THIS IS A WACK AND STUPID BLOG.

Murder Works

I don’t need a uniform 
to make me into a whore.
I’ve been wearing this whore uniform 
Since the day I was born.

Saw a video of a birth today

Brought me right back down to earth; hooray.

Brutality of backlash: hashtag bodybag array

Sunday school version of earth: blooday.

Always been, always will b[a]e

No matter systematic dismay

In our IP holographic display

It’s a video game so play.

This a stupid game we play.

Murder’s always worked 

Supremacy of jerked

Perpetuate the cycle 

Of master and the merked.

Black white or in between

Murder’s always worked

If you’re black or brown from birth

Forget about the perks

Conqueror of continents

Opacity in common sense

Transparency to opulence 

Glossy blood in crop science.

Financial liberation 

Circumstantial integration

Systemic perpetuation 

Transactional degradation.

Murder’s always worked 

Supremacy of jerked

Perpetuate the cycle 

Of master and the merked.

Black, white or in between

Murder’s always worked.

Rich, poor or in between 

Murder’s always work.

Since the Rothschildren took over

Murder’s always worked. 

Murder’s all the work

Murder’s all that works

There’s blood all over everything

Because murder’s in the work.

Happyman for Syndication.

Inquire at www.erickstow.com/contact

$120 per strip.

Come Ups & Let Downs

Everything is a huge letdown

And a huge come up

Sell your soul to the devil in you

The first person you have to con

Sell your soul to the devil in you

Keep what you can

Row row row your bot

Direction of the stream

The only time the river sucks

Is when you’re going the wrong way.

Go with the flow, you hoe

Prostitution is legal.

Kill the crowd

Cheat the crown 

Steal from the old 

They dying anyway.

Manipulation is key.

Children and seniors 

They don’t have any option 

So take a page from their book.

Big picture, big picture

See only the crowd

Keep them at arms length 

They ain’t as smart as me.

If they were, they’d be where I’m at

Not working

Money free.

Everything is fake and gay

Oh wait I guess that’s me.

Everything is so fake and gay

Fuck me sideways, senator. 

Inner peace is justified

When outer lust is pacified 

Yoga drugs sweat and/or fear

Embrace your sick desperation

Embrace your sickness

Embrace your self

Die, die alone.

Die young.

Have affairs.

Justify yourself, you fuck--

Or live long and suck. 

Hell night.

No ideas come thru. Come thru and lay here she says. I am a conduit of a greater generation past present, and future. How am I to know? Generate sleeping tables and put beds of feather with heads of hummus. I wonder if a grand narrator guides me then recedes into doubt and self pity. Hurried by rain without blankets I blacken myst myself to a pranging orange night. Oh comfort, when are we? Horrid movements in orange cots and I'm not a ninja; I'm a schizoid person with no hopes and a heartbeat I wish would stop. Covenanent hold my grasp I do depart and magic holds my hands the whole way home. Where is home, she asks? And a pale baby replies: surf shack. I head that way and bobble like a hula dancer on the dashboard of a California gypsy car. I'm a card. Non-native. I'm a card. Non wholesome. I'm a card. When in doubt I turn my robot off. Off. Off. Off.

When do we sleep again? 

Never, but I crave the feeling of not thinking. Is there a word for that feeling? I've never heard of anything I cannot pronounce.

A jail house. This cages body. My partner coughs and I listen to her bloody thoat. The Hawai'ian wind hits my ear like an ASMR YouTube video and I, again, rejoin so-called friends made only of fresh acquaintance. Am I dead? Am I alive? Shelter. Comfort; I'm reminded.

I see a red door; glowing squares take my eyes from the grips of cool with and giggling trees. What am I now? A conduit for junk art from junk to junk to junk to junk to junk.

I hold my breath for a moment as a passing loiterer flicks his flip flops; a horn honks and a bike chime jingles. Wind starts up and the loiterer passes again looting my thoughts. I’m not riveted; I’d kill for a bed.

Junk. Junk, junk, junk. And more junk. I’m all junked up he says. The wind gets cooler and I notice she’s wearing my hoodie. I’m tired, but I know if I rail any of that blow in her backpack I might as well head foe a soft soggy beach beneath my bottom. Sand in my ass crack. Starbucks Google sponsors the notes downloadd cloud iPhone apparatus I joyously jot junk notes upon. Wind kicks up. 

Still no ideas.

Red leaves flick in the wind and I wish again I was dead while glancing at a black truck in our lonesome parking lot. Is there nothing here for us? He wonders and I feel cool wind on my skin.

Dreams don’t come true. I search my mind for a trick and our trucking friend leaves. It’s cold and I’m bored.

What’s that noice? Twitchitt coughs.

“Are you ready to go?” is heard from the people behind us. I’m ready to sleep on white Egyptian cotton sheets. Where and when is my mind. Another car passes. A Nissan. Fucking nonstop...

She gives me cocaine. We still have some weed left. They know we’re some kind of scum. The sum of our parts: we wish to be royalty and graze on the steps of closed shops taking drugs and eating our Foodland bounty—wishing for the scraps of peasant patrons. 

We are really no one and nothing; this time passes and we forget all about it by the following moon—referencing it in stories to our so-called friends. I ended those relationships basing my personage on being a husk of a shell of a barrier wall enclosed by thin fencing and enclosing nothing. My art is empty; my soul is caged; only my body remains tangled up in electric waves until death becomes me the way roses line a casket.

Who is this person? A child at the beach: “I want to be an astronaught.”

Don’t get high on anything terrestrial they urge. Shells add up on razor rock shorelines and he recalls the Basketball Diaries as Leonardo DiCaprio writhes for freedom in the stench of a lucid heroine dream—sans heroine.

Will they find my phone? “aye, me,” He says. Whine me. Wine me, please. Dine me. Help me hold me; I’m no one without you he says. You are the reason I am, or can be, me. Scribe tribe; but never finish your thought book. Hold a high pedestal for your astral dust wiped from shapeless moving clouds and ending in rain in an endless ocean of acid. He came, he saw, he conquors.

He holds his breath and she coughs. He holds his breath and she coughs. He holds his breath and she coughs. He holds his breath.

HE wakes up. Something inside of HIM hears it. IT becomes lucid and HE makes his lasting impressions. Leave me behjnd, HE says. I’m dead anyways.

Who is HE promoting now? Who is HE? Is HE finished here or is HE still working? 

Marvellous.

Dearest blog readers, ye of few and prominent: Brie Larson is boring.

Sure, she’s, literally, a 10.7568 on a scale of 0-10 human, but I mean... Brie... ya boring. i don’t even care if I would arm wrestle a wookie to be in your arms enwraptured within a fit of passion for any length of whatever moments: you’re boring. Boo.

So whatever, Grimes was at your premier (by the way, Akh Faernaa if you’re reading I’ve been chasing my left leg to a broadstroked coincidence marked by a shiny black space-elf star shell... to the ends of Caladaan and, unlike Azalea, Twitchitt and I would never bitch out on a foursome with Dr. Manhattan and the girl who inspired me to use garageband back in ‘08.)

But, it’s past time now. X, right?

I’m in the back of a movie theatre in North Shore Hawai’i with some genius friends Twitchitt and I met when someone mentioned, aloud, “True Master.” 

I was like, who me? That was Friday. Maybe. 

Elon: subject of our recent collective AC obsession... I have this pitch for you. See, I’m a designer and my little (younger) brother is disabled. We’re at a robot-legs type point in history. Maybe you can hop on the Show train and vice versa. You got all the cykik movies—get at me. Send a car.

On the subject of Sheraton hotels: eat a dick.

What part of anonymity don’t people understand? Hey poolboy, my jacket cost a month of your salary so settle down before I take you down homie. Peg ass motherfucking plastic condocreep boxclimber. Fuck off.

Back to Brie because she’s a giant image in front my my head. I’m a creep for you like Radiohead, baby. Holla back with an NDA and prospect my DNA. Props on Captain Marvel. Stan Left me to the keys to the mansion, though. Sorry ‘boutchya beautiful booty chika cheetah cheeks, booboo. 

Honolulew Part 1

How did HappyMan learn to fly? 

Impenetrable, invulnerable feather skin.

His race class has evolved past the ideology of defense mechanisms thereby having created a dimension void of cleromancy.

(Cleromancy is a form of sortition, casting of lots, in which an outcome is determined by means that normally would be considered random, such as the rolling of dice, but are sometimes believed to reveal the will of God, or other supernatural entities. [Wikipedia])

The bluff: My hotel and restaurant rating blog clocked 1 million hits this month alone. 

The con: free food and shelter.

Why it works(ed): it started today.

How we do: we fucking ball. 

Controversializing a divided nation

C:/ America: the democratic republic split in half. Undivisible? Nah. 100% divided 50/50. Democratic. Republican. Its probably a much older debate, though. 

Honolulu is “No Public Restroom”, HI. Mad potential; zero culturally interesting XP. Does anyone care about dolphin art? No, because 1996 already happened and every shred of fair/exhibition ring-toss garbage existed and was tossed out with glistening particle board.

Hawaii—Honolulu... ew. Just ew. 

If the art and clothing aren’t trashy Santa Monica condo-creep caught mid-pacific garbage, the tourist population is an undertow of what happens when people keep saying, “I can’t even draw stick figures.”

No style points out of ten. 

Airwaves are caught in Honolulu like a triangle: anti-graffiti sentiment posters (you know who you are) can eat eight octodicks and say ten hail Mary’s. Repulsed. 

I mist amidst the occasional crashing on hotel sofas because the concierge admits I look white and prominent so I must be there for a reason (you are never really poor in a Scabal blazer). One by one we wear their sofas a la second hand as an ultra-rich tapestry of specific-use human beings hum about in Japanese, Mandarin, and Korean. Mostly I love the high-end posters coaxing their beautiful woven eyelids with subpar white female models. Killer kawaii, Hawaii. 

All time best gimmick: children busking. Real talented rugrats hang onto keys like dangling from tree branches while all unclimbed super-trees are accented by lines of tents—an emerging subsociety rages and optional homelessness subsists within an economic category of its own undertaking. An addendum on gimmicks—you can’t have two children performers on the same boulevard; or, I mean, you can... but, the novelty is washed out with the tide.

Loiterer unfriendly sunny Honolulu is the perfect model of These United States: anxious for the division to result in its inevitable civil war during the next democratic term.

Next: Grimes—Role Model or Psychic Terrorist? JK bitxh.

Elon, dear. We must chat. 

Ra Samples

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2gY2Mck3F5Q

A little sumfin sumfin for labels to ignore.

Fake News with TNT Magazine

Grandmother.

(I read this aloud at my grandmother's funeral on Monday. I feel like some people who couldn't make it would like to read it.)

Gramma

Gramma Reetz.

Who was Lois.
What’s her middle name?
(Carolynne Jean I found out earlier.)

Tucking me in super tight
Marshmallow squares
The only time I ever ate peanut butter as a kid.
I love the stuff now...

The smell of cigarettes in the morning
Tinted with fresh buns. Buttered lightly.
And, if I’m being honest... a little dry.

Country music on an AM radio
That morning Saskatchewan summer sun shining in
The ride from Saskatoon was 4 hours.
I’d always get turned around at the midpoint diner.

You birthed us all. All twenty something of us...
without counting on my fingers, I figured...

You taught us all.

You were Echo opposite a Narcissistic world.
Simple. Clean. Smiling.
 
The farm.
Miss Kitty, that cat.
The smell of hogs... bittersweet in my nose at least.
Tart.
Like Saskatoon berry pie
After picking ‘em on Lake Blackstrap
While the men fished.

Old Archie’s
And metal cars.
Those belonging to one of you...
Or all of you...
All of us.

As it’s passed us
We keep these badges
Like memories
And we’re reminded
Of what holds us
Together
Forever
Until we, too
Look to where we’re going:
Up.
I guess that’s what you get
When angels raise angels.
(More angels)

I told her one time she was beautiful.
It was at Bud’s wedding.
Later, she donned shimmering red lipstick.
So inconsistent, right?

She’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve known.
I’m so lucky.
I’m so fucking lucky.
Thank you, Grandma.
I love you.

She seemed to show up
When you needed her most
Like a hero.
On a scale of hero to villain
She layeds nowhere in between.

With philosophy!

Andy Warhol Who must’ve loved the colour Silver And Kilroy Who was therein Made convex Lines From polymers therein: How to be an artist. If my language is Above my thoughts Somehow And my lexicon Limited, How can I unite Fiction, fantasy Satire And reality? With philosophy!

I. Want. A. Shiny. Black. Ferrari.

One sick beat. For sale. Inquire within. A Lighter Shade of Lipstick on SoundCloud

Still here.

My back's just turned.

Beta Test Battle Rap

Polished

Like an Eastern European

You’re opening 

Night, not

Admonished.

Godless.

I’m strong enough 

Without it

I don’t need your strength lie

I’m human. Got it?

Like robot 

But, floral

Can’t touch me 

I’m coral.

Symphonies, Goro

Kombatting

With frequencies 

Lifeless: immortal.

I’m diamond 

You coal. 

Share ciphers 

With Cole

With Kanye

Got soul?

Got dough?

Get low.

Raised on myth

I’m a grown ass man 

Braised y’alls briss

I don’t need your clan

Army of one:

Armed forceps 

Flexed biceps 

Triceratop triceps 

I’m burdened

Not flightless.

Rap hip hop

No accents

I wore so many masks 

I’m askin’

Who was I 

That one time

Those Eras soaked 

In social coats.

Paint brought me

Now I’m not me 

Much better

Much,

Much better.

Something else all together 

Can’t phrase me

Won’t phase me 

Craze glaze me

Never lazy

Never shy

Don’t ask why

Link Navi 

Like LISTEN!

Try forces 

Game canons.

Bomb dropping 

On Gannon’s 

Front porches.

I’m like the USA 

in foreign lands:

No apparent way

Your a gay 

From Uruguay 

I’m CIA 

So get AIDS.

when you get laid.

Can we rap about something nicer?

Like chicken DNA splicer

Modified ironics

Blast class iconic.

Shiny cars 

And superstars

And white picket fences

In green yards.

My pesticides 

leave Insects defenceless

I’m apocalypse 

I x-men

Sarah Connor 

On the fence, men

When I’m flexin

Lexicons

the next in

To heaven  

Achieved while I’m living 

Unlocked and then maxed out

Game genie.

Shout out.

I’m Mad Max meets Lifestyles 

Sega con 

I’m megatron.

Move weight 

Like a megaton

With Fat Albert

And Oprah

Whip dick out

Soak ya.

I am god

Not closer

All truth 

No falser.

You sting like 

An ulcer

I sting like 

The Po-lease

Oh, puh-lease 

I smoke leaves 

You rake.

I’m so real

You fake.

I smoke blunts 

I bake 

You Martha Stewart-ass cake.

Original Thoughts

Where do ideas 

Begin?

Can I go 

to the idea store 

And steal one

Or buy it

Or put a time 

Down payment?

What is original?

Can it be cool, too?

Where’s my original.

True original

Legendary.

I want people 

To want 

To be me.

Or do I?

Nonstop brilliance.

Always in step.

Feat in the beats.

Commercialz

Influence over influencers

Influencers galore

Icons are moneymakers

Ease and confidence

The IDGAF 

About time or money

Or anything 

Because

Time and money 

Love my ass.

Game Genie

+1000 health

+60% muscle

-5% body fat

+$150,000.00 cash

Multiply XP x infinite 

Enter infinite money cheat

-100 bad habits

+5 marketing managers 

+10 teams

Enter infinite leadership cheat

All weapons cheat entered

Invulnerability chest entered.

+10 vehicles 

All high end stores unlocked 

-7500 Visa card

+1 Gold Card

+1 American Express Black Card

+1 Lamborghini 

+1 cherry picker truck 

X INFINITE STATUS

+25 passports 

+book deal

+record contract 

+1 major label 

Enter all cheats now.

Player 1:

Press start.

-100% barriers.

Oceanside poolside.

Avenues are always 

Actual acuities,

After all alleyways

Appetize ascewities.

Everyone’s etheral 

Equal: ewe executives.

(Exceptions: eerie eels)

Entertain effectiveness.

I incite illumination

Inner invitation 

Ichthus international,

Iron invasion.

Overtures oversee

Overseas operations.

Open opportunity

(Other occupation).

Upper unmarked,

Unreasonably uppity,

Unforgiving unforgot:

Unite us upwardly.

Another alliterative 

Alternative alternates

Afterwards aft app 

Acts as art actuates 

Every episode earns.

Eat erroneous errs.

Errors elaborate exes.

Excellence ebb elective.

Inoperable ids intake;

Improbable ifs is irate.

I’ll input incriminating 

Insults: Incinerating.

Octopussies, oddities,

Obstinate oligarchies,

Oz opens almost on

Oxidizing offerings.

Unto ushers otherworlds 

Other ovens under urns. 

Uplift of underlords

Unwanted: underlings.

You yanked your 

Yankee yummy, yup.

Yes yak your Yuletide 

Yammering yet.