bitchslapping peeps til they fall over proclaiming that they feel the power.
damn straight you do.
i just bitchslapped you like it was the 90s.
healed your smart ass comments with some brain damage.
do retarded people type/write like they talk and even more to the point, do they think how they talk.
i think i've asked this same kind of question through multilingual people. what language do you think in. its an interesting folly im sure most people have boringly indulged in.
how did i get to this thought?
what brought me this far?
amalgamation between professor steven w hawking and tony hawk.
verbally, its professor tony w hawking.
imaginatively, its a paraplegic guy wearing dickies, helmets n kneepads with a voice synthesizer duct taped to the skateboard he is bound by rope to.
i know, i know... a picture is worth a 1000 words... and that was only like 20, tops.
i would say 'i digress' if only i was making a point.
i usually make more points than an artine factory worker.
but hence, 3am with a lack of cigarettes has left me in quite the mental ruin.
i light my last tobacco friend and toss the lighter hurtling towards my clutter filled coffee table.
its rife with marks made from a lack of coasters and my abundance of apathy.
i watch black n white korean war movies. its better than the home shopping entities that haunt TVs at this time.
One Minute To Zero.
its quite the vulgar flick for a pre 1960s movie.
from in, meaning not, and somnus meaning sleep.
my legs rage to lay out while my brain screams to sit up and write or read something.
all perspective is subjective. fuck my legs and brain. they dont know the score.
they can wait til im fucked up off of some acid for my ritualistic thanking of the legs.
they do so much and ask for so little.
unlike my selfish hands. always accumulating attention from me.
i dont live for weekends. i die a little every weekend.
"when i fall in love..... it will be forever....."
"when i fall in mud..... it will leave me tethered....."
something about a woman in uniform that arrests me.
i've always thought of my brain as some sort of sweatshop for thoughts. even as a kid, i have always had this sweaty factory image with thousands of innocent children tapping away on typewriters.... with monkeys on their backs.... smoking cigars.
all that said, i liked to think then. probably still do now... usually just as long as im under the influence of something or rather. directionless pondering. its what i do.
as if you didnt already know.
call now to have your prayers answered.
look into these tear streaked faces.
fuck you, pay me.