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Kids!

Posted 30 December 2003, 4.21 pm by Jake

Here we go. Seven kids die in a car crash, and insanity ensues.

Wait, let me rephrase that. Seven underaged, unlicensed kids "borrow" a friend's car and decide to go speeding, dying in a violent crash that could have been avoided if THE PARENTS HAD ANY FUCKING SENSE, and insanity ensues.

" 'They were just out joyriding and a cop pulls them over and here we have seven deaths. I lost my only son,' Hurtt said. "

You call THAT joyriding? You call packing seven young kids into a car and hauling ass down the streets JOYRIDING? Where's your common sense, man? You and your fellow parents let them take off, knowing that something like this could/would happen, and now you're scrambling to point the blame somewhere else? Sorry, buddy. Their blood is all on the hands of you parents.

The cop didn't even get to pull them over, you idiot. Don't you dare fucking blame it on the cops. They were just doing their job, protecting the public from a gang of idiot juveniles who could have easily killed someone other than themselves.

" Troutman police Chief Eric Henderson said Officer Keith Bills chased the car for about a mile on U.S. 21 until it flipped over after hitting an embankment, crashed into a tree and then skidded to a stop upside down in a creek.

Bills, however, said he tried to stop the car only briefly, following it about 500 yards before it sped out of sight.

'It was swerving, slowing down and speeding up, just erratic driving,' Bills told the Statesville Record & Landmark. Bills said he did not see the crash, but found the wreckage later. "

Let me ask you something, Mr. Hurtt. If you were a small-town policeman, and you saw a carload of teens hauling ass past you, what would YOU do? I think you'd chase them, seeing as how it's your duty to uphold and enforce the law.

What kills me is that parents just don't take control of their kids nowadays. I remember when I did the same thing. I took my mom's truck for a ride right down the block to a girl's house, and got into deep shit. I didn't speed, I didn't drive erratically. Regardless, I got the bitch-out of a lifetime and was immediately grounded. That's proper parenting, folks.

I'm starting to think that parents aren't really all that they're hyped up to be. It doesn't take a Nobel laureate to get laid and essentially knocked up, and it obviously doesn't take a Pulitzer Prize-winning genius to raise a kid. We've learned that throughout the various news stories of "Baby chokes while playing with 17 year-old mother's purple double-headed dildo" and "20 year-old father tries to breastfeed infant, doesn't understand why it starved". Of course these are exaggerated, but the circumstances could be highly likely, because yes, people are THAT stupid.

Point is, if you're going to shoot your wad into a uterus and fertilize some eggs, you should be intellectually and judgmentally capable of taking care of whatever happens to fall out of your prom date's vagina nine months later. That's just common sense. You took on that responsibility when you decided not to wrap your wang ("One time without a jimmy cap won't hurt"), and figured that you'd just rather not waste time with pulling out before you came.

Being the "cool parent" is dangerous, because what kids think is cool differs vastly from generation to generation. I mean, look at the kids from my parent's era. They were born and raised in the fifties, and the worst things they did were drinking and racing cars. Oh, shit. Bad example. Well, they definitely weren't pulling stunts from "Jackass" and getting bent on cough syrup. That kind of shit was unheard of. Disobeying parents was a definite no. Parents seemed to be more assertive and sensible in that day and age.

Being the "cool parent" means that you let your kids get away with partying, going god-knows where, doing god-knows what and coming home god-knows when. You let them take other people's cars out for a drive, when they themselves have no license to drive legally. You let them do whatever they want, because you figure that kids will be kids, and that they're your children, so by extension they're indestructible. You survived the stoned-out sixties and the swinging seventies. For God's sake, you endured Eighties pop. You should be able to get through anything, and so should your children.

So, you absolve yourself of any blame, and let the kids do whatever they wish, because a) you don't have to waste time with any of that "responsibility" nonsense, b) it automatically makes your kids popular, and c) it's just a whole hell of a lot easier in the long run, because they WILL come to their senses, eventually. So, you let them sneak the occasional wine cooler, because they won't become alcoholics if you're there watching over them. You let them have girls over, because they won't fuck if the parents are around, and it goes from there.

And the cycle of irresponsibility continues, because if your kids are never accountable for their actions at a young age, how will they learn to be accountable ten years down the road? Jail? Rape? Addiction? Death? Hopefully it's not the latter, but in a case such as this, it's far too late.

I sympathize for the children. It's not THEIR fault that nobody took responsibility into their own hands and uttered a single-syllable word that could have made all the difference in the world. A word that, with it's presence, could have spared these seven rugrats their lives.

You know what that word is, Mr. Hurtt?

"No."

’02:05:02

Posted 23 December 2003, 7.47 am by Dragonfly

The pink throat of the bowl cupped
the bubbles of my piss
carefully like old
servicing hands
a foam of
so many airy marbles
like the primordial spittle of an
Aphroditian cock

my tadpoles, my
how they shine in the
dirty light.

It gurgled and washed
away my piss
sucking it away like a hungry
beast.

The sink
floods when I wash my hands
the bitch
never cleans.
I wash my hands
try to ignore the small
circumferencial stains
although its cleaner than before
like the floor, but
god it stinks
and the tub’s still bad as ever.
my
it bugs me that my
my nails are too long
and get
caught on my shirt
(like foam to an
empty glass) I scratch
and leave
to bury my head in sheets
still flushed with night.

Writing Needed

Posted 22 December 2003, 11.26 am by Alexander

Just a note to remind you all that you're all invited to submit articles, poetry, prose, fiction, reviews, web links, rants etc to the front page. It's dead easy - look at the top left this page - if you're logged in to the Shed you'll see your User Console - click "submit article" and you're away with the mixer.

You may have noticed akpcep.com has 3 "front pages" - articles, reviews and links. You can submit to any one of these (you get the option on the "submit article" page), as often as you wish. Upon submittal I'll take a look over your submission and authorise it, upon which it will appear on the public page for everyone to read.

So, if you've written in the past and need a place to air your creativity, akpcep is it. If you've never written before but would like to give it a go, fire away. If you don't see yourself as a writer or poet but you'd like to give it a go, please do.

Many people have had their first brush with the internet public here and have gone on to become prolific and accomplished writers. It's a great way to get criticism and honest critique on what you're writing or would like to write.

If you have any problems I'm only an email away.

Steamy notes, in a Wet mirror

Posted 19 December 2003, 2.27 pm by Dragonfly

Every man lives within a cage of lies. This cage I call by its nature - the Beast.

A groan of tediousness escapes me, startling the silence; is this a test? it has to be ... otherwise I can't go on.

I have begged for an end so many times. Begged for the mercy of death, that can almost be felt lingering in the roaring silence. Death, that estuary of birth and destruction that defines each person, as light is defined by its end. I have plead for strength to meet myself, and force a smile at what I see. I have lived my life on knees infront of a life of loathing.
The weakness of Greed, of Desperation. The Beast.

Man's greatest fear is not that he is weak; He fears that he is powerful beyond measure.

We want our life handed to us. Work. Get used to work. The nature of the universe is in direct relation to your effort to perceive it.

All your thoughts, all your beliefs, are but the links in a chain around you ... "I am great"; "I am low"; "I am"; "I am not" ... binding your hands, your eyes...

How much attention do you dedicate to the effigy of yourself? You brush your hair, dress your picked clothes for the day, reminiscing on your your own voice. You eat, sleep, crap and fuck in the haze of self-entwined thought. You have never met your inner core, the seed of sentience that what you call yourself is curled around, like a nebulaic leech, a passion of flame. Like a colour of decay.

There is nothing special, nor unique in yourself. Get used to that idea. Whatever you think, whatever you believe, there are a million people out there who feel or think the same.

Popular Entertainment is the opiatic distraction of the masses - the perfection of the Beast: decreased sensitivity and cognisance, with the television millions are emancipated from freedom to the blissful existence of entertainment whoredom. Suck in the sitcoms, breathe that reality tv medicine. The existence of each person is a half-life, between the death where we came from, and the death we go to.

There is no impending doom. Make no mistake about it. Forget the zealot preacher, ignore the soothsayer and his deep englamoured pitch - there is no monster waiting behind the corner, there is no catastrophe behind the veil of time. Rest and be assured that the future is already made, and exists in only the present moment, the beer soaked present on the vomit-stained couch. The smell of hypocricy and denial has long ago ensured our lifelong wish for extinction. There will be no end; we are already dead.

These notes have grown over 6 billion years of ascension on the steps of existence. The Primordial Slime and Yesterday's Piss... We are the Beast.

Dream a Reality

Posted 16 December 2003, 6.21 pm by Boy_of_Embers

Stop to smell the flowers.

Lush, its your reality i am dreaming.

Curse those words spoken so gently.

Good-bye.

To soon for nothing at all.

Hide and seek in a field of bloody thorns.

Rip open the wounds.

Raw pain drips from our fingertips.

Spill your guts onto a lonely rose.

Let me show you the greatest nightmare.

Follow me into my reality.

Dream my pain.

All in the past

Posted 13 December 2003, 11.50 pm by Boy_of_Embers

I was caught thinking about the past. You tore me up inside. You promised forever. But it was all a lie. I never forgot, and never will. I thought I had moved on when I met another. For that brief period in time you didn’t matter. It was a happy time, until she too ripped my fresh new heart out. But I didn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I let it happen again. But the big mistake in all this was coming back to you. You knew and you played a new game with me. You lied to get out of seeing a friend just so he wouldn’t get mad. You were lost, and still are. I now look back and try to forget about you, my lush. But you haunt my every move. I can’t start a life of new when I’m speaking to you. So this is good-bye. Forever. I’ll never remember you, so beautiful. Good-bye.

I Will Not Hate You.

Posted 8 December 2003, 4.48 pm by Villager

Living as I do in Glasgow, I get to see the unpleasant side of human nature on an almost daily basis. Be it outright violence, verbal abuse or mere rudeness, there seems to be a substantial proportion of the population who share not a jot of my value of societal niceties and friendliness. There are, of course, also some very nice people here but that's quite besides the point. I get drunken juveniles making lots of noise outside my bedroom window in the early hours, I am witness to and hear of frequent vicious physical assaults, as a part time "retail assistant" I am in a prime position to bear the full force of the public's apathy and disregard for polite behaviour. If I walk down the street I shall be hounded by the homeless, (paid, aggressive) charity collectors and maybe, if I'm lucky, even the odd delinquent who feels I owe him money. In all, there are some very dangerous and unpleasant people walking around.

When this was new to me, I reacted to it badly. I was quick to condemn those who would violate my personal boundaries on acceptable behaviour, and feel something of a disgust towards them, as though they were a distinct and separable group in society. This is justifiable, probably, on the grounds that others certainly have no right to impinge upon my personal health safety or that of others. I always have despised aggression in most forms and I always will. It comes on a basic level of human dislike of needless conflict, and a more personal basis, as though I am somehow offended that others dare ruin my idealistic, childish dream for a peaceful and friendly society.

When I witness violence or mistreatment, it makes me both sad and angry. Sad because I feel it to be so terribly obvious that aggressive, unpleasant behaviour towards others is always unnecessary and wish that I were not condemned to resigned acceptance that others disagree. Angry because violence and mistreatment evoke a natural urge within me to intervene and force a just result. Sad because I empathise with those suffering from violence and know that such people suffer every day, everywhere. Angry because the society which produced they as well as I tolerates violence as an acceptable trait. Sad because I know it will never change, least of all as a result of anything I can do. At times I've even been brought to a desire to inflict severe suffering on those who would hurt others. A desire for a sharp application of social justice brings me to the point of wanting to hate these people, and it is tempting to do so given their actions.

Of late, though, I've come to appreciate something of another side to it all. The beggar who sits menacingly next to the Cash Machines shivers, his eyes glazed over with the cold. The mother who beats her children in the supermarket stops and her face contorts, the frustration and helplessness emanating from her grimace. The stone faced man bereft of manners asks for his cigarettes with a simple '20 Marlboro', yet beneath the words is an admission of discomfort in his tone, almost as though he were apologetic for being unable to ask properly. The youths who terrorise the city have moments of calm, and the look in the eyes reminds me that I too was once young, unsure and undeveloped, liable to be led to immoral things. I am forced to sympathise with context. Much as it would aid my love of the peaceful dream to hate these people, I cannot. Much as I would like to polarise them against people such as myself it would be a distortion of the truth. For, amidst the violence, shouting and anger, there exist small reminders that these people are human too. That I despise their behaviour is only natural, but if we forget that violent people can be victims too and that we are all fighting our individual struggles in this life, then we lose all claim to true civility ourselves. I do believe that a few truly evil people pervade our society, but I have also come to think that most are merely showing in graphic form how lost, confused and angry they are. Who I am I to brand them vile?

I'm Not a Freak

Posted 5 December 2003, 10.00 pm by Shaggy

Come closer. That's it, now look into my eyes. What do you see?

That was not nice.

Take a deeper look, a look at the honesty. Yeah, I know, my eyes have a sort of distorted look to them. Okay, I know my eyebrows are somewhat shaggy.

You know what, give up on my eyes. Look at me, in general. What do you see? I hope you see what I am displaying. No, not that!

My heart.

No, its not small. Sure, I'm not very large.. yeah, I know, I'm sort of a runt. Yeah, I know I can seem judgemental at times, and yes, I know I'm a nerd. Yeah, I've heard that before.

What's that? You don't trust me? I look shifty? But I've been nothing but honest to you! I've even given you my heart, taken directly from my rib-cage! Look how it still drips with my blood! How can you not trust me?

Yes yes, I realize you do not understand my gesture. Yes, I realize how you do not understand how having my heart means I am trustworthy.

Yes yes, I realize I am insignificant and deserve to die.

Oh, for crying out loud, give me that damn gun, I'll do it myself.

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In 2018 I started painting again. This was one of a series of acrylic sketches I did to relearn techniques and revisit my skills from art college.


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Hmph

80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?

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