you don’t think you’re crazy, but how do you know?…unlike rigorous tests of physical endurance to test physical prowess, there are no real tests for sanity’s sake, and chances are that those tests can be misleading…eye don’t fret over the wilds of science nor the fingers of chaos because both are beyond their mere restrictive behaviors, and all of it flows into me, whether it affects me or not…time has distinctive affectations that allow trauma to fester or heal, but no matter what, the mind is always affected…the organs which make up the mind are putty in the early stages of life, and it is a fragment of my soul that shines through that portal to your world, the world you stand within…your arms are useless against me, for my eyes see everything beyond the blind biases of other …
you hate me…thriving off of the rocky soil upon which you toss your seed, eye am eternally grateful to you, and you are an animal who lives off of the filth that expels from my bowels…the wasted lives taken for granted are yours to do with what you wish, but eye am here to make sure you realize what pain you inflict upon the world around you…taking your crude religio-scientific superstitions for granted, you stride into all situations certain that you, and only you, know the answers…your fear betrays your mind, and all of your true thoughts are laid bare before me…you kill without regard to the planet you seek to defecate within, eating the guts and the shreds of instinct that are placed on your plates, and you feast beyond the weary messages of poor health as it …
You may think that your life is a crude play in some demented playwright’s hands, but I think you are far too conceited for that to be true…We all may be a cast of characters in a demonized version of the truth, but we hide truths vastly greater than the sum of all parts…Our own microcosms spin egocentrically around ourselves cast as the sun…The diplomacy you may think you show towards others is the revealing mask to your inner demons…They betray you and bankrupt your soul’s energy, and not for any special causes as you would dream to perceive…Instead, they puncture your particular little universe to spread the foul-smelling putresence you wish not to be, but that sits there rotting on your plate…It is not foulness that acts within me to speak these words, but a desire to tell …
bleeding is in…when last we left our heroes, they were troubleshooting world disasters for fun and profit, but now they feel the pain…munching upon pasty feelings of regret and guilt, we wait for our turns respectively upon the rollercoaster of the living thrills, and some of us idle at the static speed of dirt…for millions of tiny years…is there ever a time when we all can just be utterly honest in the brutal reality we create?…tormenting others minds and souls like it were a game of hide-and-seek…the freakshow bothers me, but not because of the geeks who bite the heads off chickens, it is because of the irredeemable passers-by who deserve nothing more subtle than a gun barrel between the jaws…a bullet passing through the freakish display of brain matter…eye do not speak without compassion, though, merely hatred for …
out of Context;
‘…To define thought as just another room to enter…The space between shadows, and the space in between those, the particles that sing through the passageways and patterns of wherever we are…’
the beast is myriad forms taken shape…the mind that guides these words is feral…the primitive harshness of a concrete reality, but what is real?…god is everything, a sense of one with everything, and some would say a certain selflessness…selfish beasts that we live inside…what meanings are offered to appease the ever-questioning mass of cells?…why does rot taste like the sea?…are we all parts of an ever-rotting godform?…the flesh would suggest that in some sense…why does the beast rot away?…godness defers some sense of eternity, or is that the dichotomy that the spiritual prevokes?…
out of Context;
‘…Maybe I will explode in shards of brilliance that few will be able to pick up, but those few pieces will become the next seeds for newer realities to be built upon…Who knows because I certainly don’t…’
The sounds of distress from a dying age…Here is where we begin our quest…Fuck buying tickets….you are already aboard the express train…
I thought that I wasn’t going to make it, but Here I am nearing the end of my crusade, into a kind of mental and emotional haven…I set this challenge to myself to realize the capability that I could have if I just tried to make these blog entries happen every day for one month in a row, and have all the days filled…No doubt a challenge for a huge procrastinator like me…This month is also a birthday month for me….Twenty-seven, at first, seemed like one of the worst years to finish off with, but even with some pretty raw examples I have held my own so far…I mean all three of them, Jim and Janis and Jimi, were extinguished from this existence at the mere age of twenty-seven….so what chance did I have living the way I do?…I’d …
out of Context;
‘Sometimes distractions sap my ability to focus, but not when their distracting powers are dismissed powers wholeheartedly…Diverting energy away from the creative act is akin to blasphemy to me, but to get things done properly, it needs to be at those detrimental times when such necessity is a given…’
