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
This supposed to be new thread not reply.
I sorry.
Your friend,
notloki
Quote from: notloki on October 17, 2014, 02:48:55 PM
This supposed to be new thread not reply.
I sorry.
Your friend,
notloki
Don't be sorry
The exit will be imminent, the end is nigh and she's coming round, twenty four hours in Dachau, looking a young man in the eyes, heavy with sorrow and guilt and understanding and before the roundups are done he'll hang, dangling, a new John the savage but to from here where we dwell, this endless feeling of end ending up in here with us like catching a cold or the madness, both caught so long ago, the endless idiot ideas, a stream of consciousness made of shit piling up on the gold, covering it turning it away, growing up the lines twixt gold and shit blur and unlike the blurred lines they have built their reality on, this matters but every time the mouth forms the words they turn cotton and like the thoughts the words carry no weight, the shit is fluid
I have seen men pre-hung before, I've seen the women and how they wished they wanted to be, in this brave new world we are all james bond trying so hard to be someone else for something indifferent but something we think matters, battered husbands and wives meeting up in stockholm discussing the Mountain Goats, a poet once said that you die so slowly you think you're alive and we aren't alive, not really, we could be, but we aren't we are something else, something more grandiose like a playable race in civilization with wonders to construct
and ain't that a wonder
didn't you ever wonder what it would be without us? In the eternal cold dark of space, are They not forever there?
Quotedidn't you ever wonder what it would be without us? In the eternal cold dark of space, are They not forever there?
Yes... and maybe, I think yes. And yet is that a good thing? I don't know.
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on October 25, 2014, 03:36:33 AM
Quotedidn't you ever wonder what it would be without us? In the eternal cold dark of space, are They not forever there?
Yes... and maybe, I think yes. And yet is that a good thing? I don't know.
Et in discordia ego, was this your doing? Did you hold Poussin and made him make it? Dream it into our existence, in what resembles heaven on earth, death still is, does it matter whether it is good or whatever god talks us into being, binding us with words when we are not theirs to bind? If god or any prophet had the birth in the mind and word of man, what then of the slumbering beasts that dwell between the stars? Where or when did they come from, PKD's laser and superimposition, a moment of doubt and pain, buddha in the garden, kurt as he peers into the abyss, every prophet, every shaman, every me and every you