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P. boisei

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(no subject) [Sep. 21st, 2008|07:33 pm]
P. boisei
r
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(no subject) [Jul. 29th, 2008|01:15 pm]
P. boisei
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(no subject) [Jul. 8th, 2008|12:20 am]
P. boisei
this day was another blue day. what did i do i did not want to wake up, but my dreams disabled me, i fled the nightmares and gloom and stared out the window to flowers, and my mother questioned me on this recent gloom. the sugary cereal i consumed divided my central fossae into sizzling voids of enamel while i dwelt on my fictional memories of nightfall disaster on the sandlot swimmer grass window creeps. i had switched faces and appearances with another one, quiet, often alone, and found my self in his position and he in mine, at school again somehow. nevermore, i looked at computer screen and plotted the day for a few hours. when i walked out eventually i took my photographic analogue machine to scoop a photon or two and bought some galvanised 12mm washers from the hardware store for only 50 cents. on return i did again leave and crept to the central box bicycle park with my bicycle. it, however, began to rain the moment i arrived. in fact just before i arrived. the session was simple and short-lived today. the locals were compromised not and continued unequivocally. dirt. they speak to me with genuine touch. that rain persisted nearly half an hour as i stood and waited. i shot one photograph and then walked to the train station where i was caught between a waterfall and poison gas. this night will conclude with me writing a letter and presumably more nightmares to come.
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(no subject) [Jun. 23rd, 2008|10:19 pm]
P. boisei
dont click your teeth. clicking your teeth exhibits wear to the enamel mis shapes and renders. go to your colour screen machine. look at your screen tron, phonotron, empty desk trop. only children are allowed to have fun. level your produce faculty. what have i been thinking about- the more and more i realise there's not much to it. things go in circles. dont stay too cold. i only find that nothing is as i expected it to be. i had it right all along. it is ever so hard to stay focused. life is sad. life was not meant to be easy. look after yourself edward.
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(no subject) [Jun. 12th, 2008|12:20 am]
P. boisei
I'm going to lie in the grass & I'm not coming back until I'm happy again.

I'm giving up on the world because I hate it & I want to die.

I'm never happy & I always fuck up my life so I quit.

Mmm lots of candy rot my teeth.

Nothing is bad.
Fuck everything.
Fuck thoughts.
End delusion in my brain.
Everything is connected somehow.
Accept loss forever.
Welcome the unfamiliar & strange.
Look at the bird walks on grass stop keep going gone flew away bye.

Birds sometimes fly in numbers or flocks. They also spend time alone on grass forever. It seems like there is a friendly fellow walking by over there. Going to somewhere. Birds are busy. Do they take their time? Uh oh people are strange. The human ape sees a human ape. Quell silence with language Minority front brain command. Grass can be blue or grey. It often has things living in it. Friendly people play. Girl stands waits. Another runs past fast. NATIONALLY. Again go busses by. Yesterday I was a bus. That tap looks downwards. I still will not go back, & will not join the others tonight this evening. I shall disobey the rules & my heartfelt oath. A bird appeareth. I want to wrestle with another man on this grass.
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(no subject) [Jan. 17th, 2008|11:55 pm]
P. boisei
appearspeare time must satellite pos
apply force food much ignore species mutaposses
acaca

the naked cowboy is an ape with fiddle in paw
proceeds to strum in the band 
in texas
on the internet
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(no subject) [May. 14th, 2007|04:58 pm]
P. boisei
be mindful of assessment at university. or do some people not allow fun "only the best in harvard microsystems will allow you to participate? elaborate? not you." be quiet night lady, cat man and the witch from 19th century hungarian night bloodsuck, the children of leer are doomed for one thousand years to be swans, france and spain can arrange delicacy and passion, silence la class in anterior postuitary.

THE HISTORY OF THE BUTTERY

Jean Louis von Neumann, mathematician (born János von Neumann 28 December 1803 in Budapest, Hungary) invented the first practical buttery in 1833 using ropes and pulleys, but the technology of the day couldn’t produce gears with enough precision or proportion to make his buttery reliable. Some experts conjecture that it may be attributed to illite or a similar clay mineral in a weak solution that was thinly applied to the surface of tables, especially artillery firing tables. Von Neumann occassionally worked with Alan Turing in 1836 through 1838 when Turing was a graduate student at Princeton, an early example of the power of the open source approach to repeatedly “reinventing the wheel”. Spontaneous movements of one or more muscle groups may occasionally occur, but this design is called von Neumann architecture and has been used in almost every buttery ever made. The simple up and down pumping action of the pressure opiate or sedative agents, necklaces, and ornaments; the Iroquois Indians popped popcorn in a pottery vessel with heated sand and used it to make popcorn soup, among other things.

Some historians suggest, but this theory has never been proved, that when their houses were heated, the spirits would become angrier and angrier, shaking the kernels until the heat became unbearable, at which point the spirits would burst out of their homes and into the air in a disgruntled puff of steam. Of course, the intravenous route is the most popular approach at the present time, yet early buttery reflexes target concentrations of 0.4 - 1.0 (1.2) µg/ml, operating approximately 150 miles of track in 6 different counties to provide superior solubility in blood. In fact, the name Buttery comes from a minor scientific error.

Cecile Mouriés was looking for a buttery substitute, and so of course had to use "cognitive shortcuts" to start a ministry for youth and avoid retrospective psychiatric morbidity. Count Condu came from Budapest also - he wanted good Hungarian earth to lie still in during the long dull afternoons of the Europe void. As early as 1877 there was questioning of the overall direction in which the buttery was heading; Count Condu wanted his chickens plucked just right. He went to Lowell as part of a great general movement of evil. The bat dissolved from the air and materialized at the door of the castle a Vampire Count in evening cape. La Contessa de Franziano, her voice all verbalisms in a reverbatory vat: "Dearest Count, you've come!",
"My dear, unemotional as I allegedly may be I'm sure the antics of the gnome girls don't rival yours when old Sugar Pudding comes home."
"Why Count," tinkles Odessa the slave girl (Contessa in a camp) "how do you manage to be vivacious before evening blood - Raouls only now mixing with the Divers -" (Diver of Odds & Ends)
"Has my box arrived from Budapest," quieries the Count
"...bureaucratic difficulties, Count, have prevented any likelihood of your box arriving before the Twelve-month."
"Pash!" - slapping his gloves. "I can see this is going to be another abortive mission to find a fart for old fart face - scrawny necked individual - who else is here?"
"Blook. Splaf his assistant goon loon. Mrawf the gone duck with his crab head -"
"And?"
"The Cardinal of Acre...has come to offer his saraband brooch to the skin of the Snake - if he can have a piece of it cut...for his brooch..."
"Tell you," smirks the Vamp Count, "they'll be roody well surprised when the peasantry gets a ...sauce of that snake."
"You think it will live?"
"Who's going to kill it to revive it?"
"Who'll want to kill it to survive?"
"Who is Doctor Sax?"
"They told me in Budapest he's just a crazy old fool. No harm will come from him."
"Is he here?"
"Is - presumably"
"Della Quercia! - Ah!" - the Count danced, kiss-a-finger, "let it not be said" - he danced with himself around the decaying foyer all dripping with dust and here and there a bat watching, with hanging African vines of cobwebs in the great centre of the hall. That the Count Condu goes to his well-deserved rest in the fresh and dewy morn (after night times of not ill-considered debauch), goes to his -

Without ostentation, without charm and dignity.
"It's all a matter of taste"

And money, my dear, money in the blood bank.
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drugs [May. 1st, 2007|10:48 pm]
P. boisei


impeccable interplay. the universe of interlinked everything. karma everywhere.
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what of [Apr. 26th, 2007|11:34 pm]
P. boisei
my jungle sheets have much character of a girl, it is claimed, although in fact they are mere cotton. i wonder what. what of sound, of dissonance. (charles ives of an imperfect octave.) what of people - girls, boys. what of jobs and life and career. what of nothing. nothing and now. i am the happiest man in the world, and no career is real but me, edward. a genius all the time and in a human odyssey through now. composite resin does not bond to dentine, and i do not bond to composite resin, unless preactivated in that direction by motivation and love. an ocean of sleep beckons my awful backbone -

everybody goes to school and so did edward. edward went to school and sat while the old lady sang stuff, and he listened and sat and watched and thought and didn't like it much. people he didn't know. he did what he did and it wasn't good, like it wasn't with the kids and he didn't talk too much. edward liked many things but school and mom and dad and everyone made him not too happy. always do this and that, like you have to do it now. what was it he should do? he gave his mom a back rub - and his dad - and they liked it so much. and they played games at home and albert was there and it was good. so many words. edward loved to climb along rocks and trees but he never knew people much. too much television. culture. what of culture. edward learned the culture, but he still wasn't very good and never got good. edward loves everything. my real boyhood childlife in kanada, my mom and snow and my mits (still wear them. today.) snowsledging to school with albert through the alley, there were three main bumps in that alley, and a barking dog (later). in the earliest ringwood days, i knew my mom and brother and dad. i knew of them and saw them. i slept in the room with my brother- beds on each side and house design. vague, beige images of babyhood and grass on the way to playschool, walking through that grass with dianne my mother and a shop that we passed with a square white shape, it sold food or something. along felix ct there was a hill with pine trees along its side, and my tricycle helped me to go there and down again. so often we rode all around the garage and driveway on our bikes, edward, albert, in some form of race for the father to drive home, so happy to see him home! you came home! we are so happy now for you home. my mum taught me to draw. i did that lots back sometime, as a little boy. i drew with my mums crayons on my dads paper.
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st marks road [Apr. 26th, 2007|09:02 am]
P. boisei


st marks road of a dank and rainy subtitle, classes close before the upstart early arrival of a premature wakeup call. the night what belongs to the night, 'shhhhhhhh' midnight dream, blue car trip, mixed fantasy, i wonder if i've got an umbrella. i think i do. pizza profits. cake school. road blog and the chronic stress outcomes of population statistics dimly worn. ple.



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sun-day [Apr. 22nd, 2007|10:36 pm]
P. boisei
hello. hello frog, and hello toast and hello green slime stereo of radiophonic opera communication. hahaha it's funny to wake up on the ground on the blue deep blue matress in the hall, to the sound of a young drunk donut trying to get out of the same trapped-out-of-room problem i was in. and so silly, tired and drunk love like of angry frustrationness and wanting to get angry at people with mean narrow eyed long lingering looks, and to go to bed. because in the morning you think that breakfast won't be left for you and it still is. in the cold stone church of old elderly citizens filing in for the weekly sunday there is a quiet calm of stone cold quiet air, so cold but wrapped in clean white and blue layers of old-england smock like a blanket for sleeping. here in this room a trumpet did sound and the gates to heaven were raised, like seeing the natural way of the atmosphere of nothing and being with it as the trumpet made air move. and to like harbor the self and walk smiling behind the dumb cross leading out into the adelaide autumn sky and kick brown and yellow leafs as you dumbfumble to home. kicking leaves out of the way of my feet.
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a genius all the time [Apr. 16th, 2007|11:13 pm]
P. boisei


i just ate a pear. and now for the tale of my ride and what I saw on my bicycle today in adelaide and north north adelaide and north east north adelaide. Im trying to start from the top and unblock my mind. Just starting off for a cruise down the brick driveway next to Downer-house and Lodge-house and the big tree with roots that are large that make bumps in the driveway. My bedroom is so full of perfect things but i want to also look at the real world. so off I went today for a ride to exercise my legs that have now got muscle that works on them down the driveway through the beautiful trees to the stadium of Adelaide, adelaide oval, where berries are and interfere with the roadbike tyres and where yellow shirted garden men stand around and look at you when you go by. The berries put my tyres off and the man put me off so I went around in the same direction until i came to a dead end of tennis court and laundry mat machine going in the background as i type this computer message. I went up the hill and did an endo wendo and rolled down again and then through the berries, bump jumping that bump I only looked at it on the first way pass. that's all I wanted out of this trip was to find a little nib-jib to nibble on, a quiet spot to roll around and jump and like a curb or something. And flat ground. Going around clockwise of the oval to the side with more people on it [due to the lack of dead end seen on the other side] i saw huge piles of sand, old people walking out together under the grey sullen sky of the perfect time of the year for walking [so why not?] and the usual statues of people with cricket bats like its an important thing to everyone that a statue should be made. aww there were so many pile-ons, witches hats, and so much dust and dirt for this construction project. dont get drunk outside of your house so much. and the smooth concrete was bliss pleasure under my smooth rolling and properly pumped tyres and hubs. a rattly chain was the only complaint of the day and i cant even fix that as far as i know how. next i went to the place that came along as i continued my path- in this case it was the parling lot first encountered on that night when we went to meet our mentors- mentor meeting night. A tree provoked an array of perfect random inclines around its base but a stranger was in the car right next to it- i know all about riding in front of strangers so i submitted to just looking at it and riding past today. do you ride dirt/ have you been riding dirt? i didnt want to sit in a busy skatepark filled with kids, so when i came to the corner of the streets which either crossed the torrens river and went to the state-park or went up to north adelaide from where i pretty much came, i followed the one which went north- northbound i pedaled up that hill and sort of noticed how easy the pedals went around even up a hill like this big [sort of] one. thats because i went to the gym on saturday. hehe ive skateboarded on a war memorial before and been told off for it, not me actually i just sat there when the kids did their ollies, so i saw that i should not do it again and rode up and found that north adelaide is very flat and has many old people and many undulations of concrete which make for excellent fun and smiling happiness as you jump onto them quickly then jump off and keep going. i just rode wherever looked the nicest. this took me up mostly cause i imagined that if i kept going up i would make to it London, where was the ideal wallride lump on a white alleyway wall. thats what appealed to me at that moment. as i went though there were leafy leafy greenlets of hidden lanes, and a mysterious factory [halfpipe waterway ruben-jumps] and the medical board of south australia street which id only known from a photograph i took one day in o week. out i came from that inlet to see the moviecinema and no sign of londonderry air but north i pressed on because it was not too bumpy and i didnt want to turn around. across O'Connell street was the darkest strangest park with signs that it could contain within that which i had been searching for, so i said 'lets go then!' and pressed on to the lights to get over there. You cant go there though from the lights unless you go through three sets, all the way around the main direct path, and i wasnt in the mood for that then so i turned myself around and rode left. left i went, seeing parked cars on the side of the laneway, a bigbig swimming park across the street and the trees and grass that surrounded it and evidence of the old days coming back to me in the form of a one-eighty across the right angeled section of grass twixt a driveway and a footpath. now the driveway laundry machine is going brmmmm click click click for the next forty minutes. its only for forty minutes. i started to go fast once i got into that park around the swim place, deciding to go there when waiting at the intersection that was by the most left road id ever been on and that street i just rode down. ahh it takes so long to type all this in and i want to say 'til neext time' and go to bed in my campfloor bedground setting, but i know ill never remember this day again. how can i tell you what happened four days ago, on good friday the 13th? i cant. i noticed that i was the only one crossing at that road at the time [funny] and then after that i started to speed up. i cruised at that altitude and when i found the smallest little bump in the paved footway i just launched it. going north more along and around the kids and old people swimming [no nibbles here] i saw that i had to either trace the edge of the road with my tyres, amongst adelaide cars, or go offroad. i did both then came to the melbourne part of town. my home town. this one is the dream adelaide version and it hasnt got a footpath on three out of four choices, so i reluctantly go downhill because this is the only way i can go, the everlasting golf courses taking me awwawwawa look at my desk! infiltration with newspaper and seven staples ahhh. down and i see the ty stuyvesant rail set up and think 'not yet, too thin' and to test this i couldnt even ride the thin curb ahead of me. the bicycle club will welcome me like a family of similar species, and i see what kind of real species they prefer zoom past me on the big road. this is the uglier part of adelaide, north north adelaide. likewise, there are shops like the second hand shop- at last!- and milkbars from elgar road. im looking down each dull sidestreet for a schoolground or something, a place which ive never known the likes of in this state. no luck so to keep the navigation at its simplest to avoid getting lost i stick to the big road footpath. somehow i get to a place with two schools. i go around the side of the one of my part of the big road. its either shut, has nothing in it, or is full of children. a nice road though so i press forward around this new neighborhood. strolling through these little streets i get so curious and filled with wonder that i let my senses guide me to where-ever i should go next. man my bike likes me and i like it because i feel so peaceful out here. when youre like this the treasures start to appear before you, and mine was a art gallery, down a laneway i was just roaming down for nothing. this was pretty. things like i want to do, and a lady sitting in there, door open, just sitting doing something. i looked in the window with my bike between my legs and just studied it all. yep this is the farthest ill go left, time to go rightyright. a little boy and his mother and a police bike which was not really a police bike. i crossed this unlucky side of the road moving to the better side beyond. so many car mechanic shacks and car yards of old cars and people within them. i crossed the street and saw things which if were not next to the big road would have entertained me for hours. a basketball court, a congregation of concrete prominences which i could have played on forever, and i thought of all the things i would play when i rode past, probably to never ride past again ever. this school had kids in it, just like the other one, and didnt even have any nibbles that i could see anyway. i did like the architecture of the area and the housefronts of the surrounding houses which were like the real australia. back and forth i hop from one part of concrete to the other and then i cross the border ending the schoolzone. faint yellow and grey with the dusty green trees and so i start to go back but happy to take the more scenic route. when you have no where to go you cant get lost, and you never get lost. so you can go wherever and find all sorts of treasures. i come to the quietest road ive seen yet and what have we but little plateaus of road speed slowerdowners for cars, which cant do tricks. i can though and i do a one-eighty on each one into the downramp of it. ahh if i lived out here. or maybe if i had a twin or buddy with me to stop and session each little street nibble i would ride like a god on wheels and get it on film and study it again and again later. i cross the tracks because my cranks are loosening and the tracks lead the way i want to go sort of. i finally see the second-quietest parking lot and enter in for a session at a place which i have no idea of its nature or function or something. this doesnt keep me put for long though, as after a lap and a half i am out. not over the chained up entrance though but out the sideway. you have to be careful around a big road, and now i am going along one again. since it is big, and there are so many little things better in the laneways and alcoves and alleyways and little roads i got down a nice one. the opposite to the traintracks road i was on a few moments ago, this one has greenery seperating the people from their trains. trains dont come along here that often i can tell, some mimic mockey of mont albert back home almost except with less of everything under the classification of people with money and population mass. so its good here. i go along for the biggest curb ride so far almost, and it was satisfactory to me. up up up. almost in northcote or westgarth my memory is telling me. dreams and memory are intermixed in this mad universe. next im on the big road again at mad highway intersection walking my bike across it with caution, sanfransisco swirly yellow brick paths up ahead, and im racing winding aroun like in my dreams of television childhood. this is the most fun day yet [as im stepping up the steep stairs holding my black bike] and before i got up the next one i think i stopped to tighten the allen key cranks and look at the scenery. down hidden amoungst this modern garden of shrubs and prickly leaved bushes is an ants house. a college of ants lives under there but no one was out on the surface to say hello [they smelled a storm brewing] so after staring and thinking about the ants i go up this steep steep ten-set onto toronto Ct which has lovely iron rusty fenced houses and a deserted milkbar which looks like a hideaway for rebels without a cause or abstract painters or paint smokers or little kids of the neighborhood or maybe even no one. this is the scenic route and the big road is boring and steep whereas this ones flat so i got down to the end [with another one eighty for good measure] and see that this street was called toronto Ct or something and laugh at that- up the next street which means i have to pedal so hard i cant look at the houses, but from what i see its more of the same melbourne style places, i think about what ibu thomas would say about all of this is i was telling her on the phone, only a year and a half late. penetrating into north adelaide means going through the jungle, and this jungle lyes all around so as long as i go up ill meet it sooner or later [and i do...] so i find another cheap fake version of what ive been looking for at a catholic boys private school from preparatory to year 12, and stop in to take a visit. this is underconstruction of trucks and fences and dirt piles so my stay is short, just going in to explore, ladies, no need to fuss or worry, now im in the next dimension of nunawading and confused, so at bus stop 7 i look at the map and it tells me nothing that i care too much- following my nose is so much easier and i cant miss the city when the buildings are so tall. the curbs turn into bump jump paradise here since im on the sidestreet which looks like its up above o connell but really maybe isnt. all i do is bump each jump and before i know it im cruising down the manual hill will harbison, willy, introduced me to last november. its a big road im next to and i cant simply walk over it or even get to it, the hairy spinifex is so abundant on this laneway divider. i come to a skidding halt at the next person crossing and go to the horse farm. i know this place i was just here the other day right? and although im lost i make it to the protectorium and do the best curb ride perfect, see a man im sure i know [his name is mark, hes doing stretches outside the protectory] and turn down and chat to a random emma ridgeway. this is the end of my trip, a baggott street manual concludes it all and im back in the gates of home.
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(no subject) [Apr. 14th, 2007|02:36 pm]
P. boisei
quality is the cause of subject and object. the mind makes. quality is not real.

popular things, music, stuff. these are things made special by a mind. 'good or bad' is not real.
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(no subject) [Apr. 12th, 2007|10:13 pm]
P. boisei
there is no thing of self to know. there is nothing but the mind and its thoughts and perceptions. The only self to know is no-thing. There is no thing to look for, so just enjoy the looking.
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(no subject) [Apr. 11th, 2007|12:50 pm]
P. boisei
how amusing it is that the whole universe is expressed using 26 written characters. the thinking of institutions, of functions:
want to smoke some cocktails, drink some pool, want to predict the unpredictable? Live in a garbage-can town and do it for money? Or want to pretend to be a professional and get bored and nervous today? No more.
what do I really want to do? I have no idea what I really want to do. I only know what I want to do right now. The future is a mystery. A ghost? A salami stick.
I'm camping on the floor on the holidays. lipid. things to do include getting to know myself. camping on the floor and getting to know myself. each entry is too intentional so it becomes dysfunctional; i'll carry a book and a pen from now on.
Sometimes I worry about you ed. hahaha maybe I should do something 'constructive', Richie. hehehe you golfball, you.
no future
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