An artistic invalid leading an ascetic legion of anti-theists into the apocalypse!
Shuffling through these insulting myths… stubbing our toes on effortless, broken lives.
That familiar poverty of the heart and the mind.
Troche humaine?
Troche humaine!
I’m so tired of the endless charade. Sick and fucking tired of the curse that is memory. These goddamned nails rattling around in my head, skewering grey matter and rusting while resting on my moist lobes, remind me how inefficacious insults have been. Every drink I take tastes like everything I’ve ever thought of, or wanted to think about. I will wrap myself in semantic drivel to keep myself warm. I will begrudgingly trudge onward… but end up going nowhere. How difficult must it be to LIVE by the philosophies which you invent, subscribe to like magazines you’ll only ever leaf through while defecating. A sad circle of compromise and banality. But what of it? What of it all?
Point, counter-point.
We must cut all unnecessary activities from our daily lives like the sour tumors they are.
How difficult must it be to LIVE by the philosophies which you invent, subscribe to like magazines you’ll only ever leaf through while defecating. A sad circle of compromise and banality. But what of it? What of it all?
All preocupations between born and dead, nothing of significance to Realize that the counter-point is the point of Realization of NOW and Why…we can not figure it out…….or can you?
Comment by susanawdee — December 19, 2007 @ 3:39 pm