The Living Suicide

2003-10-23T12:00:00.000Z

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.

2003-10-23T11:57:00.000Z

year and a half. kerouac aint here anymore. ginsberg is still gay. nikolas aint.

2002-04-26T12:39:00.000Z

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?

2002-03-26T12:45:00.000Z

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.

2002-03-26T12:44:00.000Z

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.

2002-03-14T16:36:00.000Z

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!

2002-03-14T16:31:00.000Z

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.

2002-03-07T16:13:00.000Z

The Womb of God is sore today. I feel a presence, much like that of a surgeon's lump, in the air, in the earth - and all around. God came to me last nite in a dream - he said nothing. He said nothing. He said nothing.
I am the risen son of Man. I am born on the tree, a saviour of pumping cocks. Believe the wise men who deliberately tear their hairy heads from rounded roots of knowledge. Believe them, for they are right. Truly, I am the son of Man. I have just found a blue umbrella next to me. I am almost willing to take it home with me - back to the heavens. Left, right, forward - I am everywhere but back. I am inside the teat of Eternity. Bulging, strained excess of thought powers my invincibility. Careering thru time, bastard of eternal suffering I am thus distraught with time. I wonder what people think? Perhaps I should take that umbrella...

2002-02-28T15:40:00.000Z

Over the hills of creeping landslide is the warm, breezy land of timeless substitution. There, we can find our true wave form. Perhaps you are the key to this wave form. Your hand is my eye, my eye is your trip. You, my brother, are the universe - only if you believe it.
I opened my blinkers and my head began pounding like a bulging, urine flooded bladder that had recently been visited by a small but very strong (and vicious) tumour. I think I may need glasses for me glazzies.
Watching the shifting of the seasons with the fruit of idle wisdom. Alas, I moan too much. "Get on with it!" shouts Time, stroking his invisible brow.
Only two out of ten people violate human yard-bird laws every day, this confirms our original belief that egg yolk IS responsible for destroying hope, belief and crude frying methods. If you would like to help and possibly make a donation, call our helpline and we will put you in touch with the RIGHT people. Donations start from $45 each day until the day you die.
-every evening in Dakota, a small army of bandits discuss ways in which they can successfully anoint each other into the laboratory of Steven's hood. If they succeeded, the consequences could be fatal, especially to someone like Steven. His mother and father both melted into one entity last summer, since then his freedom has increased considerably, causing nasal whiffs all across the globe. Please help poor Steven's plight. We accept all credit cards, and cheques. Any small amount of cash is acceptable; for $39.99 you will registered on our abusers list and also receive a free carriage clock. Don't hesitate, call our helpline TODAY.

2002-02-26T15:05:00.000Z

It is no longer safe to defecate in public places. That is a problem my good colleague Brenda Jacksumma (otherwise known as Frances Bean of Aero Development) came across wearing sandals during a monndance in February 1949. S/he was dissolved by panic when the law questioned her marriage to the sweating hand of excremenatation disease. But, do not worry readers, the story does have a happy ending. S/he opened a web page - the arse & cudgel.

2002-02-21T18:07:00.000Z

Forget the older flowers in ye gardens. They will only wither, like Bill. I cannot describe my hatred enough. This is my last entry. Goodbye all of ye. It has been good knowing ye. Bye. No, bye, I mean it. Seeya.

2002-02-21T17:55:00.000Z

Got this letter to-day:

Deeer mish,

I am writhing to nfom f the potato/pineapple existence-a-bouts of your eblobbered Marley. Through I eject the poo to tell you this we suspect a dog we ground down in our bath after a particle physics party irrer may infact be he, hey. Hoh hoh hoh
I am specially sorry as I breathe on it that I who - talking an arse lick from this, this dog (your mum, my friend) and said he found himself a stray whilst on holiday to the states - gulled it brutally with my exploding sand. I will be ridden with worms of the guilt in my putrifying stomach sofa filled with pot and George Takei took poor Marley's life forever and evermore and I hope you can forgive me pray.
I am a little coarse and prepared to pay for Marley's exhumation (he's currently buggered by our backdoor gardener) and re-burial according to the proper customs.
Yours,

Tomithy Boldcock

I wonder...

2002-02-21T14:25:00.000Z

What has the rain become in us of you and me inside. Crime deciding serf regularity freedom? Policing greatness swear down to thespian attitude problem making love. Drop the weight is so heavy now I am a man I can choose what diseases to catch. Hiding presents at Easter is an American way of life is what you make it they say hello to my new friends are very important. Turn around the corner me once upon a time is on my side splitting joking around with me? Rock music to watch your lip ring me tonight and I will speak sensory deprivation is hysterectomy valued at price of small boy? Perhaps is my favourite word. God is bored. You little fuckers. Mass suicide.

2002-02-19T13:18:00.000Z

It is with deep regret that I send you this reply. I have for some time known about a series of defects in the earth's latitude and longtitude measurements. The earth is in fact not as big as originally thought. According to my new findings, the earth is as small as you want it to be. The earth is in fact small enough to fit inside a child's testicle, and leave enough room for a large garden party, including bouncy castle. This sensational new discovery will hopefully bring me closer to the true nature of universal erection growth, and bring us, as humans, one step closer to God's moulding foreskin.

2002-02-19T13:07:00.000Z

Good day to you Frances Bean of Aramathea,
"I stepped on a steam train, to step out of the driving rain (maybe). You got cry w/out weeping, talk w/out speaking, scream w/out raisins in your mouth, you know that I took her home last night, then I floated between her legs." You too, can be like me, with a wonderous collection of porcelain trees, a stamp for your daughter, a frog for your mudda, and an appled throat of angelic excess for your horse riding acid guru (the late Liam Herpes). Coco the Clown came down here, asking for dope, asking for you to be his bride, to take a ride. "Stop the car I'm getting out!"
Offred took off with the crimson gateway gang last summer. They offered her peace, tranquility, boredom, and rich language of poetry. I still wait for her, crying, weeping with an uncertain lack of ghostly genitalia. Are you on top of your world?
I called your number and was put thru to God. He said; "Be quiet boy! You have only a little time left here. Use it wisely, don't hesitate to make a fool of yourself. Once you have, it will get easier and easier. Trust me, I have a beard."
So in response to your ad, I am four foot two, have gold eyes, a large dog egg for a nose and a small cavity across my back. Do you drink wine or piss?
Well, if only the poor would remember our futile beginnings (remember the guests that used knives for smiles??) and speak for justice, peace and above all tangerine chocolate scars. Over the hills of creeping landslide is the warm, breezy land of timeless substitution. There, we can find our true wave form. Perhaps you are the key to this wave form. Your hand is my eye, my eye is your trip. You, my brother, are the universe - only if you believe it.
My course is a drag Queen, skulking in the corner of my mind, teasing me with her/his leggings and slippers. I have just made the most horrible smell with my arse, everybody can smell it. I suggest we meet up again in the near future. I am sad and bored of it all. I mean everything.
Oliver has just stepped into the room, he no longer wants to know me, no longer cares. His essay - "Critical mass in the field of physical catastrophe" is due in today, He therefore sits, masterbating in the corner. I do like the small penis alert. Lay lady lay, lay across ma big brass bed. Optrik culk frint. Oh! So your alive!

2002-02-15T14:31:00.000Z

Apologies invisibles. An invasion occured. FBI. CIA. Watch me.

2002-02-15T14:18:00.000Z

There is an inn, a merry old inn, beneath an old grey hill. And there they brew a beer so fine - one would never believe the sounds when we're on the ground. With a corpse's smile, a funnel-necked tie, a stream of piss on the wind. I recall my days of childhood with slow scraping gestures of deleted grace. The world was smaller, infinitely larger and dry walls wet the free man. Perhaps a question would be in order. How many diseases can a man collect before madness truly sets in? How many corrections can an American aspire to imagine? How many hotels and mints drive out burnt civilians? How many words? Per-chance, Nathanial Jonas the Third, bereaved councillor of the strapping boulder, was ravaged by winds on Neptune. His tubes are blocked with unnaccountable foreign parties - kill time was his motto - now he understands the fluctuating grime that concerns us all - the derived destitution of will. Tomorrow I may not collect my wage of time. The clock shows many faeces particles, many forgotten hill-top haunts, many starved pop-stars. In fact, I am quite sure her cunt gripped him like a warm, friendly hand - the day after I gave her children. I am eighty-four years sold.

2002-02-15T13:49:00.000Z

The order of similarity is the most definitive way in which we discover heart felt emotion. Eggs and beans display reminders in the dripping night above. Telling us to stand tall, deliver goods, hold our fire and question reality. He yawns to loud - La La!
What would happen if I never washed again? What would happen if freedom stole from us the right to revolt? I say again; Don't look like you are having fun unless you are really scorched and tired and on your way home. Tomorrow I will return with suitcase in my hand. Standing on the corner...
If we only knew the way to climb these bedroom walls and cling to lies painted there. If only the repeating arsehole Tom De Brooka did not plague his friends as they work hard in new lives. Sean is a cock friendly ghost. He gives me the willys.
I can go on and on. That's what they all say. I can fuck all night long until I burn the earthy ground below my cock region. Regional news today; Ten children were burned in a house fire in Wavertree. Their bodies have been taped to the street in honour of Vulcan. Sixteen cafes have opened my mind. A guy with ginger hair is looking at me as if he knows I know the way to climb these bedroom walls. But not to cling. Troilus said to Cressida; "I love thee more than the sun loves the earth." she replied; "You don't love me any more than the moon loves the sea." Well, she had a point. The moon has always been in love with the sea, always will be.
I hope you are not in New Orleans whence I return.

2002-02-14T19:13:00.000Z

Good afternoon dearest enemy,

No more can the brain take this unfiltered battle of thought and imagery. No more do I want this collage of reality - want myself in suit and tie myself to the bridge at night night mum. Up on the big bad hill of dissatisfaction I know I am doing in myself at odds with the odd number of atoms crying for a cuddle in the streaking flasher of Concentration and lecturing misguidance. Could I be at a turning point?
If only our hearts could translate the outer body experience into a kite flying seminar group of winged giraffe extremities. If only two plus two equalled fourty four. If only you were at my door. If only the sun shone darker in the sky and my sunglassed creeping globe could focus his naughty energies on latitude and longitude divisional mistakes. If only the truth mattered. If only card playing barbarians hunted for vegetable hiding places. If only crisp particulars frollicked with donkeys in the mud. If only dancing was as fun as dying. If only repetition was entertaining, and reading bullshit an exciting commodity. If YOU are inside this atmosphere, then WHY AREN'T YOU BREATHING IT?????

If only the poor people knew, then the social gatherings inside our eyes would be available free of charge on prescription. If only time was succeeded by a new form of bath watering corruption, then our lives would be fulfilled. If only Stephen the chimp was a lad, then his gentle nature could be acquired in the market
I remember when I used to laugh at the dying asian lesbians of Caru Caru. I fucked many of the dead with a broom. I almost climbed inside one of the ladies (up her hole) but it became hard to breathe. She bled all over me, I bathed in the blood from her ripped hole and forsaw the coming of the anti christ.

Here in my office at Critical Mass, I read a dialogue betwixt man and his cock.

Man; "Toady I say to thee with gleaming eyes, do not tempt me, do not tempt me!"

Cock: "Oh but I need a fruit to eat in the splendour of divisional critter blood!"

It was sent to me by a young man name Timothy Boldcock. He is twelve and tells me he dreams of dreaming a new dream where he cannot dream the same dream. Perhaps it is I who is the dreaming dream weaver of dreamlike dream cocks? Perhaps this was a mistake.