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Messages - Sepia

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Or Kill Me / Re: h: plaigirism
« on: May 10, 2016, 11:47:21 pm »
Always nice to know what happens. I liked what horab wrote, never knew him outside of that. Meth though, poor fuck

Or Kill Me / God told me to skin you alive[edit]
« on: March 24, 2016, 06:40:12 am »
Weary, wonky, wanking were vixens

"5 And the Lord said, Indeed the people are one and they all have one language, and this is what they begin to do; now nothing that they propose to do will be withheld from them"."


When the long hard journey is over and we become one people, fully truly like actually and not like anyone with an agenda but when childhood ends and we transcend/ascend/descend nothing will be withheld from us. Bearing that in mind we begin to explore what lies beyond, who knows what is left of mother earth at this point but thats not important now, important is we go out into it, beyond, we work together to become something more, doing something very human and we go out to explore

"...a terrible beauty is born."

Becoming the terror, we have learned so little, a child's hand tinkering at the piano, skilled and knowing, somewhere deep inside the hairy trombone something resonates, changes and the moment of grace is broken and the child resumes, she begins her journey on a broad broad road.

"...Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water. The more she drank the more she shat but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew".

A house of cards will fall or did i mean a house of cars i cant seem to recall anymore, theres and impertinent impediment in my speech prepared to give a speach to find those few out of reach and id talk about her fanny but its more of a peach ripe for digging in your teeth and god god grant me sleep

To keep the dream from fragmenting without us knowing what it is anymore. A shudder, a click and a halt, something loosening, a heart stopping, a soul churning. It was supposed to mean something, it was supposed to become something but it wouldn't grow on its own, the tree wanted to die but we had to keep it alive so we ourselves could live into something new, pupae is all we hope we are, underneath all the dross that forms and foams on top of our lives, we hope that we are inherently good, it's not we do, it's not who we are but what we will become that makes us able to move through the dredge of our lives and the smile on our faces is a cold one, like a waiter asking you in a broken language if you want another refill

Or Kill Me / Re: fuck you america?
« on: March 06, 2016, 01:57:37 am »
Sepia, I would like to borrow this with attribution, but do you have a preference as to what you'd like to be called?

Go ahead and call it what you wish because I don't know what it'll be called when it's done but it doesn't feel done yet and I might just ruin it so yeah, do what thou wilt

Thanks and cheers, need to read up on some cain-y stuff

Or Kill Me / fuck you america?
« on: March 05, 2016, 12:34:04 am »
Coming from a country where much of its population emigrated to the holy land, I've always liked you, america, I started young. Donald Duck and Uncle Scrooge and many more of the citizens of that fair city whose names I'll never learn in american was part of me then and will always be, one part of soul indistinguishable to any other parts of soul.
Then I learned to love to hate you america, for a radical young guy in a safe part of the world knowing nothing of it, you were easy pickings america, every rant after a few stolen beers would always begin with those who lived on you america before we found you, if you gave me a time machine in your technological splendour america, I'd travel to the time before you exist as you do now america because I think you were quite beautiful

I think its a game america what do you think?

America, I love you as much as I loathe you but if we're talking america the ideal, america the symbol, the man in the tophat top hat top all I can do is say fuck you america because you're the america that's gonna do it, you're going to vote for Donald and put him in the white house and I actually think you're going to do it you're going to put him in there america

I don't know. If you manage to do it, I'll sit safe in my safe place and I'll pity you who live there but after that, fuck, america I don't know what to do. I won't be able to take it seriously, america you've gone some pretty dark places but this is more/new/f'taghn, america will you do it, america how insane are you?

Or Kill Me / Re: It was a dark and stormy night
« on: March 01, 2016, 12:11:39 am »
Thanks, I'll probably always be here, I really should write more.

Updated and finished the piece

Or Kill Me / It was a dark and stormy night
« on: February 12, 2016, 01:20:31 pm »
It was a stark and dormy night
It was dark stark lark;firewood/fireworks but not in rain

Fuck you thats  what, fuck you. Like that, peeled like a glove or an onion

dubito  cogito

I am the cancer ascended from life/I am the life ascended from cancer/I am in my life the definition of my death/In my death I will live my life/I am the stranger and the one strong of mouth/Shadows and songs is wherein I/

What if I never left the country called chaos? What if I never left the country called order? What if these frames of mind only come when you do not expect it and when you seek the chaos it never is what you imagined, the road through chaos where I drove my mind watching everything, observing, taking notes for future reference, future use when I am no longer in the country chaos, when I have transcended the limitations imposed upon myself by myself and the old whore, nature/nurture, then I will sit in a salon, open-air, smoking the most obscure and esoteric turkish tobacco, in my smokers jacket, twirling my whitening moustache, knowing my crows feet are seen by them all, wearing a pith helmet and welcoming them all to tell them my tale

It smells like saccharine, it feels like plastic as we pick up the pieces of this, the debris, the kipple the ejecta of intermingling realities and as we debate the authenticity of our lives and these realities as they emerge and become the superstructure we all are a voice rings out: Do not fall in love. Love wakes the ancient beast, the yin to its yang, the proper hate, the burning hatred. They've been dormant for so long, both love and hate, I remember them, how they felt before I felt it again now, a sun kissing you as you emerge from the waters, feeling reborn, I remember them, the feeling you get when you did something you knew was wrong but you couldn't help it, you understand why you did it but you hate yourself for it and you diminish yourself, you become nothing and when you know you are nothing, you try to ascend once more

I shouldn't have fallen in love with her, there was no reason to, things were going smoothly and I was detached from their reality but I had to get involved, something inside me that is dead but not sufficiently, not sufficiently stamped out, still there, sleeping in its ancient chamber in that damned city, rearing its head once in a while making me not forget about love or hate, making me think about god, about murder, turning into what I once hated. Is this my ascent, an initiation that never ends? I used to be smart, I used to be so fucking sharp but give it years and it will die and you'll become a whiny fuck yourself unless you stop doing and start thinking, reverse what you did to yourself the last few years, to connect is to sever

I shouldn't have fallen in love with here because I wasn't in love with her, sure, she has a great ass, she's kind and warm and we share some interests but I wasn't in love with her until someone told me I should be in love with her, we'd make a nice couple. That was it, that was the summoning. Envy jealousy greed lust but most of all despair

I shouldn't have fallen in love with her because I'm in no state to love nor hate

not even you

Or Kill Me / She
« on: November 14, 2015, 01:01:26 am »

He tries to see. He tries to see, he tries to see himself. From the inside, from the outside, he tries to see with his naked eye, with his third eye, with his dreaming eye, with his living eye, his dying eye, he tries to see with his good eye. He tries to see what others do not, he tries to see how this world is built up, how his world is built up, he tries to know who he is, not knowing if he wants to know.

He tries to become someone he isnt because its the most standard template. He does this knowing he has become what he hated, when the first bricks of metathought were lain, laid put the foundation of what we became. This is his being, it is where he began and he realized it then as he remembers it now, not where he imagined ending up and no revising of the original thought, no process, only elimination, no hearts squeak as he pass them by

He tries to prove that he is no-one, he tries to die a silent death among the countless other wageslaves, he tries to be less pretentious. His death like their deaths are not silent but as the poet said you die so slowly that you think you are alive and death is on no ones mind. He doesn't have to pretend hes jolly, hes been good at that for too long, it feels ingrained, taught but not in any conventional sense, more like crows feet trying to open

He sees her and he knows something old has stirred, deep in a forgotten sunken city. He thinks about magic, he thinks about two paths and the inevitable third, the impossible one. Faerie, Atlantis, Mu - the desk of slothrop, all here in this heart, something changes, something old but very young emerges, time turns around and he describes the situation without taking control of it, every nuance every detail, he is watching, detached as his life goes by

I try to die for part of me knows that I am dead already and death only feels like a province of the living, a continuation. I feel like its hell sometimes because I havent been doing what I should have done lately, the original plan, youre turning into too old but not old enough, it feels like hell when I forget the words, I know theres a word for exactly that in that context and I know how to use it but I cant for the life of me remember

He doesnt know where were headed, he doesnt really care, in his youth he did but he was quickly disillusioned, partly by choice, influenced by outdated literati but he knows the way goes furthur. f'taghn. He thinks about the old fuckers, the bitter shits that made his mind, he thinks about the books he never re-reads and theyre from old, from whence everything began

He goes out, on his little balcony, in his pajamas with a knit beanie on his head, its november and the cold is coming but not here yet and hes just standing there with his little doobie and he looks out and most windows are dark

Or Kill Me / Re: Ironic distance(mi kommer for ta d)
« on: August 19, 2015, 12:39:19 am »
Fat men airing their dogs, reading their ipads, muttering to themselves.

Or Kill Me / Ironic distance(mi kommer for ta d)
« on: August 15, 2015, 09:07:15 pm »
"All Scientology churches built after Hubbard's death include a corporate-style office set aside for Hubbard's reincarnation, with a plaque on the desk bearing his name, and a pad of paper with a pen for him to continue writing novels." (Retrieved from Wikipedia 090715)

And darkness, darkness and all the whores: Shining beacons making yourself think in the opposite of direction of where thoughts flow, making you think that all the things you think you need you don't and here is your uselessness, getting lost in thought thinking about the thoughts, calling it cognitive dissonance when in reality you have no idea who you are, you've never had any idea of who you are, who you really were and you knew this in your gut as you wrote dissertations and rants, ramblings with an ironic distance leaving a saccharine taste in your mouth but spouting shit mouthing words, you never knew who you were, you developed yourself too quick, too soon in areas where none else went so you grew the weirdness of thine own mind from that and you wore it as a badge for all the wrong reasons because really, you didn't have any you went with it, you tried to construct this person you were not and the irony was lost on you then as it dawns on you now and you feel old and stupid but hey you know it sorta fits, there's a symmetry there cuz you were young and fucking smart, smarter than anything else of the rabble that roused around and you looked down on them but you didn't want to be that so you wrapped it up in friendliness and smiles and you were genuine but for all the wrong reasons, there were none, you were afraid and you couldn't bear to bring yourself to that, you couldn't see those eyes in the mirror and accept the truth

you couldn't accept you were something else than what you had constructed so you let yourself slip further while what you did what you thought were that there was a schism between your brain and your body, the meatship indeed and you were only the captain, slip and slink and slither further into the shadows and do not wake up, become shadows, you aren't even weird, you're just a sad little man now, sad in this darkness you've built yourself because now you're finally starting to understand how the fuck the world hangs together and you're missing something now, something everyone else either have understood or never understood as a question because you've thought a lot of thoughts but they never really got you anywhere, did they?

you can keep waiting and for a while you'll do and you'll understand that it'll never come, it'll never be there and when death come for you, you imagine you won't regret it but there's nothing there but hope to hang it onto and death: my shadow, our shadow, will it be what you imagine, swift and in sleep or will fate say that wishful thinking will get you nowhere and there you'll lie in bed and die as you lived, one inch at a time, nothing profane, nothing holy, nothing more than a wasted life like all others lives that pass us by, nothing more than the shit we come from, the shit we are the the shit we'll become so new generation can sow the seeds upon our rotting carcasses, re-redoing our mistakes, becoming ourselves once more yet again, reborn in all senses but the soul, every action the same, every misstep the same, every lack of learning the same

you peer out the windows and despair when you look upon at this here humanity but you can't really see it for shit through the clouds and up your horse imaging you're fighting windmills, thinking you're part of something more, something otherly, you know that for everyone else it's the old culture jam adage of eat buy consume die but you, the one eyed-king in the land of the blind you're part of something else, something more, something holy gleaned from the pages of the masters you alone worship

aren't you?

yeah, the murrican chefs fresh off the boat are the most adorable things

they stories they tell sometimes sounds like you've not abolished slavery

working as a cook/chef sounds so horribly horrible in us, you have my condolences. if moving to norway ever becomes a topic we need cooks/chefs in oslo and if you know one who can start next wednesday on the outdoor grill, all prep is done in the morning, service from 12 to 18/20ish depending on crowd/weather and get paid for 12 to 20 every day anyhow please send him my way

ps two cold three hot dishes

e ok fry cook was something else in my mind hi nevermind me

e2 ok actually tried to get a job flipping burgers when i was like 24 or something and desperate and both mcdonalds and burger king said i was too old and later on someone told me they dont hire anyone but management over 20 so i guess thats how you do it here

Or Kill Me / e/n
« on: May 31, 2015, 09:28:17 pm »
3 cigarettes to tide me over until the day ends. That used to work, I mean it still does but of necessity, not by choice, what did you learn living like all your dead heroes? What did you gain that those that did didn't and what were you depraved of and how has it formed you? 1000 words by tomorrow, yes miss thank you miss, become me miss, lets become you miss, take me with you miss, enlighten me miss, show me nirvana the silver city and hades miss and I will show you the dark hearts that throb under neath each city

shit, I'm getting old, feeling like whats pumping out of loudspeakers everywhere isn't even music but perhaps it's actually not, it's still marketed as and sold as but perhaps it's a metamorphosis and the Samsa I hear from soapboxes might wake one day but where should he go? brother brother, something more is required, something more is needed and I can feel the release and though disperses like commas and we are free once more as we enter the battletrance and shield ourselves with our knowledge as we delve into the comments sections of youtube gamefaqs and every right wing news outlet planting seeds in our tongues before we forget our language forget our idea forget our id ego superego forget our being as we ascend;

we have travelled to the underworld to the world where dead voices scream their hatred and bile angry ghosts cursing the living based on the old idea of but theyre doing it and were not so lets complain and we have been in the eye of the only storm we have seen the abyss the nether the vortex you see when you close your eyes after having seen something bright we have seen the eye of sauron up close

reborn we are ascending through the tree of life that religion thing madonna has bracelets for and we understand the profanity of it and we understand what it could have been and as we turn through and feel blue there is no sensation of surprise

reborn we are, ascended we have, death we have seen life we have talked to and everyone says the same

Or Kill Me / e/n
« on: April 23, 2015, 12:21:47 am »
Sink thine roots deep says the master, sink thine roots deep and let them drink, let the harvest of hearts show the world how we built our world, this world, separated from theirs, reality and all its facets, all the torrents, the chaos and the order. People are arguing in the streets, violent cries heard ricocheting, we try to scream more and louder we try, our hands are shaking while we tell the stories of life, nervousness and insecurity travel from our spine permeating every part of our selves, bubble-shaped forms connecting souls and dreams, we used to be brighter, we used to be more than this but the shadows claw at us as age becomes the enemy

Our lips form questions but they fall before the leave us, leave our mouths and minds empty and dry like a late indian summer, dried out grass underneath our feet, rasping like like old men telling dying stories, crow's feet baking under this pale dying sun, chirrups, crickets screaming with their dying legs, a cry for help as they slit the veins in their legs and take one too many

We lack the calm we should have had (by now), we feel antsy and lost, staring into a darkness we've seen so many times before, a withering vortex clinging to us and we travel with it through the darkened lands prophesized by the master

Or Kill Me / e/n
« on: March 26, 2015, 10:38:38 pm »
The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head
And became a Tyrant in his stead. -- William Blake, The Grey Monk

Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster . . . for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. -- Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

To fight the Empire is to be infected by its derangement. This is a paradox; whoever defeats a segment of the Empire becomes the Empire; it proliferates like a virus, imposing its form on its enemies. Thereby it becomes its enemies. -- Philip K. Dick, Valis

You become what you hate and this is the truth of it, some will never become it and they'll never need it none and some will not understand it, as with all paths set by thomas the rhymer, we will enter them all and intertwine them in our lives until we no longer know what path we are on, unless you do. I used to think of life as this robust thing, watching my parents toil away, their days set by an unseen hand, every day the same but with small variances, something shifting, now like a koan, observing the mountain that is then isn't then is but it seemed too little, not enough madness, not enough new or different or odd or weird, too few impulses to live a full life on

And then you age, at first it feels like maturing so you go with that, 24 turning 25 feeling you want to be more of an adult, want to be taken more seriously than what you self have gotten or what you deserve so you go with it, you mature and it feels like you've reached a plateau but therein is the most grotesque of lies told by both the demons and the angels inside your mind, never forget that old and ancient saying, initiation never ends for any and all initiations ring true and will never end, progression is never halted even if it feels like it, this I should have learned instead of putting my head in the sand, to separate the intellect from the emotion, I thought I could, 22 and invincible

23 and ignorant, an ignoramus but so full of life, the desire for life, the desire to understand, never the resignation of apathy, never the despair of hope, looking at reality through tabloids eyes and laughing a drunken laugh without a trace of melancholy or sadness, we were different men and women then, my friends knew what they wanted but I was sure it would all work out in the end, I was me without compromise but somewhere in there you stopped being yourself didn't you, you forgot yourself so much and where you were that when times were good and resistance was non-existant you stopped doing what defined you, you stopped the core from turning, you stopped writing and you became just another schmuck on the line slinging food, you did your job well but you were sated, you sat and smoking weed wasn't the answer

And Now, one year before you will die, if the dreams from a particular feverish week aeons ago will hold true or will you fulfill them yourself, you understood something in your fever then but nothing you could put into words, an intuition of reaching something akin to critical mass, you can't go into your thirties asking what it's all for, what the meaning of it all is because it shouldn't matter or you should have found it by now, you should have learned when the party is truly over or when it is just biding its time to make most people go home to the dross so the remaining people can gather in the kitchen, drink red wine and smoke cigarettes

the neighbors are banging at the door

Or Kill Me / Oinos (WiP)
« on: January 21, 2015, 12:01:26 am »
So, here we are. At last, again. Once more,


The maestro is cold around his heart as he begins the count, One!

A thousand departed friends but mostly it's me, the dear departed, dead in any way that counts, not counting six feet, yet, but I dream of it when I stare into the air from the rooftop balcony, there's no view but there are buildings that aren't too bad at the eyes, giant behemoths of steel and glass, filled with new pride, the building is a sharp thing, an ugly object, towering over its predecessors like a playground bully, the new and shiny, the old and decaying, the buildings someone sits on in an up and coming area they say and the building are old so they have to keep the faade and instead of fixing, they're doing what they have to and wait, they're waiting for the house to die so they can eat its flesh and give birth to new houses, stronger, better and improved, more streamlined

Summer whimpers out as the colours gradually fade, something is moving out there but I'm too stoned to accept or understand it and I sleep, autumn arrives and passes as there are only five leaves left but winter doesn't come, there are weeks of cold but as the year ends, we're still waiting [little bit more on the peculiarity of weather]

[bit here about new years party, musing over new years party]

[anxiety, buildup, sustain - a bigger/big one on the party itself, watch fear and loathing scene, walt whitman]

[meeting of Bababababababalon, arrival and departure, should re-read that instead of reading forward the foundation you shit]

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