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I made a racecar from a Pabst can.

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Nov. 7th, 2010 @ 01:16 am
There was no retribution for every woman, child, and man. Everyone stood under the starless sky and waited, their legs shaking and their hearts betrayed by guilt. There was only the sound and smell of recently felled wood burning, but there wasn't no light. The Holy Ghost came down from the tops of the trees, and he was mad. He told us how we'd misbehaved, and we listened, 'cause he was bigger and meaner than hellfire, plus he made damn good sense. He was frustrated not because we'd been breaking the rules, he said it was different than that. I raised up my hand and asked Him did we need to start doing better at one another and quit cussin' and fightin' and a'stealin' oil. He said someth

I had begun to write this years ago apparently, before I abandoned this identity. Here it is I had no idea livejournal remembered it. Judging from the context, this seems like the me that could range from ca. 2004 to early 2006

Now, in 2010, the autumn leaves that the trees are too parched to produce in oktibbeha county remind me of the mix tapes i read about in depressing novels that I was too young to ever make because I was not of age in the late 1980's and early 1990's.

(By the way) I still feel infinite.
Current Music: Brian Eno - Music for Airports

Mar. 28th, 2006 @ 08:08 pm
Livejournal has my permission to delete this journal. It's possible that I could start another one in the future--if so, I will notify those I want to be on my friends list.

This journal is all that remains of the relic known as "Surivatem". Surivatem used to be my anonymous pseudonym. Now it isn't. This isn't how I wanted it to be, and a metavirus needs anonymity.

So long.
Current Music: superfurry animals - golden retriever

Jan. 25th, 2006 @ 08:39 pm
With a certain hysterical resignation, he looked to the sky in which his inner self did gestate for many odd years, teary cheeked, and said, "I am a man. I cannot say whether or not my newest metamorphosis was beyond my control, but it has happened. What perplexes me", he continued, "is that as I conduct myself in accordance with my newly developed nature (and what creature can sustain a prolonged existence in dischord with her/his nautre?) you forsake me so, dear lady, Mother of Mothers. Why? A man? Toasters are much more noble." The tears were coming in screams now, from beneath his stomach.

Then came the bees.

They lifted him from the ground, in to the vaporous firmament that birthed him, and shredded his very being and processed it into honey, which is really tasty shit. The queen grinned at the scene, as per her nature.
Current Music: Pink Floyd- Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathering

Dec. 12th, 2005 @ 11:13 am
There was once a statue who loved.
Persephone granted said statue a boon, which was readily accepted, and it was thusly that the statue came to move about quasi-physically in order to spread the buttery universal affections that caused her marble heart to vibrate for all beings within all realms.
However, nestled within the agreement between said statue and the Queen of the Dead was an unwritten clause—an ever-present snag often occupying the conveniently verbal contracts between sweeter souls and overseers of the eternal prisons of the selfish, dispassionate deceased.
She could only embrace, kiss, caress, and converse within the confines of Hades. Upon reaching the outer bank of Styx, her form would once again become frozen, and she would remain on that bank in the form intended by her drunk and marvelously inaccurate sculptor, until a wayward interdimensional traveler might somehow carry her heavy form away.
Or until she erodes.
Such is the fate of those who love beyond their means.


My life could end right now, before I’ve come to understand it completely. I don’t want to say I’ve never had a chance to come to grips with my being; every moment, awake or in dreams, is an opportunity for the self to fully realize the Self.
Yet, it is in this moment, and in many others past, I wonder not of the sum of existence, but of the reason why I should even bother walking across the room again. There’s nothing over there that wasn’t there when I walked over there two minutes ago, just like here.
I do it anyway, with my satisfaction levels registering a negative on my internal gauge. There is something that I can do about this, but I won’t. I won’t tell you my secrets.


The bulk of the individuals occupying this planet are spiritually impoverished, and this is my fault. It is not all my fault, mind you, but I haven’t done anything to enrich anyone, so why not blame myself (if, in fact, that is my game)?
I had rather smoke weed, read novels, and have sex than do what I must. I must tell individuals to care for themselves; to care for other individuals, and not necessarily in that order.
However, I am afraid to be a hero. This fear is the same spiritually debilitating mucous that entices one to inhale the burning vapors of a crystallized chemical substance from aluminum foil for kicks, baby; to play video games; to run from open arms.
I must learn to make love again, and I must reconcile my bank statement.

Dec. 8th, 2005 @ 03:38 pm
There was once, upon an eroding pillar of space, a poodle. This poodle defecated in the garbage because no one hated her as much as she loved herself. She was subsequently taken aside by an entity of authority, intimidated with eyes, and lightly beaten and disenfranchised. Apparently, the garbage is not the place for little doggies to poop in this dimension where the same atoms constituting interplanetary dust compose fruit and visions in the wet, black night.
Current Music: Hood - The Negatives
Other entries
» some more
1. Libraries are sexy to me, especially when quiet sounds echo off their walls.

2. Sometimes I feel so much compassion for everyone I see that I want to cry in public.

3. Houseflies aren't so bad. Have you ever had one tickle you when you're drowsy and bored? I know it's disgusting, but I appreciate them sometimes.

4. I don't want to exist sometimes; my head begins to feel too heavy.

5. I'm in love with Sandy Katherine Reese.

6. I don't believe in holiness and piety. God is my big toe, the crunch of a potato chip, all of my joy, and the color green. I don't think has a beard, and it certainly didn't create everthing.
» Interesting facts about Surivatem
1. I came up with the name "Surivatem" in high school because I never wanted to fit in with the other kids and wanted a name that sounded enigmatic. Thus, I chose "meta virus" spelled backwards. That is to say, i thought of myself as a pathogenic machine created by nature that lived in a shadowy realm between dimensions, one who transcended morals, values, and such because he could exist without them and laugh and laugh at the goofy clouds above and underneath.

2. I never had a concrete reason for becoming a vegetarian

3. I never had sex until I was 22.

4. Today is my birthday.

5. I punched my father once in a drunken rage and didn't come home for a whole weekend. I still bear a lot of guilt from this.

6. Sometimes I get on a wild train of thought and can't get off it.

7. Sometimes I feel like I try to hard to be like Tom Robbins and Douglas Adams.

8. I want to get away from northeastern mississippi but I can't rely on myself at this point.

9. I don't feel very intelligent.

10. I don't think this is important.

11. I don't care what people think about me, but the way they feel about me matters somewhat.

12. Sandy's stepdad is one of my favorite people.

13. The other day, he overheard me singing to myself. He just stared.
» (No Subject)
Blinded by progress, greed, guilt, and lust was the little twenty-year-old girl on that sunny day with a moon. Nevertheless, the girls talking about things that matter little to me in the corner of this lounge in which I type are burning my skin away. Oh, wait. It seems they've recieved my psychic message. Oh, hell, nevermind, I'm incorrect. They're talking about online classes again, not really getting anywhere but wondering and musing about whether to take astronomy or biology. You see, the decision is difficult for them because they claim that they are not science people. I am not judging them. I am not judging them. I am so fucking angry. I hate you as I hate my own ignorance. Ignorance hates ignorance. Why doesn't it cancel itself out? Disgusted. Puke. Urine. Bodily waste. This body's stomach is wheezing and bulging, filled almost to the brim with a wealthy sediment of dispassionate dissatisfaction. Shut up. I'd rather you jump of the balcony than say another word about your future because I can't concentrate with your talking. THAT'S RIGHT! LEAVE! THANK YOU, NOT THAT IT'S GOING TO MAKE ME FEEL ANY BETTER, YOU FUCKING DISGRACE! WASTE OF HUMAN EXISTENCE!

Now. Quiet. The light crinkling of a potato chip bag and a cough to accompany into the realm of waking dreams, where the lord of sleep in the black robe my mother knitted for him is standing by the gate and holding two green glass goblets of a deep, red liquid, the fullest being my own. (I always enjoyed the sound of cellophane in a quiet room, and hope the darling little waif isn't afraid to crunch. Sounds like that in a quiet room are just so damned cute, especially with a slight echo like this one.)

Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Soundwaves so sharp, yet so minute in stature. Now she's drinking from a cup with ice. Goddess, have mercy upon your humble servant: impose your will upon this magnificent creature and don't allow her to take another drink in my presence--do grant me this one boon today, I implore you--for I did not bring an extra pair of pants with me.

The coke can dropping in the machine was almost too much, and I don't mean to say that it was a pleasant audible excess. And so she leaves. Thank you Goddess. Light sounds in a room with an echo such as this have always tended to render me peculiarly libidinous. I want to have quiet sex right here with the woman I love the most with sharp, minute little inhales and exhales and whispered inquiries regarding the quality of the shared carnal experiences. With these people watching. I would furnish them all with coffee and/or popcorn if I had more than $1.08 (in coinage) on my person.

Muscles in the back of my head are constricting--the Dream King has been too damned long with my second glass.
» (No Subject)
I've been sick today. The head aches, and glands in my underarm and my neck are sore. I can't remember if something like this as happened to me before.

The aching head exerts its will from a dark, dusty room. I don't like nothin. It's funny how I can't laugh from the outside when fear/desire turns the psyche upside down, not like a pill or a bittersweet love session but in the way a cartoon bully shakes the bespectacled outcast for change.

The neurons warble jokes that only atoms and their babies want to understand.

I also ate too much pizza and read too many random journals. I'm not in the mood to find a rational solution to any personal problems; I want to wallow in dissonance like a pterodactyl to a shit-pit and smoke some of that damned grass.

Once upon a time a little owl searched all the trees for the dearest of profalactics. He died.
» (No Subject)
Now, this plateau: it's not placed at a 90 degree angle from the wall that I see kilometers ahead. The ground here's inclining upward slightly, and there're a few rocks of varying shape and size with, thankfully, scrubby vegetation dispersed throughout the whole scene (it's relieving to have other living companions, although they're not sentient in any conventional sense of the word). When I fully realize that I've not actually climbing for centuries, but crawling, I'll slide down the next "plateau" in an uninteruppted glee of egolessness and the "scrubby vegetation" will seem more consistent as we converse about social infrastructures and exchange gaseous sustenance in a sweet little symbiotic hoolabaloo. After the slide, I'll walk. Until then, I'll sing stoopid ballads to the sky(horizon) and balk at the little plants and the dirt.
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