Tag Archives: nine

summae feeling

One must remember that if it is okay to be born, then it must be equally okay to die. I heard somewhere that the only question of any importance was whether to live or die. There isn’t a wrong answer unless you think there’s a right one. I’ve seen people that don’t exactly reap the benefits of being alive. I’ve seen dead people still alive through some medium or other. If one truly takes into account that birth and death, let that really sink, are alright then what is melancholy? What is fear? Then again, just over the other end of the simple spectrum -what is happiness? If life and death are okay, which end is truly the beginning?

Our bodies get new skin every 30 days. In other words we shed our skin every thirty days, but through some conditional circumstances we can live with upwards of 30 years of the mundane ways of living. Often passing the blame. Bitterly, even. But if nature bequeaths us new suits every 30 days, why do we feel shackled to the one way we are going. Don’t get me wrong, some of us may like the way we are going, but if you’re not living your life for others -your life doesn’t mean much. You just shed your skin like a snake and scavenge. Life without philanthropy is a slow death.

Linear time isn’t our friend, and we’re becoming dumber by the day. Everyone is simultaneously credible and incredible. We’ve begun to run out of things to say and have begun to repeat after each other. (i.e. cat memes, etc) The dead walk the earth, with this zombie infatuation the world has undergone. Wormwood chemtrails, influenza, west nile, menengitis and the great stink cloud of china. The strange ritual freak accident sacrifices of 6 year old children of the last few months. Egyptians and Syrians dissing the Days of Sacrifice by blowing shit up making brother Reaper work overtime. The Indian woman who couldn’t get an abortion because she was in Ireland dying of septacaemia from Rosemary’s baby. The president taking the credit holding the pen the rule all nations. The gangrape of an Indian student to make her the whore of babylon. That father that carved the pentagram into his sons back and said he had to shed innocent blood. The apple symbol is on everything little beast children have. The trumpet swans gathering in Alaska. The unmanned dragon fell into the pacific ocean, designed by spacex, sponsored by 33 fancy pants. The twin, towering witnesses died in brimstone and resurrected as twin beams of lights into the heavens. Ok computer, makin’ ties is all.

I’m nothing close to a doomsday evangelist bullshitist or a psycho conspiracy theorist. Or a guppie lightworker¬†trying to trace the lineage of my soul. I’m not a pacifist, though I’m only good at being patient. I’m a regular man with a good old- fashioned American debt, no future, and am probably a phillistine this time around. A savage. But where honest reporters are lacking any conscience, I’m back and I’ve heard everything, and am telling you this because my employers in a dream I had said to. Today, I’m Samson I suppose, finishing out my sentence. Check my facts. If you know how, of course. Google search should help. Someone is going out of their way to make these things happen. (kinda did a 180 from the beginning of the post didn’t I. Never liked rules much.)

The one that that all the people who know the secrets to the universe is that they’re broken-hearted. With that being said, I’m fairly certain that few to none of you heard me. Few to none of you heard me. Imagine fearsome technology before your eyes.

xoxo

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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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