That's a fine, fine line you've got there

DEMIX: REMIX ALBUM WANTS YOUR SWEET, SWEET ASS

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 01:06:50 GMT

Hot on the heals of the razor-moist, media-blitzed neon-drench of the multi-platinum-went-without, pre-apocalypticly post-mordem over-hype-enated smash fail Most Big Sad Time at Planet Cool, we here at Five Rocket have found ourselves rolling in more than enough cold hard catch-22 to warrant spending ABSOLUTELY NO MONEY on a gigantic cyberspacely-enhanced collaborative art project we're calling the DEMIX. Emphasizing the ethnomusicological perspective that a remix "is a major conceptual leap: making music on a meta-structural level" the DEMIX wants to portray as broad a scope as possible of what was once called "remix culture" and is now, we feel, simply "the entirety of the 21st century's musical landscape". DEMIX wants to explore this space WITH YOU. If it happens to touch you inappropriately at any time during your journey, maybe you shouldn't dress like you're asking for it, slut. Interested parties will be SUBJECTED HARSHLY TO ABSOLUTELY NO RULES in a celebration of the principles of CANarchy while noninterested parties will NOT BE SUBJECTED TO ANYTHING AT ALL in a celebration of the prim staples of WONTism. Anyone can play, no one will win. Find the album at Mungbeing.com, email us (hardtouching@gmail.com) what track you want to demix, then go ape-shit. Rerecord all the words so they make sense to you, or just wipe mine out altogether and replace it with a baboon mating. Smother those phat beats in digital tape hiss and white noise. Appropriate the hell out of it. Make it your bitch and show off to all your friends. JUST FOR GODSSAKES DO SOMETHING. ANYTHING YOU JADED CYNICAL MOTHERFUCKING BASTARDS.

Source files can be provided.

Be hearing from you presently.

love and kisses,
b

Most Big Sad Time at Planet Cool on Mungbeing

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 16:33:08 GMT

Mungbeing.com Issue 20 has the exclusive release (fully downloadable) of my new album, Most Big Sad Time at Planet Cool, an interview, a flash-based lyric booklet by the lovely jessica izaguirre, along with the usual assortment of ridiculous art poetry music essays and more. The theme of this issue is Migration or "the movement of things in one direction. The converse in t'other."

Go get it.

literally the coolest thing youve seen all year

Sat, 24 May 2008 22:15:18 GMT

MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

Wed, 21 May 2008 06:14:09 GMT

making britney not suck is easy if you're AMAZING

Wed, 21 May 2008 02:40:11 GMT

You still have my VCR cassettes you nigger

Wed, 21 May 2008 01:53:34 GMT

Fri, 02 May 2008 05:17:14 GMT

Most Big Sad Time at Planet Cool is nearly complete. In the meantime please enjoy the pictures:

A "Be like me!" can make honey too

Wed, 09 Apr 2008 06:37:43 GMT

two new hugely funktastic bibble singles are hot off the presses onto magnetic plates and transferred to your ears via all manner of cables satellites and technoscience wizardry. get em now before your 15 year old sister tries to play them for you off her iPOD. that'd be so embarassing.

myspace.com/callmebibble

squealing sequel to bells peeled before deep dawn
a drawing saw it an equal - WRONG
so he peeked in on a secret song
and wasnt sorry
maybe the meek won't inherit the earth
cuz the sheep don't do anything but
and why would they want to?

yeah im talking to you
you're stock in stalking
nobody feels sorry for you

im so worried
i cant get me to like you
and a bee like me can make honey too
but can a sequel be as good as an original?

depth fight or
love make?

i was shop or being shopped
whichever
i chop blocks at the sock hop
shockingly
at last
it lopped off sloppily

frienemy
fired, many
sires only
listen
lustily
frienemy
don't trust the spire
its pyre learned desire
dire attire my squire wore
on tired brow - liar!
brown bow is mad like coward disease
ceases dazed and for days
confused
from disaster's conspiring face
first lace the plant in her lap
it's a space camp
capped by mounting graces
flap flap flap
goes the late trap of a bird's
tree-top gaze
but you're glazed over
adorned with white sticky paste
play safe now amazement
i meant to save this face for an advertisement
sell the chase
in prey, gain it
regulation amalgamate
you're reputation deepens it

___________________________________

Here's a big bad dad
who never learned how to be sad
muscles burning with masculinity
as he stares himself down in the mirror
then the mother, compulsive hugger
always waiting for a chance to feed you
tips on how to live your life a little squeeky-cleaner
As a child I find every single thing a lie
and with my imagination, I find that lie beautiful.
There's the girl and her lover
she wants him for his money
but doesn't know it
thinks he's funny
but he isn't
he's all about the business
a scoundral and a simpleton
been around the world a few times
doesn't like dealing with the findings
so he tries counting stars to sleep at night
calls it "winning"
and i, as the sky, watch his whole life float by -
he never once asks me how im doing.
That's why in my spare time, I build bridges for the blind
and to them, paint pictures of my charity.
In a bind, I commune with the dead so that they don't have to
ever even deal with themselves
For money, I train carrier pigeons
how to properly distribute tactical payloads over target areas.
(I don't consider it a career but it pays the bills
(plus it sounds so cool on a resume.)

I perform the duties of a midwife for charity,
live onstage at an arena near you.

I was once a series of rare baseball cards collected in mint condition
and auctioned at an unreasonable price to a lonely rich man
who cried on me and ruined my mint
but who didn't care because all he really wanted
was for someone to love him for who he was,
and not for how much money he spent on baseball cards...

With my PHD I make people feel special and unique
using unique and special scientific techniques
right before I prove that they aren't unique or special,
rather like tadpoles and whack-a-moles
then i hit them with something radical
like "quack quack im actually a duck-billing patricist!"
(but only cuz it's for their own good.)
I like to pretend that other people are things they're not,
to project my own lies about myself into a context where I can ridicule them. (THAT'S hot...)
I like words that rhyme with "WHAT?!" and "Prove it!"
and raindrops falling on stars concealed by pollution.
As a final solution, I tend to turn everything I say into a personal ad.
Make nazis out of knock-knock jokes
and glad tidings that are off-time but still timely.
But sadly, I often misunderstand what people ask me.
I make it a point not to care.
Then I point at it. So there.

Introducing the New Beatles

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 01:06:25 GMT

her first show was bjork and joanna newsom and she loved it.

The Revolution Begins at Home

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 04:00:08 GMT

for his final animation project, aaron (young adonises, one half of hard touching) produced directed and animated this video using a clip fron a zenseiders skit. hope you all enjoy it.

this is a rough edit.

Most Big Sad Time at Planet Cool

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 08:27:43 GMT

ladies and gentlemen, may i welcome you to the newest bibble experience? sure, only god knows what's going on anymore, and even she's kind of fuzzy on some issues, the bitch, but who cares? we've got some great tunes full of crazy cartoons and maybe, if we're all REALLY lucky, a revelation or two. remember, clarity always comes for free, so when you buy something don't expect it to be hiding there. and for godssakes don't forget to laugh.

head on over to myspace.com/callmebibble for the three track preview, which are:

1. Most Big Sad Time at Planet Cool
2. Hurt to Him
3. Beggin' Eggies

http://www.facebook.com/pages/bibble/5989274073

most big sad time at planet cool
holding up an after school special
i learned to love the live and leave it
pardon me while i try kissing screaming miss fit
on her listlessness
didn't fix it
now im stumped like deforestation
and now i know only after a nation falls down
can i have my vacation
change the station, honey
that one's got some kind of message playing
and i really dont want to hear what they're saying

so here comes the march down april's cry anyway
may june bug your liar forever
oh no is he a silent typer?
or a pie-piping liar?
did he not say i didn't get fired up down here?
i warned you the solace had no fear of worms
or how gears work
so when you built me a little robot kid
kidding i put a chord in it
played all the major minors and weird mirrors wired
all up in this seriousness
and then a series of higher actors came
blasting diminishing returns on all their third worlds
and thirty wary warts were worn on their noses like tears
while a war raged on robes and roses
sent scents of dollars and blood-covered corsets
over the internet
and in case you didn't notice everyone's losing
their sense selfishness
to shellfish lessons and lions dens
peeeeeaaarlll rooooooaaaaaarr

where's the prizes at?
and where's the princesss!?
whered you put the bill printer?
underneath either the mattresses
or, gone to them, they got given away
no way homey dont say it!
they've got to be here right where i laid them
after i laid her or him or was it them?
did i lose it or was it stolen?

see there's where the wallet's frozen
that's the limit your blank account keeps you walled up with
got loaded then lost the chosen one?
nah i just got the joke then i was done

hah

what's cookin' slow lookin'?
can i show you the stop gap in the hook line and schism?
it's: "i miss him but im never really shooting at him"
what came first, the head shot or the uber?
deep down ive always known i'm a was chief not a war chef
and a has been "is nottin'" in his ink blot tests
while Ikhnaton built a pyramid scheme
then gave it to him as a present

and presently i present a preset peer of the Sunset Rejects
Mister E. Intense, PHD, radiantly
seemingly a polyglot, formerly MIA
til the CIA gave away the CD by keeping it DOA
(they're so silly)
so got DJ PJ to P ay D ay while he was still sleeping
oh air, you got PLAYED
yeah E IOUs like nobody's listening
he owes everyone in crystalizing distance
even god's green is earthless
so listen to the chrysalis children
it's christ in a chalice, a satellite
simple phallus worship
there's no challenge let alone a horse whip
cuz in movies they dont allow them

________________________________

She said: "You're pretty handsome for an elephant man", and that's how it began. Buddha hatched a swinging plan to utilize the skeleton, and tanly, a ton of wanton, man-handled, beget budding petals that paddled up streaming confessions. Steam in competition came like a steely concession for muddy wallows. His buddy, holy, followed.

But hold up! What about the foggy naughty? Did her egg shake shape the shade shifter of her hollow earth head? Or was it a heathen rock star knocking at her knickers? There's sand in the theory that says violence molts a molten flicker, pictures your boy want-her, body wandering up bodhi trees like a wan one, then wonders where the wand went. Once upon a teasing banter even you had a blander saunter, but then you ran the gauntlet and got your hands wet with breastmilk. Now we're back to the beginning, swimming around in it. And while I've still got no answers, I have a feeling the sea is seething some subset of seeing and hunger is wearing the petulance.

So go around again, pan the planet red if that's a plan. Or maybe it's a planted pet with a lance you only read about in old testaments. Paint pants on the nude all you want, though when you're wood hangs by the pecker's golden old hand, your dirty digger licks fickle fur that drenches the wretched dancer loose. She's primitive down to her tutu. And what's food for the goof is a do-gooder endangered for fun. Here, take a gander at something even stranger - there's a wench worshiper cantering through back-road cantos while his arranger, compulsive, his black whole, hangs himself out to try and dry his drought. And look! - the young pout, dim and doubtful at those days of oddness. The palace was full of birds then, the king obsessed with wordless wit. He wrote it down like the poet told him.

I have some friends who are pirates; I've panted plenty with gypsies. Flags lip-sink glibly; ambivalence pinks ships peeking in on me. I prefer short works of friction to totems speaking simple statements repeated in different ways. You can make anything out of ones and zeros, but can you get all the color out of gray? It stains, maybe.

Come on now, I want all the glory details. Snap my antimony out of its timid tantrum. Derail me and I promise not to scare off your training. Or, well, maybe we'll both order a swell, or own our moaning ponies, and with pulleys lever our age out of hiding. Chords core us in accord with living principles. But monopoly's lonely. North shores another border war; his show is shorter off camera and he snores so they got a stand-in. This year the Pope confessed poor Santa made a list of who had enchantments but then lost it and had to guess. So if he asks, say yes.

Create, or crater? It's a alternate choice close, not a multiple choice question. Does not the egg crate eat the equator and then shun the whodunit? I'm so bored of you sneaking around the borders to never give me a straight answer. I bought a spy satellite from NASA now I'm watching you play for the camera. Are you praying to or for it? I wonder, does prey sing songs about how great food is? Or are they clued in to their cutups glued to it? Aw, you're pooped from the smell of roses. Your No is so cute. Now scoot, scout, I've got world to do. It worked, you're you. And still youthful, so... May your pianos know no detuning. Owe no snake his bite. Man-up kindly, and Kinda many. No planning necessary.

______________________________

at the edge of peace
there's a sleepwalker
he greets you underwater
his thunder saunters
applause, please
now
go darker

a depth charge
to eat the least of us
like small fish feed bigger ones
but fish dont carry guns
especially not Rhipidons
so don't worry about explosions

we're beggin eggies
we're beggin eggies
we three hungry
see thee
theory stately
zero
hate me
they'll replace me
mentioned daily
one old ally way:
go out and play
get naked
always make sure of uncertainty
before it's a border war
and be wary of boredom
if you're sure there's no more,
you can spare it
but if you have some, share it
learn to be the one who gives in
it'll earn your living, learner
turn in out, and vice versa
we're beggin eggies
til the next verse
blending maybes
with baby serves
no kings or serfs anywhere
just waves from surf's up

here jealous is a jailhouse, pup
are you sure that's really where you're from?
dont you wonder about the underwarfare?
everyone's gone commando in it
even me, i'm not ashamed to admit
the comma can't exclaim a period
of vowel sounds
that hound you like constant compliments
but grammar's cheap
and clocks tick to talk
so tell that sheep to stop being so cheeky

check came in it's a mate
chess is more than a game i play
to deal with the delay
and panning of hearing both sides say
"I'm right!"
black's white in my opinion
while wide backs me up
i extend my aperture in all directions
but dimension's a dim man's son

right there!
that's where the mind went!
into her head and out the back end
now it's all blackened with brackishness
again
i liken it to lacking
but im still laughing

we're beggin eggies
we're beggin eggies
age is making
the way we're always acting
whole made
bravely fractions
subtraction adds
don't you know
and attention dubs over it
scrub the whole thing clean
love's the holy free dummy
doesn't have to be from christianty
only substantially is substance
a thing of passion
and in past tense
we go dancing
down memory's late laying
hear what they're saying?
beggin eggies
imaginating
grown generating
sensory
we three expert keepsakes
keenly keep embellishments safe

immersion emerges in our immense emotion
the sky looks up to its own sense of ocean
and at it, goes floating off
homing beacon lost
or maybe it's a hoax
being honest

Xiu Xiu plus bibble = THIS

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 00:34:05 GMT

most of you have probably been wondering for such a long time what a collaboration between the stunning sonic stylings of Jamie Stewart's stellar band Xiu Xiu and bibble might sound like. so long, in fact, that you've given up all hope. well, lucky ones, wonder no more! as part of the release of their excellent new album Women as Lovers, the formidable group released a track sans lyrics for the likes of unknown wanna-bes like myself to play with and share with the world. my contribution to this process can be found on my myspace site:

www.myspace.com/callmebibble

please enjoy

leer icks:

when the world is done
and in one explosion
found fun in loneliness
us all "we are one"
and still cynical
of impulses
and human natural resources
they call them the suburbs
my mother lives in one

oh how much nothing there is
in holiness
a simple white sheet
will make you a ghost
i poke two holes in it
and go to goth clubs
exposing my empty cupboards
to share some fullness

or is it foolishness?
i've had such a hard time
telling the difference
between you and me
a hallucination of youth
that always seemed
like a ruse to me
and yet i too still rush
to when i was five
riding my bike around
in new orleans
pretending i was a pilot

i remember the day the light blinded me
while taking family photos at dusk
my father was so cross
and my mother backed him up
i got grounded
and in my room the pilot lost
his wings
and like an angel
started singing
only out his mouth came crazy things
his family was ashamed of

years later, in divorce
he would be called the strange one
fallen
a stranger devil here to corrupt the children
i ran away from this epithet
til i became the prophetic war profiteer
their tvs told them they should worship
out of the mouths of our babies
comes an apocalypse
our ladies lust after them
and validate their words
the whores we hoard
and store in cupboards
in the suburbs

some day the birds will storm the castle
and roost in their forlorn battlements
i hope when that day comes im there to see it
mic the chirping song and put it on a record

pictures

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 01:32:41 GMT

Fleur de Lies by ~bibble on deviant ART

Asking the tough questions by ~bibble on deviant ART

Saddest Bear by ~bibble on deviant ART

Hymn to Her

Wed, 05 Mar 2008 21:20:11 GMT

Hymn to Her as Collage by ~bibble on deviant ART

At first there was only the dream of the thing. Little pictures of a little scene, a diorama crawling up and down your spine as you lay curled up, almost fetus-like, but not quite, inside your soup-bowl skull. "The broth is important," you say to yourself, "an effervescent thing." You were always so sensitive to smells. He liked that about you. This delicate ensemble of images, fleeting feelings, inspired flashes and bolder insights - all of it an ever-present threat of cacophony as much as a list of ingredients. Latent calamity lent itself to the possibility that the harmony of the meal could be lost or destroyed at any moment. "You're no cook," the pictures say. And upon closer inspection, you find they are concerned not at all with balance, but speak only volumes of your insatiable need to devour them. You tell them to shut up. Suddenly the images seem to deceive, the steamy mixture already corrupted by the unspeakable. And that scent - you would never put it in your mouth. Never, for the fear of a whisper or kiss to a lover or friend might reveal a whiff of some ominous dream, in which the clown wasn't as sad as he seemed, and the black and white embrace was not yours but the dream's dream, something much stranger and farther away than a plane ticket could take you.

They led you by your nose into the realm of seaweed thoughts and saltwater embraces. Fantasy wrought large as life and lived in too, and loved long and well. Every scent a pleasant blossom, meant something colossal; every sensation, felt as if for the first time, necessitated a hysterically precise yet completely automatic movement through space and time. A chemical reaction merged with a game of chess and a fandango. Somewhere a crowd was cheering. Amidst this tempest a conflagration whirled, tilted and spun you like a gyroscope. And at the center of this, a quivering fleshy mass excited a perfect little pearl, nestled safely in reflections of its own insides. Its nest grew and grew, knowing only the longing for the surface, and past that, the light. Down here, photosynthesis wasn't only a necessity but an urgent fatalism to the point of parody. A joke, dead funny. You hug yourself and finger your necklace. Though clams are rarely mistaken for plants, you are certain that at some distant point in prehistory a common ancestor existed; missing this link chained you to it. Like Prometheus had his fervent desire for feather and fire, the bond was stealing all sense of direction and intent and the gods' punishment was to give it you. It dissolved, but this solved nothing. No sense of self remained, only the ancient, machine-like essence of biology. Like a schematic searching for a builder, fate lacked a will to battle and therefore manifest any destiny. Instead, it sulked and suckled at the tit of the pit and waited for luck.

What emerged was a fuck. Its simple elegance surprises you even now. But in that first moment as it breached the unsuspecting calm, the sunlight reflecting gleaming white triumphant, a nearby whaler, bored, obsessed, mistook it for a long-gone adversary and thrust his harpoon, shattering it into rainbows which he collected in jars formerly full of urine, and before that, drinking water or rum. At port, he sold the jars to a businessman who like the whaler had a penchant for making mistakes; he would take them to the cities and distribute them to children, be hailed as a trendsetter, grow rich and influential. Little did he know, since science had made them so readily available, nobody buys rainbows anymore. The jars ended up in a trash heap; waited to break open one by one so bits of broken light leak out, seep into the dirty ground, find each other, make their way slowly back to the source where upon merging once again with the white they feel only endless relief and joy. Death is not something idle in the distance. Neither is it coming for you but from you, and you from it. Even a newborn has a skeleton lurking beneath its soft baby flesh; its impetus to coo and be cute is merely a ruse that compels you to provide every kind of nourishment. Yet a baby does this without even the slightest notion of power and deceit. One day regardless it will grow large enough to ultimately reject you, and in that moment you might reflect on what you have yourself done to another in another time and by proxy they to everyone and all of us to each other. Bound as we are by our proclivities and ratiocinations, we share something lesser and greater: a fever dream of exploring and explanation, a list of ingredients we stew in and consume, hide away and sell off. Occasionally, we give it away, but not often. "Isn't it gorgeous?" - Cries from the salesman and the lover both. They scoff, turn their backs, and preach to their own audiences. Behind them the clown is juggling. His tears are painted on his cheek. Remember, he liked you for your sensitivity. Because it's such an easy thing to lose.

Hurt to Him

Fri, 29 Feb 2008 09:27:09 GMT

part one

Hurt to Him as Collage by ~bibble on deviant ART

She said: "You're pretty handsome for an elephant man", and that's how it began. Buddha hatched a swinging plan to utilize the skeleton, and tanly, a ton of wanton, man-handled, beget budding petals that paddled up streaming confessions. Steam in competition came like a steely concession for muddy wallows. His buddy, holy, followed.

But hold up! What about the foggy naughty? Did her egg shake shape the shade shifter of her hollow earth head? Or was it a heathen rock star knocking at her knickers? There's sand in the theory that says violence molts a molten flicker, pictures your boy want-her, body wandering up bodhi trees like a wan one, then wonders where the wand went. Once upon a teasing banter even you had a blander saunter, but then you ran the gauntlet and got your hands wet with breastmilk. Now we're back to the beginning, swimming around in it. And while I've still got no answers, I have a feeling the sea is seething some subset of seeing and hunger is wearing the petulance.

So go around again, pan the planet red if that's a plan. Or maybe it's a planted pet with a lance you only read about in old testaments. Paint pants on the nude all you want, though when you're wood hangs by the pecker's golden old hand. Your dirty digger licks fickle fur that drenches the wretched dancer loose. She's primitive down to her tutu. And what's food for the goof is a do-gooder endangered for fun. Here, take a gander at something even stranger - there's a wench worshiper cantering through back-road cantos while his arranger, compulsive, his black whole, hangs himself out to try and dry his drought. And look! - the young pout, dim and doubtful at those days of oddness. The palace was full of birds then, the king obsessed with wordless wit. He wrote it down like the poet told him.

I have some friends who are pirates; I've panted plenty with gypsies. Flags lip-sink glibly; ambivalence pinks ships peeking in on me. I prefer short works of friction to totems speaking simple statements repeated in different ways. You can make anything out of ones and zeros, but can you get all the color out of gray? It stains, maybe.

Come now, I want all the glory details. Snap my antimony out of its timid tantrum. Derail me and I promise not to scare off your training. Or, well, maybe we'll both order a swell, or own our moaning ponies, and with pulleys lever our age out of hiding. Chords core us in accord with living principles. But monopoly's lonely. North shores another border war; his show is shorter off camera and he snores so they got a stand-in. This year the Pope confessed poor Santa made a list of who had enchantments but then lost it and had to guess. So if he asks, say yes.

Create, or crater? It's a alternate choice close, not a multiple choice question. Does not the egg crate eat the equator and then shun the whodunit? I'm so bored of you sneaking around the borders to never give me a straight answer. I bought a spy satellite from NASA now I'm watching you play for the camera. Are you praying to or for it? I wonder, does prey sing songs about how great food is? Or are they clued in to their cutups glued to it? Aw, you're pooped from the smell of roses. Your No is so cute. Now scoot, scout, I've got world to do. It worked, you're you. And still youthful, so... May your pianos know no detuning. Owe no snake his bite. Man-up kindly, and Kinda many. No planning necessary.

some pictures

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 07:51:36 GMT

chicmeeksheep by ~bibble on deviant ART

i live in a tough neighborhood

can you hear the light? by ~bibble on deviant ART

eyeseethrough by ~bibble on deviant ART

honestly, a smile by ~bibble on deviant ART

om mmm... by ~bibble on deviant ART

L, OH EL by ~bibble on deviant ART

new paintings

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 03:10:53 GMT

re: each reach, ache by ~bibble on deviant ART

blind bind to the i am minding by ~bibble on deviant ART

meant mend to demiends by ~bibble on deviant ART

starved start pops the popstar by ~bibble on deviant ART

Sun, 27 Jan 2008 04:53:25 GMT

one of my favorite uberindie bands ever and occasional collaborator, owls and elephants, has released their beautiful new EP FOR FREE and you should all probably download it and listen to it and shower them with love:

http://catori-inteus.livejournal.com/40884.html?view=128436#t128436

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 23:41:10 GMT

today callmebibble at gmail was officially murdered by the fascist Google overlords when i was unable to properly able to identify myself as he. we go a ways back, callmebibble and i, and he will be remembered fondly in the form of my old high school english teacher who obsessed over moby dick, and who often confused me for someone who might know me and then ask THAT person how i was doing and why i never came around. he would probably appreciate that today is mlk day, the day louis the 16th was guillotined, and the feast day for saint agnes, patron saint of chastity, gardeners, engaged couples, and rape victims.

did you know Lenin and Orwell died on the SAME DAY? Benny Hill's birthday.

musics

Wed, 16 Jan 2008 01:31:21 GMT

new Hard Touching, now with Nietzsche ^TM
Enjoy. Rend the heavens your goddamned grandfather's monkey brain fabricated.

Most words per cubic quantity of time so far.

God is an Exit

jeerix:

god exists because god is dead
and death exists outside my head
so my death's head's
just god's wedding, bedded
and his daughter's the shedding wife
justesse
please come right inside,
just like i do
"la chaleur du brandon venus!"
like vesuvius soothed us when it blew
while the white soot of the eruption
stains our blackened skin to the roots
proof looked like two soothsaying individuals
adorned with unusual roofs
and in addition to that
they went to all the way to neptune
to tune to noon blue cartoon tombs
like two apple-cart time-bomb twins
so don't ruin it with wishes!

i didn't know what else to do
so i thought i was lava

a stellar roar scores the rolled-up orbit
all hot and born to it,
swords swallow the burn of it
every glory blur of detail
every male merging with the female
the celestial orb fits right in
no tears here where brightness runs wild,
or fear of buzzing beheading
for we are furious with the torn shredding
of a child lost in wedding
we want only to shrug off, like we aught
without offending,
and so's to find the teeth love rent us with,
and smile with them

allure ran molten down the sides
of the chalice that day
lured by the scent of warming polar ice
pleasant little alice finally reigned in her parade
of zombies and mind-controlled sex slaves
and this time she stayed in wonderland, headless
with the masked man she baked in it for ages
in the rage of that towering oven
"the very excess and violence of the fault
"will be its excuse," they said
and out it bled
hot and red
frightful, like life is death
and right there's the high, hidden sign
that says simply:
MY GOD IS AN EXIT
and we're wild
golden
i mean open WIDE
then here comes the penitence
and the chance to end all the catholicism
for which we all seemed to have such a penchant
we see the vengeance hidden in her glance
so we take a chance and cheat:
accept with the same trojan sincerity
with which she offered that troop-full horse
that the truth of our fool custom is to burn it

and since we honor your gift
you must honor our wish
that's why when we say:
"heat of the torch: come!"
it always does
and when it does, we always love it

"and, my god, mister mystery-springer,
"to accept the misty story of THIS door -",
(sprach sore nietzsche, like it was a chore)
"the ardor'll reach ya for sure!"
so like zarathustra through the future,
we find spare truths without ritual
and adore them
two soothsaying individuals,
adorned with unusual roots
twisted indivisible (and visibly so)
and rooting for liberty's free justice
for awe of tree rings that lust
while all the other library forests
dance the thrust of their feral thirst
that macabre fandango that dangles them
without the trusting they want written down
over the abyss that shares back
while they wish that it didn't

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 21:09:47 GMT

trying to show what some of the stuff ive made since moving to philly is like

pretty much the same as usual

hope you enjoy

first one's a colab between aaron mega and myself

baby be carrier by ~bibble on deviant ART

swoop in and out by ~bibble on deviant ART

don me now our riggsolution by ~bibble on deviant ART

depth fight or love make? by ~bibble on deviant ART

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 20:27:19 GMT

so much tension
intention much more
intimate in the dark
than
the "thank god you didn't jinx it"
of a breathless word
lost inanimate
that i imitated in the parked carpet
to intimidate the cremation process
into leaving me alone

so much suspension
intention much more
wicked, sparked, mated
than
the material gain
they said was shameless
but buy the same token a drink!
my same's the blame
of my existence
so i claimed it
as normal elation
bent the benediction
round the annuls of anus-lovers
and reneged on the renegade spoils
before it split up the soul-shifting soil
pick-up line

which said:
"that ain't no plain ticket you've got there
"it's a spain spigot
"a lose-your-mind-from-the-joyful-pain-of-it
"watch that time, the explained flow
"of the out-and-around process
"as it pounces, expanded,
"low, glandular ring-around-the-mosey-slowly
"wait for it - look! the rose is glowing!"

so much has been said
about the old robe-y blemish -
a pope hat to pop the pop's head off-
it's selfish, mopey, roped off in faux velvet
a show only for the crust of the uppercut
but i held mine with hemp crop and shell wishes
to pretend the shelf life didn't extend too far and rip
pretense understood that two tutus make freedom
and three's the lost key predilection to tree genius
titus looked mean in those levis
but didn't have the genes to say "i see you!"
because he didn't see you or me
but i saw you see me see-saw
and even the sea that saw between us
couldn't stop the dream's inevitability
and now every silly worry turns to piss in the wind
and now every single story warms my heat into wings
and very little of this is remotely normal
but a hard heart beats drum circles
and your word speaks soft dragon slayers
and i wouldn't have you any other way

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 22:10:53 GMT

some of you may have noticed i havent been on gchat in a while. i got hacked last week and knee-jerked a report to google before i talked the hacker into giving me my account back. i got it back from him and two days later google suspended my account. thanks google. now i can't get ahold of a real person from google, just automated responses that are completely useless. until this gets resolved you can catch me at hardtouching at gmail.

love
b

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 19:25:10 GMT

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 19:48:12 GMT

boxed-in spacial
oh aren't you special
you're all about interrelationships
but you're so glacial about it
will the spatula come and save you
before you burn
on the oh so hot place?
turn the wait into warming
your earn into yearning spot spaces?
faces outstretched like
hand-me-down girlfriends
the world ends in purple
yod heh vav heh
circle empire spent on
nipple-rings and deep pulses
shin

perchance would you have an overindulgence?
personally i can't find my old idol glance anymore
and though my lance is sore, it sure is awarded in here
they keep telling me: it's the same as before!
i ignore them
wing to the keep-kneeling
and spring the swarm of normalness
with warm open soaring

this is the first feeling in the world!
it's important!
down glance the soundless hammering
flounder less when the tree-wood sings!
i ain't no fish saint,
i am the founder! it screams
i aim to father springtime
schemes to the sweet rhyming things
and gait the treason of an "i dont believe it!"
with butterfly reasons

wherever we go there we went!
we're here to get spent
lend out the give it
groove six shooters and moon juice
THE GIVEN IS GETTING
spit soon-to-be-with-you
use it with goosebump goodness
shiver shiver little shiva
bhodisattva's gonna get you
got in on all the gaudy
the dirty laundry doesn't bother me
cuz i found the shine to your "i'm not even sorry"
every clown has his silver lolly
and in cloudbursts always finds his sliver longing
shiver shiver little shiva
kali ma's got your long song
slalom bump into pump-action shot's of nuns
and gummed up fractions
run rummage through your foraging
this is no warning
it's a promise
and this isn't shore leave
it's abracadabra