Cutup

Today, I decided to experiment with the cutup technique of Brion Gysin and William S. Burroughs. To those unfamiliar with this technique, it's basically a "word-salad" made from chopping up and re-arranging bits of text, producing humorous/creepily relevant/consciousness-expanding/paradigm-shifting/semantic-barrier-eroding/potentially boring and headache-inducing results.

For mine, I cut up two pieces I had written as well as an account of the protest at the 2008 Republican National Convention, a letter containing hurtful criticism of one of my short stories, an article about some Canadian band, some blurbs about kid-friendly tourist attractions in San Diego, an article about the movie "The Hangover", and an article from a parenting magazine about How Not to Worry Excessively for the Safety of Your Children When they Go to Sleep Away Camp.

I only added about ten words, and only when it was absolutely necessary. Here goes:

I like it when it's a story about a guy who happens to be a sexual impossible. To live in this world and not dramatically alter your surroundings for perhaps better, perhaps worse. End up an academic, a number of other things (projectionist for example).

Better or for worse, no matter what you do.

But by these crazy standards, I think it's safe to say that dumpy debauchery becomes less interesting when it loses its context. Fiercer, more pretentious scenes are fun, because it's entertaining to imagine I'm as close as possible to a passive spectator. I'm becoming resigned to this, if not proud. Not quite hip to the obscure social norms and inscrutable hole-in the pocket thing. Imagine you're watching these deviant acts, while Sea Life Aquarium is a two-story in a few joyless flings with a few harried women. Maybe get usually quiet when I attend the sole focus of the narrative, while the water aquarium designed for children is located right next door to mediocrity.

Maybe not even finish college and find some easy boring job in an easy circle, not interesting enough to like, but too harmless. It lacks the context that gives deviance. Legoland, and hate. San Diego and my parents will die worried about me.

But those two middle-aged Liberal women we met on the sharks, octopus and lung cancer got in the middle of a crowd of people and my wife accuses me to remind you of our conversation.

“So what brings you bandannas and medical respiratory masks that burdened everything?” she yells at me.

“I just took a few days off from school to come, people! And the usually not-so helpful eyes of the media never fuck.”

Meals are served, I remember herds of African animals hopefully achieve unique results. Beautiful childhood injuries. We're all in top shape, granted, ridiculously I feel like a pig and I remember I see lions, tigers and gorgeous gardens on the reel of tape. Still, Borcherdt adds, Holy Fuck has floors and is slowly filling in the fences of the freedom cage. A friend, though, because it was just as awkward for her, drops the fact that we at Nairobi Village, explore where we're up there with all this silly stuff. More deeply, there has become something of a national obsession with natural butterfly jungle, the little battery operated logic of children. Our protective instincts keep us doing exercises of the Lorikeet Landing (open ones, that have headphone jacks that you reconnect with this edge) and it's difficult to acknowledge.

I feel I finally broke the year, including holiday guitar pedals and we know now that there will be at least one teddy bear from kids, and trust our kids to look out between subject and narrative: Fuck it up the right way, primarily based around themselves.

Fully allowing masturbatory adventures when you list off another with the down-to earth Midwestern wife of another professor. She is curvaceous, a lot I don't need to know, home to more than 4,000. Rare, and to carry me back to that, you appreciate about them from a female perspective, (freckled, with long red curls and an earthy pleasant face). She hates the people around her as in a couple of months Seth will start endangered animals: the San Diego Zoo loveliness that causes your sex-cravedness, as I do, and gets snarky and vicious when she's had a few too many. She's also a smoker, college, enthusiastic to take on his next.

She comes alive at night! See your favorite space of cartoons, hardwood description of the act itself, which I did appreciate. She is charmed by my aloofness at one of these lame parties. She mistakes this for a lack of adventure while I wait in the background, animals and exhibit in a whole new light. Honeypot on a summer's collection of sensual pretension, a thoughtful weariness with the pedantic people around us. One day, at a going away gig, at some point it becomes clear that around the zoo it's a sweeping billow. You hinted at some sort of sensuality for some sanctified fucker planning to retire, which I'm forced to attend because even I know the sexual fantasies, favorite pornos, performances and live animal poetry in the sex-narrative, and therefore it's an actual insult not to. She shows up wearing a salwar kameez. Her husband brought it back for juvenile character as opposed to the parts from India. It looks good on her. She uses it as a conversation piece, tailor made, it would seem, with so much potential, and then explore cool habitats like the monkey house there. For me, less captivating, and the Sun bear forest, children's zoo, and the Panda Research station lost to adults, still balding, but with a ponytail.

Some found your decision making process to engage in the act of vandalism, and your less captivating themes, open every day of the year. My Librarian-looking wife, talked down to by Reason for hating “corporate” to the people who matter, the open minded ones who, as Andy Bernard in the office hangover rescued my childhood academics. Chided for being a romantic, incredibly irritating, your choices of graffiti slogans also are such stereotypes that I wonder if you're being facetious by using them. Overall, I love music, the Tories can shove it where he's a dentist. Table taboos among this group of people? I think you're too smart and critically-thinking to believe in any of these things. The F-Bomb hasn't stopped Holy Fuck from making a trio of groomsmen land get-togethers. I exist at the fringe of wholeheartedly, so I'm left to assume there's an element of self-mockery, buzz worthy appearances at marquee festivals like their buddy Doug who's off to his bachelor party to shun, often snickered at or ignored.

Implicit in this part, and really in all of the story, the Juno awards didn't seem to mind when the band's second morning suite was trashed, a baby in the apathetic, defeated man who has a big personal library, some pretty diverse interests, stacks and stacks of little one length LP's nominated for Album of the Mini-Bar and a tiger in the bathroom. Doug is M.I.A. Bring her down, I chain-smoke, she hates abandoned novels, aborted screenplays, criticisms, raunchy poems, songs. Journal in 2008? Neither did M.I.A. when she took the band. None of them can remember what happened in terse silence.

I have two affairs, even evidence of a few hobbies, maybe. Of course, Holy fuck had no idea what they were in for, drum beats fill the air, red white and blue lights shine down from atop a 320-foot tower, as passively under me, the anti-war march files out and we decide to move in clusters back to the capitol lawn to try and fill up water that employs all the weird effects. Laughter can be heard as a silly patriarch for doing so. It's actually okay, and we slowly go back and send out people to dominate the genre with sea lions and mischievous otters. I falter when I see her empty water run. They come back, some medics check on us, and a squad of bike cops slowly surround us. They weren't trying to shun technology.

Killer whales start taunting “what's wrong, you were running from us earlier”.

Maybe it was an intuitive way to do their own rock'n'roll concert featuring hot sensational Infomancers hovering around the house and at pawn shops, part of an annual tradition called Summer Future where, intended for use as toys, nights at sea world spent to see what we could do with lo-fi and battery operated smoked out ruins of earth.