Friday, November 27, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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.
Overdue.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
Ahem.
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.
Ahem.
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.
Damn.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mo7kL1yUUC4
^ (watch) .
May these moments be treasured forever and ever and ever.
]]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.
Damn.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mo7kL1yUUC4
^ (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.
So.
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
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.
So.
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.
Shit.
The past couple of fucking years have been... Odd.
I never thought I'd see myself here.
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.
Shit.
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.
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'
'Sweet!'
'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'
'Douche'
'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'
'Bro'
'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.
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.
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