ogmusebunker-blog

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Awareness, transformation, conscious integration, preparing for the inevitable not yet obvious.

Individuation journeys intersect, overlap, engage, avoid and bypass just to get through life which confounds most people when not torturing us with emotional switchbacks and ornamental bewilderments meant to detain us, imprisoned by our enemies, routed out by each nemesis along the way ..

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Messy morning

Clouds in the sky

Never talking

Just keeps walking

Seldom made of bear. The wizard is near. No one is happy. Never talking just keeps walking who's in charge of his madness or yours or mine for what it's worth who can tell / call of the death knell

Trying within seconds/powers that be/ what you won't see/in a brown suit Apollo holds drudgery keys/a far-fetched roundabout/never knows

Which way the wind blows / neverending passage / divine right of armsistage/ cherished like a child

Until the next storm abates

Quality hand picked dilemmas

Testing the powers that will mere happenstance into being on a reich studded stage stars only come out at night

We befuddled you

It was

after all

on the tip

of our

tongue

Designed

to designate

who's

to be true

Who gets the

Guillotine

Whose guile

Wins the market cadmium

Oh yeah

Since you've been gone

[ogmusebunker-blog]

We revisit the other dimensions in the second volume first edition

Crash land™ end of world 2933 crashing in all around mankind, who simply ran out of time, sufficiently warned, some random bad luck, still intervention of the gods cannot be disproven any more than sea people don't sleep under water in worlds that guard the fjords

Mr kit te koram, officiate ombudsman whose moral compass won him this thanks less gig after being master of domain number 44. Co Manager of soul spill operations he slept with his boss she used his pheromones to good effect.

Tinker third act

The lady is a tramp

Jr henchman he's a vampire

Get eway with slipping their grasp

Seems like dream time Julia coley ridge loved you back

Couldn't help it

That lasts 4 to 6 years of you're lucky you get real love and til death is something for which i have no remorse we have had rocky times oh yeah

After crash landing...

[ogmusebunker-blog]

The

Extraterrestrial in baudelaire's time ?

We are the seventh generation X living.

[ogmusebunker-blog]

The Antonio Regalado 's Window - Vicente Gandia

Spanish , 1935-2009

Acrylic on canvas , 200 x 150 cm.

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Pretty little baby

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Time was relative and with no absolutes to anchor the passage, frittering away became de rigeur as no one required work anymore.

Still she wanted to fix her ride and for the miserable gnome to stop talking about his myriad of complaints, no ice cream, no fact checking, no labor regulations to renege on to cheat the worker.

He just wouldn't leave always imagining some fun would take place without him or his sugar would be consumed or his tobacco road closed

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Charting a course for disaster, Miss Doodlebug found no viable options for imminent despair. The die had been cast a long time ago. All hope was lost at approximately ten thirteen in the morning which was odd since daylight almost always brought optimism and a can do not never will attitude amongst the sour putty ranks. Mankind had signed the treatise of doom, turning pages throughout history ending on 2356.

Not a particularly good year and certainly a few billion early based on master sun's presumed dilation

I suppose "global warming," on FasTrack, accelerated disregard for what made humans good starting around the shift away from decency begun as a grudge by those with less capacity for breakthrough trajectories and invariably lead to the wrath of lesser wraiths, the kind that never lets up until the breaker dies and this ugly never relents, doesn't want to give in, that would mean surrendering to the better half. So instead the least common deliquency took over and the dumbest of the dumb were given the keys to the castle while the brightest and best rotted in jail cells on rikers and Alcatraz opened by Dr chump to incarcerate those good people before any more good could be let out, unleashed upon a nuclear winter instigated by the Putin Trump detente where two subpar intelligences with Machiavellian aspirations yet lacking the actually ability to be such a smart and ruthless leader. Instead each supposed strongman had their own tactics for revealing their low Intelligence quotient. Putin while more intelligent than Trump in basic measurements, lacked, in absolute terms, any empathy whatsoever. But his source was the absence of care instituted

By the society of Soviet completion. On the other hand, his most lethal enemy was a giant glob of unrestrained consumption formerly inhabited by a spoiled rich kid whose

Slumlord father paid for his friends, subsidized all habits and made sure he always had a blow up doll as companion since his son was incapable of conversing with an actual woman only plastic surgery speak for surly with snatched scowls and painted on shadows to demarcate her borrowed accolades, speaks nine languages, does calculus

For fun, a hobby she keeps, her sanity dependent on derivatives in space.

Her conscience was clear never better always clever. Bagania the bag lady of Dubiousnia a mythical land where women are models and men buy beauty pageants, kill former associates in inventive ways and pretend to have a modicum of class which they mistake for money amassed from the failed slots, belly up golf course properties in hurricane, tornado and flood zones worldwide. A floating disaster of catestrophic proportions watching alien spaceships take off and land from the roof of the Vatican.

Mankind had an expiration date but jumped ship early. Our weak mental congruity and lack of moral aptitude had turned into the perfect petri dish for a species on epic fail trajectory blowing itself up upon impact hell not even waiting for the collision with harder stuff but imploding from the conflicting forces within the mind and soul of man. It had been written a long time ago and fools rushed in, collaborated on a ruse to reverse engineer utopia found in a Sanskrit how to on perfection of society. They never made it. The Mayans took off with mercurial mandalas from hinterlands of the far pleasantries quadrant roughly north by northwest of the star Betty hill drew on a map in New Hampshire 88 years ago

Mankind had one last chance according to the physicists in charge of modality and Earth's best case. Then came the psychiatrists of pain who regulated the Earth's crust which meant tapering off the particularly belligerent magma, creating new Hawaiian islands to build leper colonies well into the twenty second century, the year is 2163.

Within under a hundred years, you'll all be dead they said.

Somehow, Fawn Litmus found all this out during the eleventh hour which was July 31, 2164.

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Hard at It - James Guthrie Scottish 1859-1930 James Guthrie paints himself on a French beach, painting. Not for him trellissed terraces or the Empress Eugenie: this one of The Glasgow Boys is crouched behind his umbrella, his face less important than his activity. The picture’s surface looks as though it has been laid on with a trowel. Perhaps it was. To drive the point home, Guthrie calls the work Hard at It.

[ogmusebunker-blog]

The Morning Paper  -  James Guthrie  1890

Scottish 1859-1930

The Fine Art Society, London

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Nasturtiums in Green Bottle 2 - Kerri Kerley , 2021.

Australian b. ?

Oil on canvas , 51 x 51 cm.

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Women Outlaws #1-8 (1948-1949), with, unfortunately, uncredited cover art.

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Black Sabbath (Vertigo, 1970), with cover photography and design by Keef (Keith Stuart Macmillan). Cover model: Louisa Livingstone.

R.I.P. Ozzy.

[ogmusebunker-blog]

[ogmusebunker-blog]

Sunlight filtering through some trees

[ogmusebunker-blog]

It was hard not to employ a catastrophic attitude these days with the word apocalypse being mentioned 42 times in the last 3 hours.

It was just another craptastic zombie series, after all, one more among the many gorging on the over-washed theme of end times.

Bleak and omnipresent, like trenchcoats after Columbine, the mimes threw around the A word like cotton candy at the State Fair. The post-post-apocalyptic freaks sportin' their Sunday best: the inescapable padded shoulder fiascos heralding from the halls of mold carbon dating back to 1986.

Firmament lockers drip neon spray- painted-on tags to harken the latest Armageddon-sponsored death match, where the four horsemen, gluttonous with despair, stoking an insatiable appetite for disaster, deliver acrimonious predictions from their patchwork armchairs of doom.

The truth of the matter was the apocalypse was a revelation of light bearing down on all the darkness in the beaten world. Light years away from relentless decay, the end was not yet in sight, despite the prince of darkness having passed through earlier tonight ...

She ought to return under better circumstances but this simply could not be done in the current situation where doom had settled in on her like dead weight from a picnic, or a heckler you can't shake or the secret defiler no admirer among the trenches calling forth all that is wrong with the little girl blue with library books overdue.

Everyone just wanted to be loved then they wanted some sort of vanity tribe to vindicate their trials and tribulations verifying the necessity of suffering that mankind seems addicted to like opiates and alcohol, benzos or nicotine, their own egos and the adoration of the masses clinging to your limited vocabulary, whose tag words you repeat with such nauseating regularity that even the pundits are bored.

The very ugly-mouthed man has taken to falling back on the word beautiful as his preferred descriptor way more often than anyone should. The model-hovering crotchety old creep has been over-using the word to describe everything from cumbersome legislature designed to make the rich richer and the poor more reticent towards each sniveling patriotic disclaimer, to old women with lots of money. As such, the hoard citing a favorable report card for roughing up the looks different, blaming the taking our means of making a living, and replacing it with the gold-plated methodology for making a killing - platinum escalators adorning every tower in Moscow, home grown drones on every corner in Iowa and beautiful bounty wherever you look, big beautiful boneyards of death and destruction delivered by the architects of greed, lies and misery coming soon to a theater near you.

Like Jaws before it, this summer blockbuster will make you afraid to go into the water. This epic saga will show you the king of the jungle, sea and desert. The king of your domain, taking your rights to your kingdom and replacing it with a fiefdom of arbitrary favor doled out on Tuesdays so the free thinkers can be branded naysayers and hauled off to the supreme jurisdiction of silence where dissenters are sent to apartheid Alley where truth goes to die.

Georgia Orville was there sniggering the way she does at 88 years old, it's just hearsay but it's alive and well. Don't tell

[ogmusebunker-blog]

#blackmoldgang rise up