scrambled transmissions from planet cod: the happiest blonde

[weedguru_animal]

Scrambled Transmissions from Planet Cod 4: The happiest Blonde...

I like the snow. It reminds me that despite our greatest efforts to distance ourselves, as a species, from the natural realm from which we grew, were created, we are ALL still at the mercy of that primeval furnace of raw, unbridled power. The Source…Connecting the Sun, the Moon, The Oceans, The Winds, The Fish, The Birds, The Bears, The Monkeys, all LIFE, ALL ATOMS…In the Chaos of existence it is in NATURE where I find solace, flashes of serenity running up and down the nervous receptors in my spinal chord…HOPE.
I wish it snowed more often, adding a beautiful glaze to the ugliness of our architecture. The concrete jungle transformed into an icy wilderness…If only the flow of fluffy whiteness falling from the heavens did not abate, but thickened, intensified, forcing all but the deranged or feral to flee to less harsh climates, more hospitable to the Cozy Humans, their space in this community replaced with wolves, snow leopards and wombats…How happy I would be..
‘Its an inconvenience’ the Cozy Human spurts from a mechanical mouth, which assumes a shape of mirth…
‘NO. We are the Inconvenience’ I reply, steady enough to wipe the nervous smile from his face.
If there is a conscience to the Earth, a planetary Soul or Spirit, it must have been debating for many a decade the obvious problem of HUMANITY. It is the ONLY deity. NATURE…our real GOD, GODDESS, the root and branches from where all LIFE fruit blossoms until ripe for picking…We turned our back on our GOD along time ago, choosing instead to let our egos run wild. A Human GOD. A SLAVE GOD…
————————————————————————————–
I’m a Stoner,
With a boner,
A socialite by nature,
But by Nurture, a Loner…
Determined to Create,
Try my hardest to avoid the temptation of Hate,
Make children out of love,
NOT solely because I have an instinct to Mate…
————————————————————————————-
The Happiest Blonde
She never smiles,
But there is something lovely in her scowl,
Confidence in her glare,
sexual allure in the sway of her hips…
All that is missing,
From her feline countenance,
Are Whiskers…
And it would be no surprise,
To find her at the break of dawn,
Chasing sparrows,
Torturing mice,
Sharpening her claws on the dry bark of an ancient oak tree…
I wonder if she would maintain,
The icy stern-ness on her tight mouth,
If my lips were writing poems on her neck,
If my tongue,
Was making the toothsome journey South then North,
From the base of her back,
Lingering over her sweet succulence,
Before finishing at her belly button…
————————————————————————————
There are more than Enough of US. This planet is already Oversaturated with human beasts. Its not OUR planet. We are tiny but destructive squatters on the Planet. Without IT, presently, we are NOTHING. Without US, IT remains something, in fact, the removal of the human parasite from the ranks of earth dwellers would benefit the planet immeasurably…
We have not improved the world for US, or improved the world for the world.
The only beauty which we bring to this niche in the astral gutters of the Universe is the female derriere. Not all examples, but some, the finest, the most peach like, the magnets to any seeing eyes. Its those arses which are Pure Magic. Its those beacons of perfect human feminine delight which constitute the only true success of our species…
“UNIVERSE…We the Venetians, offer you knowledge of Telekinesis, Telepathy, Self Regeneration, Immortality of the Soul”
“and you, Earthlings, what do you offer, what do you have which can bring pleasure or enlightenment to the Universe***”
“ we give you…the female human arse…
————————————————————————————-
Death is knocking at her door.
Week by week,
Her skin grows more leather-like.
The light in her eyes dims,
like a flickering torch bulb,
in a storm…
its faint glow only noticeable,
in flashes of diminishing return…
Death,
She wears it like a coat,
Her vitality draining down the plughole of existence…
I cant remember her smile,
Even from the time she seemed well.
Maybe she knew all along,
She knew the number,
Of her days left as flesh.
And only recently,
Has the Death disease,
Manifested more physically,
On the edges of her shell….
The days left to live,
Are down to the tens…
So she waits.
For Death to take her.