I have just killed someone, they ar significant because i want to tell you.
You may ot mis them, you my not care but they have left a trail.
if you wish to pay into it - beware.
Carefully does it, but i was in ahurry.
Philosophical Observations on Culture and the Circumstances of Modern Man
dear bono your bug eyed glasses bug me
you seemed to be a chmpon of the irish causwe
Snns pototoes and clovers and screaming catastrophe
When you were doing music so were inxs and remants of any band from the 70s
At least Yoko screwamed animalality in tunnels but john climbedvher ladder t see her cunt
A small man with hair atitude and a mean finger on his guitasr
Too young and searching for nirvana in the orient rather than feeling up a marharisma
Oh but the glasses were significant - furnished by the asian asbililty to blend rather than resist
There are too many of them ( )
There are too many of us - Malthaus may be onto something
His weapons were not smallpox nor willing death but the agony of being unimportant
Bless him
And Bono preaches 'one world' behind the stampeed of his undersized shoes
He does nought 'cept ask us to give a hanshake and exchange bodily fluids to be one
...and his legacy is rebellion - success - sell out - insignificance - and slowly fade camera to scene
He is merely a puppet of the media and they have cut the strings
Could Bobby Geldoff possibly be the master here
(is this a connect with Paula Yates and Michael hanging from a door - a shared fuck)
.....................** to be continued**
! please observe that every word opinion judgement is carefully deliberatly appropiately scaroolous.
Welcome to the Fatverse
There was a popular radio song by a not so popular musician in a previous decade regarding 'short people'.
Seemed funny at the time but the socially correct adjustments were not available at the time.
Where the fuck were the short people beside being extras in a movie about a girl who has no idea of where to go with a dog.
Such a simple girl who believes there is respect for innocent females in short skirts and a pair of bright shoes.
The poor girl walking on stilts thrusting her arse up and cunt forward.
And in the company of three persons of nondescript history who seem to find endless joy in escorting their delighted prey into a maelstrom of predators.
Oh yeah what a fantasy for dirty old men and stupid dogs.
There is no credit given to the dog, he only supports her journey and offers no protection.
As in most fairy tales it presents the girl as a vigin discovering the world of men.
At the time Judy Garland was almost 17 years of age but she needed to have those happy little puppy's
on her chest tapped down so as she would appear younger.
Damn it, she offers no resilience.
Is she just possibly a stupid woman.
The fucken book was written in 1900 - 2 generations before moving pictures recognised children.
But apparently there is a link between popular music and film !
How is Pink Floyd negotiating their legacy of synchronising their 40 odd minutes to the film.
Is difficult for me to gather enough paper to wipe my arse.
But there must have been an assembly to address what dubes they are.
Their soundtrack is short unless you start it at the beginning but not at any designated point.
Suffer if your believe.
And people are what they are - so fucken important and proud on their preaching perch.
They do not wear skirts.
Hey babe i do not see how 2 bits of cloth is any protection.
That little flower you have is sooooooooo special -
Jeez I just wanna be the first person to fuck it.
There are things in the bible (and I refuse to give it any respect).
That encourage me to refrain from worshipping false idols.
Some language has been mutilated.
The only knowledge i gain from this is - do not masturbate.
It is quite gallant of me to protect virginity and yet espose sperm.
But I must pause in my rebuke.
I have no cunt and I'm pleased that I suffer no periodical pain.
I really feel for you females but you should present yourselves as proud rather than sex.
As a species you are a failure - you will not survive.
The only way you are going to change the world is masturbation.
You should not be a victim of scarlet shoe fantasies
Please sink your fingers into your juicy cunt and feel what i feel - which is zilch.
When you probe deep your fingers feel what your body feels - nothing.
But you know men want this but your mother told you to protect it.
And so the perpetual rythym of life continues.
(Darwin fucked up, no wonder his wife pissed him off for 20 years, shit, she was more bothered about his dick rather than his pen).
(As for Fat People, I needed a Title).
...... and do not concern yourself if you are not fat, you are not a media subject.
My Dog is a capital God
He cannot wipe his own bum
Twenty figures to balance on as he tic tacs along the floorboards
Announcing his arrival with a polite warning
That he is here
And his motive I do understand
That he needs to shit in the bushes away from me
But on occassion he must display his faeces to me or I will trip over his turds
As spongy shit between my toes he reminds me of what i did not attend to.
And nor can he
He needs not to wipe his arse or think
He has no need to drink nought 'cept water
He appreciates me wiping his bum
But I struggle to see the purpose of unwrapping a roll of paper
When my dog will drop his shit and not appreciate how annoying he is
I rellish the smell of discord as it wiggles my concsience
And I need to wallow
In your sewer.
Today I was annoyed by the inconsequences and decided that my complaints are worthless.
I have blathered and foamed hoping that suddenly the universe will appear in my favour.
Alas i know it is fucked but i still bat away dmons.
I no longer assign myself any significance other than my strength to resist.
And i wallow in a sewer of their discards that have no smell.
How does that exist while i proudly wipe the gravel-shit from my arse.
And you are only the paper that wipes my tool
You are only an instruction for my success.
Begone you demons, begone your souls.
Go wherelse but here, you are not welcome
You have a poison that reduces my capacity to care.
But I doubt you will care, but i do.
Be gone demons, be gone reality
I have no care for how you suffer
I have no care for how you bleed
I wonder why you even need to breathe.
There was a time after the A bomb when the allegiance of national allies seeking a compromise became a ' suck my dick contest '.
China was not, Japan was portrayed as the enemy, Russians were cold and since 1932 there was a thing called television.
But there was also Radio, and alcohol and opium.
The East India Tea Company facilitated the movement of tea in exchange for drugs.
English Admiralty created a passport for corruption.
I am manicalled to a post.
In somewhere near the year 1620 there was an economic disaster known as the Tulip Wars.
Stocks of flowers that were not available were floated on the pretense of profitable inflation.
This was a new manouvre successfully adopted as a decoy that determined the wealth of others but neglected to address your significant influence.
There was a guy way back in the 1700's who rorted the law and the established monarchy.
A damned champion of mastering social weakness.
Which reminds me of how powerless I feel to seem to be.
Current society allows me to be legally drunk and legally mentally incpacitated but there is no meter to gauge how particularly emotionally violent I can be.
What is wrong - what is right ?
History is written by the victorious because they have restricted access to freedom.
How to compete is incomprehehsible to anyone who cannot spell or share thoughts.
Malthaus was possibly right in that anyone who could not exert their power should be extinct.
Too many people, not enough food.
But he did not promote manipulation or eradication of lesser species.
He supported a theory of evolution - that only the strong will survive.
Bacteria feeds on devolution - entropy, decay and insignificance.
And yet it survives.
Such a simple brain programed to kill - but with significant disretion.
It will immobilise you and render you impotent.
Genes and lust are bad bed companions.
And welcome to the 22nd century.
It's a Buffalo Avacado sandwich
I can't decide my choice based on mis-information
Please he said let me explain this to you
And I thought I should haul this beanie wearing righteous dude over the counter and just help myself
So I listened as he explained
A Buffalo Avocado and other miscellaneous crap sandwich does not come in a half.
Do you want a full sandwhich or only half ?
I only want one sandwich
And he takes pains to extract the platter of two halves from display
and he shows me two unequal halves
and I wonder why they are of unequal size and am I alowed to pick the bigger.
So I choose the bigger and wonder how much purchasing power the next eater has left.
It's apparent to me the guy has a degree in sandwich delivery
and I have a mere Diploma and Degree in knowledge
Unfortunately I have enough sense to not do retail, I am a destructor not a constructor.
But it was his kingdom and he had attended the Macca's school of :
'Do you want fries with that'
Which requires little knowledge but sufficient training to be a pain in the arse and not actually take my order but actually have the gall to suggest that my request is somehow imprecise.
Which it is becauase I really wanted to say have you been circumcised yet
I want a sandwich and I probably need to ask for butter
But no, I have choices - is that light dairy soft pasture grown english or curry
Do I want it cooked do I want to take away do I want coffee with that
I wonder if the menu includes dragging him out onto the footpath and inflict wounds
or should I relent and just ripp off his beanie, stand on the coumter and piss on it.
Maybe that would be too nazi-like, I should indulge him
It's a training program and I am not enrolled.
It is wonderfull that maggots have no urge except to scavange
and yet I'm reluctant to have their icky smelly stain on my shoe after I step
and I regret having to kill lesser things that have no satisfaction within their soul and yet disturb mine.
I asked my friend and await his reply
he could not answer and I'd like to know why, was it death or another.
If he is gone please employ a suitable replacement that can at least adjust the ledger, maybe one who can add and detract, one who can spell and talk and just walk with me.
My legs are in surgery and they may never recover from the purpose of kicking shit along hallways.
Dreams only become a daymare escaping me from night, stretches of blood staining my progress.
And he as a friend did what, or did not and I will gladly carry the burden of his insignificance to his grave.
Forgive him Lord for he was to me, a pathetic soul bagaging demons to be strong.
Alas the poor cunt kept on bleeding until the puss and pain flowed through his cell and nought a bandage to his soul did it be 'cept a partial remedy.
Oh mercifull god you are not, yet you sacrifice your son to appease your aggressors and display your submission.
Why were you not there, was it too hard to attend, or were you fucking virgins for blood.
You are a slut to wisdom and not caring of administering your wrath to those who deserve it, you found it necessary to watch your son die wearing a nappy.
And I suffer your dispense.
I am so relieved that I've found a cap for my saucepan.
It's bothered me to sleeplessness
Maybe I could talk slower so you could be more comfortable on a lower shelf, I'd rather you breathe.
Take a breath between words, comprehension may not be your forte'.
One breath :
I am a fat mexican of Spanish heritage trying to be American.
But I invaded this land with religon bannered
I am a consquistodor weilding a baton blessed by god. Damn you descendants of an ape.
I came here in four ships, one was lost, one was confused, one carried the treasure and one was an idiot
And I brought four legged brethen to feed me, but they escaped
The pigs relished your wild corn fields, the mice ate your seeds, my horses trampled vicinities and my religion appeared with a sword in search of gold.
The Eldorado was the Ponzi scheme of the millenium - Galileo sucks Copernicus is self centered.
Two breath :
It's in the Cola :
a - Firefox disconntinnued it's random search of sites for my entertainent - Ai at work dude !
b - Hotmail no longer is encrypted for receiver only - no longer must you be the receiver to enable decoding.
c - The bless'ed option of refusal
d - The moment I signify refusal it signifies I am open to negotiation.
e - I am so impressed I succumb
f - I'm so indebted that it hears me and no one else, only me and I am so important.
g - I masturbate but fail to come.
Three breath :
The look :
All the USA military helicopters are named as of all the national tribes of native inhabitants successfully annihilated - Apache, Cherokee, Cheyenne, Blackhawk, Dakota.
Coca Cola won the war against herb sucking, sheet wearing, god fearing sheep hearders.
****
Randolp Hearst owned the majority of wood forests producing pulp for paper.
He had a friend who successfuly lobbied a tax on print if it was produced on hemp paper.
Randolph as owning most of the forests was so pleased his ark would only be of his timber.
Unless words were printed on his pulp they would be infringed.
And thus marijuana became a tax Infringement - not actually against the law but subjected.
Not illegal to smoke but to print on.
George Washington only granted leaseholds to those who could produce hemp.
All ship sails, ropes, bindings, horse wagon coverings, whips and women's bonnets were of hemp.
Meanwhile the hemp weed proliferated along the roadsides in California as weed - though not smokable but prolific. Randolph owned all the marketable forests and only his wood pulp should be acceptable.
The whole Amerigo became industrialised and circumsised.
Negroes were still slaves but they could inhale. Abraham Lincoln continued to employ black workers as croppers whilst advocating their emancipation.
Laws were drawn and passed by congress to outlaw consumption of hemp on the basis of tax evasion.
Thus, marijuana became illegal.
Four breath :
I's sucking air, my machine needs lubrication
my bowels are bored, they have nought to do 'cept squeeze
and the smell is sweeter than your fart could ever be.
Could you be a rose, that will never be
the fertilizer you need just vanished
Seconded by a second beast.
Do what you wish and do never pass me
waste your energy on you
and stop considering all others.
Do not be a decision but become the result.
He licks his paws so clean as determined as he is
to keep the the parasites away
they have little effect and thus they are annoying.
Determined as he is he is a success
though not by dog means he cannot judge by nose alone
he knows alone as a dog.
He will survive weller than his master
and accept his help according to his scent
and even though he cannot dissent he is rewarded with my approval.
He has no conscience of original sin
he has no idea of where to begin and only mourns the lost scents of his doghood
by a smell, a lingering fragance of what was
and a cherished memory of what should have been.
......and meanwhile I wither away with mortality and conscience.
Blessed are the stupid for not knowing their soul.
Ah, the smell of dog is a gracious scent delivered to the meagre.
Ah damn this, I tried to give up all my vices and no matter whatever I delete it does not dissappear.
I'd just left the house and within three steps I had encountered a cunt,
not your average cunt but a renowned cunt owning a massive clearance
on the slope of a mountain unrenowned for its peace, but plauged by infection.
He, being an average cunt occured as was his want an indiscretion
carefully adjudicated by his lord in which I can only adjust a sponge apon my bleeding
but, alas he could not, as an animal, be the average cunt.
Mediocrity is merely a piss-ant reason for gathering food to please the queen
'tis shame my wings were clipped away at birth
I cannot even fly, I have neither the courage to breathe your poison
my wings are merely laden with the weight of your insidious whining.
It provides little opportunity for me to paddle my boat
it gives you every opportunity to drown me
but I have a finger circling your excited zone that you open
like an envelope expecting good feelings.
But beware your indiscretions and cover your womb
you are not at all what you wish you to be
you are not me.
Please bleed and suffer all around your mound
you do not care for the obscenity you are, you struggle to breathe
you cease to feed and you grasp for your last suck of air.
That is what you are, you pathetic suffering cunt.
Hey neighbour,
Did you hear that things are a changing
over shoulder boulder holders are bolder
as much as a fat thigh wiggles
like a re-master jiggles your stereo
listen up dude - the times were a' changing
It is was it is not how it was
turn up the radio old man.
Dinosaurs shit heaps and where is yours
your only stains are in the toilet and your dreams are down the drain
you have no where else to go
you have nought that you think you must know
and only false peacock feathers to show.
Anal retentive and you are too fucked to go
nursed on a teet and not a bible
cursed with a screaming birth and abandoned as not reliable
determined to suck on your tit
angry enough to eat your shit.
Welcome here you are but not in your bra
please clothe youself and be who you are
your wanton display is obscene
you only need your shoulders and thighs
to help you display your pathetic desires.
Do not judge me before your sight the ledger
of all the bodies lying on my trail
do not condemn me for my sins
I will glady hold a mirror to your cunt
but only if your actually made an effort to clear your mound.
I am your mantis and I will eat you alive
I will suck out your soul until I am satisfied
your excretions will only add to the silent sound of my stench
of all the souls I collected
on behalf of the god your poor soul neglected.
An arsehole has no sense, it squezzes because it must
A knee-jerk reaction
A tapp on your senses a reminder to expell
Damn my mother she condemned me to hell
A slapp on the the bum and im aliv
A cunt flapp and here i am.
My ankles wiigle their wy out of the womb
And my wrists are bound to my head
I was dead before born
At 9 months of age i was was pumped out
Only pysical, only srenuous and bleeding and screaming out my lungs
for a lifebetter than mums
Is lucky im a boy, i only suffer
But my mother gets ton plead non-responsiblr
Itisbup to hubby to provide
And i curl in bed, my mind cannot beread
And my sllep is diturbed by the demons of birth
I roll all night uphill just so i can roll down
I awake wondereing if it was vadream or are you around
Adonut without a hole
A partial animal withoutv a soul.
I know of a girl, Brittany Higgins is her name
She's in the web of google.
She's upset about letting her panties down
Working is draining and closed thighs whilst discrete beyond a modesty zone get itchy
She was working late on male orders.
The boy forgot his keys as he left the maelstrom
and returned on the pretext of recovering his dead mothers flowers
walking long the silent corridors he's distracted by the ticking
and the tapping of high heeled mental clicks on her keyboard
such an accomplishment for a female at least.
Empowered with the belt on his pants enscrolling his hanging mum and dad and their caravan
patolling the corridors and cavities
Brittany was there
Being hot and overworked and loath to admit it
he was horny
Her modesty barrier just excited him more
damn it he thought, why is a boy not concerned with his modesty
shit hey he thinks again, I can make buildings, build to great heights, design womens dresses and smash the atom
how about a little pussy, hey jeez I'm done with constructing, is 'bout time time I got down to real business.
The pyramids weren't built in a day ansd neither was Rome but I certainly can wreck havoc on this little pussy that won't change the world but of which Alexander the Great would be proud he thought,
and considered
That that man is so sad as that he had conqured the world by age 23 but only as his part of the 7 brother's divedends bequethed by his father who had only ever succesfuly conqured his breakfast.
.........so Brittany's pantie tugger is alone bored late at work patrolling the corridors of flourescent acidic concrete and finding himself just a little stiff
maybe it's the fumigant overlay from the cleaners
but the overwhelming power of girl encompasses reason
aaaaaaaaaaaaah no, it overcomes all reason
He should be home relaxing with no need for comma's within his sentence
The overwhelming itch
Brittany is alone, punching hard, her keyboard ecstatic from the pounding
But the boy not being a fan of Proust or even beginning to spell Rachmaninov holds his toungue
so he walks the corridor aiming for his keys
a fruitless task, he always knew were they were, he just wanted some action
leaving your keys is akin to losing your wife
you just don't do that - as you ask who will feed me, was I supposed to be there now, why didnt you tell me that !
so he walks and smells and is bored
there is an authority of such in authoritorial buildings that makes greater souls feel less
the devil is in the details
Four and a half minutes later he pulls up his unders to hide his weeping dick
she is satiated and curled like a used sticky note pad on her modesty desk
posted with a reminder to not go here again
But 6 months or a year later or maybe two, Brettiny has regrets
she blames the height of the modesty shield as not shielding her from the glances os predatory boys eyes
she blames her employer as not offering enough protection
she neglects to consider her need to wear skirts and tight sports equipment that enhanche her aging femine bumps
she neglects that media portrays her as a slut
Ive never heard of Alexandria Her Greatness conquering the world
Poor Brittany never understood her own perfume but would rather dweell in the smell of others
If her defending lawers had presented her juicy silky panties to the male judiciary there may have been a different outcome.
Alas, the boy is accused of rape
Is rape premeditated - does he procrastinate on proceedure, does he time this.
But we foget about Brittany's pantless pentration and her having to go home and explain what happened
...........and this results in a national legal court case
Jeez Brittany, have you no pride or discretion
Please understand that this is dick man thing and a cunt girl thing
You are placing the whole of humanity at risk with you obtuse gender theories.
Please just go home, pull your panties down and feel your cunt
Does it feel powerful................uuuuuuuuuuuuum yes
well as a boy to girl I suggest you fuck off and just accept that you have a hole and I have a dick
and as a boy I really don"t understand what you have to offer that would realy increase the quality of my life
face it bitch, I fuck and you lay down.
Have you managed to question the order of things - why are your fucking with men's power
Um yeah - because boys wave around their dick just doing stuff because they can and you wave around your breasts because you feed babies
You have an ecological role to perpetuate, stop complaining that you are special
Just stop awhile and feel yourself
Boys aren't your enemy. they are your friends
Just lay down and be a cuddly fuck.
P.S. - where are girl responses to this....I dont expect many.
P.P.S - face it girls - you have something boys want, and we just don't need your sympathy.
He is short by leg standards but not by a shag.
Snouting is his forte' but he can't spell shit
He can smell but struggle at wont he cannot linguaise it
His arse works to succintly expell as well
He sleeps awhile to delete today as his only plans are for the morrow
I so do hate my dog as he being short of stature but of taller intent than me.
My ankles are sore from his nuzzling, my soul is sore by his capacity to give and be wanted
Such simple devotion so pure so focused on giving love for acceptance and so full of fur
Little does he know how my heart only beats for him.
And yet I thrive to insult him because he does not know that he does not have my original sin
If I were to be encumbered with lack of heart, I would rather be of legedness than of skin
Oh how I love my dog he is my next of kin.
And I so hate him and envy his rolling fluffy cuddleness and unconditional lovedness.
My short round hound is on the ground.
Today I met a bug.
PART ONE :
Doing the best it could I thought I should keep quite, it was warisome.
Being armless and emotiveless it overwhelmed all my thoughts as it scrabbled for a teet.
Sadly for it and sadly for me a human bug, I could only squirm and decided it would not feed on me.
Avoidance I know, a bug cannot learn this and I envy it.
Better for it to not know Kafka, Proust or Dali. how can I compare my ignorance to it.
A bug deserves not a surname nor a misnomer, it cannot spell; alas I can.
My curse is apon me and I feel sorry for the bug without feelings and I feel sorry for me.
It does so accept ignorance, it does not know it's priority, it refuses to accept weakness.
Too stupid to be smart, too much of a heart beating only to breathe and no need to love.
Oh I envy that bug.
It seemed to be wearing sunglasses and stared within them but they were opaque to me and I wished it had the courage to confront me - on my terms.
And I wished to damn the little fucker to my devil's vocabulary.
The last I saw it, he was laughing at me. It could not have any fun, it was known.
My source as entertainment had reached expiry date and would never recover from my encountering.
I had no choice, destiny was imminent, death was fatal.
Benevolence was an option, though I did not take it lightly.
I have trouble sleeping - not like a bug.
It feeds and curls in it's shit, sleeps and is happy not knowing it's victim, oblivious to their pain, and quite content to snuggle within it's misery, sleep and dream buggedly and desire to awake with just a little more of something to chew on.
Alas, I feel unhuman, but not yet a parasite.
I am too insenitive and I must be as a bug. No feelings just instinct should rule me.
My bug said that I must not agree and submit to it's perception prior to my extermination.
Drugs offered the answer, but only if I was a bug and had spent time resisting the cuddling comfort of a mother cunt.
He reminded me then that I probably should not think.
On listening I'm still at a loss with these concepts even though I can spell and walk and talk and in debt to a bug that cannot.
And it said :
"Confusion is paramount, desire is secondary, wishes are dreams, violence is the only means the weak use to survive, and language and emotions are inconsolaby compatible.
I need to breathe and have no human rythym to survive on love but on envy. I cannot spell and have discarded the myths of compatabile embrace and succumed to the illusioray comfort of placating words, too scared to hug and too scared to embrace my vulnerability.
And so at once with an innocuos thought it subetly overruled my objections.
What can we offer except love. What is more significant to us burdened by atrocity when he is burdened only with four legs and a sweeping tail and no heart".
Then it told me a story :
"There was a man as mad as a terrier and as crafty as a parrot.
Only some of his peculiarities were on display, like a peacock reluctant to show his inadequacies.
A significant person of note and respect but seemingly immune to ravages of his mind.
The tiny steps he followed could not be of stone, life had become a weary path on unsecure foundation.
Every
step every thought every moment challenged like a worn out sole.
His history education experience and grief all swept away by a force stronger than he.
Occasionally he stepped out of the house and hello-ed the birds and appreciated their thanks for food.
It become a pleasure to awake to their morning sun twirps and companionship.
If the
sun was warming harder than a shine and his dog craved a kiss and just one
step encouraged his legs to try another, he only had to move
forwards as a move backwards confused his joints.
Some
things for him were difficult to accomplish, gravity
continually defied him and despite resistance it defined him as rooted to the ground.
He found it difficult to pull off his socks and it was a challenge to not injure himself with such a mundane habit. The lingering smell of toe fat on his fingers was there regardless of efforts to not touch and the strength he needed to control his knee not hitting his chin was exhausting and challenged his perceptions.
He, being fraught with memory of smell and little memory of hearing, considered this as abnormal.
But that did not help his inner soulful turmoil, it was temporary comfort disturbed by reality.
There had been a plague to which he had succumbed and he was infected.
Too stupid or too out of tune with the current song, it took some strength to not run naked through the streets knifing anything at hand. But later at home comfortable in his slippers, slurping on hot milk and honey he thought with wonder about what it is that bees need.
It wasn't much to them but a lot to him, so he looked closer, overwhelmed by the obnoxious odour.
He was bigger than all of them and my heart felt smaller than his - if he had. If oxygen was less he certainly needed to be breathing more, his lungs were larger but most of his sucking was wasted.
PART TWO :
Rolling on his back was impossible for me to resist, I had to help.
Maybe I should prod him with a cotton bud, which I did but maybe at the wrong moment.
He instantly recognised the soft bud as his mothers tongue and it was too comforting.
His mother had died shortly after his birth and he was left with no more than a cuddle and a promise that he would die before he was significant.
But curling there practising paracitimy he felt an uncomforting pressure on his back.
Having no limbs but only urges he wished for a knife to severe this reality.
I
would not be of assistance, it was inhuman and he was ugly, I was amazed that he could probably only entertain but not perform his act of suicide.
That
was not human to him and neither was he. Moral incursions into his
soul would be wasted; the poor thing had no heritage, no attitude, no sense, no compassion, no sweat glands, only impulses to eat and shit and breed.
I watched him rolling and prodded him gently from a distance, he scared me with his dimuity and protective repulsiveness but he could certainly move quickly.
An instinctive skill to survive and even if beaten he has only a shell as a remnant.
He left a trail, of shit but to others of his ilk it smells like a trail of discovery.
There is a legacy of note that he was here and left a warning to those who are weaker to only let the brave pass here.
His only mission was to be happy but the fate of a bugged idiot is clouded in confusion.
For many nights he accommodated himself in bedsocks, a heater and a mug of warm milk. Sufficiently it was insufficient.
Dreams had become nightmares and his version of reality was a den of demons.
This was worse than being a parasite, at least they had a meaning, a continuous bug-mare all night, every night flashing warnings about a useful life, so much easier than being born a maggot.
The more I prodded his little curling buggedness the more he liked my attention.
My attention, and only that, not food not love but just activity mobilised him.
Which bothered me. That really represents me. Oh there must be joy being a thinking sperm, of which I do not wish for.
But I am only a splash of ego in a fertile slash of cleared growth on the mons venuris.
Like a leaf attached to a tree I never felt its roots but had faith that its limbs would support me ignorant of my plight for independence.
My maggot friend can sleep, he is not concerned with his death, he just keeps feeding. He has no defense mechanism but relies on family to covet him.
It's fortunate he cannot remember his history and its fortunate for him that neither can his family.
He will never endure moralist discussions of mortality and love, he will never get a cuddle, he will never feel pain, his only threshold is death.
Parasites can not feel love but only the pain of rejection. To a feeder that is satisfying, to a provider that is debilitating.
A pig can eat anything except its offspring. It will wallow in mud all it's life and keep itself remarkably clean. Walking in his own shit his hooves do not smell of his progress. And yet his nose is bigger than his brain.
His nose does not have receptors or interpretors, every whiff of life goes direct to his head. There is no processing necessary, he relies on feelings of either fear or love.
I'm glad that I seem not so simple, but feel complicated, and yet I'm burdened with knowledge and not what I smell.
My dog smells at me when he appears to me to be happy and yet he has already rolled in shit. Not his shit, it stinks, he knows that and yet he knows that others relish rolling in it.
He pokes at me wanting to share his smells, and I know mine are so much more insignificant.
But
his friends who are not dog are parasites and they snitch at his arse.
WHY ARE YOU WEARING A SEATBELT (PT.2)
Dear Sczitdamn,
I read your last post and your original post about seatbelts and I would like to add my observations ;
I did not wear my seltbelt today. I never wear a seatbelt. I wear clothes and undies and socks and an attitude which is blatantly unsuitable for this new age ambivelance.
If ideas possesssed a 'use by' date mine would be obselescant.
The world is not for the young, the world is for the innocent - those untainted by failure and dissappointment, those pathetic slivers of skin masquerading as humans and fuelled by the lure of perfection.
Entropy is the natural process of balancing human will against random idocy. If I balance on my head it should not affect my thoughts but only my blood flow. Why must I contend with gravity, it only distinguishes my toes from my head.
And yet I am always at that mercy of things falling down, probably my legacy from birth - why am I always falling down. Why not fall up? Damn this orbiting concentric motion. I cannot escape.
But dear reader, I cannot understand that if I take all things as being a conclusion then why is only the ending important and not the process - hence gravity.
Gravitas.
Stupidity rules, serendipity tries, skin covers, soul subdues.
Buddha says : All that we are is the result of what we have thought.
Please don't go all evolutionary and emotional. You and me are only sperm that did not get wasted on the blanket of love. We crawled and scraped and trod and slaved all the way to the top. And it was a hard jouney upwards and beyond, sourcing the barrier, seeking a meaning, striving to be more than a sumptious morsel of sin squirming in the realm of finality.
If gravity was not, there would be no need for women to elevate their thighs after fucking to encourage the little one sperm of millions to migrate towards satisfactory mindless procreation.
Fuck gravity. The little sperm fuckers resist negative downward motion and are even more significant for their immunity to tight undies, alcohol and doonas' and common sense. Jeez, why the hell would I wish to perpetuate failure as an alternative.
If the universe really had a plan, it should have put the cunt midway up the skull, between the eyebrows and the brain, gravity would do the rest.
But no, the Darwin perception of evolution takes precedence over ideas that we only fuck because of lust -The fittest don't really survive - they just pass their sperm to an ovul and hope to hell that the swim was worth the result.
Alas, the poor little fuckers have no idea what is up or down - they just want to squirm and make their prescence known - they have no comprehension of gravity - they know shit - except that they must swim upwards. Thus a human, perplexed with ignorance and yet governed by orbits.
Incongruous.
Shit falls down; arseholes are in your bottom not your top. For half of your time the earth spends its orbit upside down. A coin is heavier than a note and yet it hits the ground at the same time if both were dropped at a distance.
There is no down, there is no up..........so why am I continually striving to improve? If I turned on my head and up would be down, sperm would still swim upwards.
Up, down, improvement, satisfaction ..... are terms that signify acceptance and approval.
As a casual reader I accept your premise but am reluctant to accept your passion.
And that my friend is why you will die. Prone in a box or burnt to the earth, you will no longer matter.
..........................
1 - Do not obey
2 - Do not publish
3 - Do not suk.com
4 - Do not alleviate
5 - Do not masturbe
6 - Do not imbide media
7 - Do not succumb to the devil cunt
8 - Do not accept mediocrity
9 - Do not believe in what i say, it is only my ellusion (sic)
10 - I's warned you, if you got so far here you need help
Sometimes, when I least expect it, my shit stinks.
It could be my diet.
Nappies for incontinence don't work.
My smell walks in a door before me.
If a dinosaur died in the forest and no one tripped over it and their nose was blocked
Would the smell make a difference.
Big they may be but they think like a large dog and a small dog could chew their ankles.
Too hard being swamp bound with healthy teeth, better to be human bound with gum problems.
Saturate my diet with sugar, making me strong but lacking objective.
Wading in a swamp, slimed with generations of natures mistakes
I wonder if my galloushes are tall enough to not suck in the remants of decay.
And hoping the drugs and the ignorance and my stubborness will not die
Does suffice to support me.
But alas, I cannot elucidate because I am reluctant to pass my baton
Onwards to the hands who wish me obselete.
Awakening this morning with re-organization on my mind, bored from lack of sleep and needing to fill a vaccuum.
Routines were not suficient but there seemed to be a mess of tables, short, round and otherwise carefully arranged to reflect my designing notions of organised mayhem that will never be appreciated by the anally compulsive.
Once my new playspace was rearranged and all replacements were carefully tethered to the carpets I had a pill a drink and a smoke just to calm down - change can be exhilarating.
As the dawning sun peeked under the eaves I still had over ten hours of daylight remaining for me to occupy. If waiting all night to move a couple of tables was bliss, how boring is my life?
Time to make a difference me thinks. Possibly misdirected motivativation, maybe in hindsight I should have gone without not within, Yin and Yang, George Harrison - take it how you want.
Normally my agenda is fullfilled waiting in court rooms for judgments on my attrocious behaviour, but it takes so long to bring a smile to the magistrates face, that I hardly think it's worth the time.
Well for the rest of my day I'm going to redirect my energy and I will do all I can to not fuck things up.
Some things will never change because no one does anything about the obvious. Iggy Pop was bored as Chairman of the Board. No fucking wonder, it's hard work manipulating a ship of fools, but immensely satisfying if you can get away with it.
So I decided to return my i phone.
Armed with basic training in people skills, alcohol and stupidity I developed a plan for sucking up a few hours, at least until lunchtime.
THIS MORNING"S BUSINESS PLAN:
1. Purpose : Test staff response at JB Hi Fi.
2. Tools : Receipt of purchase, phone, proof of 'not fit for use'.
3. Ingredients : Attitude, complete ignorance of others feelings, my friends Justerini and Brooks.
4. Objective : Get money back or be arrested by the police.
5. Motivation : Boredom.
6 Result : Unfortunately the ctv footage was destroyed during the scuffle but the forgotten mysteries of memory and mobile phones will suffice for the record.
I hereby declare that the folowing transcript is as accurate as my friends allowed in order to protect me.
"Hi, I've come to return my phone, I bought it yesterday and it just wont co-operate".
There is nothing wrong with the phone.
But there is no signal being received via any hotspot, wifi of mine - the phone says it is but no other device is listening. For 700 dollars I don't want a dumb phone.
The phone is good, check your devices.
Ok, it's like this. If I buy a washing machine from you and I'm required to reconfigure every item in my house to suit the little fucker before it will operate, that is not legally 'fit for purpose'. Damn, that is making everything else I have 'fit for any other purpose except mine'.
Will you you lower your voice and stop swearing or I'll call the manager.
You can call your manager and your staff and the police but the time you all will spend in court is not worth you challenging me getting a refund.
(there are now a circle of over hormoned righteous young alpha competive staff dudes hovering like we are all in a bar fight and I'm just busting a pool cue on the edge of the table, before I whack it into their ipods).
(there is also another guy in the shop who tells me to tone it down, there are kids here. P.S. dude, there are kids everywhere, you swear, movies swear, your wife is probably a bitch and your kids are fucked, go outside and get some sun).
(there's also another guy outside who has waited for me to come out because his purpose for the day was to catch me tossing an empty can in the garden rather than walk 4 kilometres to a bin - such is life).
Will you calm down, I'm trying to help you. (Says he the wearer of the coveted covid inducing mask).
Ok, I'm leaving here, that's all my stuff, you sort it out, I'll be back soon for a refund.
- 20 minutes later I'm propped on a bench in JB and no one is coming near me, not even the police.
(I'm a patient man, people don't deserve to die, until 30 minutes is gone).
Thank you, we'll give you a refund.
Thank you kindly, that's great. Oh by the way, I have a job. I work for bosses like yours and they send me to their businesses to test staff interactions with customers....you failed.
7. Consequences : Positive effect on wallet, negative government drinking tax on my fun, positive adrenalin rush, negative crushing effect on innocent humans, positive entertainment, positive lack of successful police intervention, negative waste of petrol and 7 hours of my extremely busy bored life, negative effects of being lost in a megalithic 4 storey multi tomb shoping complex hosting zomboids, positive result from recognising 'post cognitive disonance' as the misnomer for 'post cognitive dissobediance'.
8. Aftermath : None.
9. Repurcussions : Some folks just need to learn how to suck eggs.
10. Result : Satisfaction.
11. Implications : Find other things to do.
In the age of leather skirts and sandles that which was the perogotive of men who knew women not to wear panties seventeen hundred years hence, men built a wall in the cold.
An advance party of engineers dispatched to the cold northern lands of the empire gave credit to the legionaires who folowed them and revelled in the construction of a wall never seen before and that subsequently was partly demolished by rebels during the next one thousand years. Little is known of their abilty to perform so well wearing a skirt.
Skirts were essential male wear until the late 1500's. Thereafter females were dependant on securing their income and found much solace incurring the associated tax benefits. Men did not wear 'pants' and for the next 1000 years pornography was king.
Emperor Hadrian bathed in opulence and was well admired, but failed to nominate an heir and was known to relish his popularity but was despised for his insatiable curiosity, self conceit and ambition. He was however a collector of art and was often compromised betwitch impression, delusion and regression. Freud would later claim we must acknowledge our motherhood but refused to consider the overwhelming distraction of the shopping mall apon our intellect.
No wonder he prohibited circumcision - probably of males, for there is no evidence of female complaints.
There is also little evidence of the existance of the poor sods employed to walk the distance between Wallsend to Bowness - or backwards as it may need to be on a wet coldy up my skirt ball shrinking mother fucken day where Sandles and leather skirts have little appeal. A measure was necessary and nature provided the answer but could not explain the discrepancies between lengthes nd how many men furtively paced the distance to prove that the wall could be built.
Hadrian only visited the wall once, In 122. He was convinced his allegiant Roman engineers had surveyed it's site and an estimate of the cost was fair, no doubt that inflation, trade vagaries, cost of leather on the stock exchange, current exchange rates that varied daily according to the shipping manifest and the exchange rate of young Russian willing wives versus the Impeccable virginal wives of Roman emperors listed on the exchange as assets and thus avoiding the tax incurred of travelling costs.
But he never bothered to consruct his wall from Wallsend to South Shields, a distance of 8 miles. He went home and spent the remainder of his life authorising public erections saluting his granduer. He refused various attempts of circumcision and subsequently died from conditional anxiety and extreme squirts of pus from his nether gland.
Unfortunately for the lad, his parents both denied they ever fucked and the shoddy attempts the skirt wearing policia' presented to the Court were greeted with contempt and chuckles and much self-congratulatory huggings as they relished the infamy, Hadrian was indeed the anonymous 'Donkey Man' aka Publius Aelius Hadrianus.
Little is known of his notioriety after his death, he could not text and the various stone tablets attributed to him are meticuously reproduced for sale at the local shopping mall but can not be verified due to the expiry date of the attending bar code.
It is of import to notice his lack of actual physical support for the project. By the next summer he needed to be carefully spatualard from his poolside enclave of velestial virgins, his uninterupted remains are now visible at Christies. www. mydick.com .au.
( Bless you, my man. I asked that dude who knew one third of the Tarantino Bros. He denies ever knowing the twins )
His father named Hadrian him 'Hadrian the Small' before he was born. At the time, business registrations were coping with an unprecedented number of calls and the pidgeon poo accumulated on the lines was not helping.
Translators often debate the rationale of Hadrian and his parents upon his birth. His father had listened to to every Pink Floyd album since AD 115 and really fucked hard to produce a child.
Little did they know that he would build the wall - little did they foresee his betrayal from his band- mates shortly before the release of their highly acclaimed " Pigs Animals and Other things I Fuked".
Unfortunately, current historians have failed in their attempts to locate the original presses from the era.
They do however, have finally managed to confirm his name : Publius Aelius Hadrianus.
Poor guy. Image it at kindergarten play time - 'hey anus show us ya pubes'. Various historians have objected to this interpretation and would wish to direct you to "Plebes r us". com.org. However, public consent rates Emperor Hadrian to be the illegitimate son of a Donkey.
Recent archeology supports the theory that Hadrian was lampooned in the media as an 'arse fucking donkey dick of a man intent on wearing winged sandles and carrying a purse'.
It's possibly proven that wing tipp shoes, travellers, rogues, vagbonds, thieves and tavellers are Mercury, but Mars they are not.
No doubt the ancients owned great swathes of land in north England, but it was a long way from home.
American Express would not entertain the financial liability for shipping 16,000 uncircumcised persons to an uninhabitled land without a single sharp knife.
Thus so did Hadrian construct his wall, using numerous skirt wearing slaves.
His structure rarely extended beyond the length of his skirt but with clever marketing management and political alignments he arranged for downwards of 50,000 legionairs, to be dispatched to Englund to quell the radical anarcist Scots, flambouyant in their plaided linen skirts.
Damn the Scots and their sheep bladder descendants of the bag pipes, Hadrianus needed a shopping mall and he was bumping over 67 ounces of cocaine a day just to keep his legionaires functioning.
This wall was a stubby fellow, somewhat approaching in places 6 feet tall and 8 feet thick.
Publius was not short of dick, Napoloen was akin to keeping his hand in his jacket to assage his ego.
His advisors sugested prime-time stone tablet would improve his exposure. Unfortunately the most recent tablet upload severly enabled his capacity and he passed into the dark reality of the AD world of legionares.
But he left a wall of 84.9 real miles, or 80 miles, or 73 miles, or roughly equivalent to 45,073 Croissants. No doubt the young Anus had difficulty with his converion tables.
Had he remained awake during the Drinking lesson 101 of his university studies he may have learnt that his hand intoward the pussy of his classmate achieved only level 1 of perserverance but was not intelliganxth to come herewhither whereafter or furthermores. (the acccompanied translations are indicipherable).
Leather skirts enhancesd the swagger of his gait but restricted his ability to masturbate.
Hadrian did not have the balls to move further north and build a wall between Edinburgh and Glassgow. That task fell to Antonine two undred and twenty years later to recruit 550,000 hot babes from Victoria's Secret to erect a mound further north and spanning a distance much less than Hadrians wall but located in the moist lowlands of pussydom.
Hadrian was a smart dude in his Saschi sandles, ferarriy headgar, and his pet donkey as he paraded aplomb in his spendour as a naked arse, along the length of his wall. But he failed basic aithmetic in grade 1 and never recovered from the blow from a tablet of stone hurled with intent at his head to strike the 'dumb motherfucker down' but he apparently survived the incident.
Forever disgraced and often masturbated he wandered the streets - and compared his grief with Antagiounas the Great - the god of Agony. Had he not adhered to the principals beaten into him by his phsycopath parents he would have become a great man.
Dragged from a McRoman dumpster in the earely hours of AD Tuesday, he recounted his experience.
Stripped of his jewellery, arse fisted and forced to lick the glaze from popcorn purchased during the intermission his recent portrayal of the villian lacks intensity and reflects an inability to self-define.
This inabiity to molest donkey's (sic) but dress his soldiers in leather skirts indicates a prepubescent desire to build walls. The chief practitioneer of Lego Inc. declined to comment.
The closest associate available on the record has vowed to fight the indescribable wanton attitude.
In fact, the aforementioned alleged scantily undressed side-boobed cock sucking anal opening cum dripping cunt failed to excite him.
Or did he have not reason to not enforce roughly ten percent of its lenght.
I suspect he had no need, for he taxed the residing prostitutes whilst allowing them to spread a pox.
Damn the engineers, a route of a wall between Edinburgh and Glasgow would have been shorter, which they did not overnight but 273 years later. The bookkeepers were ill adept at defining length, being way too accustomed to working nights at a cafe' checking in on the booty count.
Further investigations/consumations/procrastinations and insunuations demanded I attend.
( *the following text is indecipherable but accurately reproduced for your introspection forthwith).
ns weighingaaaameasuring - their lawyers (in skirts )
Maybe the Scottish Tribes needed Southern pussy and the wall was an uncircumsised cock just waiting to be scratched.
Bar Kochba had previously been sent to Judea to quell Jewish rebells as he (or she, or binary or him or even www.dogs.com) was the the Roman Governor of Britain at this time. Affirmation of sexual tendencies overuled logistic requirements at that time and they/it/them/binary/lesbian/boys in skirts/unisex pissing on young Scottish pussy, interested the emperor beyond the capacity of his dignitary and applicable downloads on his tablet plan empowered him, with his dick hanging lefties and as such enabled him to authorise the only known coins of the era's occupation of this foreign territory.
Holding back the Scottish tribes by taxes, entrance fees and forcible circumcision was a priority.
Skirts for men was determining future culture.
Hadrian never attended the building of his wall, he merely sponsered it, which is akin to providing deodorant to a nazi death camp, but he did subdue a Jewish revolt somewhere between 132 and 135.
But he was an emperor from 117 to 138 - somewhere, maybe, unaccounted for, not verified.
It was a turf wall constructed as a precursor to a cricket pitch, and lasted numerous overs before being dismantled by itinerant landholders and used as construction material for their mansions.
An 'over' is a descript archaic north english term for "panties off" and the Romans were not adept in translating this as 'piss off' , but non the less they took offence.
Hadrian logged in his wall (ie: measured his dick) at 84.9 real miles.
There is no mention of the plebe who paced the length ot the necessary structure but 1 Roman mile was the distance of 1000 paces and 2 steps was equivalent to 1.48 metres, which, in English cock length equals roughly 4 feet10 inches.
Damn the French - they have nothing to do with this - they fucked over every country they invaded and still only left with croissoints and gave it all to the English.
But a Roman mile equals 1620 yards, 1480 metres, and there were forts placed about 7 miles apart along its lenght, designed as taxation points for entry and brothel points of entry for the skirt wearing Scotts....who relished being 'beamed up' by the Roman whores.
Hadrian died in 138 and his successor, Antonious Pius built a new wall of turf a couple of miles north.
It was not approved by Lord Wimbeldon for cricket or tennis and subsequentley was ignored.
After some 200 years the Romans ceased control of the wall and retreated to Rome where they invented trousers to warm their legs and hold their balls aloft.
The extreme weather and the provocations from the Scots on the north side and the Pricks on the south side prompted the Romans to question the practicabilities of their attire and the unsuitability for the climate and the unharnessed swinging balls between their legs that did little to enhance movement (but enticed the females and many legionnaires to indulge in masturbation).
There is no evidence that the Romans held the wall after 383 - but there is evidence of their sperm.
But it exists in numerous wet dreams as extending to a lenght of 73 and a half miles and the British government has endeavoured to preserve the wall but cannot decide if it be declared in Roman miles, English miles or French miles.
Hadrian subdued a Jewish revolt with severity over 3 years after 132 - that's a lot of dicks.
My dog need not watch tv
It offers no parameters for his need to be
He does not judge his being of significance
Relative to you and me
An immortal being is he
With no knowing of his immortality
Enjoying that he is free.
Bathed in morning sun his only life is allegient to me.
And so I wish I was unbound with original sin
He wishes to be me and I to him
He needs but cock his leg to pee
But I struggle to hold my dick.
I encomb my inner toe forwith I could not walk
I am bound within a foot of your description
A balance is required to toiter at the edge of my discrepency
And yours if you so wish it be
This is not heaven or a womb
Succold your cunt to your eternal doom
As I travass
I love to wonder where you really are
But it is of your cloth or your image and how you can afford your car
It is but your demon for he is but nought you are
And I step with caution for I am aware of which I must beware
My mother told me not to accept vaginas as god
Litle could she know she was wrong.
It is hard for the artist to survive is this wordless construct of modern culture
If it were for an architect to design a parameter for earthly display
How would he say he was ravaged by divine design
Driven to succumb by promising accolades from his peers
He presides as defined by a nature as the fourth of manhood from below his knee
It is intellect only that bears you not the burden of a beast
And nature forms for us as the container of our mind
The home of the intellect is foremost when planning the stench of your vital last breath
So tread lightly in your path for you only weigh as much as your feat
Pass carefully over the sodden path you chose beneath your soles
Much time has past since you were here and it cares little
For you.
I pick up my dog from the kerb
he has lost his leg
i do so miss his cuddles and nuzzles in my face
but he is but now a tripod in my square
oh little round hound i miss your love
there is no more but to wish you around
and your breathing slurping sound of a happy innocent life
that reminds me of my original sin
to be morbid and humane for you are not my dog
but i am yours as you are my god
if i pick up your wrong end and think your bum is your snout
forgive me as a stupid human who is but a clout
but you are a cuddly god for a savaged soul
and i will be dead but were it not for your heart.
My toe fat grows, I feed it not but it be's. I scrub and I dubb as all the demons instruct a pretty girl to do to keep thereselves pure.
I wash carefully between my toes as my mother instructed me to keep clean but it does not alleviate the need for me for me to be mean.
She was so nice to me my mother who gave birth but my father was so mean, he failed to appreciate the power of his cock between his knees.
It is of little substance a thousand seeds in a flower who blessed as she is, has the power to send to send those seeds to the dead.
For she chooses in her nurturing soul to distribute all the writhing semen to abide by her choice.
And where am I but a withering cock in a cunt who in its name is but a prominent gash on a mountain side cleared with much aplomb to reveal its innards.
Do you wish to peel open the outer womb ansd peer inwards to whence you came.
And your joy shows with an erection primed to insert a whole lot of love into a cavity devoid of emotion.
Yes, you have feeling but no soul, you are the parasite thinking you are are whole.
Cuccold you dick, you are but a member of nature's mechanism, you have neglected your soul.
Wandering through documented history, I'm beginning to understand why ancient civilizations abandoned civilization. It no longer served it's purpose as a centre of knowledge and power.
All those marvellous architecturally superb monuments supposedly erected in worship of the Sun God, all those impressively wide long causeways directed towards the cities of monoliths and megaliths, all those hidden tombs and impossibly precise structures attributed to worship and ceremony.
And the hundreds of explorers, archaeologists, star gazers, prophets (but very few engineers), who relished the opportunity to promote their explanations are only babes in the woods suckled on the branches of educated ignorance and philosophy and claiming to be of reason.
Come and take a walk with me, and wander through some of the architectual monsters that haunt our history.
Do not be deceived by the incessant ramblings of ignorant illiterate soothsayers, they are instuments of the meglomaniac minority and partake the rewards of inconsequenial ghosts of media.
Beware of your masks, they are are symbol of your submission and the lust you yearn to exert and thrust on the other sex. This realm seeks to become more real than your morality and your fame will never eclipse the obnoxious reality of your being here.
There is little you have to contribute to the wealth of mankind, it was well said and done with reason and aplomb many hundreds of years prior to your meaningfull waste of oxygen so wished better spent by a world so deplete of meaning.
Your devil is in the detail that you forgot to mention in your resume', the truth you forgot to note of yourself, the inner demon you would wish the world to ignore, and as you so wish it would.
But your ill-deserved fifteen minutes of fame is wasted with nill content and nill soul, you are all skin exposing your netherlands to scrutiny of all, and the all you have to offer is as meaningfull as semen spread on a blanket - it sticks but it can't come clean.
Expose yourself in the belief of recognition, a false demon as your disguise. You are not a god, your are not a demon, you lack the essential spirit of your soul, you have been deceived and tortured, tainted and sold, played and become a mould.
Oh, but what am I, a simple complainant against the ceaseless machinations of this earthly realm, and I pass into the past with barely a contemplated whimper in your significanct contemplation of all this worth, and I am barely a whisper in your realm, only a sweat in the moment you awake with a memory of a nightmare you wonder how it pointed to all your your failings as a human being.
But you are, and you live, with all the demons coursing within your original sin.