Currently Playing Getting Away With Murder By Papa Roach see related

-

the sunlight burns. half a bee for a year, then the other half appears painful and sudden like realizing you've been somebody else's dream your whole life. luckily things are just the same around here! ryu's the same, shooting the bee-ball around every chance, which come often since he got fired at target for "fucking" off. managers can be so thoughtless!

the grimoire was just sitting there dusty when i came up. half open, a shaft of light cut through the broken windows in my kitchen, illuminating solomon's tome like st. paul on the road to damascus. his sigil. fingers in my mind. asmodeus. long vowels. oceans. moons. slow moans. the taste of flesh. wet and open. writhing. coming.

balrog and baraka came over later and it was sooooo boorring. they just sat there and ate pizza. half my channels were missing! the cable company's so stupid, i tell you. it's like they think they control your life, like television's some important thing like water you can't live without. power over the supposed powerless, addicted and begging. stupid, stupid. i learned that nothing's really necessary, especially tv. you know? baraka didn't agree. he wanted to watch sex in the city. sex. in cities. mountains of penetration. skyscrapers giant lit cocks fucking the ground, basement levels becoming aboveground sinking back to underground for all time, her mouth open and begging. long.

his sigil glowed in the mirror as he came. massive and vital. long rooms. her ass is my table. dip his body in and baptize in urine.

sometimes i talk and someone else talks now and i wake up in piles sticky.

asmodeus. king of them all.

anyway, i shot some hoops with ryu. that sun was so hard to get used to. he asked me why i had all those scars, but i didn't think i had any. overall, it was a really boring day and i didn't do anything. i look foward to the night. it's waiting for me in the mirror in the cities in the long rooms at midnight filled with the drunken bodies singing songs of moans for all eternal spinning winds stuck inside wet and moving with each.

Currently Reading Something Wicked This Way Comes By Ray Bradbury see related

today, i woke up on a porch with this pleasent young lady screaming out from a window that they killed the master. oh well, at least i woke in november, which is such a pretty month. thanksgiving dinner is delicious! i can't wait to call up mario. he makes such juicy turkey! yum, yum. ™

oh well. after i pulled the spinters from underneath my fingernails (i must've drank a lot to miss a month!!1 oh well!!1 lol!1!), i found my way home from the farm.

luigi didn't call me, or princess toadstool, grrr!, so i just hung around, and oh god the floor is shifting again. the voices in the walls. played some basketball outside.

i think it's so funny when people finally decide that they're ADULTS now. adults with capital letters.  why do they think that they can't go out and play anymore? that's what i thought about all day long. the floor in my basement isn't solid because i can hear them in the tunnels under there, scurrying like rats. it's like people think once they surpase the age of thirty you can't play some skeetball. they want me to come down there with them.

jesus, the light is the only thing that stops them.

i think i'm just gonna hang out at home tonight, myself and my can of when did i last change the lightbulb it's going out now they're getting closer whipped cream. i get to wear my sweats at least.

Currently Reading Summer Sisters By Judy Blume see related

Another day, another xanga entry.  I think bad brains just follows me around.  Luckily I have all of you wonderful people on Xanga to vent my brains to. 

Anyway, I just got over the illness of the last few brains.  Seems like that garlic pizza my buddy Solid Snake made for me to clear up my sinuses really brained (Thanx Solid!  Snaaaakee!  Snnaaaaakkkkeee!), and the prayers and cross garden Big Boss made for me really lifted my spirits (Thanx BB!).  But even with all that brain, I feel bad again.  It started this morning when a guy walking around in the graveyard next to my house bit my brain.  Ouch!  I don't know what his fucking problem was.  That and he wore this suit with the back part cut open so his ass was all hanging out and brain.  Gross!

Since then I haven't really brain out today.  Too weird.  I can't stop eating for some reason either and my stomach is all brains. I can feel the blood of all the living and the dead coursing through my brains, the universe one thing with all present, past, and brain entities meshed together into one voice that whispers and yells.  Oh well, maybe a brain day tomorrow!

Currently Reading Of Grammatology By Jacques Derrida, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Derrida Jacques see related

I don't know what's wrong with me, I've been feeling so tired lately, anemic almost.  It's been relatively cool out here (after a grueling summer), so I'd been sleeping with the window open the past few nights.  I enjoy the breeze seeping in through the night, the sound of it lulling me to sleep.  The first night was nice; the breeze and crickets brought me good dreams, and I felt great the next day.  The second morning, however, I didn't even want to get out of bed, and the sun was practically burning my face.  I could barely move. 

My friend Liu Kang called me up in the afternoon to play some basketball, he had just broken up with his girlfriend Sonia Blade and wanted to do something to get his mind off it.  He and Kano came over, and I lost five games of twenty-one.  I could barely see the ball in the sun, all that light hurting my eyes. 

I tried to sleep with the window shut last night, but it was open when I woke up.  I guess I must've opened it half asleep when I peed or something. Christ, but I've been feeling sick.  And even looking out my window during the day, I get a little nervous, some weird feeling or memory.  Yesterday, Liu kept telling me how pale I looked. I don't know. Anyway, sorry I didn't call anyone today.  Maybe tomorrow or something.

Currently Reading Necroscope (Necroscope Trilogy, Volume 1) By Brian Lumley see related

fuck; fuck; fuck a duck

screw a kangaroo.

gangbang an orangutan --

-- orgy at the zoo

i thought about (pondered -- you know -- the deep thinking) these lines today while driving on the highway. some construction was going on, and i had time to think about something, and immediately, images wrought (ooh -- biblical) by this poem came into my mind while some song blared on my radio. dark, stormy nights in an enclosure, muddy naked bodies writhing in mud and foliage flown in from other continets (sic), zoo security condoning or even taking part in the orgy, flinging khaki shirts and pants to wet cement paths, whistles gleaming silver in bright lightning flashes, walkie talkies hissing static and grunts and "hell yeah, i'm fucking a penguin." does the exotic fetish extend to bestiality as well? why fuck a cow or a dog when you can fuck a gnu or a kangaroo, as the rhyme suggests? the rhyme invites these kind of thoughts, as all poetry does, but it does nothing to solve them; there is no completion, no closure. the orgy must always continue, always frozen to that moment, in our minds, never ending and never beginning. or beginning at the duck. whatever.