June 19th, 2004

goblin sneak

(no subject)

oh, we all remember when the sky was lit up groin to grin & all the admirals of the stars were filled with avarice for the worlds owned by the mohommideans. with the Great Upswell, in which the peoples of the Book reconcilled their diffrence, the various Citizens of Space (who were by & large an athiestic bunch, having seen suns & knowing that they were collossal accidents, having seen black holes & knowing no devil lurked beyond oblivion), we set to clash. into this cauldron, this brink-of-war, came the Last Monarch, & the madhi of the mohommideans. shucking off his skin, he brought armageddon & apocalypse & was much beloved for it.
  • Current Music
    crown me king- felled by a sprig of holly

(no subject)

i'm still at home. i should be at work, but um. i've been having a rough morning. a lie-down-on-the-bed-&-stay-perfectly-still sort of morning, filled to the brim with all the usual haunts. fuck fuck fuck i feel like someone pulled the winning lottery number out of my head & left me penniless. everyone is an enemy- if i think about any single individual i focus in on how they hate me, or why. i take solace in the fact that some among my internal cast of characters love me; fruitlessly of course, with no hope for salvation, but still. it is nice to know...fuck. fuck i don't care. i've got angels & androids ghosting through me, bezoars & quicksilver. i lied down in the shower for a few hundred hours waiting for the artificial rain to beat them out but here i am torn piece from piece by the apparitions of my life.

i'm not alone, but i'm not plural. its rough for me.

the spectacle of torture

the cornor of the mountain top is the home of the swami. but what that holy man doesn't know could just about fill the atlantic ocean. so cue dracula, who knows at least a little bit about sleep, caring all that dirt around with him. dirt, wriggling with grubs & leeches. dracula knows about folk music, & johnny cash. but lets neglect that vampire motherfucker & talk about frankenstein. made by a loving creator & then exiled, reviled. sounds like a god & mordicai metaphor if i've ever heard one. i'll chase you to the ice-caps, i'll put an end to you even if it means an end for me. i'll give up immortality to see you throttled, baby jesus. oh you'll be ripe with rot when they find you.
  • Current Mood

if you won't let psycho girls go down on you, then the terrorists have already won.

so last night was a little bit of shaken & stirred sans martini, plus whiskey & brandy. its safe to say that whiskey & brandy are the names of two strippers that we had come over & fuck us up. thanks whiskey & brandy, you are a pair of special girls. you gave everyone in the room a hard-on at the same time but we didn't mind until christopher barfed all over the dog. it happened like this: click, bang. sound of a new round being chambered. i like to thing of bullets being chambered, dancing waltzes & carrying on stately conversations. truth to be told (let me be honest with you) there is a whole lot more jedi knight & mortal kombat ninja action being left unsaid.
  • Current Music
    crown me king- flawless victory; fatality.