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He was a pretty good teacher, but he's also batshit insane and smells like ferret pee.

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Topics - Sepia

#1
Or Kill Me / a sense of self
February 09, 2024, 12:53:24 AM
I remembered. The ghosts of death that I see, these ghosts that I breathe, lingering, demons of scent. Pour me a heart, let me become dream in this, let me see these ghosts that fill my dreaming life, out there on the streets where the street-walkers walk in silence, sleeping and dreaming, dreaming a better world they can cope in, something else than this, a different idea than this as we turn again and again onto the same lanes, the same streets we flit through as we wait for death/life/hope/love/rebirth as we wait for mistress' boots to shine in perfection and we gaze into the darkest of mirrors and what we see reflected is pink filled with hearts giffing along and we make the ahegao face as they do now because real life isn't enough, we've spent it and used it as we've seen it through our monitors and as we've seen it through our screens but we need something more and we look for something more as the chorus fills our ears the bold chorus of bold men and bold women climbing the highest esoteric peaks where they're sniffing the cremated remains of junkies, wanking to porn none have ever seen and they look with jealousy upon those that have reached nirvana, ascended and become a part of the void flatlining the moment before the comey, a ruined orgasm marking their sacrifice pumping the future out steadily in streams, a river of semen trickling through, trickling down on kissinger himself as he raises his glass of cum and drinks it and the crowd gives a polite applause until kissingers weaponized black sperm tries to kill anything with an uterus and man himself is reborn, quoting Conan
#2
Or Kill Me / i am the human lizard king i can do anything
February 27, 2023, 06:12:39 PM
this is it, this, this is the existence

we die into this life from another one, once lived, still emulated within our heads - death defiant and dreaming, dream of deaf defiance, blinded as we walk through a life that has offended us, taking pills labelled hope to get through the day as we wait to die, we wait for the happiness to end, we wait for the spark to extinguish we wait for an end of good things for there is our death, when the books balance our lives, gives us an equilibrium and like a bad trip we are swallowed by all the emotions we try to keep at bay, to keep from influencing us becoming us so we shan't become them, become enveloped by them, every theoretical life we lived here for the taking and here for the living but we remain frozen in fear and stilled as we die into this existence flooded with every emotion conceivable and the plan hatches in our collective subconsciousness and we long to be birthed out of this world plane reality existence and through every multiverse the unconscious desire of socially accepted suicide gives birth to entropy itself, confirming what we are and what we always will be, the constant force that will always move towards the ending

a linear thought-fashion and a limited alphabet to keep us in our chains

and the smiths hammer day and night burning the coal and wood to forge our new manacles, yesteryears fashion recycled into the haute couture of a new world, a new season and the light that ever or never hit our hearts weep silently and solemnly, time travellers looking ahead or behind into the heart of the folly and the magician nods knowingly, we do what we have to do we do what we have always done and what we will always do, it doesn't matter if you know the history because it will always repeat itself in circles ad nauseum like magic spinning teacups, vomit trailing and tracing through the air, splattering the faithful and the heretics all the same as we learn but still limited by our needs and wants, we are not the pupae the optimists believe, there will be no future Foundation but there will be a dazzling display, a catwalk not even the gods could conjure and dream and there will be no event, there is no apocalypse and the eschaton was immanentized the second the idea was furnished and this is it, this is the utopian dream we are living and breathing, this is the vision of jesus christ, this is the sacred light that fills our heart, our time our prime the best versions of who we could be, who we are

as we race through our lives we scream and shout in anger we cry in frustration as our capacity to love mirrors our capacity to hate, emotional creatures refusing to believe nobody has a plan and as we write these words we look down upon our wrists and we rub balm where our prisons chafe and there is a feeling of pride because we decided it, we did what we had to and what we had to do was to be there as the runway lit up and out they came out we came and as we bathed in holy light like moths revelling in death we oohed and aahed and we were entertained and the madman observed the neverending empire, finally understanding the magicians role, writing luminary texts

illuminating us
enlightening us
transforming us
becoming us

we were always us, no gods no demons, no light no darkness, no institutions no laws, just us
#3
Or Kill Me / an idiot prayer of empty worlds
January 06, 2023, 08:56:54 PM
Our love starts out sullen, it dreams of us, you and me.

A sickness spreading upon oneself, loosing, lost time because we forgot/forgot to rewind the clock we figured time would be atomic now in any case even though planet of the apes is coming closer and in that far future it will still be charlton heston cryogenically preserved and as the credits roll future heston sees the empire that never ended

the death of the kings son as the king is dying and in the instant of his death he sees his kingdom with clarity - the seed spurred by creativity forms and deforms life, what are these dreams of life if not wispy and bubbly, bubbles bubbling in your ear closed eyes asmr style as you touch yourself and rudely awaken to a loud hammering at the door and there he stands, bubbles, smiling through his broken teeth and offering you a hat, following the globalized american dream and your eyes glaze

the homerun is a fact as the crowd goes wild and captain benjamin sisko runs smiling cackling that laughter, that bellowing belly full of disarmament, i wish i still believed in the good of mankind but when you go for banalities like good the only people who ever were good were fictions or myths and as you say these words my brain goes a different way and i connect the cables and i set the dials and i push on the controls and i set the course for the heart of the multiverse, elon musk and jeff bezos following right behind but im winning the race im becoming something there is a process a transition a transformation and everything that is me is flipped on and i see it, i see the eternal burning heart that scorches every man and woman under the sun as its own sun ouroboros connecting each and every one of us and as i arrive/become at the heart of the multiverse i see the end of 2001 and then i am remade as a sperm cell and as i breach every wall in every existence i hear the groans and moans of every elon musk and every jeff bezos in all existences and i feel the me becoming the starchild becoming the multiverse becoming the vast consciousness of a multiverse of a universe of a reality of me

screaming like an infant barely born

emptying my lungs, gushing out every part of me that i thought you didn't want this is it why im here this is why we are all here and we all have this weapon but so few of us ever use it and when we use it is for petty reasons, personal reasons to live by gordon gekkos words as we seem to live in it but it is the tip of a spear, the end of the lance, perhaps his lance but longinus it's christmas now, not easter, it was His gift to us and as he died upon the cross he didn't die for us because he was born for us and except the mercy of longinus it was His gift to us that killed him, disobedience

I will kill you with my kindness, I will end you all by smothering you and the apocalypse that is coming is my apocalypse and it will destroy you all by enlightening you

our words spread across the globe, across planets, across solar systems like poison for our words come not from the heart but from the desires of the city virus, carrying our unseen masters and doing their deeds in our name whilst the seen masters monitors everything, all the world seen through cctv eyes and they're men of course they are men but this seems fitting blurred faces commanding the future so we can sleep well at night
so elon musk can sleep well at night, sucking his thumb, dreaming sweet orwellian nightmares for the good of humanity and we recognize our sun-king, warrior-philosopher our chosen one and the rest of us accept the fact that a new idiot king for a new idiot age is the only thing that (doesn't)make sense so we go along with it, every man woman and ostrich in our flock a willing judas, opensource writing a new idiot bible for an idiot god dreaming idiot dreams sucking his thumb

shadows fill the crevices and light fills the cul-de-sac as love and her lover hate is revealed
#4
Or Kill Me / all we want is to be praised
August 09, 2022, 12:42:13 AM
we imagine the narratives and we change them

let me die in this sun now as I'm finally being birthed, one throatscream at a time, one hovel filled with shit to set fire to the imagination and full burn out of our solar system out of our lives

turned sick and something else, choirs dream of their boys, dreams possess their choirs, charlatans sinking their teeth into us, singing our flesh singeing our flesh

we erase history so we are not forced to remember it, we erase history so we can build on its rubble, new ignorances

the memory sets in, purges light and dark and becomes nothing becomes all becomes us

so many deaths we've had, every day a death when our day turns into our night and we disappear from the waking world as we visit the real world easing us in as we get better at dying with the lesson wasted until one day it clicks and we explode into another consciousness as prepared we were when birthed last but it could have been worse we could have been birthed in the 40th millennium
the god emperor sits not on his golden throne but lies dormant in his diapers, he is waking, transcending what it means to be human even though he never was to start with, what hand brought this sliver of divinity to our dark and bysmal shores?
what light burned so bright that it would be seen millennia from now but we did not recognize even as he walked in our midst he felt more a prophet of chaos than an atheist, trying to dissolve and decipher the mithraic mysteries because only the divine holds power over crusades

and banks

and i think to myself, what a wonderful world

we want to do good, we want to know that we have done good so we can get a pat on the back or a pinched cheek or a pinched ass because we want to be something, anything to anyone out there willing to throw a bone or a lifeline and we just want to go home every night after work and silently

in a bubble double helix sings


breathe in this life old snail let it fill your nostrils let it fill your heart and your rage do not be tired old snail do not retire into your stolen shell, vibrate and reverberate with life and become renewed feel the thud of your heart and the sear of your rage
#5
we, the rudderless

a child to linger and dreams to die in a shelter along the river one man two cups of coffee a horse on the outside and a sasquatch with a rope around his neck eating hay waiting for his masters return one of them breathes still and it smells like master

we should never abandon our shame we should transform it transport it but never to remove from our repertoire, suppression of it only extends the time we need to cling to it like the tedium of life we need to cling to, to make it seem worth, something more than the hollowness we feel when we think it's how life is but it is a slump, a depression, something wrong with us and our outlook because everyone keeps saying that everything will get better as long as we shoulder the burden, did you read that article on the internet about that girl who was depressed but thought herself out of it she thought about sunshine and rainbows and people not meaning what they say and strangers with differing political views discussing and debating, learning more and adjusting their own meanings, thanking their opponent for broadening their views, all in public with blitzes raining, live casted on twitch and the most important question is will you see the livestream or will you watch hasans reactions to the livestream, check the embedded chat for the poll which will only be up for 66.6 seconds and if you participate you'll get part of an nft where donald trump is all the participants of lemonparty

if you're lucky you might get part of his scrotum, i hear the scrotum market is up this year, joe rogans ass sold for an undisclosed sum by an anonymous oligarch based out of a palace by the black sea, upcoins are also up, musk bezos branson coins are all on the rise, they're all headed for up there and you know it will just turn out to be some shitty flick, like battle angel alita or some other middle-of-the-road concept because that's not safe enough, i mean we are talking about continuation of the human species, we are furthering humanity because we can and if these people are the visionaries that will define something then fuck it

i'd rather strap myself to their rocketcocks, hoping for enough idiots to do the same to weigh them down and keep them down and turn the narrative where they have no escape, where they are the prison and we are rorschach come launch day 1001 idiots lungs and eyes squish and collapse, happy smiling guntoting flagwaving assholes underneath, wishing the future good luck and getting spayed with blood shit cum earwax and the luckiest will catch a vial of scrotumjuice, handing it over solemnly to the monarch of united nations, selling it as an nft BUT NOW, limited time offering, available as an nft on 666 different blockchains, come on son, you gotta catch them all

I feel guilty, sometimes, occasionally because it feels like my fault, i was young you see once and i'd read something that i really wanted to understand because i wanted to be one of the few selects who understood something that famous critics did but others didnt, i was probably sixteen so it was pynchon, orwell, huxley, koestler and i'd probably started on beat because i wanted a world where nothing meant anything and earlier i was in a slump so i thunked about this and i understood i had just been sheltered, sorry for the pause there im just so high right now,  i had been sheltered all my life or pretty lucky or perhaps i hadnt been paying as much attention to politics as i should have but its always been like that

we've always been like that, it is who we are and i wish i had the tenacity and will to rejoin the part that truly cares but the timeframe for the human evolution is just too daunting, it is too enormous a silhoutte a contour like how you feel it when you are regressing projecting inwards on acid, the naked introspection but its not just you, its your elderly neighbour you shovel snow for that keeps muttering about them damned foreigners or your coworker who watches alex jones just for the lulz but then turns into him with pride/hubris and it falls, the fool forever falling out of the tower so drive like a demon

from station to station
#6
Or Kill Me / sick zero sense
November 30, 2021, 01:31:11 PM
I see two women, one with a dick and one without and one of them tells me of the future and the other tells me about the past

then we burn.
terminator 2 dreams where waves of fire crash over humans, washing us away in a second flood, I know it is a dream because all I can think about is how much it smells like bacon, how it looks like pigs slumped over
poles sharpened in both ends at their side
we never had any other lord, gods and goddesses came and went, their offspring too, some were pure fiction but not until all religious awe had been spent and the ancient gods invoked by spell, manifesting as fiction in pulp magazines, the untarnished truth found among those with nothing but their own truths

dream and sleep and slumber, one thousand and one eyes/nights watches us as we fall into god as we fall into reality and nothing is a coincidence, only

this thought creates the presence

someone utters obedience is victory and victory is life and i look around and i join my brothers sisters and other siblings in the savage madness, screaming tekeli-li at the top of my lungs

here is our sickness, plain in view and like us it is plain, mundane no intrinsic meaning but for us it will carry the burden of meaning as we ascend/descend into light/dark because that is as far as we have gotten in this life/civilization/planets life
our alphabets contain many runes but still we write our minds with 0s and 1s

i keep having dreams from lives i didn't live

of dreams i never dreamt but mostly those lives, that emptiness within, heart to heart man-person child, blessed warrior and protector, bulwark of these great nations that still fight for sovereignity, cash instead of blood but other than that it is business as ususal in this heaven that will be sunk and the world above will become hell as man devolves and has to go the long route without a guiding light but prophets meant to spread confusion unto masses not yet prepared for confusion

no emancipation for any man in any age, nor woman or anything inbetween. a thirst for the new, a fear buried deep inside our minds, this fear of missing out that drives us into this brave new world, this fear that drives the richest of us to have 60s scifi visions of legacy and fate having read and reread foundation too many times having being banned from rec.arts.sf.tv.babylon5 we sell enough cars and we sell enough shit to quagmire us even further and then there is a sudden global shortage of snakes

and the refineries stand silent

we do not know what free is for we have never been free and we will never be free and this is the realization that drives our fear, this fear that will embed cocacolas image on the moon fired by ion cannons made by george lucas in a basement in mt. weather overseen by elon musk and operated by jeff bezos and they scream geronimo as they land on mars, all of them, all of the industrialists and the visionaries of this age, left and right, oil and tech, pharma and government

and claim it for humanity
#7
Or Kill Me / from kether to malkuth
May 14, 2021, 01:15:31 AM
the heart submits to golden fallacies, once sunk once sunken cities - leave them be down in their abyss for their magics and superstitional ways have no place up here in the light, the light of reason the light of science the light of god
there are churches in the abyss that tell their pupils that the world is ending because languages dies out, popular dialects deform and transition into something else but the king of atlantis knows that this is progression, this is time, the screams of the eternal machine is heard throughout the multiverse and it trudges forward once more, time

time will come to the king of atlantis and all his kin and they will be thrown up into the light once more as science is replaced

anger dreams of destiny, rage dreams of the tower

chains dream of freedom and the tower dreams sweet dreams about not falling, never needing to be caught, never needing to be quite so melodramatic again but it would be folly to deny what we currently (do not) understand as magic

as language devolves as language becomes guttural as language transforms into new shedding old, the king walks from his winter palace and the new sounds sound like the old sounds and every conversation every discussion becomes clear and the sweat runs like tears as we discharge are discharged into this

to be bribed to be buried, here under the tower, underneath the shadow

in thine kingdom, the shadows are long and no man speaks the truth and no man speaks a lie, we hear what we want to hear having perfected the reversed glossolalia, building the anti-tower of babel into the heart of every breathing soul as nobody understands, everything is a conversation about bros talking feelings and none understanding but everyone empathic enough to nod, weep and share something like we all share something and nothing means anything but we are never lonely just wishing we were alone

the kingdom, where magic and science exist in duality and in this impossible scenario we will still be dreaming utopian dreams

#8
Or Kill Me / sprïng
March 22, 2021, 05:36:26 PM
impatient, strolling through, stone cold through the fumes, stoned, cold through the fumes
fuming he, king cotton toiling amongst the bones of king cobweb, a destroyer for the new age building the churches for the old in the same soil in the same sand in the same salt in the same memories because as the clock keeps ticking nothing else does

i can sense the fear inside myself, i have forgotten but more importantly i have forgotten how to remember once i have forgotten so i can continue to build on what i am supposed to be and remember myself before i die and become one consciousness sharing tales from the lands of the living with everything else

sinking deliberately floating downwards huffing and puffing and as we drown we see the lights there in the end, attached to hope and hate, emerging from the water and from life we settle and coalesce as spirit moves through us

the fear is palatable

to live in fantasia is my only goal in life, this and the next under the iron fist of mickey mouse, a mouse cast in iron velvet, velvet iron with no revolver in sight to kill the mouse and end the eternal empire where walt disney is portrayed as hp lovecraft in the pantheon of the mouse and on the mouse throne sits mickey with donald at his side and all is good and all is well   eternal

we hurry with no purpose and slow with too much purpose, man will never find the perfect middle because why should we? questions left unanswered or answered by those who know the truth with a big the serving as a further perfect example for this train of thought that is ending now

i have no taste buds and i must eat
#9
Or Kill Me / hëärt hëäd höpë
September 22, 2020, 06:45:43 PM
i sat in the chair and the chair was mine
i sat in the chair and the chair wasn't mine

Selah!

look to windward look to inward look
see
touch
feel
intuition becoming more, survival instincts watered down by lack of wars happening in our gardens they are just in the backyards of those we use to live the life we feel is necessary for us, this proud culture, what a time to be alive - moons and mars and adventures with elon musk at the helm do you get that ken kesey  elon musk is driving the bus and its yellow and we will go further and we will do it quietly in one of elon musks chariots and we will do it green and ecologically sound as we power through the coal belt through the dark the black the pitch but we are white we are green and oh so white

(but only for the cameras)

stepping on the gas we vomit as the acid kicks in not the bicycle acid but the new and improved streamlined acid run through the pipes of capitalism and efficiency acid as a ritual evaporates and mysticism dwindles in one area but is moved into science man runs through the maze smashing one brick wall at a time knowing that some day he will be free to smash other walls and fences, man is the great liberator of bricks

i sat in the chair and the chair wasn't mine, it wasn't a very fine chair but it was good enough to hold my ass away from the floor and as i sat there i started to sing

and around me gathered all the deer of the forest and all the birds in the air the worms in the ground the foreign predatory species of the inlands waters the crassostrea gigas of all our seas

and as i sang they interrupted me told that it could be worse, you could be living in a banana republic they said and that was true and i remembered the life i might have had where i lived in a banana republic but that wasn't for me, banana monarchy babe

america get well
#10
d


Cockatiel cock crow, crow magpie stones scissors papers

I have seen it, the future bright and gleaming, a shattered ship against the shores of nevermorewater the flying dutchman finally finding land and rest and humanitys shining landscape, a moose walking into the sunset colours so vibrant it should never be reproduced but spent, disposable art

ikea popup down at the docks, enjoy it pre-gentrification with swedish meatballs and dark-roasted peas 2 more weeks until starbucks

bene gesserit, whore-mother

something new will be born, some of use hope for wonderful others hope for dreadful but we all agree that it will be worse

we sit solemnly and pray as we face our mirror image, a pandemic potentially matching us, in mental fight we stand locked one will against one will, our brother will always be there, one more enemy we have made simply by existing and that will always be the enemy of poor, the downtrodden, the ill-educated that gives their wealth to those who hoard, dragons sitting in their lairs but less handsome than benedict

there is no difference between us and another virus

dead are we dogs and dreaming too


die and live and dream too, forget and become, obsess and possesss

join a posse; sing please brother sing no it doesnt matter if you cant sing sing with your voice i want to hear your beautiful tones, your beautiful dissonance, i want to live the dream butthole surfers dreamt when they tried to make an amp that would make you shit yourself, i just dont want to be there, i want to live interestingly vicariously

you can feel yourself so close, you can feel the shape and contour of you of me of I and you can feel the shape the contour of where you keep yourself from, a hidden id in a hidden room inside a hidden dream banging on a door somewhere, always heard like a rhythmic thump from somewhere and even when i walk without rhythm i feel the 60 bpm
#11
Or Kill Me / sümmër
June 05, 2020, 11:11:11 PM

i have dreamt the dream, lived the dream and forgotten the dream and I will dream it once more, live it and forget it, we will cycle our emotions, to and fro like a child skipping like hopscotch and i drank it for a while in my early tweens but then i was more of an irish man and the only thing i use whiskey for nowadays is torching pancakes for my nieces or irish, coffee
my dream was one of digressions, without soundtracks, the opposite of reality and filled with meaning so i made it my reality and i lived it until it became my reality also, there is a difference there and then it bled into each and other and once more i had forgotten so I kept watching myself and then it slid into observation and into apathy and it slides towards the maelstrom for some of us before we get it together before we remember

it rains and it feels hollow, it should feel more like a television moment with hot chocolate and blankets and something, something more than last time i saw the scene, it might have been ferrero rocher it might have been frozen pizza, it might have been the past and it might have been the future but i was stuck in the presence for all of it

i have      into enough realities, i have seen enough transgressions, i have seen so many different people do the exact same shit in so many different ways and they say theres variables but it feels binary, it should seem vibrant and filled with different dimensions but it doesnt matter if its alan moore or marjorie liu, it still looks flat

like earth
#12
Or Kill Me / the conjunction of spheres
February 14, 2020, 06:07:16 PM
Of children caught, benevolent hate, mother: dung of hades here I stand ready for redemption, emptified of benevolent love hollowed heart hallowed heart hustling heroics wholeheartedly; harken and hear his holy words, his wholly words his woolly hords drink too me a chance a leper understanding of the what and the where and we are the why walking talking consuming here we are, supporters of a never-ending economical growth because the new belief is that we are infinite as we were made in the image of someone infinite so we should be infinite and the 1% should be infinite

Tend to your garden, friend, make it all grow furthur or rip it up, stems and roots, burn it all and douse the entirety in glyphosate and start a new garden, build this new civilization here, amongst flowering cacti and magnolias

The world is beautiful, life itself is beautiful, a heart is beautiful a mind too. Forgotten how we as humans are humans towards eachother but life imitates art and art imitates life and both of them imitates tv - zingers and stupid jokes meant to drive a narrative with plotholes forward becomes everyday communcation and the jingles of early advertisement has become the hits we hear on the radio, brave music for a brave new world

what secret was kept within the hieroglyphics, such a truth that we once more revert to it, being cheapened by it while we see babel built by emojis

into earth do we fall, in this earth we have fallen, broken strands of hate delivering us cheering us hoisting empty shells into the air celebrating them as gods, we have become structured rodents of decay an embodiment of the cockroach, nuclear war and nuclear winter and when we disappear our waste disappears and the cockroaches having survived annihilation from splitting atoms will dwindle and die for we are not there to be the virii they need, viruses with shoes
shatter me mother for my pride shatter me father for my hubris, we were always icarus and never, we flew too close to the sun but our goals were different we wanted to go beyond the sun and if anyone questioned us why we'd have a million answers and none of them would be true for like a virus we wouldn't admit that to ourselves we merely wanted to spread

the city of R'lyeh is in us, not in our oceans, not out there but in here (points to the heart/brain/soul) for in a shyamalan twist we are the predators, we are the monsters and the audience scream a surprise when our monstresses turn out to be just that and we are not one spaceship, there are noone driving the bus and it isnt going further

there is no sense in what we make, what we do, who we are and what we create, there is no sense of identity or purpose for all these billion lives, we are not rudderless for we never had a rudder to begin with, we are not lost for we have never been found, we are not found for we have never been lost and we are giants as much as we are dwarves

and all that we are is shit and blood
#13
Or Kill Me / courting life
November 16, 2019, 02:02:34 AM
We fulfill the needs of the dying before the living, we try, like the magnet on the fridge to become pizza but we don't want respect or the desire to be liked like those that came before us but we want to be accepted enough to get enough likes or retweets and we want the world to become digital because we've left this analog husk behind, we are trying to create artificial minds not to

There is nothing for us here, we are dead and singing, becoming and tracing our hearts and our minds with our words but we leave the actions out in the hallway, freezing clutching with their small hands the hope and desire


Selah, why are we moving?

Why aren't we dying why aren't we dead
why are we dying why are we dead
why

is a boring question when you can ask who when where who was there at the party that who was there at that president that wasnt a presidents inauguration when did it happen O M G i missed it when is it going down where is it where is

Where is it Selah? where are we? when are we? who are we? why are we


All these questions that you'll never get answered in your lifetime, your life, all their lives all their lifes, whatwhywhowherewhen is all part of what doesn't really matter because the same questions will come again and the answers will be same but with the variance of life and these questions are interesting in the start or just after you've had psychedelics or waking up to a next love, I used to like to think that we got these questions at junctions and crossroads or turning around in the cul de sac and I used to think they were there to bring us back into life when we have been in unlife for too long or to show us darkness when we had been sleeping in the light

to spark what we have once been, what we are and where we will be, to spark dreams and hopes and prayers, to spark the child in your eyes and the teenager in your brain, to live love and life ohgod you wonderful life, I ran over you with my old trabant and I didn't stop long, only long enough to hear you groan before I drove on out of my life and into, out of this


into the wasteland as the sun sets and I remember being human, all too human for all the wrong reasons as I gun into the wasteland with a glass of warm champagne in my hand
#14
 we drank the dream when they told us they were the land of the free and for a while we believed them until they were all held hostage by one man and he said

"if I give you one message to hold in your hearts today, it's this: treat the word impossible as nothing more than motivation, relish the opportunity to be an outsider because it's the outsiders that change the world and who will make a real and lasting difference, the more that a broken system tells you that you're wrong the more certain you should be that you must keep pushing ahead you must keep pushing forward"


"In the field of psychology, the Dunning–Kruger effect is a cognitive bias in which people mistakenly assess their cognitive ability as greater than it is. It is related to the cognitive bias of illusory superiority and comes from the inability of people to recognize their lack of ability. Without the self-awareness of metacognition, people cannot objectively evaluate their competence or incompetence."


We're high and drunk and on our fourth night or fifth day and we, like the man in the big white house and someone tells the story of how it once burnt and and we feel the lingering smoke before we refill the bowls and giggle and laugh and we, like the man in the big white house tell lies and yarns and stories and do not concern ourselves with sobering fact but as we think we discover we go into it politically and we feel our minds and brains kick and scream because we won't go there, we won't go over the lawn to the big white man in the big white house because it's burning, it's still burning and we hear the screams we see the children running from the village as the big white planes drop napalm and flyers(no room for food or supplies) and the man outside who spoke words we would have loved in a different context, he is burning

a bright white phosphorous
#15
Or Kill Me / loop #2
September 04, 2019, 08:40:14 PM
We felt the movement from light to darkness as we will feel it again when we return once more as we travel the spheres jumping from worlds that have been to worlds that will be anchored in the worlds that are, here is our linearity as we perceive only one dimension at a time, we immerse ourselves in worlds that have been before we understand all that will be and while we go back and forth our minds

stop

and we learn all of the past before we return to the present forgetting the past moving into the future forgetting everything the future told us as we return to the past like a daydream interrupted and after a while we realize this is what is going on  a deep nagging fear in our minds that we have seen everything several times and in reality we are omnipotent

like pupae
#16
Or Kill Me / droppings
August 14, 2019, 05:29:59 PM
we buy everything they sell in the hopes of not getting sold

we cherish the silence as the silent grow among us

we are idols scrawled from flesh carved into nothingness come hell or high water, to bring us this love I am the hate that courses through lord beelzebub
his restlessness too

what we are will widen, we will not become we will assimilate more so we can become more becoming less becoming of us, illuminous beings are we, crude matter


we died today all of us, everyone of us underneath the shadow of the tree of the tower of the will, the majesty revealed and descended from above us above the godhead above existence but for a while there it felt good, coloured rosy by the mid late 90s tech-optimism but it felt good back then when internet was a place of possibilities, back then we had the imagination but it was the tech setting the limits and now that we have the tech the imagination and creativity that originally made the web an interesting place has all been diluted, when was the last time you had a thought that wasn't placed there by them n epiphany online

we must move slower, think more but not as individuals but as one planet que captain planet theme

I'm going to kill you and then I'm going to eat you, all of you

I want you to find my truth
#17
Or Kill Me / LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLearning
July 12, 2019, 06:22:01 PM
Keanu Reeves rides his wave of popularity into the white house summoning the age of aquarius turning Alan Moore happy

Are we learning? Learning? Do you roll your rs do you roll with ares or are you stressed out modern life taking its toll are you still learning

I must learn the internet
I must learn to eat without meat
I must learn to tell unimportant lies, not the lies that matter and ingrain  themselves in cultures like grownups telling children they're the most important thing in the world, telling Greta

the evolution of duality is a return to darkness when the light rots, extremes in both angles made up by us , driven by us

I must learn to drink smoothies with a superingredient
I must learn to like kale chips as a substitute for regular chips
I must learn to play streamlined pvp fpses csgo cod of the year battlefield of the year
I must learn to love children, not just those of kinship
I must learn how to multi-task

I must learn to give them space, let them breathe more dont suffocate your sentences

a vallowing in destruction we with glee detect frenzied state us unawares glimpses of a harrowing future where the harvest began with camelot

I must learn dothraki
I must learn klingon
I must learn minbari
I must learn to cope with the fact that this isn't me when I'm 22 only 15 years later
I must learn how to get in shape for the summer because we're all shallow

I must learn to fight my gamers addiction
I must learn to love all the people
I must learn to balance work and play
I must not forget how to dance

even though my shoes are too tight

I must learn sailfish
I must learn everything
I must learn nothing
I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve
I must learn to be wise like austen, jane

I do not know her face but it feels sickening the sun is scorching and we feel ill it feels like an end like we are getting nearer closer to a core of sorts like were trampling someones garden and there they stand adam and eve and before their mouths move they transfer all they have seen or learned throughout the ages, the first man and the first woman how many times they rebooted that franchise thinking the answer was in the seed while weight should have been lent to current generations, the rot should be the core of our two dimensional narrative fetish
the children should be kings once more, a return to the lord of the flies

LLLLLLLLLllllllllord lloigor lo

I must learn that hate is love and love is hate
too soon is a little too late and we know what everyone will always be
go Keanu go
#18
Or Kill Me / loop #1
June 27, 2019, 09:50:26 PM
I see the light, some say its passing but i can see it still, clearly with my blue eyes they say its passing but i can see the light he hangs on the cross and a man is piercing him and he says something in passing but i can see the light and the fiery roar of technology as it manifests dreams across a sky across television sets into a sea of tranquillity and they say its passing  but i can see the light years later as a man shoots golf on the moon and as the ball is passing i see the light a man standing on a stage giving aid, a man in an alley getting aids as it is the only way he can be with the man he loves, a child in in the streets of stockholm trying to change how the world works and they say it'll pass, its going to blow over and i have seen light

what did you see in the light?

did you see yourself there, cramped, waiting for them to open the casket and surprise you or did you see yourself there, hidden inside a comatose body while your mind still worked having no mouth wanting to scream, seeing yourself over and over, strobing, building madness inside yourself or did you see yourself over there, out there in the stars climbing on spider webs all the way to Eris with its highly eccentric orbit, did you touch her, eat her golden apple did she give you the holy grail or did she give you the wand, did you accept? willingly or with obligation? did you accept because it would make a better story? how does that validate or invalidate your previous argument?

what did you see in the light?

humans, all too human humans trying to carve out something from themselves in a game that is rigged, in a game where 90% fight over 10% while the 10% control the 90% because why not? with this in mind we become even more human and we close to kill those we love and we lick the arses of those we hate because that is the rhythm of it, that is the familiar, the culture and with that in mind we become even more human so we compete in the gutters where we belong because we don't understand that we could be getting a lot more than 10%

what did you see in the humans?
#19
shit and come and fuck and be and be a bee

oh, that we were bees, working for a goal, a distinct goal, an idea a vision a man or a woman or something just driving the bus, someone getting in and getting it done and sometimes when I'm blue and sad and here I just wish for someone with a vision to take us through and let us break on through but all the doers are fucks, all the doers are shit, every cause idea symbol gathering point focus point everything that starts with a pinprick turns to shit

not like the person in tiananmen who was a doer and did one good thing before disappearing or being disappeared, theres probably lots more like mother theresa, some versions of jesus christ, like some versions of anakin skywalker it was bill hicks wasnt it who said it another dead hero but I've been looking for heroes and the heroes aren't where they're supposed to be so what they say comes out wrong because some of our eyes are still old, some of our minds gelled during certain events and with these ears we can hear nothing but noise, desiring the sound of crickets

women shouldn't talk about politics
gayness is a disease and with time and faith we can cure it
transpeople are okay as long as they stay in their closets
no blacks allowed

for me, very stereotypical american issues but all heard through rural norway in the year of our lord 2k19

is this it
is this where the past will overtake the future and the future will panic and fire bits of itself into the past while we have no fear for the things we should fear, the things we should feel reverence for, the old religions understood it and kept it simple while some fanatics placed their faith in one unending god in a universe where everything will end

pigs have gentle hearts but they will eat you when hungry enough and it's not just the cops, we're all pigs here on this globe and soon we'll have pigs hearts, pig ears and pig cocks too pig cunts as we marvel at the scientific achievement of creating a hermaphrodite while the rich escape to live on the moon and then we the common people will live and do whatever we do and we'll fail watch our life slide out of view and dance and drink and screw,
#20
Or Kill Me / pieface
May 28, 2019, 09:21:15 PM
ONLY HERE FOR THE PIE he said
a little too loudly as he walked into the diner getting dragged into the back by coffee, hashbrowns and burgers


ONLY HERE FOR THE ____ he said


we dont know much more of what he said because he vanished into the mists having found an enlightenment, the last of the free discordians, his name is Robert Budd Dwyer and in his nirvana he built his silver city and in the middle a feathered serpent held court and from heaven and hell he received his dream, a false dream but his dream nonetheless and he went out into the world to preach

but how does a discordian preach?

soapbox?
social manipulation?
be the dude with the sign?
charity drives?
learn to tattoo, abduct people, cover them in golden apples and release them?

he came upon a quaint little town filled with boutique shops, shabby chic ten years too late, housewives blind on prescription meds and moved into a house down by the river. he opened up the way to his backyard and made a quaint little store in the shed where he also made cute small signs, inscribed with inspiring sentences such as

Don't be perplexed at different realities!
Reality is the original Rorschach!
I don't know man, I didn't do it!
Emperor Norton was Right!
No hot dog buns!
Celebrate Mungday!
I want YOU to fight the curse of GREYFACE!
Why are we here?

and he preached
he preached to the housewives their husbands their gardeners making them grow his weed he preached to the poolboys and got word on which pools were nice to clean and which weren't he preached to their drivers their cats their politicians their servants their world

#21
Or Kill Me / disone iz for you,
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
#22
Or Kill Me / viagra boys
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

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjL7D33xpS4
#23
Or Kill Me / Confessions
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
#24
Or Kill Me / a fresh new lemon-scented you
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


#25
Or Kill Me / not political
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?
#26
Or Kill Me / Fuckball
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
#27
Or Kill Me / YOU should take RESPONSIBILITY
November 14, 2016, 12:54:27 AM
shouldn't you?
#28
Or Kill Me / Everyone will always be too late (2016)
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,
silent
#29
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
#30
Or Kill Me / God told me to skin you alive[edit]
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

#31
Or Kill Me / fuck you america?
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?
#32
Or Kill Me / It was a dark and stormy night
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
#33
Or Kill Me / She
November 14, 2015, 01:01:26 AM
He
He
He
He
I
He
He


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

#34
Or Kill Me / Ironic distance(mi kommer for å ta dæ)
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?
#35
Or Kill Me / e/n
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
#36
Or Kill Me / e/n
April 23, 2015, 01:21:47 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
#37
Or Kill Me / e/n
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
#38
Or Kill Me / Oinos (WiP)
January 21, 2015, 12:01:26 AM
So, here we are. At last, again. Once more,

again

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 façade 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]
#39
Or Kill Me / Tweet for twats from @olau5wormiu5
October 15, 2014, 11:11:06 PM
And the sounds, oh the sounds, my friend Rabbi or habibi as the locals say it, the sounds of hell itself is remarkable and like lsd if you have partaken, oh, on a communion wafer, haha, my my Rabbi that is some powerful magic, but, the sounds of hell cannot be described anymore than I could describe to you the missing letters in our alphabet, the sounds themselves fill pockets you never knew existed inside your own mind, it takes your perception and  most who are led to hell's gates finds sanity cumbersome afterwards, making hell truer to its word and world, people who resist the madness are made to overseers and as there is a ladder in life and in heaven, there is one in hell and everyone habibi tried to climb it, god has no power when you're the 1% and they all topple and fall like demons and angels do but if you should be in the vicinity Rabbi, take a tour of hell, not for the sights but the sound

That missing alphabet in your life


#40
and we break as we open and the cracks are all visible, now, we fall apart as we find the connections necessary to become further and we are a whimper, we are a bang and we birth ourselves as the shotgun feels heavy, feels hard, feels wrong but there is someone else telling something else, call it a demon and they have called it evil but what other shadow can emerge from the doubt of action, a part of us not yet comprehended, not understood, something vague but I'd say that one little voice screaming yes in a choir of no is what makes us human, makes us all Walt Whitman

Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)






Prepare for braindump:




They go out chasing the heart of saturday night, dew heavy upon the city's shoulders, summer disappearing, waning into the hours, feet filled with the joy of youth, of life, coats and shirts made from hopes and dreams, hopelessly worn so that someone might recognize their significance but the ritual is when one dons the armor, the small spells, the small well-wishings, the small hearts drawn with with two hands that could have convoluted into prayer or raised as an angry fist when realization sinks in, death

To connect is to sever, our minds say as we pass the lines with people waiting to stand next to eachother, to feel the exuberant warmth, the joie de vivre, den varme døende gleden, we become the people we meant to stray from but having we found their positions lacking, there were parts of their souls we missed and we were the only ones so we emulated and built you into us, incorporated the missing part without knowing, without knowing what really happened to us, happens to us as we delve further into this, this explosion, this disarray of contemplations feelings reflections thoughts that we try to put together or we buy a book of someone who found the way and the sale of snake oil is up and the prices are peaking, the one man cult has never been so easy to attain and the light shines so fiercely

Fire is the bright, glowing brimstone, sulphur following us through the night, it's election year and cultural imperialism has taken its roots and god how I hate the ads, we still haven't gotten to american standards but we're getting there slowly, eroding or as your dead president said it when he talked about the corporations that had been enthroned and we live in an era of corruption, not like they have in 5th world nations but corruption need not change much before the laws written to combat it are used to prolong its existence and most wealth is aggregated in a few hands but at least we're not a republic

The sirens sing their miserable songs into the night as honest to god working men go out into the night to drink what they used to drink when they were students and drank all the time and shot booze meant for girls or cough syrup best suited for the elderly and they glare at everyone, their predatorial instinct, the biological imperative ascending, searching for their long lost love of saturday night

The sirens sing their miserable songs into the night as honest to god working women go out into the night to drink what they used to drink when they were students and drank all the time and shot booze meant for girls or cough syrup best suited for the elderly and they glare at everyone, their predatorial instinct, the biological imperative ascending, searching for their long lost love of saturday night

How useless this life is when we pray for god to appear every saturday night, as insects do we scuttle smelling eachother, making less of an impact than we are willing to admit, the swan song of a bad animal


The happy people

or

The future resides in the hands of Lizzy Caplan

and

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn



Behold! The custard, how will it set once it has been released from its prison of cold metals? Will it melt, behaving as if in a mouth or will it refuse to exit, delight in the protective shield or will it do as it is told? Will there be too much? Too much heat, too little heat, not enough steam, too much steam or you threw the fucker out the second you realized this wasn't for you because you couldn't bear to wait for it, the development would take too long, nothing would be gained from standing there, lying there shaking uncontrollably, hoping for death but knowing something worse will come and the custard sets and sits there perfectly, like a vulgar voluptuous glutton-pope

Pope wyrm, pope paed, pope poor, ipope, hipsters driving around in popemobiles and I love them and nominate them for parliament simply because they do things for a reason that may be stupid but they don't sugarcoatitandthey seem generally interested, they seem like decent folks that do stuff and when I meet them we howl, burning still for the heavenly connection

The bubble burst the burst breaks, the wicked bad will follow, time come, become us, one-faced three legged kittens made from dreams and nightmares alike, preying on hope and living off the heart that beats under the surface of this rugged chest, this rugged earth, this rugged heaven, this rug Ive been sleepin on, waking but not seeing, being but not dreaming, becoming something extended of me, a connection into a heart, a dependency of drugs, dying hours becoming days becoming weeks becoming months becoming years becoming thineself, born again as pope wyrm, lacking vision and interest, so many have passed through this mind and more will so make space, make room for the whole host, make space for them all for they are coming, through stages each one will come

Behold! A tiramisu, does it contain custard? Why/why not you said to me as you stepped through the rain but it was memory overlapping reality, a disconnection==to connect is to sever, the thoughts roam, too many, too cluttered, I need a reboot and I need them to step up their game and convert illegal dollars to taxable ones to pay for the suits in all guises roaming the streets, preparing to become the 51st state. The world feels cold and autumn ends too soon and soon, soon it will be slippery, be cold to the bone and the darkness will linger for long and thus commences the season of trying as hard as possible to feel alive, fell, alice in a world, square down in this-

descent,

wanting to live and breathe on saturday night, saying let me take you to the apocalypse baby, let me help you break on through to the other side, those words you have chanted and your subconsciousness is waiting for you, you can't hide up in the light forever for darkness will come, invoked or not but atleast at the end and light is nothing without darkness and the apocalypse won't be the world ending, the building destroyed, the explosions bigger than texas gluing you to your seat, it won't end in 3d, it'll end in a fourth or fifth, depending, perhaps up to the 32nd, the end of the world will occurr in your head and something changes and it will be the most dreaded change and it will be fought against by everyone whom has something to lose because there's no market, there's no buck to be earned and all to be lost and that is the truth of humanity, this is us, hva en har syndet har vi alle gjort

some will say it is god or his terrible revenge but fuck that, god's terrible revenge is already here, something that isn't is because of the minds of men- we live in an age of liars or did we always live like this?

Election-year, this year, the infernal cabal gathered and talking talks, smoothening moves, pandering to the masses, the christian party paying homage to world-famous massmurderer anders behring breivik by reinstating christianity as the dominant religion taught, showing our white fear for islam like the good white soldiers we are because he was right in that there will be a war or several regarding it, it's been a while since a big good one hasn't it? Time for a new one, time to water the roses the way they should, soon we'll hear it I think, and and and a cultural minister that has no competence regarding that field except for sports and various aspects of sports, she spends the rest of her time in board meetings and I'm thinking Allen Ginsberg had the most right and his america is all our americas, our own personal hells of america and I didn't vote for this shit



He built his fortress in the ice, he took solitude and externalized it and another one built his fortress to contain himself spilling all over the plains and his fortress is our fortress, one question, one puzzle to entertain the husks of immortality, what can change the nature of a man, what will change the nature of men as man asks himself the question every time he is born with every incarnation lurking in the back of His head, our head

The genderless child, another anti-christ spawned for a different age, this sensation these feelings, not to let them linger for reason to grab, like a young man discovering his own personal freedom, his own sense of direction in the world, it an oyster or a peach ripened and handled with velvet gloves, how I wish I could converse with that man, sit with him and share a bottle of wine, to hear his thoughts once more before they will slip like sensations into the abyss of memory where all of import is preserved, when you realize that the world is not binary, the duality we exist in is merely the frame that allows our ideas of reality to manifest, as childhood ends we will extend further from the logic of two sides to a coin or two sides to perception of time

Do we see these dreams, do we become these thoughts, these personalities, when did the first night of frost pass us, leaving potential in its wake? The what ifs we accumulate over lifetimes, here is presence bleeding into the daylight, waning little by little, come to us our conqueror worm, our conquering worm, our wyrm

Shadows cast by light, why do we write? Why are there so many volumes in every attic and every basement of forgotten pain, forgotten joy and pleasure, why? Why do we stop?

Why did we even start? Why did we begin to go where we are, where we will go, the heart lies somewhere else, somewhere darker than where we began, where we started to intertwine, to become and alter ourselves after the needs we saw and the needs we felt, some say they hope for something more, something deeper, something none can tell what is but something in the lack of something better, something more, some prey for chaos, some for order, they always hope for something that is not what is for the grass will always been greener, there is no difference between us, all of us, remind us that we will die, alone and into the shadow

I try to see the beauty and sometimes it will reveal itself but usually there is none, there is no beauty in a world of hollow and I blame myself for hoping for something more, let me tell you of shadows and light, of demons and angels, of dreams where every ghost will walk by, my home has become a future tomb, I am my own walking coffin, I am the death that will eat away at the edges, I am the hope of despair, the dark futures you dream guiltily of, the fictions none else will know but where you know you become yourself and it makes my stomach turn but we know it to be true, to be us, this is me, this is us



and god understands, he

a drunken man dressed as santa rumbling through the streets, pissing on fire hydrants, screaming to every kid he says that he killed santa and hes wearing santas skin and people are shocked, appalled while I understand and wish to do the same, lacking the balls, I dont even know how to blow smoke rings, doubt fills me and my fingers want me to stumble and my brain has shut down everything I need, a blank slate receiving from our alien overlords or from the sleeping master underneath the waves, underneath our consciousness and as some saw santa as the coming of end times, I would be hoping more for the end of these
#41
Or Kill Me / saturdaynightandilive,
September 07, 2013, 01:13:43 AM

They go out chasing the heart of saturday night, dew heavy upon the city's shoulders, summer disappearing, waning into the hours, feet filled with the joy of youth, of life, coats and shirts made from hopes and dreams, hopelessly worn so that someone might recognize their significance but the ritual is when one dons the armor, the small spells, the small well-wishings, the small hearts drawn with with two hands that could have convoluted into prayer or raised as an angry fist when realization sinks in, death

To connect is to sever, our minds say as we pass the lines with people waiting to stand next to eachother, to feel the exuberant warmth, the joie de vivre, den varme døende gleden, we become the people we meant to stray from but having we found their positions lacking, there were parts of their souls we missed and we were the only ones so we emulated and built you into us, incorporated the missing part without knowing, without knowing what really happened to us, happens to us as we delve further into this, this explosion, this disarray of contemplations feelings reflections thoughts that we try to put together or we buy a book of someone who found the way and the sale of snake oil is up and the prices are peaking, the one man cult has never been so easy to attain and the light shines so fiercely

Fire is the bright, glowing brimstone, sulphur following us through the night, it's election year and cultural imperialism has taken its roots and god how I hate the ads, we still haven't gotten to american standards but we're getting there slowly, eroding or as your dead president said it when he talked about the corporations that had been enthroned and we live in an era of corruption, not like they have in 5th world nations but corruption need not change much before the laws written to combat it are used to prolong its existence and most wealth is aggregated in a few hands but at least we're not a republic

The sirens sing their miserable songs into the night as honest to god working men go out into the night to drink what they used to drink when they were students and drank all the time and shot booze meant for girls or cough syrup best suited for the elderly and they glare at everyone, their predatorial instinct, the biological imperative ascending, searching for their long lost love of saturday night

The sirens sing their miserable songs into the night as honest to god working women go out into the night to drink what they used to drink when they were students and drank all the time and shot booze meant for girls or cough syrup best suited for the elderly and they glare at everyone, their predatorial instinct, the biological imperative ascending, searching for their long lost love of saturday night

How useless this life is when we pray for god to appear every saturday night, as insects do we scuttle smelling eachother, making less of an impact than we are willing to admit, the swan song of a bad animal
#42
She saw the future in a bowl of soup, green puy lentil soup with smoked cusk, dots of creme fraiche, dill oil, chervil and croutons, she ate in silence, rain was outside, light summer rain and I peeked outside as I finished my salad, seared off whale, baby romano lettuce, mayonnaise pink with pigs trotters and shaved local hard cheese. I was about to ask for coffee and avec when she saw the future

She saw the future in a cup of tea, laves of earl grey gathering at the bottom underneath layers of milk curdling, slowly but steadily as she drank it from one of those big tea cups, slurping all the while, she saw the future of the empire in an old imperial, smiling when she saw the future

She saw the future in the clouds, summer heating up but not yet there, she walked ahead of me in the proper satanic fashion and my eyes were transfixed on her legs, not so sleek as they used to be but they had power, the power of certainty and age, lithe and filled with grace, filled with violence in every step, so beautiful, I got a nazi girlfriend and she can see the future and there

she sees it again

She sees this; me- dead in five years like Munchs vampire, black and white tiles on the bathroom floor, the red seeping twixt them, illuminating the three strands of magical belief for those who wish to see but the janitor won't understand the cleaning lady won't understand the girl next door won't understand because it's like a sleight of a the hand, you're watching too closely at my deceased thing, my lack of the 21 grams and the pints of blood that made me alive, the nothingness I could be, prop me up and zap me with electricity once in a while, water me like a plant, I'll be your real doll, rotting away in the living room while you open a can of surströmming and prepare for us a feast

She sees this; me- dead in five years, the loft of an old warehouse, yuppie places underneath my feet as I croak with my ipad to my chest, the last jump I ever did was never off a building but the atonement for imagined sins and slights, waiting for a sign from above that I was right, right all the time and I took too long to pick a pigeon to carry the message, getting lost between shades of grey, black white but I sent it and then I decided in my own way to die if god would not have me, I should die of starvation and thirst in my own apartment and I did, there would never be anything more, just us

I see it; this- I see the dream and the rude awakening, the black swan in subconscious development, the truck that hits when you see it coming and you think you jump out from it but there was a different one there, gå utenom sa bøygen, take the road from here, the first or the second from what you are and the third, the third is why you want to be, when to exist, the third leads further than what we can find here in the dross of our shallow lives and civillizations, our hotels may reach the clouds but the silver city is further from us, soon a fading memory, a priest tied to the tracks and in the distance, the sound, His fury

Signifying nothing, she said, dreams she said, fictions and everything is a fiction told from one person to another, they may be true and they may be false but there is nothing definitive about nothing, we are all streams of ideas and concepts stanzas arias connecting and interacting with eachother, modifying eachothers information, recalibrating, calibrating, connecting, severing life death she said this is getting boring
#43
Or Kill Me / Three trains/thoughts/tinker
May 10, 2013, 12:29:08 AM


There is no diction, no struggle, not in any traditional sense, there is just the cat and the box, there is only a word. At a crossroads do we meet for the first time and since, we've only kept on meeting here, there, as old friends or more aptly, old enemies. There is no need for love to understand but we shared that too, you reminded me of Walt Whitman and you made me feel the multitudes instead of the anxieties of dissonance. We walked for a while at each crossroad, you and me and we were linked, somewhere, six fathoms deep, an old anchor suffering of entropy under the white dunes of the black ocean and once-tugging us further away the drift towards shore for seven hundred and seventy seven men, women and children, purchased for baubles, protected by the divine creator as slaves.
I always imagined the images that came when we spoke to be yours, I saw you as someone struggling with all of the senses/disciplines, mine one was merely the word and in trying to understand the word I tried to be the word before I realized that there is nothing more, there might have been a word at first but every hope and yearn we crave for something different than a planet filled with bad animals, some external presence to tell us that thing we've felt all life is just this

I abused you, called you names and wished you would never exist, I threatened you and I courted you, I did everything I could think of that would make you break the way I wanted you to but you took it all, every big cock in every orifice, we filled you to the brim and we tried to poison you, I tried to poison you, to turn you more like me but I think you knew it was childish folly for if you became like me, we  would no longer exist, we would no longer have a reason to exist so we would cease. When you acted indifferently to both my hate and love, I did the most sensible thing ignoring and denying you but when you weren't there I felt no peace, no sleep but I did not know it at the time, others came and made me feel good but the instances became instants  and there was a hole

Stranger- I'm a stranger here myself, on an old worn down bench in a cemetary two men sit, appearing as collages of their lives, they themselves long since dead, the writer and musician sit amongst the dead talking of life and we came upon their crossroads once and they talked of change, the idea is the most powerful


"You kissed his mouth with mouths of flame:
you made the horned god your own:
You stood behind him on his throne: you called
him by his secret name." - Oscar Wilde, the Sphinx

That terrible crucifix to wear, silver to protect us against vampires and werewolves and the cross to remind us of who died for our sins unless its a fashion statement- a rememberance of the torture and its probably been done before but not worldwide, I feel old talking about respect atleast for an incident that spawned some of the most malicious organizations and systems, despicable and vile monster trucks headed down that broad broad road, paved with  gold, talking in newspeak with leonard cohens voice as we tread it but it doesnt feel solid, it gives, like water encapsulated, a membrane a cell something alive and in a sense aware but not sentient or the other way around but its been here before, we've been here before, we've seen this road from far away, we've taken it a couple of times and we have fought those who have taken it at other times and we are the history of these two roads for those who know the third road

take the third road and as they pass the veil, their hearts cheer and everything resonates like a cataclysmic apocalypse of the mind, 2001 played again, played backwards and inside, outside, bubble-shaped, kaleidoscopic

The third road is the hole in my heart, you did the sensible thing and didn't wait, you came with godsight and you saw where it was headed and I could not see it but what you saw I understood as you passed behind the veil and your eyes were no longer mortal but I saw you as you passed and writing of you makes it like you're dead and in a sense you are because there needs to be an end/beginning sequence but death itself is so passé in a world where we will all survive as gifs and swfs, reblogged more often as the world gets interpreted through Moore's Law

There's pressure, there will always be pressure. It doesn't have to make sense, none of it, it just has to appeal, remove language from the equation of reality and pass into the halls of enlightenment for words as they say up north, is wind and listen to the wind and look for the warmth underneath the fallen city, what undying god toils there? What does sense give you that you couldn't get before, what horrors are chained in the basement of your soul all because of restriction, the walls should curve, heart should stop racing and the brain should regain control from the blood and the you, with sense or without, pressure. Points produced from the tiniest of pinpricks, building the Invisibles from the rubble of bill&ted, in battery-life none can hear you whoa dude, in damnation to dormancy dwell, this is a lesson but none to be learned, wisdom travels in a discreet fashion, like a virus, like an idea but time is biding like the true god we all know, dormant- shots are fired on the outside, the echoes are heard from the walls, from the backs of our trolls, through the echoes of our waterfront in progress, telling the sad tale of yuppie-norway come 2010, although the opera is more beautiful now and when it turns into detroit and robocop walks the streets, it will look pretty cool so that's something, this is a lesson, there is nothing to be learned, this is reason and treason nestled together like two young gay men under spring break, turn the valve, release it, smoke weed and listen to quas or drink beer and watch a game but release it and transcend where you sit, be reborn in this heavy world, so filled with kipple and dross, teary eyes lost in the rain and something, calling, becoming, you

#44
Or Kill Me / Of prophets, time, death
February 28, 2013, 12:02:41 AM


Headed for the future in a length, waves crashing, here we're dying, here is, here is hope for a different something, here is joy, here are waves crashing, here are rhythms dying from old blues, they say it's about jazz vs rock'n'roll or they say it's usa vs ussr and all contained within their pages is one story, us vs them. The world is not complex, if it was you'd never feel at home and you wouldn't be, at home, you'd be what Brion Gysin said about himself, wrong colour, wrong shape, wrong time, the bad animal is at its worst when it is in the wrong

The only certain thing about our future is our death. If we've already seen it we won't know until the end, unless that is alzheimers or any other affliction, ending our understanding of reality before the connection is severed, to connect is to sever like the man in the comic book said, before he gave the president tits and announced a new day of tomorrow, zero democracy before he himself is killed by a monkey, a possible incarnation of Nyarlathotep and the world is revealed to be protected by those who can cope

Nothing more, nothing more we're headed to, if only we moved from life to death but you get these gut feelings, like someone changing the matrix but it's only time, killing you slowly but that is the kind death, time is your friend and will follow you through every linear, circular, piscesformed perception of time there is, a hologram is formed from the fish of Jesus and the map of reality exists and if we could have handled it, we would have seen it all simultaneously and everything would be so different but I think old man Gysin would fit in there a bit more

Northern Africa whisper their names, it is said that from Alamut you can see the three prophets approaching, Brion Gysin, William Burroughs and Brian Jones and their master receives them, the secrets of hashishin to be applied for literature, for music, three prophets on the old land where someone once came, Nommo, Old Ones, someone passed through all veils and embedded itself like a virus and was that old secret the antidote or another part, like an ayahuasca concoction, the furtherance of His coming, Would to God that all the Lord's people were Prophets

The christmas past, present and future- the further evolution of the shoppingfest that is christmas come October, when all time is christmastime, time will unlock and and

What we need is a new Jesus, in any form or fashion, but we need him now, 24/7 J-Bib style, we need the harbinger of the terrible new aeon and we need him on youtube, we need him streaming dota2 on twitch and we need him out everywhere so our gluttony can never go sated, we need a new prophet but we need a new new kind of prophet, we need the end times, we need a god for miracles to again happen
#45
Or Kill Me / Meditations on winning
February 09, 2013, 12:30:09 AM


Wretched falls the songs from our barren throats, it is not our words that are sung but someone elses but with our voice  and theirs, ours, all, intermingled, here

in this instant that is everlasting, stretching across

"I am not one to be bought with baubles and beads, trinkets I have no need for and rum? Darling, know we make the finest drugs known to sentience, why would we want rum to get drunk when we can eat a flower and in four hours we will have quelled the american rebellion of 2127, sailed the sea and landed at the islands of Easter the day it was all coming together and we saw the pyramids where power dwelt, and we see where it dwells now, in the sunken city" - Oedipa Wormius, http://wormius666legacy.blogspot.com/

all known aeons, this is the moment but our memory is limited and as we die slowly, our memory fades further and we adapted to it like we do, like us humans do, we adapted and created, we made technology and from it stemmed our second evolution, there might be x-men and witchers down the road but they won't put us on the moon or further, when we've cultivated a civillization that should be allowed out into the stars or perhaps that's that moment when some of those bipeds jumped down from the tree and left it for tarzan, another man who reputedly found an emissary from the sunken city

The city lives under the shadow, we all chose to live under the shadow, we all chose to be free and we chose the shadow, we didn't think everybody chose it but the light is spotted and far apart and no light is without stain like shadows burn with intensity, our two-dimensional interpretation

Our lack of vision is what plagues this generation, we are blind to everyone but our selves but it seems the old greeks told this yarn ages ago and most likely some other more obscure civilization and they said it in an instant, a fleeting object through time that doesn't necessarily happen simultaneously but is part of all, is reflected, is shared

Our memories fade and we store them around us instead of inside us, pictures are taken, film is recorded, information is being gathered but, to what end?
#46
Or Kill Me / Old Jaded Minds
January 29, 2013, 01:53:09 AM
Jaded old minds; dive for us. Jaded old minds passing by us on the street, an aura of grey, a mist of heavy fog - shadows contain their illusion but their power is always carried on their sleeves as a mark and we see it and for us they are brutes, a remnant of an old world forgotten like it shouldn't be, we become illiterate as we dwindle down the path of self-realization, we forget how to read and how to write and we forget who we were and who we are and as we buckle in fear we hope that we will remember this moment when we break through to something more for it is the terror  that makes us feel alive, that makes

Jaded, old, fading, how do you take a part in it without being ripped into it, this frothing beast that waits at my doorstep and follows my every step into the real world, where war, famine and how to give yourself the best orgasms are the important topics in the greater reality, scrutinized and seen by those who came to power by protecting and telling truths but since then the world has become so much more malleable

Jaded old minds exist as a balancer to those who are young and arrogant because jaded has seen it all before and jaded don't care and in his age he believes it to give him free wisdom when all he gains is perspective but it is his belief  that will shatter the young, in an authorative setting the cold, hard belief will petrify you before dissolving you and you too will become old and jaded but for all the wrong reasons and you'll have to find righter ones later and it'll be the same shit you did when you were young but you've learnt now but you should never have remembered it

this is the edge, this is you breaking through
#47
Or Kill Me / Meditations of the 5th
January 14, 2013, 11:23:26 PM


And death is yawning, three more to go, three more left before the world ends or is it a week, what does the end of time mean, where is our Eintstein this time around, where is the scientific superhero seeking data to the end of time or the end of the calender, three pages deep with tits, ass and half a space, all ye who clamour for the apocalypse:

Shut the fuck up and go home, go home to your families and your loved ones, find those that once loved you, find and embrace the light that lives in the hope in your sacred heart, go home and mend relationships, make up to brothers, mothers and wives, do not search the outside for what is inside yourself, you are the apocalypse and time is something more than linear but that time isn't for you, now you go home to find what you left and to figure out why you left it and then you have to re-invent yourself and it's not pleasant but it is a necessity to be able to survive in the conditions we find ourselves in but it is where you will find what you seek and the end of the world is just a distraction

Still not yet, a little while off, soon soon for doom doom, where the most secret of secrets will be hoped for by some few and some will hope for something better but most will not care and their action is right but the motive is off, wrong, erring on the side and people will drink and there will be parties and there will be indie movies about those parties and elvis costello will be in one of them and woody allen will direct another and life will march on and it doesn't necessarily end at rosebud


some people look good on pictures, they say its because theyre photogenic but that is a lie, the older world had it right and those that look good are the soulless beings, their souls are not eaten by the camera, envoy of mother earth who herself attempts expansion, to become a fully sentient planet to


Too many weeks later and the world is still here and I feel sorrow, sorrow for this world and its continuance and sorrow for I feel the King of All-tears for someone must weep for the aeon and it will not be us for we weren't made by gods, we were sperm shot across galaxies landing on a planet that could nurture that big glob of alien sperma, invading and terraforming, let loose the virus, let it loose, let us loose and up into the trees and let there be such a thing as collective memory in a different life because I want to be there, I want to see it and I hope I am right in one way but then again, I'll be ascended or something so I shouldn't care about inanity but someone must weep for the aeon that begun its end that first studio session, that first jam and the age of aquarius came but not it, but something changed like they say jack the ripper changed it, this world, this reality but the empire had already ended while the other was still infant in form but perhaps never in thought?

The world is still here- What are you going to do about it?

Steer us to different places, different shadows, mother, I am not here, we are not, collective we are but we are not memory, from the mesas we watch and we see the future as we saw the past, forever intertwined, there is no possibility of time being linear there is no

My skin is getting wrinkly, I see myself ten years ago watching the same hand while stoned and marvel at it, I see myself ten years ahead and I want my hand to commit murder, I see my death and the skin is almost flaking, old and wet and soft, I am falling into what I was, this baby-like substance merely hoping for something better, solemnly wishing for something better for those who are foolish enough to follow

into time, where light is not emitted


We followed shadows into time, we became what they used to be, what used to be our enemy, it dawned upon us that hate would not get us where we wanted but we forgot, once and we knew we would forget in the future, they told us once, the bright young things that came from education, they told us we should know our history so it wouldn't repeat and we peered upon them, looked them straight into the eye and told them that it wouldn't matter and that made them furious, thinking the way of the world in a different sort of matter, this was suposed to hold an ounce of truth but no such thing was held, who were we that day, that night, that end that shadow, coming succumbed to the end, wishing for it like we all would, why not hope for an end, the next paycheck will clear and it will buy enough for one month until the next fix is in

It wouldn't have been our mention but it came like it was supposed to, like the world was pre-ordained to for us to receive this now and like he said there is nothing more powerful but here we sit, and we are and becoming and a guru sits here and he tells us that what is above is below, that the solemnity of the fallen assassins weigh upon us, like once, one man before us had fallen and the tree falls in the forest while we sit on the mountain and meditate upon it, this is the end for us now, this is the sterling end, the destruction of holy but lo here we are, redeemer- only in name but never in nothing more, our souls, the souls you saved, not mine

We were the gods that peaked, we were the generation that would fly above, be something more/shuddered at starlight, we wanted to become digital and it made sense in this world, separated yet by years, the same sensation/feeling of drowning lingers beyond the years, it is the only anchor left of our humanity/what we carried from planet urf, the feeling that this wasn't for us, it wasn't for anybody but we let it loose and we never thought twice for it wasn't our burden like our our own was not this- but made and something more something more something more, something like going on stage after John Coltrane, believing,,

but not trying, never trying, cruising on belief but the ginger feeling of wanting to execute oneself never subsides, never forget that you will die and you will die alone but don't remember it all the time, don't believe in paulo coelho, believe in kahlil gibran if you must but don't and realize that it doesn't matter, you can change the world, you can become the next leonardo da vinci but in this age, why would you want unless you wanted to be a celebrity? Your ideas would be bought, gobbled up and the world would gain something new to buy, we do not live in an age of wonders

We live in the age of the individual but the individual is afraid, a fear of the world that was built, a fear of doing wrong in a world where doing anything would be right, an age of liars and a spiral pointing downwards, here we are, ending

We fear not the gaze, the eyes that never slumber but always pierce, that always become, shadows twixt doubts we are, dreamers hoping for a nightmare that makes sense, sense is the demon we never wrestled with but always accepted, because it made sense and we feel the presence of god with all ours but not with that, here is no defense but all is laid bare for the world to see, for the world to bear judgment, to become the more, intertwined and interlaced, becoming

Machine made flesh and flesh made machine, machine-flesh, flesh-machine machine flesh flesh machine, mother hear not our cries for we know you have no mercy for you are the mother, you gave us life and now you'll show us how to live and we'll listen, godmother of the high above, god mother mother of god god of mother

When the stars darken, when the old or unborn god reclaims his throne as it his, when the eye will turn upon us and madness or salvation will find us and the son of man is an illusion dwindling for the future is the presence yet more, here we are defining what will be, what is to be the now, future come find your past and it will be you, we will all be you, agent smith at a crossroads but nothing more, no shadows found

a god sits silently in his microcosm, all of time happens simultaneously, we are diverted as we are more, shadows happen as light happens, as fires set out upon the woods or the tundras or the jungles, a god is sitting silently

weeping

William Burroughs is spotted shooting a woman in the head on the 22nd of december, a cardinal is brought to the vatican er claiming to have seen the face of john lennon superimposed over old man ratzinger, Fernand Point is heard speaking backwards in german as he appears at the bar at el bulli, throwing his drinks and screaming merde and assaulting the chefs masturbating of a canister of meringue,  going for akimbo sauce pans, breaking every porcelain or high-carbon knife, showing them technique is nothing compared to hate or love and come morning none will remember, come morning none will remember Gautama Buddha sitting in the morrow light on a soapbox on speaker's corner, speaking and singing at the same time while Freddie Mercury plays the didgeridoo- the light is within us he is heard saying and Thich Quang Duc chants the same while he appears out at a palace in the woods, levitating above the main indoor pool as most of the 1% catch fire, a single devout flame dying in the middle of the dark woods

These are not signs heralding an end

These are signs heralding
#48
Or Kill Me / watching porn and listening to godspeed
November 20, 2012, 12:14:21 AM

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects."
-Robert A. Heinlein


The more we grow the weaker we get the chains are never stronger than their weakest link as the italians showed us once, we increase in volume, in size and shape, we are bloating controllably and soon the drums will set in and cue the bikes with teenagers on them riding hard to traditional music and we see what Horselover Fat once saw as time _blends_ and in the background, behind the choirs and the bells and the drums we hear that tiny little voice telling us who we are before we disintegrate anew

Like the end of akira, there is our whimper, this is our growth, our mass, our creation and amidst it all our destruction our lives and loves our meanings and hopes, our prayers silent and retarded yet we are moved but not moved by, the sensation of a center not holding but will we release a blood-dimmed tide or are we that which slouches towards Bethlehem?

We try to scream so we scream in the night and fifteen minutes later we hear the sirens so we run and we try to forget our realities, we try to become a part of what we run through, we try to meld into the scenery we want our names forgotten as we melt into mother nature and we are her and none elses until we wake

up

We try not to accept our realities but we know in our gut we need them, we know why they are there and we do nothing to change it but we try to postpone it, we try to live like bukowski but since we're not him we'll never and it is a hollow answer to a hollow question and when the world becomes such a place, when everyone on this earth has access to a computer that can play world of warcraft VII and internet, how many accounts will exist? How many will want to escape then?

Here, it is built, sunk into the concrete and into mother nature herself, here is the fundament of the city, here is the blood and the grime and the mud and the flame, here all is unpure, all are unclean, this is our cradle and we never return save in dreams to see the mother-womb in its horrible beauty, to hear the incessant choir of the eternally living souls, fueling the engine that makes meaning, in the city of dis, in the heart of men
#49
Or Kill Me / The land Icarus built
October 26, 2012, 12:56:46 AM


In a city built from blood and bone, in the high tower with its fundaments sunk into an earlier time, seeping and we like men, like the women we are the apex of life itself, in the bars built from problems and addictions- to drink, to live, both end with the same diagnosis, in the bus station where the tiles are made from hope for something better, unrequited and a joyful sorrow, the essence of arrival/departure, the mellow blue mind finds solace in departure since arrival is merely the accepted mind-state preceding departure, the state of 1 waits only for the fulfillment of prophecy, to become 0

Of the heart, the dying men know little, their hearts crude and simple, they are no longer the thoughts they were, they are some where else now, somewhere looking for something more, like the dying tend to, when life feels lacking or hollow or empty and everyone else has died and you were a shit to your family so they only stop by once a year now to hear your curse them but why can I see that you are a child playing adult, like me? Why are you blind to this, why isn't this something that is understood, didn't I get this from the fucking master mould itself, I mean, it'd be a pretty basic thing to possess, to be able to measure where you are and where the zenith is but then we'd have no stars, we'd have less illusions and less entertainment and sometimes something comes through that isn't what it says on the label but unless the system is there to support it, is a black swan able to live?

The streets are cold, they feel barren yet filled with life, through prayer and excessive meditation, dosed on lsd watching the dreamachine we see time happening simultaneously as we step outside for a dérive through the streets where jack once lived and ripped and built, built much of the city with his magic, his position, his chance but mostly cutting from left to right and we walk his streets, see what his mistress, his city showed him and await for her to show it to us, we await her signal or command that will show us   something deeper, a dream we once wanted excavated but most have forgotten by now, amidst her stones, each brick forged by michael and sammael and the mortar are the bones, the blood, the misery and joy of everyone who lived on them and loved on them and died on them, alone, waiting for the clock to tick
#50
Or Kill Me / The land Icarus Left
October 06, 2012, 12:18:44 AM



The monotonous reality of non-personality, the disintegration of identity related through the disintegration of lost memories(clinging), the shudder in the awakening of desire and with it, the desire for blood lest we forget we are bipeds not god's chosen, god != man and we shouldn't strive, bipeds should be bipeds, sing bip bop in the streets and parade our segways through the ocean of skin and flesh sweating to keep the asphalt flowing and accepting, a man takes a peach and bites it open and shows it to a girl, but the world of it all is moving, transpiring and going through now, heading out for different terrain, where gods and shepherds meet to converse under clandestine umbrellas under trees in caves where people go to meet people and they want to be seen but not by the greath filthy masses, they want witnesses, not truth while their recount the events from the first day and watches the pattern, thinking they have cracked it all but they forget like people forget, we are not god's chosen, we are not god's we are not we are not what you think we are, there is no meaning in anything unless you put it in there and make it meaningful, you are an animal, a bad animal, hva en har syndet har vi alle gjort, you are an animal in control,

if desired



A man comes into a bar, sits down and asks the bartender for a shot and a brew and as the bartender hands him the drink he notices the patron is quite pale and shivering, sweating cold asks him if he is ok and the man takes the shot and he looks up at the bartender and a tear forms and he says Next week I'm sixty and today my husband of more than thirty years tied me down to a chair, forced my eyelids open and drugged me with hallucinogenics and as I peaked he shot himself in the mouth with two barrels


Drumroll

Curtain

No laughter

What is a joke without a point? Is there a relevance to a story that isn't a story but something lesser, something more mundane than poetry,

broken, like the mirrors we dive into each day, trying to see ourselves in the lens, hoping to catch a glimpse through the looking glass but the glass is hard and cold, black and empty, void, devoid and silence slips through the timeglass and the sand is gathering, a vortex at first, devoid of time it fills before devoid becomes the void, fat and confused but bathed in the radiance of a future coming to bloom and here is our birth, here is our wonderful kingdom, our dreary lovely place that we will love and hate and accept and it is the last part that will drain us and leave us dead unless we get out, past the river and the tracks and into the forest, into the hills away from where, there is nothing here holding us, there is nothing we can't abandon there is nothing precious there is nothing holding us back but us

None, one more victory for Mister None. The war is here now and we heard the faint echoes earlier when a lad ran around saying he was sent by king arthur himself to tell the story of war, of victory of violence of vengeance of voraciousness of v of love of him, you and me, but most of all about Puck because Puck is one of twelve gods assigned to this world to influence it and they say he built the milksnatcher from a komodovaran and a signed version of lavey's bible and that's the real conspiracy, the eschaton as immanentized by Puck

The land he left and what did he see, up there, soaring, peering, not feeling the sun but as the goats sing in the mountain, everything that falls down, eventually rises but there is no up, there is no down, not here, not in mythology, never in mythology but he saw us up there as if we were more beautiful, part of something more than the everyday, than the reality, part of something less devoid