:: Porkchop Serum ::

:: Saturday, April 05, 2003 ::

What should I name my car?

Mathilda (female; Old German; battle maiden)
Uta (female; German; fortunate maid of battle)
Zelinda (female; Old German; shield of victory)
Hilda (Female; Teutonic; A battle maiden)
Orinda (female; Teutonic; fire serpent)
Thora (Female; Old Norse Thunder)

:: sandy 5:10 PM [+] ::
...

Holy god, I was certain I'd cast those memories of scribes and silk down under my floorboards to the cess canals. Occasionally I pry up a board and watch the unfortunate remnants bobbing and gasping.

You must not talk to many people. I have seen the three being gangs sweeping and climbing through the alleyways muttering what could only be, "mattdeathmattdeathmatt....". A group crashed through the window of my flat only last night. My face was buried in a mound of T-chips and was only their backs I saw exiting through the front door. Assless pants they wore. Oh well, it wasn't MY murderous reputation that created these creatures. Just dont let them catch up to you. A scent of horseradish procedes them.

:: sandy 3:24 PM [+] ::
...

ShotSlinger,

Consider yourself lucky to have happened upon those foul sacks of colloidal Demonseed as they expired.
Be warned. A curdled influence has taken residence in Rotburg. Those "men", eyes red from plantaine
abuse have one purpose in life. Serve the Sentient Yellows. (I thought you'd remember those lessons
from our education treatments.. curious). Weild your wits like a two handed blade.

Made some money this afternoon. I hearded a family into the flesh reclaimation plant in South RedLight.
Fetched a pretty decent price. Lo, I remember the easy days when all one had to do was cruise up and
down the canals, search for the great white ballooned people. The plants were much less descriminating
back then. Before the Yellows.

With my earnings, I've acquired a VibroBlade and another fuel cell for my torso engine. North Redlight is
reachable by the end of the week. (Lots of squirming mammals in between!)

The dataring is cycling off here. Any luck on finding ammo for your armcannon?

Gristle

:: sandy 12:21 AM [+] ::
...

Before the Heroin

:: sandy 10:30 PM [+] ::
...

Matt, do you know where I find these people in my brain? Who resides up there?
I'm feeling the dystopia senario these days. Imaging an eleven year old kid running through
the modern yet rubbled streets of Baghdad, finding shell casings and flower petals strewn about
Grand urban nightscapes of lofty piping, emitting steam, hissing at the night. Immense
scaffolded structures with vast stretches of asphault. Solemn streetlights pour on their small patch
of road, humming along with the thousands of others that coast gently off into the abyss.
Great black mirrored highrises. Soft wind, low luminescent cloudblankets, and silence.

:: sandy 10:05 PM [+] ::
...

****Brain dump****

Oh Compatriate HornGoblin,

Five weeks robbing and murdering through the UberCity my hands are chapped from the blood.
This morning I used a butchers own knife to splice into his powerlines. My phone was dying and needed a charge but I fear this
battery is eating itself. I left the phone in the chef.

You familiar with those implanted dudes? One surprised me exiting a dark alley about four days ago. Three pints of fresh brewed ale
proved his downfall, my muscles quivering in a state of stimulus and death. Bloke's throat was lined with a metal mesh
but his pockets were brimming with credits so I hardley minded the wounds I sustained.

Still waiting to hear back from you. Now that my mobile has failed, this is the only way to find me. Two more days is
all I need I think.

Say Hi to the kids.

****dump complete****

:: sandy 9:54 PM [+] ::
...

"Take me to the chamber of dreams"

"I'll give you 5 minutes"

Who knows dude.

:: sandy 8:46 PM [+] ::
...

This is where its at. Like a bat inside you brain, swung by an angry retarded, timetraveling blacksmith.
OUR DREAMS! seeping through serated cracks of waxed parquet no LONGER. Lets pin them here, in
non-vital spots of course, so we can feed them and groom and keep them alive. Throw snowfalls and
puberty for our enjoyment, they stay locked inside the BLOG.

:: sandy 8:34 PM [+] ::
...

Seeing Matt's words legibly and in complete ellipses free form is quite erotic and scat-like.

Mad Hatter Matt

Cockspeak (Matt) is also planning on ridiculing me for my elementary prose. Fuck him upside down
and INSIDE the oculus humor. It runs like yoke when you give it a POKE!!

:: sandy 7:33 PM [+] ::
...

"All my real live niggas, throw your hands up, throw your hands up!!"

I found these words engraved in a shard of bent stainless yesterday. Borlog and I
were skipping school to root through the enormous scrap mounds down in Southside.
He muttered something about needing a new valve of somesort for his speedster.

"THROW YOUR HANDS UP!! THROW YOUR HANDS UP!!"

I screamed the strange phrases over and over, hurling bundles of wire and fragments
of printed circuit boards hunting for nothing in particular. Arms raised to the sky, fists
pumped, I commanded the clouds and bustling traffic above to obey.

"Hey ASSSSSS!!", Borlog bellowed, already halfway down the hill, a head sized
aluminum mass in his possession. A pair of crane operators on break were thoroughly
enjoying my solo performance.

:: sandy 7:07 PM [+] ::
...