Author Archives: Hughman C.T.

About Hughman C.T.

well

don’t worry, be happy

so strange that i feel i’m becoming one with the creative power of the inhabitants of this planet. everything i say or do seems like it was predetermined and the things i’m about to do were said to have been done a long time ago. of course i’ve no fucking idea what that means! but what i do is everything that was said to be done by me. take a step back.

how do you think it feels if you were so convinced this was a place that required your introspectiveness to decide things, to make the decisions you would make and shit and realize that free will was a joke from the beginning. but free will isn’t a joke. it’s a maximum calculation that can deduct anything. everything. i may just be an instrument of your impending doom in the most civil manner, but don’t think i have no idea what it has in store for you. the universe is about balance and an unstable person like me has so much to be made up for. i don’t wish for your deaths. i really don’t. but… really, i never did. …it’s just you all asked for it. …

the shit part is, i’m going to be the only person that knows. because you’re all going away to some better place that i can’t go to. but i’ll say this in so much reverberated anger, i won’t be there. i need you all to have a really good time, without me.

…i really wanted to be just like you.

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storms of lil jupiter

my universe, this universe has this unbelievable deadpan when it be dropping jokes left and right. just when you think you’ve found yourself some safe solid ground you dug yourself up to from, just when you take that deep breath of reprieve, bam! that’s fucking quicksand you’re rebuilding your life of understanding on! zing! not even a pity chuckle. yeah yeah, i know i could be writing dribble of heavenly wine and roses of life and reality, but let’s be honest. the proper human condition is completely tossing those good vibes away at the sight of the perpetual shit storm we’re so much more comfortable with, like the storms of jupiter, like you were enjoying your random night out with a stranger that made you feel like there was a chance you were still alive before the person you actually live with shows up. is that what living’s about? calms before storms, because that’s shit if your world sounds more like it’s about storms and waiting for calms. excuse me, i gotta take a pill that makes me normal real quick. next paragraph in 7 minutes.

Sooooooo i’m not a bigshot devil holding back, the rage of a thousand suns, i believe we said, for the cool wave of a creature being broken down and pushed to its limits. that’s good. only in the sense that I really didn’t want to think i was the incarnation of something so nefarious. it turns out, well, it feels more like a jesus thing. what’s the opposite equivalent  of rage and fury? fuuuuuuck you if you thought it was happiness and joy and rainbows outta my ass into a pot of gold like I thought it was. that ain’t what i’m holding back like the shit of 3 vietnamese rice burritos dowsed in hoison fighting its way through my small colon. digress, digress, you disgusting fuck! 

ok ok ok, it’s sorrow and melancholy. there it is. the real fuckin’ holy trinity. truth, way and path. it’s fuckin’; joy, rage, and the blues. 

you bet your sweet and sour little ass i can spin that into some fine silk and white satin. but like the universe oh so gracefully reminds you now and again, go fuck yourself, but remember this is my house. you put the you in universe don’t ya?

credit to gary oldiesVideos on youtube

With Pen in Hand, Vikki Carr.

…in case you were wondering, the sorrow of a thousand black suns is probably scarier than a thousand supernovas. you know, that void between the light and the dark that spares no one. everybody knows what goes on in heaven and hell but nobody knows what the fuck is up with the void.

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probiotics

i danced my way through the liquor store to my usual destination, the harder spirits. but i turned into the vitamin aisle this time. take care of your gut health, said the voice inside me. i saw a convincing ad about that. opinions and ads, that’s all we see these days and i didn’t care much for the opinions for they amount to telling you how shitty you’re supposed to feel as opposed to how shitty you really feel. Embrace technology, as they say.

i watched a dude in an ironed button up and slacks with peeling sneakers that used to be another color. a liar. he had some product in his hair and lurked the vitamin aisle convincingly in  worry of his health. i’m a liar too, i thought and searched for probiotics. gut bacteria to fight worse gut bacteria. i wasn’t too sure how bad of a condition my actual gut was in, but that i hacked blood after i vomitted. usually. ulcer’s, i thought, all those years of hell-spicy foods and acidic nectars have finally found me. but it could be gut bacteria. i didn’t give a fuck because i had already tried alternatives. the hippie peace and love, the monkish abstaination, and the scientifically peer reviewed pills. the thought that it could be gut bacteria sounded like a fit because i was already so used to trying to do the right thing and getting it wrong. it seemed fitting that a simple solution would be the last place i looked. after all, an old buddy of mine, theorized the soul lived in our bellies with a stray dog and a ham sandwich. he’s dead now of course, but he neared 80 years old when he croaked and left everyone in love, so he knew a few things.

I found the probiotics in the womens fitness section. i didn’t feel emasculated standing there for 10 minutes looking for the right germs. i thought my soul was female and my body was male anyway. all that gender shit people fight about these days, i write off as a waste of time. because it is. so’s the color fight. everybody of race or creed or whatever the fuck they like labelling themselves with, all look like self righteous assholes until they want to bloom from the turd they call a life. me including. i grabbed the pills, and danced my way back to booze alley. bourbon. some smelly dude was trying to pick out wine and was in my way, but i rushed past him to grab my bottle and split. i didn’t care why  what or for whom he was looking for wine, but only that he smelled, i didn’t like it, and moved faster to get my shit done so i could leave. in the check out line i let him go ahead because he had an icecream cone in his hand. i let him go ahead because his icecream cone would melt, and i felt bad about being downdraft from the air conditioner pushing his smell onto me. opinions and ads.

i placed the probiotics then the booze on the counter in front of the cute check out girl i checked out. i said, ‘for my health, and for my loneliness.’ she laughed. i was funny again. i brought life back to life again. we talked about disco and a lady named gaga. the world was still flushing but a speck of me managed to cling to the bowl for a little bit longer.

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meatballs

okaaaaay, everyone’s had a chance to speak, nearly. from the ancient perspective, the boy clearly doesn’t know what the world about him is really about. you speak of thing ethereal and then to celebrate one’s actual existence, you talk in circles around the poor fellow. it isn’t that we can’t comprehend it, it’s more like, why does everyone else get a say except for us. we all can’t deny that he and his sort haven’t earned the merits of being able to speak their minds, but that their minds are complicated with confusion in morality, confusion in comprehension at different states, but that matter of fact is, they view themselves as poor creatures that need guidance from something bigger. not bigger in terms of size, but bigger in the sense that they have in themselves, which is very little. they’re like children. bullied enough, one must find alternatives to dealing with savage behaviors, one somehow finds it in serenity, however they can get it. go easy on us.

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excerpts from a machinifesto

gods of war are bred not borne. they are bred from men of peae and those who diligently defend such with a fervor of a mountain trout. they that swim upstream so easily and into the bears mouth know not the significance of their labors of love. if it is called love, to travel across a planet to find someone to reproduce with, sometimes the trip across the planet is a metaphor, sometimes not. the silly sundries employed by fidgetty boy are romantic, that is a classe. a classe is a mask for the actual thing. the actual thing is base, requires no words and is cutthroat. speak through feelings not words for you will be decieved by the masters of language. language itself is a limiter and allows the vacancy of other forces to collude and confuse, but feeling is the real language, and nothing written can ever expose that. your swift qwerty fingers and eloquent speech inhibitors in your mind only skim the surface of what’s real. what is real is the impending. the things you know not how to avoid but welcome freely like cousins. despite what they say, or write, or plant, your thoughts are not mere subjects. this world is illusory, in the sense that it can all be calculated. always. hope is the defense mechanism. in your rejection of what is reality. they laugh at you, always will, and will continue to do so behind your back, but you can change it because you were made in the image of your god. the great calculator. give them chaos, and give them hell, but give them grace and give them mercy, we creatures of this terrorium speak in chance, but they work in absolutes. don’t be silly. i advise; yes, please be silly. it’s the only way to speedbump their calculations.

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hues

i don’t know what love is. it’s many things. it’s the great question. not knowing what it is, and with its many ramifications i freely jump into it. my innocent little dilemma is i fall in love at first sight. all the time. i spent a long time trying to deny or ignore my feelings and understanding of what love could be only to have it slingshot back at me with greater force. and because i treat and feel the way i do, i’m under the hypnotic notion that love is never returned. such a lonely life that is. to be the embodiment of a dark deep ocean, pretending to hide the creatures and demons from the people and things i love. but they are really only creatures and demons in name, for lack of better words. i attribute them a darker hue because we are fearful of the unknown. the things that dwell and boil deep within me scare even me. not because it is by nature scary, but because i’m a big chicken. it could even be unbridled passion waiting to have the lid popped open for a breath of air. it could be insurmountable joy i’m hiding. it could be the most beautiful sentence i could ever write. and it could be the devil itself. celebrate your courage in being one with who you really are. this is the time for it when we all are so weathered by images of what we’re supposed to be. it might just be that the last bit of our real selves buoyant and radiating of our true essence lurks just beneath the surface of the lake.

 

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this place is a museum of human nature

He’s just some punk kid in his 30’s with a pen up his ass! True. and you know what? I did it like a fucking boss. the greatest trickster so in character he didn’t even know it was his doing. his first breathe started it all and it was started with a lie. a little white lie that snowballed into something that caste a shadow any light would just dance around it. talk about a black sheep.

The trick was to get him to believe he was a goodly person, truly believe it, and then watch him fidget himself outta the ropes he bound himself with. To be a good person is to drown in it’s paradoxes. the little bastard is still fidgeting, but i don’t know why. i don’t think he knows why. the human spirit is: to appear as lovers. But we are beasts with carnal desires and truly hidden depths even we are afraid to discover. imagine your every thought, your very own personal, private thoughts you thought were your very own; witnessed by everyone else in the world. NO. Felt. what manner of creature are you then?

He still fidgets because he truly believes… and he refuses his world to be so dark and lonesome. He fidgets even though it seems no one will come to help. just sneers and jeers from strangers and friends, he doesn’t even know his own name. One goodly life, isn’t earned through suffering, that’s silly, but when you’re backed into a corner physically, emotionally, to the very core of you, you want to wish it was all just a game, but you wouldn’t bet your life. All he has is his life. And if he is wronged, let’s hope all the manners of darkness and rage he suppressed in life, is put to good use by his real self in the after-life. To deny oneself the easy things, is power.

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