Author Topic: this  (Read 3752 times)

Sepia

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this
« on: December 29, 2008, 03:07:44 am »
"In my heart lies the blood
in my veins you hear the flood
in my stomach a cod

flapping still, the undeads are everywhere
and if you're completely still you can hear them
trouts, halibuts or eel
the dolphins know
the cursed fish serve the sunken city"  -   Olaus Wormius, Preface to First translation of Al Azif



There is no reality anymore. Vampires everywhere turned to dust as I touch them, making me wonder of their frailty then the weather grows colder and the vampires quicken again, roses in their cheeks and satisfaction in their smiles. We see the vampires on the billboards now but we're growing accustomed to it, no longer wondering about that but just shrugging it as we sit by the docks and gaze into the sea, drinking manhattans and smoking turkish cigarettes.
Then, the people smile. Stretch their faces and behold the miracle that is the world, no longer believing in a god but the apocalypse happened and everyone was brought to an understanding. We were all enlightened to the godhead as we saw and met our dead family and smiled and cheered, our stomachs filling up alan moores occasional disney happiness for every day we are without profoundness we don't understand the emotion, we don't see. We don't understand.

Sommes, Verdun et Chemins des Dames

Our memories fade and bleed over the screens, transported elsewhere to be processed, the ever-increasing flow of information ticking off the believers, seeing an infant and dormant AI being built and maintained by the flow coming from every orifice, puss flowing from your veins as everyones minds are mingled and we become something greater, something bigger than ourselves, godhood built by every human being on the earth

"The gods did not create humans
the gods were not curious,
they were never good to the humans
who were their creators

yet like gotham needs its' knight
we need these gods
those that are not good nor evil
simply existing and caring little

for us,
for those whom the sun revolves"   -   Pamphlet for the "Cthulhu for President" campaign '08

Everyone will always be too late

the last yatto

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Re: this
« Reply #1 on: December 30, 2008, 09:16:22 pm »
 :taco:
Look, asshole:  Your 'incomprehensible' act, your word-salad, your pinealism...It BORES ME.  I've been incomprehensible for so long, I TEACH IT TO MBA CANDIDATES.  So if you simply MUST talk about your pineal gland or happy children dancing in the wildflowers, go talk to Roger, because he digs that kind of shit

Sepia

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Re: this
« Reply #2 on: December 31, 2008, 12:55:31 am »
Quote
Pamphlet for the "Cthulhu for President" campaign '08

Have you got a link to that please?

I was going to continue it but then I saw this and whatever it was I was going to type down disappeared.

And yes, it's right next to my first translation of al azif.
Everyone will always be too late

Kai

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Re: this
« Reply #3 on: December 31, 2008, 02:38:37 am »
If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water. --Loren Eisley, The Immense Journey

Her Royal Majesty's Chief of Insect Genitalia Dissection
Grand Visser of the Six Legged Class
Chanticleer of the Holometabola Clade Church, Diptera Parish

bds

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Re: this
« Reply #4 on: January 01, 2009, 01:07:39 am »

the last yatto

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Re: this
« Reply #5 on: January 01, 2009, 06:51:11 am »
i can fuck off on my own
 thank you very much :cry:
Look, asshole:  Your 'incomprehensible' act, your word-salad, your pinealism...It BORES ME.  I've been incomprehensible for so long, I TEACH IT TO MBA CANDIDATES.  So if you simply MUST talk about your pineal gland or happy children dancing in the wildflowers, go talk to Roger, because he digs that kind of shit

indifferent betty

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Re: this
« Reply #6 on: January 01, 2009, 04:17:08 pm »
:taco:

fuck off

Seconded.

Do we need a third to make it official?

I don't get it.
why is the Taco evil? why does it make you guys angry? is there a colloquial meaning behind the taco, or are you just rejecting it as dadaist?
-----------------
-I don't need intelligent drugs Tom, because I don't know what they are.

bds

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Re: this
« Reply #7 on: January 01, 2009, 05:01:49 pm »
:taco:

fuck off

Seconded.

Do we need a third to make it official?

I don't get it.
why is the Taco evil? why does it make you guys angry? is there a colloquial meaning behind the taco, or are you just rejecting it as dadaist?

Nope.
Not as far as I know, anyway.

It annoyed me because he just simply posted it. No explanation. No contribution to the thread.
Just. A. Taco.

Admittedly, sometimes that kinda thing can be funny.
But, other times, people will just tell you to fuck off, thus

indifferent betty

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Re: this
« Reply #8 on: January 01, 2009, 05:06:34 pm »
thanks.

-----------------
-I don't need intelligent drugs Tom, because I don't know what they are.

Sepia

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Re: this
« Reply #9 on: January 02, 2009, 04:04:49 am »
Sorry for putting this up in chunks but new years kinda got in the way




The love comes to us in the form of gentle strokes of a battered piano and the belief that icons hold more great power than humans, for behind every icon there is a disappointing human. The icons hold so great power for they are our black/white, they are the simplest to which we can staple our most basic emotions, where we love and hate and need and want. They are so easy to interpret, so easy to get and understand, so easy to see what lies beyond their cardboard eyes but the humans

there's already so many of them.


We stayed inside, played the sun for a fool, saw the visions that were kept from us, despaired in our futures and pasts, lives being torn apart and the futility of it all would be here to end us, drown us in the flames that cherished this light.
As the darkness of those divine opened up a door into the sunshine and we were born again in colourless void and we truly connected to the cosmos, to the chaos. There were hearts opened up, minds torn down as the light was ending, seething hatred seeping through the forest, the minds of the cauterized few, drowning in an old ideal, re interpreted by bill hicks and they dressed up as adolf and exterminated life. At the end of the massacre, the soldiers gathered at their point, had a fire going. Every day they recounted holy scripture before they tossed it on the fire, every day they would cook one of their friends on the holy flames untill there were none left and love impaled two of the survivors and the others found it fresh entertainment so you were never eaten untill there were only five of you left and you clubbed two of them in their sleep and tortured the last as you both climaxed and gave birth to a new beginning.

Everything that is real is made from porcelain, hard to the touch sometimes but still, it makes such dramatic effect when dropped to the ground. The machine is porcelain, the machine is the maker of porcelain but not by design. Never by design.


This isn't going forward. Night is still crawling and creeping and there is no longer a need to keep the curtains closed. The sun is dead because I didn't believe in it, the metaphor becomes the life and the structures thereof. The life is ending, the breathing is stopping and time is going back again. The dirt doesn't rub off, it clings to the floor, the stains will always be there. Different garments but all of them never covers the body and one finds onself asking, what are the stains and what is my skin. The light is waning, the world is dying. It is a playground and believe those who say it for it is they who wake with hate in the morning and go to sleep with loneliness. It was originally a playground, none knew what they did but they did simple things that made them happy for a while, made them cherish what they had for a while. The rules in the playground never changed but the aunts watching the children revolved and shaped the children for the time being and while growing accustomed to one child and losing it, losing their power, they hide in their shell, turn on the autopilot and treats every child like the original child, like the first child and like the first sin.


The world is boring me / i'm boring the world. The dead people live more than the living but I must admit that I've felt more dead than alive recently. I can't stomach things, I'm not desensitized anymore. Something in me stops working, something else starts working. Why does disconnection breed empathy? Sympathy? Why does sitting on my ass breed forward the helplessness (obvious) of the situation, why does sitting on my ass breed forth a bleeding heart that I wear on my sleeve. The drugs burn it away, all of it. The drugs aren't even drugs anymore, closer to normality. Is this my doing? Is this me moving towards you, whoever you are or whatever you are? Or am I moving away? It is a good life to lead because it leads to nothing, it leads to what was already there, cutting away all those years we don't want to live. Youth is wasted on the young.

The hope strangles the young but nurtures the dying. Our faces hollow out, the stubble drops silently as we see ourselves in the mirror, falling apart, waiting for our cue. We want our nervous breakdown now and we feel it, we know where it's been  hidden all along, our rough fingers find the door, then the lock, we've always known the combination but our hearts stop us, our heads stop us for it seems to be the easiest way out, the only thing we will never really tolerate. We've gotten this far, we're miserable and filled with what we are but we'll never open it. We'll never let it out and expose it to the sun. I'm not able to give you what you want because I don't know if that is leverage for me. I can't give you what you want because I'm damaged, dried up goods. I'm the raisin filled with downers in a bag of chocolate. I'm not the one you want, I won't become what you want to see me become because I have no soul, I have nothing to offer, I'm a torn sheet in the wind and the world is paralyzing me. I'm paralyzing myself. I'm dreaming while I'm awake and while the dream is similar to reality in all its aspects, it is still a dream and I am still awake.

What is a reason to live?
There is no desire to live on due to reproduction. There is always a presence of desiring to prove something. Life, the universe and all contained has no meaning. There is no greater meaning to life other than that which we discover ourselves. A resentment lingering from chilhood regarding suicide rules it out. A desire to taste life? Rip it open like a ripe orange and suck the flesh and juice from it leaves discarded husks. There is a drive of something. Fate looms in every mans life, everyone thinks at a point that they're the one in a world where the one is only worshipped after his death and while it is beautiful and an easy way out of any story, it's not it. To take theirs and fuck with it, to show them that it is doable, to do the good thing together with the bad thing with none noticing. To conquer the world while still living, illusions we all have and share. There is no reason to intellectualize it for life isn't intellectual, the stomach guts and innards say it all, your intuition is always right, isn't it?
To prove that you can? It's already been proven and there is little point, doing it yet again will not teach anyone anything new. Do it your way and let none stop you for that is the only right you have left in this world.
Everyone will always be too late