i sit completely stilll until i atrophy, and then everything -everything- Objects, sounds, odors, all develop a fat sludgy layer. An ooze that coats and slows everything down. And then when i move, the whole world shakes and everything begins to get thinner. Everything dehydrates and shrinks, the colors run away like rain, but the dust remains as a reminder that oblivion is still waiting.

The dust, the dehydration, no water to drink- i'm watching my own hands shrivel and crack. i'm not sure if this is what i wanted, but at least i'm here to support myself...

i feel snot running down the back of my brain, my nasal cavity is now a gaping void- however hard i try, i just can't seem to fill it. Then my eyes cross and snap and then everything goes fluid- i'm pushing myself to death and everything seems in order. My vision is permanently fucked at this point, this points to my fucked up vision of permanence- and i swear this pen is black but why are the letters on the page blue? Everytime i stand up it all comes rushing back- and rational thought is a burning light i can't really look towards. Playing the roles of the scientist and the guinea pig at the same time i feel the need to use the word 'love': i love that there's noone else in this room and yet i'm scared to look up because i'm not entirely sure i'm alone...

Trying to appreciate the sounds of the skipping CD as it rhythmically matches the snow on the TV screen- as the subject becomes depleted of energy, he begins to lose focus of what his mind believes it has experienced and opens up to the fantasies of the senses. Picture a heavy hearted slightly retarded schitzophrenic dog boysitting indian style on the floor writing in a notebook as ants run across the page, using the razor that was sitting atop the dusty mirror to cut open his outstretched leg, bong and ashtray on either side of him. The CD is skipping the sound of an audience at a rock show, indulging his ego, his dream. In an empty room he stands before the hundreds of voices he hears and begins to play them a song, a melody for the thousands of cheering fans. He feels the energy moving through him, the growing crowd a miilion strong, his song becoming louder and more entrancing and violent, like gunfire spraying into the millions of onlookers, though noone is killed. They all just keep dancing and singing and following the source of the music as they fade into dusty streams of starry light pushing its way through a jungle of scrap metal and disembowled machinery, ever flowing uphill, a twisting spire atop a mighty mountain, shrouded in climbing stardust, all flowing to meet the red lights of a christmas tree inside a shack at the top

...where a heavy hearted, slightly retarded schitzophrenic dogboy types into a laptop that the rants page has begun ...

Just found an old gem from the earliest days of morbid nutsac, when the music was entirely short, stupid grind songs. You may already know this about me, i'm obsessed with wanting to start a religion. Wingerism was, and still is i think, my greatest attept at deifying a celebrity. Now, it didn't build a huge following right away, but two or three people actually listened to more than half of the story! So, be on the lookout, Wingerism is coming to a Wally World near you!

Sadly, the recording of the song was lost in a tragic sewage leak, but that story is for another day. Here for you now, brave followers, is written the five- er- seven? Yes! Seven commandments of Winger! Behold and rejoice!

THE 5 COMMANDMENTS OF WINGER

1. Thou shalt exalt only our lords Winger and thier chosen prophets of hair

2. Thou shalt use no less than three(3) cans of Aqua Net daily to keep thy long hair poofy and big

3. Thou mayest lust for teenage girls. If thou art pressed, claim ignorance: For lord Kip would do the same

4. Pastels are manly. MANLY DAMMIT!

5. Thou shalt shop at mall boutiques to acquire no less than two(2) of the five(5) necklaces/pendants/charms which shall adorn thy hairy chest

6. Thou shalt leave thy silken shirt unbuttoned to the third(3rd) button to reveal the beautiful carpet of chest hair which MUST lie beneath.

7- uh 5. Tight Leather pants are thy understanding friends