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Topics - Sepia

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Literate Chaotic / They told me the classics never got a style
« on: February 17, 2005, 01:14:09 am »
but they do, they do.

and some day baby. we do too. (refused)

(blasphemy for turd and the likeminded follows)

the lawnmower was outside the janitor called to me
I, sitting on a bench
ya just have to fill the gas the janitor almost screamed
I, smoking a fag
You know, it's easy to start, you just have to pull this string
oh yeah I said, still smoking
Yeah really he said continuing with and then you see the patterns
and i said, no you don't, still smoking
Yeah, it's really easy he said
and I said yeah, how
well, look at me do this and then he mowed the lawn for me.

it was a dream, i was headed up the mountains, a slope sortof, and i was running, and the freaky thing was that i couldn't look back, because i knew what was following me and at the same time i didn't.

then i was here and there was a conversation.
turd said: you know, really, i'm trying to rebel against the poetic nature of discordianism in itself and especially what was written in the illuminatus!
then hotsuma said: I feel the same thing.
then turd said: wow.. i though i was all alone in this world.
then horab said: GO GTEA FUKCIGN ROOOM!

and they did.

then roger appeared and he said something that was halfways witty, yet it still made sense and it was not annoying. then chef arrived and everyone thought jesus christ how do we ban him? this is the kind of person that ought to end up at some kinda cs forum.

and then

i woke up.

still bella was mellow and sweet. still hoshiko was far too intelligent and a fukcing genious. still aini wasn't fully respected. still

the world itself was looking more and more like the board or the other way around. still

the world itself was ridiculed. as the inhabitants lingered and agreed in silence whilst making an attempt at a discordian jake. then

i thought it didn't matter.

and i woke up.

no, not as you think you see it. i didn't wake up. not in that way.


if this is just another fad with intelligent people.

i'd rather stay away.

he said: i'd rather stay away.

then he came after me yelling at me because i had fallen asleep. he claimed he already had mowed every lawn. and i said


and he said

yea that was your job wasnt it

and i said yea

and he said well you gotta do something for me

and i said

the classics never got a style.

Literate Chaotic / Poem for CHEF DEE THE ONE THREE THREE SEVEN
« on: February 09, 2005, 03:05:13 am »
My girlfriend walks up to me:


we're all going to die alone

she pauses
then leaves

putting things in her purse like only women know. arranging her scarf like only women know. disappearing the way only women know.

we can't say anything. we're guys. this is her prerogative. not ours.


we're sitting at the same bar, talking about things that don't really concern us but for this evening, they do. it's an expensive place with cheap heineken and the sambucca was pissed in yesterday.


now i'm alone. did i ever have a girlfriend? what is this thinking?

and i'm thinking: the only reason i have 95% of my friends is because i grew up with them. no, i never had that girlfriend. i want that girlfriend now. i want to tell her, after a cup of lazy tea: let's run away. let US live in the clich?. and she would understand and feel not necessarily the same as me yet. she would see the validation in running away. disappear.

There is only you and me.

There is only you and me.

No family, no ties, no history but the one we create ourselves.

And we will think: This is the seed. We are the seed.
We will reread V for Vendetta yet again. and we will wonder: are we the bombers?

The suit enters. He calls us to the carpet. This is the end. This is not going anyway. Perhaps, he sez, you are the seed.
But, he says, it doesn't matter. we have created the seed. we have created the new dna for the new capitalism, ah, he sez, aren't we the bombers?

Who are you wondergirl? Let's run away from the suit aswell. Let's run. There's nothing here if we stay anyhow. But our friend says. but our family says.

Tradition they say. norms they say. the future they say.

It comes to pass that i believe the sisters of mercy.

give me your love


give me your gun

and i'm thinking, contemplating:

Or Kill Me / We are not really interested
« on: February 08, 2005, 02:52:45 am »
in your vacuum cleaners
your homevideos
your suicide attempts and successes
not really interested in your scientific explanations to why there is no god
or why the soul really is an at-field
you study the nature for an answer to a question you long since ever cared about
you no longer stop and think about the mechanics driving you or those around you

you're breathing, aren't you?
You're walking the pastures of green in the weekends with your lovely wife and you're german shepherd.
You've borrowed a cabin from a friend too where you can have time for a short romance with your loved one. You feel that the weekends should be used for recreation. You're a christian even though you aren't part of any sect at all.
You sit at your desk, emotionless. You don't have time to feel depressed or hate your job. You got a job, it pays good, it pays your mortgages. It will give you a cabin of your own in a few years.
Is that the plan?

Work (be a husband)
Tell your children and grandchildren a story with a moral you've adapted yourself so that you can tell this particular story. And you sacrificed so much for that story, didn't you? All those years of work, endless toil to pay the mortgages and the cabin.

Where you and your wife still think that it's romantic.

Is this you?

Will you ever again take a look at yourself? Or was that a highschool fling. A summerflirt.
The dame you should have married with.

Or should you?

Is this tormenting you?

Are there any questions in your life?

Or is it filled with semicolons, exclamationmarks and dots?

Is this a question in itself?

as I was saying
we're not really interesting
we're not hiring

I think, personally, you should join something else.

Literate Chaotic / Poem for Hotsuma
« on: January 28, 2005, 01:33:07 am »
Seeing as I haven't done this I do it now.

The infant child it lies
dreaming infant dreams and cries out in it's waking dream:
Hotsuma! Hotsuma!
The toddler of dreams does not think
yet percieves all sins and dirty thoughts

it cries:
Hotsuma! Hotsuma!

When will the blunderbuss become the DJ of dreams yet again?

Wearily the mother had the shortest straw staggering into the childs room all painted in babyblue

Hotsuma withdraws to the shadows thinking:
why these colours? why these colours for the innocent infants?

the mother sshes her little babyboy and lifts him up says poor boy was it a bad dream

Hotsuma the baby cries but is drowned in wail
Hotsuma come for me
Hotsuma, where is blunderbuss and the dj of dreams?

And Hotsuma, in the shadows think: The children are marked from an early age. Their conditioning begins the minute knowledge of pregnancy is born. They are damned thrice when introduced to their babyblue rooms. This is their prison aswell as it was mine.

Sssshh goes the mother
Hotsumaaaaaaaaaa! goes the toddler as the scream reaches the pineal gland
Hotsuma sees hope in the activation yet knows he fails in this most important task
Ssssh goes the mother and the child cries for Hotsuma now more

The Blunderbuss, the dj of dreams walks solemly through the shadows of this world that holds us. Hotsuma he hears Hotsuma cries the infants begging for release from their prisons.

And Hotsuma, the Blunderbuss of dreams for the dj walks.

Literate Chaotic / Stalker
« on: January 19, 2005, 12:55:40 am »
I don't know why, but this tarkovsky piece is brilliant. So brilliant that it made me write this.

Literate Chaotic / The Filth
« on: December 07, 2004, 02:47:34 am »
Just bought the sc. colours look good.


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