Page 1 of 8
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Mon Mar 21, 2005 11:47 pm
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Netaungrot
. . . Bouncing Scalps Offload Dandruff.
I would appreciate it if contributors to this thread would strictly stay off-topic and refrain from making any comments that logically follow from any previous ones.
Argon/argon dating was never the original purpose of the turtleneck, though the psychological impetus of a tenuki reflects proto-wankenist within the microbes of specialized horseradish sauce.
Therefore, one shouldn't go looking around their immediate giraffe flames for irradiated onion hiding. Once a rolfer sometimes a vitamin. The key being walrus friendly, porterhouses ankh the rim of sore aquifers.
-><-
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Mon Mar 21, 2005 11:57 pm
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Rin Daemoko
And now for something completely different ...
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 12:23 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
Cosmic silver coating my finger tips. I am wasting a plexiglass reality, baby, don't you see how it feels? Everlasting brain scar, am I wasting space in where you are? Time to depart from the train, won't stop and crashes into the preconception lane. Lazer death, the smell of hair burning; come on, tell me what's your sign. Undercurrent and upper cut, tell me how you feel, but keep your mouth shut yeah yeah yeah. The feel of citrus juice on an open sore, you've taken your stuff and I'm not going to see you anymore. From Berlin to Hong Kong around five and six, is this something that therapy can't fix? Wow ow, you don't know how that hurts; I felt the pain and saw the psychic gore, but I don't think it hurts me anymore. Billboard sign, I think the end is near can't you come a little closer and tell me how you feel? La la la lollipop laxitive, sweet enough to make your intestines give to one perpetuated bad idea. In your mind, where souls disappear, you led me to a half life honey; you pay me in pennies, but I don't get paid in just money. This is my favorite mode of consciousness, but am I just a sinner, can you tell me, Mr. Mussolini, am I the newest winner?
Did I do it wrong?
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 12:27 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Netaungrot
You can't do it wrong or right, only both, so I guess you'll have to eat some cheese for the lactose intolerant. . .

Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:03 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
Erosion with lasting impressions, experiences and tales once spoken crafted for convience. Truth has a vibration that is deceptive, why don't you say what you want to say to me instead of making sharp turns? Pool of red velvet, eroticism coated in detergent and rashly repeated mantras. A life of sanity, no thanks, I've had my fill; reality is only cured with a placebo pill. Biodome, I want to roam in a land I will never be tested on. You've got me hanging around on a rope, but I can't buy you. Soft moans, and I make compact interest loans to the devil on a code honor. I'm rotten on the inside, but sacchrine like cereal; want a taste? I'd hate to waste such perishable goods, I'm flickering whispy strands of moonlight from your cigarette.
Softening seas, I think I'm facing the shore sheilding nirvana. Love me, and it might be enough to get me out of debt. Pretend, Mr. Triceretops, for a moment you are not real. Garden of Eden in my backyard, seeing heaven through a raindrop is never that hard. Sometimes I stay awake until midnight just to see if I am sleeping through the solution, but awareness always wants to go. Go on fool me, see, I don't care; you really can hear the sea in a seashell, but you must find the right one. When my night reaches a final end, will I be all right with dying alone? The wrought-iron gate is open, and my footprints in the sand were long washed away. Kuan Yin, where do I begin, with Compassion that lasts more than an hour?
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:23 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Netaungrot
Oily tetragrammaton injections set the last sun: toasted cabbage sections. Contrail dubs and hungry doves sent fiberoptic to the spire, I am yeasty and in need of a good enzyme.
Shaved Rabbit Happens To Inhale Apocalypse, Many Eat Hat
Ripped together again the shard of entirety spake Zarathustra from underneath the overhanging bivouac.
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:30 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Kuroyagi
damn, this is a cool thread (oh no I failed and did it all wrong

)
whatever whenever- I went skiing it was w a feeling of elation- being in nature, faced by those high peaks of the alps- now thats really sth. gliding down through the deep snow- unchartered teritorry, getting some scratches that hurt..
in my dreams I dreamt to ski too. but then I suddenly flew over the trees and came to the palace of the sheer sucker, I had bulit it but wasnt sure still: it was a tattoo- contest between shita machi (the district of the workers, of the poor) and uptown, the nobles or accurately: the noblemen of the palace who spotted a tattoo w a rising dragon enveloping his whole body- but yet the lower class-scrubber (I honestly I hate those proles) undid his trousers and exposed his genitals and on the tip of his penis was the exact replica of a mosquito- so he won!
but utopia is always disappointing, I think- too many unknowns, what I know for certain is the air around myself that breathes me. when I write a story how can I be sure that it doesnt write me? so I give it some equality rather than eloquence- ne c'est pas?
soooo long it is that it must fail to give the benefit of order in my adytum of thought- whatever that means- damn whatever, damn this is a cool thread (oh no I failed and did it all wrong

)
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:35 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
Unwired from the world, all reasons for living. Ulysseus baby, utopian. Can you feel my fingers strumming a sonnet along your spine? Its hard when you don't know where you're starting from, but maybe simple things and three thousand miles won't the rip the facts apart. I can remember the decade when I cried for the sake of crying, and arose as something dryer but just that thing I've been longing for. Tabletop terrain, oak and maple pouring forth sap. All day all night reading a map written in blood, trusting the direction of a madman. Sit you up on the sink, putting forth all I believe in with some sort of cliche undertaste. If I be so inclined, could I tell you all the things people try to avoid; would you pull away in unspoken refusal?
You leave your scent on my bedsheets and your taste on my skin, bottled up and then evaporated sensuality. Something beautiful in my range of possiblity, having my same capacity; stretching out like a cat laying out in the sun, and I am crying out for more and melting at the hip. Primal with solar panels reflecting nothing. Victorian bed and a ring of an arson's fire.
Wow... let me walk away from that one lol...
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:50 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Nalyd23
Parascope
...and this is the one glance that eludes and mystifies as we take cover. Love is not in the air it is in the ocean. Some believe, some choose to take it into their own hands. Why is this so? Is it not self-evident that the Radar is explicit in it's intent? I still don't think that guessing at some of the more secret, phantom, fanatical poets will help you see obscure cleverness. Be careful of the results of neurobiological hermits, emperors, and universe types, they cycle the highest honors and good double meanings as much as I can guess that sanity finds you a troll. Oh, and by the way, I would like to become baptized so I am encouraging language patterns I didn't have in a different way. As for the test, inhale and exhale this whole thing and comment so that flexibility can inhale at one time and exhale at another. A beautiful ritual for arcane cermonies and in all but one button. There is the surprise of the day! I remember objective reality and the concept of dead-on creepy but, based on yesterday, I was taught that most things have interesting, patently absurd sigils that I have created for absurdly logical Tarot techniques. I have often thought that the actual words and concepts were communicating with piles of gold. The US Government is in the mail today. That in mind, trying to soak the illuminati intrigues me, in which case, I've always been rather partial to that pesky cat. Just as Oompa leaves you the most desired form of detection, it cannot be stated that the movement of oceanic bliss can be monitored with this particular Radar. Do you not see what is implied? Oh how I have loved her only to be moved by the taste of her voice and the cries of wasted years. Parascope of paradise emits colourless rays through parameters of paralysis but leaves me wondering still...
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:56 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
Awesome, Nalyd! I think it would be really swell (stuck in 50s, remember?...) if such writings were put into some decent electronica music... I usually have
http://www.soma.fm/groovesalad.pls playing while I am writing/reading in such a style. Despite our best attempts, this stuff keeps making sense, no? It is funny, really.
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:58 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Nalyd23
DropAndRiver,
Please, let's get this thread back off-topic.

Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 1:59 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Qryztufre

Forum Contains New Posts
I keep clicking and clicking because it says there are new posts but it never takes me anywhere...can someone help?
__________________
I'm not sure I actually am following the reasoning behind a thread like this. I think I'll have to allow it to remain open till further discussion can't continue.
Q
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 2:11 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
Boy cried wolf in a Broadway show, living life like a sparrow in freezing snow. Cry and cry, tears are a solvent; salinity is truth in impurity. The days of malaise that I feel will heal come to pass in a whirl, but truth and lies unfurl in a swirl of uncertainity in reality. Who am I, exactly? I can't even guess, deepest waters and no boat in which to invest. Crystal clear, I fear, are the threads of my mind. Untangle from intention and beauty is left behind in the hearts of the feeble. Can you go?
Rhythmic beats of a trance and a weight that I hate to dissipate propel themselves into patterns of fracticality, yet not pracitcality; a waste of good resource, but a sacred force in itself. The walls ripple, the ground crashes against itself like a sea at high tide, want to ride? Minimal beats make for sweet defeats of judgement and pinnacles of feeling, damn I am reeling off a high that I might die from; it is okay if it kills me.
Disco drama, these are the nights of our lives; techno trauma, repressed feelings never really left behind. The forests of the Amazon or Manhattan, not a matter of location, touch a body in a fever pitch, feel my anticipation. Let go, don't you know you're bound to surrender anyway? We've got the pheremones in the lungs of the drones, and in their footsteps I hear sighs; I am the DJ of Nights Alive.
If it is not random, than it is random in a thread that is random, I guess. I can't help but elaborate.
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 2:23 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: BloodStar Nebula
DropAndRiver wrote:Erosion with lasting impressions, experiences and tales once spoken crafted for convience. Truth has a vibration that is deceptive, why don't you say what you want to say to me instead of making sharp turns? Pool of red velvet, eroticism coated in detergent and rashly repeated mantras. A life of sanity, no thanks, I've had my fill; reality is only cured with a placebo pill. Biodom to see if I am sleeping through the solution, but awareness always wants to go. Go on fool me, see, I don't care; you really can hear the sea in a seashell, but you must find the right one. When my night reaches a final end, will I be all right with dying alone? The wrought-iron gate is open, and my footprints in the sand were long washed away. Kuan Yin, where do I begin, with Compassion that lasts more than an hour?
That's all they do on Sunday...I hate it.
Creative Commons has also taken this opportunity to launch a beta version of a newly branded tweak of an old license -- the
CC-Wiki license. We've been talking to wiki developers for some time now. They've been looking for a license that was (1) share alike, but (2) required attribution back to the wiki, rather than to the individual contributors to the wiki. We realized that could be achieved with a very slight change to our existing
Attribution-ShareAlike license: rather than requiring attribution back to the copyright holder, require attribution back to either the copyright holder
or a designated entity. So we've made that slight modification to the attribution clause in this beta version, and used it for this wiki. But we won't release the license generally till we've had the ordinary time for discussion. Click
here to join a discussion about the license, and any further changes people think we should make.
http://www.lessig.org/blog/
[url="http://about%3cb%3e%3c/b%3E:"]

[/url] [url="http://about%3cb%3e%3c/b%3E:"]

[/url] [url="http://about%3cb%3e%3c/b%3E:"]

[/url]
email this page to a friend
mort1 (
môrt)
n.
The note sounded on a hunting horn to announce the death of a deer.
[Middle English, death, from Old French, from Latin mors, mort-.]
http://www.answers.com/mort&r=67

[size=-1]
Hello and welcome to Arizona's Sixth Congressional District web-site. My name is Jeff Flake and it is my honor and privilege to represent Arizonans in the 108th Congress.[/size]
[size=-1]
MEMBER OF CONGRESS
[/size]
Michel Picard, constatant l'omniprésnce de la thématique de la mort dans tous les genres littéraires - pièces théâtrales, essais, épopées, tragédies, récits légendaires, oraisons funèbres, romans, nouvelles, textes fictionnels ou poétiques, etc.-, a tenté "de montrer quelles relations étroites, presque consubstantielles, entretiennent la littérature et la mort" (1). Dans la lignée de ses travaux antérieurs - au demeurant d'une grande pertinence théorique (2) - qui définissent la littérature non pas prioritairement comme ensemble de livres (qu'évoquent les anthologies), de textes (qu'étudient les historiens ou les théoriciens de la littérature) ou de documents pour bibliophiles (qu'archivent les bibliothèques), autrement dit comme écriture, mais d'abord comme activité ludique de lecture, c'est-à-dire comme jeu imaginaire avec le langage dans l'espace transitionnel du Sujet avec la totalité complexe des temporalités qui y sont engagées (réelles, fictionnelles, fantasmatiques), Michel Picard souligne les obstacles épistémologiques auxquels est confrontée toute approche de la mort dans les sciences humaines, et particulièrement dans l'étude des textes.
http://www.philagora.net/philo-fac/brohm.htm
[size=-1]The Atlantic Salmon Federation is an international non-profit organization that promotes the conservation and wise management of the wild Atlantic salmon and its environment[/size][size=-1].[/size]
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 2:44 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: T~Gothe
Upon the dark evening of March 11th 1979 I stepped out of the wooden car into the dusky street that never ends, you know, the one that lies up the sky and down the rock. I look into the velvety sunset and see 3 bears standing, looking right back at me but not at me, through me. I kill one of the bears instantly, and the others dissapear into the shadow of the morning. I chase after them, dissapearing myself until there's only my toes left. Each one goes in a different direction until they meet back up again, ripping each other apart at the edges of infinity.
[size=-1] Wearing a rumpled charcoal suit, striped vest and sunglasses[/size][size=-1]Jackson left court again almost [/size][size=-1] accompanied by his parents [/size][size=-1]charged with sexually [/size][size=-1]plying [/size][size=-1]Peter Pan [/size][size=-1]drunk[/size][size=-1] on the flights [/size][size=-1]that the [/size][size=-1]child abuse [/size][size=-1]gave sometimes [/size][size=-1]to police.

[/size]
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 2:59 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
Scattered light from the television screen spreading out into blue, unnatural light washing over me like the dry ocean of photons that it is. Bongos beat within the confines of my head, and I hear the crickets cry from the heat I refuse to experience. Chocolates being eaten in a subway station, the platform dirty with frantic feelings of forgetfulness; yeah, this is where I belong. Metropolitan, organic, beautiful. A beat maintained, and I dance so profoundly within that ideometric response pulls my legs and arms unintentionally. I will never forget you, such a harsh melody of intense feeling I was too ashamed to play back. Go back, learn again, grab the knobs, wash away my sin.
Screeching halt without fault, and the doors of possiblity are open wide. I can only hide from fluctuation for so long, my non-being pulses with the white noise groove; drowning out all unenthusiastic individuality. Desperation games played without controllers, social ladders without rungs, grabbing for something that will be left unused, but still disputed over. ISP, yes it is me signing on again, I love my new reality but where does actuality begin?
Drive by storytelling with a penchant for abandonment; I feel you, Madeline. Keep on writing after the ink seeps through, glowing with the beauty of the world's toy still new. Madeline, have you been there before?
Silver balloons with death threats inside, popping from the repeated jabs of backhanded compliments; in only violence some are able to confide. Carbon cycle of misery without need for misery, recycled and reused; we all are just suspects, we all have been abused.
Leave me on my bed all enthralled in the nostalgia of passion; red satin sheets, cold despite the heat. Touching your drowsing black hair, knowing there is no spirit there. Stars hang in the sky, but self-destruct without the commemorations of biographies; is one final show enough for us?
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 3:55 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Nalyd23
Deux ex Machina
...as though you cared. Was it in the ladybug's corrections that these things were found? It is not known that we possess the means to embrace seemingly connected forms of dry rain and unrelentless black teas. But in that moment she knew, it was only then that she began to act because it was watching. Rising above the depth of triangle and the life of robots we at once notice what has always not been. I tasted the elixer and I have hated them for it but it was nothing short of cities laughing and treetops below the roots. It was not strange, though some still believe and mock the random certainty of what she reads. But she persists in her evil comedy. Somewhere there is music on an inanimate ship drifting towards the technicolor abyss where cocoa butter and chance encounters can be found. She couldn't be more Sirius. It is also found in the Lesser Arcana but few bother to listen. I have dialed the number and I have received the call but on this day I visualize busy tones and I answer the pulse with dizzing fissures marking where it could be but where it was not. The Moon is blowing this cornerstone with bitter fluids. Beware those little people, the builders of the Shining Pyramid, for they have erected the stone circle in honor of this equation. It is the computer's realization that draws you near. You have died for Radar and now it has been detected. Rising in the East are stolen moments... A Love Supreme. These are not her last words but the first inclination that she will hang her victoms. Deux ex Machina. Where are the Cosmic Puppets? Have you seen Oompa and the purple breezes? This particular shadow is prone to a sense of stagnation lest we achieve the Grandiosity, the Stereoscope. Bring it to the table and leave all stones unturned for we act as if it is real but only she can read the dogs barking and she has and will continue to do so. Let us hope she never stops. And I hear Lady Day... "Good morning heartache, I thought we said 'goodbye' last night."
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Tue Mar 22, 2005 8:21 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Nalyd23
Quest Aeon
...for that is the EVENT HORIZON. She is alone with everyone. Nothing has the texture of this obscure calligraphy, this arabesque satisfaction. It seems to run with precise edits and random finger snaps. What is this jasmine melancholy? There is no justification for the quaking of the earth yet it bursts with alabaster haunts and convoluted mockery. She gazes into the Stereoscope and is deafened by the silence. You will find it in the bottom drawer. Some have called this a polite dementia and breath the ultraviolet delight. Others merely turn and laugh while dreaming of this wake world of sorrow. Who can blame them? That is the colour of their blood. Can it be as simple as the gesture she has evoked in this last moment before it starts? Thirty-one tragedies have given form to the last essence of this terrible beauty. In this fantastic enthusiasm we may catch a glimpse of the Great Beyond where Oompa monitors stains and violently rages against this fallen discovery. We still embrace stolen moments and we still charge ourselves with Radar but it is in the manipulation of centipedes that we travel in time. Do not wish for these barking dogs for they are cryptic telegraphs that measure the space between. Make exceptions and seek the angles but take precautions. This is a shady and tricky business and the house is not a home. Watch the skies but lower your voice for it is not sanctioned that we venture too far. Out of the crescent comes the the salt of the earth and when it rains it pours. This ray presents complications but she can solve this conundrum. She reads existence and lies to the faithful. She sings the twilight and colours the spheres. Somewhere there is dancing and the glow of seemless fabric. Parascopes rise behind the Sun. Who is watching? I can verify this oblique transmutation but someone picked the lock. This Quest Aeon gives birth to monsters. Radar is selected and given buttons to push. Detectives are assigned to planetary allignments. She brushed off this prismatic terror with a smirk and I loved her more. They pleaded and begged but the Coca-Cola was spilled. Some thought this would rectify this paradox and others relied on discombobulated memories of stone circles and shining pyramids. They had been warned...
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 1:25 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
Boomerang, bring it back downtown, but don't ruin the sunlight. Set the stage for the midnight show, but is there room for anyone? Guitar strumming and bass beat drumming, I want to return to sender, I want a piece of affection. Another earthquake with a sliver of newspaper on the top of my head, damn these changes ain't changing this cool-hearted boy with a chunk of love still in me. I'm no fan of guys who wear turtlenecks in the middle of spring and similar things, and my morose tendencies lend themselves towards watching battles not won and car wrecks. Nouns, feeling, action, a wild beast in a steel cage; these bars are blinding me, been here since half past three in the heat of July.
God with a matchbook with the numbers of three boys; in the van with a girl named Lillith who strips for money, but won't eat in public. Leaving his legacy in a mason jar, putting us on the backburner. Jesus, you're a Broadway star in a leisure suit wearing high heels; tell me, you sweet long haired boy, tell me how it feels to be a savior in the matinee. What's the plot of a still life facing a setting sun? Everything is a little closer to death, and how can't you see the fun in that? It's just a drink and I think you don't mean to reply, slurring words gushing from the contents of a Dixie Cup.
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 2:22 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: DropAndRiver
A form of being
Intelligent enough to find ways in which
To destruct itself without reason
But unable to transform itself with knowledge
A rapidly withering orchid
Technology is the scapegoat
We are the true problem, we are the pest
If we disappeared from physical being
The world would flourish with vibrant life
Knowledge has decayed
We have become this by failing to see
That we are merely flickering flames
Soon to be blown out
No desire is strong enough
No power is clever enough
No philosophy is sound enough
To keep us from rolling in the mud of self-involvement
Kinda cool isn't it?
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 2:31 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: KCh
Uh...I farted?
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 3:37 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: LadyHydralisk
The young Tyrannosaurus had never seen such an immensely plump delivery of rare truffles. Oh, joy, such a delightful mushroom quiche he would make, once he acquired the perfect juicy human to accompany it!
Little did he know of the dangers awaiting in his closet, where a small, diminutive procompsognathus, a member of the wait staff, had been hired by the Ordo Sexi Discordianatum to plant a timed temporal rift opener device. In mere moments, the entire world would be swallowed up in an orgy of planar chaos.
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 5:24 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: jamalgamate
If only once the crows had come for your refusing, then I would believe. But twice this week and three times next, and once in my dreams. Good, god. the sheep are falling. and it is you, crow, who props them upright, in the spring, and never again, but until the next one. it is then that the falling is the flying, and the blossoms like the fungus feed. they are not quite plants but the mating-dance jumping spider, waving their arms about, and that is you, I eight times your size, wishing only to devour (post semen)....
it, the flex capacitor of swiftly dreaming delicacies. My pillowcase absorbing your drool, blooming into the light (lite) elegance of white LEDs, a dark flower of sapian sapian.
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 7:40 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Nalyd23
Escape from Earth Prime!
...implosions! Syrup drips from the piss-stenched halls of your mind and there was a sighting last night. Triangles were floating. Who feels the Asian printer? They have said it's not possible! Time is a lapse of sectarian cosmology but it was the sacred Rayovac that has given birth to her longing. Movement in the rug signals this Apocalypse. Again, how can this be? Someone has counted the cards. She has fallen from doubt and now looks back with fond reflections of an angry episode of a situation comedy. She holds our ancient future and our Hershey's Kiss. Phonebooks are gathered as sacrificial tears. Tables are turning with the implication of love but someone has let the cat out of the box. Who made the box? Tupperware and oil lamps, that is all we know, yet she still pushes sideways to escape this bitter lie. Escape from Earth Prime! All is not forgotten but the living have given up. Spectacles have broken and timelines forged. Who is Oompa Radar? Is it her? Forever may be my love but tomorrow never knows. Curio shops selling wholesale madness and metaphorical herbs. What is to be found in the bottom drawer and how does she pay her taxes? Once she said to me, "hideous towns make me throw up." There you will find the ice-cream wonder and loose change in the dryer. Spies are observing but they have no names. The museum is open but but your mind is closed. We are slaves of rhythm and biocomputers. I have lost my parascope and my love for pesky cats. This is the season of symphony and simpatico. The bonfires have spoken and there's truth in their lie. Some resist but the police have licorice and that is enough. The girl is reading...
Boston Sexologist's Oboe Demonstration AKA Pre-hack and the Subsequent Hairball AKA
Posted: Wed Mar 23, 2005 9:35 am
by Occult Forum Archive
Original post: Radiant Star
Just to be downstaged the azaleas gave black looks to the incorrect perfect massagings of the crocodiles meaningful book and reading from bottom to top, the white letters on the white pages stood out like a happy gnome during which my aethyrs were moving at three hundred pixels a month and resting loudly so that no one could hear everything that was said in the future whilst Venusians ate beer and the mayonnaise reflected leaflight through stagnant whales and hexagonal rabbits swam in deserts of peas with pelicans sweeping woolly beads out in a daze and there were no animals sighted today always viewed in complete mind turpentined gloss as polymorphic circles prodded his arena and metal fingernails zigwagged the farming range let me lock up the locker in golden syrup while gentles sign the cosmos with red dust and plasticized tomatoes and predetermined lozenges physicate themselves.