it's back again

[Sepia]

ah, but it's good.

my engrish isn't as good as it should've been and i need the grammar education.


thanks L.

[LMNO]

No problem.  It does lose a little something in the editing process, however.

IMO.

[Horab Fibslager]

So it's technically quite crap and the flow is good and the content is unmentionable?

well you wanted ffedback on teh grammar dude, flow has mroe to do with grammar than content,btu the cotndet has gripped my hearstrings and yanked upon them violently until i am naught but a quiovering mass of tears and and unending wailing.

[Sepia]

The library asked for God.

God said, no, I've left it. It's not coming back and neither am I.  Why should I come back? You don't love me even though I am your creator. You create your own false idols to worship. I gave you life, mind and spirit. I GAVE YOU FUCKING EVERYTHING. Yet you don't even thank me. My son died. I'd never have done it. You've become separated from the world I made for you. You don't feel the way you should have felt because your wars and racistic tendencies have brought you down. When you see my son hanging nailed on a cross you don't really feel anything, you just academically analyze what happened around 30 ad. You shrug and say he was a good man. You compare him to Che in every discussion you can.

You were headed for the godhead all of you but you forgot. You stopped feeling and what makes you feel is banned. Your brain isn't advanced enough to tackle the amounts of information you're creating every day. You get the bigger picture but you don't get the details + the picture. You're fumbling and the progress you make is pathetic. You were given a higher purpose and you abused it, hencely, I quit. Fuck you fucktards. You could've done it but you started creating "trends" and things that apparently hold high value because a big amount of people says that it holds high value. You're contributing to your own destruction in all ways but you won't realize it. You're dead. Your mortal husks walk around but noone cares about the spirit anymore.

da Vinci
Beethoven
Ibsen
Kafka


These are some people that believed and was spirit. You don't. Your strive for something ends whenever you feel like it. You have no drive, you have no pull, no need for anything other than that crap fucking junkfood you stuff into your fucking mouth every fucking day and the bible shows you watch every fucking day and the news about carrots and redwine being good when you've got cancer.

To sum it up, you live in fear. Every aspect of your lives are being controlled by fear. And those are the words that together with conformity is the new holy trinity.

Control
Fear
Conformity

CFC, CCF, FCC. It sounds like a drug doesn't it? So why don't you take drugs? Why are you afraid of breaking the law? Why are you afraid of old people in black robes and words written on papyrus? If you're smart you'll never get caugt.

Then the library said "I've tried, but everyone wants to fuck me over. The leftie kids stealing my books and the rightwingers only want to shut me down. I'm information, I'm one of the old gods still lingering here and they spit on me everyday."

Then God says: You have a choice. You always have a choice. If the choice leads to death, shouldn't that death signify a new life? The rite of passage would be the strongest rite of passage you ever passed, wouldn't it? You would kill everything you knew and you would die.
But you don't. You lie, cheat and hustle. If I still was your god I'd be fucking angry.

The arab smiled. He had tuned in to a conversation between god and the collected consciousness of The Library. He was wondering if he truly was on his way to become truly mad now.

[LMNO]

That was brilliant.

[Sepia]

And, crawling from the wreckage, they came. The minions, the hands of the land, the ordinaries. Each and everyone flashing guns, tireirons or dislodged parts from the airplane. They were in a state of mind, walking almost like zombies yet still retaining the intelligence in their eyes.

The mad arab viewed the planecrash from afar and was curious about the creatures heading out of the craft. They were an omen, surely, but an omen of what?

Everyone they passed by freaked out by the synchronized breathing and their hearts beating and their leader. Scarred humans were left scattered along the road, renaming all streets to destruction street. Some people saw hope after destruction had worked it's way through and others saw the total ruin and joined in, synchronizing.

Not talking. Breathing. Knowing what your team needed before they needed it. An attempt at a conscious hive mind.

They were nearing the city, dubbed by some fictionauts as City17, one of the old soviet industrial areas and now a fortress for the ruling world order. Or, more correctly, what was remaining of the world order. They marched to the City, improving their weapons and adding to the arsenal. Catapults and balistas were made, ammunition found and an entire army amassed.

The guards on the walls stood bewildered asking eachother what the fuck this was. Battle stations were assumed and some 3star general popped his head up along with his binoculars. He scanned the vast force knowing that everyone in the city was alive because they had not attacked yet. He browsed the forces, trying to find a leader person and then he saw a bunnyrabbit.

His laughter was mad, uncontrolled and made him an easy target. Before Darling Death collected him he uttered '...their leader is a bunneh...'



Next day, the children of fluffy assaulted and sacked City17.


The mad arab shifted in his seat. Had he seen the killing of a city or a rerun of monty python? Truly, this was madness.

[Horab Fibslager]

w00t!

and not jsut for teh reference!

[Sepia]

The words are listening.

The crucification for the masses shout uproar for blood and purple necks, deranged batmen lurking in the shadows like shadow messiahs like shadows, the shadows they are, were, or, were, put in there. The shadows are words but their batmen weapon derives flesh from bone and make bone succumb to steel. Love was never for the masses for love always needed sustenance and compassion. The world isn't being won by smart discussions on a tv program, it's being lost by potheads reading crowley and the illuminatus! and watching waking life on the telly.

The revolution isn't getting nearer because you read. The revolution isn't getting nearer. Because, you, YOU!, of all loved persons fear the revolution. You've theorized about it, thought about it and you plan to be miles away when the shit hits the fan. You don't want old ghosts coming back, haunting you and driving you insane enough to look at a lamppost and say that the lifebulb is god. You want to be insane enough to see the words and still make out a meaning you can pronounce to your friends.

You don't have the balls.

Inspire me he said. Inspire me for the love of god! My images are dreary and the words are fleeting. What is an artist without his spirit?

And suddenly, you can't switch the light on or off and you think that's weird and you think you get an "aha" experience but you don't. You've forgotten things. You went out of the loop. You skipped the basics because you're fucking savvy and fucking intelligent and fucking whatnot. You headed straight for room101 and didn't bother to rebel first.

You headed all straight for room101 for thoughtcrime. And you went there with your mates, there was a pack of you.

You don't listen unless it's being repeated over and over.

They stopped broadcasting subliminal messagin because they couldn't afford to pay for commercials during twenty years. Instead, they made the commercials longer and longer and soon you were only watching commercials. Defining your life from commercials.

The words on the screen are more important than the words your loved one makes when she writes I Love You on your stomach with 36 degrees celsius hot and fudgy chocolate.

You forgot two things which I hold as truest in the discordian fashion.

Two lines that should be read into your brain at the exact same time.

You are not a unique snowflake.
You are a unique snowflake.

The Anti-Jante and the Jante itself incorporated. You need to understand this. The basics about it aren't watching the yinyang.

You aren't breating. You're underwater.

[Sepia]

He came to me, at night only. He always said the same. He paraphrased it cleverly but the essence and meaning of the words were always the same.

I'm so tired of them, of all the fucking bunch, I gotta get away.

So, one day I asked him, where are you going to head off to?

And he turned, sour milk on his face and said Fuck it. You're just like them, you too. Demanding, seeking what I mean with that and that painting. They're putting pressure on me, they don't know it, but they are. Small innocent questions in their innocent lives of jetset, champagne and popart.
This used to be my refuge. I guess this is the getaway.

He left before I asked if I could tag along.


A couple of weeks later I'd been out drinking vodka. I stood by the entrance door and the keyhole was floating around in space. It seemed like I had a flashback.

He sat in the kitchen with a coffeetier with colombian excelsio coffee and he was smoking those weird cigarettes he always smoked. I asked for one and took a glass and a cup and sat down opposite of him. He poured me coffee and tears were running down his cheeks.

You aren't the one you think you are he said.

What the fuck are yhou tlalking abbouut misteri man? My voice sounded silly. I was fuckdrunk on vodka and he was obviously high on something quite different and it was the cultural and mental clash of the titans.

You are not a discordian. You aren't a buddhist. You aren't a syndicalist. Your bonsai tree means jack shit and your HRGiger posters and Dali posters mean nothing unless you're hitting it up on acid. You forgot the rule.

I coughed, trying not to look like a smiley that exclaimed WTF=!?

You forgot the rule.

I started reciting the rules.

The first rule of fight club is not to talk about fught culb.
The second ruel of gihjt club is n-

You forgot the rule.

OK MISTER FUCKING MISTER IOUS. What fucking rule did I forget? I'm drunk beyond belief and I'm actually smoking one of yoru blue masters and i haven't had the drugs you've had so what the fuck is going on in plain gufcking englush.

This is as plain as it can be from my part. no drugs at this hour. It's easy.

He leaned over, pointed, You point Forgot point The point Fucking point Rule.


And he left it at that.



--
renaming thread to "shit i gotta get out of my system during may month"

[East Coast Hustle]

a brief bit of advice?

compile and publish.

these are fucking GOOD, dude.

[Sepia]

Whythankyou.

Then I just need to find an english/american publisher.

[Sepia]

"A hand can be used as a knife.
A handjob could cost you your life"
-Old CS Saying




Chapter One: The Lord's Name

We were headed for Salvation. Peter, me and Mary. I had stopped reading newspapers weeks before we embarked. The old Hillman was making noised dying whales made when the fishermen harpooned them. The road was littered with corpses, vehicles and frames of vehicles, some of them still on fire. Peter kicked the radio with one of his feet and some Mancini started playing. It felt like we were in the opening credits of a movie. I looked out and up and tried to see if the world had gone to black and white and if there were big white letters over our heads. If I'd taken another tab I might have seen it.

We stopped somewhere down the road before entering Salvation itself. A ragged newspaper hang onto a burnt out windshieldwiper and the frontpage declared WAR! under the fold. Some popsinger had gotten a child was what it said on top of the declaration of WAR!. So the big question was, how long had we been tripping?

A signpost lead to Avalanche Hill. It felt ill-omened like a rerun of the worst scene from easy rider. We shrugged and got back into our dying whale and went further down the road. The colours shifted, from black and white to cheesy colours out of the seventies. We were in a western but it felt wrong to be here when we were in a western because all westerns were shot in Italy. Mary reared her head, asking, We haven't taken anything for a couple of days have we? I glanced in her direction and said we haven't taken anything except those tabs of acid we took immediatly after we landed and either that acid was meant for God Himself or the whole world's gone apeshit.

None of us were thinking about the past. We were all thinking about the past but not in the way you think about something you want to say out loud, it was churning in your mind, your subconscious moved cogs and wheels but you wouldn't dream saying it out loud because as far as we knew we'd lose our perspective of what was even remotely right/wrong. We had flown from Amsterdam and landed in New Amsterdam and then we'd taken the tabs that the hippie had given us and it felt to all of us that we never really landed but it couldn't be. Who had heard of a several week long trip on two tabs of acid? None of us atleast. No. It wasn't the acid that did it. It was the world. The world had gone apeshit.

I thought about the day I'd stopped reading newspapers and the reason why I stopped and it might have worked. I always got depressed when I read the papers and I saw the future of the world pissing on it before getting paid to do it. It came to me as one of them moments of truth. I read the paper because I had grown up to do it. I had grown up to take responsibility for the world, responsibility to read books and discuss and debate and I felt cold on the inside and then relief. I wasn't going to read a newspaper anymore. My friends at the faculty had sneered and said that I wasn't taking the responsibility I ought to, me being so bright and intellectual and shit. Then I thought about the responsibility.

[Horab Fibslager]

Whythankyou.

Then I just need to find an english/american publisher.

ask hoshi, she knows a good self publisher.

[Sepia]

Heh.

I was being ironic.. This is mostly a dump place for ideas.

but thanks.

[Horab Fibslager]

publish it anyway.

as sseperate chapters in teh same book.dont'e xplain that it's an idea dump, jsut fuckin put it there as oen story. i thought it was one story. it seems like one story, in a highly mad way. especailyl when ch. 1 comes now.