converting your gasoline conbustable engine to virgins blood

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converting your gasoline conbustable engine to virgins blood

Postby december 23rd » Wed May 31, 2006 10:08 pm

In vain I searched for my old lost suitcase. "Damn thieving fake hippies!" I muttered to the old man sat playing draughts and drinking some white spirit. Nevermind, it was heavy and there was no chance of a shower. The Compact Deangulator Unit was still in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out, paused a moment examining it's elegant design, then set the controls to take me on to Andromeda Perching Station.
DispadreDisp: she is my ultimate traumatic point. And I am solider of 3rd Reich Of Our Love. Wild bunch of my dream like wolves castrated of all tolerance.
I continued with steps one after another, a steady binary process. As the night grew larger I saw myself, a spectre, out of the corner of my eye clutching a tangerine as if to eat it. It said nothing. I broke my nose against the wall in fright and fought to regain my balance. After the distraction and confusion I regained a semblance of sanity and inspected the bathroom for signs of foul play. It was empty, but there was an unfamiliar hum. It could have been the wind or the radiator, but more likely it was ghosts and wolves. I excused myself from their presence as politely as posible, not wanting to cause a scene, and lead myself to the door beside the church. I waited in the doorway for a moment, unsure of how to procede (to turn the knob? to push the plank?), until I heard a long roll of blue laughter bleed through the moist air. I hurried through and away in distress and terror.
My ponytail is short, thin and blonde, jutting from the back of my head like the shreared assfeathers of an albino pigeon.
A recurring nightmare: i am on a little raft in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. In fact i am in the middle of the atlantic ocean. As far as i can see i am completely alone, no other boats or rafts or vessels of any kind in view. I am seized with terror and wake up. Ng.
You spelled "contribution" wrong. I have waited months to say this. Sorry. i will never find another man like steven wilson ever again in my life. This is the sad truth. Why do i ache so? Why am i surrounded by terrible menacing waters? What is the purpose of being alone? All i hear is music and everything else i fail at. Why did i for so long perceive hidden messages to me in lyrics from sw's playlist (years)? Am i really delusional or is someone tricking me? Or were those truly what i thought: messages from sw to me? Ng.
She stopped crying when the programme on the queen's golden jubilee ended. All those union jacks and she without one, somehow disconnected from england now that she had lived so long as a yank. She longed to belong again but instead she felt very far away, which she was. The music was what had drawn the tears foremost though. Her life was gone. Only music remained. Music would have to keep her alive just as it had always done, because there were those snakes crawling around her again nullifying her very existence. Of course she couldn't end her life miserable as it was. She had a son who needed love. She had a brother who swore at her for her attempt at nullification. She had a mother who now seemed to understand at least somewhat what she felt. And she even now had a stepfather who told her to drink more water, quit smoking and open the shades. These people also kept her bound to earth, though she still longed for something to catapult her into the far reaches of the cosmos to be with just the illusion
Even the illusion of her father. Time was still keeping her prisoner. And her life was gone. Ng.
and that was that.
I will got to my girlfriend's place in 10 minutes. We are working on a Trademark. Ironically, then we will watch a documentary about the pitfalls of corporations.
Endless waiting...soon she would go to sleep. Then the pain would be gone, even if just for a day. There werent enough to sleep forever so she just took 9 pills to give herself a break. Maybe when she woke up the pain would not be there. Ng.
Watchingandwaiting for someone to understand me i hope it wont be very long... But it will. I cant wait anymore. He was my last chance. Oh fuck it all just do it and get it overwith. So these people dont have to hear your dribble anymore. Fine. You worthless piece of shit. Youre nothing. I know im nothing. Why do i still exist then? Beats the hell out of me. Ng.
¿Porqué la estulticia equivale al triunfo en esta vida? , entre más estupidez humana sea la tuya, más a salvo estarás.
Steven wilson, well apart from the last verse, he's "the guitar man" as sung by bread. So beautiful a person that song still doesn't do him justice. I wrote an instrumental dedicated to him as well. I wish sw could hear it. Talked about loss today in therapy. Cried a lot. Played "it don't matter to me" and thought of will and cried. Played "everything i own" also by bread and thought of my dad and cried harder. Cried to both songs. Applying to work at the soup kitchen tomorrow. Must stop overdosing for some reason. Took 60 pills monday night. Wanted to go to sleep for a long time or cross over. Didn't work. Russian roulette. Must find light. Ng.
Steven wilson, well apart from the last verse, he's "the guitar man" as sung by bread. So beautiful a person that song still doesn't do him justice. I wrote an instrumental dedicated to him as well. I wish sw could hear it. Talked about loss today in therapy. Cried a lot. Played "it don't matter to me" and thought of will and cried. Played "everything i own" also by bread and thought of my dad and cried harder. Cried to both songs. Applying to work at the soup kitchen tomorrow. Must stop overdosing for some reason. Took 60 pills monday night. Wanted to go to sleep for a long time or cross over. Didn't work. Russian roulette. Must find light. Ng.
Steven wilson, well apart from the last verse, he's "the guitar man" as sung by bread. So beautiful a person that song still doesn't do him justice. I wrote an instrumental dedicated to him as well. I wish sw could hear it. Talked about loss today in therapy. Cried a lot. Played "it don't matter to me" and thought of will and cried. Played "everything i own" also by bread and thought of my dad and cried harder. Cried to both songs. Applying to work at the soup kitchen tomorrow. Must stop overdosing for some reason. Took 60 pills monday night. Wanted to go to sleep for a long time or cross over. Didn't work. Russian roulette. Must find light. Ng.
sun shining through leaves in the courtyard reminds me of what the universe created and it won't come to an end for a long time, unless we fuck it all up.
december 23rd
 
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Postby footprintzinthesand » Wed May 31, 2006 10:22 pm

It's interesting...... but you totally lost me, lol....
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Postby footprintzinthesand » Wed May 31, 2006 10:26 pm

The Russian roulette paragraph is on there 3 times, not sure if that's what you were aiming for... :-)
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Postby rec|use » Wed May 31, 2006 10:42 pm

it's a three step process for that portion of the converstion

it's not a simple task by any means
i'd rather be your enemy than hear you call me friend
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Postby footprintzinthesand » Wed May 31, 2006 11:24 pm

Haha.... LSD-use just emanates from this "story".....
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Postby iblis » Sun Sep 10, 2006 5:13 pm

this should be on the front page of cnn.

no, seriously.
If carpenters made buildings the way programmers make programs, the first woodpecker to come along would destroy all of civilization. — Anonymous
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