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Topics - Sepia

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Or Kill Me / disone iz for you,
« on: March 31, 2019, 07:07:33 pm »
the seas will boil when the sun goes supernova, clarice sterling there to ask the psychopath at the end of time

'what did become of the world?'

and he will tell us, dispassionately

'Mankind can keep alive thanks to its brilliance
In keeping its humanity repressed
And for once you must try not to shriek the facts
Mankind is kept alive by bestial acts'

we will return from where we came and we'll eat frozen yoghurt to know that we are truly in hell and it doesn't matter that I didn't have children, I still feel sorta bad about the planet, barren wastelands of a thought-utopia dreamt through the kaleidoscope by a junkie sleepingwaking under the bridge

we could have learned alot from bees but we didn't but I'm getting tired of reading papers up papers down yellow journalism, all journalism save for a few last bastions bee journalism in yellow pages with big bold black letters swarming but without purpose no longer the big picture no longer the details merely noise

freeze your cheez-doodles and enjoy them with an ok champagne or cremant but don't believe it when the british say they make good bubbles

the sun sets as we will set and the bones will jiggle, juggle jungling through the tygers tygers burning bright, here it comes again, revolving once more for us, the sun we've seen so little this winter and to be honest I haven't really missed it, our nemesis and the president of the free world reads my mind and there are talks about pre-emptive strikes and trickle-down diplomacy and we know what we have to do as one globe is first to establish a base on the moon so we can attempt to speak with the sun, we must  have come thus far that diplo should be the first trick, building something together with duplos before we move onto the legos and if diplomacy we will sue the sun, monopoly isn't fair, we should be allowed to choose what source of warmth we get from, we should be able to ask questions, like

is your sun veganfriendly?
is your sun vegan?
can you trace the source of your sun, is it certifiablevbblebleblblbabbly organic?
is this sun holy, is it THE sun?

Two fingers held to her own temple and she makes the sound and her head jerks and something more than a bullet is released and in the seconds it takes for her to drop down dead we see her life lived, trancelike we awake to a thud, forgetting enlightenment

becoming who we used to be as elon musk fires kissinger into the heart of the sun

Or Kill Me / viagra boys
« on: January 29, 2019, 07:36:35 pm »
Ivy, pretty ivy shun me into darkness, come beside me in this heart of shit, this throb of man manning on becoming butterflies and balls of deep fried butter served alongside deeply fried coca cola, see the world and as you gaze into the darkness and light that is them that is you shove the syringue filled with washing powder, rat poison and heroin into that eyeball and gaze into the future, become nostradamus, become the mayan calendar transcend time and step into the future, create it like powerful maagickque from something you have made nothing

and in nothing you will end and I will have something because I'll be dancing on your grave, tapdance on top of the fake marble, poledance on that pretentious obelisk you got yourself and I will dwindle away to Tchaikovsky, an angry stupid bird going back and forth, in the zone, gotten the rhythm like no white man ever since

and they glow like the fires of the fields of Verdun

Or Kill Me / Confessions
« on: January 20, 2019, 12:17:06 am »
To live and sing the praise of life and love becomes harder as you grow older, fiery eyes closed behind guylined curtains the sound and fury diminished in the eyes of the young and you think your eyes are young because they've changed so little, they see worse than they used to but you are that you are still twenty something, frozen in time like a mans handwriting, ugly scribbles we learned when we were in 6th grade, managing only to pass but nothing more, interest already waning then as we understand and begin to lay the bricks for our fortress of solitude

Looking backwards gives you nothing, regret is never worth it regret would have been worth it if we learned something from it but I never do and as I grow older I understand why we are where we are, I was so fucking filled with hope for a future I knew nothing about and I felt alive in a sea of dead whereas now I feel like dead in a sea of alive, a bitter man thinking he has come full circle because the few dreams I had when I was a child have been made manifest but never of my own doing, lazily waiting for opportunities good enough instead of going out into the jungle, pith helmet and colonial makeup, I used to not believe in a master race but what is there for a nerd after the console wars have played out the way they have

like any other war, useless and empty, hollow and leaving the consumers with less than what they had when they begun with the illusion of having more, quality of life improvements in something that isnt real, quality of life patches us through this beginning and to increase your backpack in the mmo youve played for close to fifteen years you give your number(tattooed on the inside of your arm) sacrificing it in the name of security, give me convenience or give me death

give me da'at

I feel old, I feel like my grandfather barely awake in a strange dream, unable to eat, remembering only one segment of his life, ninety years, the memories of an entire life and the only thing to be remembered is with panic, someone has to make sure the boats are shored up nicely because there might be a storm, there might be a night where Thor will hammer his anvil

I used to be not believe in any gods, human made or actual ones but now I do, those made in our minds atleast, not one but all of them, every prophet, martyr or messiah, every old god and all the creations of Lovecraft, Derleth and everyone else who dreamt up something, each and every one of them is there, is here and we are strengthened by them for we are still infants and I love it for gods represent something animalistic, being belief rather than logic, cold or warm, all holy texts mean something for everyone

like a dream

I used to want to be a writer because I thought I wanted to be an intellectual like the writers that shaped and moulded me when my brain hadn't gotten old, when it was ready for an adventure, ready to play with Hobbes and tyrannosaurs in f-15s, ready to believe that one of these world would one day manifest like any post Gaiman fantasy but it wasnt true, I wanted to be a writer to be famous and I think that is why I stopped for so many years and its taken me so many to realize that was the reason because I remember the day I wanted to end writing, sitting in the back of one of the swedish trams, just as we drove out of grand central, the moment we entered the glare of oslo city, twixt a man with a cast on one of his legs, crutches held tightly under the left arm, a woman and her daughter each talking loudly in the phone and then, a thought entered and I stopped.

occasional stories would need to get out of my mind but it is now as I sit and type here that I understand, wallowing in despair, regret, melodrama and self-pity I had forgotten the words of Horselover Fat, I had not gotten the needed distance, I wanted to do something with my writing and I thought myself destined to be a writer for the catharsis writing provides and now I understand that was what it was or I might have gone beyond an obscure forum, no offense intended, this is therapy, this is me connecting with me by making sentences creating words avoiding grammar, this is me connecting with my gods, this is the true magickque

the suspension of ego for a brief while, thinking wonderful thoughts, going into the zone, becoming something more inside this zone, this holy playground of gods and everything else immaterial, this world where dead people live again and everyone is like the best of us ever were in everything, the big picture never visible but just felt amidst every genre in every discipline

Scribbling things down on paper or by keys, the act itself is enough not every story is good and some stories have no meaning and it feels like ive found myself like doctor Franklin back in babylon 5 on his walkabout and I know I will forget myself again, probably in not too long and I dont think I have a Delenn to deconstruct my falling stars

yet now I feel a little bubble of hope somewhere inside me, a blood vessel opening, a pupil dilating, a cock hardening

Or Kill Me / a fresh new lemon-scented you
« on: February 28, 2018, 09:49:01 pm »
"To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women" - Arnold Schwarzenegger

"It's nice to be important but it's more important to be nice" - Scooter

We speak to them, our choir, we speak to them as if they are a part of us, another idea, another concept of us. Sullen, we have become and we will end and they will be there with us, when we end as they were when we began and we sing to them as we feel something ends as something begins our voices become melodious because the thing we learned when we were smaller and thought that some of this we did mattered in the end, erased by cheap rubbers as we became older and lost our sense of direction, rudderless rubbberless but still we sing, still our voices are there and not still, the choir booms and becomes and we invoke it when we see fit, we invoke the dreams they cast upon us we invoke them when we feel helpless and small for their tones, their power is what we ourselves put into them without becoming them because it wouldn't be becoming of us

to let go and only listen

people are strange when you're a stranger

and strange we are, mother earths children each and every one of us, one global tribe connected through james cameron when he became a tree and we all coloured ourselves blue, we see we see the strangeness and the weirdness that shaped us and all of it or we think we do or we know we dont but fuck you we're conjuring here, new realites, other fantasies

we aren't combating or extinguishing our diseases and ills, our sicknesses are merely symptoms of what we will become because one day far far away in the story of human evolution, alois schicklgrubers fever dream, the perfect man, his aryan of whatever colour, creed or orifices to be penetrated in will become birthed, mutated through every ailment, the first of the last(first), mankinds destiny is to become a living breathing weapon,

Death becomes me and I am its shadow

succulent we were then, succulent we will come to be the flood will come and the ark itself will manifest and within it the ten commandments unedited version untainted by human hands


Or Kill Me / not political
« on: January 06, 2018, 12:11:34 am »
and death becomes silent as cain begins the revolution and the choir sings are we able and we descend as we ascend and enter  the right frame of mind enter Eastenders

we google oogle google words we no longer remember and we feed bananas to our cryptocurrencies hoping new cryptobananas will be born silently hoping someone else will join our wankathon

we feel we owe it to ourselves we owe it to someone else we feel we owe it to the sky to mom to dad to mother to father to elon musk to greath cthulhu to donald trump, the first of his name to honningbarna to rage against the machine but not the prophets of rage
to ideas and dreams to hopes of futures we know will never happen

here, shades and phantoms: what did you become?

Or Kill Me / Fuckball
« on: May 12, 2017, 08:06:16 pm »
come play fuckball she said come play fuckball with me, I'm tired I said, I'm getting old I don't have your longevity, come play fuckball she said come play fuckball with me, I have work in the morning loved one I have to get out and be about, come play fuckball she said come play fuckball with me, I love you and I'll play with you when time comes, come play fuckball she said come play fuckball with me

I love you, with all my heart, mother earth, torturist of us all, jailer of alien spirits I see what you made us and I love you, you are our perfect parasite our perfect symbiotic love, I have witnessed the silver city in dreams and I have seen the angels that reside there and I have heard their song and I sat there as they sang

come play fuckball she said come play fuckball with me, I watch her filled with vigor her movements filled with grace and precision learned and known, come play fuckball she said come play fuckball with me, she's an aleph beautiful in her own way tending to her own library of dreams and revolving doors, traps snapping shut

Jaws snapping shut, life ending becoming death becoming a life worth living as death peers at me while she sets a new record in pong smiling knowing she is untouchable in every aspect that matters to her she reminds me of the time

she said come play fuckball with me, now

Or Kill Me / YOU should take RESPONSIBILITY
« on: November 14, 2016, 12:54:27 am »
shouldn't you?

Or Kill Me / Everyone will always be too late (2016)
« on: September 21, 2016, 11:48:27 pm »
Every chance is the chance to die again, a better death, a cleaner death a newer one more befitting of our station
to be reborn again every time we make a choice, a life for a death, nothing for nothing or was it something for something who can remember now in this day and age, who can remember when something still meant something or was it just that part of my brain back then

Kill it I hear them say
the voices from the deep - in this time of contempt

His hatred is there still, hard to catch underneath the despair but still white and hot and cold and hard, the all of what love can show us but clearer, like moments of understanding, clarity, those three seconds when you see the sun rise and the acid is peaking and you are everything/you understand everything and you become it and it consumes you as you consume it a symbiosis or a parasite those holy seconds where all is revealed and even when youve moved away from hatred, youve moved away from love to somewhere something else where nothing that lives should live

Clear is his love but misplaced and unrequited, clear like looking at the sun through a frothing beer too early in the day, just the right time of year, we can still remember patti smiths easter and we hear her songs but this is where we sit, outside, thinking old thoughts while we have old conversations and air smells like it has been born again, everything is new and fresh, everything feels new and fresh, except us

He is here still, like her and the last one, reliving every sacred battle ever lied about in any book that sell because of embellishments and people think when its written down it is serious, it becomes more fact than lie by default but nothing is true, nothing is absolute and and when I think about it, I should have found something divine, should have found god or tarim or eris or the jolly fat man, should have found something but I found nothing and nothing found me perhaps because I clad myself in my armor too early, too young of age and too tender, too hot I should have been allowed to rest before they I cut me open

I should have found god and knelt and been at peace, I am the last monkey in the opening scene of 2001, walking around looking for the something, no bones breaking underneath my fingers and no next step found and the moral of those stories is always that I should stop looking for it, relax and be at peace but there is no peace here, we are all cattle in a giant slaughterhouse and it is getting mundane even for the people that see it and I can't wait to see what lies further in store for us

Breathe they say around BREATHE they shout at him as if the power of the masses can shout someone back to life BREATHE why BREATHE why draw breath in the abattoir at all why fight on, why BREATHE why breathe when you can wish for a machine that would work, if you showed us a country that was north korea except that it was like the south people would stand in line to dictator it through

Why do we do this, we do we delude ourselves to these extents, we know better we should know better we are better we used to be better I dont know what we are now, I dont know where we are now and it is scaring me, the situation is becoming me but perhaps Ive been too stoned to follow on that real trip where I grow up and become something more, more in control, more myself, more responsible, more adult more more smores

The pupae is slow
but see!
It is widening, do you see?
Can you see it there,
among the petals of its bloom
it grows out of its shell,

No, converging. timestops, time stops not that time stops but the sensation that time has stopped on the inside but the outside turns again and again, against us, taking us feeling us destroying us wanting us becoming us, smelling and dreaming us, fearing us as we fear ourselves every step we take down the path we chose so long ago, infant steps not knowing where next small toes might land, this is it, converging, going abstract becoming normal, becoming clear, burnt too much too fast without knowing

we face the options and we are staggered, we are stopped in motion as we realize its all so fucking mundane and it was what we thought it was a long time ago, like catching a plot or a cold, here we are here they are, here it is, a golden apple painted with familiar words, once, like hands doing unfamiliar motions, the sensations of deja vu

I should be smarter about it, I should see it as it is and smile

The world is an apple, unripe but tossed among the greedy needy the us, perched and sat and becoming, illustrious what are the dogs singing what is this we are hearing where is life and what are we becoming, heart and shatter demon and scatter, wings become out cast and we are those, outcast but only in our own minds, we live now we become now we are drunk on the blood of our enemies as we insert the straw into our hearts, pumping out a future

to connect is to sever

there is a mountain
then there is no mountain

All is shadows and steel, blood and bone- time and untime, utnime in the allnow, branded once, dying now cherished cherubs of great cthulhu, sing to us our dream our sleep, sing to us the truth, sing to us from sacred r'lyeh, sing to us who we truly are

sing us our songs our songs of ourselves

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 / 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 / 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 / Ironic distance(mi kommer for å ta dæ)
« on: August 15, 2015, 10:07:15 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?

Or Kill Me / e/n
« on: May 31, 2015, 10:28:17 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

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