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How do you define nothingness?
The absence of substance.
That makes me substance, right?
Just bits of carbon held together by gravity.
My haphazard reasoning leads me to the resounding conclusion we’re all biodegradable. Wormfood. Rotting organic matter.
What significance do we really have?
My desperate jottings reveal absinthe-stained revelations, on a partially burnt papyrus, etched in ink and blood. Intoxicated philosophy spilled arrogantly onto a page. Fanciful characters and settings only fit to arouse the interests of a madman.
A philosophy of fantasy to feed the mindless millions.
Inside I laugh.
My words make sense not, but minds million understand it shall.
Interpretations are ones own device.
See what you want to see.
Ingest. Digest. Regurgitate.
Belief is blind and trust is disconcerting
A man in a book can walk on water, so drowning makes you a martyr.
Never mind.
My jotting scathed with alcohol and lies now leather-bound and sold.
The top 100 best-selling books of all time are fiction.
Fabrication triggers the deepest, most imaginative convulsions of retort.
Stacked on shelves now, people follow as if it were religion.
Nay. ‘tis but a hoax.
The bible, I call it.
What am I now?
I’m a liar.
The absence of substance.
That makes me substance, right?
Just bits of carbon held together by gravity.
My haphazard reasoning leads me to the resounding conclusion we’re all biodegradable. Wormfood. Rotting organic matter.
What significance do we really have?
My desperate jottings reveal absinthe-stained revelations, on a partially burnt papyrus, etched in ink and blood. Intoxicated philosophy spilled arrogantly onto a page. Fanciful characters and settings only fit to arouse the interests of a madman.
A philosophy of fantasy to feed the mindless millions.
Inside I laugh.
My words make sense not, but minds million understand it shall.
Interpretations are ones own device.
See what you want to see.
Ingest. Digest. Regurgitate.
Belief is blind and trust is disconcerting
A man in a book can walk on water, so drowning makes you a martyr.
Never mind.
My jotting scathed with alcohol and lies now leather-bound and sold.
The top 100 best-selling books of all time are fiction.
Fabrication triggers the deepest, most imaginative convulsions of retort.
Stacked on shelves now, people follow as if it were religion.
Nay. ‘tis but a hoax.
The bible, I call it.
What am I now?
I’m a liar.
I did wonder where that was heading. Lovely ending. I like the bit of Yorkshire that crept into it as well :)
Heh. I'll get my jockstrap back on then Rickoss.
Thanks for the heads-up :-)
Thanks for the heads-up :-)
Damn nice, Paradox.
Watch out though, Forest Fan might have your balls in a vice by end of the day.
Watch out though, Forest Fan might have your balls in a vice by end of the day.
I have a sudden urge to concoct a mixture of some of this, some of the stuff from "Clarity" and some other crap along the way.
Therefore yum and suchlike.
Therefore yum and suchlike.
You're tag says it all for that statement
I speak truth and not much less.
Sounds about right.
How do you define nothingness?
The absence of substance.
That makes me substance, right?
Just bits of carbon held together by gravity.
My haphazard reasoning leads me to the resounding conclusion we’re all biodegradable. Wormfood. Rotting organic matter.
What significance do we really have?
My desperate jottings reveal absinthe-stained revelations, on a partially burnt papyrus, etched in ink and blood. Intoxicated philosophy spilled arrogantly onto a page. Fanciful characters and settings only fit to arouse the interests of a madman.
A philosophy of fantasy to feed the mindless millions.
Inside I laugh.
My words make sense not, but minds million understand it shall.
Interpretations are ones own device.
See what you want to see.
Ingest. Digest. Regurgitate.
Belief is blind and trust is disconcerting
A man in a book can walk on water, so drowning makes you a martyr.
Never mind.
My jotting scathed with alcohol and lies now leather-bound and sold.
The top 100 best-selling books of all time are fiction.
Fabrication triggers the deepest, most imaginative convulsions of retort.
Stacked on shelves now, people follow as if it were religion.
Nay. ‘tis but a hoax.
The bible, I call it.
What am I now?
I’m a liar.
The absence of substance.
That makes me substance, right?
Just bits of carbon held together by gravity.
My haphazard reasoning leads me to the resounding conclusion we’re all biodegradable. Wormfood. Rotting organic matter.
What significance do we really have?
My desperate jottings reveal absinthe-stained revelations, on a partially burnt papyrus, etched in ink and blood. Intoxicated philosophy spilled arrogantly onto a page. Fanciful characters and settings only fit to arouse the interests of a madman.
A philosophy of fantasy to feed the mindless millions.
Inside I laugh.
My words make sense not, but minds million understand it shall.
Interpretations are ones own device.
See what you want to see.
Ingest. Digest. Regurgitate.
Belief is blind and trust is disconcerting
A man in a book can walk on water, so drowning makes you a martyr.
Never mind.
My jotting scathed with alcohol and lies now leather-bound and sold.
The top 100 best-selling books of all time are fiction.
Fabrication triggers the deepest, most imaginative convulsions of retort.
Stacked on shelves now, people follow as if it were religion.
Nay. ‘tis but a hoax.
The bible, I call it.
What am I now?
I’m a liar.