love slave obtained

Area resident Jacinda Grace Stanton recently purchased a new love slave (to replace the one she’d neglected to death). Though initially excited about being taken from the puppy mill where most of its litter-mates had died, the love slave, whom she named ‘Doggie Dearest,’ is quickly learning that life in its new home is not much better.

Ms. Stanton does not plan to take her newly acquired love slave on four daily walks, feed it properly and at regular intervals, take time to understand its language or moods, respect its right to live a stress-free life, or treat it with the dignity that a sentient being deserves. Instead, she intends to scold it when it voids its bowels inside her home due to lack of access to the out-of-doors, yell at it when it whines about being hungry, complain about having to take it to the vet after letting it suffer a massive skin infection for months, and leave it at home without food for days on end while she engages in multiple new romantic relationships.

Jacinda plans to hug her love slave from time to time, look quizzically at it when it barks, keep it trapped in her bedroom from 9pm until noon of the next day, ignore its needs while manipulating her mobile phone, occasionally lock it outside on a bare concrete pad overnight, and then insist on telling everyone she knows how much she loves animals but never washing out her love slave’s water bowl and only refilling it when it’s completely empty. The nation and state in which Ms. Stanton lives legally defines animals not as living things but as property, however, meaning that she’s not doing anything wrong - technically.

[This is a work of satire. Any reference to a person or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Please treat living things under your control with the utmost respect and dignity.]

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan

haiku 21 Sep 2017

Come sit in my house
I’ll pay you cash to be there
And let out the dogs

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan

dreamstate writing 09 May 2017

This dream happened before I woke up to meditate:

I was touring the site of an ancient settlement. Giant, grass-covered earthworks covered the mountainside plateau upon which I and the others in my tour-group were walking. Man-sized stone stelae stood about, here and there. We came upon what seemed to be an inhabitant of the place who was wearing a poncho and a wide-brimmed hat. As we watched, he bent down and used a dustpan to scoop up bits of colored stone that had fragmented off a nearby stela. The monolith was roughly square in shape, its corners and top slope-cut in the manner of an Asscher or radiant diamond. The fragments were painted in dark colors, red and ochre.

I looked closer and saw that the rock seemed to have expanded from within, its entire outer layer covered with tiny cracks through which shone a sublayer of brilliant white. To me, it looked as if the rock were an animal shedding its skin, that the painted bits which littered the ground around it had served their purpose and were being discarded.

The local man was trying to sell the bits of rock to us, to which I chose to respond in anger. As I berated him verbally, I became aware that I and the other people in my group were sitting at long tables in a roofless laboratory of some kind. A wall at the front of the room was made of glass, one to our right was painted light grey. The hawker was doing chemical experiments of some sort on the fragments while still trying to convince me and the others to buy them. All of the other people in our group had their backs turned toward me and appeared to be staring at the glass wall. The way the others were not looking at me gave me the feeling that my efforts to yell at and berate the man in the wide-brimmed hat were a waste of time, a counterproductive effort.


This dream happened when I crawled back into bed get warm again after meditating:

I awoke to find that I had been sleeping on a wide expanse of masoned sandstone that seemed to be on top of a bridge or tall building. Beneath me was a comfortable bed piled high with blankets and pillows. Above me was the sky. I realized that my perch was not as high as I had thought and that other people were nearby, which caused me to worry about the location of my belongings. To my right behind a wall of glass were brick houses built next to a road that led up a steep hillside. One of the houses was covered with the most awesome graffiti I’d ever seen. I tried to get my phone out to take a picture of it but couldn’t bring my hands up to do so. 

In the dream, I sat up in bed, craning my neck to check on my belongings. I saw them together off to the side, lumped into a pile of clothes and bags, bundles of coat-hangers, old exercise equipment. Upon standing up to gather my things I discovered I was naked, which caused me a bit of concern. Once dressed more fully I walked over to tidy up my possessions. I was stuffing clothes into bags when I saw that some of my things were in a glass-walled room that I could only access via a short flight of stairs. As I was heading toward the room I walked past five men standing on the corner of the sandstone ledge. Standing in front of the four clad entirely in black was one wearing lighter tones and a hat, who said “Shakaloha” back to me when I passed him by and flashed him the surfer’s gesture.

After I had tidied up my things I went back to bed, concerned however that there was a pedestrian walkway just on the other side of a stone wall behind my head. A person leading a dog came down the sidewalk toward me. For some reason I wanted to hide from her, but knew I could not.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

dreamstate writing 11 April 2017

I had climbed into a rail-mounted, bullet-shaped carriage in order to visit a subterranean Harry-Potter-themed attraction. With me in the carriage was another entity, a male figure who has been for the last couple of nights leading me through massive hollow structures that are poorly lit and full of shadows. The structures remind me of abandoned airport terminals. I encounter few other entities in these massive structures. The shadows, however, are often alive with fearful and stunted figments that follow me, tracking my movements.

The carriage had stopped at the door to the attraction. A backlit panel displayed the logo and name of the attraction as well as a clock showing the minutes left until we could enter. Feeling confined and cramped in the suddenly tiny space (my head and torso had been bent backward on the way into the narrow tunnel), I had jumped out, whereupon I found myself on a flat plain lit as if by a full moon shining in the sky on my right-hand side. Dead trees and ruined buildings stood upon the plain, their outlines at times pixelated, at times clearly defined. To my left was a three-storey building, dark, decrepit, scary.

A few hundred meters in front of me was a line of tall buildings that appeared to form the boundary of the plain. A shadow moved there, jet-black eyes winking open in a jet-black body. It oozed swiftly my way, flitting from shadow to shadow. As it came closer it took the shape of a giant dog. Panicked and full of fear, I cast about for a way to escape the bounding beast’s gnashing jaws. I noticed an open door in the collapsing building to my left but resisted the urge to leap through it. Instead, I lifted my right arm. The shadow-dog grasped my right hand in its mouth but its teeth found no purchase, and no matter how hard it whipped its head around, it could do me no harm.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥

child goes pirate

Following his preschool's staging of “Pirate Day” during its last few sessions before the beginning of summer, the parents of four year old Woodland Hills, California native Kyl Ussuf Stonezyphr awoke in their own bed to find their grog-addled son standing over them with a knife clenched tightly between his teeth. While they had been alarmed the day before when – just before his nap-time – he waxed poetically, expounding upon a burning, insatiable desire “to pillage the nicer houses in the neighborhood, and perhaps to have my way with either Frank, or Francine (teenage, non-fraternal twins who live nearby), or the both of them,” Kyl's parents are debating whether to guide this, their third child, onto a different life-path or to accept and love him as he is, regardless of his rapine, lustful ways. “We don't think that there is much of a future in piracy,” Kevin Stonezyphr, Kyl's dad, said wearily. “But,” interjected Bettina Michaels-Stonezyphr, Kyl's super-attentive mother, while doing her best not to make eye-contact with anyone, “we agree that he has the right to choose any path in this life that he should think is best, and that there are piracy hot-spots all over the globe: at either end of the Strait of Malacca, off the coast of Somalia, and around the Strait of Hormuz.” Interrupting our conversation to investigate the source of such hammering as seemed to be coming from the rear of the house, the Stonezyphrs discovered that Kyl had not only crucified a stray dog to the rear garage door but that he had consumed so much of its blood as to make him sick to his little stomach. As punishment, they locked away his tools, and took steps to cancel the family's plans to go on a nice, leisurely Caribbean cruise later in the year.

場黑麥 menterefecterem fecit