Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Hurling Meteors at Sheep

He can shake the ground beneath me
And I can still walk the geodesic line of the earth.
He can take the mounds from mountain tops
And with incredible ease
Hurl them like meteor streams
As I dance around them in mirth,
Scattering like the rhythm of these words.
Perhaps, that is His plan all along:
To instruct my scattered movements
Like the stray sheep being chased
By the dog back to the herd.
I have wandered out before
On a sporadic course
To distant lands and empty vales
Stirring up my own tall tales,
But in the end I end up
At the same conducted source.

Is inspiration nothing more
Than direction from Heaven's door?

- Alexander McCurdy

Tuesday, April 28, 2009


Seen: Silly Sally seems sad since skiing Saturday. She shot silver stars shouting, "Stalking starts selective symmetry!" Slightly stupid - slightly silly - Sally solves slabs - supposed supplement sprees. Sailing seven seas? Si, si, si!

- Alexander McCurdy

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 11


____ 1: Try shooting from under the divan. No, no, no, not sur. You know, like from the head of it, so their heads are directly in sight. Yes, right there is good. Now zoom in from below. Okay, slowly look up, upward angle. Make him appear eminent. More than her dammit! Yes, yes, good. Okay, now hold it still. Still. Still. There it is! Perfect! Okay, I think we got it. Good work, people.


There is no purity here. Everything has been distorted. Colors are not familiar. Orange is nothing unless someone told you that it was orange. Allow me to skip a verse: the word "familiar" means nothing, as well. In fact, "familiar" is now "fairnwjnf." After all, the people decide the facts. I am a people - not a person, but a people - and I have decided that the old word for "fairnwjnf" was the wrong way of saying it all along. My new fact shall be embraced with a sequence of questioning shakes and questionable nods, but regardless, your head will now move in the direction I indirectly direct it.

I sometimes think what it would be like if you were not here. I'm doing that right now actually. Honestly? I cannot even imagine. I do not think that I am ever doing anything of purpose, so without you here - watching, listening, reading, absorbing - none of this would really matter. It would matter to me, I guess. That is the point of it all, right? To assure my viewers that "it" all matters. Don't give up on "it." Don't give in to "it." You are worth "it." "It" is not worth this. Hold onto "it." Just let "it" go. You can do "it." Yes, you! You can do "it," and for yourself and no one else!

ASIDE: "Contradiction" is a pointless word at this point. In fact, "contradiction" never existed, neither did the cat-like animal, Rincdofngdk, from the South African region.

Well, what happens if I cannot reassure you that "it" matters? Will you take note of my mistakes and use them as an example of what-not-to-do, or will my failure be enough for your mind to finally shut off completely?

I'm tired of talking about trees and comparing myself to raindrops and warriors and summits and shit. For once I would like to say something easy to relate to... well, easier (you stupid fucks). I was thinking it, so I may as well say it (or type it, or masturbate, or kill little girls, or fuck you in the eye). You will find out soon enough. You will watch, listen, read, absorb. You will grin and frown, shake and nod, and then you'll find someone else to direct and commentate on (you bored bastards). Maybe you will even settle for some thing or any thing for that matter (yes, they are supposed to be separated, you incompetent shits). Then again, maybe you aren't really here after all, and crazy is only in the mind of the beholder.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

ps. By the way, not everything is about a girl (you jealous, conceited whores).

Sunday, April 19, 2009

the sum of it

we scale the summit
a pale, pale summit
tall and cold
we scale the summit
only to plummet
down, down, down
beneath the ground

we lie and lie
upon impression
depressed detail

from the bottom's vale
what is depression
within a depression
but a becoming obsession?
the summit, the sum of it

inhale, inhale

we scale the summit
a pale, pale summit
worn and old
we scale the summit
only to plummet
down, down, down
back underground

we scale like snails
fast as we can
from where we began
but time catches up
what snail is failing

when still prevailing
to stick to the summit
when it is man who plummets
down, down, down
back underground

exhale, exhale

without a sound?

- Alexander McCurdy

Monday, April 13, 2009

Concession Heart Confession

People will do anything for a snack.
If you buy me Butterfingers, baby, I'll come back.
If the chocolate on your fingertips is still attached
To your flesh, by the end of the night
I just might eat you alive.

- afm

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Easter Epiphany

I woke up this morning to find a pedophile in a giant bunny suit hiding exuberantly colored hard-boiled eggs in my backyard. I took out my shotgun as I do when I see any pedophile (or bunny for that matter), and told the bastard to get off of my property. He started rambling on about an epiphany or something or other, so I safely concluded that he was absolutely out of his mind (as if dressing up in a giant bunny suit was not evidence enough). Anyways, he refused to leave and started bribing me with straw baskets filled with marshmallow baby chicks, plastic eggshells containing CVS brand jelly beans, and hollow chocolate bunnies. Tired of his manic shenanigans, I shot him in the face. Two seconds later God smote me. Turns out that the Easter bunny is Jesus after all. Fuck my life.

- Alex McCurdy

ps. I gave up sacrifice for Lent... five years in a row. That might have something to do with all of this.

Scenes We Have Seen from the Silver Screen

The box awaits a single slate of procreated metaphors depicting when its only friend was locked outside the EXIT door. Swing faster and faster until this disaster is plastered onto the silver screen. The silver line is redefined as I blindly scribble the words you dribbled from Sibyl's prophetic, oracular schemes.

Pull the trigger, girl, but keep the safety on. Get used to the feeling of never getting what you want.

The box abates from its berated, congregated hosted uproar inflicting them with oxygen - an overdose for the final score. Spill cancerous cancer - defiled enhancers - on dancers dancing through the last scene. The last fight reignites the lightning from the springs of Juturna, so what has Sibyl truly seen?!

Pull the trigger, girl, but keep the safety on. Get used to the feeling of never getting what you want. 

- Alexander McCurdy

Thursday, April 9, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 10


ALEX: There is no need to draw a line between the dark abyss and the brightest light. No matter which direction we look, we still end up blind. Perhaps, it is better to never open our eyes after all. The skies will squall and the porcelain doll you once titled "me" will be spun around the room - like turning tables - and once it hits the wall, I will withdraw.

____: Alex, please. Please don't do this. Where are you going? Please don't go.

ALEX: You can plead to me and cling to me, but what's meant to be is meant to be.

____: What does that even mean? Why are you being so mean?

ALEX: Why are you being? Yes, all of my questions from here are answers, folklore cancer for a nervous tap dancer.

____: You're not even making sense. That's all just bullshit.

ALEX: If it's all just bullshit then you should finally be able to understand me.

____: Please stop doing this. You're just gonna do something stupid only to come back here and apologize. What's the point? Please don't do this!

ALEX: You entreat so selfishly. Yes, you deceit so devilishly. If you were outside, you would know this is too far. There is a point where you have to let go.

____: We passed that point a long time ago, Alex.

ALEX: There is always time to turn back.

____: But you and me are supposedly supposed to be the exception.

ALEX: To what, ____?! The thrills of miscommunication?! Feeling underwhelmed by the spell of tabulation?! Sweet conversation is all that's left when feelings aren't involved. You're a pawn used to aspire, and you're still as fake as God!


to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Anti-Sleeping Beauty

LEE: ASIDE: Jus a bite to eat. Jus one last meal. What harm could it do, right? We sit, we chat, we eat, and the end. Life goes on and all that otha shit. Jus a bite, right? Hah! No, not Michelle and me. We sit, we chat, we eat, and we fuckin' think! Ya finished once the thinkin' starts. Now here we are, three hours and fourteen schemes lata, five cities from dinner, runnin' into my house, plottin' to get outta this godforsaken place and fly away to a "home." It's like I always say, "A place is a just a place unless that place is Italy."
I always keep my bedroom door closed. It isn't even my room, ya know, and the damn dog always comes in to lick my roommate's underwear. Disgusting rat. Sometimes if I open the door too forcefully the knob will slam against the wall, unintentionally locking the door. No matter, though. A simple paperclip or bobby-pin will do the trick. Anyways, today is all different. The door is open, not wide or anything like that, but it ain't shut neither. Fuckin' laundry basket knocked over, dirty underwear all over the fuckin' place. Measly mut! The mess don't bother her none, though. No surprise there. Too much else is happenin', and if she slows down now, we'll neva get outta here.

MICHELLE: We gotta hurry. Where's the computer?

LEE: It's ova there, below the nightstand.

MICHELLE: Well, could ya get it for me?

LEE: Yeah, yeah. Hold ya friggin' horses, will ya? Always bossin' me 'round. And do you mind?!

MICHELLE: What? Whatsa matta?

LEE: Well, ya got friggin' street clothes on for chrissake! Have some decency to change inta somethin' else 'fore ploppin' on somebody's bed! I mean, c'mon.

MICHELLE: Okay, okay. Well, ya gonna hand me somethin' or what?

LEE: Yeah, here. It's my ole work shirt.

MICHELLE: You were always so good with kids. What happened to that?

LEE: Nuttin. Now, c'mon. Are we doin' this or not?

MICHELLE: I need the password.

LEE: What?

MICHELLE: The password! I can't look it up if you don't gimme a password. Can't you just do it? I'm sleepy.

LEE: Yeah, yeah. Alright, give it here. Okay, let's see. Southwest. Cheap, right?


LEE: Where we flyin' inta? I mean, are we goin' straight there?

MICHELLE: I don't know. You're the one who's been to Italy before, not me.

LEE: Okay, we'll fly inta Heathrow, then. Take the Eurorail to Florence or Venice.


LEE: C'mon! You're not fallin' asleep on me, are ya? You know I'm no good at this shit. Fuckin' plans and all. I'll throw paper down, but I'm jus no good at this fuckin' plannin' shit!

MICHELLE: Woh! You really do get mad way too easily. How much did you take out, anyways?

LEE: Umm.. none.

MICHELLE: None? Well, why the hell not? We were right there at the ATM. I took out as much as I could, half thou! I thought we were doin' this together!

LEE: Ya damn right we are. It's not like I ain't got nuttin' stashed, I jus don't want that much paper in my pocket, ya know? Tight jeans?

MICHELLE: You worry too much.

LEE: You worry too little. Someone's gotta even it out.


LEE: No.

MICHELLE: Awww, c'mere, baby. I'll take care of it. Gimme the computer.

LEE: Oh, for chrissake, here! I'm sorry, baby. I'm just so tired.

MICHELLE: I know. Me, too. Okay, Southwest. Hmm... how much do you have then?

LEE: A thou some.

MICHELLE: Not enough. What else is cheap?

LEE: Ionno, Delta?

MICHELLE: Everything is lookin' at 800 or more.

LEE: A friggin' G?! Are you kiddin' me?! Chrissake, I ain't got that kinda paper. I can't jus blow it all on a flight. We needa place to stay, right? How am I s'posed to keep ya warm 'n feed ya and all if I blow it all on one friggin' flight?!

MICHELLE: Calm down. We can work.

LEE: We'd bust ass, ya mean. The whole point is to escape all this shit. It don't matta if we in Brooklyn or Venice or fuckin' Anarctica if we still bustin, Michelle!

MICHELLE: I knew it! You don't wanna do this. Jus wanna play with the idea a lil, screw with me for a night, and fuck it all tomorrow. I knew you'd do this, Lee. I knew it.

LEE: Stop that. Stop that right now. Look at me. Look at me, ya hear? It's jus all funny how it is happening now, dontcha think? That afta all this time it never matta'd where I was or what I was doin' or who I was doin' it with. That I'd drop it, all of it, jus so we could fly outta this place. Now look, I'm finally happy. Hell, in jus a few weeks I coulda been outta here, anyways! No, not with you, but... it's jus funny that afta all this time, it is happenin' now, but that's what's important, Michelle... it is happenin' now.

MICHELLE: I'm sleepy. Can you please keep looking for a flight? Maybe a bus, even.

LEE: Okay, okay. You get some sleep, then. I'll look and book, baby, dontcha worry.

MICHELLE: It doesn't even havta be Italy. Any place is fine. Any place together.

LEE: ASIDE: This is the part where I lean down and kiss her softly on the cheek, and like an anti-Sleeping Beauty (still a beauty, though) she magically falls asleep. Ya know the terrible part bout sleeping, though? Ya either wake up, or ya dead.

- Alexander McCurdy

Monday, April 6, 2009

bunnies taste yummy when my tummy feels funny: real life

I am eating Annie's Bunny Grahams, the honey flavored kind. They are organic and pretty darn scrumptious. Personally, I would have called them Hunny Bunnies, but maybe that name has already been taken. I'll go check.


Yikes! Those were not the kind of Hunny Bunnies I had in mind.

Anyways, back to the Bunny Grahams. I think I've become addicted. One step above meth, I'd say, and they really are an excellent source of calcium!


Thursday, April 2, 2009

this is what makes me intolerable

BOY: Should I take summer classes?

ME: Fuck summer classes. They're like giving a blind man glasses. Bitch should learn braille. It'd be like giving free passes to a convict in jail or selling molasses to a fatass whale.

GIRL: I am takin summer classes... guess I am givin a blind man glasses and givin free passes to a convict in jail and selling molasses to a fatass whale.

ME: Like reciting a tall tale, [girl] retells every detail of the words I exhale, but to no avail like a dog chasing its tail. Epic fail.

GIRL: This Alex dude is a hoot, he just makes me wanna say toot toot.

ME: I'm more than a hoot, I'm acutely astute. I walk down the street - depending on my route - and receive 21 gun salutes. Plus, I'm pretty damn cute. *wink*

BOY: Fag bag...zzz


Wednesday, April 1, 2009

I'm going to stop blogging

blogging is so fuckin stupid. like you. you are fuckin stupid. and i hate your guts. more than i hate jew guts. and i HATE jew guts. i hate you just as much as i hate strawberries. and i fuckin HATE strawberries. and mangoes. mangoes are shitastic. but not really. cuz that would be awesome. and mangoes arent awesome. you know what else isn't awesome? you. you are fuckin disgusting and i hate your face. i hate how you have eyes. and i hate how those eyes are reading this blog. i hate this blog. and your blog. and your mom's blog. and firewood logs. and the frumpy plump frogs that sit on those logs like lumpy eskimo dogs but cooler and cog like the rim of a wheel that is frivolous steel on an automobile parked on the top of the tippity top spot of a barking parking lot of frogs dogs and cogs and other what have you not's. naught. i fuckin hate pogs. and slammers. and kool-aid fruit jammers. i want to bash that red bellied bastard with a giant jack hammer. that will stop his ohhh yeaahhhh yammers and his blatant lack of grammar. he never gets me hammered. or enables me to stammer to cause a loudly clamor. glamor glamor glamor. i live for glamor. but this blog is not glamorous. so fuck it like a bucket. smut duck, suck it. poop. goop. goobity goober. i sound like you look and you look like a fool. it must be April, you tool of Toolville, you unmasked Raul. are you ready to thrill? cuz your smut duck bill fits the bill so if you will lie perfectly still i might not kill you like i kill little girls. guts. oh nuts. an offensive rut. but i can't shut down or even shut up, so what what what is the butt of the but? a cigarette butt or a general "but" with a following statement stating "saved from grace" to brace that downfall onto pavement base where we pave your face with crooked hooks from crooked books until you look like a crooked crook. that oughta teach you not to look at a frog or a cog or even this blog.

p.s. post-shit. post-sappy. have a happy April fool's, step stool.

Alexander McCurdy