Opening up the rusted Queens head, I push my cock lovingly in to the soft gray matter, parting around my member like gelatin.
"Wait till you cop a bit of this!" Exclaims a horny little atom bomb. He oscillates wildly, squatting on the floor, gently masturbating whilst a creep in a 2 piece slime suit waits expectantly to push the button and let the little bomb spill his radioactive cum all over the floor.
The newly polished floor. I can eat shit off of that floor and still feel clean inside.
Reconnaissance hums over head. I wonder what they are looking at, or what they are looking for?
Alois stumbles in and gives his son an era defining, genocide inducing thump around the head. The son falls to the floor sobbing and masturbating in a deranged and uncontrollable manner.
Friday, 17 August 2007
Thursday, 16 August 2007
Always Smiling and Arriving Late for Tea
piano keys for fingers
every touch and manipulation is a fitting tune
love induces jazz with each caress
My mind can smell the acid stench, the Plum pencil that is being systematically driven in to every man and woman's head. Sipping on dect 225 , the sound key fails to initialize.
Civil servants listen attentively to old wife's tales about adolescent sexual activity, of the blown cocks and violent intercourse, the unstoppable passion that only the fondest mothers know of.
I break the Cotes-D'armor, Chernobyl rings loudly in our ears. If you look very closely you can watch the environment melt before your eyes, you are eyes and everything you see is tainted infinitely by your communication skills.
There is a small hole in my jacket pocket. I lost unmentionable hours trying to source a distraction for the items i misplaced in the lining of it.
Hitting the gate hard his skull spills out over the railings, falling in satisfying thuds against the field floor. The cow shit is covered in blood and a grey lifeless lump of a brain slops down next to it, amusingly confirming my suspicions about this mans mental capacity in a final and re-assuring manner. I meant to kill him, it was never not my intention to ultimately rob this shallow and useless drone of his conscious existence.
every touch and manipulation is a fitting tune
love induces jazz with each caress
My mind can smell the acid stench, the Plum pencil that is being systematically driven in to every man and woman's head. Sipping on dect 225 , the sound key fails to initialize.
Civil servants listen attentively to old wife's tales about adolescent sexual activity, of the blown cocks and violent intercourse, the unstoppable passion that only the fondest mothers know of.
I break the Cotes-D'armor, Chernobyl rings loudly in our ears. If you look very closely you can watch the environment melt before your eyes, you are eyes and everything you see is tainted infinitely by your communication skills.
There is a small hole in my jacket pocket. I lost unmentionable hours trying to source a distraction for the items i misplaced in the lining of it.
Hitting the gate hard his skull spills out over the railings, falling in satisfying thuds against the field floor. The cow shit is covered in blood and a grey lifeless lump of a brain slops down next to it, amusingly confirming my suspicions about this mans mental capacity in a final and re-assuring manner. I meant to kill him, it was never not my intention to ultimately rob this shallow and useless drone of his conscious existence.
Thursday, 28 June 2007
We Want Dead Fans
Sinking your teeth into the pavement, trying desparatley to suck the shadow of your lover out of the concrete slab, to ingest the only remnants of a once beautiful flesh. The hopelesness of it all strikes you like disembowlment. Noel Galaghers sub-moronic mutterings will not stop. I will stop them. He wants fans, I want him to have dead fans.
-"It's not special."
-"Whats not special my love?"
-"It's not THAT special."
The familiar smell of friction rises through my nostrils. A chance encounter with a ruined child. Hot smell of traffic. They control through tax, through kegs of beer.
YIPEE for the recession!
DRIED OUT IN THE SUN:
The smashed snail carcass.
Every calorie of food requires six calories of oil to produce. Peak oil. I return to the scene of my last throat sweet, I'm sucking on one now.
P821 DEF
SURE! A fiver looks nice! BUT SHIT! This paper is worthless.
Transparent observations of a transparent society and a washed out culture the colours long bled together, only people are colour blind, the conventions are set in stone. Dont blame the parents, blame Maggie for tearing apart the fabric of British working class communities. AND WHAT to do with 'Work-in-an-office' class, who mindlessly file numbers, names, addresses, enquiries and complaints on a basis daily?
I'm not searching for answers on an existential level.....or am i?
Regarding my re-invigorated habit:
IT WAS a good idea to stop, but the sooner you realize that the world smells like shit, the sooner you want to start again.
Time Gone: I judge by the length of ash on my cigarette. The smelly filter is now useless to me.
I can watch the faint beat of my heart cause miniature siesmic ripples on my flesh, like a child beating a drum but the child has cancer.
Today is different. You can feel the earth reject the oncoming catastropheman is brewing, as shallow and pointless as it is. The sirens and workmen continue to howl, their machines and occupation vocalising their imprisonment so that they dont have to.
"intellignet input darling" She yelps inb her faux common accent, truth is she is a useless wealthy cunt. I cant let go of my complete contempt for her existence. I might smash her cunt.
Speaking words of modern civilised bullshit, she talks of love and the problems it brings. BUT when IT finally happens no one will listen to her cries of anguish as she lies sprawiling, cunt bleeding, in the ruins of someones house after the vicious raping she has just recieved
No one has sympathy, not in this pre-determined, post apocolyptic nonsense planet. Badly put i know, but i do not have time to put it right, right now.
Listen as well as lead? Murdering a nurse whilst she takes a cigarette break. The murderer was obsessed with serial killers.
Theres strength in the unions but the union isnt there.
FLOOD
But i'm not there yet. Singing filthy little songs that play immaturley with syllables. A dis-used boat tilting tragically in a drive way. Not having to wait at a junction because i'm walking. All new cars look the same. Getting an unexpected lift.
750 dominator.
-"It's not special."
-"Whats not special my love?"
-"It's not THAT special."
The familiar smell of friction rises through my nostrils. A chance encounter with a ruined child. Hot smell of traffic. They control through tax, through kegs of beer.
YIPEE for the recession!
DRIED OUT IN THE SUN:
The smashed snail carcass.
Every calorie of food requires six calories of oil to produce. Peak oil. I return to the scene of my last throat sweet, I'm sucking on one now.
P821 DEF
SURE! A fiver looks nice! BUT SHIT! This paper is worthless.
Transparent observations of a transparent society and a washed out culture the colours long bled together, only people are colour blind, the conventions are set in stone. Dont blame the parents, blame Maggie for tearing apart the fabric of British working class communities. AND WHAT to do with 'Work-in-an-office' class, who mindlessly file numbers, names, addresses, enquiries and complaints on a basis daily?
I'm not searching for answers on an existential level.....or am i?
Regarding my re-invigorated habit:
IT WAS a good idea to stop, but the sooner you realize that the world smells like shit, the sooner you want to start again.
Time Gone: I judge by the length of ash on my cigarette. The smelly filter is now useless to me.
I can watch the faint beat of my heart cause miniature siesmic ripples on my flesh, like a child beating a drum but the child has cancer.
Today is different. You can feel the earth reject the oncoming catastropheman is brewing, as shallow and pointless as it is. The sirens and workmen continue to howl, their machines and occupation vocalising their imprisonment so that they dont have to.
"intellignet input darling" She yelps inb her faux common accent, truth is she is a useless wealthy cunt. I cant let go of my complete contempt for her existence. I might smash her cunt.
Speaking words of modern civilised bullshit, she talks of love and the problems it brings. BUT when IT finally happens no one will listen to her cries of anguish as she lies sprawiling, cunt bleeding, in the ruins of someones house after the vicious raping she has just recieved
No one has sympathy, not in this pre-determined, post apocolyptic nonsense planet. Badly put i know, but i do not have time to put it right, right now.
Listen as well as lead? Murdering a nurse whilst she takes a cigarette break. The murderer was obsessed with serial killers.
Theres strength in the unions but the union isnt there.
FLOOD
But i'm not there yet. Singing filthy little songs that play immaturley with syllables. A dis-used boat tilting tragically in a drive way. Not having to wait at a junction because i'm walking. All new cars look the same. Getting an unexpected lift.
750 dominator.
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