Brothers, and Sisters,

So, it's a strange 3D universe this morning, a strange bed rest ender.

I've got a flying machine bug in my brain, but little time to work on the new -- a bad state, but what?

If I manage some time, perhaps a bit more color, or a blast onto preexisting action.

About life this day... The questions are huge, and the answers way past tiny.

I can't imagine feeling like more of an animal -- a flesh cog in the stupendously complex machine of "space time," that in the end is obscenely simple.

"Boo!" I say to the black crap of the stupid sky.

"Boo, and Boo!" To dirt.

"Eat your Jack selves while your fellow lives of shit dines beside you..."

I should ware a clown suit today -- if I had one, I would. Perhaps I can make up a quick one, or just ware my some plastic bags, and a hat.

I was messing with the 78 last night, and all the signals were crossed.

On Samantha, she will not let up on the entire "I need to see my prison baby," action.

Her time in the can seems to have spun her head in ways I can't get, or at least its given her permission to "act out" in some unexpected and, I'm sorry, in my mind, extra needy manners.

It was the local jail -- not the state pen -- and these women are board, and that sounds a bit like high school, so I have been telling her to just "cool it," for a while, and let the entire episode dissipate a bit.

Perhaps I should make her a little SketchUp Jail cell... That might give her a laugh, or me a punch in the jaw -- either sounds good about now.

Durant "I should play the harmonica" Hapke

Brothers, and Sisters,

Round 2 -- bring the ice.

I've been mouse slinging colors, and punching "hard" on the "lettered teeth," all for the day gone away.

Samantha got out of the can this past friday last, and did indeed have to make "time" with another of the "law breakers" all Johnny bottled up in said big house.

When viewing porn, Samantha does tend to "back wind" the G on G action, so I'm not thinking this is a big heart ache for the Jack jail bird, rather, I sense a "good reason to party" at play (in conjunction with her roving fingers it would seem), and do what you want to do.

It's a good story, I guess, though not that sure how I really feel about it (I've heard it about twenty times in the last two days -- "I was so scared, it was dark, and she was in my ear saying, 'don't be afraid, just be open, be open, be open,' that's all she would say..." Not sure that is much in the way of demanding, sounds like a bit of a Jack bird "so then I had to," moment).

Still trying to get her to draw me a map of exactly what "it started, and evolved from a lot of kissing, deep kissing," actually means.

She's doing alright though. I'm going to meet said "be open" next week some time.

Durant "file in the cake" Hapke

Brothers, and Sisters,

I'm all about it, I can't jump back from some new color action. After so much gray, I crave the Jack bird full palette of what can be.

Bring it on, now.

More about recent trip to "Sun City West" and the mosh pit of calamity that unfolded around me. Perhaps some of this color is all desert. I can't make that much sense of any of it.

Flying machines are on it, little gas engines whirling away, choking smoke, spitting sparks, and darting about.

I'm onto a chain-saw action pack next I'm thinking, a full on horny "bring the curves round for service," kind of what if.

Chicks do dig vibrating devices -- penny pony rides out side the grocery store get them all started young -- later, the alien red vibes with all manner of "buzz" ready action calls to them.

Avoiding a deep mechanical relationship is possible, but why?

Our ancestors worked themselves literally to death to bring us the wheel and SketchUp, so we should be willing and happy to fornicate with our creations.

I have a magical feeling about this, a deep sense of self flows through me when I am in the presents of great complex machines.

I want to get it on with them, and lubricate their deep inner truths.

Durant "hand me my tools" Hapke

Flash Fbertels,

The first tin bridge had me thinking about desert... like a barrie kind of deal.

This, more a main course. Of and about expressing bring it creative, more then what? I so dig the action.

Your on it, and I'm digging the Jack bird transmissions.

Durant "fish flats" Hapke

Brothers, and Sisters,

So, helicopters are the flavor of the day, that and Colt bring the stone age.

For my pose from back in the day, I got a long lost call from "M3" last night, looking for some instructional videos on self lubrication, so I provided.

In the corse of the chat, we pondered back to the stink day.

Found said recollections, so am posting again for those who have missed said experience:

Jack bird bring it.

This friend, "M Cube," we called him (Marvin Michael Moore, was his name, but his mom divorced his spin bucket "D," and took back her maiden action which was something like Morony, but we all said, Moony, hence four M's), who was into Godzilla like a Jack Bird crack monkey (he always talked about an underground Godzilla porno that he claimed to have seen on a trip Spin Daddy took him on to streets of San Francisco China Town -- the big lizard doing it crazy with his scaled fillies -- plowing rock star with his man dragon -- crushing buildings, while radioactive genetic soup sputtered out from the "little brains" nestled between his big stumpy legs, and plasma beams, brought down airliners filled with screaming passengers... Awesome. Never got to check it out though).

Anyway, the M Cube got bit in the finger by Mister Snaps, his sisters cat.

Mr. Snaps was nice, but for some reason on this one day, he had the notion that it was big fun to just throw down, and go WWF on the middle finger of M4's handy hand, and one of the critters big front teeth went on through the nail -- creating a perfectly round hole just above the cuticle -- not that big, but deep, like it was made by Black and Decker. The blood came out slow, and was inky black.

Ouch -- His Morony Mom made him soak it in a paper cup of alcohol -- I remember him kind of sweating, and turning all oatmeal like. Jump back pain.

So it healed after a bit, and we just went on our marry drawing, and bugging his sisters friends way ("Fine little Beth birdie, you want some seeds?").

Then a week or so after the big "chomp" we decided to play a bit of twenty one, shoot a few hoops, here at this drive.

The sun was out, it was blue sky awesome. A few dudes from down the block joined in. It was going killer, I think a few conspiratorial cold ones were had.

The game heats up, I'm getting set to throw -- a set shot from the curb... then whew! What the funk? What is that funky funk funk stink?

I mean I'm smelling stank, stinky stank, stank -- deep thick oder, like death perhaps, or Tokyo crushing lizard bowels, it's all bad, and it's wafting off the ball...

The B-Ball is the funk source...

Your guts want to run, but your head, says "let me take another whiff of that horrid stink," so I put my nose right onto the ball surface, and "mother of God, this thing is totally polluted, the rankest of rank vapor is here."

I flip the ball to Johnny O, and he pulls a snoot full into his head, "Crap! That's awful, so rankin' awful stinky!"

The dude nearly hurls, drops the ball, and lays down on the yard.

The Cube is all, "DH, take the shot!"

Sister Beth, and friends are trickling out to watch us now -- lining there cute young cut off jeans sporting back sides up on the concrete steps.

"Shoot, dude!"

It's important to keep the man hormones pumping.

We toss a few more buckets, but it's hard to keep going as the stink is growing.

I notice the Cubes sisters, squinting, and taking in the air -- still hot of course, but looking a bit like they're illing.

"Jacky, Jack, Jack Bird, Jack, the whole stink action is killing me!"

"What is the story here?"

Then it all unravels...

M Cube drops the ball...

The world comes into sharp focus, and it is crystal...

Marvin Michael Moore Marony, lifts his hand to his face, and sniffs his finger -- "Oh, dude..."

He's instantly copy paper white, staggers forward, and fights off a tumble.

Of corse, he's my Water Clown drawing friend, I head right over to have a look look -- I scope out a bit of weird paste on his middle finger, and as I start to register this, the Cube takes hold of the finger with his other hand, and squeezes -- "Holy mother of Godzilla!"

The little hole on the back of his nail erupts -- I mean like he's jack working a tube of Crest -- a thick train of caky white calk coils out of the fissure, and just keeps coming, and coming, and now it's dropping onto the drive, and down goes the M Cube -- collapsing in a cloud of spooy zoo cage drain stench.

Mom Morony runs out, and 911 gets a jingle.

I hit the shower, and burn through a entire bar of Irish Spring.

So, what happened? The crazy cat tooth, had punctured this funky tube like lining that tendons run threw deep inside the wiggly finger, so this bit of infection got trapped with in (Oh, that's a rotten root), and after simmering in there a good long bit, it built up the necessary "pus fund" to transform the digit into a stinky stew dispenser.

And that it was.

Durant "print it again" Hapke

Excellent Ecofeco,

NIce.

I want to throw a rock at it.

Durant "bring the yard birds" Hapke

Brothers, and Sisters,

Jack bird bring it on.

As a fly or flying device -- sadly, without better batteries.

Durant "wind bumper" Hapke

B&S,

CC.

DH

Cannon Master Tomislavm,

Right on, it basically says "this is a great cannon model, and if it was real, one might use it to shoot alien space craft (UFO's) from the skies, and destroy the alien life forms within."

These "aliens" are widely known as "Grays" because of there pollard skin color (or more precisely the lack of it).

I call them "meat puppets" as they are very "Mindless" as individuals, and only do real "thinking, and decision making" when they are in groups of three or more.

I can provide more information on how we as the people of earth can work to stop the invasions of these aliens if you would like, just let me know.

Durant "it's for the betterment of man" Hapke

Brothers, and Sisters,

Jack bird turned this hack hog on it's bottom noggin, came up a bit of a worlds fair kind of action.

So I say.

So, Mr. Solo, I was once in a party mode in your neck of the woods.

Great bar food in the big "D," and, brother, like the spice of Dune, the beer did flow.

I was all about hooking with this long lost friend who was an art student at Southern Methenfedimines University, I think something like the "Bob Hope I was on television once theater" or some action, and he got me all turned onto the local fair.

We got some oyster poor boys at a place called the S&D Oyster bar, and I will tell you this, that was the best sandwich I have ever gobbled -- by far, and I've been to New Orleans (that party city is a bit over rated in my book and a lot of grays hide there, the locals know all about this -- kind of like traitors I think).

Now there where nice simple girls walking that campus that said friend referred to as "bowes heads," I thought this was a little Bo Peep kind of a deal, but whatever the case the company was fine, and very fine.

Somehow or another we got to working the city all this way and that, and ended up at the big Mosquito Rodeo, I think it was, and pulled beer from a plastic mug, and put that funky Copenhagen in our lips and gums...

Head rushing?

Like rushing to the can to leak big fluid lung pipe on some rodeo clowns dung crusted jumbo yellow shoes.

I still have a scar.

Durant "I'm tobacco putty" Hapke

Into it Ithil,

Bring it.

I've partied here, no?

Yeah, it's a rocking alien reception area -- that first part anyway.

I think this "film" is clearly your attempt to further incite the Grays to make their way here, as the shapes featured in the video screams "aliens with licenses to abduct humans welcome here -- Please enjoy a complementary packet of earth pornography."

This also reminds me of a night club designed to provide an environment for the meat puppets to party with human hot curves, and implant them with gray fleshed, non-individual, crotch goblins, because we want access to just the kind of technologies featured in this presentation.

My plan for undermining this assault is to hand out free drinks to the hordes, as they can not handle there liquor. Please join me in this hugely important act of prevention.

Thank you for letting me in on all your up to.

And the part in the gym? The part when the camera rises up into the space above the lights, that looks like part of that old movie COMA. Perhaps your suggesting the Grays are indeed causing each of us to slip into some kind of coma... Very interesting, I will Jack bird consider this.

I'm all about that.

Durant "bring the surf guitar" Hapke

Total Tomislavm,

Bring it.

I so dig the cannon action -- fire!

This hog will be of great assistance in combating the inevitable invasion of the Grays (jack bird mindless meat puppets -- though advanced, you know they can not hatch a single thought on they're own -- And they can't drink, not a drop. Half a tall boy gets them so shit face they can't manage to motor they're craft properly -- yeah, I'm talking Roswell. And did you know, they call earth beer something like: Billsk-umill-fulls Plim).

Please lure clusters of Grays into your home with booze and adult films, beat them senseless and call the authorities. If we all do this enough, we might save the planet.

Durant "light the fuse" Hapke

Fire Ball Fbartels,

Bring it.

This is Jack bird working.

I do dig the flesh pipe feel of the structure.

It has a vibe, I'm remembering something, a health class in high school -- yeah, and a sixteen millimeter film we all had to watch about bad Jack cough monkeys all caught up in a coil of fallopian tubing, or some kind of deal. It was all a big warning.

I'd party here, it's rocking.

Durant "climb the pole" Hapke

Brothers, and Sisters,

Bite a big bug and feel the timeless double "Z."

Yeah, that's what it's all about.

My first new construction in a good long long while, but what the heck it's in spired by H.I.M. -- The band so kicks it.

His Infernal Majesty -- yeah, baby, that's the action I built this corps grinder to.

Bring it, and eat a big sandwich.

The moral? Go get some.

Be it.

Be it.

Be the funk.

Be the earl of funk land.

Enjoy a nice bun sandwich, and don't forget to work it.

Durant "flying the flag of victory over darkness" Hapke

Ocean going Thaatiba,

Killer boat action, the curling clouds are rich.

It reminds me a good bit of being on the open sea in Zelda: The Wind Waker.

You ever play that hog? It's workable, sweet looking, not as massively rock star as Ocarina of Time (If you do one thing in this life, chomp down on Ocarina, it's transcendental -- hit it), but more acid trip.

Enjoy a tasty sandwich, please.

Durant "storm fan" Hapke

Rocking Remus,

Space is always good, so Jack bird bring that action.

You clearly know all about the meat puppets, and their dark intentions.

Our technologies are so utterly feeble... it's such a joke -- they will have their way with us in the end.

Hope?

Yeah, I drink a few tall boys and hope springs back into focus.

I've warned about the pending interplanetary attack of the Grays back in the day, on the old sketch up site, and of corse often over on the AT boards many times (I've taken out those adds out on the local coupon rag), and yet my words seem to continuously fall on deaf ears (as we are all busy with our personal lives, making crap, and eating).

This being the case, the truth is, without an honest dialog about prevention, we are doomed.

Dig deep into your closets, basements, and garages, and harvest up all the old pornography you have stashed away, and have it at the ready for further instruction.

Fill the liquor cabinets and be on the alert.

Durant "behind the moon" Hapke

Brothers, and Sisters,

Not to attach an endless hose of "done this" back on the pipe, but here's a last funk jobber of the mechanism I thought I would share.

I may have mentioned it before, but I built this model while under the influence of Charmed -- yeah, the television show (and a log with bourbon)

That one sister gets all "I have to retire here." However, one of the others is all in the gym, and I'd invite her to my crash crib most sandwich gladly.

And, while I might have reported this a bit back in the day, let me continue with this truth:

I have a hand crank pencil sharpener here (like back in school, it fills with soft dirty shavings), and I'm trusting we'd get around to a point where sister three could work it. Take that handle, and grind it.

Here's a bit of lotion to help you get a nicer grip. Now grind, and sharpen.

Now, the eraser end.

That's it. Turn it. And don't be shy, just bring it!

Push the point, and light a Camel.

Smoking is bad, but oh, just an occasional is no worse then pumping petrol into your ride.

So bring a lighter.

Durant "car wash coupon" Hapke

Prop Flipping Bryden,

Bring it.

I'm down, with this -- inspiring.

I've not Jacked a plane yet.

It's the bomb -- or drops a bomb -- I just have to bust out a sandwich, and bring it.

Bring a bun.

Bring a bun, you sandwich revolutionary .

Be the bun, and bring it...

You are a funky air doctors.

Durant "touch the ground" Hapke

Futuristic Fbartels,

I'm all down with this action. Very killer.

Very 1960s vibe to me for some reason -- in the very best of ways...

I'm all into the notions of that time -- the abstract expressionist movement is all rocking on.

This has a bit of a James Rosenquist deal going on -- perhaps yeah?

I really Jack bird dig that Jim Dine cat... Nice... But the bug kicker in my book is all Robert Motherwell.

Yeah.

You have brought is.

Durant "black paint" Hapke

Tiger Top Todd,

Bring the insight, my brother, bring it hot, and smoking.

So, on that, your brain photo of said DH life is quite right on, right on -- a pie slice, thin but tasty, but no hand rolled for me (other then raw fish), I'm all a Camels shorts robot.

Coffee: Black -- Drinks: Neat -- Smokes: Short -- and Stakes: Blue.

Regarding my vanes? That tap of commerce?

It's a bit complex, and evolving, but it's kind of a disappointment management deal.

I woke up once, and found this lame student in the mirror -- the dude was working a con, and everything scared him.

He could make money, but didn't know how to spend it, and just as strange, could not conceive of the value of "now."

One day, while waiting for "what comes next," he "accidently" and without warning, channeled a bit of the outer collective, and wrote an odd theorem on one of those subscription cards that always fall out from between the pages of Playboy -- he had a neat stack of said cards in the bathroom, in a drawer he kept his tooth paste in.

How he happened to have that card at hand?

A women on the card had caught his eye while he was foam grinding his molars before heading off to class, a women sporting green panties and a garter belt -- the kind of women, he would never date, talk to, or even meet.

So he's got a pen in his hand and this sad Jack bird smart lame dude, all worried about his GPA, his blemishes, his car, his hair, his shoes, watch, he writes on this Playboy prescription card the first meaningful thought he'd ever had:

Reality (God) = 00, and 00 = 2.

He read this over and over for the next twenty odd hours. Thought about it, and where it came from -- had he read it? -- heard it? -- dreamt it?

He knew it had meaning, but it all escaped him.

As best he could, he pondered the swell of the women in greens intimidating rack -- the way the straps of her push up laced over her soft shoulders -- the subtle cleft they rendered in that creamy white skin...

Yeah, baby, 00 = 2.

Then I showed up and kicked his lame "insecurity feeder top" ass out of the apartment, I kicked him out of school, and I took the Playboy prescription card with his formula; I know what it means.

So, in short, I slam dance life for a living, brother, and try and remember not to be lame.

Durant "AC" Hapke

PS -- I see a women in green, you can be Jack bird sure I'm buying her a drink -- that's how double zed rolls.