Straight from the edge of ruin.

See, morey is not, as is, some who are. Not at all. morey is what is as morey, and not at all restrained by what is, or protruded by what is, or confined by what is, human. The morey bothers humans because he shows no respect to them, and no respect to the things they respect, and all humans have that one thing they respect which, if one should disrespect, a little button is depressed in that person's head and they go into anger mode, like when you're a kid at school and somebody disses your mom and you have to fight them for it. You don't know why and you're getting mad, but you're building that anger, it isn't exactly there but you have to put it there because somebody just insulted the woman you love and you know not how to react... Like when morey disrespected Hemingway. That could have bothered me because Hemingway understands what it means to have light shine through leaves outside quiet cafes, he understands the drink and the insanity and the smoke, the gun and the fist and the horn; Hemingway knows the silent moments in which man is imperfection incarnate and is dipped in a selfish solitude that makes God grasp at him with a curiousity akin to the God in Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions who just had to know what his human once in a world of robots would say when he came sliding down the mountain to wade below in the river spring. But the disrespect is not grounded! He doesn't know Hemingway, but morey knows know and is of not knowing that which is unknowable, so that he can paint and ride bikes and smile queerly to the derelicts of worldly 'burbs. Anywhere, anyone, any time, morey can drink in a character and like it without ground. See, he respects nothing. No value or tradition or religion or constitution, but if morey likes you it is for something as simple as a chemical cocktail and a series of events, an acid flashback and a circadian mistep, sugar you didn't want in a coffee you can't return because you're already at work, but it turns out being the best coffee you've ever had. And on that groundless ground in the wake of uncertainty, morey, that flittering thing likes and dislikes without reason, just passion, dividing heaven and hell on a cunt hair decision and riding insanity to divine inspiration that is the lohan. Be so enlightened as to see without seeing, to take texture from afar the way you take colour, the way your eye extracts it from a distance that could only be spoken of in a paranormal tongue by the born blind that hasn't the concept to take colour from distance. Live and let live. Do not understand morey, but hear him, the way you walk out of a hairdresser with the same haggard trot after she guessed your sign and that of your friends, told you how you fuck up and why and when, things nobody could have known, and nod to astronomy but pass it by, take and absorb and move on, like what you must do to the teachers and cops and faculty if you know who you are, and accept the morey as a commodity. Cause I've thought it over and that mother fucker ain't human. Nightrious Sat, 09/06/2008 - 09
Nov 10
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morey seduces Phil…in Cuba I came to the Island with little or no expectations. We arrived at night at a hunk of darkness that Roberto insisted was Cuba. I found this hard to believe since the mainland we’d left was Spain or something, and as far as I knew I’d been quite awake since. I didn’t care though as long as this rock had a disco I would be fine. I was used to traveling light but this time I was in such a rush to put distance between dude and his dope-rank tub that I deboarded with nothing but the rack on my back. Wifebeater, board shorts, and flip-flops. If it was actually Cuba I might be underdressed, but I really didn’t think it was, no soldiers in sight. I also had a wad of uncounted cash I’d pilfered from Roberto before I clubbed him upside the head with some iron claw thing. I had to quick jumped back on deck and pull a pair of sunglasses out of Roberto’s shirt pocket, I’d require them when the sun came up. The harbor was small, really just a maze of random docks and slips occupied mostly by smallish motorboats as far as I could tell. The light was dim, the moon providing more illumination than the dock lights. I saw a figure walking slowly down a cement path and headed towards it. It was an old lady and just as I was about to open my mouth and ask for directions to the nearest casa de boomboom, she ducked her head and crossed herself like I was a vampire or some other scary-in-her-sad-superstitious-peasant world creature. “Fucking Bitch!” I shouted over my shoulder. Directions turned out to not be necessary anyway. I just followed the bass beat vibrating up my legs and compassed towards a glow of light a few rock-piles away. It turned out to be farther than it looked but isn’t that always the case when you’re in nature, something I tried to avoid. I was more at home in cement and dim artificial lighting, so much cleaner and orderly than God’s chaotic mess. Looking out from the last rock I could see that we must have landed at some really remote harbor cause the rest of Cuba or whatever was laid out before me in brilliant light and dark shadow. This vista also moved, vehicles and people swarming between structures. Yay, I said quietly to myself and began moving towards the light, barely feeling God’s awkward landscape beneath my feet. I slipped into the first club ignoring the velvet rope and the line behind it. I called this the shazz, and it entailed a sense of being almost spiritual in nature. I could enter anywhere. I also used it to shoplift. I wanted new clothes and began shopping the crowd for a likely outfit. No, no, no I repeated to myself, scanning over tight t’s, ass-pants, anything shiny til I spotted a young man virtually illuminated from above. His curly hair haloed by neon, like an angel, or Jesus or whatever. His dress was simple, and he was clearly drunk, which wasn’t necessary but helped. Phil slurred he was from Portugal although his accent was mid-American. I had no idea whether he was homosexual although he expressed immediate interest in me, most did. I shazzed a cocktail from the bartender and handed it to Phil. “Take me to the loo Phil,” I whispered in his ear, and although he didn’t appear to know where it was, we eventually found our way after traversing the dance floor a few times. Phil began removing his clothes before I even asked. “I love you,” he professed from the floor as I left for the next club in his simple t-shirt and baggy trousers. endo

morey seduces Phil…in Cuba

I came to the Island with little or no expectations. We arrived at night at a hunk of darkness that Roberto insisted was Cuba. I found this hard to believe since the mainland we’d left was Spain or something, and as far as I knew I’d been quite awake since. I didn’t care though as long as this rock had a disco I would be fine. I was used to traveling light but this time I was in such a rush to put distance between dude and his dope-rank tub that I deboarded with nothing but the rack on my back. Wifebeater, board shorts, and flip-flops. If it was actually Cuba I might be underdressed, but I really didn’t think it was, no soldiers in sight. I also had a wad of uncounted cash I’d pilfered from Roberto before I clubbed him upside the head with some iron claw thing.
I had to quick jumped back on deck and pull a pair of sunglasses out of Roberto’s shirt pocket, I’d require them when the sun came up. The harbor was small, really just a maze of random docks and slips occupied mostly by smallish motorboats as far as I could tell. The light was dim, the moon providing more illumination than the dock lights. I saw a figure walking slowly down a cement path and headed towards it. It was an old lady and just as I was about to open my mouth and ask for directions to the nearest casa de boomboom, she ducked her head and crossed herself like I was a vampire or some other scary-in-her-sad-superstitious-peasant world creature. “Fucking Bitch!” I shouted over my shoulder.
Directions turned out to not be necessary anyway. I just followed the bass beat vibrating up my legs and compassed towards a glow of light a few rock-piles away. It turned out to be farther than it looked but isn’t that always the case when you’re in nature, something I tried to avoid. I was more at home in cement and dim artificial lighting, so much cleaner and orderly than God’s chaotic mess.

Looking out from the last rock I could see that we must have landed at some really remote harbor cause the rest of Cuba or whatever was laid out before me in brilliant light and dark shadow. This vista also moved, vehicles and people swarming between structures. Yay, I said quietly to myself and began moving towards the light, barely feeling God’s awkward landscape beneath my feet.
I slipped into the first club ignoring the velvet rope and the line behind it. I called this the shazz, and it entailed a sense of being almost spiritual in nature. I could enter anywhere. I also used it to shoplift.
I wanted new clothes and began shopping the crowd for a likely outfit. No, no, no I repeated to myself, scanning over tight t’s, ass-pants, anything shiny til I spotted a young man virtually illuminated from above. His curly hair haloed by neon, like an angel, or Jesus or whatever. His dress was simple, and he was clearly drunk, which wasn’t necessary but helped.
Phil slurred he was from Portugal although his accent was mid-American. I had no idea whether he was homosexual although he expressed immediate interest in me, most did. I shazzed a cocktail from the bartender and handed it to Phil. “Take me to the loo Phil,” I whispered in his ear, and although he didn’t appear to know where it was, we eventually found our way after traversing the dance floor a few times.
Phil began removing his clothes before I even asked. “I love you,” he professed from the floor as I left for the next club in his simple t-shirt and baggy trousers.

endo