a free ride inside my diseased mind.

Archive for the month “November, 2012”

Aculade (part 1)

Somewhere, Sometime, Out there…….

Deep down in a pepper mine…

In the not so distant future one of the more coveted spices is pepper. The pepper industry has become one of the fastest growing markets on the entire planet. A large percentage of uneducated men are employed by the various mining companies. Despite the huge profits the companies make, they still treat their workers like slaves and pay them unfair wages. Most of the men working in this trade have had past records with the law. Mostly drug addictions, violence, and theft. For the most part, the men that work here do so becuase no one else will employ them. The mines would hire almost any degenerate that could pick up a shovel…


2000 feet below earth.

The Pepper mine workers are divided into teams, each team works on a certain level of the earths core. Since pepper is such a minute material the workers are required to wear special goggles with magnifying capabilities. Face masks are also worn. The masks are used to prevent any worker to get a free sniff of pepper. A free lunch as it were.

Each team of pepper miners has a leader. Earl happens to be the leader of this such crew.

Klink, krank, klunk, the pepper tools sang. Songs of pain, sorrow, and anger rang from the clangs.The tools songs reflected the tortured souls of the workers wielding them. Slowly grinding down particle at a time after each swing of the axe. Each fragment of rock separated from its core, wore a salt sized hole in their tired souls…..


the heavy metal janitor journals (part 4)

illustration by Daniel Lombardi

time-10:38 am

job-graffiti removal @ public washroom by the river


temperature -15 c

We didn’t  have any proper graffiti remover with us. Our boss was to cheap to equip his serfs with such luxuries…

Bad Cat scratched his chin methodically as he milled through a pile of toxic  industrial cleaning product inventory. All filed under “C”  for carcinogenic.  He picked up an old leaking container of  floor stripper. Splashing an unhealthy amount of the evil fluid upon two filthy rags. Spilling the radioactive slime on the ground. Burning a satanic neon green hole in the once virgin white snow.

A steaming wet rag was handed to me. I met the rag with both disgust, and curiosity. We ventured towards the washroom. I could feel as though something very sinister was happening, or about to happen. Bad Cats’ grin was at high tide. I couldn’t help but think the word “sinner” when ever I was around him, or rather it. Compared to that creature I was a Saint.

Six minutes of frantic wall scrubbing had passed, revealing little evidence of success. Bad Cat thinkfully thought for a moment. When Bad Cat was deep in his “thinkery” it was as though all other parts of his body would slow down, to give his feline brain an extra jolt of abject schemery juice. Even his eyes would switch from a bright green to a light grey. It reminded me of sleep mode on a computer. If you listened closely, one could hear, a faint purr….

“We need something stronger!” he declared. Eyes returning to their natural green glowing stare. Back to the van we went. Bad Cat picked up a jerry can of  lawn mower gas. Bad Cats’ evil little cat eyes  gleamed with excitement. If you had a computer print out of his thoughts it would read in bold letters “Why didn’t I think of this first!?”  I opened my mouth as if  to say “Do you think this is a good idea?” . Stopping myself, realizing there was no point in asking. He was after all my mentor.  Bad Cat quickly handed me the cap to the gas can, “here!” and scampered back to the washroom. Bad Cat stopped at the washroom entrance, paused briefly, looking down at his watch, and announced “We need to make up for lost time!”*

*Please don’t get the wrong idea here. He wasn’t worried about saving money for the company or being efficient. “Lost time” meant that he would have less dog fucking time. Plain and simple. He had each day timed down to the minute. How many short cuts we could take so he could have his little cat naps and coffee breaks. If Bad Cat was proud of anything in his life, anything at all,  it was his ability to lie, cheat, and steal his way though the work week.

I happened to be his appointed apprentice….

paper cuts

paper cuts

cum shots and circus freaks.

who the hell was zorba the greek?

drunk in daytime

mid week

i have dropped off the face of worth

fell 200 hundred stories

without a single paper cut.

set up a tent in my living room

getting prepared for the  collapse

life would be better if we all lived in huts.

trying to sell art is like

giving a rock a blood transfusion

messy business

a thousand words all competing for real estate in my head

a thousand sounds from ideas dying

and left for dead

rotting and farting

their last gasps

of fruition

in my overripe


jizz shots hang like icicle cave stalactites

glowing phosphorescent

in the mildew nights.

The Heavy Metal Janitor Journals (part 3)

illustration by Daniel Lombardi (click image to see Dans art on FaceBook.)

“The Heavy Metal Janitor Journals.”

10:31 am  (in the work van) winter 1998

(cell phone ringing  bzzzzzt, bzzzzzzt, bzzzzzzzzt….)

After minutes of mumbling, swearing, and scheming, Bad Cat hesitantly answered the cell phone with a mouth full of half chewed do-nut. Bad Cat perpetually and  purposely spoke very quietly on the phone just to piss of *Penis Fart.  He and Bad Cat had the weirdest work  relationship I have ever encountered. They were prone to fighting like cats and dogs (pardon the pun) during their phone calls, and personal interactions.  Penis Fart would either call back after calming down, attempting to some extent to be civil, or he would just not call for a couple days as some kind of sick pre-pubescent silent treatment. This action was borderline homo-erotic for lack of better words, I really dont know what you would call it. Perhaps it fulfilled him with some kind of weird Masochistic fetish.

Penis fart would never lower himself to saying “Hello, Hi, or How are you doing?” when he called. Instead it was  “Where are you!” in his nasally,whiny, and condescendingly suspicious voice. One of Bad Cats little tricks would be to hold the phone a couple feet away from  his mouth and say, ” Sorry, I cant hear you, can you speak up?

After a few minute of this game,  Penis Fart would grow tiresome and very annoyed of Bad Cats trickery. Penis Fart had already purchased two new phones in the last 8 months for Bad Cat, rightfully thinking something was wrong with the old ones. He couldn’t prove that Bad Cat was playing this trick, but I am pretty sure he had a good Idea of what was going on. Bad Cat forbade me to ever answer that phone. If I absolutely had to answer it, like say in an emergency,  I had to make sure I spoke very softly to keep up Bad Cats tormentitive little game. Bad Cat had kept this folly up for over a year now, and having it discovered by Penis would be akin to loosing ground in a trench war. Well at least in his feline mind it would.

*that was Bad Cats nickname for our boss, remind me to explain why later….

hand over the hang over

hand over the hang over

haunted by memories  of  jobs i didn’t even have

walking in circles mumbling mad sentences

that make little to know sense

voices in my head barking out weird orders:

“carve a flute out of a frozen carrot with a steak knife.”

“eat copious amounts of turmeric.”

“rub lipstick on your dick!”

some sort of short circuiting freak

synaptix snapping

smells like welding sparks

electric halos of unbirthed after thought

half baked ideas floating in buoyant amniotic sex fluid.

my spleen is trying to nickle and dime my liver.

meconium fed rabbits flossing their  teeth with frozen cheese grease

placenta gravy bubbling  in a brothel of glue

giant globs of brain slop inching its way down a wooden ladder

an over ripe brain flap

rotting in the noon


what have eye done?

wasted hours

trying to create

an undoneing machine

metallic springs, bolts, and horse guts spill on the floor

tape it all back in the hole

remember the words the tour guide once said:

“never eat a banana around a raped ape!”

get in trouble from your wife

because you forgot to buy grapes.




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