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mordicai: crown me king! [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
mordicai caeli

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February 3rd, 2004

hey, the shape of the skull (this one is for you gipper) [Feb. 3rd, 2004|03:24 pm]
mordicai caeli
[Current Mood |maybe a little.]

i work thirty (30) hours a week at shakespear & co. selling books. i have an oseology class, a prehistoric ecology class, a japanese class, & an english class. on tuesdays i spend about four (4) hours on a fucking train traveling back & forth between brooklyn college & hunter college. hunger college & breaking college. i think alot about violence on the train. i run these spectral hands of ectoplasm over the shape of the thought. inbetween work & school, during cavernous days, in the hollowed out rib cage of the carcass of schools i still run in mazes of paperwork. don't you have fucking computers? can't you look it fucking up? oh fine fuck i'll bring you triplicate paperwork or whatever it is you want. but before i leave, this place is going to go day of the fucking dead.

i figured out what the crystal skull does.

so i'm busy all the time. there is this hive of spiders in my chest & when my arms & legs arn't moving, they motivate my soul. they wriggle & then they weave. i'm a stitched together shadow but i can see the shape. its all plato's cavern but i can see the shape. nights when i go out there seems to be a hollowness to silhouttes. sometimes i handle it okay. sometimes maybe i drink too much but not enough to find my own patch of abyss.
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citizens of earth, are you reconciled that tonight is the last night of the world? [Feb. 3rd, 2004|03:46 pm]
mordicai caeli
[Current Mood |i am a spy. among you now.]
[Current Music |crown me king feat. blind guardian- "stillettosword"]

GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE. thats a kind of noise you could hear. a king of noise you could here. look i moved my hand & what looked like a playing card turned out to be a scythe, my isn't my sleight of hand cunning. it turned out to be a dew claw jutting right out from my hand. my arn't i just the prettiest phenotype you ever did see?

did you see me devour the sun? you've got eight minutes of light left as the final, flickering rays travel through empty, etherless space to reach your world. what are you going to do with your eight minutes? because i can't imagine it. are you going into crevices, into the dark places of the world, to find your slimy kin? why is the closest thing to a human that i can really get my head around a glimpse of burrowing, underdark innsmouth folk? oh those briny sunless seas.

i support the death of earnestness, i guess.

secret life
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