Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXXIV

Coming soon , to a theatre near you , unless you are a caribou , The Hobo Sleeps Alone ! starring the fresh face from Taiwan , Joe Shmo as the sheriff of Hoboville ; he's the new Rambo ; he's the guy who steps up to the plate ; he's the guy who is all-American and above all ; he's the guy who can do what the president hasn't been able to do ; he's the guy who has the answers !

Yes , it is the 4th installment of the Hobo Chronicles , the one in which the anti-establishment and retro Luddites , aided only by wooden spoons and a mule , bring down the world of technology and vow to grow potatoes !That's right -- the long awaited sequel to the cliff hanger in which director Pillow Von noDoz reveals that the world is now scabbed by metal , and machinery rules ; where the only refuge is a network of underground tunnels ; where organic matter barely clings to life , drying in the cracks of a computerized civilization grown rabid and drooly . People , thought extinct , now exist only as flesh and aluminum riveted together , and our heroes slink from hole to hole trying to piece together the myth of a world gone gray and dying as bombs and flak fill the cold skies . Now , after Weasel-bot discovers the Luddite plans for dismantling the all-powerful corporate machines , will he destroy the plans ? Will he smuggle out the plans ( complete with diagrams and coded instructions describing integral circuitry and proper screwdriving techniques ) ; will he be stopped at the border with illegal contraband ; will he run low on windshield washer fluid and run off the road into a rotting trove of ancient tumbleweed copper wire detritus ; will he get the plans to the secret Luddite council and be summarily disassembled and used for spare parts and then placed covertly into the master machines central nervous system only to fail because of an overlooked lithium battery but heroically save the day by discovering a reserve power in his eyelash flickering system ? Can the love of his life and object of machine lust weep at his sacrifice only fail to do so because of her innate tendency to feel no remorse ?

See it , the movie , starring the cute robot man that is eventually revealed in the final 3 minutes of .................

Hoboland and the Gears of Justice .

rated PG-13 for violence and naked monkey parts and some illicit robot love filmed through a smoke filter so as to assume a cloud of incongruity and unpleasantness's incurred by the wrath of the Bruce Willis society for the protection of lugnuts and their like .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XX10+iIi

... and the devil took his elevator up from way down lowwwwwwwwwww ,

... and it said .........

... all this can be yours ,


for only ....






this is what early morning t.v. viewing can do to you : ruin your personal optics , transform neurons into moron conductors , create slogs of corpuscular sludge , kill your initiative , alienate your cohabitants , maim your sense of right and wrong , destroy your faith in the world its people and the belief that God exists because how could He allow something so immoral to go on and on and on without sending down an all-new-fangled plague and maybe a big flood , too ? Well , maybe perhaps that will happen next too and also so .

Really , but do i have to give you my phone number or e-mail address or anything ? because nothing free is actually worth it ... or it wouldn't be free ...

...guaranteed satisfaction , or your money back !

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXten+II

3 brief trifles , born of ice , dying of inaneness :

Then the ice came , the ice i say , the ice ; and the ice lay heavy on my body , my cold inert body , like your whispers lay on my broken heart ; your crass murmuring ; your heartless jests ; the barbs that you flung my way stuck fast to my heart like the icicles now form on the tip of my nose , and only because i am thoroughly tongue-tied can i not throw back the insults you have laid heavy on my lethargic and blue heart ; the muscle that once beat strong feeding on the warmth that ebbed from your spiritual being now drubs on like a weak and broken tom tom ; a toy drum because i guess the love never was real , it was phantom-love , a pseudo and generic thing doomed to poop out and melt to a puddle , like the ice that encases my freezing body will someday , maybe next spring , with the thaw , my body ... frozen ; my love forgotten ; it will melt away , and i will defrost ; rot and seep into the dirt ; become one with dirt and forget love because love is hard , crueler and harder then the teeth that gnaw the dirt , the worm teeth of the worm i have become !

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Needles ... spiky green needles , and they are right there , now !

Only , when you are in a hurry , and the needles are a detriment , then for the love of giant extinct sloths ! cripes ! The damned needles .

Of course when you need a needle , a spiky green needle , there never is a one . But now , needles ! Everywhere . Save us from the needles ; go and needle another and leave me be , you cursed needles from hades ! Ahg , another needle !

__________________________________________

i love you , Filbert ; i will watch you grow in distortion ; you will be green and twist about yourself unsure of direction , but the fun is in the journey not the destination ; you will spread and you will flower and you will attempt immortality by way of your precious catkins ; others might grow taller , straighter ; but none will be closer to heaven or my heart .

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXXI

...another warning to the already pre-warned and perhaps those who missed the first warning and all of those who never seem to heed warnings and of course all of those who prefer to just stumble ahead blindly , all willy-nilly and such , oh heck and dern , never mind . What , what'r ? I think i am trying to say that this post is a further continuation of the continuing adventures of -- actually i am not really certain of who or what -- a former blog post that began some many days prior ... dot dot dot ( epsilonish of me , yeah ? )

Again , consequently and so-forth , More Adventures in the Lands of Hobo !

...so , narrowly escaping the cataclysms that had begun outside of the weedy door , i now looked about at my new surroundings , much more serene than those former surroundings that were still ringing in my ears , what with the gunfire and bombs and all .



The door was shut , but a dim light shone from down the tunnel and i could see well enough to be worried once again . The entrance was above me , and the solid door from this side appeared a dull metal , quite solid and maybe locked ... at the moment i was willing to leave it be and worry about making my exit at some future time ; after the battle outside passed for sure .



The tunnel appeared to be bored out by some magnificent huge drill . It was supported with imposing metallic rings at distances of four feet which made it look like i was inside of a segmented worm . It sort of smelled that way , too .



I walked , stooping at every ring .



Toward the light at the end of tunnel .



Go toward the light ...



And there i saw it leaning over a table , poring over some aged and torn documents , a strangely disheveled relic of some sort of bipedal creature , obviously alien as it had hair springing from its ( i can only assume it is some sort of a head ) top , and also a sort of pallid and somewhat porous body covering , mostly covered with multi-colored soft skins . The only indigenous parts exhibited on its person were a forged arm , spiked shoulder protrusions and a mechanical pencil .

Disgusting , and disgusted i felt an incredible urge to slink away , but the thing observed me from its jelly-like orbs , positioned at the front of its head-thing , and it spoke a gibberish . I will not even try to reproduce the gross sounds it mushed forth from its squishy , expectorating oral cavity . Yccccchhhplbbbbbbbblalalala . Yeesh !

Perhaps realizing it couldn't possibly be understood , it motioned with its good arm , the metal one for engineering's sake ! to the documents and schematics at the table top . And a hole opened at its pedestals and down went the creature into the abyss , with no word not even a gesture of farewell .

The drawrings were quite satisfying , but lit

tle could i know of their importance ...

whatever , it is snowing now .

The snow , the snow . The snow . Snow snow snow snow snow . Snow .
Snow is a funny word , now that i look at it . All alone . Look at it ... alone :


snow


Who comes up with these words !???

Experimenting with Roman Numerals Day XXIX

. be warned , this post is a vast continuation beyond the realm of the previous post , and it is much more frightening . If you are afraid of worms or the color yellow then perhaps you ought to cower now .

As i was saying , the humongous mechanical thing was odding me out , and i thought i might join the Ghostie under his tree and point too . Perhaps its pointing was a defense mechanism , but i couldn't think how it would help , nor did i want to be within spitting distance of a Ghostie ; it is rumoured that their spit is globular and can cause slime to accumulate

I turned tail and ran .

Apparently the government was alerted to the situation , because over the next hill i fathomed a battalion of flotilla , dune flotilla , accompanied by heliocopitors and stray u-fos . They were aircraft carrying worm trawlers that trudged via treads over the plains and dunes and tree-lined avenues and they waved huge metallic cannon guns and felt out the oppression with air feelers and ravaged the farmer's crop for its fuel guzzling coffers .

Being between the raging worm trawlers and the floating hell-machine was maybe the craziest thing i had ever done , and not consciously done : my brain was contused ; drugs were in order . I looked about for a way out , maybe a hole to fall in to , or a ditch to convalesce in and ride out the storm . I relished not the flying armaments and the flotsam it would inevitably havoc on my body ... i wished my pieces to remain in intimate conjunction to one another.

The worm fleet neared , it was cresting and the other-worldly gargantuan -gadget -dripping- floater approached from my rear, borne by the wind ; i saw gun-toting saucers exiting through a rear sphincter and begin their circling maneuvers .

I tripped maniacally awash in afear , and so i stumbled . As i fell i saw it before my eyes ; a door .

The door was covered , thick with vegetation and mildew , and who could know what horrors lay beyond its rotting jams . No way out , because the guns dipped and steam whispered out from their maws . The saucers spun and coalesced into tight vees then swept forward in formation attacking the land-crushing worm army . I pulled at the weeds frantically and tugged at the door handle ; it was rusty and slimy wet and my fingers could find no purchase .

It was doom awaited me ... doom , but the hinges complained and the ancient crust that held the door gave way just as the hell-machine dove and let loose its thunder at the earth .

i fell into the hole i'd made , and the door slammed shut behind me .

Adventures in the Land of the Hobos .

I was warned of the Ghosties , but the day was so gloriously bright , and the leaves jumped green from their stiff , playful stems that i forgot the threat . Nay , i refused to heed anything of dearth , of darkness , of regret . Instead i documented the flutterbyes , the way of the skeletal monoliths and their sensory appendages , how they swayed with the wind , borne on the westward follies . The happy Hobos played their games , nevermindful of the ever present alien warships and their inefficient death rays . All of this and the root-tube melodies lulled me into a pleasent lethargy ... until the Ghostie spoke -- and pointed to the sky :

...the thing came over the horizon , was it a dream ? First I thought it might be a storm , some sort of cloud formation blowing in from the west . But then i realized it was a demon , some tragic mechanical sprung from the endless void and dripping machined fragments from its tubes , the vapor receptacles that dangled clanking from the Gargantua's undercarriage . Flotsam spewed from spring-loaded cannons at its summit and the displaced air was hazy and distorted where waste heat exited the exhaust and pushed the hellish contrivance overhead .

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TO BE CONTINUED .