funny, they mowed the real flowers but saved the fake ones.

 i was watching shadows move across the chron and a bird fell into it by that strange structure in the corner. the bird tried to get up and walk and couldn't. i went back up and saw the security vehicle come by and the bird flap its wings and then the janitor spoke behind me and i looked back and the bird had vanished. i hope you were only stunned, i hope all the birds learn to avoid the dreaded obamachron, and good luck!

  we washed the dead smell off charlie and she was actually cleaner than i found her after her "vacation" in "indiana". i mumble about the obamachron and she's like don't worry about it, it's only an illusion, and i'm like, it's a pretty doggone solid illusion, kid, and she's like don't worry about it, it's solid but absurdly unreal.

there's only so much you can do.

 

wolf larsen, author of FOOK! PIZZ! DUDU! gazes in stunned dismay at the renegade construction in the park. 

 

To your mad world—one answer: I refuse.

Marina Tsvetaeva

 

 we celebrate the war criminals who get rich serving the war empire while we persecute and jail the ones who fight for justice.

 the world is an illusion. sometimes it smells like flowers, sometimes like death, sometimes both.

 charlie, just back from "vacation" in "indiana", rolled in something dead on the quadrangle. stankonia! 

how will the transition from neoliberal neocolonial neoconservative autocratic oligarchic imperial tyranny go? can humans save themselves and save the earth?

 

the neocolonial neoliberal neocon empire is breaking down at last.

 

 you know mcconnell was a ghoul long before this, now he's the empty shell of a ghoul. he's one step beyond his mortal coil. don't these neo-con monsters know how to fade away and die? no matter how mean you are, you still have to go sometime. you can't buy immortality, you can't win that game.

 the obamachron complex under the second blue august supermoon. would that i could have captured a picture of it rising above the looming tower of the obamachron, temple of the renegade, like the the one at the temple of apollo, god of truth and prophecy, healing and disease, sun and light. there will not come another pair of august supermoons until 2037. i'll be seventy-seven (if i'm still in this body). i may not be looking out of the window on the seventeenth floor musing on the ghosted park by then.

 why is new city reporting trees cut down two years ago? absurd. why is new city not reporting on the harm the obama project is causing today?

 in the fight against nature we shall be vanquished. 

do the chron.

 

i appreciate you.

 

 i was walking down blackstone street with lulu when i felt a ghost pass by that was a dream from last night something must have reminded me of, but it vanished again. lulu felt or smelt something too, some residue, she kept stopping and looking backward. i had to persuade her to come on. sometimes i'll follow her but sometimes she has strange attractions.

 

sweet potato treats.

 

The oligarch is in the park
The oligarch is in the park
Remembering games
And daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon

The oligarch is in my head
The oligarch is in my head
You raise the blade
You make the change
You rearrange me 'til I'm sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There's someone in my head, but it's not me

And if the cloud bursts thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon

(thanks, pink)

 

lulu, your family is coming home tonight—not tomorrow. honest!

 

 careless, unnecessary and harmful shit happens continuously. it's the american way.

our park is his dominion.

 thanks, obama. for the pollution. for ruining the park. for gentrifying and displacing the neighborhood.