we wanted this year in our grim pillings to have written a travel log like henri michaux our hero of travel logs tell my dearly unbeloveds about my death ride up the polished jungles of sverige my hallucinatory fever dreams in the gelaterias of lisboa but cant we can only write travel logs like the endless nots we are as genesis oatmeal sort of said before they got composted we can only write about travel as it reflects in us and filters through the regolith of pataimpressionistic consciousness
and now its over were only pilling in the stormy home turds grimming in the pricey toilets of our sad gestation so one last belch until next time if the worlds overinglords in their grace and wisdom and colossal bad taste if those of us billions wholly complicit in the disintegration of sanity and earth through our devotion to unsustainable paths if we all together in our collaborative disaster love of bombs bath or not oil junkies all permit us a next time its over theyre back from their yrupeeing orgy they survived themselves
a comedy of modern economy err travel other than being squashed intimately for hours next to an entity whose values attitudes aesthetics and ethics are so antithetical to yours its phenomenal passengers arent getting routinely murdered at eleven thousand metres is that the errline forced by law to acknowledge occasionally its more egregious errors continually has the upper hand in interpretation and effect leaving the zombified stranded fragmented exhausted debilitated incoherent client possibly reimbursed a few euros for that desperate barely drinkable canadiano but whose distress at the long hours crushed in bureacratic lineups being talked at by all manner of selfsatisfied financiallysecure emptyheaded sacs of flatulence instead of wandering happily among friends or streets in ones home habitat is wholly disregarded in capitalism and the modern errline with its peculiar exigencies a prime example of this in
im shown to be what i am in capitalism a moneyshitting carcass in the abattoir of aggrandizing disparities
always nice to see myself for the wanker watb i am
the pseudo whonym in the aisle seat beside whos been watching the absolutely most horriblest braindeadest films in the err nada already suicidal library looks at me as if im insane when i ask to go pee after seven hours then to nail their wacko certification to the wings as the rows immediately in front are emptying and they havent made a single move to get ready to take their phone out of their face in earnest i say i have to get out they say i have to get out too and go back to phone fucking i say i have to get out now and you can slobber your cum all over your phone there for as long as you want but if you dont move im going to wank all over you and skedaddle out faster than wile e coyote at a roadrunner convention
then something happens
speaking of watbs there was one in my oatmeal this morning it crawled out from between a patch of bumpkin seeds and a wank of cinderella syrup and we talk about distinctions between tourists bourgeoisie yakademics grimpills watbs douchebags wankers christians democrats zionists hafizalar warmongers pacifists artists
the yakademics love us bc we first loved them this is what a byron skullar lectures me over two hours of yak cornered in the lisboa aeroporto i lecture him back on the nuances comedies and complexities of baudelaire and feminism
technologys made everyone stupid he says
more wisdom from the academe
im drowning in distinctions suffocating in the scatological proliferation of definitions asphyxiated by hate and indifference foraging for love like a marmot in antarctica
i travel nowhere but myself and myself a pill and a bowl of porridge and here in surroundvision goldipox descending from heaven like an immortal winged luminescent mirthful std
but next and last some pics
pics are nice
pics are worth can birth a thousand turds
