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Moan monah moan god I'm screwed in an undramtic way, tied and seduced by the world I have to leave to save myself, stuck here forever in fear of what I don't know. My liquid skin moves over me, reflecting the colours of whatever I read today.
Everything in the anticipation, like an orgasm, all our pleasure lasts for mere moments, fractions in time, then it fades and we're left to distractin and pursuit. Extreme happiness follows extreme sadness. Vice versa. Vice versa.
Trapped in words. Our 6th sense, 6th input. Pretty blonde champagne girls, holidays on sunny balconies, paranoid until you talk about it, these people intrigue and then disappoint me. Always disappointed, nothing is ever like the TV that fed me for so long.
And nothing is like the Grix and Goatboy that fed me after that. Nothing is as you all said. Everything is dirty and broken, like words. Everything in me is fake, a show, my pretty little disguise that I use so well. I am the disguise, reality is dead. Nothing exists except food, water, air, sex, and boredom.
The trees could generate electricity. Water may be used for mind control. The stars might be cameras looking down on me. I might be programmed, in an experiment. Everything I know is learnt. Nothing is real. Heroin might be the only escape, that's why they market it as the one evil drug. Alternative culture is still part of the prison, just a seperate net to catch the rebels in things that don't matter. Everything I know is learnt. Love, Freedom, all these are broken dirty words for concepts that don't exist.
Sleep may be ecstacy, or it may be someone pressing the off switch. We, all of us on this planet might be just part of a single dot on the most beautiful picture in the world. We are all a pattern.
Everything in the anticipation, like an orgasm, all our pleasure lasts for mere moments, fractions in time, then it fades and we're left to distractin and pursuit. Extreme happiness follows extreme sadness. Vice versa. Vice versa.
Trapped in words. Our 6th sense, 6th input. Pretty blonde champagne girls, holidays on sunny balconies, paranoid until you talk about it, these people intrigue and then disappoint me. Always disappointed, nothing is ever like the TV that fed me for so long.
And nothing is like the Grix and Goatboy that fed me after that. Nothing is as you all said. Everything is dirty and broken, like words. Everything in me is fake, a show, my pretty little disguise that I use so well. I am the disguise, reality is dead. Nothing exists except food, water, air, sex, and boredom.
The trees could generate electricity. Water may be used for mind control. The stars might be cameras looking down on me. I might be programmed, in an experiment. Everything I know is learnt. Nothing is real. Heroin might be the only escape, that's why they market it as the one evil drug. Alternative culture is still part of the prison, just a seperate net to catch the rebels in things that don't matter. Everything I know is learnt. Love, Freedom, all these are broken dirty words for concepts that don't exist.
Sleep may be ecstacy, or it may be someone pressing the off switch. We, all of us on this planet might be just part of a single dot on the most beautiful picture in the world. We are all a pattern.
I read that in the voice of a old Chinese sage and was almost convinced ;)
Life is like sitting under an apple tree.
You see the apple, shining and bright. If you wait for it to come to you by dropping in to your lap then it may be mouldy or the birds may have eaten it first.
If you get up and pick up the apple, there's a small chance it might contain a nasty bug, but the next one may not. Most of the time you will bite in to it and find it delicious, but only if you decided to get up and pick it off the tree yourself.
You see the apple, shining and bright. If you wait for it to come to you by dropping in to your lap then it may be mouldy or the birds may have eaten it first.
If you get up and pick up the apple, there's a small chance it might contain a nasty bug, but the next one may not. Most of the time you will bite in to it and find it delicious, but only if you decided to get up and pick it off the tree yourself.
Oooooooooooo
As a piece of writing - I like
As a caption of cheese's mental health - grim
As a piece of writing - I like
As a caption of cheese's mental health - grim
In other news, I talk bollards.
Gravy.
Yes I agree 'Cheese, sleep is an ecstasy.
Interesting ruminations, but the simple truth is this: human life is a wonder-curse - hovering twixt the angel & the beast, twixt heaven & hell, and when we die we go to neither. Our purpose is to fend off insignificance for long enough to not feel insignificant...
Well that's what Parsalane the Prententious Scolar told me. He's usually right in these matters.
Well that's what Parsalane the Prententious Scolar told me. He's usually right in these matters.
Mouldy Cheese wrote:
> Everything in the anticipation, like an orgasm, all our pleasure
> lasts for mere moments, fractions in time, then it fades and we're
> left to distractin and pursuit.
But they're kick ass moments. And pursuit is just about the most fun thing ever. This is what I've realised the past couple of weeks: going for it and feeling like a knob is much better than going 'I felt like her forever and nothing happened'. In fact, I knew that before but for some reason I started crapping myself.
> Everything in the anticipation, like an orgasm, all our pleasure
> lasts for mere moments, fractions in time, then it fades and we're
> left to distractin and pursuit.
But they're kick ass moments. And pursuit is just about the most fun thing ever. This is what I've realised the past couple of weeks: going for it and feeling like a knob is much better than going 'I felt like her forever and nothing happened'. In fact, I knew that before but for some reason I started crapping myself.
I ain't no pattern, I'm a free man ....
Moan monah moan god I'm screwed in an undramtic way, tied and seduced by the world I have to leave to save myself, stuck here forever in fear of what I don't know. My liquid skin moves over me, reflecting the colours of whatever I read today.
Everything in the anticipation, like an orgasm, all our pleasure lasts for mere moments, fractions in time, then it fades and we're left to distractin and pursuit. Extreme happiness follows extreme sadness. Vice versa. Vice versa.
Trapped in words. Our 6th sense, 6th input. Pretty blonde champagne girls, holidays on sunny balconies, paranoid until you talk about it, these people intrigue and then disappoint me. Always disappointed, nothing is ever like the TV that fed me for so long.
And nothing is like the Grix and Goatboy that fed me after that. Nothing is as you all said. Everything is dirty and broken, like words. Everything in me is fake, a show, my pretty little disguise that I use so well. I am the disguise, reality is dead. Nothing exists except food, water, air, sex, and boredom.
The trees could generate electricity. Water may be used for mind control. The stars might be cameras looking down on me. I might be programmed, in an experiment. Everything I know is learnt. Nothing is real. Heroin might be the only escape, that's why they market it as the one evil drug. Alternative culture is still part of the prison, just a seperate net to catch the rebels in things that don't matter. Everything I know is learnt. Love, Freedom, all these are broken dirty words for concepts that don't exist.
Sleep may be ecstacy, or it may be someone pressing the off switch. We, all of us on this planet might be just part of a single dot on the most beautiful picture in the world. We are all a pattern.
Everything in the anticipation, like an orgasm, all our pleasure lasts for mere moments, fractions in time, then it fades and we're left to distractin and pursuit. Extreme happiness follows extreme sadness. Vice versa. Vice versa.
Trapped in words. Our 6th sense, 6th input. Pretty blonde champagne girls, holidays on sunny balconies, paranoid until you talk about it, these people intrigue and then disappoint me. Always disappointed, nothing is ever like the TV that fed me for so long.
And nothing is like the Grix and Goatboy that fed me after that. Nothing is as you all said. Everything is dirty and broken, like words. Everything in me is fake, a show, my pretty little disguise that I use so well. I am the disguise, reality is dead. Nothing exists except food, water, air, sex, and boredom.
The trees could generate electricity. Water may be used for mind control. The stars might be cameras looking down on me. I might be programmed, in an experiment. Everything I know is learnt. Nothing is real. Heroin might be the only escape, that's why they market it as the one evil drug. Alternative culture is still part of the prison, just a seperate net to catch the rebels in things that don't matter. Everything I know is learnt. Love, Freedom, all these are broken dirty words for concepts that don't exist.
Sleep may be ecstacy, or it may be someone pressing the off switch. We, all of us on this planet might be just part of a single dot on the most beautiful picture in the world. We are all a pattern.