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Onasadeone pendemeter

How vain humanity has become when the only belief we can indulge in are the beliefs of the impossible when they become possible. Is it not blasphemy when we don’t abide by our hearts? the snake in the grass that gave us the apple, the death of nobility for or sins. It’s already been paid for but we think gratuity is still necessary.the answer is in or errors and I’m or veins but we can’t believe in it’s simplicity because we are vain.
There is nothing in death except the reward and punishment. The punishment it’s being cast back into the pattern of mediocrity. The reward is to become part of the ratings from who watches the show. the idea of ultimate good and ultimate evil is nonsensical. this idea simply perpetuates the idea that rewards are only possible in opposition to punishments.

Humans are so base, we forget that we have been graced with life and choice. Show me a fucking bad one.
A cynic is fair, though only cynical towards, things they do not have. All poor are near mad, about the absent riches. The lonely are mad, about the love they can’t have. Those blessed with their health, and even the few godless, are sick of themselves.
These trails I once walked, I now laugh and dance across; understanding naught. The simple jester, returning to his kin’s court, through that guise of night.
Reap what has been wept, dance in the night as the light, and find your home kept.
I know you can hear, horses coming near, towing your carriage.

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Ouroboros

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Among the last two weeks, I’ve been ostentatiously waking up in infrequent places from a face-down drowning position, seldom from my own bed, on a daily basis. I.e. the haggardly genuine bedhead look accompanied with photo-phobic eyes, and a genuine distaste for dialogue spurted from anyone’s word-hole thing on the face (as I referred to on one occasion). Also, packaged with a general reduction in wit or any creative demeanor that allowed me to be noted as a “funny guy.” But the last two days, gave those back. I staved my need for grandpa’s cough elixir, which happened to be mommy’s mouthwash, and slithered back into a skin. It felt new, but it felt like the antecedent and austere skin. I even dreamed.

I usually cycled the same dreams, but I had a new one this time. Whatever my soul was telling me, I couldn’t be sure, but it did tell me there’s something happening, something new, something bigger. It felt like the process of my excessive consumption of make-believe liquid courage and countless nights facing hell when I slept, meant I was really dying. On a metaphoric level, of course, but that led me back into this skin that felt familiar, but new, improved, and I’d have no say in whether or not I had to get used to it. I couldn’t understand this all until I read her recent post, and that kicked my missing mind back into my spinal socket, in which I glued shut with a strawberry shortcake milkshake.

(My replacement for whiskey could be none other than a strawberry shortcake milkshake. I was forced to venture into the discovery of such because my roommate was playing the dreaded beer-pong, in which I abhor my own participation due to the susceptibility of dirty balls. If I wanted to play with dirty balls, I’d simply wait til Friday, when I took a shower.)

Her post seemed to revel in a transformation as well, which deduced her inconsistencies of the same like as mine. (Of all the epochs I’ve known her, this was the first time she’d ever helped me.) That was the string on the kite, cut loose to fly wherever it pleased. My mind flew back to me, with sponged visions of my new world, all the while, my serpent body shed the dead skin revealing a resilient new, asskicking one. As the great philosophers AC/DC said, “forget the hearse, cause I’ll never die, I’ve got nine lives, cat’s eyes, abusing every one of them and running wild.”

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