comaudience

the audience doesn't want you to scream at them, but they need you to scream at them. you need to shock them awake, shake them out of their buttery amerikan coma. otherwise, they won't want to hear the truth. they'd buy anything but. they spend so much money on the lie, they wouldn't know the truth if it was wrapped up like a shiny product. drugs, food, cellphones, rap muzik, reality tv, talentless famous sluts and boy bands and beaver and minimum, we're all the problem, but we have so many issues, including denial, that we accuse all the right people of having our problems. i would know, my own mother and my ex act that way. i know the problem, which gives me the ability to call all of you on all your issues. my mom told me the other day, that i don't know anything about psychology, then i had my very sane, very intelligent, very cool doctor tell me i am not crazy. who would i believe. question everything. question everything, or you will not survive. humanity will not survive. we are already extinct, we're just drugged so far deep into this delusion, we don't know it yet. the puppet masters have taken cuntrol, and we're phuked. we bought their cellphones and watched their puppet show, and were too complacent to get off our asses and take back our freedom. freedom we should be born with and have naturally, not have loaned to us by our faceless parental phigures, and then taken away when we're too phuking docile to notice. how those two words look eerily similar. choose one or the other, but make a phuking choice. don't just cower and let them kill you. act one, was the amerikan dream, the birth of mcdonald's, and the death of jfk. act two, the dream turned into a nightmare. at this point of the puppet show, they want all your money. the president tells you, 'i want you to go shopping', but you never wonder why, cause the products are so shiny to buy. act three, the nightmare turns into a coma, with paris hilton, justin beaver's haircut, lady gagwhore's third attempt at talentless slut popularity, and for the grand finale, the audience dies. wake the phuk up.

it's a distraction. you can be a wake and bake, or a shake awake.

earplugs and no hugs

my mother is the type of person that always has to have the last word. but she never says anything relevant. she just always says shyt that's so illogikal, that i have no choice but to argue it. and then, not only does she put the earplugs in and shut off, but never understands anything i say. arguing with her has become like arguing with my grandmother, but mom denies that she's anything like her mother. i'm trapped in a duststorm. not just in this world, but in my own house. i can't get away from illogikal babble, and i can't find anyone in this world who understands logik. i've said before, einstein would be ashamed. apparently, she misunderstood timothy leary, too. instead of 'turn on, tune in, drop out', she heard it as 'turn off, tune out, and keep babbling'.

logik metal

thinker metal. cerebral metal. alien metal. anything but numetal. i am not phuking numetal. there's no such thing as numetal. numetal is a temporary genre. what are you going to call the next genre, really new metal? post new metal? godsmack is clearly not the same genre as chimaira. get it straight. how about visceral cerebral metal. a couple of words that rappers can't look up in the dictionary. there you go. a rap proof genre. let's see those moronik phukers infiltrate this one. mom once told me that queensrÿche was considered by some to be 'the thinking man's rock and roll'. along with maybe dream theater, and a few others. the first signs of progressive metal, in the early nineties. well, i've evolved lightyears beyond them. they're still in daycare compared to where i've gone. i'm not oldskool, i'm not newskool, i'm postcollege of life. i'm prophessor ø. i offer my fans the truth, in a shocking light. get the blood pumping in the heart as well as the brain. get that phuking pulse beating like two angry bass drums arguing. bring them out of that coma with a taser on acid. we need to move beyond those snappy tunes on the radio. george clooney in overalls. we're tiny, we're toony, we're all a little clooney. shoot the radio. stop letting idiots cuntrol what you listen to. i will stand alone for a while, as the true thinking man's metal. don't worry, tool is busy getting inebriated on squashed grapes. dare to take the next step. metamuzikal alienmetal. urging, demanding others to join me on this level. daring others to join me on this level. they call me 'taser salad'.

man, i love redheads ii

i phelt like updating my old picture.

tatu, obviously, on cad. modified by me.

the frame shows 'red hair, black thoughts' by hart worx.

the window shows gemma craven, who you can't find online anymore.

the wallpaper in the background is of the sydney opera house, in australia.

and the style is xoddx by wb skinner.

the start menu icons are called zippo, for iconpackager.

and, of course, bunches o' shyt not shown.