2006-08-30 18:02:02 ET

Comments? Criticisms? Death threats? Human sacrifice?

This definately needs a re-write.
2006-08-30 18:00:23 ET

April 10, 1988

Dear diary,

I woke up today to the sound of explosions and jack boots on pavement concrete. Looking outside I saw half the town was airbombed and the Waffen SS going from house to house and shooting any unluckies they could find. I am writing this from my cellar in which I hid a few hours ago. I hope to God they do not find me. I want to live. What are Nazis doing out here anyway? I thought they died out with the 40s? Unless... unless these are retroNazis. Unless this is a retrowar.

[Next page, same date]
April 10, 1988

It is as I had suspected. The town lies in ruin. The town lies in oblivion. Smoke rises from the ash and bodies and rubble but the jackbooted thugs are nowhere to be seen. It appears that, like most fashions, retroNazism was a fad and a quick one at that. Lasting no more than 12 hours or so. I hope no such fashions arise again for too many people here have died. I suspect there are other pockets of retroNazis elsewhere in this nation. It is very likely now that retroNapoleonism and retroRedCoats have gone old and cold and stale. "War is in" they say. It's been like this for a decade. I fear whatever the next fad is. I fear what the waves of time and cultural insanity will bring in and forth to this world.

[Mostly pointless entries. It skips forward until February of next year.]
February 12, 1989

Dear diary,

After nearly a year of peace we now face retroVietnam. There are shots somewhere far off and napalm raids and vendors on the street hawking black pajamas and ChiCom SKSs. On the other side of town there is a sale on French dictionaries. Inbetween the two there is much bloodshed. Another fad. Another dozen thousand dead. Pseudo-Vietnamese and pseudo-French and pseudo-American forces clashing in the jungle of concrete and rebar. The Tet Offensive - noon time. Hue is overtaken and then retaken. Everything plays out like it did and then branches out into something new. It's all fake. It's all real. And thousands upon thousands die each day. The sides keep shifting to what's fashionable. retroVC is in, come buy your black jammies, tie yourself to a tree, we've got a discount on 7.62x39 right here come get yours! And suddenly the whole neighborhood's dressed up all black and digging tunnels. Across the street they get a shipment of brand new aluminum M16s, space black finish, "self-cleaning" so you don't need a kit. They snatch them up and turn fire onto their friends now temporary enemies dressed in black hidden in tunnels and bunkers and foxholes. But the cartridges use the wrong powder. The barrel's not chromed. Fucked. RetroVietCong overtakes RetroAmericana. Americana pushes back. Blood and bullets and bombs.

[Nothing for 3 days. Then]
February 15, 1989

Dear diary,

It stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Shots ricochet, shells explode, and then a sudden silence. Bodies on the ground and uniforms, black jammies and GI uniforms, empty. Everyone's naked and changing into retroVisigoths and clamoring over each other to get to vendors hawking what's new and fresh and hip and in and it's all retro again. "Fuck the Romans!" they yell "Fuck the Empire!". Another retroWar. They don't seem to pause now. Eventually either they'll all be dead of attrition or they'd go through all the conflicts in the world and then who knows? May be they'll go retroRetro. May be they'll find something new. All I know is I'm putting on my animal hides, unsheating my sword, and going forth to fuck the old worlds.

Titty Twister.
2006-08-30 07:19:08 ET

I've invented a new game called Titty Twister. It's like ordinary Twister but your nipples are pinched by clothespins attached to the center.

Father Gregory.
2006-08-30 07:12:31 ET

In his will Father Gregory stipulated that his corpse should be flung across the church walls and into the nearby kindergarden to "give those fucking children a taste of true mortality." Actually, the real reason for this request, Father Gregory smiled to himself, was that Father Gregory was a right bastard who only joined the church for the women. This, of course, explains the sudden rash of widely heralded miracle "virgin births" amongst the nuns in the nearby convent. They had been widely publicized for the past few decades and such events (albeit rare in the recent years) have brought many a pilgrim soul to his flock, some of them quite free with their donations to the church. Who knew that nun-fucking could be so good for the collection plate? Alas, God smiles upon all. And masturbates, so figured Father Gregory.

After all, if you had the power to peek into any and every corner of the world, what would you look at? Father Gregory reasoned that God's real name was Tom. As in Peeping Tom. In fact, for a good part of his life Father Gregory was quite paranoid about going to the bathroom, going as far as pissing while sitting down with a newspaper covering the gap between his legs through which God could peek and see his genitalia. He should be so jealous, thought Father Gregory. I've got a holy host for a member. A fucking eucharist. And everytime it shoots its brains out on some nun's back (or when he lost control, into her womb) the world's sins are absolved. And if the world's sins are absolved who will go to Church? No one. And God will be fucked. And that, concluded Father Gregory, was why he had to keep the holy light hidden between his legs everytime he had the urge to piss.

Ah, but soon he'll be dead. Dead. No more newspaper covers. No more nun fucking. No more cumming during the holiest of Holy Communions. And once more the world's sins will pile on like some hellish mountain, its height overtaking the Babel Tower itself and reaching up and out and impaling the sky. An infinite sadness descended upon Father Gregory and he realized that mortality was quite near. For him. And eventually for everyone. And that is why his corpse was to be flung upon a crowd of unsuspecting children. For their own good. And because he is a right bastard.
1 comment

I wrote this and once again I don't know what this is.
2006-08-30 05:23:49 ET

Maroon: Hey, Paul, I need your help. Listen, you know how I was telling you that I wanted to get into the whole experimental music scene? Well, see, I got this synth off of Craigslist real cheap. It's used, apparently, and so there's no manual, and I've no idea what the fucking thing is. It's the weirdest looking contraption I've ever seen. Fucking light show, man. You ever seen something like it?

Paul: You're shitting me.

Maroon: What?

Paul: That's a fucking cosmic key

Maroon: A what?

Paul: You've never seen Masters of the Universe?

Maroon: What? What is that?

Paul: Nevermind. Hmm... Listen, it's too complex for you. I'll take it off your hands for some nose candy.

Maroon: (Excitedly) OKAY!

{MEANWHILE}

Skeletor: FOOLS!

A bit fragment for an idea.
2006-08-30 05:12:41 ET

He was sitting alone in the study, frantically turning through the pages of all sorts of books of history, quickly jotting down the dates and characteristics of various plagues and outbreaks that have beset mankind. This, to those who knew him, was quite odd since his usual obsession was that of esoteric technology - aetheric energy, infrasound, time travel, things of such nature. This new and sudden turn of interest made no sense. But in his mind the connection was quite clear. The idea came to him when he was contemplating the various logical and environmental implications of time travel. Suppose that time travel is possible and is used by man at some point during the lifetime of the species. Suppose then, men from the future travel backwards through time to points in their history. What are the implications?

It struck him that they would quite reasonably be biological and more specifically pathogenic in nature. After all, throughout the various decades, and centuries, and millenia of human existance the entire race of man has lost and gained all sorts of immunity to disease. Chickenpox, the common cold, the flu - we've developed at least a moderate resistance to all sorts of disease. As the diseases themselves mutated and evolved and some lived and some died out our bodies had adjusted in turn. A slight case of chickenpox nowadays could be brushed off as almost insignificant. Take the disease, in a vial, back a few millenia, and set it loose on the populace. No chance. Hundreds, even thousands dead, depending on what population center you let the beasties loose in. And their diseases would affect you too for you had not encountered them in a thousand years. But the future has much better medicine, see? And hygeine too comes into play. You'd affect them more then they'd affect you. And unless you'd travel back in a bubble or avoid all contact with humans from the era you'd guarantee and almost instant plague. And that would be the sign, he realized, of a successful landing back through time. Perhaps a sort of retro-temporal colonization to escape some dramatic cataclysm. Perhaps a pilgrimage. For whatever purpose they'd travel back and unavoidably, like a meteorite, take out whole civilizations wherever, and whenever, they landed.
1 comment

Photos.
2006-08-30 04:40:31 ET

I had bought a digital camera a few days back so Matt and I decided to venture out towards the ocean on Sunday to take some pictures and, for me, to get familiar with my camera. Here's a few of the good ones:













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