Up and running... into walls
What must be it like to be a bullet. The soul purpose of your existence, to kill a human being, and to consume yourself in that orgasmic blaze of glory. The same can be said of bombs, missiles and such. But no, a bullet is pure... pure rage. A bullet is the physical manifestation of revenge, vindication. And, like most everything else pure, through the ages corruption has seeped into its core, and now a bullet is nothing more... than the pull of a trigger.
Life is the price for knowledge. If you're living your life for any other reason, you're just another gear in this gargantuan machine that is existence. And yet, there seems to be little point to exploring a world that is lost too soon and with extreme ease.
Hm... trying to get into new music can't always be a fairy tale. I tried Coheed, MCR and the like. Emo just isn't my chalice of crimson. But on the flipside, I'm loving 100 Bullets and Imogen Heap. There are just so many comics I want to read... next up, Sin City.
Life is the price for knowledge. If you're living your life for any other reason, you're just another gear in this gargantuan machine that is existence. And yet, there seems to be little point to exploring a world that is lost too soon and with extreme ease.
Hm... trying to get into new music can't always be a fairy tale. I tried Coheed, MCR and the like. Emo just isn't my chalice of crimson. But on the flipside, I'm loving 100 Bullets and Imogen Heap. There are just so many comics I want to read... next up, Sin City.