Where would you rather be?
The flying dutchman flew no more and we shed several tears for the foul trick it played on us.
hmm...
School once again pumps my blood. My blue beautiful blood...
Three things to be done in the near future. Then what? freedom? I would not think so...
Anywho, enjoying my sparetime at least. I purchased oblivion a couple of hours ago. Bought, Michael, bought!
Anyway...no juice yet. Maybe it is required of me to ascend before the juice of awe is to be given to me.
Yup...I smashed 'em; they came back
"We read to know that we're not alone" mmh
hmm...
School once again pumps my blood. My blue beautiful blood...
Three things to be done in the near future. Then what? freedom? I would not think so...
Anywho, enjoying my sparetime at least. I purchased oblivion a couple of hours ago. Bought, Michael, bought!
Anyway...no juice yet. Maybe it is required of me to ascend before the juice of awe is to be given to me.
Yup...I smashed 'em; they came back
"We read to know that we're not alone" mmh
Flying Dutchman
At last three weeks of waiting has come to an end.
Adieu
Cause I'm the green manalishi with the two pronged crown
Adieu
Cause I'm the green manalishi with the two pronged crown
so you think you can tell
I'm verily confused right now. I feel I should not write in this state for I doth tend to flum whenever these types of feelings encumber me. mmh. I'm listening to Rush, after having seen a great movie. How much better can life get? Floating away on rivers of other people's creativity. The little guy inside my head must be silenced for I cannot take his horrendous little voice anymore. What is the point with creativity if one cannot enjoy others'. Damn you, little man.
You're never gonna die.
I...I...
compensate me
animate me
complicate me
elevate me
-rush
So it came to be that Micolus left the earth and ascended to the stars. Forty days after his revival. myes.
FUCK ME IM BORING. It is as Zola says.....one cannot produce anything of relevance if one is not emotionally or psychologically damaged. Which I am by the way. Yet I..I
oh fuck me im tired and I hate this blog shit it's driving me nuts
adieu, and P fucking S: This E-Interacting is driving me nuts. I'll be going to the various servers around the world in order to shut down internet, anyone care to join me?
You're never gonna die.
I...I...
compensate me
animate me
complicate me
elevate me
-rush
So it came to be that Micolus left the earth and ascended to the stars. Forty days after his revival. myes.
FUCK ME IM BORING. It is as Zola says.....one cannot produce anything of relevance if one is not emotionally or psychologically damaged. Which I am by the way. Yet I..I
oh fuck me im tired and I hate this blog shit it's driving me nuts
adieu, and P fucking S: This E-Interacting is driving me nuts. I'll be going to the various servers around the world in order to shut down internet, anyone care to join me?
ooh addiction
my little advertising scam on BDB went well, I suppose. I had more than ten people on my blog that day, which I would consider a fair success. The problem is, of course, that any positive feeling is destined to be followed by a negative one. The higher the tops, the lower the bottoms.
In perspective.
I have quite some things to do this week and so I shall not write. Perhaps I will contradict my previous statement to prove my abilities in the field of foresight futile. We shall see.
I want to remain in this summit, forever scrutinizing your moves. Beauty.
The angel descended, and took us by our hands.
Truth is though. . .
Our lives have been written. We have just not yet acquired the proper tools to read them yet.
Deos oro, sed frustra
Dii me iubunt, sed frustra
In perspective.
I have quite some things to do this week and so I shall not write. Perhaps I will contradict my previous statement to prove my abilities in the field of foresight futile. We shall see.
I want to remain in this summit, forever scrutinizing your moves. Beauty.
The angel descended, and took us by our hands.
Truth is though. . .
Our lives have been written. We have just not yet acquired the proper tools to read them yet.
Deos oro, sed frustra
Dii me iubunt, sed frustra
Revelations
Revelations
Everything was nothing. It was upon this sole statement that his world was built. He was in a coma, and in this coma nothing existed. He lay in the green grass, surrounded by soothing smells. He knew nothing of the real world. He knew nothing of the green grass. He was well within his own mind and he had no desire to look outside. How long had he been lying there? It did not seem to matter, for time itself had lost its importance and so he lay there, in the green grass, floating on the clouds of his own creations.
Something called for him from an unrecognizable source. The walls of his mind seemed to echo with its powerful voice. Although there were no actual words spoken, the voice conveyed a cascade of feelings and thoughts to his world of non-existence. It told him of the real world, of grass, forests and of animals. It told him of beauty and of warmth, and as it continued he realized that he felt these emotions. He became aware of his physical body. He felt the motherly embrace of the green grass. His lungs were filled with fresh air and the smells were astonishing. As he inhaled the very essence of nature he felt that he was completely calm. This was a lot better than his dreams and his thoughts. Mother Nature had conjured things, to him unimaginable; things, which would leave even the greatest of poets in awe.
He opened his eyes and rose from his position and stood up on the smooth grass. The surrounding animals were astonished with this sudden revival and they stood in awe of this break of the routine. He was running, saluting the animals in a childish fashion, openly expressing his joy.
There was much of the world left to see and to explore but he was contented with what he had begun to know and feel comfortable with. As time passed, he eventually felt as one with his surroundings and understood that he was now a vital part of its existence. Not so long after his revival, time once again became fluid and once again did the lines between reality and dream dissolve and he was plunged into the realm of unconsciousness. He had entered his second coma.
Again the voice trembled. However, it was sterner now, as if to tell him that it was of grave importance for him to listen carefully. Once again it did not speak in words. It told him of wonders and of miracles. It told him of improvement and of victory. As it spoke, a shape appeared in front of him. It managed to enter his beautiful realm. It was a black figure. Though the voice did not alter in tone or form he could see that the source of it was no longer unidentifiable; it came from the figure’s mouth. The black messenger disappeared in a chaotic turmoil and when the smoke had cleared, nothing was left to tell of its existence but a huge black book. Naturally, he reached for the book. It was a beautiful piece of art, with several complex symbols and paintings on the cover. As he opened the book, it exploded in the sounds of a million voices. These voice took complete dominion of his mind and he was infused with its dark message. The sound that rose from the book was an orchestra of sobbing, wailing voices crying in pain and agony. They warned him not to open the book. He, of course, disregarded this warning and proceeded.
There were no words, only blank pages. Even they held some form of tacit beauty and he was intrigued by the exquisite inscriptions on the front cover. Suddenly, while he was admiring one certain symbol, the book forced itself open and letters appeared on the previously blank pages. It was written violently and the black ink, though intriguing and beautiful, made him feel severe unease .
He read.
It told him of everything. He learned the concept of time, the laws of physics, and the secrets of the universe. He saw how blind and stupefied he had been, and he shuddered at the very thought of his comatose self. As he read, the day turned into night, a phenomena he had never seen before, but which he completely understood now that it took place. Although the darkness would normally make reading impossible, the light from his eyes enabled him to continue with his research. There would no longer be darkness, for he had created light. There would no longer be grief, for he had created happiness. And no longer would there be death, for he had conquered it. It was noticed by the animals that it was not until after him reading the book that tragedies and death became reality. There would no longer be fantasy, there would only be facts.
A certain passage in the book told him of his surroundings and of the undiscovered. Although it had a very vivid and exact description of the earth he stood upon, its focus lay in the skies. It was the tales of the stars, the moon and the vast cosmos that caught his attention. He remembered learning, in the early days, about hope and aspiration. As he read further about the mysterious skies, he began to realize that the moon and the stars were the manifestations of these particular aspects of the human mind. As this realization illuminated him, the black ink disappeared into the blank pages and the book vanished. It did not matter; he was all too intrigued by his recent discoveries to let his attention be caught by anything but his own dreams.
He stared at the sky, not moving one inch. He admired it in silence. Constellations formed in front of him and the stars were given meanings. They became symbols of his dreams and wishes. The world changed around him. The nature, which he had been a part of decayed around him, betrayed by his neglect. It did not matter; his focus was elsewhere. The animals looked at him in their grief begging him to return, but it was for naught. He had entered his third coma.
He had not turned his gaze from the stars since he first discovered them and the world he was still physically a part of turned to dispose of him. Slowly, the grass around his feet crawled up his body and around his neck. The green thick collar pulled him towards the ground leaving the rest to the earth. The ground, upon which he lay, opened and he was devoured by the green earth. All was now well, and his body had merged with that of the earth. His soul, however, would not rest; it would forever dream of the stars above.
Everything was nothing. It was upon this sole statement that his world was built. He was in a coma, and in this coma nothing existed. He lay in the green grass, surrounded by soothing smells. He knew nothing of the real world. He knew nothing of the green grass. He was well within his own mind and he had no desire to look outside. How long had he been lying there? It did not seem to matter, for time itself had lost its importance and so he lay there, in the green grass, floating on the clouds of his own creations.
Something called for him from an unrecognizable source. The walls of his mind seemed to echo with its powerful voice. Although there were no actual words spoken, the voice conveyed a cascade of feelings and thoughts to his world of non-existence. It told him of the real world, of grass, forests and of animals. It told him of beauty and of warmth, and as it continued he realized that he felt these emotions. He became aware of his physical body. He felt the motherly embrace of the green grass. His lungs were filled with fresh air and the smells were astonishing. As he inhaled the very essence of nature he felt that he was completely calm. This was a lot better than his dreams and his thoughts. Mother Nature had conjured things, to him unimaginable; things, which would leave even the greatest of poets in awe.
He opened his eyes and rose from his position and stood up on the smooth grass. The surrounding animals were astonished with this sudden revival and they stood in awe of this break of the routine. He was running, saluting the animals in a childish fashion, openly expressing his joy.
There was much of the world left to see and to explore but he was contented with what he had begun to know and feel comfortable with. As time passed, he eventually felt as one with his surroundings and understood that he was now a vital part of its existence. Not so long after his revival, time once again became fluid and once again did the lines between reality and dream dissolve and he was plunged into the realm of unconsciousness. He had entered his second coma.
Again the voice trembled. However, it was sterner now, as if to tell him that it was of grave importance for him to listen carefully. Once again it did not speak in words. It told him of wonders and of miracles. It told him of improvement and of victory. As it spoke, a shape appeared in front of him. It managed to enter his beautiful realm. It was a black figure. Though the voice did not alter in tone or form he could see that the source of it was no longer unidentifiable; it came from the figure’s mouth. The black messenger disappeared in a chaotic turmoil and when the smoke had cleared, nothing was left to tell of its existence but a huge black book. Naturally, he reached for the book. It was a beautiful piece of art, with several complex symbols and paintings on the cover. As he opened the book, it exploded in the sounds of a million voices. These voice took complete dominion of his mind and he was infused with its dark message. The sound that rose from the book was an orchestra of sobbing, wailing voices crying in pain and agony. They warned him not to open the book. He, of course, disregarded this warning and proceeded.
There were no words, only blank pages. Even they held some form of tacit beauty and he was intrigued by the exquisite inscriptions on the front cover. Suddenly, while he was admiring one certain symbol, the book forced itself open and letters appeared on the previously blank pages. It was written violently and the black ink, though intriguing and beautiful, made him feel severe unease .
He read.
It told him of everything. He learned the concept of time, the laws of physics, and the secrets of the universe. He saw how blind and stupefied he had been, and he shuddered at the very thought of his comatose self. As he read, the day turned into night, a phenomena he had never seen before, but which he completely understood now that it took place. Although the darkness would normally make reading impossible, the light from his eyes enabled him to continue with his research. There would no longer be darkness, for he had created light. There would no longer be grief, for he had created happiness. And no longer would there be death, for he had conquered it. It was noticed by the animals that it was not until after him reading the book that tragedies and death became reality. There would no longer be fantasy, there would only be facts.
A certain passage in the book told him of his surroundings and of the undiscovered. Although it had a very vivid and exact description of the earth he stood upon, its focus lay in the skies. It was the tales of the stars, the moon and the vast cosmos that caught his attention. He remembered learning, in the early days, about hope and aspiration. As he read further about the mysterious skies, he began to realize that the moon and the stars were the manifestations of these particular aspects of the human mind. As this realization illuminated him, the black ink disappeared into the blank pages and the book vanished. It did not matter; he was all too intrigued by his recent discoveries to let his attention be caught by anything but his own dreams.
He stared at the sky, not moving one inch. He admired it in silence. Constellations formed in front of him and the stars were given meanings. They became symbols of his dreams and wishes. The world changed around him. The nature, which he had been a part of decayed around him, betrayed by his neglect. It did not matter; his focus was elsewhere. The animals looked at him in their grief begging him to return, but it was for naught. He had entered his third coma.
He had not turned his gaze from the stars since he first discovered them and the world he was still physically a part of turned to dispose of him. Slowly, the grass around his feet crawled up his body and around his neck. The green thick collar pulled him towards the ground leaving the rest to the earth. The ground, upon which he lay, opened and he was devoured by the green earth. All was now well, and his body had merged with that of the earth. His soul, however, would not rest; it would forever dream of the stars above.
the spring clean for the may queen
Just lead me, piper, just fucking lead me to the forests echoing with laughter.
anyone
GOD!
lead me, allow me to follow
i don't want to think anymore...I want to sleep
Goodnight
fuck
anyone
GOD!
lead me, allow me to follow
i don't want to think anymore...I want to sleep
Goodnight
fuck
novus ordo naturam
1. Organized human battles are condemned.
Although it is our belief that fighting is a very natural way in resolving several types of issues, we do not condone the owning of man for the purpose of carrying out the dirty work of the hierarchs. If one needs violence as a means to spread his word, one must face battle himself accompanied only by those, whom willingly succumb to the ideas of their comrade. Battelling of any kind is only accepted if both parties agree on forehand that the fighting shall take place and under which circumstances it will be carried out.
2. Owning is condemned.
The concept of "owning" is hereby to be abolished. We do not own, we borrow. And the world shall remain in a vital state after our passing away.
3. Science, be gone.
Thus far, tampering with the laws that support this world has brought us nothing but pain. Although we are an extremely advanced species with the possibilities of divine likes, we are perpetually unhappy and sad. We should forget our science and what we will know is the knowledge of survival, the rest will be created by ourselves. The world will be a better place if every individual creates his own science, and his own universe.
thats how far i've gotten today...actually 90% of that is bullcrap and i don't belive in it...but i want to believe in it..hmm
anyway its just random jibberish, didn't think any of it through so if you find hypocrisy or somethin like that in the text..dont be surprised
und so weiter...
It doesn't matter whatever profession you chose, for anything non-criminal supports an unjust system.
That is not to say, however, that criminality is virtuos. For criminality is what we built our system on. Our very flesh depends on these moral "criminals". A system of laws were created by these animals to protect themselves and to give them the right to incarcerate whoever they wished. But the criminals of this day however, those condemned by the law, they can make a difference. Sadly, they are of the same flesh and blood as the politicians just clad differently. It's only the animals that turn into criminals in the first place, therefore revolutions are useless.
viva la death
That is not to say, however, that criminality is virtuos. For criminality is what we built our system on. Our very flesh depends on these moral "criminals". A system of laws were created by these animals to protect themselves and to give them the right to incarcerate whoever they wished. But the criminals of this day however, those condemned by the law, they can make a difference. Sadly, they are of the same flesh and blood as the politicians just clad differently. It's only the animals that turn into criminals in the first place, therefore revolutions are useless.
viva la death
Seattle
Well it's settled... I couldn't care less..
Well that's not true, I mean I have to care at least a little bit to write what I just wrote.. on the other hand I may have written it just to inform you that I don't care anymore...
Although, I think not...
I could probably care less...a lot less...I just wrote that i couldn't care less to, though a vain attempt, deceive myself that I do not care...
Truth of the matter though is..I do care...alot...
I do think that white Toblerone surpasses the brown one...I do
Well that's not true, I mean I have to care at least a little bit to write what I just wrote.. on the other hand I may have written it just to inform you that I don't care anymore...
Although, I think not...
I could probably care less...a lot less...I just wrote that i couldn't care less to, though a vain attempt, deceive myself that I do not care...
Truth of the matter though is..I do care...alot...
I do think that white Toblerone surpasses the brown one...I do
A Constant Fight
- Look up!
As always the ecstacy of hapiness only lasts for so long and bitter hatred replaces it. As always the predicted joys of the future proves futile and dissatisfying. As always nostalgia pops up several days later, convincing you that you had a good time even though you suffered. Hope. The ultimate enemy of the human psyche.
- Look down!
Hope...It is so sad that we constantly seek these goals and that we're never able to settle down. Our frames of reference constantly change and so we are obsessed with power and materialism. That's why I think people were less troubled before, they were burdened by heavy labour and so they could not think, wish or dream. They were completely numb. That's not to say that they were happy, they were just too stupid to matter.
- Look out!
When we think, we wish. When we wish we hope. Therefore a stupid population would be a happy population. And that's basically what's happening. We're filled up with all of these gadgets and machines to make our lives easier, for it is when we are troubled that we think. It is when we are outcasts that we hate the mass. As always we all have our personal agenda.
-Look around!
But then, if we are stupid and numb, what does our happiness matter? It is but the emancipated who understands the reality of happiness. They understand its blissful state. Yet they are the ones unable to feel it. Do you see the paradox?
-Look up up up up up, look dooown!
And that is why ignorance is bliss. For if you are ignorant of the true meaning behind this quote, you are one of the happy ones. And if you do understand its very core, then you are doomed.
- There's a crazy world outside, we're not about to loose our pride!
YES- It Can Happen
As always the ecstacy of hapiness only lasts for so long and bitter hatred replaces it. As always the predicted joys of the future proves futile and dissatisfying. As always nostalgia pops up several days later, convincing you that you had a good time even though you suffered. Hope. The ultimate enemy of the human psyche.
- Look down!
Hope...It is so sad that we constantly seek these goals and that we're never able to settle down. Our frames of reference constantly change and so we are obsessed with power and materialism. That's why I think people were less troubled before, they were burdened by heavy labour and so they could not think, wish or dream. They were completely numb. That's not to say that they were happy, they were just too stupid to matter.
- Look out!
When we think, we wish. When we wish we hope. Therefore a stupid population would be a happy population. And that's basically what's happening. We're filled up with all of these gadgets and machines to make our lives easier, for it is when we are troubled that we think. It is when we are outcasts that we hate the mass. As always we all have our personal agenda.
-Look around!
But then, if we are stupid and numb, what does our happiness matter? It is but the emancipated who understands the reality of happiness. They understand its blissful state. Yet they are the ones unable to feel it. Do you see the paradox?
-Look up up up up up, look dooown!
And that is why ignorance is bliss. For if you are ignorant of the true meaning behind this quote, you are one of the happy ones. And if you do understand its very core, then you are doomed.
- There's a crazy world outside, we're not about to loose our pride!
YES- It Can Happen
mazel tov
alone
but happy
by the computer
awaiting the arrival of severals
embrace me
numb me
the green manalishi with the two pronged crown
your day has come
but happy
by the computer
awaiting the arrival of severals
embrace me
numb me
the green manalishi with the two pronged crown
your day has come
Happy Hate Day
Oh vivid, valerous Valentine's day. Good day to you.
Mother's day, father's day, children's day, christmas and the list goes on forever did not seem to satisfy he ever so hungry business men of this world. So of course they decided, as so many times before, to take another beloved thing and rape it violently while pouring molten semen into it's throat. This time they went with love. Of course! how did we not see the possibilities to exploit.
Now, I have two problems about this god-forsaken abomination of a holiday.
Number one: That it's a corporate holiday made for moneymaking
Number two: THAT NO ONE CAN SHUT THE HELL UP ABOUT IT.(I know, I'm feeding the troll by writing this)
Seriously! This hell's day grants inferior stupid people the illusion of love causing them to even more confuse all their physical relations with love as well as causing them to say atrocious things such as: "I will never leave you" or " I will love you til' the end". GOD I HATE YOU !
I Fucking despise the cynic singles during this day. They cannot shut up about how horrible this holiday is and blah blah blah. Hey I got a fucking suggestion for you: Kill yourself and your fucking family, you'll be doing the world and yourself a huge favour.
cynic single: Oh noes me so sad, me no have booty to hump and me no induced by feelings of perpetual love
me:HEY! I got news for you, mister. Go fuck yourself, love doesn't fucking exist!
Fucking wake up people!
people: oh now he's saying all those """controversial""" things again. Hah! he'll understand when he finds his true love, he'll see that he was misguided by rage and jealousy.
me: OH YEAH, THAT'S WHAT YOU FUCKING SAID ABOUT GROWING UP AS WELL. I SEE THEM ALL AROUND ME, GROWN UP AND NUMBED. BUT I'M STILL ALIVE, I MADE IT THUS FAR
and I'm not fucking stupid, of course I have experienced those feelings people call love. And so I know how you could see yourself "in love" with someone. So then, if I've felt it, how come I don't believe in love? well, it's simple, love is unselfish, we are not. Love is something to be strived for and awed but nothing that could possibly exist...
So from now on I declare the February 14 a dead day, along with December 24, December 31, and the list goes on
Thank you, society...thank you for killing yet another day.
Valentine....I fucking hate you, there, I said it, how does that make you feel feel you fucking bitch.
adieu - February 14th: Hate-day
Mother's day, father's day, children's day, christmas and the list goes on forever did not seem to satisfy he ever so hungry business men of this world. So of course they decided, as so many times before, to take another beloved thing and rape it violently while pouring molten semen into it's throat. This time they went with love. Of course! how did we not see the possibilities to exploit.
Now, I have two problems about this god-forsaken abomination of a holiday.
Number one: That it's a corporate holiday made for moneymaking
Number two: THAT NO ONE CAN SHUT THE HELL UP ABOUT IT.(I know, I'm feeding the troll by writing this)
Seriously! This hell's day grants inferior stupid people the illusion of love causing them to even more confuse all their physical relations with love as well as causing them to say atrocious things such as: "I will never leave you" or " I will love you til' the end". GOD I HATE YOU !
I Fucking despise the cynic singles during this day. They cannot shut up about how horrible this holiday is and blah blah blah. Hey I got a fucking suggestion for you: Kill yourself and your fucking family, you'll be doing the world and yourself a huge favour.
cynic single: Oh noes me so sad, me no have booty to hump and me no induced by feelings of perpetual love
me:HEY! I got news for you, mister. Go fuck yourself, love doesn't fucking exist!
Fucking wake up people!
people: oh now he's saying all those """controversial""" things again. Hah! he'll understand when he finds his true love, he'll see that he was misguided by rage and jealousy.
me: OH YEAH, THAT'S WHAT YOU FUCKING SAID ABOUT GROWING UP AS WELL. I SEE THEM ALL AROUND ME, GROWN UP AND NUMBED. BUT I'M STILL ALIVE, I MADE IT THUS FAR
and I'm not fucking stupid, of course I have experienced those feelings people call love. And so I know how you could see yourself "in love" with someone. So then, if I've felt it, how come I don't believe in love? well, it's simple, love is unselfish, we are not. Love is something to be strived for and awed but nothing that could possibly exist...
So from now on I declare the February 14 a dead day, along with December 24, December 31, and the list goes on
Thank you, society...thank you for killing yet another day.
Valentine....I fucking hate you, there, I said it, how does that make you feel feel you fucking bitch.
adieu - February 14th: Hate-day
think, thought, thought
Trinity
Three men walked freely under the sun
All of them knowing what had to be done
One bright, one red, one dark as the night
All succumbed to the sun's fiery might
So they walked, united as one
Under the light with nowhere to run
First walked the Bright, smiling and gay
To him even the darkest of nights seemed day
He would walk without the slightest care
The wind blowing freely in his bright golden hair
Then walked the man who was clad red as fire
Burning deeply with untamed desire
His horns were sharp and his smile intense
His body and shadow, fiercly immense
Yet underneath he was so hollow
And any sign of lust he would follow
At last the silent darkness appeared
He, whom all the blind had feared
He would warn them of the dangers ahead
Don't let go, don't plunge in, he said
Though dark, and perpetually sad
He was the sole member, not utterly mad
Alas, the sun would set and the night would rise
The three men awoken, no longer hypnotized
The first man walking as determined as before
Though the second man, letting out a tremendous roar
And the third man merged with the black of the night
Silently pleased with the death of the light
Three men walked rigidly under the moon
Not knowing if all would end anytime soon
All of them dark, except in the mind
Faith, watching proudly from behind
So they walked, divided in three
Doors all around, doors they did not see
And when the end of the road was near
A bright servant of the moon appeared
Eternal beauty tempting them all
Though the two first were the only ones to fall
For its beauty did not affect the third;
He was wiser than the bleating herd
Since only the third man showed dissent
The journey continiued as it was meant
Succumbed to the moon, tamed by the night
Three small birds, blind to the light
warru of sins-desu
N3o!
Wall of sins
Inside a fortress of steel and stone
Of concrete matter, a windowless home
He sat there listening to them cheer
Not man nor sin could overcome this fear
Inside his fortress he whimpered and whined
As a key was brought forth by faith, oh so kind
He sent word and unlocked the walls of his home
He rushed out with several sins to atone
He was greeted kindly by them all
They would not ever see him fall
His needle treated him with love
As it stabbed the benevolent messenger dove
The people danced in his high
Not knowing that his end was nigh
He leads, they follow
In this extacy of ever so hollow
So stupid and yet so perpetually glad
Unable to identify those who were sad
Death is immortal, they say
Yet they live on to the next day
Dancing, drinking being content
His soul, unable to show its discontempt
Exhausted from perpetual joy
He remembered he was just a mere boy
He gently fell asleep
As new seeds were lain for him to reap
He woke up in cellar like room
And realised it was well past noon
He felt a craving to get out
He could not do more than twist and shout
The walls grew thick, the air grew thin
As death smiled its sinister grin
Wall of sins
Inside a fortress of steel and stone
Of concrete matter, a windowless home
He sat there listening to them cheer
Not man nor sin could overcome this fear
Inside his fortress he whimpered and whined
As a key was brought forth by faith, oh so kind
He sent word and unlocked the walls of his home
He rushed out with several sins to atone
He was greeted kindly by them all
They would not ever see him fall
His needle treated him with love
As it stabbed the benevolent messenger dove
The people danced in his high
Not knowing that his end was nigh
He leads, they follow
In this extacy of ever so hollow
So stupid and yet so perpetually glad
Unable to identify those who were sad
Death is immortal, they say
Yet they live on to the next day
Dancing, drinking being content
His soul, unable to show its discontempt
Exhausted from perpetual joy
He remembered he was just a mere boy
He gently fell asleep
As new seeds were lain for him to reap
He woke up in cellar like room
And realised it was well past noon
He felt a craving to get out
He could not do more than twist and shout
The walls grew thick, the air grew thin
As death smiled its sinister grin
quorntaco
There's just got to be a fucking way...Im tired of this bullshit
I hate this blog piece of shit.
Give me a larger social network now
Let me slip out of consciousness just for some time
Just make me perpetually happy and perpetually stupid
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
We are all what we wish to be always but still
im going fucking crazy in this motherfucking cage
And it's not like it's enough with some sparks of freedom NO! I gotta get fucking addicted
shit, if he wont take me tonight then death will
I hate this blog piece of shit.
Give me a larger social network now
Let me slip out of consciousness just for some time
Just make me perpetually happy and perpetually stupid
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
We are all what we wish to be always but still
im going fucking crazy in this motherfucking cage
And it's not like it's enough with some sparks of freedom NO! I gotta get fucking addicted
shit, if he wont take me tonight then death will
old ones
Hero
The office had just been redecorated and smelled of new handmade furniture. William Sunderland sat behind his new beautiful desk, lighting his Cuban Cigar as the sunrays filled the room with light and warmth. He looked down and saw this week's edition of The Economic Times. With a tickling sensation of hope, he reached for the paper and turned to the pages covering the stock market. Success! His company's latest, brave, marketing had been a complete and total success. They were up two points. The stock had nearly doubled its worth during the last six months and it was all thanks to William, who assumed that, even though he had just been promoted, he would soon move up yet another notch in the hierarchy. A big smile appeared on the man's face showing his perfectly bleached teeth. With a small dance he concluded the celebration and decided to go home and take a nice long bath in his jacuzzi.
Little Mambutu Ningw'e was running. Finally, a glimpse of hope at the end of the dark, unloving tunnel. A way out of the eternal nightmare. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him to get to his home, the Luganda orphanage, as soon as possible. The beggars and prostitutes at the side of the road looked at him as if though they had never seen a happy child before, but then again, Mambutu thought, they probably never had. Mambutu began to fantisize about the reactions of his comrades in the orphanage when he would tell them of the Americans that had come and taken pictures of him. They had said that they were going to send the pictures to America and that the Amercians would donate money to their orphanage. He thought them a bit odd when they insisted that he should be covered in flies during the photo-shoot but 10 dollars was 10 dollars.
William opened the big wooden door to his huge office and stepped out. He took one last glance at his beautifully carved desk and at the ivory pencil holder that he had got from one of his countless visits abroad. The secretary, a young blonde woman, recieved a small smack on her buttocks before William left the company headquarters. Mr Sunderland proceeded to the V.I.P parking lot and sat down in his brand new Mercedes-Benz prototype and drove the two miles to his four-story villa. As he entered through the mansion's main door he saw something lying on the floor. A brochure covered with small starving, it seemed, negroes. Normally Mr Sunderland would never interfere with such things but he was in a good mood today. He picked it up and read it.
Three older boys were standing a couple of yards ahead of him. Despite Mambutu's desperate attempts to hide the 10-dollar bill, they were staring at him with hunger in their eyes. The sort of hunger you see in a starving dog's eyes just before feeding time. They walked towards him with small steps. Mambutu tried to run, but they were faster.
William decided that he could pay the monthly donation of five dollars to save the god forsaken people in Angola. He felt as though his life had found meaning. To think that William, a mere business executive could affect the lives of those in need. He was proud.
Mambutu Ningw'e was lying in a pool of his own blood and the flies had begun their feasting.
'I am a hero', Will thought to himself.
Three days later the maid threw away the signed brochure which had never been posted.
The office had just been redecorated and smelled of new handmade furniture. William Sunderland sat behind his new beautiful desk, lighting his Cuban Cigar as the sunrays filled the room with light and warmth. He looked down and saw this week's edition of The Economic Times. With a tickling sensation of hope, he reached for the paper and turned to the pages covering the stock market. Success! His company's latest, brave, marketing had been a complete and total success. They were up two points. The stock had nearly doubled its worth during the last six months and it was all thanks to William, who assumed that, even though he had just been promoted, he would soon move up yet another notch in the hierarchy. A big smile appeared on the man's face showing his perfectly bleached teeth. With a small dance he concluded the celebration and decided to go home and take a nice long bath in his jacuzzi.
Little Mambutu Ningw'e was running. Finally, a glimpse of hope at the end of the dark, unloving tunnel. A way out of the eternal nightmare. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him to get to his home, the Luganda orphanage, as soon as possible. The beggars and prostitutes at the side of the road looked at him as if though they had never seen a happy child before, but then again, Mambutu thought, they probably never had. Mambutu began to fantisize about the reactions of his comrades in the orphanage when he would tell them of the Americans that had come and taken pictures of him. They had said that they were going to send the pictures to America and that the Amercians would donate money to their orphanage. He thought them a bit odd when they insisted that he should be covered in flies during the photo-shoot but 10 dollars was 10 dollars.
William opened the big wooden door to his huge office and stepped out. He took one last glance at his beautifully carved desk and at the ivory pencil holder that he had got from one of his countless visits abroad. The secretary, a young blonde woman, recieved a small smack on her buttocks before William left the company headquarters. Mr Sunderland proceeded to the V.I.P parking lot and sat down in his brand new Mercedes-Benz prototype and drove the two miles to his four-story villa. As he entered through the mansion's main door he saw something lying on the floor. A brochure covered with small starving, it seemed, negroes. Normally Mr Sunderland would never interfere with such things but he was in a good mood today. He picked it up and read it.
Three older boys were standing a couple of yards ahead of him. Despite Mambutu's desperate attempts to hide the 10-dollar bill, they were staring at him with hunger in their eyes. The sort of hunger you see in a starving dog's eyes just before feeding time. They walked towards him with small steps. Mambutu tried to run, but they were faster.
William decided that he could pay the monthly donation of five dollars to save the god forsaken people in Angola. He felt as though his life had found meaning. To think that William, a mere business executive could affect the lives of those in need. He was proud.
Mambutu Ningw'e was lying in a pool of his own blood and the flies had begun their feasting.
'I am a hero', Will thought to himself.
Three days later the maid threw away the signed brochure which had never been posted.
I may not be insane
Everyone is what they are except those who wish to be a rising star
more productive
It's been quite some time since I posted anything of true value....the thing is...I'm filled with ideas about what to write and I'm dying to get them out on the white sheets of the computer screen, but the problem is, as always, life being to filled up with shit. From the very moment we develop our personality and our ability to think we are set in constant labour, whether it be school, work or the military (hi there, third world, yes, im talkin to you). In these occupations we are forced to produce whatever creative or physical energy we have in favour of society. The logically developed and those with good memories are put in certain schools (not necessarily put, but you get my point.) Those being in good physique are put into certain jobs. You see, everywhere our talents and traits are being sucked into the abyssmal pit that is society... Now, the creatives, where do they go? Since culture is in decline and it takes a Down's Syndrome, semi-handicapped, retarded three year old to write the modern music and litterature that door is closed. I mean...it's not closed literally, you could still create great pieces of art but they wouldn't be appreiciated and you would not have money to survive...And you would no matter what have some other talent of yours being sucked into society leaving you with a strong desire to create art and yet no energy to muster in order to complete it.
thats kinda where my problem lies
adieu
thats kinda where my problem lies
adieu
Jesus
Motherfucking christ..fucking brilliant:
s . s . s furthermore, I do not wish to.
Hello again....
I wrote a little thingy yesterday... anyhow here goes nothin':
Necessities
He hated them more than anything
He constantly reassured himself of his contagious contempt
Not one would go unaffected by this hatred
Not one would see through it
He hated their routine
They responded in kind
He hated even more
They would respond in kind
soon enough...
The man started dreaming
He made his decision
He was to overthrow them once and for all
He was to rebel and destroy
He was to be notorious and reputed
First, he needed be in good health
He needed food and he needed sleep
He needed warmth and he needed comfort
Only the nemesis possesed such things
He had no choice
It was a necessary evil
Then he needed education
No rebellion was possible without wisdom
The only source of this was his omnipotent enemy
He told himself he would infiltrate and unravel
He told himself that it was a necessary evil
Finally, he needed money
No rebellion was to be done without fundings
He would work for them and he would provide for them
He saw himself a leech, they saw him a sheep
All of these were, of course, necessary evils
He let his ravaged hands stroke across his rinkled face
He was old
He was weak
Every breath he would take was filled with love and acceptance
No longer would he hate, nor would he dislike
He would gently fall asleep
as the ghosts of the past would try to reach him
Terrified, the man woke up from his dream
He saw clearly now
There was only one thing that could hurt them
He smiled as the knife slit his throat
Only now, would he be free
I wrote a little thingy yesterday... anyhow here goes nothin':
Necessities
He hated them more than anything
He constantly reassured himself of his contagious contempt
Not one would go unaffected by this hatred
Not one would see through it
He hated their routine
They responded in kind
He hated even more
They would respond in kind
soon enough...
The man started dreaming
He made his decision
He was to overthrow them once and for all
He was to rebel and destroy
He was to be notorious and reputed
First, he needed be in good health
He needed food and he needed sleep
He needed warmth and he needed comfort
Only the nemesis possesed such things
He had no choice
It was a necessary evil
Then he needed education
No rebellion was possible without wisdom
The only source of this was his omnipotent enemy
He told himself he would infiltrate and unravel
He told himself that it was a necessary evil
Finally, he needed money
No rebellion was to be done without fundings
He would work for them and he would provide for them
He saw himself a leech, they saw him a sheep
All of these were, of course, necessary evils
He let his ravaged hands stroke across his rinkled face
He was old
He was weak
Every breath he would take was filled with love and acceptance
No longer would he hate, nor would he dislike
He would gently fall asleep
as the ghosts of the past would try to reach him
Terrified, the man woke up from his dream
He saw clearly now
There was only one thing that could hurt them
He smiled as the knife slit his throat
Only now, would he be free
