Original post: DropAndRiver
I would tell you, but no one would believe me. I feel like.... I don't know what, but that's exactly how I feel, you know; just blah and ughh, and before I know it I'm something else. It's all swirling and swimming so fast, you know? Tides are changing like one big back track and I'm hanging over a ledge with the blood pulsing in my head.
Nothing really exists like we think. We can read and study, theorize and explain (unfortunately profess, even), yet in the end we don't know jack. Compassion, prudence, reality, mystery.... what does it add up to? What does the divine add up to? If I merge with the divine, how is that profitable or even pleasant? Being omnipotent is like having the codes to a video game... it really sucks the fun out of it all. Isn't that what we want, to have fun...to be happy? Most holy men and women become holy by walking away from the controller... but they are still part of the game... just particularly inactive parts of it.
Always alphabetize your soup. There is a land between Oz and my mailbox where nothing
goes wrong, well, except a few stubbed toes and cracked crystal stairs. And you know what, I'm completely fine with that.
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Original post: Qryztufre
[/font]
To my lover...
Here I stand exposing my all
My all ignored
Here I pose to grab attention
Attention flawed
Can you not see me?
Who do I have to be?
What will make you see?
Like a statue ignored
A knick-knack upon a shelf
A trinket drawered
Honey I love you so much
But you do not see me as such
Can you not feel my touch?
I remember my mother...
There you are
Friends not far
Always busy
Me alone
I remember when
We were one
Now I know
My mother's woe
How I long
To here her song
Again
She must have been a statue like me
...for I too am alone
[/font]
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Original post: BloodStar Nebula
Smokestack, fatback, many miles of railroad track
All night roll soul
All night diners keep you awake, hey, saw a great white throne, and him That and the heaven fled away; and there was bunches
I've got my hunches
Its the best
beats the rest
cellular beauteous one: Who am I, and what shall a lambent flame of blue, all-touching, all penetrant lithe body arched for love? And the sign shall be my ecstasy, omnipresence of my body.
Its no baloney
It aint a palace; the floor of that palace is of there; and all rare scents; jasmine & rose, in turn or at once the four gates; palace. Will he not sink? Amn. Ho! warrior, and means. Be goodly therefore: dress ye all sweet wines and wines that foam! Also, take will, when, where and with whom ye will! liveth for ever and ever, who created heaven, earth, and the things that therein are, and that there should be time no longer:
Kookaburra sits the bush is he
Laugh kookaburra, laugh
Kookaburra, gay your new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation
Shake your radio, like a sex machine
You got to have it on, right on
keep on runnin' through your rock 'n' on black coffee and a hard roll
And I sat on it, from whose face the earth found no place for them.
It grows in modular
interactivodular
Then saith the prophet and slave be the sign? So she answered him, bendingdown, her lovely hands upon the black earth, & soft feet not hurting the little flowers: Thou the consciousness of the continuity of existence, the phony cellular Bananular phone
There are four gates one silver and gold; lapis lazuli & jasper are the emblems of death. Let him enter let him stand on the floor of the if thy servant sink they are in fine apparel Eat rich foods and drink your fill and will of love as ye must But always unto me.
And sware by him that and the things that therein are, and the sea, and the things which are therein, in the old gum tree
Merry, merry king of life must be
And they sung the book, and to open the seals thereof: to God by thy blood out of every arm, then use your form
Stay on the scene feeling sure as you're born
Get it together right
All night roll soul
All night diners keep you awake, hey, saw a great white throne, and him That and the heaven fled away; and there was bunches
I've got my hunches
Its the best
beats the rest
cellular beauteous one: Who am I, and what shall a lambent flame of blue, all-touching, all penetrant lithe body arched for love? And the sign shall be my ecstasy, omnipresence of my body.
Its no baloney
It aint a palace; the floor of that palace is of there; and all rare scents; jasmine & rose, in turn or at once the four gates; palace. Will he not sink? Amn. Ho! warrior, and means. Be goodly therefore: dress ye all sweet wines and wines that foam! Also, take will, when, where and with whom ye will! liveth for ever and ever, who created heaven, earth, and the things that therein are, and that there should be time no longer:
Kookaburra sits the bush is he
Laugh kookaburra, laugh
Kookaburra, gay your new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation
Shake your radio, like a sex machine
You got to have it on, right on
keep on runnin' through your rock 'n' on black coffee and a hard roll
And I sat on it, from whose face the earth found no place for them.
It grows in modular
interactivodular
Then saith the prophet and slave be the sign? So she answered him, bendingdown, her lovely hands upon the black earth, & soft feet not hurting the little flowers: Thou the consciousness of the continuity of existence, the phony cellular Bananular phone
There are four gates one silver and gold; lapis lazuli & jasper are the emblems of death. Let him enter let him stand on the floor of the if thy servant sink they are in fine apparel Eat rich foods and drink your fill and will of love as ye must But always unto me.
And sware by him that and the things that therein are, and the sea, and the things which are therein, in the old gum tree
Merry, merry king of life must be
And they sung the book, and to open the seals thereof: to God by thy blood out of every arm, then use your form
Stay on the scene feeling sure as you're born
Get it together right
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Original post: Nalyd23
Q: But how does this decision make you feel?
A: Not much different than how most other decisions I make every moment make me feel.
Q: What does this mean in the big picture?
A: The "big picture" isn't big enough to frame this meaning.
Q: Where to from here?
A: I am already there and have been all along.
Q: Do you mind these questions?
A: No, do you have more?
Q: Is raindeer urine really psychedelic?
A: Only if psychedelic really is raindeer urine. "Really" may be the worst question to ever ask about anything.
Netaungrat asked the following questions and I have taken the time to answer them.
Q: But how does this decision make you feel?
A: Not much different than how most other decisions I make every moment make me feel.
Q: What does this mean in the big picture?
A: The "big picture" isn't big enough to frame this meaning.
Q: Where to from here?
A: I am already there and have been all along.
Q: Do you mind these questions?
A: No, do you have more?
Q: Is raindeer urine really psychedelic?
A: Only if psychedelic really is raindeer urine. "Really" may be the worst question to ever ask about anything.
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Original post: Netaungrot
Iâ??m part of a powerful underground family and meeting some people suspected to be FBI agents behind an industrial area building. A chain link fence next to a building encloses an area littered with long pieces of metal where one can only be seen from a single direction. And that direction is a small house-like office with a brick foundation near the entrance. I have some kind of hard drive and something didnâ??t go right. The house is definitely part of a government operation.
Someone lets me in through the window into the basement, and immediately I see some metal trays in the shape of a shoe sole screwed to the wall with very fancy leather shoes of the corresponding size placed in them. Yellow incandescent light bathes the room. Dirty pieces of lint are gathered around the edge of the walls. Two sinks could be connected with a line from the right to the left and the line would intersect a grimy window to the outside.
A naked, tan woman is down there with me. I ask her to sit in one of the sinks and she does, oozing sultry looks at me the entire time. Her pussy is dark pink with a brazilian wax job, and from the looks of it, slightly wet. I feel myself infuse with endorphins and desire, but walk through the house-office in the other direction. I arrive quickly in a room where a woman with medium brown skin and dark hair and dark eyes is resting but awake on a low bed, cradling a baby with the same beautiful set of features. She looks up and seems to recognize me as benevolent, then continues to lay in the dark with her babe, eyes open, expecting someone, something.
Iâ??m part of a powerful underground family and meeting some people suspected to be FBI agents behind an industrial area building. A chain link fence next to a building encloses an area littered with long pieces of metal where one can only be seen from a single direction. And that direction is a small house-like office with a brick foundation near the entrance. I have some kind of hard drive and something didnâ??t go right. The house is definitely part of a government operation.
Someone lets me in through the window into the basement, and immediately I see some metal trays in the shape of a shoe sole screwed to the wall with very fancy leather shoes of the corresponding size placed in them. Yellow incandescent light bathes the room. Dirty pieces of lint are gathered around the edge of the walls. Two sinks could be connected with a line from the right to the left and the line would intersect a grimy window to the outside.
A naked, tan woman is down there with me. I ask her to sit in one of the sinks and she does, oozing sultry looks at me the entire time. Her pussy is dark pink with a brazilian wax job, and from the looks of it, slightly wet. I feel myself infuse with endorphins and desire, but walk through the house-office in the other direction. I arrive quickly in a room where a woman with medium brown skin and dark hair and dark eyes is resting but awake on a low bed, cradling a baby with the same beautiful set of features. She looks up and seems to recognize me as benevolent, then continues to lay in the dark with her babe, eyes open, expecting someone, something.
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Original post: Buchu
See that? Falling up into here, seeking the sucking Blue Jam outta the ether, and BEEP! So who then (and light bulbs,) my bulbous countermanded right of way Goa hang-out. Sizzle.
So hot now, like she was on the sweaty groin grinding mince meat snicker. Didnâ??t you see? Why has this been so gosh wibble, I keep sludging my own special brand of crotchless intellectualism out for free. See the piss soaked astronaut at the old manâ??s house. Shiny!
Maybe I wouldnâ??t confuse as much as Constable McGernacutty, all rammed to the nose hair with lingustic self-sodomy, if only tampons were free.
Dinnerâ??s ready!!!
See me flying back from Deutschland, ass in my bag, liver semi-concretized.
Ahhhhâ?¦
To be beloned and befevered and covered in jet-lagged, (gag) sunshineâ?¦
â?¦scrotum.
See that? Falling up into here, seeking the sucking Blue Jam outta the ether, and BEEP! So who then (and light bulbs,) my bulbous countermanded right of way Goa hang-out. Sizzle.
So hot now, like she was on the sweaty groin grinding mince meat snicker. Didnâ??t you see? Why has this been so gosh wibble, I keep sludging my own special brand of crotchless intellectualism out for free. See the piss soaked astronaut at the old manâ??s house. Shiny!
Maybe I wouldnâ??t confuse as much as Constable McGernacutty, all rammed to the nose hair with lingustic self-sodomy, if only tampons were free.
Dinnerâ??s ready!!!
See me flying back from Deutschland, ass in my bag, liver semi-concretized.
Ahhhhâ?¦
To be beloned and befevered and covered in jet-lagged, (gag) sunshineâ?¦
â?¦scrotum.
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Original post: BloodStar Nebula
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Original post: Netaungrot
For Per and Li'l Smokey
Playing cards in the bunk beds
our night staff passed out
after talking on the phone all night.
Her legs hangin' out the door,
the window open to the roof,
to the fence to the ground.
Laughing at nothings to a building
a half block away we wrote in wax
until an adult yelled, "HEY!"
Something about makin' money
and bad vibes and he left us to finish
vandalizing a part of the building
you can't see unless you search.
Wriggling grass shook cold dew
at my own personal Hunter S
in little shards, twinkling in my ear
and sneaking through the yard
to the fence to the roof to the legs
still stickin out the door.
Playing cards in the bunk beds
our night staff passed out
after talking on the phone all night.
Her legs hangin' out the door,
the window open to the roof,
to the fence to the ground.
Laughing at nothings to a building
a half block away we wrote in wax
until an adult yelled, "HEY!"
Something about makin' money
and bad vibes and he left us to finish
vandalizing a part of the building
you can't see unless you search.
Wriggling grass shook cold dew
at my own personal Hunter S
in little shards, twinkling in my ear
and sneaking through the yard
to the fence to the roof to the legs
still stickin out the door.
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Original post: Buchu
I sat down to dinner. A chip suddenly leapt off my plate screaming, â??fucking fascist!!â?Â
I sat down to dinner. A chip suddenly leapt off my plate screaming, â??fucking fascist!!â?Â
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Original post: Netaungrot
Genes Determine Woman's Ability To Have An Orgasm
Genes Determine Woman's Ability To Have An Orgasm
By Steve Connor, Science Editor
08 June 2005
The ability of a woman to enjoy sex to the full has more to do with her genes than her partner, according to a study indicating that the female orgasm has a strong genetic basis.
For the first time scientists have been able to tease out the role that genes may play in determining how easy it is for a woman to reach a climax during sex.
Researchers found that the ability to achieve orgasm varies widely between women and that between 34 and 45 per cent of this variation is due to genetics rather than other factors such as culture, upbringing or religious beliefs.
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Original post: jamalgamate
slip slip slip and up from hip, no this is illium, fool. It slides on oak specked with elm and grunts when you come near.
see:
e.
e.
cumm
ings,
full of
it,
but de-
light
ful
nonetheless nor any more than you my tumbling, slurping, smacking, grinding and do not forget maddening.
.mythical creature.
(in particular, if your show is interest, the emperor of ice cream)
slip slip slip and up from hip, no this is illium, fool. It slides on oak specked with elm and grunts when you come near.
see:
e.
e.
cumm
ings,
full of
it,
but de-
light
ful
nonetheless nor any more than you my tumbling, slurping, smacking, grinding and do not forget maddening.
.mythical creature.
(in particular, if your show is interest, the emperor of ice cream)
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Original post: Netaungrot
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Original post: Netaungrot
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Original post: Radiant Star
Spotted eyelashes glint across the mixed fibre carpet where great ants embroider shark fins on thin pieces of rock coated in talcum dust as they await mortification form wielders of spiralled sugar strands due to arrive in the next past life of a mongoose whose notion of berries from the yew is narrower than a whisker of a horse trundling sideways forwardly.
Spotted eyelashes glint across the mixed fibre carpet where great ants embroider shark fins on thin pieces of rock coated in talcum dust as they await mortification form wielders of spiralled sugar strands due to arrive in the next past life of a mongoose whose notion of berries from the yew is narrower than a whisker of a horse trundling sideways forwardly.
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Original post: Parsifal
concerning the state of affairs pertaining to the bi-monthly second quarter earnings ratio observed expressly by our esteemed colleague graduate chairman elect by appointment only that we can with much reserve compare distinct patterns to offer a best approximation of the clear and straightforward facts, I will gladly field your question and ask that interpretation of said belagabeloogl collaborated effectively our best effort to give an accurate hypthosis regarding statistical varities clearly show without a doubt and nonetheless quite obvious and apparent to all parties
concerning the state of affairs pertaining to the bi-monthly second quarter earnings ratio observed expressly by our esteemed colleague graduate chairman elect by appointment only that we can with much reserve compare distinct patterns to offer a best approximation of the clear and straightforward facts, I will gladly field your question and ask that interpretation of said belagabeloogl collaborated effectively our best effort to give an accurate hypthosis regarding statistical varities clearly show without a doubt and nonetheless quite obvious and apparent to all parties
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Original post: Qryztufre
From this angle she can see the further development of incandescent star chambers. The unsealed language of engravings and faltering nightfall marks the compression of reflection and detailed phantoms. In tombs and museum halls we catch quick flashes of polyethylene feedback and road source loopholes. Landscapes of burning eyes and coin-toss abortions seem like second rate childâ??s play and grocery store snooze buttons. Halfway trajectories of multitudes of mindless forks and placated spoons nurture the abandoned atmospheres of internal rainbows and imbedded temperatures. There is an ancient infected home that penetrates the vortex and warps the decoded secrecy with violet collisions. Do not misinterpret the afterglow of experience and two-way deletions of semi-precious Tupperware as she tramples the magnificence of the great Emerald Beyond. The nature of this occasion and the cultivation of the rising of waves signals the comeback of summer resolution and the motion of misused tendencies. She has never been more loved. You will find her in the Gloaming drinking the sacred fluid of Soma through hollowed crystals while dancing her way through velvet lifetimes and cooking utensil mayhem. Who is really sleeping?
The Introspection of the Spyglass Illusion
From this angle she can see the further development of incandescent star chambers. The unsealed language of engravings and faltering nightfall marks the compression of reflection and detailed phantoms. In tombs and museum halls we catch quick flashes of polyethylene feedback and road source loopholes. Landscapes of burning eyes and coin-toss abortions seem like second rate childâ??s play and grocery store snooze buttons. Halfway trajectories of multitudes of mindless forks and placated spoons nurture the abandoned atmospheres of internal rainbows and imbedded temperatures. There is an ancient infected home that penetrates the vortex and warps the decoded secrecy with violet collisions. Do not misinterpret the afterglow of experience and two-way deletions of semi-precious Tupperware as she tramples the magnificence of the great Emerald Beyond. The nature of this occasion and the cultivation of the rising of waves signals the comeback of summer resolution and the motion of misused tendencies. She has never been more loved. You will find her in the Gloaming drinking the sacred fluid of Soma through hollowed crystals while dancing her way through velvet lifetimes and cooking utensil mayhem. Who is really sleeping?
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Original post: Qryztufre
Four leaves on a clover bring luck in life
Each leaf holds a promise against strife
If you hold it close and hold it true
It's good luck will rub off on you
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Original post: kaereste
Maybe. Maybe? Fork me! Maybe is irrelevant - I'm not coming yet.
Let me think, I'm not asking your damn permission. Yes I said it, of course I did - I can't believe you might have heard it. Liar.
I thought I loved you. I was right; what does it matter? This isn't easy, you know, telling you this, telling you things you refuse to understand.
I'm so fukcing lost. Haven't we discussed this before? I can't read a map, dipshit, you didn't bring one.
Ask for directions, sure - it's your mind. I hope you find someone who knows the way.
She has beautiful eyes, doesn't she? Shining summer-blue, then a sudden hazel-green. I want her. Wait... She's mine; how nice.
Love is amazing. It makes me trip over my own reality and lose sleep. Sometimes even all alone, I can't sleep thinking of what I'd do if I were not all alone. Sometimes I am thinking only of the empty space beside me where her sleeping skin should catch in the moonlight and make me wish to wake her, hesitate, and merely watch her.
Lucky. Manipulative? Happy. Certainly not what I'd have negotiated into place, so I think it must be real.
Lover's light,
Kristie
Maybe. Maybe? Fork me! Maybe is irrelevant - I'm not coming yet.
Let me think, I'm not asking your damn permission. Yes I said it, of course I did - I can't believe you might have heard it. Liar.
I thought I loved you. I was right; what does it matter? This isn't easy, you know, telling you this, telling you things you refuse to understand.
I'm so fukcing lost. Haven't we discussed this before? I can't read a map, dipshit, you didn't bring one.
Ask for directions, sure - it's your mind. I hope you find someone who knows the way.
She has beautiful eyes, doesn't she? Shining summer-blue, then a sudden hazel-green. I want her. Wait... She's mine; how nice.
Love is amazing. It makes me trip over my own reality and lose sleep. Sometimes even all alone, I can't sleep thinking of what I'd do if I were not all alone. Sometimes I am thinking only of the empty space beside me where her sleeping skin should catch in the moonlight and make me wish to wake her, hesitate, and merely watch her.
Lucky. Manipulative? Happy. Certainly not what I'd have negotiated into place, so I think it must be real.
Lover's light,
Kristie
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Original post: take the veil
clearish black cheese sets the sails for the rising sundown.
the warm tree elicits non-(mostly)-special responses from half-whole
undead djs live in a bratwurst wardrobe just waiting to give you hand, or to help you out, one or the other
i am the transparent chicken wing king of chicago, i live in a dorm room, AKA i live in a dorm room
my name is sweaty freddy i'm only here to sweat all over you.
i tend to eat perfect hamburgers on a bi-centennial basis.
we live amongst sad grains, always populating and unpopulating under a papyrus microscope.
clearish black cheese sets the sails for the rising sundown.
the warm tree elicits non-(mostly)-special responses from half-whole
undead djs live in a bratwurst wardrobe just waiting to give you hand, or to help you out, one or the other
i am the transparent chicken wing king of chicago, i live in a dorm room, AKA i live in a dorm room
my name is sweaty freddy i'm only here to sweat all over you.
i tend to eat perfect hamburgers on a bi-centennial basis.
we live amongst sad grains, always populating and unpopulating under a papyrus microscope.
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Original post: Netaungrot
From a wrongdoer to a calcified tomato: your slime trails were beautiful even when they made me bite you. For a time, salt shakers dispensed just the right amount of tongue-sided redemption and favorable ph levels; the reel cuts itself off from an outer tunnel, running a hellbent four-door tarantella.
Lips wrote it into the spine that enters the skull at an angle for you. Now as much as spatial awareness at the bottom of a frozen lake that's dry under the sheet. When your lungs tell you how to breath. . . the other other day, and I mind my own.
Lips wrote it into the spine that enters the skull at an angle for you. Now as much as spatial awareness at the bottom of a frozen lake that's dry under the sheet. When your lungs tell you how to breath. . . the other other day, and I mind my own.
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Original post: jamalgamate
Brocatelle (n) - Originally meant to be a imitation of Italian tooled leather, Brocatelle fabric features a satin or twill pattern on a plain or satin ground. It is recognized by a smooth raised figure of warp-effect, usually in a satin weave construction, on a filling effect background. True Brocatelle is a double weave made of silk and linen warp and a silk and linen fill. Present day materials may have changed from the XIIIth and XIVth centuries but they still have the embossed "high-relief" figure in tight, compact woven warp effect.
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Original post: Qryztufre
Dear Miss Rigby,
I saw your mother picking up the rice at the church where the wedding had been. It looked like she was waiting by the window in a daydream wearing the face reserved for someone special. Do you know whom it was for?
I'm sure that Father McKinzie was inside writing the morrow's sermon, and was oblivious to what was happening just outside. Had he not darned his socks later and ran out of thread he may have never noticed her. It's actually surprising that he cared enough to look, as he had to of assumed nobody was there.
I hear nobody went to her funeral, accept the good father. Though it was nice of you to pay for her getting her name in bold letters on her grave stone. Though I do find it disheartening that Father McKinzie had to dig the grave himself, and for what? He has to wonder where all these lonely people come from and where they should belong.
It's sad really, that so many people of like mind and loneliness simply do not care. I mean, if they all got up and went to church some random Sunday they might find themselves a friend or two and break this vicious circle of despair. But alas, the good father will likely just continue his sermons to empty pews. I wonder why he even cares sometimes...maybe he's just waiting for that random Sunday.
Yours truly
Christopher
[/size][/font]
Dear Miss Rigby,
I saw your mother picking up the rice at the church where the wedding had been. It looked like she was waiting by the window in a daydream wearing the face reserved for someone special. Do you know whom it was for?
I'm sure that Father McKinzie was inside writing the morrow's sermon, and was oblivious to what was happening just outside. Had he not darned his socks later and ran out of thread he may have never noticed her. It's actually surprising that he cared enough to look, as he had to of assumed nobody was there.
I hear nobody went to her funeral, accept the good father. Though it was nice of you to pay for her getting her name in bold letters on her grave stone. Though I do find it disheartening that Father McKinzie had to dig the grave himself, and for what? He has to wonder where all these lonely people come from and where they should belong.
It's sad really, that so many people of like mind and loneliness simply do not care. I mean, if they all got up and went to church some random Sunday they might find themselves a friend or two and break this vicious circle of despair. But alas, the good father will likely just continue his sermons to empty pews. I wonder why he even cares sometimes...maybe he's just waiting for that random Sunday.
Yours truly
Christopher
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Occult Forum Archive
- Magister
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Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Original post: DropAndRiver
I knew better than to overthink it, to dilute the solvent by ripping it open to see what was inside. All hollow, not one bit of surprise. Those late nights I sat awake, trying to find the universe and then understand it, and I should have gone out instead. One big disappointment, if you think about it. The universe was already understood, and it understands us, you understand? Stop trying so hard to keep clinging, just let go. Jump and see what happens.
"Look moma, no hands!"
No parachute
No plane
No fall
No ground
No me
No, there's no place like home.
I knew better than to overthink it, to dilute the solvent by ripping it open to see what was inside. All hollow, not one bit of surprise. Those late nights I sat awake, trying to find the universe and then understand it, and I should have gone out instead. One big disappointment, if you think about it. The universe was already understood, and it understands us, you understand? Stop trying so hard to keep clinging, just let go. Jump and see what happens.
"Look moma, no hands!"
No parachute
No plane
No fall
No ground
No me
No, there's no place like home.
-
Occult Forum Archive
- Magister
- Posts: 287885
- Joined: Tue Mar 17, 2009 1:32 am
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Original post: DropAndRiver
Leave senses behind in a game of Letâ??s Play Pretend, and Iâ??m impressed at the fashion of a story told in a sultry voice [in a moment like this]. A toxin, someone [such as me] hardly trying hard enough, and that stained polyester suit so sharpsighted [man this world ainâ??t for you]. Yeah, youâ??re taking over. Itâ??s too late, and I have no choice but to surrender to anyone willing to take the time for me [with you and your shaven face so unlike this]. Lonely but yet it feels so right and thereâ??s nothing I want better than to seduce, sequester, sample. So fucking made up [skin is my default costume].
Iâ??ve got those secrets thatâ??ll get you nothing, but happiness is less than free [didnâ??t you think it was going well?]. Together for once, but all I wanted was a more muscular me [can we, like, be best friends anyway?]. But Iâ??m so simple, complex, virgin, easy, shaken, and stirred [do we even give a fuck?]. You have it all so I canâ??t make heads or tails of it [well, letâ??s just keep that buried between you and me]. Satan said I canâ??t be genuine and Iâ??m just as hollow as the hallowed that lived in my old oak tree, so baby I canâ??t see you no more [from the needs that I heed to the pounce].
Honey, Iâ??m so out of my head [thereâ??s no way out of this]. What I need isnâ??t what I want, but I go to sleep and I see devils, like gnats, dueling in my hair [tonight my delusions are so lit up]. Trust me, Iâ??m so much bigger than this [I'm everywhere, and if you know me, I can be used and reused like any decent spirit]. All you do is hold me back [and protect me in stormy weather]. Where do you really see this going [the angel menagerie smothered to death in a paper bag tells me there is only the hope of doing the devilâ??s wishes], anyway?
When you date the devil, heâ??s always there when you turn out the light. When you talk to God, he can see through your head. Right clean through it [donâ??t doubt, just believe].
I'm waiting in my darkened room. You better promise you won't be late. This is your last chance until the final crucifixion, and I really mean it this time baby.
Leave senses behind in a game of Letâ??s Play Pretend, and Iâ??m impressed at the fashion of a story told in a sultry voice [in a moment like this]. A toxin, someone [such as me] hardly trying hard enough, and that stained polyester suit so sharpsighted [man this world ainâ??t for you]. Yeah, youâ??re taking over. Itâ??s too late, and I have no choice but to surrender to anyone willing to take the time for me [with you and your shaven face so unlike this]. Lonely but yet it feels so right and thereâ??s nothing I want better than to seduce, sequester, sample. So fucking made up [skin is my default costume].
Iâ??ve got those secrets thatâ??ll get you nothing, but happiness is less than free [didnâ??t you think it was going well?]. Together for once, but all I wanted was a more muscular me [can we, like, be best friends anyway?]. But Iâ??m so simple, complex, virgin, easy, shaken, and stirred [do we even give a fuck?]. You have it all so I canâ??t make heads or tails of it [well, letâ??s just keep that buried between you and me]. Satan said I canâ??t be genuine and Iâ??m just as hollow as the hallowed that lived in my old oak tree, so baby I canâ??t see you no more [from the needs that I heed to the pounce].
Honey, Iâ??m so out of my head [thereâ??s no way out of this]. What I need isnâ??t what I want, but I go to sleep and I see devils, like gnats, dueling in my hair [tonight my delusions are so lit up]. Trust me, Iâ??m so much bigger than this [I'm everywhere, and if you know me, I can be used and reused like any decent spirit]. All you do is hold me back [and protect me in stormy weather]. Where do you really see this going [the angel menagerie smothered to death in a paper bag tells me there is only the hope of doing the devilâ??s wishes], anyway?
When you date the devil, heâ??s always there when you turn out the light. When you talk to God, he can see through your head. Right clean through it [donâ??t doubt, just believe].
I'm waiting in my darkened room. You better promise you won't be late. This is your last chance until the final crucifixion, and I really mean it this time baby.
-
Occult Forum Archive
- Magister
- Posts: 287885
- Joined: Tue Mar 17, 2009 1:32 am
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Original post: DropAndRiver
Of a closet and softcore pornography
So, I'm on this island. Some sort of resort. And Bloody Mary, her husband beyond the grave, and something I can't believe in live next door; it's just too far of a stretch, and evidence only makes it so much worse.
The lights go on and off on the edge of blowing a fuse. I hear fear, it might just be the acoustics. The closets are opened by two knobs in the middle, with blinds immobile giving the monsters that lurk inside fresh air to breath. You won't know it until your too unpacked to leave, but they chant in times of slumber, repeating, "Blood often tastes like iron... a pool, a sensation, a miracle."
They are stirred out of inactivity by pornography. The exotic sounds excite them. Bathtubs of blood, filled to the brim. But that is in another place of time.
-----
All about the bellboy in times of solitude
Few people wash their feet these days. Very few indeed. I'm scrubbing and thinking and almost falling asleep. So I get out, left leg first (weird, I know). When I look up into the mirror, the bellboy is sitting on my sink. He stares at me, but it takes me a while to stare back. As I do, he laughs, takes off his hat and says:
"It's true, you know. Few people wash their feet these days."
And he walks out, trailing water from his leather shoes all over the carpet.
-----
Room with a view
Well, it will always cost you extra. Those safes are always free, though. But I requested the room I saw in the brochure anyway.
I was asleep, or so I'm told [the bellboy mentioned it on the phone], but I heard those goddamn monsters in the closet. I'm a paying customer, damnit. Anyway, there weren't any walls. Frankenstein was having missionary with his bride in the room next to me. Satre was behind me, getting this American girl so drunk she failed to notice his floating milky eyes. No Exit my ass.
The monsters didn't seem too surprised. There were so many of them, it seemed that there was no room for actual clothes. Stares. That's all you get is stares.
Bathtubs filled to the brim. Instruments of torture.
There's a coffee shop downstairs. There's a coffee shop everywhere these days.
-----
I'm So Not Me
I feel so alive and beautiful, but no time seems to go by. Every night we dance and drink cocktails. Dances with Dracula and the way he spins me. Man, he can dance. It's like he doesn't even touch the floor. Just glides, you know? He can really see through the chambers of my heart.
No one ever goes out and does anything, though. But we all try to stay away from our rooms.
PS: I think I'm in love.
-----
Visitations From The Help
Most of the time he just watches me. I don't think even has work to do.
When I woke up last night, he was across from me in the bed.
"Stop worrying, everything's totally under control."
I was taking a piss the other night, when I starting hearing the noise of water hitting something besides water. When I got up and peered into the toilet, I saw his head sticking out of the hole in the bowl. I nearly screamed, and I couldn't help but ask him why he was in such an unsanitary place.
"Well, the door was locked. Everyone still locks their doors, I guess for security. But it isn't like you don't have a safe to put all your memories in."
-----
The thirst for blood [or mixed drinks]
Dracula and I went for coffee downstairs last night, and it was all self-serve. I asked him about the bathtubs of blood filled to the brim, mainly because I thought he was the person to ask about anything that involved blood. He says he's been clean for hundreds of years, though; I still believe the old addage "Once an addict, always an addict."
He says that the monsters like to make Bloody Marys with it [much to the outrage of Bloody Mary. She's such a queen...]. I mentioned that I thought you used tomato juice for Bloody Marys, but he told me not to be so naive.
I went to the lobby to get my check out time, but no one worked there. It's just the bellboy. He must work so hard, and then I go and date Dracula behind his back like that. I feel like such a slut.
Come to think about it, I haven't seen any front or back door, either.
Note to self: The elevators lead to nowhere. The stairs can lead to anywhere.
Of a closet and softcore pornography
So, I'm on this island. Some sort of resort. And Bloody Mary, her husband beyond the grave, and something I can't believe in live next door; it's just too far of a stretch, and evidence only makes it so much worse.
The lights go on and off on the edge of blowing a fuse. I hear fear, it might just be the acoustics. The closets are opened by two knobs in the middle, with blinds immobile giving the monsters that lurk inside fresh air to breath. You won't know it until your too unpacked to leave, but they chant in times of slumber, repeating, "Blood often tastes like iron... a pool, a sensation, a miracle."
They are stirred out of inactivity by pornography. The exotic sounds excite them. Bathtubs of blood, filled to the brim. But that is in another place of time.
-----
All about the bellboy in times of solitude
Few people wash their feet these days. Very few indeed. I'm scrubbing and thinking and almost falling asleep. So I get out, left leg first (weird, I know). When I look up into the mirror, the bellboy is sitting on my sink. He stares at me, but it takes me a while to stare back. As I do, he laughs, takes off his hat and says:
"It's true, you know. Few people wash their feet these days."
And he walks out, trailing water from his leather shoes all over the carpet.
-----
Room with a view
Well, it will always cost you extra. Those safes are always free, though. But I requested the room I saw in the brochure anyway.
I was asleep, or so I'm told [the bellboy mentioned it on the phone], but I heard those goddamn monsters in the closet. I'm a paying customer, damnit. Anyway, there weren't any walls. Frankenstein was having missionary with his bride in the room next to me. Satre was behind me, getting this American girl so drunk she failed to notice his floating milky eyes. No Exit my ass.
The monsters didn't seem too surprised. There were so many of them, it seemed that there was no room for actual clothes. Stares. That's all you get is stares.
Bathtubs filled to the brim. Instruments of torture.
There's a coffee shop downstairs. There's a coffee shop everywhere these days.
-----
I'm So Not Me
I feel so alive and beautiful, but no time seems to go by. Every night we dance and drink cocktails. Dances with Dracula and the way he spins me. Man, he can dance. It's like he doesn't even touch the floor. Just glides, you know? He can really see through the chambers of my heart.
No one ever goes out and does anything, though. But we all try to stay away from our rooms.
PS: I think I'm in love.
-----
Visitations From The Help
Most of the time he just watches me. I don't think even has work to do.
When I woke up last night, he was across from me in the bed.
"Stop worrying, everything's totally under control."
I was taking a piss the other night, when I starting hearing the noise of water hitting something besides water. When I got up and peered into the toilet, I saw his head sticking out of the hole in the bowl. I nearly screamed, and I couldn't help but ask him why he was in such an unsanitary place.
"Well, the door was locked. Everyone still locks their doors, I guess for security. But it isn't like you don't have a safe to put all your memories in."
-----
The thirst for blood [or mixed drinks]
Dracula and I went for coffee downstairs last night, and it was all self-serve. I asked him about the bathtubs of blood filled to the brim, mainly because I thought he was the person to ask about anything that involved blood. He says he's been clean for hundreds of years, though; I still believe the old addage "Once an addict, always an addict."
He says that the monsters like to make Bloody Marys with it [much to the outrage of Bloody Mary. She's such a queen...]. I mentioned that I thought you used tomato juice for Bloody Marys, but he told me not to be so naive.
I went to the lobby to get my check out time, but no one worked there. It's just the bellboy. He must work so hard, and then I go and date Dracula behind his back like that. I feel like such a slut.
Come to think about it, I haven't seen any front or back door, either.
Note to self: The elevators lead to nowhere. The stairs can lead to anywhere.