lo lo lo

why is not there more chocolate forever?

ther     therrrrr                            therrrrrr wasssa tuh hYY muhhh when therrrr a wassssa

forever chocolo lo lo

the memorey has melted

the aftertaste is burned into

the after tasted

the after taste is burned in, to the aftertaste!

the after taste is burned in too.

0110

01100110011001100110010110011001100110011001

a roller rink with unicorns and a neverending fog machine

Colors from left to right:

1. rocky rods and cones

2. mint leaves

3. afternoon with alexa

                                                                          4. orange

5. wrinkle in time

ronnie james deus

it has been translated as "god of the machine" or "god from the machine". weekeepeedeeah speculates that "machina" denotes something made from the hands of man, therefore it can be translated as "god of our hands" or "god that we make", which seems better as deus facemus (from the verb facio), but i'm no roman.

i think the most inneresting part of the phrase is the use of the word "EX",

which can mean "from", but can also mean "out (of)"
translation 1- "God out of the machine"

where we read the word "machina" as being translated into the english word "machine".

the god comes out of the machine; a very literal interpretation, considering in greek theatre a god was lowered by a crane-type machine to deliver the hero of the play from his torments.

translation 2- "god out of the machine"

where we read the word "machina" as being translated into the english word(s) scheme/machinations/design

the god works outside of the temporal, physical, moral frameworks that mere mortals are doomed to work within. this being said, the god can manipulate said frameworks and essentially do whatever it wants, including interfere in the affairs of humans.


wasn't that fun? or do you wish you were lifted from this webpage by a god on a crane?

you always have a pal with pallette

meet my pal, ette.
colors from left to right:





1. steak
2. activ8 [sic] orange
3. sea fog
4. lip smack
5. her










you sat alone in your bungalow, seated at a low table, sawing irritably into your overdone steak.
when all at once they activ8ted the orange cheez dust used to coat cheez curls. you see this through the kitchen window and even when the safety voice in your head says dont you open the door to the back porch and watch. and you wait. the cheezie powder trails
curl and drift and build density in the atmosphere above and beyond your head. it begins to resemble sea fog, but the sea fog that builds up on a coast in a clown planet. you breathe the powder in,
smacking your lips as you do so. it becomes harder to breathe, but the inhalations are cheddary and delicious; for a moment you swear you can taste bacon in the back of your throat. but it also makes you dizzy, and you stumble off of the porch into your kitchen, collapsing to the floor, coughing up orange foam. the stench of cheddar cloying in your mouth overwhelms you. your lungs are pumping desperately, trying to expel the orange crud gunking up your lungs. the skin of your face is flashing magenta, your eyes protrude, glassily coated with tears. you are choking and choking and spitting and coughing. gasping and snorting and the entire time you are trying to catch your breath, the phone keeps ringing and ringing, rattling your already oxegen-deprived brain. spitting out a large clump of cheez goo, you pick up the phone and clear your spongy throat.
"huh-ah-ahuNHH hello?"

it was her.