Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Sunday, January 27, 2013
I just want to catch you whispering
it's not even like an intention, or a want, any more than intention wants to be intentionality and the crawlspace wants to be crowded.
it's only that i'm quietly moving from a dangle-string high on some sort of leaf, it's not really even a dreamcatcher so much as it is any sort of crevasse and notch capable of reacting.
this is a hello, this is a post-apocryphal lick of static that sticks to daythoughts magnetically and so much like a wondrous object, wheeled in ambiguity. can you just put-unravel thought materials into this lovely coalpile, crushed and ready for the train? only prodding, i'd rather the fuel raw.
it's not when you put the words at the end of the brush and let anything, any old thing, cling,, like a discarded remnant or necessary facilitation to juxtaposition; this is that and only the need to row out and touch the pond to the maelstrom with a finger.
can we remember the bath? it's only that there was once a time when i was at most at one with anxiety, and could precisely feel the spread of insect wings under a thick shell. no, start over.
this is a subtle scratch where none could catch, a weathered and feathered beast warbling sweetly and oh-so quietly smelling the feast where one would watch and sow vegetables for green, green rains of fluttering flashing, splashing and ever-so-slightly malformed touches on ruffled heads. forming a circle, a still, it's, i, i gather the dew, the rain.
precipitating, participating, participle, part of this sickle is worn and tarnished from careful misuse.
perhaps even oxidized.
oh, to bring me the curtain, you have to tell me where it lies and reflect entirely off of it, diffusing and endlessly reusing the past. oh, to outlast.
it's only that i'm quietly moving from a dangle-string high on some sort of leaf, it's not really even a dreamcatcher so much as it is any sort of crevasse and notch capable of reacting.
this is a hello, this is a post-apocryphal lick of static that sticks to daythoughts magnetically and so much like a wondrous object, wheeled in ambiguity. can you just put-unravel thought materials into this lovely coalpile, crushed and ready for the train? only prodding, i'd rather the fuel raw.
it's not when you put the words at the end of the brush and let anything, any old thing, cling,, like a discarded remnant or necessary facilitation to juxtaposition; this is that and only the need to row out and touch the pond to the maelstrom with a finger.
can we remember the bath? it's only that there was once a time when i was at most at one with anxiety, and could precisely feel the spread of insect wings under a thick shell. no, start over.
this is a subtle scratch where none could catch, a weathered and feathered beast warbling sweetly and oh-so quietly smelling the feast where one would watch and sow vegetables for green, green rains of fluttering flashing, splashing and ever-so-slightly malformed touches on ruffled heads. forming a circle, a still, it's, i, i gather the dew, the rain.
precipitating, participating, participle, part of this sickle is worn and tarnished from careful misuse.
perhaps even oxidized.
oh, to bring me the curtain, you have to tell me where it lies and reflect entirely off of it, diffusing and endlessly reusing the past. oh, to outlast.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
sometimes
hand literally covered in glowbugs reaches out to touch you/shake your hand/caress you/give you item/fix your glasses/help you read
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Saturday, January 19, 2013
prettʯ̚er when flowinɠ, but only ʃwise
Slide closer
Still-winded as ever, setting down the marker for later reading. slight metal scrape carries arcing static and familiar vibrat~echo on a plane where one could tip-toe; it is a flat field of flthin floss that carries a weight when needed and touches when necessary. Pragmatically we draw an area and blanket.
Offering this sweat-tinged crease on brutalist paper, perpendicular bend in proportion to conversation. Lean in with a sigh, each tone harshly intermingles with that of the motion before it, like popping static from an unfamiliar peripheral corner in a known room. Slightest amount or non-amount of metallic tinge on quelled surfaces, which had become numbed from misuse or familiarity.
Wish to garment or degarment the abstract, garnering no strand of absolute distraction from disarming gallantry or transaction to aggrandize a tract; when to one the dip is to shorten the pool or let tides intermingle or tell apart the structure;; still then the other may say that is the other and tell un-apart the structure and length/cross/twicewidth-wise define it;;; these are the same process, and wonderful whether wearing or bleating and baying like doubled over moon-wrought animales in half-junes.
Still-winded as ever, setting down the marker for later reading. slight metal scrape carries arcing static and familiar vibrat~echo on a plane where one could tip-toe; it is a flat field of flthin floss that carries a weight when needed and touches when necessary. Pragmatically we draw an area and blanket.
Offering this sweat-tinged crease on brutalist paper, perpendicular bend in proportion to conversation. Lean in with a sigh, each tone harshly intermingles with that of the motion before it, like popping static from an unfamiliar peripheral corner in a known room. Slightest amount or non-amount of metallic tinge on quelled surfaces, which had become numbed from misuse or familiarity.
Wish to garment or degarment the abstract, garnering no strand of absolute distraction from disarming gallantry or transaction to aggrandize a tract; when to one the dip is to shorten the pool or let tides intermingle or tell apart the structure;; still then the other may say that is the other and tell un-apart the structure and length/cross/twicewidth-wise define it;;; these are the same process, and wonderful whether wearing or bleating and baying like doubled over moon-wrought animales in half-junes.
˫
Ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｔｏ ｓｑｕｉｒｍ ｉｎ ｙｏｕｒ ｍｏｕｔｈ ｌｉｋｅ ａ ｄｙｉｎｇ ａｎｉｍａｌ
”the ｍａｃｈｉｎｅ ｉｎｓｅｒｔｅｄ ｔｈｅ ＣＯＷ ＭＥＡＴ ＤＩＳＣ． Ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ ｐｒｉｓｏｎ ｆａｃａｄｅ， ｂｌｕｅｓ ｍｕｓｉｃ ｂｅｇａｎ ｔｏ ｐｌａｙ ｏｎ ａｎ ｅｌｅｃｔｒｏｎｉｃ ｈａｒｍｏｎｉｃａ ｏｆ ｓỜ█ｅ ｓｏｒｔ． Ｔｈｅ ｔｒｉａThe machine inserted the COW MEAT DISC. From the prison facade, blues music began to play on an electronic harmonica of some sort. The trial began, and the creature was dragged into the machine-works ceremoniously, shouting grievances. From a particular portal this could be accessed in the bottom of a toilet paper tube, filled with water, so said shamans of BROTHERSISTERHAUS. From the roofhills I spotted the abode and set out to land. I drifted lazily into the den and BROTHER I greeted me as I drolled flirtatiously; assuming I had broken in like some manner of petty thief or rogue. I posed on the BED with a black wife-beater and a plastic pirate sword. SISTER IV entered shortly after and discussed the DARK PLANS. It was clearly MAGIC. You prayed to the SHADOWS, and now the SHADOWS have answered. I rewatched the reverie from across the street, revealing the cardboard prisoner's facade. Metal men escorted the unending death to its visual chamber. They looked like COWBOYS.”
Ｖｉｓｃｅｒａｌ ｗｈｉｒｌｗｉｎｄｓ ｏｆ ｍｅａｔ ａｒｅ ｙｏｕ ａｎｄ ｙｏｕｒ ｋｉｎ， ｆｉｎｄ ｍｅ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｄｅａｔｈｓ ｏｆ ｙｏｕｒ ｂｒｉｇａｎｄ； ｓｔｏｎｅｓ ｂｌｅｅｄｉｎｇ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｓｉｄｅ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｃａｎａｌ ａｓ ｉｆ ｙｏｕｒ ｃａｒｅｌｅｓｓ ｌａｃｋ ｏｆ ｇｒａｃｅ ｗｅｒｅ ａ ｒｕｓｔｅｄ ｓｈｉｐ－ｈｕｌｌ ｗｈａｔ ｓｈｒｅｄｓ ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｂａｎｋｓ． Ｃａｎ’ｔ ｙｏｕ ｓｈｕｔ ｕｐ． Ｉ ａｍ ａ ｈａｕｎｔｅｄ ｙａｋ－ｂａｋ ｍａｃｈｉ－ｎｅ． Ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｔｈｏｓｅ ｓｔｏｎｅｓ． Ｋｅｅｐ ｔｈｅｍ ｉｎ ｆｉｎｅ ｗｅａｔｈｅｒｅｄ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｅｒｏｓｉｏｎ， ｔｅｌｌ ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ ｈｏｗ ｗｅ ｓｗａｍ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｅｘｃｒｅｍｅｎｔ ｏｆ ａｎｃｅｓｔｏｒｓ ａｎｄ ｐｕｔ ｔｈｅ ｂｌａｄｅｓ ａｓ ｓｔｉｌｔｓ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｔａｌｌ ｇｒａｓｓ， ｓｗｅｅｐｉｎｇ ｎｏｉｓｉｌｙ ｉｎ ａｔ◙ｅｍｐｔ ｔｏ ｂｅ ａｂｏｖｅ ａｎ ａｒｅａ ｂｙ ｄｅｌｉｍｉｔｉｎｇ ｏｒ ｅｘｔｅｎｓｉｏｎ． Ｂｒｅａｋ ｙｏｕ ｄｏｗｎ．
project: limiting:
small amounts of resources to strip. data cutting,
how quickly we attempt to change our visceral appearance.
the deliberation behind the action,; a subtle nuance of emotion is not proportional to the calculation of the stroke
means keystroke
”the ｍａｃｈｉｎｅ ｉｎｓｅｒｔｅｄ ｔｈｅ ＣＯＷ ＭＥＡＴ ＤＩＳＣ． Ｆｒｏｍ ｔｈｅ ｐｒｉｓｏｎ ｆａｃａｄｅ， ｂｌｕｅｓ ｍｕｓｉｃ ｂｅｇａｎ ｔｏ ｐｌａｙ ｏｎ ａｎ ｅｌｅｃｔｒｏｎｉｃ ｈａｒｍｏｎｉｃａ ｏｆ ｓỜ█ｅ ｓｏｒｔ． Ｔｈｅ ｔｒｉａThe machine inserted the COW MEAT DISC. From the prison facade, blues music began to play on an electronic harmonica of some sort. The trial began, and the creature was dragged into the machine-works ceremoniously, shouting grievances. From a particular portal this could be accessed in the bottom of a toilet paper tube, filled with water, so said shamans of BROTHERSISTERHAUS. From the roofhills I spotted the abode and set out to land. I drifted lazily into the den and BROTHER I greeted me as I drolled flirtatiously; assuming I had broken in like some manner of petty thief or rogue. I posed on the BED with a black wife-beater and a plastic pirate sword. SISTER IV entered shortly after and discussed the DARK PLANS. It was clearly MAGIC. You prayed to the SHADOWS, and now the SHADOWS have answered. I rewatched the reverie from across the street, revealing the cardboard prisoner's facade. Metal men escorted the unending death to its visual chamber. They looked like COWBOYS.”
Ｖｉｓｃｅｒａｌ ｗｈｉｒｌｗｉｎｄｓ ｏｆ ｍｅａｔ ａｒｅ ｙｏｕ ａｎｄ ｙｏｕｒ ｋｉｎ， ｆｉｎｄ ｍｅ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｄｅａｔｈｓ ｏｆ ｙｏｕｒ ｂｒｉｇａｎｄ； ｓｔｏｎｅｓ ｂｌｅｅｄｉｎｇ ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｓｉｄｅ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｃａｎａｌ ａｓ ｉｆ ｙｏｕｒ ｃａｒｅｌｅｓｓ ｌａｃｋ ｏｆ ｇｒａｃｅ ｗｅｒｅ ａ ｒｕｓｔｅｄ ｓｈｉｐ－ｈｕｌｌ ｗｈａｔ ｓｈｒｅｄｓ ｔｈｅ ｆｌｅｓｈ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｂａｎｋｓ． Ｃａｎ’ｔ ｙｏｕ ｓｈｕｔ ｕｐ． Ｉ ａｍ ａ ｈａｕｎｔｅｄ ｙａｋ－ｂａｋ ｍａｃｈｉ－ｎｅ． Ｉ ｗａｎｔ ｔｈｏｓｅ ｓｔｏｎｅｓ． Ｋｅｅｐ ｔｈｅｍ ｉｎ ｆｉｎｅ ｗｅａｔｈｅｒｅｄ ｃｌｏｔｈｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｅｒｏｓｉｏｎ， ｔｅｌｌ ｅｖｅｒｙｏｎｅ ｈｏｗ ｗｅ ｓｗａｍ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ ｅｘｃｒｅｍｅｎｔ ｏｆ ａｎｃｅｓｔｏｒｓ ａｎｄ ｐｕｔ ｔｈｅ ｂｌａｄｅｓ ａｓ ｓｔｉｌｔｓ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｔａｌｌ ｇｒａｓｓ， ｓｗｅｅｐｉｎｇ ｎｏｉｓｉｌｙ ｉｎ ａｔ◙ｅｍｐｔ ｔｏ ｂｅ ａｂｏｖｅ ａｎ ａｒｅａ ｂｙ ｄｅｌｉｍｉｔｉｎｇ ｏｒ ｅｘｔｅｎｓｉｏｎ． Ｂｒｅａｋ ｙｏｕ ｄｏｗｎ．
project: limiting:
small amounts of resources to strip. data cutting,
how quickly we attempt to change our visceral appearance.
the deliberation behind the action,; a subtle nuance of emotion is not proportional to the calculation of the stroke
means keystroke
armored wayfarer
have you ever touched a pillbug
i mean like really touched one, when your scoutmaster was trying to tell you something important but there was a pillbug that required attention and algorithmically torn leaves for garnish
i mean like really touched one, when your scoutmaster was trying to tell you something important but there was a pillbug that required attention and algorithmically torn leaves for garnish
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
soup, bowl of nice things
is it cool with you that i see horrors out of my periphery sometimes and crackle with static is what i want to say to you in only a split second and there are outlines of shadow people that i can acknowledge but choose not to, is it cool with you because it's happening right now
i mean i'm happy about it so
i mean i'm happy about it so
touch, you, smoke and mirrors
press me like a bug
window pane covered with corpses
you drive slowly and aimlessly
you can't wake me up
the bug threw up hardcore
it was all over newsweek
i whispered for your approval
i think i wrote this
there was a paper here
this area is moldy now
retrocausality is this tiny fluttering
do you like wingbeats today
window pane covered with corpses
you drive slowly and aimlessly
you can't wake me up
the bug threw up hardcore
it was all over newsweek
i whispered for your approval
i think i wrote this
there was a paper here
this area is moldy now
retrocausality is this tiny fluttering
do you like wingbeats today
Monday, January 14, 2013
☎soiree☏
From many years of practice, he knew what to do when the time came, moving with swift, premeditated strokes. The man collapsed at his feet. The message had been sent.
file titled "i lyrics.rtf"
dont know when i even made this thanks
storm cloud my children suncome round the burning
no this is wishmasnter
hold on let me start over
fufk
let me get the shit together
ｉｔ’ｓ ｌｉｋｅ
Bring me your children
Bring them to me, do it
I'm going to be the president
--intro
i come from a land where patience is a tree
and a large brown bush sat naked over me
i drink from the fountain of perilous disease
i want you to fuck me
i cant stop driving this goddamn boat off a fucking cliff into a sea of ashes and braindead people who listen when i speak and i want to erupt into locusts into their throats
*chrosu
put your hands inside me
writhe my fucking guts
i'm bringing home the
absolute of slime
slime of my guts
put your alien phallus inside of my head and feed me sweet death , callous my metaphysical soul in every sense of the word, convince me i am dead
i'm on the side of the road and i'm dead
but i need it in writing
**
bring me your childrens children
bring me your milton's milton
i'm breaking all of your bones and the bones of your clones and the jerks on the phone who call me at two in the fuck and i want to tell them no, i am not home i am in space with the astral dragons and if i had your location i would merge with a gps satellite and crash myself into you, bringing sweet merciful death upon the land
no
no i am not home
i am not home i have no phone i am a dragon dont fuck with me
i am a drtagon
bring to me your face
bring me your goddamn face i want to eat it
bring me to your place
bring your face from your place to my space / i am chilling in the ceiling with the dragons and the wizards and conflagrating lizards all up in the cold fucking blizzard of space space space / bring your fucking face / i'm going to fucking eat it / eat it / beef whizzard
i'm coming like a hurricane in the dead of night/ and i want you to tell me when i'm going to die
because i'm not
i exist on like twenty different planes of reality and all of them are going to eat your face
i am in motherfucking space
i breathe hate / and i care about you / it's not alraight / i want everything to be truly fucking erased and never seen ever again by any of my many omniscient forms that look down upon you fucking ants with your bullshit masteries of the elements and tall tales about the time you found an entire tribe of villagers who had no written language and worshipped a statuette of a shit receptacle and you torched them alive, tell me how you did it because i keep seeing it every night when i go to sleep i think i was one of them. what did i write. i will never know because of you. you fuck
*chorus or something just freestlye*
clap my hands
clap, clap my hands
clap my hands in every dimension
i'm going to eat your face
if i find you i'm going to passive agressively turn you into my astral slave
peace
Sunday, January 13, 2013
hello bloggle
i like lots of different kinds of music. i think i'm going to make the blog look cool. i like doing that, i've planned out some things to type here but some will probably not be planned (?) (codependence)
please stop making up new terrible things i've done so i can tell people later awkwardly, said the lich made out of bugs
someone showed me some music today that made me remember/smell this animal encyclopedia that i used to read when iw as young, it was cool
i've done some terrible things
i remember i used to swim for someone that i knew only pragmatically cared if i was swimming properly, who knows if i had drowned, maybe
i like to find places to make a lot of neat things for and then abandon them, like a terrible parent
i have lots of places where i submit content and interesting thoughts and i ama piece of shit tht doesn't understand art. but i don't know how to share with my real friends so this is a cool blogge.
i call lots of animals cat
or doggle
i want to whisper so hard it breaks your skin
are you okay with that?
i used to have these dreams where i would have this tiny feeling between my index and thumb and i cant tell if i was squeeing it or if it was some sort of black hole but it felt like metal
it was scary and i wish i could have those dreams again
it has been many years
i think everything shrank somehow
i am a ghost
please, i'm like a theoretical repository. a haunted yakback. speak into me and something cool will come back.
i feel bad about taking compliments but i secretly like things that i do, probably more than i should
gonna just write more later
i like lots of different kinds of music. i think i'm going to make the blog look cool. i like doing that, i've planned out some things to type here but some will probably not be planned (?) (codependence)
please stop making up new terrible things i've done so i can tell people later awkwardly, said the lich made out of bugs
someone showed me some music today that made me remember/smell this animal encyclopedia that i used to read when iw as young, it was cool
i've done some terrible things
i remember i used to swim for someone that i knew only pragmatically cared if i was swimming properly, who knows if i had drowned, maybe
i like to find places to make a lot of neat things for and then abandon them, like a terrible parent
i have lots of places where i submit content and interesting thoughts and i ama piece of shit tht doesn't understand art. but i don't know how to share with my real friends so this is a cool blogge.
i call lots of animals cat
or doggle
i want to whisper so hard it breaks your skin
are you okay with that?
i used to have these dreams where i would have this tiny feeling between my index and thumb and i cant tell if i was squeeing it or if it was some sort of black hole but it felt like metal
it was scary and i wish i could have those dreams again
it has been many years
i think everything shrank somehow
i am a ghost
please, i'm like a theoretical repository. a haunted yakback. speak into me and something cool will come back.
i feel bad about taking compliments but i secretly like things that i do, probably more than i should
gonna just write more later
Friday, January 4, 2013
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