post at shos
Friday, 18. July 2008, 04:59:40
no.
this is not an answer.
not an answer to a god damn thing.
ive been thinking about this blog all day. aince i left to go to work ive been thinking writing. not on papper or on this glowing matalic nothing. not im my head eather. things dont seem right not with me. not in my head. to answer a question preemptivly yes im ffine. im completely fucking fiine. and yes im happy. im happy enough of the time to make every second worth exactly what it. but fuck. the idea that this is an act. what if im just fucking crazy. beyond crazy. crazy and perseptive. brillant in all the ways that some never wishes to be brilliant. im nervous, befond fucking nervous. i dont even know if theres words. i dont know what or who i am. every time i start to grasp it. approach it with the leasy bit of confort it betrays me. fuck. things that throw me for a loop. thats what ive been pressing agienst my mind all day. thats what ive been searching for. is things that fucking throw me for a loop. street lights going out. bucks silencing them selfs. music that i dont relize im hearing untill i think back to that time in memory and remember how i was tapping my fingers to the song on the radio... at work. there is no music at work. theres just me. i cant discribe the endless plane that i so often find my self. its nothing short of dantais 6th layer. ive never read dontays inferno. ive never walked down that spiarled path. all the same. knowlege isnt wisdom. wisom i lack. persception. even at this moment i find my self digging my hole even deeper. this isnt some thing i want any one to understand. i shouldnt make this blog post public... but i will im sure i will as quick as i made this day end i will make this post visible for all eyes to find it. no im not logged in. not to aim. not to myspace or face book. not to my own fucking mind. su root. f u root. this isnt what im driving at and my conversational skills are shot to hell. things that throw me for a loop. feeling some one elses disconfort in your body. knowing thay your not the one in your sking and yet your still contained and bound to it. thats what was diffrent. thats what fucked my mind. that even though i wasnt in that skin i was forced to follow, every so often my eyes would open after blinking and i would see, i would see as i should. through my eyes, i would think not out of person, but from behind my eyes. and i would glance to the left and feel too many emotions well in me. and i would look forward, and feel too many emotions well in me. and still this isnt accurate. i could never discibe it. never accuratly enough for my self. even if you undstood and read and stood there more perfectly then i was there my self, it still wouldnt work. its still wouldnt be FUCK! has not more passion or inflection .fuck. excite ment is toned down and my ability to express is pressed in two demential metal boxes. the irony is unreal. a god locked in meatal box untill he dies, now jumps into one by choice. yes ive had the death dream, ive had many deth dreams. idont even remember what ive been writing. i hear voices fom inside bu thay arent in a laungage i understand. not any more. that kills me. speaking a laungage and not understanding the response. like the words lose meaning some where before they leave the speakers lips. ive been told that there are two kinds of writers, im not a writer but i combine the failing sides of both. read time quake. i backspace an reprocess ever singal line, but i still just flail all over the page leaving my ink and my blood in some irreconsirable mess of what could be brillent comunication. brillant in all the ways no one ever wishes to be brillian.
i step away from my chair. the center is quiet. its allways quiet this time of night. theres no one in controll, not of the flesh, its simply moves because it must. no place keeps, the ones around me would call this sleep, what they dont know is if they tried to wake me, no consus ness would come, coma, i slip in and out of a volentary coma, may be one daysome one else will slip into this empy skin whileim away and ill lose it for ever. i move across the floor with out touching it. there is no need for feet or to wal, and move as i have thousand times through the glass on the door, sseemlessly i transfer from one world to anouther, im not in the center any more. not at 1 east. not in this time or this wourld. i sit in court. kneeling. as if i had a knee. my kneeling is only that of coutousy. the court is not small. not larg eather. i rise, again standing with out my feet at the floor. my brother is there, not of the flesh, the one that loves this world more then he knows he should. my sister and my sons, two daughter. this call is far from empty even with all of us. for there are others, there are 4 wemon all who gaze the sides of the room, whose words are second only to mine. i gave them this power and know i can take it. for that are not like any other in the room we are the first. the strongest, and our families. there are 4 other chairs, i stand in front of mine. all chairs make a circle, all familes sit besides there chairs, but all famils nod their heads to mine. to me. i know the others well. for it is in conversations with one or more of these persons that all fates are decided, that which races should take the bodies of humans. it is regulatted by our hands. and in war it is regulated by our will. there is one in my court who makes the room unconfortable, her mere presnce a blapheme as told and deemed, by us. and only us.
all in this room are winged, in one way or anouther. angelic? you could call it that.
distraction. distraction is much. the words of this counsel and this meeting will probably be forgotten.
ganasha.
reil.
reasil.
tuzul.
meran.
serazir.
and none of these are the names that im searching for.
WHAT THE FUCK IS HER HER NAME!
and every one turns away from me.
fuck.
i do feel better. the top half of this should be disregaurded, and held in context simply as my memory of an emotion and what should be felt accordingly.
this is not an answer.
not an answer to a god damn thing.
ive been thinking about this blog all day. aince i left to go to work ive been thinking writing. not on papper or on this glowing matalic nothing. not im my head eather. things dont seem right not with me. not in my head. to answer a question preemptivly yes im ffine. im completely fucking fiine. and yes im happy. im happy enough of the time to make every second worth exactly what it. but fuck. the idea that this is an act. what if im just fucking crazy. beyond crazy. crazy and perseptive. brillant in all the ways that some never wishes to be brilliant. im nervous, befond fucking nervous. i dont even know if theres words. i dont know what or who i am. every time i start to grasp it. approach it with the leasy bit of confort it betrays me. fuck. things that throw me for a loop. thats what ive been pressing agienst my mind all day. thats what ive been searching for. is things that fucking throw me for a loop. street lights going out. bucks silencing them selfs. music that i dont relize im hearing untill i think back to that time in memory and remember how i was tapping my fingers to the song on the radio... at work. there is no music at work. theres just me. i cant discribe the endless plane that i so often find my self. its nothing short of dantais 6th layer. ive never read dontays inferno. ive never walked down that spiarled path. all the same. knowlege isnt wisdom. wisom i lack. persception. even at this moment i find my self digging my hole even deeper. this isnt some thing i want any one to understand. i shouldnt make this blog post public... but i will im sure i will as quick as i made this day end i will make this post visible for all eyes to find it. no im not logged in. not to aim. not to myspace or face book. not to my own fucking mind. su root. f u root. this isnt what im driving at and my conversational skills are shot to hell. things that throw me for a loop. feeling some one elses disconfort in your body. knowing thay your not the one in your sking and yet your still contained and bound to it. thats what was diffrent. thats what fucked my mind. that even though i wasnt in that skin i was forced to follow, every so often my eyes would open after blinking and i would see, i would see as i should. through my eyes, i would think not out of person, but from behind my eyes. and i would glance to the left and feel too many emotions well in me. and i would look forward, and feel too many emotions well in me. and still this isnt accurate. i could never discibe it. never accuratly enough for my self. even if you undstood and read and stood there more perfectly then i was there my self, it still wouldnt work. its still wouldnt be FUCK! has not more passion or inflection .fuck. excite ment is toned down and my ability to express is pressed in two demential metal boxes. the irony is unreal. a god locked in meatal box untill he dies, now jumps into one by choice. yes ive had the death dream, ive had many deth dreams. idont even remember what ive been writing. i hear voices fom inside bu thay arent in a laungage i understand. not any more. that kills me. speaking a laungage and not understanding the response. like the words lose meaning some where before they leave the speakers lips. ive been told that there are two kinds of writers, im not a writer but i combine the failing sides of both. read time quake. i backspace an reprocess ever singal line, but i still just flail all over the page leaving my ink and my blood in some irreconsirable mess of what could be brillent comunication. brillant in all the ways no one ever wishes to be brillian.
i step away from my chair. the center is quiet. its allways quiet this time of night. theres no one in controll, not of the flesh, its simply moves because it must. no place keeps, the ones around me would call this sleep, what they dont know is if they tried to wake me, no consus ness would come, coma, i slip in and out of a volentary coma, may be one daysome one else will slip into this empy skin whileim away and ill lose it for ever. i move across the floor with out touching it. there is no need for feet or to wal, and move as i have thousand times through the glass on the door, sseemlessly i transfer from one world to anouther, im not in the center any more. not at 1 east. not in this time or this wourld. i sit in court. kneeling. as if i had a knee. my kneeling is only that of coutousy. the court is not small. not larg eather. i rise, again standing with out my feet at the floor. my brother is there, not of the flesh, the one that loves this world more then he knows he should. my sister and my sons, two daughter. this call is far from empty even with all of us. for there are others, there are 4 wemon all who gaze the sides of the room, whose words are second only to mine. i gave them this power and know i can take it. for that are not like any other in the room we are the first. the strongest, and our families. there are 4 other chairs, i stand in front of mine. all chairs make a circle, all familes sit besides there chairs, but all famils nod their heads to mine. to me. i know the others well. for it is in conversations with one or more of these persons that all fates are decided, that which races should take the bodies of humans. it is regulatted by our hands. and in war it is regulated by our will. there is one in my court who makes the room unconfortable, her mere presnce a blapheme as told and deemed, by us. and only us.
all in this room are winged, in one way or anouther. angelic? you could call it that.
distraction. distraction is much. the words of this counsel and this meeting will probably be forgotten.
ganasha.
reil.
reasil.
tuzul.
meran.
serazir.
and none of these are the names that im searching for.
WHAT THE FUCK IS HER HER NAME!
and every one turns away from me.
fuck.
i do feel better. the top half of this should be disregaurded, and held in context simply as my memory of an emotion and what should be felt accordingly.
Serannao
By anonymous user, # 18. July 2008, 05:10:23