

Site of a manic mind.


51 blades. 49 slit wrists enchained…Tis democracy no?
Play Aloud
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Move God, beauty now rests before me...remarkably it sits before me. No reason, nor subscript...simply beauty...without pretense
Play Aloud
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Weakness in boxes…Boxes in boxes…Packed madness and your god-damn God crutches…Packed madness and your god-damn Gov crutches. Packed savages bottled up
from your sovereignty. Little boxes...we label liberty
Play Aloud
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So pressing, its pressure thus rips the lines unto which I wish this ink. Henceforth speak...unpolished ramblings from a mind to a hand
Play Aloud
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Wont someone be maternal and willing and forthwith shrilling and ask...god, who put that sin there?
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Hidden voices frolic inside of weak minds...Hinting, hissing, buzzing with nugatory. Come...try and fuck with me!
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You who let the dreaming do the dreaming. Whose meaning derives from dreaming. Whose trying...But the lions are lying because sleep is the cousin of
death
Play Aloud
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Mortals know of no purity. I am god…I am god and I’m fucking dying…Knowing purity is living and I am fucking dying. How perverted is this living!!!
Play Aloud
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Alarm Clock
You crack pot alarm clock
You overachieving machinery
Lucky for you there’s snooze
Beep me? Beep You !!!
Play Aloud
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Modest endurance for slob speech, all again, over again speech, reassuring brainless language, I don’t remember inquiring still your inclining your
imperfections. Your trivial peccadillo imperfections, offering suggestions, offering confessions, offering nothing.
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Sarcastic Prayer
Dear Jesus, please come into my organ and forgive me for its sins. Although I know that you created the very organ that generates the sin, as well as I
know that without you, there would be no repentance for that God-made organ. Furthermore, I know that you are everywhere-present and therefore I just
asked someone who resides everywhere to come somewhere, which is completely illogical. However, I still ask that you come into my organ because if I
don’t other organ owners will tell me about lakes of fire vs. streets of gold. Which, if taken literally, means I must be scared of a large body of
water mixed with fire—which some may call a hot tube—instead of a bunch of gold that resides within a city where money is not used. Furthermore, it’s
probably true that more individuals have died from the desire of gold than from fire which makes seeking everlasting life within gold somewhat ironic.
Yet lots of things are ironic like you dying on a stick for sins you didn’t commit so that we may be saved for sins we didn’t commit. Its also quite
ironic how much of an asshole god was for thousands of years before he became Jesus who was good for 33 years and than went back to being god—and an
asshole for thousands of years.
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Mother where are we?
Our mirrors are scattered while liberty screams rape to applause...we day sleep, not dream and death is but fate of a Mont Blanc. All is zero sum, and
for that all sums to zero.
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Stupid cannot be veiled by expensive ink
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Success!
We’ve breed out ugly
Success!
We’ve breed out lazy
Success!
We’ve breed out failure and thus accordingly breed out success
Thus, Success! We have failed
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I spoke to a child who heard whispering
I spoke softly, but still screamed
My apologies little ear, my apologies
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Plucked angel hair and cuts from babies breath
poets...poets...
we’ve failed the piss test
Repeats, repeat
and R.I.P Cobains last breath
contribute, contribute, contribute
we all contribute less
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Following the highway demons
We proceed…we proceed
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Ah my poor…
My poor poor…
Soon I will revisit
Soon I will return your message
Soon enough for sure…
For now… please accept this recognition
Please accept my pointed finger as your personal present
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Rockabye prattle, rock the cradle, rock the vote...
And down that dirt road is your soap
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Surrounded by intellectual midgets whose flat-chested weaknesses fowl me. Stand behind me, not beside me—you’re not on my level.
Play Aloud
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Fuck the fence of indifference upon which you sit.
Fuck your cardinal spectrum of political bias.
Fuck your reason, your excuse, your ought to’s, your definitions, your blindness, your deafness, your handicap, your intellectual deficiency and you.
Fuck!!!
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Maybe I can be an economist,
Maybe I can Arm-Chair the latest’s trends in unexpected consequences, write pop-novels and giggle like school girls. Maybe I can wear a shield named
amoral to excuse my moral, stab those who speak normatives, rape those with a conscience. Maybe the unspoken costs of pissing on burning people are
just too great; supply of assholes too small. Maybe the demand for circle-jerk jargon too vast, contributions of
Freak-o-Undercover-Inner-Arm-Chair-economics to tall. Where’s my marginal smirk? Where’s my audience of graduate clones? Who truly does have the
biggest creative blog dick? Who will ever know?
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Is this it? An endless existence of mental siestas! Amidst…pissed…amidst the mines set by slumber minds. Sigh I would carve with sharp ice to
write my mind, but would die before I highlight.
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It awakes with vengeful alacrity when it sleeps readily
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If anger was adhesive
Fuck what…
I can’t keep this together…
You can’t expect me to keep this together…
The weak sleep together and breed weak together and then they disperse onto my lawn of kindness—my weakness. Yet truth to this I claim to adhere.
The truth, I’d rather hate you for everything you are, than love you for anything your not
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Important people,
Whose love is more?
Your love for you or my love for the humor in you
Palm pilots and power suits, pompous penis headers, pampered Jews
Latté drinking Wall street watchers
Either BA or MBA equate to B.S.
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Indifferent into which direction I piss
We all are less,
We all are less more than more,
More or less & More or less
Stopwatch-less are these moments, yet never do we stop to watch these moments.
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“Present”
Present me a present of the present
I can’t seem to locate the current…
When I look for it, it is the future
When I find it, it is the past…
Therefore, present me a present of the present so that I may know I truly exist
Play Aloud
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MBA’s and Machiavelli ,
The latté drinkers fill their mind with such unequivocal nonsense? The starfucks believe in purity? Gingerly they fold their Wall Street Journal,
gingerly they pretense to ignore their audience of less dressed, gingerly motivated by self-help audio. They are the idiots’ guider, the Dummy book. I
own you. You owe me. We bleed in defense of freedom and free markets!!!! We die in poverty so that your kind may live in prosperity. Fuck your god,
thank me!!!
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Remaining creatively weary
I care not…not to care to capitulate.
Forfeiting, for yet another fortnight
Fighting, bleeding for intellectual depository…
Hiding, beating for intellectual respiratory…
Here, among, where I would sip for stimulation
Now, sip I sit in Saturation,
My lids half open, my wits half closed
My companion off mating
With me home consuming…
Senselessly, senselessly, consuming
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Blue, blue, night
Dark, day light
Killing a smile,
Feeling nothing alike,
Eating your mind, wasting my time, stuck without... I’m, feeling nothing like
Corroding my mind, stuck without time, I guess I’m, feeling nothing like
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Son,
You must hasten
The lie of all lies is that which tells you there is time
There is not...there is none, and like me you will soon inexist
Go son, leave me...
take with you these flowers and flower...
Live son,
Live, by the hour
Play Aloud
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Whose books are crisp
Whose minds are lines
Who cannot become because they will not be
Let life live free
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti
Amen
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Let ink stand proof,
my pen was to paper.
Let endless line hereafter prove its irrelevancy
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By right your all encompassing presence unallows my existence present.
By right you exist at my expense or by right I am God!
And if by god I am god then let this world of unsatisfiable cunts repeat its mistakes.
I am god! And I am fucking dieing
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Bible shadows so far and wide...
The world is over
Shadows, scaring away errections, demanding perfection
yet, is this purity defined so purely?
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My age has not aged but my mind is not mine
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While in liberty we flirt with suppression. While in suppression we scamper back to liberty
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Mingling Weaknesses
So here are your frailties,
here are mine...
Platonic us...
pathetics of a kind
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Some tender, some void
satisfaction runs thus such
sadness runs cycles of joy
and thus, must
Allow me to quench any anticipatory.
I am not him nor am I the next, next.
This is only another this,
so let us proceed from that
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We live among and amid and by...dormant
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So I guess I’m just an ambitious child of altism.
My instruments have but one chord...
By my instrument has one chord!
And thus I will play it, till its right
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