June 20th, 2004

cigarette burns

(no subject)

i kept those hollow seraphim at bay for a couple of hours, but you know me. i can't help but stick myself in the fire. i'm ebendigo, practically. but even swarming, i kept my cool, more or less. i mean, i havn't broken into outright hallucination since this morning; my grades read "showing much improvement" but my stomach is filled with that old acid, hungry for my flesh. leads to me squatting over porcelin ready to pull a christopher. i.e. vomit everywhere, dogs licking it up, mouth smeared with sick. olivia talked earlier about the stain; its so lady macbeth. i could say i'm keeping it real, true to my roots. but why do my roots have to reach so deep, beyond the hollow earth & into sheol?

i wish they hadn't only stitched shut the front of my skull; the top of it is where all the stuff pours out of. i'm like a kappa, bowl empty of water, dying. i'm the sidhe with the cold iron bullet lodged in his brain pan, the geased killer eating dog meat. i get solace out of thoughts of knives & swords, mostly; clockwork guns who's smoke smells of brimstone. earlier manhattan was exploding fireworks & i kept pausing the dvd & checking the news just to make sure i wasn't missing the end of the world.
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goblin sneak

from the doctrines of dachauskrim eyekiller.

page 13.
"...the dynamics of deity-mortal interaction have largely been occluded by those who benefit most from the system: the gods. unable to exsist without coerced adulation, the divine powers of the outer planes have subjugated the various prime material planes, from butt-fuck krynn to the tortured plane of oisos.. quite simply, the currency of any pantheon is worship. the gods, whether they sit atop mount celestia or at the bottom of the abyss, need it. they need mortals. fuck, without the primes, the astral & outer planes would fall to pieces. so much for that shit-wheel of a cosmos. somehow, through buggery & trickery, the deities have convinced mortals that it is the gods who are indespensible. take it from a guy on the inside: gods are plenty fucking dispensable. its all the people who make the world go round & fucking round."
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    crown me king- mazed by the lady of pain
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