Author Archives: Hughman C.T.

About Hughman C.T.



the increase of carbon monoxide is connecting us to the spiritual world. the rise of all these spiriual gurus, schizophrenia, depression, denials of depression and pushing through it all day by day. i’ve been wanting to connect spiritual studies with science, and that will happen one day. i keep making ties and sure they could be proven wrong one day, but you can’t ignore the numbers.

treat your body right, or as best you can, where you live right now probably can’t avoid the (CO). observe, asses, change or adapt or adjust. i’m not saying there ISN’T a spiritual world, but we’re inching closer in our time, which is strange. the veil is thinning and it’s hard to hide. we’re so reluctant to listen. nobody wants to change the books on it cause it makes humanity nervous. powers that be tremble at the thought of losing control. well, if you struggle with wondering whether or not you’re losing your mind, you’re halfway there. so what’ll it be? chaos? work together? immovable object vs. unstoppable force. i just wanted to know everything so i can make better jokes, but sometimes i get these flashes of humanity and i wanna say something in an offhand way to inspire. mostly i just want to laugh.

the thing is, i never want to hurt anyone. if i seem cruel at times, it’s because i’m helping you to see the different sides. your open mind lets you reason, and if you give up that, if you stop laughing, i’ll just have to go away.

78 different organs in the human body, 13 categories, 5 bosses. There’s a whole universe within you. figuratively, too.

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diamond jack

not knowing whether or not something is real isn’t the scary part, not caring whether or not something is real is. these are the first steps into creating your very own chia pet. i prefer designation through the greek alphabet, but color coded is easier because it’s much easier to map the area of the brain that associates colors. think of those areas as rooms, and the different personas as the roommates inhabiting them. now imagine those different personas as different characters in your t.v. shows. you have the cute one, the manly one, the smart one, the comic relief, and it goes on and on for about a half dozen rounds. stop. wait. listen. the dynamic is the same in all the shows. it’s conditioning, and marketed as artistic. genius. no one saw it coming because it was believed art and it’s endeavors were believed incorrigible.

sitting around and waiting for the revolution, well y’know, we’re all gonna change the world. and on their terms. smoke and mirrors, baby. you haven’t even seen how fast 5g can work. you won’t be able to tell the difference from pre-recorded feeds from live feeds. bold new world.

have you felt like everything’s just related to you, lately? maybe for a while. that idea you had a while ago that’s now a t.v. show… oh you know it doesn’t feel right, but you don’t know how to say, “that’s crazy!” anymore. you just think, “oh well, it happens all the time,” now.

maybe this is all a dream, and i’m in a coma and everything’s a clue left behind by my time-travelling friends but time-travelling sounds crazy because everything in this world wants to live.  but who knows how to wake up besides suicide?

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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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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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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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