those grotesque blues in a haze of blissful repose… so I chose to get my teeth fixed after years of supposed tormentia like a sinus infection, rotting 3rd molars, and a general lack of proper hygiene for my mouth… first, the teeth were cleaned….. oh, but wait, I am forgetting a large chunk of time… due to the poking and prompting and care of another human being, I saw a doctor about my sinus infection, and was prescribed a few things to take care of the situation… such as flonase and antibiotics… after a short pause, the problem became an afterthought, and soon receded into the memory… however, my teeth were still in a fairly awkward condition, but I was more than comfortable to avoid that conversation long enough… with a direct insistence to keep myself healthy, and a …
nihilistic tendencies aside, we have way too much to read and absorb out there to give lick one about critical praise or bullshit that takes away from any real issues, and there are few things that I enjoy about these distracting forces-that-be… these ideas are all too-powerful for most of us with simple minds to handle on our own, and the forces of distraction make it so much more likely that we pay for our mistakes with more than a slap to the wrist… These ideas make us slit that wrist by risking our self-esteem and our accountability as human beings in order that we have to choose sides to fight for and against as incredibly ridiculous as the need may seem… the propaganda machine is always at work like a corporate virus or bacteria bending the wills of …
listening to Jefferson Airplane, and beating the brain of branded death to a pulp becomes a rhetoric exercise… where are the survivors beyond this filthy generation, the artists and gaggles of pundits braying out the viscous fuel of a gap generated though the breath of fire that is deep in the biology logical, and i spit in the eye of futility… listening to TOOL, and wondering about the wandering plight that a nation must face before it is purified from all moral bankruptcy… the pistol-wearing whores with their judgmental eye in disguise of disgust towards currents of fear and folly alike, and gavels firmly set to strike down upon heinous suppositions, putting vices before niceness in this harrowing zone between this and that next idea… listening to Alice in Chains, and thinking of dreadful scenes where demons ride waves …
the sequences in the story of schizophrenic Nicholas Shard and his shattered worldview. problems with isolation, madness, and the occasional dis-orderly that chooses to stand in his way. the doctors can’t control what they can’t cure.
There are times when the blood races cold, and the darkest depths of being dead inside is one of those times…Being empty, or feeling empty does not necessarily mean that total emptiness has taken hold completely…It just signifies the questioning into the inside of self that lies just beyond the veil of flesh stigma…A tormented soul can only stay within for so long…The darkness of what lies beyond the surface can be grisly if the thoughts play out some kind of real horror story like what resides deep inside my dreams, and being a nightmare gothic plays out in some weird extremes…Death means nothing because I’m already dead…Therefore, completely immortal within the shell that others see as me, the flesh of the being…I dare the approach of another to make me feel angst, to feel pain, and to feel …
.one…Here I stand…alone in the dark…in the presence of fear…with the casket so near…Come to me…I’m calling out to you…rise from your tomb…my dead dear…please…
To crawl from the grave is what I ask…to move you is quite a task to undertake…come back from the dead and kiss me again…come to me…I’m calling you, please…
.Chorus…Deadly empty, shallow grave…slow death, less breath…yet drawing more from me…seems to make me believe…come to me, with faith…anything to give to bring you…
.Two…I hear the moaning, the groaning, and the crying…but little did I know that I would do the dying…here they come in like a storm…like a mindless mass to eat the norm…come to me…I’m calling to you…please…
Retribution, I can see the face…retribution, in this so cold place…retribution, here she proceeds…retribution, to sate her needs…
“Here I stand, alone in the dark;
In the presence of …
political leanings of a rogue journalist as he traverses the hither to the thither in pursuit of truth.
