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Wouldn't put it past some sicko organisation organising huge fires, what do you think?
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I like the idea of the world as we know it being consumed by flames. In the same way that I love the smoky redolence of bonfires. They burn stuff. Old stuff. And once the embers die out, it's over. Something has been removed from the face of the planet forever.
I like the idea of the world as we know it coming to an end in general. In the same way that I prefer buildings when they are empty and in ruins. Occupied spaces fluster me. Give me the purity of a no-man's-land any day.
And this is how I mostly view the world: all I see a cluttered carousel going round and round with the same music playing over and over. Its colours are blurry because it's moving fast, but it's not going anywhere. Just round and round.
I like the idea of the world as we know it being smithereened. In the same way as smashing a glaring window is satisfying to the ear. The crunchiness of its shattering symbolizes momentary disaster. Its shards can never be put back together. What was once useful is rendered useless. I like that feeling. When the gripping hand finally lets go. When meaning is suddenly meaningless. When "g" attaches itself to "one" and something becomes a never-returning no-thing.
To leap off the carousel into somewhere different - this is my seredipitous wish. To flick my wrist and lay waste to everything.
I like the idea of the world as we know it coming to an end in general. In the same way that I prefer buildings when they are empty and in ruins. Occupied spaces fluster me. Give me the purity of a no-man's-land any day.
And this is how I mostly view the world: all I see a cluttered carousel going round and round with the same music playing over and over. Its colours are blurry because it's moving fast, but it's not going anywhere. Just round and round.
I like the idea of the world as we know it being smithereened. In the same way as smashing a glaring window is satisfying to the ear. The crunchiness of its shattering symbolizes momentary disaster. Its shards can never be put back together. What was once useful is rendered useless. I like that feeling. When the gripping hand finally lets go. When meaning is suddenly meaningless. When "g" attaches itself to "one" and something becomes a never-returning no-thing.
To leap off the carousel into somewhere different - this is my seredipitous wish. To flick my wrist and lay waste to everything.
i don't care, the place seems to be full of bitchy comments tonight.
whitestripes spat his dummy out earlier, now it seems the goats red lettering has gone straight to his head
whitestripes spat his dummy out earlier, now it seems the goats red lettering has gone straight to his head
not for me
*ba dum....*
*ba dum....*
a penish?
he called you a tool of the womb
Goatboy wrote:
> Wombtool.
What?
> Wombtool.
What?
It's obviously the work of Swan Vesta - the Sulphuric Fundamentalists, trying to strike at British Colombia for The Red Hang Gang and Gentle Ben.
Wombtool.
Wombtool.
I think its a combination of hot weather, little rain, and human stupidity.
Wouldn't put it past some sicko organisation organising huge fires, what do you think?
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