its just...really good.

This morning, I had a dream; in which I received a message from God.
The alarm went off before I could read it.
It probably said "Don't go to work today," or "The alarm is about to go off."
That's funny.
Makes me think of Nietsche's white ass yelling "Where is God, where is God!?" over and over in a crowded backwater market.
"He's in the shopping basket, dumbass."
Last time I checked, he was still for sale.

I don't have a point, by the way. If that's what you're looking for by reading this, you can finally stop! In fact, if you're looking for meaning in general, I think you should thoroughly reconsider: run yourself a nice warm bath, write a long letter. Sink into the warm comfort of the gently beating fluid and (oh yes) don't forget the razor.
But seriously, there's nothing like a nice, long blood letting to brighten up your mood. I've read that it casts out demons.
Maybe you're possesed? If you were, how would you know, anyway?
Personally, I think you're a vampyre. In fact, I wrote all of this specifically just to tell you that you are, regrettably, a wampir. Sorry to break it to you. Oh, and another thing, vampires don't feed off blood, they feed from a soul's emotion.

Shit. You're not psychotic, are you?
Listen, I was just joking, none of that was true. (I'm not lying.)
But if I was lying, why have you already thought of the things I've mentioned; and if none of it is true, how did I know that?

I think you'd better just stop reading this. I warned you. I just don't want you to get upset; 'going crazy' thinking about this stuff.
But then again, 'crazy' is just a word the demons made up for making the sane people believe in a lie.
Think about it, most of the things that are considered completely insane, are, in fact, quite ordinary.
For example, white people having sex with black people: I've read that humans used to have sex with chimpanzees. Even now, in the carribean, sex with donkeys is a culturally acceptable activity for boys, starting at the age of twelve.
Again, another example: Why is it wrong to have sex with a teenage girl, if her body is already perfectly suited to produce a child? Even nature says it's okay! Although, the government people, yeah, they want to put you in jail.

We should start our own country, you and I. We'll change our names to vampire names, have sex with black people and drink virgins' period blood; We'll call it:
U.S.A.

--
ΑΩ

so, what are you now - abucket? where'd this go?: [link]

--
The sunshine shot right through her, like a whore on a skewer in the wind

The Soviet Union. Legitimized by the same malfunctioning processes which originally were intended as a laugh, a moral piece of trivia concocted at someone's simplistic whim.

My name correlation with yours in a compound seven word nonsense dysfunction. Happily dismembered by lucky volunteers. I was once one of those lucky volunteers, screaming with glee and metamorphosis. Do you remember the days of the word that is yet to come.

In the infusion is the last step in the final hour of success and progress. It's safe to assume.

How many truths are permitted in the decay of a natural hour. Specified by the injustice that penetrates the future and mankind's ultimately impervious power.

Climb the ladder by way of acceptance and devour the words and deliver the internalized message. Die in a silent fire, scavenge the grounds for an unmistakable measure. Spoken like a true virtuous deity, but spoken with a timidity that consumes all throughout and disintegrates finally. I've chosen the next goal upon which I will travel, and merge with the finality of magnificence. My nest of purity is climbing up the vine-ripe wall and is corrected by the absolute transformation that delivers the compound fracture that transistors are incapable of accommodating.

I'm sure theres a way to regret everything finally, and the backwards compatible infrastructure pillages the windowless absolution. Still in a river by the sand bagged sludge fault. By default the quake shakes the early bird wing-nut. I'm all out and considering the flaming word loss of a faulty and most likely false memory. Combined with the vision and sight of another morning or afternoon, I look at the face that presents itself in a particle cluster, pretty and mystifying, is applauded by the mass controversy and is not at all ambiguous in it's manifest presence.

I'm sure there are still living members of the organization which confide in the altruistic palimpsest that loves you. How many more years pass in the futuristic article of noise consumption. Get rid of the peculiarities and simmer the last remnant of civilization's past tragedy.

Spy on the windowless neighbor, that mass past consumer with lasers and the fraudulent illiterate that scrambles himself up to the rooftops and spies dried up fire pits. Humor the worthless and shameless willow. I don't know if there is a way to prove to you that it's actually true, that my story is honorable and that it will leave you widow-less. My only mistake is that the structure which was obliterated by your line of reasoning is still by and large in question by the national community which will if necessary transgress upon your will and shake the foundations upon which you've built your home.

I'll surely mistake your face for a stranger on the street and greet him with a kind smile and a handshake. I wish you could understand my position, that I'm very sorry, and forgive the faults that I've mis-attributed to your present self. I would like to treat you accordingly and pass on the favor which you've cordially presented upon me. I'll look into the matter as soon as my loyal servants have completed the task of transcribing my message to you in seventeen different languages. I'll be waiting next door, on the fifth floor, combining liquids and hazardous biological compounds and transforming them into the purity which you so desire. We're mired in a sticky situation and basically just complaining, we're ending up doing nothing. I almost can see what will the outcome of this story be, and I will gladly gasp when the surprises fail to astonish me.

A jar of flour and a mixture of synthetic bypass ultrasound sensor magnet scopes.

--
ΑΩ

He sits there, tearing his hair out
contemplating with much confusion
what it is that's in his distorted reflection
what it is that brought his body in front of that broken mirror, the self deception.
When he sit's there breathing without a cause,
and imagining that he ain't nothing more than a sack
puss filled orifice bleeding throught the rug and the bed.
But when in the looking glass he sees a portrait,
an illusion to which he grows fonder every day.
Noting the luxury of self deceit, and realizing
that that's exactly what his life's composed of.
Fisheye mirrors combing the corners of his psychotic vision.
His life melted down in the cauldron,
steaming and being poured out straight into a bowl of hell.


Too busy being too idiotic to contemplate the predicament of crumbling foundations.
Born and raised and anihilated in the blink of an eye.
Crawling in slow motion on the fast capture digital video dream.
Being wiped up off the counter and squeezed out into the mop bucket.
Disgusting, filthy out of his own volition.
All action arbitrary,
downhill down hill.

Nobody loves me.
Nobody understands.
Nobody cares.
Nobody knows who I am.
Not even I, who knows that dreams are sweeter in death.
Note even I, who supports only limited ideals, because the dream has failed.
The dream has been forgotten, or maybe thrown away.

Special circumstances call for special actions. No one ever anticipates the creation of another masterpiece. No one loves anyone for who they really are; too much like them. Too much humanity, too many struggles brought us here together, there is no future, there never was a past. No one will ever care for you as much as you care for yourself. And if you don't, well, there's nothing left.

Take a breather, through the menacing display of rocket fire. Merging with the endless bliss which is the fractal infinity. Spread over dementions, some false and some obligatory in their magnificenrt ullysion. The forgotten alloy of a segragated mind. Smile through the windows and cover up the air with a lunar speculation already here. No sight of coming over to the pasture in the winter. No lookout through the dor of the massacre, of the gas chamber. Put to lay to sleep forgotten in the oven, in the living room, the dying room is breathing with the last words of another day. Who spoke when that image flashed across the screen of the earth and you wound your hand around, and spun around to look away at nature in decay, a parade on display of lies tumbling, women failing to lie, women
Who shook her shoulder when she cried, I'd tell her to stop before the annoyance brings us closer together, the spare bedroom looking out on gloomy weather. No one suspects the quiet epiphany, but when it arives, you know you've got your bed made ready, clean undergarments to wither in the dust. Fractured shivering, some caught on your tongue, spitting. Nobody recognizes the default position, but you knowing yourself is easier that letting the best friend down. Too bad you can't be too sure what's what. No one ever gave me directions. I'm as hard to explain as the sugar you stir into the blood goblet. No one shares vacation stories without photographs, no one ever drinks without first giving a toast, I mean no one, because if you ever do, you are no one, you are nothing. No one will stand over your grave and cry. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. There's no returning.
Days are sliced up into little cells, time shifting over the horizon. If you watch long enough you can tell when the stars rotate over the sky, above your head is the majesty of perfection. Who ever claimed that you were going in the right direction?

Recognize shoulder to shoulder. Medals worn and displayed above the fire place, stored in storage because the husband wasntin willing to take the time to kiss your inner thigh, like a prayer, we shook hands and layed our heads goodbye,

The village pressure of a hay wire store front. Front running shoulder to shoulder. Black market seminar welfare, in a consortium big-foot, big-words dancing in the fire like liars in line for the decade in the making handbook on how to be a coward. Stolen from the bed rest glowing as if pregnant, looking 'round for another inmate, slowly suffocationg the redemption of dropping tears and lonely sweater vested kindergarden boys. Still stalking the girl in her backyard, she's calling for help but you're too smart. Recognizing the death in the barrel, you yell out of pleasure and comfort of knowing that they'll hear you now. Foolish claims of superiority combust under the tell tale sign of an umbrella doctrine. Laying it down like frosting. Frozen in the appeal of a lover's letter. Spat out living in distress and hammering in another view of the depressed distress. Lonely, so lonely.

If everyone knew what the reason was, if light streamed in through the morning blinds, if we came away from this knowing that something, anything is true, then perhaps we'd know and be amazed that it wasn't all a fuckhng play.

--
ΑΩ

the possibilities are endless....
[link]

--
come here often?

who're you calling a kid?

--
ΑΩ

hey kid, thanks for the fave.

--
<3maureen

[link]

--
come here often?

[link]
[link]
[link]

--
come here often?

Kak?

--
ΑΩ