“We need not fear the unknown, we are already in its jaws.” – Dr. Freckles
Your bowl …
“Your bowl will get smaller, but the lies will get bigger.” – Dr. Freckles
I saw …
In 2015 I began seeing two worlds … a world of fire and flame, hidden below a thin veneer of Potemkin bullshit … so I wrote an essay, on a long dead blog, of warning – telling people shit would start going sideways in about 5 years …
I saw three cranes, while riding on the street car, in September 2019 …
They looked like 3 crosses on a hill, where a great redemption once occurred …
When I saw this, I new it was time – to tell my friends, the world is about to tip over.
I saw a “virus” that hated Lombardy, Italy – but loved Little Saigon Seattle … it did not obey Brownian motion … but it did tell us to put the lotion, on our hands, or else we’d be locked down again … the flue went away, but it would return one day … like an old friend, from an old lie.
I saw a “riot” guided by rubber cones …
I saw “commies” guarded by cops … allowed to live in CHOP … a little sop from the Seattle government, and other operators massaging the youth …
I saw an “Orange King” get chased by an old buffoon …
I saw the drebly folk bow down before their gods, as the stimulus checks and PPP were unleashed … like Ron Jeremy in Panama City circa 1974 …
I saw a WAR with RUSSIA that seemed like our trip to the “moon” …
And in all the shadows? – I saw AI make fake films and songs and poems and conversations.
- we hear a limited set of frequencies
- we see a limited set of wavelengths and energies
- we can touch and smell, but these are limited too
How many hidden predators might exist, not discovered by, nor discoverable by humans?
How many dead are really just prey to things we can’t see?
Can you see what I mean?
What if I saw the cave people of Capitol Hill, play pretend at revolution – according to the FBI’s will?
What if I saw a blank chalkboard, not writing, no reading, no healing, no truth … just an empty question, something lost from youth?
I see tempest queens, real mean, driving space cars to MARS … and drinking MOON BEER in the bars …
I see hooker-nightmares, driving old Chevy cars, down by the sandbar … where you were conceived.
My ancient ancestors …
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20231224_MY_ANCIENT_ANCESTORS.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
My ancient ancestors would cut off their toes, when the wind blew too hard, and they didn’t have meat for the winter …
My ancient ancestors would sew together amulets and treasures and donkey cocks and make necklaces and sell them on e-bay …
My ancient ancestors?
They would soak their penises in whiskey, and draw lots to wrestle hyenas naked …
Their lives were spent in fear, of not having beer, and being called queer and setting fire to midnight pleasure.
Our PATH was gruesome, but my ancient ancestors had gusto.
My ancient ancestors were known as “sword masters”, sought after by the busty maidens, making “hay” with those in the know.
My ancient ancestors harvested muck from the city, they’d drain out the poop baskets – filtering for “second harvest” …
My ancient ancestors were rad.
My ancient ancestors ruled over the PARROTS and the RAVEN …
They made baskets of seaweed and dead spiders …
Their eyes were red and glowing, their bodies emaciated because … well … they ate spiders.
But they had the PROMISE of a new day coming, when they could eat corn syrup.
My ancient ancestors were pirates and pimps, they never did simp, they rode on vacuum blimps …
My ancient ancestors survived the 1,000 Year War, and made off like bandits beyond the Kuiper Belt …
My ancient ancestors sung songs of the deep, that never did sleep, while we are chased by sky lords.
My ancient ancestors had torpedo style lovers, they carried Jersey switchblades, they had a good time in Vegas.
My ancient ancestors would carve their names on platypus caves, leaving behind urine and fecal matter, letting go of pain and loneliness.
My ancient ancestors cooked dynamite stew, and ate magic goo, and traveled at light speed to PLANET TWO … that’s VENUS crap head, where the dead have radar eyes, and only dolphins tell lies, and the skies burn hot.
My ancient ancestors spoke weird words to bad animals, they tracked muskrat-buffalo, they fed on twice cured wine.
My ancient ancestors had hooks for hands and made 11 grand pounding sand for the duke of Pakistan …
My ancient ancestors made soothing elixirs, they were known as fixers and achieved oneness with cats.
My ancient ancestors were known as STEEL CAPTAINS, their hearts were glorious and NEW, they sniffed super glue.
My ancient ancestors walked the streets near Grinken Town, hunted scuzz-flesh in S’compton, traveled to Splunkton and even Ohio.
My ancient ancestors had cable TV, and we’d watch SHANNON TWEED, LATE AT NIGHT, ON CINEMAX … after dark … while our parents got drunk at the Notty Pine.
My ancient ancestors burned RUNES on their skin, because they could never let in the sweet love of Jesus.
My ancient ancestors wore kilts, to the hilt, and enjoyed lusty sex in the meadow … just after springtime.
My ancient ancestors brewed the finest ale, made of snail grease and mutton and there was nothing more to say, OKAY?!?
VELVEETA: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10651
I’m Here: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10649
A picture: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10646
All trash: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10644
There’s fiber in it: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10642
Probed: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10640
You ever wish: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10637
If AI were real: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10635
Dive Bars: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10633
COTUS: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10629
Mockery: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10626
Men want women: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10621
In honor: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10619
Prohibition: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10615
Mark my words: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10613
Irish Hitler: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10611
MERRY SCHIZMUS
SCHIZMUS
It was night for the HURGIT TRIBE,
the dead slave did imbibe,
a heart broken by snow and sleet,
dark and muddy cold,
near the mold,
not far from Madison Square Gardens …
Where the hubbly people drink,
at the FLIX parking lot,
full of snot,
pimps and whores …
Stockings baby … stockings.
STOCKINGS FROM THE CARE BEAR … because he fucking cares.
CABBAGE PATCH KIDS from CARE BEAR!
CARE BEAR!
CARE BEAR CARES FOR YOU!
SANTA IS COMING …
SANTA IS COMING …
HE IS NOT YOUR FRIEND …
He IS NOT YOUR GUY …
YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY ARE ABOUT TO FRY!
In a NUCLEAR FIRE!
FILLED WITH MADNESS, and SADNESS, and GONOREA and STARES …
Santa has TECH …
he installed a panning camera,
in the stall,
at work,
he’s a jerk,
Santa watches you poop …
Santa likes to eat your goop.
Really want him stopping by, fucker?
Really want him getting high fucker?
Do you see Santa, pulled over, by the roadside, SMOKING METH!
With Lady MacBeth?
Who is on stage at Randall’s, the all night GENTLEMAN’S CLUB!
DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR KIDS ARE?
Do you know where your kids are?
SANTA SETTLED OUR BRAINS …
He did that …
After CARL the RELENTER left the Denny’s …
We ate the soda-cake, and made love to DEBRA the FAKE.
Our brains were brewing with that holiday spunk,
we were in a funk,
it hit like a clunk.
“It’s Christmas Dan”, that voice would say.
“It’s Christmas Dan”, and it’s not okay.
He came for the children,
to take them away,
he drugs them and robs them,
and turns them into slaves.
If your kid misbehaves,
and this is the key point,
Santa comes a callin,
and your kids will be ballin,
cuz working in Santa’s sweatshop is hell.
And those fucking reindeer …
Sector-9 freaks eat ass and smoke grass,
mortal deer fiends seek land from the Franks …
Chocolate pie hornets are flying to Spain,
to sell them cocaine,
tis the season,
and the reason,
for crack …
So GO GO GO you fucking REINDEER …
TAKE TIRED SANTA FAR AWAY …
TO A LAND OF CRIMSON AND CLAY …
BELOW THE GROUND, no more sound.
Santa looked covered in spazz grease,
as if he’d come from a wharf side hooker jail,
his sailing boat slowly filling with water,
a “fitch and gimble” style harlotry,
on the docks,
with stuff to give …
But WHAT DID I KNOW of this STRANGE ESKIMO …
He had green eyes and fried rice fingernails …
He had jaundice,
and his hands shook from an old tremor,
from some old pain.
Santa has to leave,
he says he’s sorry.
Santa has to leave,
he knows you are hurt.
He’ll come back once a year,
he’ll promise not to drink beer,
he knows he broke your heart,
he left you with a smelly fart …
Your momma is right, Santa lost his fight …
A restraining order has been signed, and Santa cannot find a lawyer in time.
Up Santa … Up you go …
Up Santa … GO mother fucker.
Santa is a scourge-burge …
He’s nothing but grey-menace and broken plastic.
(he’s gone)
Twas the NIGHT …
(original by: Clement Clarke Moore)
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
SCHIZMUS: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=10691
VELVEETA …
“VELVEETA necessarily leads to BOBLIMPTOCK.” – Dr. Freckles
I’m here … (a “I think therefore I am” rebuke)
“I’m here. You?” – Dr. Freckles
(fuck you Descartes)
A picture …
It’s funny, when you’re in school.
Your teacher shows you a picture of something: a “virus”, a “moon landing”, a “victory” over Japan …
And because of authority, as a cultural artifact and pre-programmed fetish, we look at the picture and believe.
(but maybe they should have taught us how NOT to simply believe, but rather: to think)
