Midnight Rant

Faces, taken off and passed around. drawn out of a hat. who am I and when was that, when it began? Am I woman, am I man? Will I see the master plan, or will ruin fall upon the land, naught I can do with my command, for my command is fairly bland. It's not fun, I'm on the run. From myself, for mental health. Take a rest and just chill out. Scream and shout, but don't just pout. Let it all out. Let it float to the surface of your being. Who am I and does it even matter? We are all and all in one is us, ever expanding ourself outwards in different guises, all part of the same thing. The eternal champion takes many forms. The multiverse harbours infinite variations of the same thing, which is all we really are. All part of the machine, a cosmic dream. A cosmic cog-wheel. A guitar strum from the amplifier of the cosmos, taking a small sound and reverberating it across limitless time and space, multiplied. Touch me and I touch myself, not in a perverted way, but it's the truth, for you are I, and our offspring are us, and we are them, and I am you, and we are anyone ever born and ever yet to be. Life does not begin with birth. Life never ended in the first place. We were always alive, since the beginning if life itself, moving onwards into the future until it ceases. Life is all one thing. And parts of it die off. Subdivisions of the living essence of our planet known as individuals, or herds, or societies, or species, but life itself, the important thing, lives on. Single celled organisms to the most complex human brain, it is all created for the benefit of the survival of life. Either we'll learn to preserve life, or die off as an evolutionary dead end, a cruel mistake and a joke played by the hypothetical gods upon the planet. Who are we and who are you and I? We are life itself. We are inanimate objects, molecules and atoms, arranged in a specific order, and a collection of specific chemical reactions between these elements. A self-perpetuating system of nothing but motion and creation, endlessly agreeing to create itself anew in unique variations on the theme. Music. What is that but sound taking on a life? Recombining rythms, melodies, harmonic elements and structures, timing, to create a pleasing sound, recombining, endlessly in loops, cross-pollenating with itself and with other distinct groups of sounds to create something new and unique, always more than the sum of its parts, these parts themselves infinitely recombinable? Sound and music is the ultimate extension of life into the abstract. Nonsense makes perfect sense when put together next to reality, the reality of our absurd existence. We strut and fret our hour on the stage, following rules we created for ourselves, arbitrary laws we follow to be liked and approved by others. But the only true heroes are the rule-breakers. Those who defy. Those who defy the false logic we've built up for ourselves, the structures of rigidity in behavour which have no basis in actual human perception of aesthetics, of what is good or what is nice or what is appreciated by others. Nothing has a basis in anything, besides itself, when it comes to certain things. And it has to end, the classification of people into different categories, genres of humans creating genres of music, because we are all one, and that's a simple fact. Wether from the garden of Eden or from the plains of Africa, we come from the same source, and regardless of all the permutations of the human species and social behavours, we are all part of the same thing, and able to recombine to create new and wondrous behavours, and lives themselves. New races have yet to exist. Or, rather, we have yet to recombine the races into a sea of differences, with each human of an unique heritage unmatched by others, undifferentiated yet unique. Everyone is themselves, yet all a part of the one sea of humanity, the one God is all of us put together, the multiple aspects of Man itself. We are Man. We live to feed and clothe and entertain one another. We live to feed and clothe and entertain ourself. We are humanity ourself. Singular. We are one, and that is all. Drumming to a different beat, each of us, to create the ultimate complexity of polyrythms and syncopation, louder than anything, pure, vibrations shaking reality out of its socket, at once both infinitely fast and infinitely slow, never ending, and never beginning. That is how it was in those days. The hippy days. Coolio, daddy-o. Shiggity-do wap. Wippity wap zang bop zoink! I'm a fly donkey, and ain't no one gonna rag on my jive. Flip out and have some fun. Make sense, make nonsense, make dollars and sense. Paint your fence. Yellow and blue and pink, every colour and the kitchen sink. Blink, wink, and you missed it all. The big bang, the beginning of the universe, the midde, the death, and again, here we are, around another loop of cosmic beginning and deconstruction. Harmonics sounding on the twelvth fret. Screaming feedback, yellow noise sooths the mind. Yellow sunshine music light, sonic light, shining bright on through the night. On an endless highway we roll at night, across the desert. In hopes of finding the bright yellow light at the other end of night, maybe in another life. Driving through the empty wilderness of nothing. Nothing but the road and those on it. The cars and trucks that pass us by on occasion. The occasional gas station and diner. We ride along through the days on the endless highway, it's twists and turns meandering around the obstacles both real and imaginary. A canyon here, a mirage there. Riding across the endless desert, ever heading for the far horizon, beond which we have no telling of what lies ahead. Only hope is to hope the map is right, maybe ask for directions, if you know where you're trying to go. Who knows if you'll get there in the end? No one. But you'll get somewhere. Or keep on trying. Very few places to stop in the desert, but people do try. Some are successful, others, not so much, and they're never heard of again. No communication in these deserts. this long and winding road, that continues on into the unknowable horizons of distant futures. In the desert, all we can hope for is to find a good radio station broadcasting in the desert of our existence, and the temporary companionship of our fellow travellers we pass on the highway. And the hope that we don't blow a tire while driving alone, because it's twenty miles to the nearest service center, and no one wants to stop for a stranger out here.

Plastic Seal Stuck Under Your Fingernail

Plastic Seal Stuck Under Your Fingernail, a highschool class project by Matthew Arnold Pacey.

"The mutants are taking over the station! They've already taken over reception! The secretaries were charred to a crisp by the aliens' U.V. ray pistols! They're breaking down the doors! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAURGH! THIS IS ROGER Q. SMITH OF ZROH NEWS, SIGNING OFF! AAAAAAAURGH!'
*click*
Microwave oven switched off the television and wend to the kitchen to get something to drink. There was never anything good on since the meteor crashed into the plains of africa, bringing with it the gnomes from another planet. Radioactive, genetically-mutated, bloodsucking gnomes. It was such a drag. CNN had taken over all the major networks, and the local stations played nothing but news about who the gnomes had killed in that city. They had probably sucked about half the world's population dry by now.
Mike was getting thirsty. Mike realized he was all out of water when he opened the fridge, so he got into his car. He wondered why they never showed anything like The Simpsons, or Gordenzenflak's Intergalactic Party Hour on TV anymore. The world was going to end, and everyone knew it. Why couldn't they just approach their doom in peace? Now everyone was all worked up, stealing stereos they wouldn't ever need and such things.
Mike lit up a joint. It helped calm him down. That was his last one, so he'd have to pick some more up at the store while he was there. What was he thinking about again? Ah, yes, the world was ending. It had been ending for a long time now, ever since the ozone layer disappeared and the rainforests started shrivelling up into piles of dead wood. Then there was the whole thing about the planet's freshwater supply drying up, followed by the destruction of the world's food supply boy drought and insects. Luckily, after all this, they came out with the nuclear cold-fusion power cell, which would cause no further pollution. It turns out it had been invented sometime in the 20th century, but they 'forgot about it' on some back shelf somewhere, until about a week after the world's oil supply ran out.
Mike powered down his car when he got to the Quik-Stop, and it floated slowly to the ground. It was parked diagonally across three handicapped spots, but it wasn't like the cops would notice. They were probably off somewhere shooting at some aliens or harassing looters, still thinking they could make a difference. He walked inside and picked out a couple of bottles of choice H2O from the fridge in the corner.
"Hey, J.D.! Could you get me a pack of Leary Extra Strengths, unfiltered?" asked Mike, to the man behind the counter.
"No way, man," the dude replied, "We're all out. It's been a busy week, it being the end of the world and all."
"Wanna go find some with me?"
"Sure. Take those waters for free. End of the world sale."
"Can I get some Gatorades too?"
"Sure. Or else the gnomes will steal them when they've finished drinking all our blood!"
They stepped out onto the parking lot pavement and headed off towards Mike's car, with water and Gatorades in hand.
"Hey dude, I think I have have a pack left at my house," Said J.D. as they entered the automobile. "We can get them and watch some movies on that vintage DVD player I got last week!"
"You got Ghostbusters? asked Mike as he slid up the power initiator.
"I've got both of them! I've got all the classics. Even hard to find ones, like Eraserhead and Star Wars!"
"Well then, let's go!"
Mike turned the 'mode' knob to 'cruise' and pulled out of the parking lot, accidentally knocking over some trash cans. On the way to J.D.'s house, they discussed which Star Wars movie was the best, finally deciding on the final chapter, episode twelve, where we find out the secred behind Jar-Jar Binks and Darth Vader REALLY dies, after savinf the universe from Jar-Jar's evil Jedi army.
A few minutes later, they arrived and proceeded up the rusted metal fire escape leading up to J.D.'s apartment. J.D. pulled a screwdriver from his pocked and pried the window open.
"I lost my keys again," he explained as they stepped through the window onto the living room couch.
All of a sudden, the door at the front of the room was blown clear of its hinges. A gnome stepped through the doorway, pointing her U.V. ray gun in the direction of the two scruffy-looking men by the window.
"She's beautiful!" Thought Microwave to himself.
With her other tentacle, the gnome held up a small device to her mouth. She spoke into it.
"Gggghngsht dccrghln d'chlt m'chtlt gakk harrukt. D'gghnhg d'dnch d'ghlt," she said, which was translated by the device into "My sensors detect that you have Gatorade with you. Give it to me."
The two men stood on the couch, looking stunned. After a few seconds of inaction, Mike finally got down and walked over to the gnome (who put away her weapon) and handed her the Gatorade.
She sat down on the couch, causing J.D. to jump sideways off the couch, knocking over a table, and causiong a porcelain elephant statue to fall onto the purple shag carpet.
"Hi,I'm Microwave Ove, and this is my associate, James Douglas Morrison," Mike said to the gnome in a confident but non-threatening voice. "What brings ou to this apartment?"
"I came here for the Gatorade my sensors picked up," replied the gnome. "You see, Gatorade, or a substance amazingly like it, is the only substance our species can survive on. Besides blood, that is. But we prefer to maintain a vegetarian diet."
"Then what's with all the killing?" asked Mike. "And the bloodsucking?"
"Well," she replied, "When we landed here, your army attacked us. We tried to talk, but they didn't listen."
She sounded traumatized as she spoke these words.
"We had to fight back! Some of us started drinking the blood of the fallen human soldiers. You see, we didn't have enough time to pack food when we left our planet. It was about to explode, and we had to move quickly. The months without food had taken their toll, and when the opportunity to eat arose, we acted. Unfortunately, some of us became addicted to the proteins in the blood, and began terrorizing innocent humans! Most of us tried to stop these few gnomes, but we failed. Now the humans think we're ALL evil! When we try to find food, the humans attack us, and we're forced to fight back!"
She began to weep openly. Mike, who was now sitting beside her on the couch, held her tightly in an attempt to comfort her. The tears falling from her crimson eyes burned where they touched her flesh.
"It's all right!" Mike said in a soft voice. "You didn't mean to hurt anyone! You did what you had to!"
J.D. stood up shakily from the floor where he had fallen.
"J.D.!" Exclaimed Mike, to J.D., "You have government contacts! Try to explain to them what's happening! Tell them to make an announcement to make people stop killing hte gnomes! Tell them about the Gatorade!"
"Okay, Dude!" J.D. said as he made his way to the phone in the kitchen.
"TV!" Said Mike, "Turn to CNN!"
The voice-activated curcuitry in the television turned on the screen, showing footage of a Quik-Stop which had been vapourized after all the Gatorade inside had been stolen.
The gnome had stopped crying, and Mike wiped the wetness of the tears away from her face.
"Are you Okay?" he asked.
"I think I'll be alright," her device translated.
Mike admired the beauty of her smooth purple skin, her large, red-centered eyes, her long, neon-green hair, and her perfectly pointed ears. Then he realized he was staring, and jumped into conversation.
"So, what's your name? What was your planet like? What do you do for fun? Do you wanna go out for pizza sometime? Oops, you don't eat that, do you? How about some..."
He was interrupted as she grabbed his head with her tentacles, and pulled it close, pressing his lips to hers.
J.D. ran back into the room, screaming. "It's too late! The government's going to eliminate everyione to prevent the gnomes from taking over the planet!"
Microwve and the gnome seemed to have not heard.
"You guys, listen to me!" He exclaimed hysterically, to no effect.
A special bulletin came over the television.
"This is your president, Jersey H. Love speaking. As all of you know, gnomes are taking over the planet. To prevent this, I have released a skin-peeling death-plague. Unfortunately, all humans will die as a result. My fellow Earthings, we appreciate your noble sacrifices. You have approximately eleven minutes to live. This is Jersey H. Love, saying goodbye."
The screen went blank, and the TV's speakers began playing a song. It was 'The End', by The Doors.
"You Guys! The world is ending! Hey Dudes! Listen up! We're all gonna die!" J.D. exclaimed repeatedly.
Mike and the gnome didn't seem to be listening. They were too engaged with each other to pay any attention to the outside world. Then their skin peeled off and they all died.

THE END.

Mr Funnyhead

Mr Funnyhead, by either Joel D'amour, Matthew Pacey, or both. I really have no idea. I found this in a binder full of old stuff from school.

There was a man in Growers Hill that ate a dog. He was a crazy guy and killed the dog, but a car ran into him. He was taken to the hospital and put into an operation room to remove the dog's head from his neck and shoulder where it had become imbedded. He escaped from the hospital, avoiding hte surgery, having killed three doctors with his bare feet. He ran into the night with his strange-looking new head stuck close to his face.
Eventually, the dog's head began to salivate because it was still alive, and had started to grow in his neck. The dog's head was horribly misshapen, and grew large jagged fangs. It eventually ate the man's head while he was sleeping, thus becoming the sole owner of the body. Bits of the man's brain did not digest in the stomach, but instead began to grow in the body's appendix, where it would think all the time. The dog's head contracted a virus and grew mold spores, making it mutate in the strangest ways. It drooled constantly, and had to walk backwards, since that was how the head had become planted to the body.
It could not bark or speak, so it sat around with it's head turning to an ugly puke green color. The dog itched and felt uncomfortable and hungry, so it went next door to get some eggs to cook an omlette, but scared the shit out of the girl who answered the door instead.
The girl was screaming in terror so the creature bit off her head and swallowed it whole. The head settled in the appendix and reattached it's neck near the original brain, and the two spoke telepathically to each other. They fell in love.
The dog's head began to crop up with spewing spores as it raided the kitchen. Now the head had lost all its fur. It stank. It was almost perfectly round from the swelling and the bumps, and the eyes bugged out, imploringly.
Realizing that it didn't know how to cook, the dog ate the rest of the girl's body and went back to its house.
When the girl's parents got home, they found her foot in the mailbox where the dog had clumsily tried to hide it. They called the police, and since the dog's home was the only house in the area, the police checked there. They found the door open and there was a horrible stench.
The dog was siting in the couch, dead. As the police moved closer to it, there was a sound murmuring within its stomach. A girl's voice was saying gleefully, "I'm the new head!"

The Nihilistic Death Feasting of the Damned

Behold, the products Nihilistic Death Hell Satans' unique methods of creation!

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Attention all ye who listen the noisness exasperating!
Look to the mountains where blades are truncating!
It’s Satan’s unholy vegetables!

Behold, it is fruit not! Shoots, roots, stems, and leaves
And the great sorrowful Tree of Life grieves!
As the legions of evil steal the fruit of its soul!

Awesome powers of heinous apocalypse awake!
And rob the mountain fruit of their vegetative power!
But the mountain fruit are still able to kill
With their not-as-powerful (but powerful nonetheless) fruitative power!

FRUITATIVE POWER!
FINAL HOUR!
DEMONS COWER!
YOU WILL BE DEVOURED!

The great maw of the void opens wide on the world
And the world is crushed in the masticating maw of the universe!

UNIVERSE! Destruction, rebirth!
End of this verse!

With this second verse begins a reign of terror, by the void -
The void!
Don’t be annoyed!
You’ll be destroyed!
(But painfully, and for a long time!) Slow and painful death!

Death death – the end comes for the fruit
And for YOU TOO! So doooon’t mess around!
Your soul’s corpse will not be found!

Not even your ghost’s soul will lie on the floor of a dank basement
And it will be a mystery to everyone as to where it is!

Empty ghosts float about the abyss
Accompanied and flanked by unnecessary
DEATH HELL VEGETABLES!

The vegetables wreak insanity upon your twisted demented soul-corpse psyche!
The vegetables of Satan will be the fall of your stupid Little WORLD!
Worlds orbiting around the void find their selves crushed by the void’s pull!
THE VOID’S PULL! STEAL YOUR SOUL!
ENDLESS INSANITY! CRUSH YOUR HUMANITY!

Crush! Crush! CRUSH! INSANITY! Insanity! Insanity!
And there is naught but black!

Black emptiness… as in death’s embrace
And Death’s emptiness is really, really, really black.
And the Grim Reaper harvests the vegetation of all souls!
Reaping the harvests… our fields… no more.

Because he had to go out to lunch! LUNCH! EVIL LUNCH!
The sun – your light – dies.
And so must your vegetation – and your lunch – and your lives – and your world!

Forever … the Lunching! … devours!