On Internet Ghettos

 

Hello internet,

Internet ghettos very often, are one of two things. They are safe lullaby chambers where one will coo while being soothed with only what is ideologically acceptable to them, or heavily fortified keeps where one can rage with little hope of affecting change. I would also add that the Internet ghetto, for the truly deranged, acts as a mirrored echo chamber base of operations from which the user’s image is repeatedly thrust into the matrix and reflected back at them. Desperate pleas such as “Look at me, look at me, look at me!” reverberate throughout the system, add infinitum.  What shall we do now?


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What about a holiday? I have always taken breaks for social media, mainly to create new work, but since 2013, the breaks have become longer and more contemplative. It’s funny how clear things can become, both internally and externally, once you pull the matrix plug out of your ass and start walking in the waking world again. I won’t say that disengaging from the system is a cure for all ailments, but it’s a start, and when you reenter the internet ghetto of your choice, either for leisure or necessity, you see the construct for what it is and not what it appears to be.

 

 


For information and availability concerning the Apoko-Lips series click here.  For information on my current selection of art feel free to contact me via my website. 


 

Until next time,

ckirk4

CKirk

⇑⊕ ckirkart.com ⊕⇓

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The Tale Of Moby Dickhead: A heart warming story of life finding a way despite evolution

The Tale Of Moby Dickhead

A heart warming story of life finding a way despite evolution

Story & art by Ckirk

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The reader should imagine the story read by acclaimed English Actor and narrator John Hurt.

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If the reader doesn’t like Selection John Hurt or simply prefers an american accent, the reader may substitute acclaimed American actor and narrator Morgan Freeman

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If the reader dislikes both Selection Morgan Freeman and Selection John Hurt, feel free to substitute who you will.
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Peter Cushing, Jeremy Brett, Tony Clifton or Jim Henson’s muppet, Super Grover, could all be excellent selections.

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 If the reader’s dislikes all options due to being too patriotic or conservative (See above group) due to heavily imprinted domestic/territorial reality tunnels , then he or she should not bother reading the story as sentiment, theme, and moral will not register.

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There was once a magnificent sperm whale that propelled through the oceans of the world, mouth agape and fat from ingesting an immeasurable genocide of miniscule plankton.  In fact this whale was by far the fattest, most magnificent of whale’s and  he mated annually with an untold magnitude of sea cows.  Where aquatic copulation was concerned, this deity-like mammal didn’t even bother to stay within the bounds of his own species and frequently mounted any thing that he happened upon in the current.  In fact, contrary to popular belief, on April 15, 1912, the Titanic did not collide with an iceberg prior to sinking.  No, the “Unsinkable Ship” simply charted the wrong course then unfortunately, met and was dwarfed by the behemoth’s lust.

Yes, life was good for the god of whale’s, too good one might say.  After racking up an untold surplus of time, gluttony and excess, the whale became ungrateful for his gifts and the daily bounty  he effortlessly vacuumed down to sustain his girth.  The whale cared nothing for his scores of lesser sons that permeated the seven seas, wouldn’t remember the cows who birthed them, nor was he bothered by the occasional vessel he sunk during the age of man.  After centuries of care-free reign, the gods, nature, the universe, or maybe a coalition of the great forces had a cruel joke in store for this mighty beast.

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It was a day like any other and as usual, the hefty mammoth plowed through the currents weightless and hungry.  The whale was just coming up to full speed when his body began to jerk and periodic tugs pulled him backward, only for a moment at first, but the violent tug o’ war motion soon brought the god of whale’s to a halt.  The beast panicked as he quickly began to sink.  He then felt a burning sensation deep in the upper and lower areas of his body.  Two pairs of cystic abscesses rose and then began to pulsate all while the whale sunk deeper and deeper toward the ocean floor.  Suddenly four small appendages burst forth from the swollen boils and the pounding pressure exploded outward into the ocean creating a scarlet aura that soon surrounded the sperm whales massive body.

The whale was sated with a temporary relief after the eruptions ceased and the cysts were emptied.  He had not yet discovered his four new un proportionate appendages and the disadvantage they foreshadowed.  Mustering all his remaining strength, the whale pulled himself upward to air which was an element the god of whale’s rarely needed to partake in.  Just then, the beast found he was quickly being submerged once again.  It was as if an even mightier beast such as Jormungandr pulled with powerful jaws clamped tightly around his wide fluke.  The whale felt twenty tiny digits wiggling frantically.  The small chorus of movement surprisingly was composed of ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes on two tiny hands and two tiny feet divided between two tiny arms and two tiny legs.  Could this be the whale’s defeat?  Most likely so but hang on, we’ll see, you never know.

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Suddenly it sounded as if thunder was brewing, slowly at first it rumbled and then rolled until the roll became louder and louder.  After a few seconds the ominous grumble met the end of its line and fired forth a name that was less than divine.  “MOBY DICKHEAD” exploded throughout the whales mind!  It flashed electric time after time.  The name boomed and cracked again and again.  It was mighty as if Thor Odinson himself had sent his hammer flying.  “MOBY DICKHEAD” echoed on loop all while the whale blurred, doubled and drooped.  .

The whale felt the thing in his head swell up larger in front.  Panicked, he tried to remember the movement that would carry him up.  His fins and fluke were no longer enough so he wiggled his twenty tiny digits and waved his four new appendages.  By then his exhaustion was far too great and his senses overloaded by the new sensations that threw themselves upon him.  In spite of the whale’s best effort to hold fast his underwater world grew black

Something familiar and wet, lapped his fluke.  the whale’s eyes opened slowly centered in their fat surroundings.  Perception was blinding and black dots danced around his vision.  He saw  small feathered things flapping about. A grainy, itchy substance irritated his pale underparts. Just then the forsaken whale became aware of a sense of small movements.  It was his newly formed appendages finding their way underneath his marooned body and his twenty tiny digits scratching away at the reachable irritant.  Despite this small achievement, the whale found his body was dry and he could hardly move.

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The fire traveled slowly across the great blue overhead until it was hidden by the waves and the pale rock that governed the tides appeared in light’s absence.  This pattern took place many times before the whale’s deep hunger set his new big brain into action.  The small feathered things still flapped about and were never far from sight.  Moby Dickhead raised his jaw and let it hang agape and motionless.  After a while the feathery things flocked inside and used the whale’s great teeth as posts to rest upon.  It was only a few at first and despite the annoyance of their pecking and pooping, Moby knew he had to be patient.  After a short while, more and more congregated inside the whale’s open mouth.

Finally there were enough for a meal and after realizing this Moby Dickhead let his upper jaw drop and lock! Feathers were flung and floated about the ivory cage.  The things flew circles in panic!  Their screeches added to the pandemonium.  With much effort the whale flopped his heavy pink tongue up and down, resting each time in between the range of motion.  Eventually, all the feathery things were either knocked about, crushed to pulp, or hurled down the wide tunnel of the whale’s throat.  The newly acquired big brain was of some use finally and his life was sustained for a bit.  The waves still systematically splashed his fluke and throughout the day washed more and more of his depleted body.  During the drier parts of passing, the new appendages moved where they could and his twenty tiny digits brushed and scratched away his irritants.

The newly acquired big brain could also be a curse.  Now a static creature, Moby Dickhead was often troubled by boredom and his new understanding of the events that had occurred.  He wasn’t above longing for his former glory either.  He concocted many theories that would’ve explained what brought about his down fall and almost daily he would find himself prey to dark moods.  Feeding in the manner mentioned above would help with these negative brain storms and afterward Moby Dickhead would be grateful that he had at least found a way to eek out an existence.  The stupid feathery things he consumed daily would have to do until the gods, nature, the universe, or a coalition of the great forces found him humbled and deserving enough to grant growth to his tiny appendages.  When these thoughts found their way into the light, Moby Dickhead would dream of a day when he could walk the earth and search out more suitable sustenance.

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The End!

1 hope you enjoyed reading The Tale Of Moby Dickhead as much as 1 enjoyed writing it.  Feel free to leave comments.  Also, be sure to tune in Wednesday, July 1st because next week’s blog post, Follow The Purple Cube,  focuses on the first Apoko – Lips piece (Detail image below) created in over two months and offers you some of my favorite ebooks by different authors for free.

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Until next time,

Ckirk

ckirkart.com