Monday, October 20, 2003

Some quotes by yours truly.

"But there's no buzzing in be; and in bee, there buzz a hive of stings." I really like this quote. It has a Shakespeare ring of genius to me.

Basically, I take it to mean that misspelling things hurts more than it helps; at least in the context I wrote this in: it was at that one Phoenix person whom had begun to annoy me a bit. Not that he has completely stupid opinions...but bleh.

"Flatterers flatter the flat." A flat person, a level person. Someone that rests well and flat in me. Makes sense.

"The intensivity that is pleasure's lips." Self-explanatory.

"She be a piggy, swine legs and rump." Self-explanatory.

"Like a cigar smoking sky." Just a really cool combination of words from a poem.

"Dilapoid: He will be banned like a cigar smoking sky.
Dilapoid: And the end of the cigar, lighted, will period his eye.
Dilapoid: And he wil begone, no longered belay to shine.
Dilapoid: Tell me, please, please, flatter my banalities.
Dilapoid: Am I genius, do you believe?"

Random things made up just now. lol.

...There be others, indeed;
but bee little stingers left in me;
I am left to suffering.
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Unsleeped, I find myself here.

Mood: Tired somewhat, I suppose.
Music: None.

I was not able to get to sleep until about 1 or 2 in the morning last night.

Obviously, I had the thoughts I left in here still on my mind--those of suffering, Ed Gein, others of sorts. I put on my headphones, as I always do, and it didn't calm me at all. So eventually, as 1 rolled around, I decided to turn on my TV, for having the TV on is like having a friend, or an actual person in the room blabbering on incessantly, comfortingly.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was on FX. What the perfect movie to fall asleep to, as well. It was a version of the movie without subtitles, but english voiced lines. And the conversation, due to this, was horrid in the movie and lacking anything. It was the greatest thing to fall asleep to, really.

I managed to watch the show for a while. The one girl that had the one sword fought, I believe it was her sister, and then that was that--I could no longer stand watching it. I pulled the covers over my head, turned down the TV a tad, and was off to sleep. Another reason it was so hard to sleep was I was very caffeinated as well.

I believe I forgot to mention how I felt upon these thoughts entering my head when I had seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was a feeling of wanting to hug something--to hold it close and hug it tight and lie in its arms.

I've had this feeling before. When I was younger, I had a blanket. Some would say they had a stuffed animal of sorts, but I, I had a blanket. I had it until I was around 10, when I lost it at a hotel, and it was left there (what is the difference between Motel and Hotel, by the way...?). I used to hug that thing tight, and sleep with it in my arms each night.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre did not scare me--rather, it brought out feelings and emotions I have long abated and mollified. This is the type of person I am, and watching this movie...I suppose it was a mix of me being in the right mood venue, and such. When I saw this movie, and I think about what it entails...and what thoughts it brings, it makes me feel like I should and could cry. But I don't.

After it me and my Grandma went to Applebee's where we sat. I was even more pensive then. It had been a long time since thoughts had hit me so hard. It wasn't the movie--it was the atmosphere it enveloped around my head.

At Applebee's a felt tired, like I could feel it in me, but yet I was awake. It was that kind of fuzzy feeling, the one where you just feel as you are drifting around.

It was there--and also at the movie--that I began writing poems in my head. I do this at times, not too often, though. The main line I came up with was

I now know why
blood be red.

And since it came to my head, I wrote it down that night. The poem itself was...okay..but I just feel the thought mold I am in currently is too hard to express.

At the moment I feel really tired, lethargic. I can barely even type...and I'm typing much slower that I usually do, with a lot less stress and power. I'm just tired, but since I am tired, it is harder to think. I feel numb, and as if I could sleep at this moment.

I also feel very full. I feel like I want to puke out this feeling, I absolutely hate it. It was from eating Wendy's last night, I am sure.

It's that feeling that is all over your torso...like there's something inside your skin pushing against you endlessly, and slowly fingering away. That is the feeling I have now.

I probably won't eat lunch today because of it. The feeling, one happening, and once gone, has a way of easier coming back when I eat more.

I have been eating a lot more lately, and haven't been walking as much. I managed a few times this week. I am very self-concious about these things, as well. So I usually end up eating a lot of food one day, then starving myself the next.

I have noticed that when I am tired as I am now, people talking quite annoys me. I'm sitting here at school, and these kids are blabbering. I just want to tell them to shut up, I want quiet. But I cannot. It is rude.

I can tell I am not going to be in too good of a mood all day. I have a feeling of...quick changing moods that comes along with getting only 3 or 4 hours of sleep. Any little thing can move me; such as annoying people bantering.

This post is like an open wound, really. This is what I--and most people in this way--feel as they are tired.
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Sunday, October 19, 2003

On seeing The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Things have been quite heavily resting upon my mind. Due to this, I shall try and articulate the inarticulate of sorts; attempt to describe the one thing that is burning into my head and gripping me. I am trying to sort out a solid picture of suffering, a solid picture of why's, when's, how's; a basic thought of it all.

I came to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre believing it was "inspired"--for that is what the poster had said--by a true story. Inspired is such a vague thing, so I didn't know how vaguely or vividly to place what had "inspired" this story.

I came into the movie rather thinking it was as close to truth as could be. And through the whole thing my thoughts went around the point of suffering.

This movie moved me, for some reason, more than any other has in quite some time. I do not know what it was. But it did.

What is suffering, exactly? Is it pain, is it hate, is it death--what is it? It's...hard to put into words what I'm trying to say. I don't know. I feel that suffering is such a dumb, ignorant thing.

Suffering is something like Christ upon the cross--something like a slave being beaten and beaten again--like a man starving and dying.

But really, all it is is a word trying to describe something. So what suffering is doesn't matter. What matters is it happens. And why does it happen?

I think it's human nature. It is built into us from the moment we are born. I believe in original sin in this sort of way, I guess. I think we're born with the potentialities of good and bad.

There's a murderer in us all. There's an angel in us all. There's a lover in us all. There's a fighter in us all.

We just choose not to feel and hear all these parts of us.

So here is the main strain I've come to in my thoughts. Love is what causes all pain and suffering. Feelings. Love being the root of most feelings.

Love itself needs suffering to survive.

And I ask, why does a murderer murder? It is because he is in love with death. Why does a lover love? Because he is in love with love. Why does a human sin? Because he is in love with his natures. Why does man create? Because he is in love with beauty. Why does man fight? Because he is in love with what he thinks is love. Why do we suffer? We suffer because others love different things which cause us the most pain ever.

I will never, ever know the feeling of a hook up my spine, stabbing me, causing pain to rack my whole body. BUt that, I hope, is what suffering feels like. I hope that suffering is death; I hope that suffering is loving. Why do we die? We die because we suffer because of age. And why do we age? Because we love life enough to live it. We die because it is an end, a reason to all our suffering, a twisted thing to give us a purpose of our lives. Without death life wouldn't taste so meaningful.

Knowing that people enjoy killing other people chills my spine. But how is it any different than killing a cow and slaughtering it? It isn't. A cow is an animal--and all we are is an animal that has the power to overlook and see things. But we don't kill them just because, but we kill them for food.

But think about it. If we couldn't comprehend canibalism, didn't know, then we'd kill anything for food. Desperate tides call for desperate suffering, and desperate kills. If we were brought to dying or killing another human for food, we would do it if we couldn't comprehend what we were doing.

It chills me though to think of all the things that people suffer from and for. I am quite moved from this. I can't even put it into words. The poignancy of actuality and life as it moves is too hard to place words to it. I just can't paint what suffering is in words.

There are some very sick people around here, on this world. Ed Gein, the man whom I found inspired Psycho and Texas Chainsaw Massacre...wow.

He'd go to graves and dig people up, and take their body parts. I can't even imagine this. He'd also kill people, take their body parts...I am just so disgusted and...oh my god. So scared to even imagine this.

Yet when I think of these things, images pop into my mind..sick, twisted images. There really is a murderer in all of us...whether we choose to not admit it or whatso. And when I get to thinking about what I am now, it just really scares me.

Pain is such a universal thing. I love to feel it yet hate to know it all at once. That's all that needs to be said in general.

Even I find some pleasure in the images I see of blood and such in my mind..
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I liked how this turned out.

Daddy said he loved mommy...
but mommy doesn't love him.

i'm a banker!
sell my love...
to the dogs.
and dogs spelled
in a mirror
is too much
for me.
but dog
spelled in a mirror
is enough for me.

He smoted smoted smoted...
till his skull was a moat.
and heavens cloud could float.
byebye goat.
byebye.

shakespeare, he's in the alley...
with his pointed shoes and his bells,
saying "there's daggers in men's smiles,"
while heavens clod is up in sky.

when i think oclod
i think osteel
and when i think osteel
i think osexual fairies
on my window sill.

i hath become god
here in this land
and in the mirror
i read my head
and it says cur.
so concur, and prayer
is good for them.

Daddy said he loved mommy...
but mommy didn't love him.
so mommy left...
[grin]

daddy was a weird old fellow
liked john mayer as a friend
but mommy left him
and he drank the gin.

we were at a motel...
we was there.
the light was flickerin
in disrepair.
i saw his eyes.
like cloud frogs
jumpin in a stream.
[obscene]

daddy was a heavens cloud
jumpin in a stream.

"O Danny, where is mommy..."
and that night.
at the hotel.
daddy buried mommy.
it was in his eyes.

Daddy doesn't know
that i'm a god.
but i'm really an angel...

really an angel
with blackeyes.

he's still sittin here
in the hotel's stone
talkin bout mother.
and the frogs
are still jumpin
in his eyes
as he drinks more alcohol
than he cries...

when will daddy faint
or will he die?
i will find out
soon enough.
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Murder interests me..

Mood: Curiously interested.
Music: Nightwish-Over the Hills and Far Away

Here is what The Chainsaw Massacre was based on...and Psycho.

-http://www.crimelibrary.com/gein/geinmain.htm
-http://www.straightdope.com/classics/a5_253.html
-http://www.gunnarhansen.com/faq.htm
-http://www.houseofhorrors.com/gein.htm

...Want more?

-http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&q=%22Ed+Gein%22


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Thursday, October 16, 2003

Sour Jacks?

Mood: Humorously Morose.
Music: Pink Floyd-Mother.

I am in one of those moods where I don't care about much, and I'm just trying to make myself laugh every second, or be sarcastic every second. Or whatever. It's hard to explain. Basically I'm just not wanting to be depressed, and so I am fighting it away.

Today was same things, different day. Our first drafts of our newspaper stories are due tomorrow; I have math for homework...other things. As I said, same day different nothing.

I only have one source interviewed for my story, but will end up getting two done tomorrow. So I shall just make up my story...not the mention this is often how I end up doing a story. I don't know. Journalism just isn't my bag. I just like writing my columns.

Speaking of my column, my job one I edited last night for the fifth time.

Mr. Winter, my Journalism adviserm marked my paper all up, saying that my metaphors and such didn't work in the paper well. I ignored this. I refuse to kill my babies, my darlings. They are so beautiful in the paper...

But I did do one thing: I switched chunks of it around. Winter said I should start right off with me getting fired, so I did that. And then edited out a whole bunch of unneeded words and things.

I am just getting so tired of school. I don't even care anymore. I procrastinate to hell, do everything in the last minute. And I don't care. And I still am getting A's and B's.

I was on and off okay and on and off decent today.

What made my day was the thought of getting some candy. I decided to get some Sour Patch Kids. I remembered as I was in math that Tony had mentioned it was his favorite candy...and I remembered that I hadn't had them in forever.

So I go to the machine, get them, and I find out they are Sour Jacks. What the hell? We cannot allow this!

We cannot allow smaller, vintage candies to be overrun in a societic destruction and paving of newer, carbon copy candy! We cannot allow this! Sour Patch Kids should and should always be what they are, not copied.

Anyways, I have to clean the house since we are leaving tomorrow to go to Dickinson for the weekend. So I won't be posting in here all weekend.

It's weird. I am starting to wonder if me and Tony ever really did talk about much...I mean, I IMed him last night, and he was on OB, and he was even active (I checked the "Who's online" thing out of boredom). He's just busy often I guess. I don't know. We never talk about anything much anymore. Is there really nothing to talk about?

I don't know. Ah well.




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Wednesday, October 15, 2003

Shine on you crazy diamond

Mood: Good.
Music: Pink Floyd-Shine On You Crazy Diamond

A man's face sheens from the pixelation of a TV screen into my eyes. The man looks normal, middleaged, brown hair; resplendent eyes, warm face edged with light wrinkles. He stands in the limelight of a congregation of pertinent faces, all whose eyes gaze at him and away from him as if transfixed; they are all lost in what he is saying.

"Look what we are doing," he says, seething, low, like a big, empty drum. "Look what we're doing." Silence, the only thing focused on my TV screen is the man. Tears have begun to dot his face, and I wonder if it's sweat. Or if it's actually tears. His eyes have taken on that teary-eyed quality; and even though it's only a TV screen and its electrons I am seeing, I can see his eyes. They are scrunched, spherical icebags of pain. Not a hitting, woundal pain. But an emotional, stirring hurricane of pain. "Look what we're doing," he again says, louder, with more anguish.

He begins to walk off his main stage and approach the crowd. He approaches a young woman, stares her dead in the eye, like an infernal, enraged beast. "We are teaching our kids the ways of God," he says. "And look what we're doing," he repeats again. He walks over to another, a black woman holding on discreetly to a cross, her eyes closed shut, windows taking a beating from a wind. "It's for Jesus," the man begins again, shutting his eyes too, wrenching his head back, gathering his thoughts. "All I want is for Jesus to get what he went to do for his sacrifice. For him to be repaid."

I look at this man, on a TV screen, and realize that that's all he is to me. As moving as he seems to be, fanatical, I look upon him as someone professing that which he believes in and coveys out; and one who wanders in like a raven chewing bits and pieces and throwing it all about in skeletal shreds for others to feed from and crave. For this man, as far as can be seen, is basing his opinions on the concreteness of nothing. He places all his heart's beats and all his heart's loves in something, as far as he deep down would say, that isn't known to be real at all. He's placing faith and fallacy in belief.

And it is not as if he's alone. There's many like him, a whole organized religion like him. Even an approximate seventy-four percent of Americans behind his cause. A number, that over years, is falling. That is dying slowly. Just as Jesus, upon his cross, being crucifixed.

He returns to the front of his stage, reaches up into the air, his eyes closed again, seeping into his brain for words to articulate what he's trying to say. "Dying," he says, almost flinching his head, as if the word even hurt to say even though it came from his heart. "Jesus died for us," he says, still his eyes closed, still his head in tight, thinking wrinkles. "And will we not return what he did, will we not." He finally turns toward the crowd, and I thought it was like I could see his heart was on his head, beating into it, veins popping out. That was what I felt, that was what his words felt like, a poison eating away at the enamel of my brain. It wasn't a draining feeling, though. Only a feeling somewhat seeing how powerful faith can make a person.

"Blasphemy," he says, "is not like sinning;" he paused, for affect. "It is not showing reverence for God, it is insulting Him." This mention applied well to me.

I don't believe in God, nor do I believe there isn't a God. I stand in the middle, an apatheist. I see it as I can't believe in something until I see it physically, mentally, ficially. I believe in something because I as a person see it as right. So rather than standing in the roots of one side, I stand outside, festering my thoughts in indifference.

Upon telling my parents of this, I was immediately told I had been raised wrong. What bigots they sounded like. I feel that the most important justice any can give me is to understand and let me have my own interdictions and opinions. I feel this is the right of any single individual, and no exception should otherwise be made.

Often I have felt blasphemy is the main thing I would feel towards God if I knew him. I feel that life is rather pointless at times, and am oft to be cynical as such. I find it just too suiting that God would be forgiving in all places and claims. I also find that absolution, and the voyeur therein to be something that I don't want. When I shall die, I do not want to live eternally ever after in some ethereal populace. I would find it much like solitude by chains and prison. I do not want to exist after I die, to me this is totally abating the purpose of death. From my own eyes and drawings, I have seen that when something dies, it ceases to exist. At least on the mortal plane of existence. Whether it goes on to some beatific pricehood I do not know. But death means an end, and I see that it should do justice to this.

For this, I suppose, I am also bitter to believe in God himself. I see that there is only one way to live a life, but many interveneous ways to end it. I find that I am not going to worship some heavenly, narcissistic God. Rather, I shall live my life. And if I go to hell, so be it. But I much rather think in my thinking that I shall cease to exist in an overending way.

Whatever the case, I understand on some level why others so dearly live their lives in constant derivation of God. I mind other's opinions as they should mind mine. It is the humanly thing to do in the least.

Eventually, I see that religion won't be so ingrained in our society. That people—such as the man whom I began this with—shall be lesser in their existence. The number of Catholic Americans is falling. It is dying. And, as best put, without worshippers, a religion will crumble from its base. Without them, funding from churches ends. As with all things finite, Catholicism will die.

I plan to finally read the bible soon, to actually profess what I digress on a more higher level. If it shall convert me to God's dight I highly doubt. But at least I will have a higher understanding to base my opinions upon. And that itself is worth more than anything else I could want.

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Tuesday, October 14, 2003

Lily noose

Mood: Homework.
Music: Bob Dylan-If You See Her, Say Hello

Dilapoid: Thank you trial version of AOL!!!1
XtremeVerbatage: ??
Dilapoid: Exactly as stated.
Dilapoid: And goodbye timer shit.
XtremeVerbatage: AOL sucks tho
Dilapoid: Did you show RPGcrazy a "good time"?
XtremeVerbatage: what?
Dilapoid: lo
Dilapoid: lol
XtremeVerbatage: lol
XtremeVerbatage: ::smacks Mitch::
Dilapoid: Come on..
XtremeVerbatage: silly goose
Dilapoid: MOre like cum on.
Dilapoid: lol
Dilapoid: Smack me harder, master.
Dilapoid: Hm. Time for geometry
Dilapoid: And you're a lily noose.
XtremeVerbatage: lol
Dilapoid: That would be a good poem..
Dilapoid: He was a silly goose all over the shore
With a lily on im, too tight to throw
He was a lily noose all down to the heart
With a bloodhole on his big heart.
XtremeVerbatage: ok
XtremeVerbatage: are you high?
Dilapoid: Anyways, isn't it awesoem that two lines are parallel if and only if they are Alt Interior angles that are congruent?
Dilapoid: It's just so intersting.
Dilapoid: *interesting
Dilapoid: *awesome
Dilapoid: I don't condone drug use.
XtremeVerbatage: dude
Dilapoid: And I don't do drug use.
XtremeVerbatage: been 7 years since i was in Geometry
Dilapoid: Dude what lol?
Dilapoid: lol
XtremeVerbatage: good show
Dilapoid: Good show what? Acting like I was high?
Dilapoid: It wasn't a show lol.
XtremeVerbatage: it's been a long damn time since i took any form of Geometry
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: Let me reviatlize your mind.
XtremeVerbatage: good show that you don't do drugs
Dilapoid: I plan never to as well.
XtremeVerbatage: ok whatever dude
Dilapoid: If only I could spell lol.'
XtremeVerbatage: good show
Dilapoid: *revitalize
XtremeVerbatage: If only I had a heart
XtremeVerbatage: a brain
XtremeVerbatage: some noive
XtremeVerbatage: :d
XtremeVerbatage: :-D
Dilapoid: Parabolas.
Dilapoid: Look it up. Heh.
XtremeVerbatage: lol
Dilapoid: kik is the new lol.
Dilapoid: kik
XtremeVerbatage: Low animals in winter equals funtime in spring. Fun 41. 32Z
Dilapoid: Eh?
Dilapoid: Did you know that 138 divided by 2 equals 69?
Dilapoid: This is awesome.
Dilapoid: 69.
Dilapoid: lol
XtremeVerbatage: Low animals in winter equals funtime in spring. Fun 41. 32Z
XtremeVerbatage: must not forget to have is to not have
XtremeVerbatage: and Springtime for Hitler does have
Dilapoid: Best. Problem. Ever.
XtremeVerbatage: no the best problem ever is how do destroy the world without violence
Dilapoid: No, no.
Dilapoid: It is 2x=128.
XtremeVerbatage: it involves many many electromagnets
XtremeVerbatage: and a midget
Dilapoid: 69 just makes my day, you know.
XtremeVerbatage: we must not forget ze midget
Dilapoid: Fine.
XtremeVerbatage: he is integral in the destruction of the world brought about by nonviolent means, that is,
Dilapoid: The midget and 69 and magnets can all get together.
Dilapoid: And have party.
XtremeVerbatage: using electromagnets
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: Okay, a baby shower.
XtremeVerbatage: only magnets and midgets
Dilapoid: BABY SHOWER.
XtremeVerbatage: there is no room for 69
Dilapoid: Yes there
Dilapoid: is.
XtremeVerbatage: only magnets and midgets
XtremeVerbatage: no
XtremeVerbatage: no baby shower either
Dilapoid: Just go in the hotel.
Dilapoid: There's a 69.
XtremeVerbatage: only magnets and midgets
XtremeVerbatage: no
XtremeVerbatage: no baby shower either
Dilapoid: That's the room.
XtremeVerbatage: only magnets and midgets
Dilapoid: Fine.
Dilapoid: In room 68.
Dilapoid: *69.
XtremeVerbatage: to solve ze problem at hand,
XtremeVerbatage: we only shall ust magnets und midgets
Dilapoid: Yes surrah?
XtremeVerbatage: no
XtremeVerbatage: no room
XtremeVerbatage: just electromagnet and midget
XtremeVerbatage: the midget's name oos Froderick
Dilapoid: E=MCsquared.
Dilapoid: E=Electromagnet
Dilapoid: M=Midget
XtremeVerbatage: und ze electromagnet is named Seodore
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: I can't do math, I suck.
XtremeVerbatage: E=Energery
Dilapoid: What is half of 69?
XtremeVerbatage: not electromagnet
Dilapoid: 36?
XtremeVerbatage: and M does not equal Midget
Dilapoid: But that wouldn't be squared.
XtremeVerbatage: M does equal Mass
Dilapoid: Hm.
Dilapoid: Fine, fine.
XtremeVerbatage: und zere is no half of 69
Dilapoid: Yes there is.
XtremeVerbatage: for ozerwize, you would be beating off
Dilapoid: Exactly lol.
XtremeVerbatage: no
XtremeVerbatage: zere is not
Dilapoid: Fine.
XtremeVerbatage: zere is only electromagnet and midget
Dilapoid: You're just too smart for me.
Dilapoid: :p
XtremeVerbatage: and ze Midget's name is Froderick
XtremeVerbatage: und ze electromagnet is named Seodore
Dilapoid: (This better go in your sig, by the way, or I will PM RPGcrazy acertaining to giving her a "good time")
Dilapoid: *ascertaining
Dilapoid: :-P
XtremeVerbatage: such is ow it is devised, und zat is how it will be dun
XtremeVerbatage: come, Seodore
Dilapoid: Uh cun terk luke sky walkers.
XtremeVerbatage: come Froderick
XtremeVerbatage: we go to destroy ze world wizout violence
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: But violence is needed to ascertain the midget.
XtremeVerbatage: no luke skywalkers
Dilapoid: For he was raped into being.
XtremeVerbatage: only ze midget and ze electromagnet
Dilapoid: Poor midget.
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: Raped into existence.
XtremeVerbatage: i have midget named Froderick here beside me
Dilapoid: what is 84/7?
XtremeVerbatage: he is long time friend
Dilapoid: LIke longer that 69?
XtremeVerbatage: und abuses himself, so zere is no need to abuse him further
XtremeVerbatage: you say nozzing
Dilapoid: Nosing?

Dilapoid: What?
Dilapoid: Okay.
XtremeVerbatage: nozzing
Dilapoid: "Nosing," said Midget mitch.
XtremeVerbatage: und ve are agreed
XtremeVerbatage: such midget and electromagnet
Dilapoid: Life is sad, life is a bust, all you can do is do what you must.
Dilapoid: But I thought he was called Forderick?

Dilapoid: And he patronized the ford?
XtremeVerbatage: no
XtremeVerbatage: he is namad Froderick
Dilapoid: Then he is Ford's son?
XtremeVerbatage: und he does not worship Ford
XtremeVerbatage: he is but a midget
Dilapoid: Roferdick.
Dilapoid: Rofer Dick.
Dilapoid: That is my new frien.
Dilapoid: *friend
XtremeVerbatage: no
XtremeVerbatage: Froderick
Dilapoid: ROFERDIRCK!!!!11111111
Dilapoid: *Dick
XtremeVerbatage: but zat friend is not part of ze equazion
Dilapoid: Cockatrices......and SEXUAL FAIRIES!
Dilapoid: Yes!
Dilapoid: Orgasmic pleasures..like candy corn
XtremeVerbatage: the equazion only calls for midget named Froderick
Dilapoid: It doesn't taste like corn, but it tastes like candy.
XtremeVerbatage: and electromagnet namad Seodore
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: Fine. But Roferdick and 69 are going to cause violence.
XtremeVerbatage: no candy corn
XtremeVerbatage: no orgasmic pleasures
XtremeVerbatage: only electromagnet and Froderick, ze midget
XtremeVerbatage: zey are not required for zis operation
Dilapoid: And just because Roferdick is an anagram of Froderick does not mean they have any sexual relations.
XtremeVerbatage: und now
XtremeVerbatage: we go to destroy ze world
Dilapoid: That's like saying Clinton and Monica had sexual relations.
XtremeVerbatage: wisout violence
XtremeVerbatage: we bid you good morrow
XtremeVerbatage: but ze world will be gone shortly, zus, we shall nut speek agun.
Dilapoid: Go, 69! Give thee wont he deserves!
XtremeVerbatage: come Froderick
XtremeVerbatage: come Seodore
XtremeVerbatage: we are oof
Dilapoid: Give it to him anally~
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: And be off with the midget's head.
XtremeVerbatage: no 69.
XtremeVerbatage: no
Dilapoid: I am genius.
Dilapoid: Hahaha.
Dilapoid: Puns are fun.
XtremeVerbatage: only midget and electromagnet.
XtremeVerbatage signed off at 7:55:51 PM.
Previous message was not received by XtremeVerbatage because of error: User XtremeVerbatage is not available.
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This post brought to you by a man that can't see.

Mood: Humored
Music: Amorphis-Drifting Memories

I am typing up this entire post without looking at my keyboard and without looking at my screen. So how am I doing?

Anyways, it's time for thoughts of the day. This is the stuff that is the whipped ceream of life. It's like doing Heavens Cloud without doing a cloud and not doing heaven and noot having heaven owning a cloud. Here we go.

1)If I wer a hobo, I'd change my bnam to Bob the Hobo Man, and I'd wear a sign that said, "I am Bob the Hobo Man, and Jesus is my friend. We often go down the street where we can see all the cute chicks. Will you give me a peep? Not a pepe. but the marshmallow things, you know?" And I'd walk all arounnd toawn, telling them that the pope is a really cool man, and that he is going to go to Heaven about us all. Not a cloud, either, that's for preps. But rather, I'd say that the pope is going to purgatory. I'm sure people would really love me.

And if people didn't love me, I'd find a partner in mycrim, another hobo. And this hobo's name wold be HSeavens whipped cream with strawberries on top. And I'd walk around with him and we'd be best of friends, just like barney loves us all andd signs that cool song about I love you's and I hate you's and all that good stuff.

2) I really am starting to wonder, if paper is made from trees, and it can be made from trees, and trees come from seeds, and water makes them grow, then why can't I make paper on my farm? I think in a few years paper wioll be the next Bill Gates.

3)My Dad gave me 20 bucks to go to Taco Bell. I love that place. Fire sauce really doesn't live up to its name, youknow. It needs more kick. So I say Arnold actually does something up there in California, and he gives us strawberries and peppers.

And if he can't give us that, I'm sure he'll be able to womanize me some whores.

Okay. Maybe that wwa a little mean. But anyways, the pulsburt dough man wouldn't get mad for me saying this. He seems to eat enough food to where he doesn't even care.

4)I think that little kids should be shown the right way to rock out. They shouldn't be given little tiny rock collections containig smal amounts of stones that are worth nothing. Instead, they should be given guitars and given a teacher to teach them how to rock hard. You know, jkust like in School of Rock, where Jack Black does his thing and shows those kids how to rock.

But yeah, we can watch out for the drugs. We can also watch out for the lobsters as well as for the anorexically thin bread. Just like heavens cloud wattches out for the rain, we can give you the flour, but not the weed.

5) I am listening to Amorphis right now. What a good band. Right now I am listening to grief stricken heart, and it's like watching maggots be cooked on a large bbarabeque boiled in butter and given large hates that smell like bugs bunny. It's a really cool smell too. I can feel it in my eyes, it feels like some man barfing in elation at my hair and his nose hairs just sticking all ouit like hairy lungs.

That's what going through puberty feels like. And thanks to Amorphis I have beebn able to give it to you in words. Thanks Amorphis, we all love you.

6) I only have fiftreen mintues left. Well that sucks. Sucks like sucking an oyster out of a river full of too much water and sewage. Damn timer should just be given a face and a pinata tfor me to punch and kick like a man that's got nothing but sex to lose. Really should happen too, you know. It's not fiar. Here I am living on Earth while other heavens clouds arel iving up in mars and living their lives away working for some insurance company. Well, at least I can say I haeve conqreed heavens clouds and I saw the tip of the mountain.

It was quite pristine.

7)I think this will ve the last number. I'm really just not even trtying on this thing. And my typing is starting to get even more erratic and stuff. It's like I can't find words, and I'm just pushing them out throgh my head. It's weird, really. I guess this is different than typing while loopking at the screen. I feel like i"m typing randomly at thin poles in the earth, and I'm hoisting on to them by heeavens clouds hands that are long like hulk hoggans mothers hands. I'm not even capittalizing stuff anymore, am I?

Insane. INane. Very bad, bad.

Very bad bad.
Vad bad body
living like a little man
living in the storm of hair
bad boy, bad man
get a car
drive around
drive away
strong bad like me
giving himself to fancy free
am I misspelling
tell me
I don't know
it's insane
what in the world
this is amazing
i anm not looking
i sweat
and it's like a chinmeras on my head
and he's talking about skyscrapers
and talking about moles

enough of this.

so how did I do? tell me, on a scale of one to sexy, what did I do? Am I freally a good typer?
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Idiot wind.

Mood: Good.
Music: Bob Dylan-Idiot Wind.

Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press
Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out but when they will I can only guess.
They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy,
She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me.
I can't help it if I'm lucky.

People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act
Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts.
Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at,
I couldn't believe after all these years, you didn't know me better than that
Sweet lady.

Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth,
Blowing down the backroads headin' south.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike
I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like.
There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door,
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars
After losin' every battle.

I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are
Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars.
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies.
One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes,
Blood on your saddle.

Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb,
Blowing through the curtains in your room.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart
You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart.
Now everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped,
What's good is bad, what's bad is good, you'll find out when you reach the top
You're on the bottom.

I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind
I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes
don't look into mine.
The priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building
burned.
I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime
turned Slowly into autumn.

Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull,
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth,
You're an idiot, babe.
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read
Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishin' I was somebody else instead.
Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy,
I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory
And all your ragin' glory.

I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free,
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me.
You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above,
And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love,
And it makes me feel so sorry.

Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats,
Blowing through the letters that we wrote.
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves,
We're idiots, babe.
It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves.
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