| The Living Suicide | |||
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Thursday, October 23, 2003 ( 12:00 PM ) congrats ti the freed spartans of eldar times, weaning with exact radar telepathy. they know their existence is purely librarian. a baby moans outside. the october of this year is heavy on my nigger's nose. ah! racing to an ism. ( 11:57 AM ) year and a half. kerouac aint here anymore. ginsberg is still gay. nikolas aint. Friday, April 26, 2002 ( 12:39 PM ) Been a long long time. One moon has grown since I last groaned before ye all. Living where? With whom? Working where? Not working there? Tuesday, March 26, 2002 ( 12:45 PM ) There is a man who speaks words so lovely that women give themselves to him. If I am silent and dumb beside your body, it is because I hear someone clearing their throat outside the door. ( 12:44 PM ) Listen to the blackbird's bright song. His feathered throat depends on the loss of love and the reasoning of matter against mathematics. Green leaves in April, like prayers, slowly spread their gentle cock pus thru the overture of Sinksnakey trouble boredom. Thursday, March 14, 2002 ( 4:36 PM ) I do apologise for my weary head - my low, adulterer caught in cunt region fiasco. Cloud bearer, open the seed of being, contend your right sided leftism, lay down on your quilted senders. I am the God of disaster - the being of emptiness - the holder of new found pessimism. Puppy, laugh; stretch wide that sore little mouth of teeth, do as the pleased warriors of Angled Excess require. Plead with the bottom of your mother's soul. He yawns too loud! ( 4:31 PM ) Caressing the underbelly of Time, I have reached a sour conclusion: that my conclusive mind is in fact a mindful watcher of delicate transitions. Time holds no bargain, only the loveless herding of small prximities can pinpoint the serpent's kingdom. |
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