skulzwerks

  It's time to concede ... failure. It's okay to fail. Should one never try then one might never know the sting resulting from failure. Failure can set one on a different path that leads to success or some crap like that there. Failure is not an option ... hooey, failure is always an option. Might not be an intended goal but failure is always right there waiting for just the right moment to spring into action or inaction as a case may require. So of course failure is always an option. Embrace the failure ... learn from that failure ... then move on for hell sakes there's no need to dwell on the subject. Now for Thursday machine art. Oh yes and all the pending ceasefires are called off and it's back to all out warfare wherever you might care to look. Almost leaves any American wondering what the fuck is wrong with dementia j trumpf ... dealing - azteca - wonders - gather - went - uprise - norma - cure - amerika has become a nation of failure ... just have a hard look at ...

The U.S. Agriculture Secretary, one Brooke Robbins, rebuked a Texas Agriculture Secretary, one Sid 'greasy' Miller, for informing Texas cattle ranchers to ignore the newly named screwworm plague because if the news breaks about screwworms in Texas beef cattle, well, the cost to ranchers and the State of Texas would be astronomical. Astronomical is a really big word rarely used by Texas agriculture commissioners and ranchers that stands in for their usual "bullsheet" response. Anyway Secretary Robbins seemed just a snidge pissy with her Texas counterpart and informed old 'greasy' that his stance was really "not helping" and furthering a growing panic regarding Texas cattle, beef cattle, cattle all together which got a cheer from the vegans, and of course Oprah Winfrey on account of her dust up with the Texas beef people that happened some years back. On the upside of all this cattle bullshit, AG Sec Robbins stated, while in Texas, that the Department ...

  Our world is on fire. Wild fire burning across cities, towns, nations, continents, and people stand around and watch. Shocking? Possibly but given the brain dead if not comatose posture of journalism outlets and any number of social media sites, brain dead is more than a little spot on. The president of these United States is out of his god damn mind and that's not just being snarky. The fool is psychiatrically unhinged and growing worse by the day. I'm not about to get into a rehash of all the "antics" highlighted by trumpf. Congress is dead. Dead in the water and sinking faster than the Titanic after the ship was captained into an iceberg. There were of course survivors but not so many. The Speaker of the House, one Mikey mike Johnson, is the single worst offender out of about 435 possible candidates for asshole milquetoast vermin of the century designation. As for the Supreme Court of these United States, well, there has never been a more corrupt, politically ind...

  Trumpf pulled another one of his theatrical hissy fits during an interview on NBC's Meet The Press. Insulted the moderator displaying his usual juvenile hostility towards any woman with brains and then the dumb ass got up and walked off the program. Viewers got to see a side of trumpf that is rarely seen on television. But seeing is believing. Now is America convinced? I seriously doubt it. But maybe. America has a rather short attention span and outside of serious political junkies, not very many Americans watch Sunday 'in depth reporting' programs. There are "other more important things" to get busy with on a Sunday morning. Keeping informed is not high on regular Americans to do list. Anyway, trumpf continues his crude and boorish behavior as well as falling asleep during one of his cabinet meetings. Broadcast almost without commercial interruptions on Thursday last. I think one of his flunkies should kick his chair next time the fucker goes nighty night napp...

  Alastair the portrait -

The Aesthetic Burden Act I: The High Life and the View The glass rod clicked against the crystal of Alistair’s negroni, a sharp, solitary sound that seemed to dictate the silence of the entire canyon. On the sprawling, brutalist concrete terrace of his estate, the morning sun did not rise so much as it was permitted to enter. Below him, the jagged teeth of the desert mountains usually dominated the landscape, but here, the horizon behaved like a well-trained hound. As Alistair took a slow sip of the bittersweet, blood-red liquor, the distant ridges artificially sank and flattened out. The earth itself literally bowed down, dropping its posture to ensure his panoramic view of the valley remained completely unmarred, uninterrupted, and perfectly level with his gaze. The air on the terrace was thick, smelling faintly of ozone, dry desert dust, and an expensive, suffocating cologne. Alistair stood motionless, wrapped in a bespoke Italian suit that didn't just reject the harsh morning l...