to those about to fock…
you are all lunatics perverted by the lack of real control that I might seem capable to sustain
dark thoughts
the old excuse maker…
indecision abounds, and I can’t clear the ol’ noggin, friends… gaps in time lead me to be less than fruitful, and I can’t help but classify myself in these retarded constraints, even when I know I am not that terrible… Just uncomfortably lazy…
that resin left.
The droppings left on the ground formed a cake of black tar. There was no smell except that of a plastic soul embedded somewhere in the crust of its depth. The ground it was laying upon yielded to the substance as it absorbed into the dirt, making a place for itself within the seeping fingers of the still liquid underside, and prevented all normal growth from underneath. The texture, to the touch of anyone who dared, was noted for its sticky compliance yet absolute solidity when stressed. A potent substance derived from nothing… so nothing is the only result. Thoughts lost when least expected, to be left for another vacant mind, and perhaps leading to innovation in some regard. A terrible feeling, to know the dark matter was once a part of you, but the other part of you …
waxing bummer.
what is a depression? what is the reality of feeling bad, or those repercussions that radiate from the essence of being depressed? The typically uncaring and indifferent pass by these sad specimen all the time in as bustling an urban landscrape as the one in which I seem to inhabit. the attentions of any one person are mild and passive unless the circumstances provoke completely different responses. such attempts at unwarranted attention are activities like car wrecks and any place cop cars are likely flash their bells and whistles. the street are rife with all kinds of intolerable entities as well as the downtrodden, and it is these creatures that one should have an eye for, using and abusing another’s misfortune. insinuating themselves to such a degree that their presence is purely parasitic for practical survival. attaching their soul-sucking …
why this gothic be nightmare?…
dissuaded and dissatisfied with the corrupt aide of the ego in my culpable hands, attempting to harness my peculiar reasoning for a lifestyle set in contradiction, and take on the ownership of self through the lens of rational dichotomy in autonomy… crafting a question somewhere centered inside all real personal belief to be asking while staying true to the absolute identity…
Sacrificing Under Suspicion to Err in Judgment.
Here we are, the amassed, waiting to be saved from some imagined inevitable fury. Waiting for the grace of angels to guide us away beyond fear. Fearing the intrusion of our collective wisdom through fables and an idiotic literal interpretation of stories. Storytelling is the art of the free mind, to accept the damage done, and piece together the remains into a cohesive entity. A living breathing organism from which we can objectively face our greatest fears in an organized manner befitting a civilized culture. Culture really just eats away at our sense of individual freedom as we give ourselves over to something other than our own dreams of progress. Progressing beyond a vortex where we can live out the purest forms of ourselves at the peak of existence. Existing as beings of insight possessing a true understanding of …
Obama as Antichrist?
A better man could not have been found, but he has been haunting my dreams of late. Could he be that perfect person taking the apocalyptic role destined to proceed us to the end game? Is he really the fiend I might be implying? Only time will tell, and with the year 2012 fast approaching, it might just materialize as fact. Not a racist bone in me, I swear, but this change shit is a little too trippy for me. As most of our modern ancestors have been waiting for this step into innovation for ages. This civilization is coming to a frothy head, my darlings, and so on that note, this is only part of the beginning. As for the whole antichrist bit, what I am trying to get at is that Hey Seuss’ appearance on this plane …
Less the never.
So you have lost your way again…Welcome to my world…This is a fairly reclusive state, Here within the blog, and I speak from the soul of this thing I have become…Sometimes the flow is strong, and the words come from a depth that just grows inversely proportionately to my own positive adaptive growth, the well of experiential memory is defined by the lives of others before my own…I will not use the phrase “hearing voices” too loosely, but Here is where the one can disassemble into the many minds of I…It may seem absurd at first, but all things do sound wacky to the unknowing perspective…There are few things that can almost literally drip from the soul, and words are capable of moving masses, microcosms of the universal within ourselves…I enjoy writing these words that become the bearers of …
a year since the accident…
I was working at a movie theater around the Cypress area at the time, and was well on my way to work, taking the tollway that would lead me there in the rush I created for myself by losing track of the traffic that day…A year since the automobile was not borrowed nor a ride given, and I feel like crap every time I think of the fact that I destroyed the only practical mode of transportation that can make life so much easier to take right now…I was arrested shortly after the accident, and taken to a disreputable local jail and losing so many valuable things…Even though I have come to realize that this is what life is about, overcoming obstacles that seem to fall so easily into one’s path, but emotionally it stays a challenge and makes …