streamy 005
preamble - this is a fledgling project of mine, started on myspace, letting flow the series' of random thoughts flooding my mind onto a public format. I try my best not to edit these at all, though I still occasionally do so. In any case, read these only if you really want to get a peek into some chaotic thoughts... there are some gems in there, if you can find them, but it's an effort I suspect, to dig through the maelstrom of randomity. Anything labeled "Streamy xxx" will be thus. Happy reading!
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Wonderous appleseeds spat to the corners of your face, imbedded beneath the skin, underyourskin, like caleb, wriggling deeper and darker until the flesh all peels away, leaving an emblem of fire and rancor bared to all like a salty slug in the sun, dried up and terrible, desperate for a drop of rain to wash its woes away.
Dribbling worlds like a basketball down the court of life, suns and holes in space and time, swirling masses, throwing spazzes, lights dancing in all directions, radiating cones of life from nothing and death. Smells like victory, so I hear. Victory in the minutia, that's the ticket... victory and destruction walk hand in hand, domination, overpowering, outthinking, outdoing, overcoming, underhanding, overhanding, intimidating, subjugating... cooperating...
shoes dancing up in acute angle, each tapping to its own drummer, flying irrevocably apart through the hurdles of space, seperate but together, for no matter how far apart, they're still a pair... ideas transcend space-time... I wonder if you can measure that somehow... produce a space-time manifestation of it... lovely thought, but how to experiment?
Devon's hood and gout of flame benign to the world of men, darkness lit, light subverted, where is the day gone, pookie? I can see only as is seen, freckles and dandilions floating on the sea breeze where surfers and jellyfish roam the beaches in search of a proper lollypop to suckle and digest, food, sleep, reproduction, reciprocation, where do all the re's come from!? I renounce their recalcitrance! I will have peace, damn you. Peace!
And in the end there were stories told of places far gone, in times far past and of people far ting. The end times are nigh, ours is deserved damnation! they say. But they are wrong. They are wrong, for clowns and sock puppets are to blame, we shall shift the weight of oblivion onto their shoulders, and let fly the winged hounds of war, hunting their cowardly heads and freeing us all from the noose!
Whithertoforuntoforshizzle I want to go, I shall.
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Wonderous appleseeds spat to the corners of your face, imbedded beneath the skin, underyourskin, like caleb, wriggling deeper and darker until the flesh all peels away, leaving an emblem of fire and rancor bared to all like a salty slug in the sun, dried up and terrible, desperate for a drop of rain to wash its woes away.
Dribbling worlds like a basketball down the court of life, suns and holes in space and time, swirling masses, throwing spazzes, lights dancing in all directions, radiating cones of life from nothing and death. Smells like victory, so I hear. Victory in the minutia, that's the ticket... victory and destruction walk hand in hand, domination, overpowering, outthinking, outdoing, overcoming, underhanding, overhanding, intimidating, subjugating... cooperating...
shoes dancing up in acute angle, each tapping to its own drummer, flying irrevocably apart through the hurdles of space, seperate but together, for no matter how far apart, they're still a pair... ideas transcend space-time... I wonder if you can measure that somehow... produce a space-time manifestation of it... lovely thought, but how to experiment?
Devon's hood and gout of flame benign to the world of men, darkness lit, light subverted, where is the day gone, pookie? I can see only as is seen, freckles and dandilions floating on the sea breeze where surfers and jellyfish roam the beaches in search of a proper lollypop to suckle and digest, food, sleep, reproduction, reciprocation, where do all the re's come from!? I renounce their recalcitrance! I will have peace, damn you. Peace!
And in the end there were stories told of places far gone, in times far past and of people far ting. The end times are nigh, ours is deserved damnation! they say. But they are wrong. They are wrong, for clowns and sock puppets are to blame, we shall shift the weight of oblivion onto their shoulders, and let fly the winged hounds of war, hunting their cowardly heads and freeing us all from the noose!
Whithertoforuntoforshizzle I want to go, I shall.