Monday, December 28, 2009


I hope you can hold your breath.
Underwater. The scene fades away when the splash of your sinking body is all that can be heard. Fully submerged, clawing at his chest, back, arms, flailing. Gasp. Surface.
And before I can call him all kinds of bad things, I'm under again, and again, water seeping into my pores, gasping for air, slashing at him, slashing at anything. I emerge, finally, cling to him, recovering, and then attempt to push him under. Whoosh. Gone.
His figure disappears beneath the surface and reappears beside me, once more taking ahold of my resenting form and sending me below again, hearing his sadistic laughter between struggled breaths.
"All right, all right, I'm wet already, fuck you!".
I stand in the center of the water mass, dripping. My bra is tattered, and I clutch at my white Jim Morrison t-shirt in frustration, clambering out of the pool. He wraps his towl around me, rolls me a cigarette and pours me a drink of only the finest, warmest bourbon.
Not a sore loser, are you?", he jests opposite the table, where the others laugh behind their glasses at my disastarous state.

It began roughly 40 minutes ago, my easily-amused mind quite occupied with the stacking of empty beer bottles.Seeing this game to his liking, he tested his skills, his towers always falling and bringing mine down in a terrifying cresendo which I feared would always end with eyeballs scraped from shards of glass.
Once this game grew tiresom, or more, pissed too many others off, he amused himself in throwing random objects in my direction. Frowning, I returned the objects, eventually devisiing a 'secret plan', and returning with water bombs, pelting them at his surprised frame. When I returned with second rounds, he was well prepared, hose in one hand, large bottle of water in the other. On top of this, my aim grew poor. I was successful in attacking his torso, however.
You just wanted me to take my shirt off, didn't you?
I snorted at this, and dashed within the safety of the house for a usable bottle, filling it up with water and reciprocating his splashes. Eventually, he bolted to the poolside, and I shrieked in frustration as my bottle fell in the pool, leaving me defenseless.
I took one look at my already wet form, shrugged my shoulders and dove in the pool, now in a perfect battle zone, sending armfuls of water at him as he fought with his shoes. And then he was in the water beside me, and then I was under the water, and then I had all limbs wrapped around him, trying to force him underwater...
I hope you can hold your breath...

Later, and I'm just chillin' on the couch, but it appears he has made it his life goal to annoy me. Poke. Poke.
I raise my hand and bring my nails across his flesh in a haggard slash. I hear the other males warn him not to take me on. I grin, nails and teeth sharp and furious.
It doesn't take him long to be on top of me, holding me down in some fucked up form of dominance, leering at me as I try to sink my teeth into him, just once and he's regret this, just once. I manage a few good scratches, watching them fill with blood.
And allof a sudden, there are arms and legs and heads all around me, as every male in the room decides to help. Help him.
"Fuck off, I'm already struggling as it is!".
I simply refuse to yeild, taking the pain as it comes, trying to get a mouthful of his arm, his chest, his neck, anything to make him yelp in pain as I riiiiiip skin. He's got my fingers in a tight grip, twisting them back.
"If you break something, I will kill you", I hiss behind gritted teeth.
"I won't, I won't, I'm just proving that I can manipulate you in this hold".
He adjusts his grip. I've seen this one before. I exhale, deja-vu.
My neck sidles up with the couchhead, my arms twisted uncomfortably across my chest, neck in unnatural pain. Eventually, he releases me and I huff.

By the end of the hour, two of the other males have had a go at me, one managing to take a large and painful bite directly between neck and shoulder, in that favored dent. Twice. The other, a well built male at that, attempts some sort of hold from behind, and surprising the onlookers, I lift him onto my back and toss him off of me. He captured me in a chokehold, and this is where I bite. In.
I drag him across the room by meerly my mouth, tasting blood in my mouth. He tickles me, and still I hold tight, laughing with a mouthful of flesh. He attempts all things, but my grip is firm. I feel my teeth shift in further, and understanding I am near to taking a chunk out, I release, to be met with his teeth.
By dawn, the bite he left on me is a faint, but large bruise, whilst my bite is a evil looking puncture wound.

I dart to the corner of the room, curling up on the couch, snarling at everyone, clutching my kitten to my breast.
Come sit between us, my original combat partner says, patting the spot between himself and the well-built biter.
You can sit on my lap, says the biter.
My original combat partner extends his arms, pouting. I merely his from my seat. "You all suck!", I call, keeping my eyes trained on each one of them.

I have never had more fun whilst in such pain! :D

Scream of the butterfly...

A creature made of sunshine
Her eyes were like the sky
Rabbit howls like something old as we twitch to her lullaby
The scalpel shines in god's sunshine
Street lights whisper pain
Down here near the poison stream our god has gone insane

She smiles like a child with flowers in her hair
With blood on her hands into the sun she stares
She feels it die, I heard her cry

Like the scream of the butterfly

Sunshine a house in flames
She likes it where she gets it but it's never felt the same
Surgery in the house of dissection
When your candle burns out I will resurrect you
She runs through fields of daisies
Yeah it's just a shame that they eat their own babies
Who cares cause the air is free
When you get there will you kiss the dead for me?

There's blood on the moon and the summer is cold
There's love in the room but baby that's gettin' old
There's blood on my face sittin' on a dead shore
A highway of emptiness and I'm gettin' bored
There's blood on the moon as we plan our escape
The goddess in bloom, handcuffed and raped
There's blood in the bathtub, baby, murder the king
There's blood on the moon
There's blood on just about everything

Sunshine a house in flames
She likes it where she gets it but it's never felt the same
Surgery in the house of dissection
When your candle burns out I will resurrect you
She runs through fields of daisies
Yeah it's just a shame that they eat their own babies
Who cares? 'Cause the air is free
When you get there will you kiss the dead for me?

Something cold is forced inside her
A tear spills down her cheek
Stillborn songs of a dead dreamer
Hymns of the needle freak
With sunlight in her hair she smiles like she don't care
Her dreams are liquid blue
I cut myself again and again to remind myself of you

She smiles like a child with flowers in her hair
With blood on her hands into the sun she stares
She feels it die, I heard her cry

Like the scream of the butterfly

I met an angel with a sawed-off shotgun
Wanted by the FBI
We dropped some acid, killed our parents
Then we hit the road

Like the scream of the butterfly

NtS 7.6

Paperback novella. Note to self 7.6.
  • I have little time.
  • Time has little ol' me.
  • Hanging by threads, scissors wavering closer.
  • Abandon your friends.
  • I'd rather hurt someone then hurt myself.
  • Always care about yourself, because no one else ever will.
  • Don't bother speaking, no on listens anyway.
  • Nothing you think will ever matter.
  • Suicide is pointless.
  • Love is a myth.
  • Don't look back.
  • Never, ever attach yourself.
  • Avoid love at all costs.
  • Never judge a book by it's cover.
  • My addictions have no boundries.
  • I fell in love with a demon, for sure.
  • Time shows us, we all know the truth, in time.
  • I can light the way.
  • Happiness is feighned, smiles are faked.
  • Everything is pointless.
  • There's blood on just about everything.
  • Females suck.
  • Memories don't lie.
  • I'm not crazy.
  • God is a lie.
  • Everything is uncertain, bar my uncertainty.
  • I love you.
  • I hate you.
  • I'll kill you.
  • I'll kill me.
  • I'll kill the whole world.
  • Love is pointless.

End of story.

Why females suck.

"Ohai, wake me up if my phone rings, or just let it ring out, kay?"
-Female friend answers phone, neglects to tell friend WHO IT WAS THAT CALLED when it was a very important call from someone friend doesn't hear from a lot, AND NEGLECTS to even tell friend WHAT WAS SAID-.

"Ohai, could you set an alarm on your phone for six, and wake me up,I have a very important mission to complete, meeting up with a dear friend I haven't seen in many, many months and probably won't if I don't today".
"Sure, I understand how important this is for you, and don't worry, we can stay here another night because I WILL wake you up".
-Wakes up at 1o, with simply two hours to get ready, get to traino, get to Freo from Kelmscott, call dear friend, arrange meeting-

"Ohai, could you baby-sit my cat for mewhilst I'm in Freo? It's hot as fuck and I don't want him stuck in his bag in the heat. Could we arrange a time/place forme to get him back because my phone is off?"
"Sure I can, don't worry about it. we'll sort something out. Call my house phone, I'll be there. Have an interesting day!"
-Arrives at friends house, after trying to call a few times, no sight of said friend, makes another call, is told friend is in CENTRAL PARK with CAT who has LIMITED FOOD in his bag, surrounded by DRUG-FUCKED, AGGRESSIVE NOHOPERS-.

Females, in short, are selfish WITCHES with no respect for your privacy, who NEVER LISTEN, who lie to your face, who DISRESPECT your feelings, USE YOU SENSELESS and then ABANDON YOU after making you feel bad for something THEY DID.
Also, they believe because they've done good by you in the past, that this excuses all new mistakes and fuck-ups. They weild blades and bare fangs and say things like "Oh, well I did -insert good deed which you were grateful for and repaid somewhat- for you, so this means I shoudl be forgiven for all the awful things I have just done".
Females think they know everyone so well, and like to speak for them. They are hypocrites who can't admit to their mistakes, never see the other side of an arguement and quickly point out everyone elses flaws, all up on their high horses with some apathetic facade, because since they're young and pretty, other people simply DO NOT MATTER, they get exactly as they want AND can get away with anything.

Dirty, little sluts. Why do females ALWAYS fuck me over?

I've never liked them.

Apologies to WOMEN out there, I just have no time for little girls.


Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Ladder 46 + 2

Small fish
mexican walking fish

Da Vinci
Hippie in the seventies
Modern age man
Future man

High technology alien
Aldous Huxley
Divine Entity
Albert Hoffman

All of the above in one.

After... (5/10/08)

We're going away for a little while.
I felt I should pack but I've got nothing left.
Nothing is for certain.
The only thing I can believe is my disbelief.
I don't know how we got here.
I don't know where here is.
It could be anywhere in the world,
But it still feels like no where.
My head is so heavy...
But I'm out of my mind.
I'm glad that you can see me,
Because I no longer can.
You think you know everything,
But you don't know how I feel.
My mind is racing,
Should I not be tired?
Here is where it falls apart.
The vultures will feed well tonight.

Drug-Fucked. (8/1/09)

Starting with a little dose,
Scene kid fucked off benzo,
Streets filled with the dealing of dope,
City with headspace and bodystoned.

Ketamine, Codeine,
Morphine, Tryptamines.
One more set of amphetamines,
Breakfast of caffeine and nicotine.

Heroin, opium, now I need some Aspirin.
Ritalin, Vicodin, Mescaline with Mexicans.
DXM, Valium, all these fucking hallucinogens.
Blacking out, flipping out, needle full of adrenalin.

DMT, LSD, GHB, Ecstacy.
Shitty speed and nosebleeds,
Diet of weed and peyote,
Half-way through this fucking sheet!

Smoke that shit, smoke that crack.
Hiding all the needle tracks.
Feasting on bunch of tabs,
I just got another ten-stack!

What's in the vial?
I don't care.
Zombie style,
Smokin' gear.

Prescription meds.

Magic mushrooms,
Railing cocaine,
Feed me Novocaine.

Wheres my stash?
Need more hash.
I'm on everything,
I'm fucking trashed.

Stimulants, Depressants,
Fucking inhalants,
Too many psychedelics,
Find me some narcotics.

Leaving with a bottle,
Coming home drunk,
Fingering crystals,
Feeling fucked.

I'm gurning,
I'm candy flipping,
Powder, bong, needle, joint, pill,
Anything to get me tripping.

Pulling cones, red eyes.
Coming down, glazed eyes.
Got fired from work for looking wrecked,
Need to stick to legal highs.

Weekend on salvia,
Weekend on datura,
Medic addict,
Find me liquids.

Losing weight, more sleep.
Wake up with hangovers and my memory gone.
Buzzing like fuck, less sleep.
Bruised armed and scattered, I write this song.

In this Moment (8/26/08)

What are you staring at so intently?
The reflection in the water is of us.
Avert your eyes, for it is only us in the lake.
Well? Just look at us!
Do you think us beautiful?
They all do, let's see what makes them all so jealous.
And what do you see?
Oh, we are the masterpiece. Now I can finally see.
And what do you see?
Your eyes are like ice, why do they pierce me so? So cold, so frozen, so dead.
My eyes have died upon me, for they spent much time looking at images of lifelessness.
It took us a long time to get this far, I know you wanted to be here.You're not afraid, are you?
Well? Are you?
I promise you, I have no fear.
Where is that smile? I do not like the malicious twist on your face.
I apologize if you do not like my expression, my face is just taught well, never to lie.
Oh, it fades now, in to something more sinister.
I apologize if this disturbs you.
At least now your eyes and your smile match, like we do.
You really think we are for one another?
Oh, we match. We are perfection!
So you say. If I left you alone, now, you would stare at yourself for years, would you not?
Speak not these bitter words, or I shall have your tongue!
And my words be bitter, you say?
Against mine, that is.
And you think now is the time to express our feelings?
I shall have you in all your entire gloriousness, my magnificant Prince, against the entire magnificance of me.
Your vanity is ubiquitous. May I call you Princess?
Yes, you may call me Princess, I do not mind, for what could be the harm in that?
I do not name you so for the reasons you suspect, but for the point of your conceit in which you justified.
There you go with that hurtful vocal exression again.
I apologize, but my words are also taught never to tell lies.
Quickly, now, kiss me!
I'll kiss you, my vain beauty.
There, that did make you stop?
It made me stop to consider why I am here with you now.
I see a tear in the pit of your eye.
Yes, I can feel the tear forming, now. I apologize. You may remove it, but it is for you.
I will not whipe your emotions away. I shall let it fall in to the clear, crystal lake that serves as our mirror.
Our mirror? You think the lake exists solely to display our figures?
I could watch us forever, for we are so perfect.
I know you could watch for eternity, my vain beauty.
Where are our flaws?
I can see our imperfections, even if you are too inside yourself to notice. If I place my hand across your heart... I feel ice.
Don't be so quick to take your hands and indicate the parts of us, for they are flaws only to those that see them that way.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, love.
They always said, beauty was in the eye of the beholder. If we held their eyes, then we would be beautiful, for they see us as nothing but.
You'd choose to cause such suffering upon another to proove to me that we are a masterpiece? I knew your heart was cold, but I was sure it at least existed. Perhaps I was wrong, then.
You confuse me. Can you not see our grace?
Grace? I know a little of grace. A swan weilds grace, but we have nothing of that value.
We are like two swans, white and pure, softly dancing across the pretty lakes surface.
I could never compare us to something like that.
You do not feel so sure? Just look at us, my love! Just look, and tell me we are not perfect!
We are not perfect, love. Far from it, I trust. Or more, I should hope, for else I may deeply regret what I will do next.
Would you swear that on my life?
Of course, I would swear it gladly upon your life. But, oh, you never listen to me. Really, did you not here what I just spoke? You have grown so tedious, and you are not in the slightest attentive. How can I love thee if you are too busy with yourself to notice?
I'm sorry. They envied you for your outer skin, in all it's flawlessness. Smooth and beautiful, but utterly heartless. I cannot love thee.
I'm bleeding.
Now your body shall forever be displayed in the lakes clear reflection, as you would have it no other way. You may stare at yourself forever, my beauty, and perhaps you'll soon deteriate and decay and see that you would have been better off with a heartbeat all along.

Where have you been? (10/2/2008)

Raindrops falling like lava in to the sea,
A feeling of sanity washes over me.
Lava falling like raindrops in to your hands,
A feeing of clarity, we suddenly understand.
Puddles for the reflections of vampires,
A beetle-shell button to adorn your jacket.
We made these things.
The siren sings to the mirror.
Her monologue, her soliloquay.
Her suicide.

The dog barked just the other day at me,
A feeling of intensity washes over me.
The other day a dog just barked, standing there,
A feeling of serenity adjacent to your stare.
Vampires in the reflection of puddles,
A jacket adorned with a beetle-shell.
We broke these things.
The siren sings to the mirror.
Her monologue, her soliloquay.
Her suicide.

The softest breeze, so open your eyes
See it, touch it, as the ocean cries
Bacteria having a party in your bath,
migrating to skin, to nails, to mouth
Their disco music turned up so loud,
Dropping the surfer back in to the crowd,
A spiked drink, an unconcious disease
Taking over you in sweet release
The party's over, immune system breaks in...
You ask yourself "Where have you been?"

Mark, R.I.P 1991-2007

(Two poems for Mark I recently found. Written of Mark's tragic suicide).

FIVE YEARS. (9/8/08)

You were so young and beautiful
Why'd you have to ruin it all?
You took it.
And it changed.
And you couldn't go back.
Because you took it.
You didn't mean to.
You weren't given a choice.
But you took it from them,
Then took life from yourself.
And you made her pay for your mistakes.
How could you have known?
I know it's not your fault.
But she felt it too!
She took it too!
But she didn't paint her walls a filthy red!
That shade of red did not match the carpets!
You took it.
It didn't mean that much.
You made it feel like everything.
Five fucking years meant a lot!
You made it feel like nothing
I think you ruined your chance at life,
Taking it like a filthy knife,
Taking it inside of you...
Killing everything you knew.
And like blood, it bleeds from you.
It drowns us all, and murders you.
So why not take the fucking knife
And end the life you ruined that night?
You were so young and beautiful,
T'was a shame to see you fall.
Thinking back, how could I have known?
That five years could change so much?
That you could ruin so much?
That it would hurt so much....
She told you it was over, you didn't need to take it again.
You never told her your life was over!
She just had to wait!
Five fucking years!!
She waited for you for five fucking years!
She found you!
She lost you.
You left her!
She tried to follow!
But it wasn't the right shade of red.
Why'd you go and leave her?
Why'd you go and change everything?
Why'd you ruin life for her?
Why'd you take your own?
"Five years has gone so fast".
To which you replied
"My life is going faster".
Because that five years meant nothing?
It was five fucking years!
Five fucking years she waited.
For what?
For this?
It hurts so bad.
You took it.
You took it away.
You took it away from her, from yourself.
What choice did she have?
You'd taken a knife to yourself, and the damage was irrepairable!
You couldn't reverse the scars, the wounds would not close.
Five fucking years.
She waited for you.
She waited for this.
So before you play the blame game.
Take a good look in the mirror.
And tell me....
How could five years not mean a thing?
It means everything to me that it meant nothing to you.

Oh, Fuck. (9/8/08)

Scars are falling off your face,
Memories are unwinding,
Where are you now?
Is this what you call yourself?
Pitiful, pitiful.
Splitting the skin with the razor
and watching the vibrant red explode over and under your thoughts.
And as it streams in a thick red line down, down, down...
Dripping, dripping...
Make it stop, make it stop!
You did this to yourself!
You are all there is to blame!
Accept it, child. Accept it!
You are not wanted!
You are not loved!
Somebody out there is praying for the existance of your grave!
celebrate your deathday, celebrate like them!
Maybe then you will be them!
Oh, the thoughts.
Stop the thoughts!
Bleeding... So bright... So....Well is it!!? Is it really red or is your vision blurred!?
Struggle to breathe... Struggle, splutter, splutter...
Why not take a gun instead?
Better yet, speak to me!
That's right, I'm not there!
I'm not there, where am I instead?
Wallowing in self pity!?
It shouldn't have ended this way.
It should never have started at all!
What did they do!?
What have you done!?
What should I say to help you this time 'round?
Oh, please. Oh, please.
I can't breathe.
You won't breathe.
Splattered brains on white walls.
Red, crusting blood on frail, weak wrists.
Oh, fuck.
What now!?
What the fuck have you done!?
I'm too late, I'm too late!
But I didn't know!
How could I have known!?
Oh, please. Oh, please.
Take me from this scene.
Oh, fuck...Take my life away!
Pick up the gun... Do it... Do it... Did it.
Put it to your head... Do it... Do it...Did it.
Pull the trigger... Do it... Do it...

Monday, December 21, 2009

Thought loops.

I'm sure each of us has had an osession with fractals at some point, and surely heard Sam I Am's fractal lecture enough times to remember it word for word...
So I don't really need to explain fractals here.
In short, a complex mathematical equation, a pattern which repeats itself an infinite amount of times.
To explain just how far the fractals go, take a look at atoms. Between atoms, is space. And what is between planets?
Everything is a fractal, including thoughts.
And whilst smoking la ganja and watching Return To Oz, a thought hit me.

A thought fractal would be essentially a thought that repeats itself an infinite amount of times. ;D Acid loops.

Simply encountering a thought fractal will naturally bring about a thought loop.

Haven't figured out how a thought fractal comes to be, or how to avoid a loop, but eh. Makes perfect sense, but I'm sure this is already known but I'm still quite proud of myself.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

A disappointment.

I recently learned how it feels to disappoint a parent.

I freaked out, called Krys and begged her to come to me. Throwing all current plans away, she rushed to me, but first had to explain to her parents why I needed her so bad at such late hours of the eve in order for her to come.

Naturally, her conservative folks have no clue of LSD, and first suggested an ambulance. Lol. thank fuck Krys knows what she's doing! That could've turned out baaaaad.

But anyways, so they now know of my drug escapades and are so disappointed in me. I feel... guilty and bad. :/

I have to face them tomorrow night and I'm going to feel so fucking awkward, Imma have no clue what to say to them.

Honestly, I don't know how she copes!

But it's still kind of nice that they care about me, haha. It's kinda as if they've adopted me into theor family. I'm touched, but I feel like shit knowing they know what a fuck-up I am.

Never before in my life have I felt bad about taking drugs. :/ I just viewed the whole thing in an entirely new light.

Coincedentally, I just finished reading Go Ask Alice. My thoughts on it were 'man, if her conservative parents were more accepting drugs and shit, Alice would've been able to talk to them and never would of ended up running off and fucking up so much shit'.

I know how Krys feels. ;_;

split, crack, split, crack go the broken hearts.

You'd been in the pit for hours, and now you approach me, telling me if she wasn't here by sundown, you'd kill yourself. I stood shocked in the semi-rain, my heart cracking. I didn't know what do do, but I knew I had to do it. For you, because, all that I do is for you.
Through the city, time at my heels, the sun with it's evil grin as it began to slip behind the edge of the world, my world. I wanted to cry, but this was no time fo sorrows. Begging people to direct me to her, begging people to show me some way of contacting her.
And he was with me, just like he sat with me when I first saw you several months back and cried for hours, just like he knew what was best for me and kept me away from you that night when you howled in the pit, and he told me "you don't want to see this", expecting the worst.
He's been with me for the worst of times, and all the best. And it makes me wonder... where are you when my heart is bleeding on the loungeroom floor, crying for you? Sure as hell, he's there, and she's there, like she was there when I needed her most, coming to me in the middle of the night just to be sure I was okay, forgetting everything to be there for me.
Where are you when I'm singing out my love of everything, acid grin in place? She's there, holding my hand, and he's there, playing with my hair, but where are you?

You're in my head, and in my heart, but you're never in my arms, not at my best, not at my worst, not when my whole world is crumbling and I rock back and fourth in a corner, unable to speak anything but your name, blanks in my memory, all the world worried for me, even the angels losing sleep.
You just... don't... care anymore.
Not like you did when we first met, and you said you believed in love at first sight. You made me so important, and I made you my everything.
I stood by you, defended your ass when everyone accused of such dirty things, I forgave you for everything you ever did, and I held your hand whilst you lost your mind, I made time to see you, make sure you were okay, while everyone else judged me for it.

I don't know what happened, I don't know when you stopped loving me, but I know for sure what it feels like to have a broken heart.

And still, after all of this, I love you endlessly. For all your flaws, and all your mistakes, and all the shit you put me through, and for all the times you were never there, and still aren't... And I still love you hopelessly.

And I will wait... Because there's nothing else to do. I will wait 'til you remember how much I meant to you, wait 'til you realise no one in this world will ever love you as much as I do. No one ever could.

And yet, you still don't care.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

The seeds we planted.

Demon, demon, on my shoulder.
Tell me, am I getting older?
Is there progression in procrastination?
I feel I've spent many years just laughing.
I have learned, and grown I have,
but my guides are leaving and I have no map.
And I can't do it on my own.
And where do I fight, without a home?
It's walls are crumbling, within demons sleep,
their filth seeps out into the streets.
The streets now dirty, where I once played,
Sometimes I wish I could've stayed.
Let go of my principles, and just stayed strong.
I'm sure I'll get it together before too long.
I fell in love, with a demon for sure.
He is a man of many flaws.
While outside I'm singing, smiling, beaming.
Inside I'm dying, bleeding, screaming.
I can never remember just how I felt.
Insanity greets me as my brain starts to melt.
Drugs, delusions and the rest.
I feel I'm being put to the test.
But I no longer am on my own.
The task is easier when I'm not alone.
I've discovered true friendship, something new to me.
And as the wool is lifted, I begin to see.
I stand ground for what I truely believe,
and though there are wounds in the soles of my feet,
I march on, to go out in guts and glory.
I march 'til the very end of my story.
And though they are many, and we are few,
from the seeds that we planted, the revolution grew.
Demon, demon in my my mind,
help me recover more of my kind,
help us to end this procrastination,
and set us on ther path to our ascension.

Sunday, December 13, 2009


A God has invited me to cause chaos in the eastern states.
An angel has invited me to save trees down south.
An old friend has invited me to be the princess of the place up north.


I don't know what to do.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

White Rabbit.

Everyone is out to get me.
I am not safe.
I can trust no one, for everyone is a demon.
They want to skin me.
Thursday 28th of some month is my glorious downfall.
'Til then, I tremble like a rabbit.
I will dig a hole and hide within until they go away.
With only the demons of Time and Knowledge on my side, I am so terribly frightened.
Trust no one. Do not blink. Be wary of glitches and laz0rz.
Even sleep offers no safety.
Find him.
Please hold me.
I don't know if you want to hurt me, but I trust your decisions...
Scared white rabbit, late for a very important date.
21 12 2012.
I am late.
They want my skin.
Time fucked me over. Knowledge lied.
Please hold me.
My walls are crumbling.
She wants to kill me most of all. She is laying a trap.
Doesn't it hurt to be black and evil?
I hurt.
Knowledge, Time, My All, My Teacher. Please guide me.
I am late for a very important date.
21 12 2012.

Monday, December 7, 2009

We didn't start the fire.

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe Di Maggio
Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, television
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe
Rosenbergs, H-Bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom
Brando, "The King and I", and "The Catcher in the Rye"
Eisenhower, vaccine, England's got a new queen
Marciano, Liberace, Santayana goodbye

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Josef Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc
Roy Cohn, Juan Peron, Toscanini, Dacron
Dien Bien Phu Falls, Rock Around the Clock
Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland
Bardot, Budapest, Alabama, Khrushchev
Princess Grace, Peyton Place, Trouble in the Suez

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac
Sputnik, Chou En-Lai, Bridge On The River Kwai
Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California Baseball,
Starkwether, Homicide, Children of Thalidomide
Buddy Holly, Ben Hur, Space Monkey, Mafia
Hula Hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go
U2, Syngman Rhee, payola and Kennedy
Chubby Checker, Psycho, Belgians in the Congo

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Hemingway, Eichmann, Stranger in a Strange Land,
Dylan, Berlin, Bay of Pigs invasion
Lawrence of Arabia, British Beatlemania
Ole Miss, John Glenn, Liston beats Patterson
Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British Politician sex
J.F.K. blown away, what else do I have to say

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again
Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock
Begin, Reagan, Palestine, Terror on the airline
Ayatollah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan
Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal, suicide
Foreign debts, homeless Vets, AIDS, Crack, Bernie Goetz
Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law
Rock and Roller cola wars, I can't take it anymore

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire
But when we are gone
It will still burn on, and on, and on, and on...

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Level 48 Wizatrd.

I have encountered many of my Great Teachers and personal Guides.
I have grown greatly, experience and education have made me strong and ready.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
Keep telling yourself that, but will you wake up?
I am not a failure, I rarely make a mistake, and I have no regrets.
I think I'm ready, but I can't tell for sure.
Luckily, patience is one of my many virtues.

Now is the time where we must end this time of thinking and discussing a whole lot, but never actually doing anything.
We must combine consciousness and realise we all have a similar goal. Different beliefs, different motivation, but we are one.
We must learn to recognise our own flaws, dispose of our arrogance. We must learn to recognise our good points, dispose of this endless self-loathing.

I thank every being, and the entirety of the universe for getting me this far, and now it is my turn.
I vow now to end all selfish ways of thinking, to not look at things so personally, but to view them on a universal scale.

I will let go and move on from what holds me back, even if it hurts. No pain, no gain.

We must regroup, reunite.

We are in this together, 'til the end.

Enough of this materialistic earth. Onwards, for we've never been satisfied.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I have forgiven your flaws, mistakes.

I will not, can not, be broken. My fire is NOT out yet, and it will burn long with the strength of love and anger.

Do not hate those incapable of love, shock them.

Pride is a sin, never forget.

But universal love is an achievement.

I do love unconditionally, I do, I do.

Friday, December 4, 2009

LSD 123 Dine with me!

Lsd whiped my vocab clean.

I could still understand what was being said by those around me, but my mind was so distant, thinking on a greater scale, that focusing on responding verbally was so unimportant and distracting, and above all, I couldn't do it.
At first, everything I said contained the words 'doof party in the bush, bus, dub, douche'. And that was it. Eventually, the people I was with at the time tried to direct my speech flow, giving me words that I would repeat, and remember using and happily add it to my speech.
Krys was worried for, as usual, her concern immense. I, however, was quite happy conciously. Eventually, I discovered a technique to help me expand my vocab. Word association games.
'Doof party in the bush - flap your wings! - Sam I Am - Fractals - LSD - doof party in the bush! '
'Douche - Yinyang - Phoenix - oldhouse - Rasta - Ganja - Doof party in the bush!'
Continued getting into loops, ecause doofs somehow relate to everything. >.<

I even forgot my friends names. Pickle became 'bush', the Asian kid and Kieren were both 'douche', Krys was 'dub', and I myself was 'Bus'.
Krys tried to correct this.

"Who's that?"
"Who's that?"

"Who's that?"
"Keiren douche"

"Who's that?"
"Actually, I can't help you, I don't know the Asian kids name either :3"

-Pointing to herself-
"Who's that?"
"Who's that?"
"Dub Krys"

-Pointing to me-
"Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
"Bus bus bus bus!"
"Ferret bus!"

At some point on the bus, the Asian kid chatting away happened to mention 'aw nu bru'.
My face lit up at that. "Aw nu bru!" I beamed, happily.

She taught me how to say 'hey', so I'd have something to say to her mother. However, seemed a bit rude when, storming out of the room, her mother asking 'are you okay?' and me responding with 'hey'. She was quite offended, actually. Awwww shiiiit!

I bounced around shouting irrelevant things, and about two hours later, got into quite a trife mood, calling everyone and everything 'simple minded filth', repeating something about 'tick, tock, tick, tock, that is your deathclock' and 'Hypocrisy at it's finest', just generally mocking everyone and being a condescending cunt. :D

Was quite an interesting experiment. I didn't know I could reprogram my entire vocab in two hours, or say all the cool things I said when I was all cunty and shit. Wish I'd written some of the speeches I made down. Clever cunt is clever.

Haha, the shit LSD will do. <3

Nevermind that, all in all, Krys's friend thinks I'm completely insane even without acid. I just grin and assure him I am his future, a warning to all aspiring trippers.

Friday, November 27, 2009

The wisest of men can admit that he knows nothing.

Enough said.

Why isn't 8 perfect?

People compare themselves too often. Sometimes, it makes them feel like scum, jealous, envious.
Sometimes, they feel a lot better about themselves, and feel sympathy for what they believe to be less.
I simply feel like a God whenever I try and compare myself to someone else, so I try not to, because it's come to my recent attention that I am the only one to find over-confident, condescending, arrogant people with a God complex attractive. Most find these kind of people quite irritating.
I do not, however, find hypocrisy attractive and it is admirable when people stick to their word. Catching people out on principle has become a habit of mine, using peoples own weapons and defence mechanisms against them. It is satisfying.
It should by now be a known truth that men who discuss how much experience they have, how many people they know, 'their connections', are simply trying to intimidate. Intimidation is usually successful, however, it is a sign of weakness in my eyes. A man who raises his voice and/or his fists too often is trying to make his enemy back-down through fear, because he himself has fear. A courageous man will stick to his beliefs, even if he knows his opponent could overpower him in physical strength. A wise man will leave the situation if he knows he is fighting a losing battle.
A common mistake is taking a mans departure as weakness. If a man does not want to fight, because he does not agree with violence, and sees no chance of coming out on top anyway, leaving the war zone is the wisest decision he can make. And simply not reacting to the calls of 'pussy' as he takes his leave is true strength, for controlling ones emotions can be difficult.
In my eyes, the guy who 'mans up', attracts unwanted attention to himself and lets his anger get the better of him is weak and rather stupid.
It is terrible what the idea of what is 'male' is.
It is also quite terrible that so many females are attracted to this macho imagery. Nothing of true value is allowed to survive in the world today.

Media. Must. Die.

Amen to that.

Written truths.

When you study words, you begin to realize they are quite similar in meaning.

Destruction and creation - exact opposites, but essentially the same thing.
Creation often stems from sadness (note our great, terribly miserable poets, artists and musicians of the past, many resulting in suicide). Destruction naturally stems from anger. But destruction is a form of art in itself, and creation is art. That must mean creation is destruction, and it is. You can not create something from nothing (atheist argument) and thus you must first destroy the original something and replace it with your creation. Not psychically, but then you don't always have to create something psychically.
Now, anger and sadness are not opposites, but still similar. The only real difference is that sadness is a self-wallowing feeling, whilst anger is taking it out upon someone/something else.
Which brings us to Punk and Hippie. Only difference between the two is that Hippies love the earth they live upon, and Punks hate the thing destroying it.
Love and hate are opposites and exactly the same. It is impossible to hate without first having love. Hate someone for hurting you when you had love for them, hate someone for hurting those you love, hate someone for destroying the earth you love. Both love and hate are essential. Both control us greatly and make us do stupid, stupid things. And both can be terrible to experience, but also very comfortable.

Nobody these days is prepared to listen. This is because everybody feels alone, like they are the only ones feeling or experiencing what they are. So, when somebody begins speaking, they immediately try to relate themselves to it and begin speaking of themselves, so they can feel like they have something in common, like they have a connection.
Connection. This is something to seek.
People do not realise they are doing this, however. It is truth that the only verifiable knowledge is knowledge of the self. In most cases, by understanding yourself, you can then have a better understanding of other people. For those like myself, it works anti-clockwise. By using other people as an example, studying them, we embark upon the journey of self discovery.

Why do people fear death? Because they do not wish to cease living. Hindus have much less fear because instead of fearing a blank eternity, or possible eternal torture in the realms of all evil, they believe in a cycle of life. Where one soul spirit simply leaves it's shell and finds a new one, much like changing clothing, and continue on. They also understand the laws of karma, something generally accepted now, and say that those living unfortunate lives are simply paying for wrong-doing in the previous. A soul upgrades from a fish, to a plant, to an insect, and so fourth 'til the human body, and if they do not succeed then, they start the cycle again. But they also understand that this does not mean a human being is more advanced than the lower stages of the cycle. "A dog may sleep on the streets, whilst a man sleeps in his apartment on an expensive bed, overlooking a beautiful view, but the man is no more happy in his sleep than the dog. In sleep, the man forgets about his valuables and the dog is just as happy with what he is without".

I've been reading, and talking with interesting characters, and undoubtedly with myself. It's once again the time for expansion.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Shameful Memories, Weed Sodomizes the Brain, Mary Jane.

I aquired a lot of this from shame, for from mistakes there's much to gain.
All you are is sorry dogs, and all you do is kill for fun.
All I know is I'll be gone, and you'll be left alone again.
And I know it is so beyond you, that all we know is all we know.
And Mary, Mary Jane...
There's just something about Mary.

C'mon, pass the joint.
Everything is all my fault.
All in all, insomnia.

Choking on the remains of my memory.
Choking on a bitter heart shaped hand grenade.
Choking on the hashish in this room...
Memory, Memory, Memory.

Ah, Mary Jane, look what you've done to me?

Feminist assault.
Find my next victim.
Hypocrisy grew from shame.
But I am not a zombie yet.
I can still bring the change, for I can see my shame.
I concede false shame.
I have no wish to fight.
I proceed with pain.
Memory, Memory, Memory.

Risen from the ashes of an entity, I'm concieved from shame.
It must suck to be like you.
C'mon, pass the joint!
Mary, Mary, marry me.

...And now the zombie comes...
Oh no, is this all we are?
Mary, Mary Jane.

It's like sodomy, but I'm so goddamn merry!
Opposite of shame, our opponents are portrayed.
Sunlit razorburn.
Our love is all we have.
Sunburnt phrasal verb.
Unknown to me.
Memory, Memory, Memory.


You hate me half the time.
I've vgot clockwork in my eyes.
I know you think I'm overdue.
And I agree with you.
But I do win the internet.
Although my plan is never set, you're stuck with me for a little while.
And I do take the van, laden with salvia, that's why you hear me at the trial.
I'll take a Xanax worth, just to get the feeling right.
I'm hunting White Rabbit for tonight.
This isn't as bad as you make it out to be, but still...
You hate me, I can tell.
But my mind is a credible place.
You heard me, I can travel.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

And I quote...

"It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination."

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Acid spasm.

Once upon a brisk, clear eve, Bobbie ate some LSD, she started trippin, she started flippin, and then she came and found me.
Once upon a doofing day, Ferret's mind had gone astray, she had a bad habbit, of eating acid, and she invited the faeries to play.
Once upon an evil night, Magentas mind had quite a fright, she was tripping bawlz, and time was stalled, and the fractals were such a sight.
Once upon a Bobbies bed, there were demons inside young Cals head, he cried for help, and started to yelp, and by morning he was dead.
Once upon a floating isle, Aj lost his mind for a while, He said he was God, when he was actually not, but he turned into a crocodile.
Once upon a central park, Davids mind had quite the start, he started looping, his smile was drooping, and his eyes did forward dart.
Once upon a daily drought, young Sir Jaymes was freaking out, he'd had too much, of acid and such, and now he's nowhere about.
Once upon a old green tree, Pickle took bulk LSD, he talked to himself, and sat on a shelf, and fractals were all he could see.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Song to say goodbye.

You are one of God's mistakes,
You crying, tragic waste of skin,
I'm well aware of how it aches ,
And you still won't let me in.
Now I'm breaking down your door,
To try and save your swollen face ,
Though I don't like you anymore,
You lying, trying waste of space..

Before our innocence was lost,
You were always one of those ,
Blessed with lucky sevens ,
And the voice that made me cry .
My Oh My.

You were mother nature's son ,
Someone to whom I could relate ,
Your needle and your damage done,
Remains a sordid twist of fate.
Now I'm trying to wake you up ,
To pull you from the liquid sky ,
Coz if I don't we'll both end up ,
With just your song to say goodbye.
My Oh My.

A song to say goodbye,
A song to say goodbye ,
A song to say...
Before our innocence was lost,
You were always one of those,
Blessed with lucky sevens,
And the voice that made me cry.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

The end of the world as we know it.

Silly girl with the ocelot smile

I like your style, and it's been a while

Dreams of going out in guts and glory

Tell me, girl, what's your story?

Nostalgia cuts like a knife

The end of the best of your life

The lights are on, but nobody's home

Jewels and gold caress your throne

Come on down and join the crowd

Silence is golden, your voice is too loud

Hiding behind Autumns hair

Without a care, skin so fair

Wholesome yet so incomplete

458 marks the street

Summer days and winter haze

The moments are gone, but the memory stays

Turn your back on what once was

Leave the tree once to be covered in moss

Miss your friends, miss your lover

This house was like a house no other

But shit happens, shit hits the fan

Chain yourself to walls that you wish to stand

The demons wall can never fall

If only there was a chance for time to stall

Gun-raids, cop-raids and drug insanity

A piece of mind, a state of clarity

Experience is what you wanted, it's what you got

Times were hard, I'll miss it a lot

Never the same, how to move on?

I know it'll be okay before too long

Silly girl with the ocelot smile

I like your style, and it's been a while.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

And a slogan was concieved.

Hay guys, I'M NEUROTIC!!! Ha. Who new?

Love letter to someone like you.

Oh, I'm no God, but beside you it's hard to not feel like such.
You're bleeding on the bathroom floor, it's four am, your arms are bruised and sliced, and the needle is not far from here.
I watch you from the window, watch you undress, watch you sleep.
Sometimes I creep into your bedroom and touch myself.
In the morning, you take a shower, wash your hair, put on your shortest dress, apply the thick, heavy make-up to hide the purple, and then you leave the building, fishnets and heels.
Sometimes I want to kill you. Sometimes I want to take a hammer to your face. Sometimes I want to show you what real pain is, so you'll never cut yourself again.
Mostly, I just want to penetrate your ass.
I'd like to hear you scream, your voice is so pretty and I bet your tears taste like sugar.
On your way out, you sometimes smile and say hello to me, quiet tone, fake smile, false politeness. You try to hide it from me, and everyone else.
Sometimes I follow you when you walk down the street. I like the way your ass moves, the way your hips swing, and I wonder what it would be like to insert a blade inside you.
When you get home, you put on your miserable music at full volume, and sometimes you shut the blinds. Sometimes, you forget and I watch you smoke your drugs.
I like when your boyfriend comes over, and fucks you hard in your shaven cunt, and pulls on your hair 'til you cry.
By the time he leaves, you're usually on the floor, with a few additional bruises. Sometimes, you call your mother, or maybe a close friend, and I see you cry to them over the phone.
I'm coming over tonight, and I'm bringing a friend. I have a fun night planned for us both.
I love you, Lisa.
So very much, it's true.
I'm touching myself whilst thinking of all things I could do to you.

The aftermath.

The gentle sound of water lapping the cadaver.
The cheerful sound of birds wishing a good morn to the sky.
The nostalgia breeding sound of your voice, the voice that brings tears to my eyes.
The persistent sound of buzzing flies.
The miserable sound of my own voice calling for you.
The harsh whispering of something dead.

Take it, you whore, take it all.

The awful smell of rotting flesh.
The sweet smell of freshly awoken flowers.
The familiar smell of your favorite perfume.
The dreadful smell of human excretement.
The reminding smell of stale blood on my thighs.
The putrid scent of something dead.

Take the whore, my all, take her whole.

The gorey sight of dismembered limbs.
The tempting sight of natures things.
The haunting sight of your bleeding eyes in the photograph.
The pitiful sight of roadkill.
The terrible sight of rope wounds around my wrists.
The traumatizing visual of something dead.

Swallow it whole, my whore, take it whole.

The mushy feel of a dead girl left too long in the water.
The soft feel of your four-legged companion with the keen sense of smell.
The missing feel of your pretty heart against mine.
The messy feel of the drying mud on the white dress.
The tearful feel of blood running down my legs.
The horrifying touch of something dead.

Eat it all, you witch, swallow it whole.

The filthy taste of dead blood cells and a cold corpse.
The ugly taste of your mutilated best friend with the waggily tail.
The disturbing taste of your missing heart which now resides in my palm.
The unwanted taste of shit and insect beneath my nails.
The aftertaste of LSD.
The dirty sampling of something dead.

That's it, my witch, be gone forevermore.

They gave me the LSD and they took me to the hotel... I dunno what they done to me, but I remember, it was horrible.

Kiss her goodbye, little whore, kiss your sister goodbye, and don't forget your lover. I'll get you, and your little dog too! Haha.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

21-15 33-16 30-18

Hay guys, do you think a 21 year old guy fucking a 15 year old girl is wrong, if they are clearly in love, and he gets her pregnant?
How about a 33 year old guy fucking a 16 year old girl, her doing it for drugs, whilst they fuck with eachothers heads, and calling the 21 year old a pedophile and threatening to kill the baby?
How about a 30 year old guy fucking an 18 year old girl, and constantly doing everything in eachothers power to piss one another off, and whilst noticing the other relationships in the house, but oblivious to the fact that some people may find their relationship a little wrong?

Just curious, that's all. ^.^ hypothetical situation.
legally, the 21 year old is in the wrong, but the two are in love and she's more mature than any adult I know. The third party isn't wronf at all, in my opinion, but just feeling a little guilty for getting so worked up at the second pairing for being HYPOCRITICAL CUNTS.


Character definition.

I created an amzing piece, probably the most incredible thing I have ever created. It was about the Great Wall/Line, the white charge, the central pyramid, finding the piece of mind, blue-purple skinned children and much more. Problem, at home, we do not have internet connection so I can not post this on my blog. It doesn't help that none of my housemates could possibly begin to FATHOM the three page long piece I wrote.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Momentage a la Squa'

[[and you want to be dressed in poetry,[[
]]but imagery doesn't fit,
and you want resizing,]]
:::but darling dear,
get a grip;;;

First night, I lost my virginity to the X.
Second night, I lost track of time and slumbered on matresses for five days straight.
Before long, I was smoking la ganja again, all day, wake and bake. two states of mind.
Then I went on a bit of an acid rampage, we're going to go see a panther.
Tripping balls from dawn 'til dusk.
Then, came the alcohol. borderline alcoholic, baby.
I scored my own room, started dating a pretty girl, witnessed love and lust in all it's shades, watched the entire film-like progression of drug-induced psychosis, saw the wrath of crack-cocaine, shed tears for two close friends, had a gun to my head...
Amongst many other great and bad experiences.
A little kitten died just recently, a small grey furred thing that was found abandoned on the side of the road. I think a lot of people are feeling guilty over this.
Douche the guinea-pig has discovered he enjoys weed a lot, he smoked a cone the other eve, he also enjoys toking on cigarettes and riding my shoulder to the bottle shop.

This isn't the place it was once. This isn't topless nights, and days of painted people, and arrogant bastards making fools of themselves for the rest of our entertainment...
Almost all of the old faces are forever gone... Replaced by new faces that are crushing hopes.

This isn't the place it used to be.
This isn't a place I want to go to anymore, this is just a place I have to go to sleep.

^ (watch) .
May these moments be treasured forever and ever and ever.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Do not read if you wish to live.

Sometimes I get a little worked up, this I know.
It's not a problem of mine, no flaw or inperfection.
In fact, it all works out for the better, worked up for the better.
I'm going to assume things when you are dishonest with me, just so you are aware.
I'm beginning to see a different side of things, me, you, them, her, him, this, that, the other.
It's incredible that you fail to see the flowers on your side of the grass.
But anyway, the point of the matter is, you're entirely screwed up.
It's not a problem of yours, no flaw or inperfection.
Think of it as a guideline, and nothing more.
My friends tell me things that are untrue.
My friends tell me to wait for you.
My friends tell me everything you do.
My friends tell me they can't keep up with you.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, words mean nothing compared to the sunlight.
It's not as if I've stopped believeing in you... It's more that I feel you have stopped believing in me, so here I state my cause.
This is not a love song, this is not a suicide letter, this is not an essay, this is not a lecture.
This is a peice of art, written for me, by me.
Choose to see yourself amongst my words, if you will, but please don't tell me what to do anymore.
I have enough trouble listening to myself.
If these 'peices of art' go against your beliefs, expectations or political views, I do not apologize, for I never aimed to be your shining star.
I aim to be your eyes.
Now, present to ME yourself. Present to me something to go on, some word of advice, the most important thing you could ever tell me.

I combine obsession and fantasy with morbid things with sickened wings, and thus indulge in the Dark Wonderland. I combine stolen truths with philosophy and drug induced psychosis, and thus indulge in abstract art and delusions. I combine love and lust with death and depression, and thus combine the twisted fairy tales. I combine your mind with mine and thus indulge in synchronicty. I see the exit signs, but the road is blocked by shattered hope.

Do the math.

Don't breed two chihauhau's if you expect fucking Great Danes.
Don't steal my lines and hide them in your mind and think for a second they were meant for you alone.
Don't fucking ask me to improve when that is all I am constantly doing.
Don't tell me I'm arrogant whilst you wear that cocky smile and frown down upon me.
Don't accuse me of knowing nothing when you know nothing of me.
Don't expect great things from me, just accept the things I do.
And, don't you ever pretend for a second we are anything alike, when really, you're in a fucking five star hotel and I'm at a murderscene.

Why would I be at a murderscene? Why not? Why not indulge in the destruction of something beautiful? Is it not, in itself, a form of art? Isn't everything a form of art? Some things just aren't tasteful to certain individuals.

I myself like all the secrets and puzzles hidden amongst the work of Salvador Dali. To study a picture and continually find more things every few minutes and try and work out why the fuck they were put there...
I myself like all the truth and relativity in the words of Maynard Jaymes Keenan, and all the surpressed pervesion in myself that I find amongst the work of Todd Smith.
I myself like the captivating, neverending masterpeice with so many hidden clues and pictures in the works of things such as, Alice in Wonderland, The Da Vinci Code and The Divine Comedy.
I myself like the story structure and 'possibilities' of such things as The Butterfly Effect, The Jacket, Memento and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

When I grow up, I'm going to marry a rockstar. A rockstar with outrageous hair, violent mood swings, a drug addiction and perfectly cliche, supposodly symbolic tattoos.
Why? Because I never wanted anything else.
I'm sick of gentlemen, and lunatics, and punk rockers with an IQ of 0. And let's not forget the crackhead gangsters and the hypocritical artists.
As DIVINE as they all sound, really, they just can't be perfect, and I adore perfect.

I want nicotine and heroin, pure cocaine and LSD, Bourbon and cola with a sprinkling of Salvia and Divine Moments of Truth.

There's a perfect figure in the belly of my mind...

I've gone and made drugs my priority and it doesn't even hurt because I've figured out I'm useless and everything else but fucking up my body and mind.
Now that I know what I am, I'll try and let go of all the things I want to be.
Because dreams are for faggots.
Giving up is the way to happiness.

I painted a white rabbit in our room, just under the blood-red lyrics.
I've done so much and grown so much but... as well as all that is, I'll just put my dreams on hold for everyone who thinks I'm taking up too much space.

And don't call me pathetic, at least I've come to terms with what I am, and am not just trying to prevent deforrestation in a desert.

This was not the intention of this piece, just to be aware, and it's not my intention to have it read by anyone other than me. If you choose to read it, then you have chosen to read every piece of bullshit I spew up, so don't then tell me I can do better, be better, when you have no fucking clue what I'm capable of.
If you choose to know me and stay around for the good things I produce, don't try to destroy me when I flip out, fairweather friend.

This post is to clarify the STRESS you put me under, the DRAMA OVERLOAD of the shit that goes on in my home, the continuous PRESSURE I get to be better, look better, feel better, do better.

I write to release stress. Some people listen to music, some cut themselves, some paint, some abuse drugs, some break peoples faces, some break glass windows, some kill themsleves.
Some like to mix it up a bit.

My writing is not for you.
You don't like it, then simply fuck off.

Anyways, this was not directed at anyone in particular, if anyone is still reading, I'm just having some trouble dealing with my mind right now. :/
It's time to call it quits on this 'peice of art'.

Keep in touch. <3

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Look back once, and never again.

Was just thinking about the glass house.
Haha, back in the good old days. I miss that shit sometimes.
I haven't been to the glasshouse in over half a year, I wonder if people still hang there.
But then, I'm not really in the city these days.
The past couple of fucking years have been... Odd.
I never thought I'd see myself here.

Links, connections, consequences.

I once had a dream of visiting the past. It was not a memory, but a possible past event.
It was interesting that I could recall the date of waking life when a dream character questioned where in the future I came from.
My exact thought pattern was, when asked, 'Oh, I know this, I remember looking at the computer screen last night at it was the fifteenth of September so, depending on what time it is now, it's probably the sixteenth', and so I told him that.
The dream character reminded me strongly of a man I'd been seeing at a younger age, a doctor of sorts, who had a great positive influence upon my life. In fact, he had changed me completely. I had a problem, one I refuse to discuss, but his method of fixing this problem was to visit the past and work forward.
I'd like to study further into this, because it's certainly significant. I rarely remember dreams, but all the linking pieces are intriguing.

There are many puzzles about. For instance, at Charlie's, we had a white rabbit. It was sitting upon a bench, and out of nowhere, it fell down, without any reason for it to do so, and was shattered.
White rabbits represent good luck.
I guessed there was some meaning to this, and delved deeper. It turns out, this night was the night when a certain girl had her heart broken when her partner slept with another girl. The other girl had been going through some significant trauma, and this male had taken it upon himself to help her, and it somehow turned into sex. Also, another girl had spent the eve waiting for her boyfriend to get there, and he never showed up because he'd recieved a call from his ex-girlfriend who as it turns out, was pregnant.
There's probably more, but I can't remember the day/night all that clearly and no one else seems as interested in this as I am, and so it's a little hard getting their memories of that day.
But, I'm assuming that metaphorically, a good luck charm broke for everyone who was connected to that house on that night.

I don't know, it may be nothing, but it's certainly interesting nonetheless.

I'm a puzzle solver, an observer and highly interested in human psychology. This, I know.

I'll continue being fascinated by the smallest of things, because I have a lot of spare time on my hands these days, and once you've studied several small but somehow significant events, you notice that they begin to link up and form a greater picture. A puzzle. Links, connections, consequences.

Ah, butterfly effect.

House Dialogue

'Shelvit buddy!'
'Fucking asshole important'
'Aw nu bru!'
'Are you hallucinating aliens?'
'I am going to fucking hungry!'
'I want some fucking goon'
'Going on cigarette mission'
'Shit son'
'Fuckin a'
'Awwwww shiiiiiiiiiit'
'You shall not pass!'
'Doof party in the bush'
'Flap your wings'
'Fuckin' dickheaaaaad'
'Crack wut?'
'Hey maaaan'
'Can I've a cone/smoke?'
'Oh, for fucksake!'
'wut cunt/ wut buddy'
'I'll smash you'
'Gotta catch 'em all!'
'Sleeping pills'
'Delicious bread/cigarette/girl'
'Gandalf style or Smeagle style?'
'Triangles and circles'
Pretty much all I hear at home. >.<

Do you like guns?

I had a gun to my head this gone Friday morn/eve.
T'was an event to behold, I very nearly shat brix, a delicate trail of rust-coloured rectangles so close to be coming apparent.
You may ask, 'why?'. I wouldn't doubt that you are even a little bit curious to know how this story goes. Well, it happened at aprox. 3:15am, or more so, this is where our story begins.
It had come to my attention that a few shady looking strangers had entered the premises of my home, purchasing a 50bag from our dealer, before claiming that the ganja be a'taken involuntarily. Or so to say, stolen ganja.
It was well-known that the accused 'theif' was in fact, not a theif at all and that this was some serious buuullllshit. No point-ze-finger games f' me.
However, despite our efforts to converse with the High Scorers of the blame game, we were given a simple warning to be headed. 'We shall return at 4o'clock sharp with our associates, armed and dangerous'.
I retreated to the living room once the commotion had died down, laying my old self down beside Sir Dicey and discussing prior events, and watching a damn good film, which, as it would turn out, was rudely interrupted by a shouting gentleman. 'Nine mm Glock!'
'wut buddy?' I say, arising to my feet. 'Dis gun shit, in my home? wut the fuck, bruzz', I say, taking the whole event very seriously. 'Let us be off to deal with these fuckin' dickheaaaads, my good sir', I announce to Sir Dicey.
And as if by magic, at the tick of a clock, it was I, standing amidst a battlefield of sorts, expecting all manner of internal organs to fly at me and collide with my face. They did not, however, but my eyes did indeed take in the gun/machete/metal bat weilding lunatics that surrounded me and my comrads.
A brave young female stands before the gun and RAAAAAAAAGES at the weilder, and just as the ol' chap notices me old self, t3h gun turns it's attention to me, indeed, for a brief 10 seconds, and I stare at it for just a little ol' while, before turning my back upon it.
'oh dear me, dat waz some silly tingz to do, Fertz', I mentally lecture myself. 'why has turned back on weaponzzz?'. But alive I stand, for no speeding bullet met my back, and feeling not dead, I continued inside the house, having nothing better to do but stand around hyperventilating.
Balaclava'd men pushed past me, uttering apologies and such, a particular sir delivering a certain message: Apologies, m'lady, retreat to the back of this there buildin', and ye shall be safe from harm.
'Gah', I exhale. 'Scurvy bidden rats'. I see da assailants enter my room by means of force, breaking down the door with one of dem dere metal batzorz. 'Awshi-!', me shouts, 'Dem Emily and Sir Jaymes be a'sleeping in dat room, cuz!'.
But unchanged the situation be, as brave young female who shall be honoured from this day forward is thrown against ze bed. 'Oh noes, awaking to gun in face is not my cup of tea', Emily would think, as she burries said face into Sir Jaymes.
'Empty dem dere pockets', gun-dude demands, and almost has his way but a courageous fool attempts to disarm him. Courageous fool earns a gun smack in da face, but owellz, for he completed his mission to distract the cursed gun-dude. The men exit the building, leaving our bustop shattered, a mess of shattered glass.
Dem dere brave young female who be named Krys calls the ol' pigs, calm and collected amidst dis chaotic scenez. Ten internetz to you, delicious little girl, you is braver thenz even me!
Owellz, owellz, so I was pussy and bailed wit the others at mention of cops a'coming, for they is far more scarier than any gun/machete/metal bat weilding lunatic dat dere smashed up my home wit their spite!
It occured to me, howevz, in the following morn, that gun was in fact... Pussy Replica. Apparently, gun replica is da shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit, but I disagree entirely.
I am in the belief that no faces were broken and that as traumatic as this epic movie-like night may have been, we shall all recover.
Sir Dicey asks 'Would you have knowledge of what is very homosexual about last night?'.
'What would that be?', me asks, wondering.
'That we did not in fact indulge in sexual intercourse'.
It's recently come to my attention that Sir Dicey is an utter douche.
cuz d4t wuz OBVIOUSLEE ze worstest ting dat happened on dat dr34dfulz eve.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Note to self.

I'm not as bad as I could be, but I'm not as good as I should be.

We are the youth.

Make it up to you in the year 2012.

A taste of fiction.

Pretty, purple blankets of flowers litter the ground.Ubiquitous, the carpet of color stretches on for miles. It's difficult to see too far into the distance, brilliant sunlight blinding, streaks of sun, like strands of hair, filling up the majority of my vision with intesnity. A smashing, vibrant flood of colour flows out from the pretty little yellow wildflowers that blossom here in the bossom of the ancient earth. The ground itself is dry, red, dusty, appearance like sandpaper but texture like flour. Lacking moisture, it hasn't felt the rain in days, maybe even weeks, yet the flowers still bloom, as if defying all laws of weather conditions. A tall, elegant tree springs from the centre of my surroundings, perfect green leaves making a beautiful shade, shadow casted across the ground, it's bark a deep mahogany, soft and pretty to the touch. The sky is a pale, powder blue, middle of the day, fluffy clouds bouncing in the air, forming shapes which morph as they speed by.
It's peaceful here, and I am completely alone, other than the occasional song a cheery and lovely coloured bird offers as it flies overhead, or flutters about in the branches of a nearby, aching and dancing tree. I can hear my own voice joining the songs of the feathered ones, though it is fractured and ugly beside the somewhat perfect chirps and chattering. A particular blue and black bird, a small and delicate one, catches my attention as it hops across the dirt, through the wonderful flowers, headed straight towards where I am placed. Or more, considering I do not know exactly where I am located, it's form gets larger in my hazy and blurred vision. I attempt to imitate its call, but my voice is so cracked and it doesn't fit well at all, ruining the scene of nature simply by being there in this human form.
The flowers are sweet, attracting all manner of flying insects, yellow and black striped bees perching on the petals of the red poppies, getting their fix of the opiate. Their buzzing is subtle, a gentle humming to the calm and distant midday. An evil looking barbed wire fence stretches around this nowhere, a closure for Gaia, damaged and lessened by adventurous kangaroos. None of these furred creatures are present now, but holes and dirt baths give them away as well as the ruined fence. They've burrowed beneath it's spikes, marring them and managing to escape completely unharmed, a special skill they've developed from having to break into mother Earth's different realms. A shimmering black crow hops by, letting out a caw, it's jet black feathers radiating with heat and shine, my eyes attracted to it's gleam as if I, too, were a bird. A bower bird collecting pretties for it's nest. The crow raises his yellow eyes to lock with mine for a brief moment, a moment somehow like a warning, before he calls manically to me again. He takes to the sky, having better things to do then waste his time with the pathetic human being that had intruded upon his day.
The dirt is hot, and so is the air, dust circling around my body in a spiral fashion. I rest in the shade the trees offer, yet my fragile body is still penetrated by the scorching heat, and I let out a sigh of exasperation. There is not a hint of civilization or human life for miles and miles. I am alone, here, with only the birds for company, and they don't seem to want mine. I'm an unwanted stranger to this land.
I rise to my aching feet, thorns burried deep within the bare flesh. I pull at them, removing what I can, but it is difficult to do so when the prickles are of minute size and my vision is blurred. I would have to leave them to come out on their own accord. The most important thing was to sort out my crumbling body and my dry mouth. Perhaps I am dehydrated. I feel weak, my body heavy and yearning to be back across the ground where I'd found it. I fight with my exhaustion, fighting to stay upright, and after a few moments, I take a few steps forward upon my now slowly but surely bleeding feet, through the hot, dry sand. I don't know which way I should be heading, there seems no direct route, no paths or tracks, everywhere looks to lead to nowhere. I walk straight forward though, for if I remain here, in this temperature, I could surely die.
'Where the hell am I?', I murmer, and the utterance of words makes me realize just how dry my throat is. It hurts to swallow, hurts to move my jaw in anyway. My tongue is heavy and swollen, uncomfortable in the pit of my mouth. 'Water', I murmur again, seeking that liquid. There must be some form of water around, or else, how would all the animals survive out here? It was dry season. Very dry season. I realized that I was not at all adjusted to the earth I was born of, not at all at home in nature, without instincts or knowledge of the wild. I was a human being, and I'd left nature behind, damaged her, and now she was taking her devious revenge upon my pathetic human body.
There's a bizarre structure in my vision now, in my hazy vision. Not too far ahead, perhaps if the Gods would smile upon me for one moment, I could make it. It appears to be a house, or more, a shed. Small and worn down, splintering wood, cracked like the earth I currently stood upon. A pale, faded grey in colour, unhealthy wood that could crumble at any given second. As I approach it, I wonder how safe it is to touch the door, to place my hand upon it's decaying surface. It's hanging from the hinges, the lock laying amongst the earth, rusted and useless. Nobody has been here for some time, I know, and the whole thing could fall on me if I were to enter, but it's the best plan I have. The only plan I have.
I reach for the old handle, pulling as gently as I can at it. It creaks violently, and the smell of oil and rotting wood fills my nostrils. A peice of the aging door falls apart in my blistered hands, jaggard wood chips locking themselves into my fingertips and drawing dark droplets of blood as I yank them out swiftly. I suck at my fingers, tasting dirt and bitter blood as I crawl into the worn down, dangerous building. It's cooler in here then it was outside, but the smell is awful, like something has crawled in here to die and it's flesh has been melting away for many weeks. As I lean faintly against the fragile walls of the tomb, I wonder, perhaps it is a good place to die. As good as any other. There are a few old, browning bottles laying about, many of them appearing to be filled with oil, the smell strong and horrible, adding to my rapidly increasing migraine. I pick up can, after bottle, after cup searching for a drinkable liquid. 'Water', I manage to moan desperatly again, hoping something would hear me and assist me in my search for survival. I know I am still utterly alone, but my hope has not yet completely dissipated.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Self -preservation.

"How are you feeling today?"
"Interesting, how?"
"Well, the way my mind is working at this moment is... getting me very intrigued. When this happens, I get too distracted by myself to pay much attention to the outside world".
"Living in your own world, huh?"
"Yes, I'm sure things aren't at all how I think they are".
"They are to you though".
"So, what have you been doing with yourself?"
"Mmm... Nothing, and everything".
"I'm sorry, but could you be a little more exact with your answers?"
"Well, aren't you meant to be figuring me out?"
"Yes, I am, but you're meant to be helping me".
"And how do I do that?"
"By making my job as easy as possible. Tell me as much as you can, it helps me to gather the information I need, and helps you get things of your chest".
"Well, I guess. But... It's just..."
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure I can trust you".
"Believe me, I don't trust you either. You are a sociopathic criminal with a blood-thirst and an LSD corrupted mind..."
"Hah. And you're some perfect, well paid, goodie fucking two-shoes analysing me and thinking you can fix me by giving me a fucking diagnonsense".
"Yes. That could very well be the case. We don't even have to be friends, because I don't like you a whole lot, and I know you are staring at my neck with thoughts of tearing my throat out".
"How did you know that, then?"
"Because I understand psychology. I have been seeing you for several months now, I should have a basic understanding".
"I suppose".
"I also know you're feeling a little ashamed, like you've already said too much because I know too much. You forget that silence is an answer as well. Fear, guilt, anxiety, nervousness... To name a few things you're probably feeling right now".
"Uh huh. Keep going, you seem to be doing well, Mr. fucking fantastic".
"You're getting angry now because you don't want me in your head. You know I'm reading you like a book it makes you fearful that you can't hide a thing".
"I always thought my mind was a safe place".
"Well it is, generally. It's a safe place to hide from everything bar yourself".
"Yes. So here we are. Do you even want to be here?"
"No, but I have to be. You fucked up. I think you should put down the gun".
"Why? You're right, I'm a fuck up. Why not just... End my life?"
"Because that would be stupid. You'd be letting them all win".
"Right. You're right".
"I know I am. So put it down".
"Fine. But only because I know you secretly want me to kill myself".
"You're goling to stay alive out of spite? Tough guy".
"Don't anger me. Or I will do it, and that means you die too, buddy".
"Fine, fine. I'll leave you alone for now. I'll be back with your medication".
"Fuck you".
"I love you too".


I was hanging upside down from the overpass
Waiting to discover something about the world
I couldn't get with the program
And I couldn't listen to them
It was like trying to think in reverse
And I don't want to slide into apathy
And I don't want to die in captivity
But these monsters follow me around
Hunting me down, trying to wipe me out
Wipe me out
Wipe me out
Wipe me out
I was hiding away under water
Waiting for distance and buying some time
Trying to be two hundred thousand years younger
So I could excuse myself from humankind
'Cause I don't want to be a container
Or a bastard with a ten page disclaimer
But these monsters spin me around
Get me down, just try and shut me out
Shut me out
Shut me out
Shut me out
Hold it in your head
Hold it in your head
Hold it in your head
Believe and make believe and make believe
I was hiding away under water
Waiting for distance, waiting for time
And I don't want to slide into apathy
And I don't want to live in captivity

"Poor rats", we human rodents chuckle.

You all reflect eachother so much, and lack in personality.
It's like you're yelling at a mirror whilst masturbating.
Your aim is either to look all tough by being a cunt to anyone, or to get laid via the internetz.
Excuse me, but this is a little pathetic.
It's so damn hard being perfect in such a parasitic world!

The girl who cried Wolf.

There's a boy with eyes like ice. Sorrow-filled and yearning, he has a broken heart. He writes down his feelings and wishes for a second you could feel his pain, just so he wouldn't have to go it alone. He hates to see you cry, because it shows you're just as weak as him and he will hate you for it, because he hates himself. He can take a punch, and throw one, and he has no fear of fists. He's got a goonbag and a cigarette and messy curls on his head. He's so angry, and sad and sometimes you can open up to him because he's not afraid of emotions.

There's a demon with electric blue hair, tall and lanky, with spikes on his face. He's full of knowledge and insanity, he's so very intense. He likes to carry his victims in his arms, he likes to recite from books and find meaning in every image, every number, every letter of every word. He's so very fucked up and only the strongest of men can deal with him. The weak get mad and hurt him, the strong stand by his side. He's standing tall with a bag full of mushrooms and feeding his face with them. He believes he is the devil incarnated. He believes you can take anything, that he can't hurt you because he has so much faith in you.

There's a gentleman with eyes so bright. He has no flaws visible to the human eye, skin warm and smooth and covered in ink. He understands music and mathematics and even literature, and he can use his tongue. He treats you like a lady, whilst pouring red wine down your throat and discussing misscarriages and licking his lips. He's smoking a cigarette as he urinates on a dead celebrity's grave, silly females worshiping him because they know his body was made of stars and angel feathers.

There's a girl with a rat's tail crossing the street to meet the boy, the demon and the gentleman. There are hearts on her cheeks and intrigue in her eyes. She's wearing heels and a pinstripe vest, a scarf attached to her pants that sit evenly upon her prominent hip bones. She's in tears if joy as teh day goes perfectly to plan, embracing the boy, the demon and the gentleman and almost refusin to let go. She's blowing smoke in your face as she discusses music, pschology, drugs and Wonderland. She's got a pretty elf girl in her hand, a pretty elf girl she calls her girlfriend. By the end of the night, she's holding a gentlemans hand whilst he carries her heart to bed. What a wonderful way to end a perfect day.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Death Fractal v.1

You're standing under a tree. It's leaves are a brilliant green, drops of water hanging from it, and silken, fractal webs delicatly woven between the limbs of the peaceful being. A golden arachnid takes her place in the center, eight legs all stretched out in a symmetrical fashion, patiently waiting for some adventurous little creature to find it's way into her trap. Her abdomen is spotted black, eight dots, eight legs, eight ever-watchful eyes.
The sun is bright, shining directly into your bleeding eyes. There is glass stuck between the lids, cutting at your eyes as the blood runs down your face and you tear at it in frustration. This is terribly uncomfortable for you, I know.
There's a scent in the air, soft and beautiful, sweet, aromatic. Flowers, red and golden, orange and silver, purple, blue, white. Acres and acres of wildflowers. You collapse amongst them, letting out a pained groan as the glass continues to dig, dig, dig, making it's way deeper into your eye sockets. This is painful for you, I know.
Snap! The golden arachnid has moved. She's wrapping a gift, a paralyzed gift up in shining silk, strong as any another string. The fly twitches pathetically, bitten and sticky, unable to move as it is trapped, wrapped. You wonder if the creature is claustraphobic and hope not for it's sake.
The puncture wound in your side is covered in flies. It's as if the spider is doing a favour for you, as you devours one of your enemies. You lay bleeding and wounded, fingernails taking off layers of skin, the pieces of you becoming trapped, folds of skin under nails. How pretty.
The sun blazes, your burnt skin curling and peeling to reveal a fresh layer. 'Water', you murmur to the spider, but she answers none, either unhearing or uncaring, probably both.
As your eyes glaze over, the last thing you see is the beedy eyes of the spider locked on yours, all eight everwatchful eyes burning into yours. 'You did this', you mutter, and a thought crosses your mind.
'Silly fly'.

Earthdance 09

Wake up. No. You don't. Not yet.

Cigarettes are bad. Joint after joint we roll, passing cops, praying to imaginary Gods that they don't catch the scent of it as they check our driver for alcohol. I'm fucking high as a kite, but I can't tell that, I just know I should be. It seems I've abused all substances to the point where, I can't get high, can't get drunk, can't trip bawlz anymore. Solution? Eat more drugs.
I don't like this not being able to smoke cigarettes in the fucking car idea at all. That's okay, we pump her full of liquids. She'll have to take a piss break soon, then we can have a cigarette. Also, whenever we get pulled over by the pigs, we light a cigarette and say "Yeah, we were just trying to hide the scent of the weed, man ;D".

We finally arrive at the doof.

It's dark by now. We struggle with the tent and the packed-as-all-fuck car for several decutes, before missioning it to the D-floor, looking out for the rest of our crew along the way. We find the van and they welcome us to the doof.

A few hours in and it's time to munch some acid.

Rasta feeds me a Pink Panther, but not ten minutes into the whole, it being on my tongue, he gets this douchebag idea to start slapping me on the back and it flies out of my mouth, to become lost amongst the Earth. It's okay, though. He insists he wants me to have a good time and feeds me more. :D

All the while, he's forcing himself upon a girl who's completely off-chops and can't decide if she wants her cunt penetrated or not.

So, Rasta and I are patrolling the doof, being generally intense characters, moving with confidence, speed and agility, our energy being LOUD. We are on the hunt for some prey. For Rasta is of course, Dracula. We come across four young females and lead them back to our tent, where Rasta ends up scaring the fuck out of three of them. They are eager to leave, and he's tripping bawlz. One of them stays for a while, she's lovely, thinks his stories are interesting and shows no fear.

I spend some time with Emily and her lovely little Scottish pet, then pass out in the tent later on, between Rasta and Phoenix, warm and snug and awake to a beautiful face.

Bobbie and I, after she found me in the morning, decide to go on a little adventure up the mountain side with a couple of guys who thought it was a fine plan. We journeyed upwards, and took interest in the purple blanket of flowers, and the enchanted tree standing and swaying amongst a garden of yellow. Before we journey onwards, one of the guys squirts a few drops into our mouths. :D

The sand is hot, and red, and thorns burrow into the bare flesh of our feet. We exit the feild of purple and head towards a welcoming tent, to meet some lovely people who roll us a joint and give us an assortment of drinks, chai tea, beer, goon and the sort.

By now, Bobbie and I are Tripping Bawlz, Man! and are on quite a similar mind-level. We're both eager to get up and head back to the other side of the rock, since everyone and everything is situated on that side. Even though the place we were at and the people there were grande enough... It was time to leave, and we stumbled off, off-chops, with no idea where the fuck we were OR where the fuck we were going.

Eventually we stumbled upon the wrong group of people who did not enjoy the fact we were under the influence of illicit substances and I fucked off out of that area as soon as possible, Bobbie close behind with a very concerned/angry/suspicious female at her side. We sat in the tent, trying to make sense of something, anything.

We then went to find food, feasting upon chips and other unhealthy delicious treats. The night seemed quieter, perhaps, and we wandered back and forth from dance floor, to van, to log, to car, to tent... Until I once more went to snuggle in the warm blankets of the tent, and was joined later by Bobbie who snuggled up beside me. :D

Morning came, and I missioned for a morning cigarette, enjoying it upon a log. I encounted a few people I knew and travelled with them for a short time before I decided it was time to search for some of my crew, coming across Bobbie once more, getting our goon on on the top of the rock, and spending the rest of the morning drinking a scrumptious jam-mushroom-chai tea. I had a very comfortable morning trip, laying in the van and having people deliver artwork to my legs and arms until I was painted to perfection, decorated in striped of brilliant colour.

I relaxed in the back of the van, warm and snug in the sunlight, paint drying and cracking on my skin. As the sun began to set, we figured we weren't going to head home 'til Monday morning, and I ended up sleeping right on through 'til dawn, a spit-fire blanket as my best friend. We packed up the tents, teh van, the car in the morning and began the trip back home.

The van encountered a lack-of-fuel just on the outskirts of Trayning, and we rolled into town, a friendly guy helping us out with some deisel as we muched on Soy burgers. We continued the mission.

The van arrived home before anyone else. We ran in to share our individual tales with our housemates who didn't attend Earthdance 09, whilst waiting for our fellow doofers to get back. Spent the early afternoon drinking goon and chillin' with Emily and Jaymes and such at home. ^.^

Experience was what you wanted. T'is what you got.