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.