Category: METASTOPIAN

THIS IS HORGEN FRIED STEAK, as if you could travel through mother Earth’s meat tube and find the wagyu exit out there, some place. These are factually specific related reports of stuff and EVENTS that can only be verified using super atomic laser micrometers and busty strippers named “Jade” and “Chastity” … they’re next  up on stage BITCH.

WHETHER THESE WRITINGS ARE RELATED TO ANYTHING OR BOBLIMPTOCK.COM IS UP TO THE MOTHER FUCKERS BUILDING FUTURE ROBOT SEX BANDITS.

METASTOPIAN: when your mind melts like refried metal shavings taco surprise and it’s FRIDAY NIGHT PIZZA ROLL PARADISE, and you live alone … and even your cat doesn’t like you.

METASTOPIA: this overturning churning charnel house of bitter pill wipe-outs and upside-down surfer hotels where nothing figures for the figuring, and you are abandoned by GOD.

Posted on

Maybe …

Maybe I'll be Fred Astaire,
racing fast,
on the beach,
with a leech,
drinking blood,
then a thud,
when the body falls,
and that's all ...
Maybe, sure ...
Give me a call.

Maybe I'll get money,
maybe I'll win a million bucks,
I'll give no fucks,
none given,
time for living,
maybe when I get all that cash,
I'll break the lash,
I'll bust the walls,
I'll cut the chains,
and with what remains,
maybe I'll build a home,
of stone and steel,
and in the courtyard she kneels,
feeling a love too big,
maybe?

Maybe soon?
By high noon?
Read the rune.

OPEN THE DOOR,
find your WHORE,
rub something nice,
into the hole,
then smoke a bowl.
Maybe ... 
Maybe one day?
Maybe as the sun,
gives up its last gleam,
and the EARTH is split in two,
torn at the seam,
we will scheme,
make a plan,
take a stand,
won't back down,
maybe a sound,
in the back,
starts the attack,
maybe ... sure, could be ...

Maybe ...

One day,
when the sky turns grey,
and the fires start to burn,
my soul will feel the yearn,
the desire,
for a red smoke ESCAPE,
across the lake,
and the swamp,
and the river,
I'm a giver ... MAYBE?

MAYBE YOU FUCK?
GET INTO YOUR TRUCK.
Your job really sucks.
Turn the key,
then you'll see,
a way out of town,
a path through the storm,
so sound the alarm,
and head to the sea.

Maybe?

Maybe ...

Maybe when we dance,
we'll get one more chance,
to spread our golden wings,
as an army of angels sing ...

MAYBE ...
FUCK MAYBE ...
We're tired of the stink,
we're standing on the brink,
on our armor there is a chink,
a flaw,
a glowing claw,
of titanium,
and uranium,
and plastic,
it's fantastic ...

MAYBE TONIGHT!
MAYBE AFTER DARK!
We'll meet in the park.
I'll be IRON MAN,
like Tony Stark.

It's a dare,
not that you care,
your heart is now cold,
no longer bold,
or bright,
or gay,
but like a blue jay,
you flew away,
and left me to starve,
I ate your friend Marv,
his heart I did carve,
and now I'll okay,
I'm feeling alright,
Maybe soon,
we'll travel back to the MOON,
Maybe ...

We'll go there in June.

Maybe.

I'll ride my new bike.

Maybe ...

I'll go for a hike ...

Aren't you psyched?
Posted on

I AM THE DAN SULLIVAN!

I am Dan Sullivan.

I am the REAL Dan Sullivan.

I don't know about those fakers, 
and race car drivers, 
and Broadway writers, 
and the LA LAKERS,
but I ... 
and I ALONE, 
still on the phone,
with tech support,
oh LORT,
am the REAL 
DAN FUCKING SULLIVAN.

Sure, 
there are pungo-freaks 
in ALASKA 
who claim this crown. 
Don't frown, 
don't tear your gown,
go underground, 
join my TEAM 
and our banners will gleam.

BECAUSE ...

I am the DAN SULLIVAN,
I am the force to be reckoned with,
I am your HOBO KING,
I own all the bling.

I was raised by CATS,
like furry brats,
we ate feral hog,
we lived in a log,
our dogs lived in caves,
they went to raves,
they ate monkey soup,
and then they would poop.

I am Dan Sullivan.

The REAL DAN SULLIVAN.

My heart is aglow,
so all the birds know,
I am DAN.
I will scan,
the heavens and the EARTH,
to find men of worth,
because I am DAN,
and I ran,
I ran down the street,
I ran to my own beat,
the treats I would get,
the rooms I would let,
the homes I would burn,
like yuppie BRUCE DERN,
I am DAN.

I own your butt.
I own your beard.
It's so weird.
I am DAN SULLIVAN.

I flew the last jet.
I played the last bet.
The SUN will never set on,
DAN SULLIVAN.

It is me.
You can smile to the sky,
for someday you will die,
I am DAN SULLIVAN.

It is written.
It is told.
So BE BOLD and BURN YOUR URN!

Don't turn away,
don't feel betrayed,
your lands will be free someday.

Don't stop the fight,
make haste tonight,
chase down the ghosts,
they know the most.

I am Dan Sullivan,
I am the turtle priest,
I have so much yeast,
I'll brew up a feast,
and then we can forget,
we can heal,
we can kneel before the HOUNDS,
that live underground.

I am Dan Sullivan.
I am Dan Sullivan.
I am Dan Sullivan.

FUCK YOU, LONG LIVE DAN SULLIVAN!
Posted on

SECTOR SONG

Walking in SECTOR-1, you better be carrying your gun.

SECTOR-2, is where you'll leave your poo.

SECTOR-3, a place for you and me.

SECTOR-4, you'll come back for more.

SECTOR-5, keeps you alive.

SECTOR-7, it's almost like HEAVEN ... 
but it's not,
it's covered in snot,
you get what you got,
lies you are taught.

So I think it's GREAT,
in SECTOR-8.

You're gonna be fine,
in SECTOR-9.

If you arrive,
in SECTOR-10,
you'll be surrounded by men,
with red glowing eyes,
and fire blowing skies,
and all this belies,
a truth,
forsooth,
your grinding heart,
is broken from the start,
in SECTOR-10.

Sacrifice that hen,
go to KFC,
get yourself a bucket,
say "fuck it",
it's over for the lands,
make YOUR STAND!
STEAL A GRAND!
BUY SOME COKE!
Because you're broke,
just a wandering bloke,
no steak no sword,
no bread no gourd,
no salad no drink,
WTF do you THINK of SECTOR-11?
It's also not HEAVEN.

SECTOR-13,
where all the food is green,
the coffee really stinks,
the oven is on the blink,
you'll jinx your one true love,
who fit you like a glove,
you called her "butter dove",
but she's gone,
out of scene,
in SECTOR-13,
your mind is a fluke,
she called you a mook,
it's over in days,
retract all your trays,
and prepare to land,
in the realm of sand,
nothing can last,
you're an outcast,
in SECTOR-13.

With SECTOR-14,
the diamonds they gleam,
it's not as it seems,
so get with the team,
in SECTOR-14.

In SECTOR-24,
you'll find a nice whore.

In SECTOR-32,
your wold will turn blue.

In SECTOR-49,
your father goes blind,
your mother bakes a tart,
it's broken from the start,
in SECTOR-49.

There are weird travelers,
milling about,
they cry and they pout,
they wander and wonder,
their hearts torn asunder,
a building noise,
ushering the boys,
to battle and rattle,
in SECTOR-66,
they'll get their kicks,
their minds are free,
their eyes can see,
the gods are NOT kind,
but never mind,
your blood leaves a stain,
so fly like a crane,
in SECTOR-66.

And when all the sectors,
in brilliant deformity,
are finally clear,
the crowds they jeer,
so drink your beer,
prepare the deer,
season the STAG,
you've broken your leg,
and you are complete,
it's tidy and neat,
your army is beat,
but the sectors are clear.

The sectors are clear.
The sectors are clear.
The sectors are clear.