I rise above Manhattan with increasing velocity.
I take note of carnal abundance abundant downtown.
I can feel the air. I can feel the heat.
I land my kinky machine.
I wish to gaze forthright into the sparkly neon souls of lower-middle class thrills.
I want to see closer.
I stand now in the middle of metro American streets.
I hear sorrowful sarcastic sinful sarcastic music play.
I never want to leave.
I waltz into seedy dimly lit bar like place is mine and I sit.
I order heavy drink from tender named O'Malley.
I stare at the smooth shiny skin of approaching woman.
I speckle my speech with accented expletives.
I happily notice co
Happiness lies in the abuser's eyes
as he pierces his skin one more time
because he isn't you and you aren't him
so what's the hurry? I see more deserving less than I's out
on the street tonight. Panhandling stagnates in
the same diabolical way ice dulls pain
and an "It's alright" calms the coursing spread of a lover gone.
So why bother at all with the transient homeless—who
abuse on my streets because their ownership of
any street doesn't exist. My America! I conform to a socially
acceptable norm, so I am considered a unit on the great shelf
in the dirty large-city mall that is pax-Americana consumer-
to-consumer ADJUSTABLE B
Estimated Time: 5:00 Minutes by X-SPAWN, literature
Literature
Estimated Time: 5:00 Minutes
Crevices crackle and click from beneath eye's view as the molten liquid rises and crumbles below the asphalt. The air smells strongly of sulfur while garbage cans are knocked over in the buzz of herd mentality. Frantic followers of cunning cult leaders sit on their knees in a praying fashion right there on the sidewalk surface. A stone's throw brings sight of seething Jazzmen bleating furiously on saxophones and trumpets. If one were to look closer, they would see tears in the eyes of the men. A large crack forms in the street, disrupting the sounds of sorrow and panic. Street corner opposite the Jazzmen belongs to a manic street preach
The man stepped down from the podium. He didn't like assemblies; never has—and he especially didn't like giving them. Not to the medicated depressed faculty waiting only to receive their pension nor to the self-obsessed angsty vermin some might refer to as "teenagers". But—being the principal—it was his job to do these kinds of things. Honour Roll assemblies, fundraiser assemblies; they all made him ache inside.
Over the years he accepted the assemblies with a sort of mind-numbing complacency, but there was always this gnawing in the back of his mind reminding him of how much he despised them—and his whole wasted career for that mat
Untitled, For the Most Part by X-SPAWN, literature
Literature
Untitled, For the Most Part
Upon realising that his mind was the Universe and that the entire world was ultimately resting on the tip of his fingernail, the young man decided to make a sandwich. It was his immediate reaction to the situation--making a sandwich. If he had figured out something important; like, say, who really shot JR, perhaps, he might have had more incentive to go tell someone about his finding. But, he had simply relegated organised religion and structural science to nothing more than a child's fancy. Nothing but a trifle, really.
After he made his sandwich (and ate it too) he thought it good to have a sit down with the day's newspaper. He w
The fat
Cat
Sat.
He looked about his own
And on his throne
He was all alone
With no one to scratch his bountiful mound
Of fur,
And lies,
And secretly guarded ground.
we have no identity
no sound sense of ourselves
anyone can be anything
as long as it amuses themselves
we are spinning in existence
falling from ourselves
we try to make up reasons for why we are
and why this is
but truly we are just fooling
ourselves and each other
and so we cover up
who we think we are
but we're really not
so we
restrict others from being original
because we will never be
as free as them
but even still
no one will ever be
as free as
a fish in the ocean
The man stepped down from the podium. He didn't like assemblies; never has—and he especially didn't like giving them. Not to the medicated depressed faculty waiting only to receive their pension nor to the self-obsessed angsty vermin some might refer to as "teenagers". But—being the principal—it was his job to do these kinds of things. Honour Roll assemblies, fundraiser assemblies; they all made him ache inside.
Over the years he accepted the assemblies with a sort of mind-numbing complacency, but there was always this gnawing in the back of his mind reminding him of how much he despised them—and his whole wasted career for that mat
Current Residence: Arizona Favourite genre of music: Noise Favourite photographer: starving ones Favourite style of art: It's all pretentious. Operating System: Vista. MP3 player of choice: Black, iPod Classic, 80G Shell of choice: Koopa Shell? Wallpaper of choice: Solid block colors. Skin of choice: Brown Favourite cartoon character: Scruffy. The janitor. Personal Quote: “If you want justice go to a whorehouse; if you want to get fucked go to court.” Martin V
hey.
thanks for the support, bro.
im totally new to this thing, so i dunno how to use it yet.
since you added me, im assuming i can add yu along with others as friends right?
haha=]
thanks again