As aforementioned heretofore, all of you maggot
fucks have higher IQ’s than I. Only difference is you
were victims of public school programming thus robbing
you of the ability to learn.

“The power of government lies directly in the
ignorance of its constituency” (B. Franklin).

I won’t accept this, and neither should you. King
Solomon governed best by governing least, and in
issues of property disputes he simply cut disputed
property down the middle. When he was faced with a
custody battle with 2 bitches fighting over a rather
handsome boy, he beckoned his executioner to perform
the same.

One complainant beamed and smiled, the other shrieked
and forfeited all claims. At this moment, he discerned
who the real mother was and who the cunt was: so did we.

Let us now examine the governing officials we erect
here on the res. Makes ye kinda gag and wretch don’t
it?

“We could use a man like Herbert Hoover ‘round here”
(Archie and Edith Bunker-All In The Family).

Thomas Jefferson echoed King Solomon and declared to
them Brit buggers with trembling voice that a state
that governs least is a state that governs best.
Needless to say he was fucking drunk on Socratic dogma
and so should you. He believed the 2-letter word for
God was ‘so’ and His genius is contained within all
of ye, not a bunch of fucking church elders with a
penchant for gaping our very own kids.

I suspect you lads did a fine job of enlightening your
blessed children to accommodate the 3 men we admire
most: the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Lets block that
punt and keep church bureaucracy out of their large
intestines. Deal?

Y’all have a huge neural network woven between your
eyes: the God spot. This region is non-existent in
lower primates and may very well be a wonderful bridge
into what I really wanted to tell you killers this
morning.

Have ye ever heard the phrase, “The devil is in the
details?”

Nup, not today, not ever: the devil exists in cursed
oversimplifications, generalizations and condescending
gospel marketed on every radio and cable TV channel.

Remember how Jesus is only quoted 6 times in the
Bible? One concept of import relevant to today’s am
cop talk newsletter is how lifting a stone or piece of
wood will reveal His presence and that nobody stands
between you and your creator: especially mobs of butt
fucking clergy.

Tricky man that Jew carpenter be.

The relentless pursuit of the unfathomable and the
blind faith in our own search for something superior
to us monkey fuckers may be what guided us from
grunting primates hairy to the wingless mortals I see
in all of you today.

Faith may quite possibly be the upward leap in our
evolutionary dynamic shifts in paradigm, structure and
function. It’s the humble belief that we are capable
of super accelerated advancement from the shedding of
our aboriginal roots upwards and away from primitive
polytheism to the monotheism awakening near the pineal
gland nurturing this God spot you’re programmed to be
so deathly afraid of.

The details we are confounded with, is the complexity
of your own DNA: your selfish and sublime genes
commanding your unconscious marching orders.

Wake up fucks! What I’m flailing about in my typically
inept fashion is the simple notion that His divine
plan for each of you blessed angels with blood
spattered wings, barnacled and tarnished halos, and
hopefully tearful eyes, may lie not in some tattered
book, but coded in your helixes double and the duality
of this odd universe I can’t seem to escape.

It's okay to have faith and believe in a higher power
so complex that the Supreme Being would in all
likelihood look and sound like a wheel chaired nuclear
physicist to a penguin. It's also okay to fail to live
up to your ideology.

That's where God is hiding, in the abysmal
complexities of each one of your cells, not the
fucking Devil. The symbolism of Lucifer is a clever
literary means (analogy, metaphor and simile) of
describing cruelty from our neighbors, native leaders
and parents impaired and intoxicated: in layman’s
vocabulary.

Next time you nick yourself shaving, keep in mind that
your creator dwells in your bloodstream, in each and
every one of your rapidly transforming DNA molecules,
and quite visible in your children.

If God can love you graying gunslingers and uniformed
felons along with the rest of our smelly brethren, I
oughta be able to also.

With busted knuckles and weary soul, I'm trying.

“God I need a smoke” (S. Barrett-P. Floyd).


Karl.

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