(no subject)
so today was a good day
Eben though I was very tired through out it all
today is piano, and I really dont want to do
oh well maybe he will finally give me greensleeves
Morgan and I ahve intresting conversations over IM, we made a story
I deleted all the names and stuff.
The beginning is very different from the end
I know this guy, whos a hobo and he lives on this corner. Doing drugs all day long, he knows his ABCs of drugs and he knows his algebra (true testament to american society)by selling his wonderful drugs.The sad thing is he is really a depressed person, and no one loves him.
He needs more speed and tacos. He needs more tacos because then his stomach will explode and bits of red well go everywhere and everything will be coool. Sadly though no mexicans will make him a free tacos, which is all he really wants, ONE FREE MEXICAN COOKED TACO.
So this guy that I know is the emo drug lord, who on every friday night cuts himself with a syringe.He use to crwal behind his daddies BMW and trmeble in the gutter reciting Poe poerty with streams of eyeliner running down his face and pooling in his gnarled hands.Now he just shoots up on some stuff before he gets that down.
Then he flys up in the stars, higher then any kite can ever get. He rides over the mooon with a broken spoon on the back of cow beeging for more. Mother goose is there whispering tales of perfection, that are so right that they cut his ears into shards.
There is a bit of glass in his eye, from a mirror he broke to beat his releflection to the floor... in misery he tried to pull it back within himself to swallow to bury the badness, it stuck in his eye and no matter how hard he cries the tears can never pull that shard of self denial form his eye,swollen adn ghastly.
The broken remains of the mirror which were not lodged so firmly in his eyes, he had swallowed. The went straight to his stomach comsuming it and tearing it to shreds. Nothing else could passthrough his stomach with out being aplimfied with guilt. His eatting became nonexsistint.Anorexia of the mind and body. he withered still more.
What could have been a soul, if such a whimiscal thing even existed, had long since suffocated form the pressure of it all. the glass gleamed with in his heart, cold and sterile.
His body so empty that the desire to fulfill it was all comsuming. Drugs were the answer to every problem to every pause in life which for him were too many. Purposefully set on a path of self destruction he set the needle to his almost hollow vein again.
Bloodless and sunstarved he now lays against a cold grimy alley wall with nothing but a moldy dumpster to protect him from the raging wind and the tempest of street life. He burns with need. Yet is deathly chilled by what he has become a wraith. a hollw shell. the emptiness inside him is cavernous. he resounds. the frugal beating of his dead and rotting heart is deepp and slowly slowing as the his frowzen fingers turn blue snd the silver lightening in his veiens fades away. Yet is death really an escape, no one knows what lies beyond and the many times he has flown to the other worlds with the assientce of foriegn items, he has never truly encontered it. He his smelled it and seen its remains on others that he has known.
Now it his time to find out the secret we all at one point get to know. For one split second before the inexscable death he feels ironically alive full of adrenalin of knowing that he isnt afraid to hide anylonger.Then the true weight of what is about to come settles in around him. the air seems to gorm heavier, bearing down on him with each passing breath, death, death, death the say is but a doorway.
But what he really is, is only a piece of meat, left to rot behind. An abandoned bin of human waste and refuge. how fitting for that it all he really is. a waste. The oxygen he pulls in with each beat of his heart is theivery. he has stolen form another. he dies.
His body was not found for several days, by the time it was, it was swollen, discolored, and rotting. Flies had over tkaen his body like a blanket. The others could not bare to touch it they let him rot to the bone, thinking that he had done nothing in life to be worthy of a funeral, and no one was there to reject these cruel thoughts. His body would never find rest even in death.
They uncermoniously dumped the stinking putridr reamins on a steel gurney rolled him inot a chilled white room without even the decency of a covering. the tag around his foot was merely a munber
In time he was forgotten. His body was forgotten as soon as it had been thrown away, but his life had been forgotten for much longer. His life had been forgotten even when he was alive.
It was na eays transistion for everyone. His body was burnt and the ashes buried under a rose bush, whish wept petals like droplets of dark blood. Not so much as a marker baring his ame or date of death. for no one knew. In the end he had even forgotten himself. His name was justa distant echo in the vast and empty caverns of his dazed mind
Yet in a way his death had saved him from being earsed from this earth. From his ashes the rose bush grew strong. If you looked at the rose bush one could feel the emotions of the world. For even though he forgetten his life, and all the wonders of it. His experences were full of emotion which this rose bush now expreced in such a quite way. Survival had taken precedence over mere words. Passion bloomed, the thorns ripped fleash from pasersby and reminded them that in beauty there is violence.
The blood the sap of the bush ran not just green but all the colors. Symbols ran deep to its core, and if anyone spent the time to look the answers laid in its roots. Yet many people are blind to the beauty, power, and knowledge that is nature.
One did see it though and read the messages in a strewn way. Human life was no longer worthy in his eyes or in the eyes of the beautiful bush. Human are the filth of the earth compared to the beauty of nature. Humans are the lice of the world. crawling and bredding and consuming all in their path. the bush was rundown years latter, in its prime, torn and mutilated in lay on the ground making way for some new construction of human greed. then he and the bush were forgotten. all they had stood for rotted away again. nothing but faded crisp petals in gravel ramined
Eben though I was very tired through out it all
today is piano, and I really dont want to do
oh well maybe he will finally give me greensleeves
Morgan and I ahve intresting conversations over IM, we made a story
I deleted all the names and stuff.
The beginning is very different from the end
I know this guy, whos a hobo and he lives on this corner. Doing drugs all day long, he knows his ABCs of drugs and he knows his algebra (true testament to american society)by selling his wonderful drugs.The sad thing is he is really a depressed person, and no one loves him.
He needs more speed and tacos. He needs more tacos because then his stomach will explode and bits of red well go everywhere and everything will be coool. Sadly though no mexicans will make him a free tacos, which is all he really wants, ONE FREE MEXICAN COOKED TACO.
So this guy that I know is the emo drug lord, who on every friday night cuts himself with a syringe.He use to crwal behind his daddies BMW and trmeble in the gutter reciting Poe poerty with streams of eyeliner running down his face and pooling in his gnarled hands.Now he just shoots up on some stuff before he gets that down.
Then he flys up in the stars, higher then any kite can ever get. He rides over the mooon with a broken spoon on the back of cow beeging for more. Mother goose is there whispering tales of perfection, that are so right that they cut his ears into shards.
There is a bit of glass in his eye, from a mirror he broke to beat his releflection to the floor... in misery he tried to pull it back within himself to swallow to bury the badness, it stuck in his eye and no matter how hard he cries the tears can never pull that shard of self denial form his eye,swollen adn ghastly.
The broken remains of the mirror which were not lodged so firmly in his eyes, he had swallowed. The went straight to his stomach comsuming it and tearing it to shreds. Nothing else could passthrough his stomach with out being aplimfied with guilt. His eatting became nonexsistint.Anorexia of the mind and body. he withered still more.
What could have been a soul, if such a whimiscal thing even existed, had long since suffocated form the pressure of it all. the glass gleamed with in his heart, cold and sterile.
His body so empty that the desire to fulfill it was all comsuming. Drugs were the answer to every problem to every pause in life which for him were too many. Purposefully set on a path of self destruction he set the needle to his almost hollow vein again.
Bloodless and sunstarved he now lays against a cold grimy alley wall with nothing but a moldy dumpster to protect him from the raging wind and the tempest of street life. He burns with need. Yet is deathly chilled by what he has become a wraith. a hollw shell. the emptiness inside him is cavernous. he resounds. the frugal beating of his dead and rotting heart is deepp and slowly slowing as the his frowzen fingers turn blue snd the silver lightening in his veiens fades away. Yet is death really an escape, no one knows what lies beyond and the many times he has flown to the other worlds with the assientce of foriegn items, he has never truly encontered it. He his smelled it and seen its remains on others that he has known.
Now it his time to find out the secret we all at one point get to know. For one split second before the inexscable death he feels ironically alive full of adrenalin of knowing that he isnt afraid to hide anylonger.Then the true weight of what is about to come settles in around him. the air seems to gorm heavier, bearing down on him with each passing breath, death, death, death the say is but a doorway.
But what he really is, is only a piece of meat, left to rot behind. An abandoned bin of human waste and refuge. how fitting for that it all he really is. a waste. The oxygen he pulls in with each beat of his heart is theivery. he has stolen form another. he dies.
His body was not found for several days, by the time it was, it was swollen, discolored, and rotting. Flies had over tkaen his body like a blanket. The others could not bare to touch it they let him rot to the bone, thinking that he had done nothing in life to be worthy of a funeral, and no one was there to reject these cruel thoughts. His body would never find rest even in death.
They uncermoniously dumped the stinking putridr reamins on a steel gurney rolled him inot a chilled white room without even the decency of a covering. the tag around his foot was merely a munber
In time he was forgotten. His body was forgotten as soon as it had been thrown away, but his life had been forgotten for much longer. His life had been forgotten even when he was alive.
It was na eays transistion for everyone. His body was burnt and the ashes buried under a rose bush, whish wept petals like droplets of dark blood. Not so much as a marker baring his ame or date of death. for no one knew. In the end he had even forgotten himself. His name was justa distant echo in the vast and empty caverns of his dazed mind
Yet in a way his death had saved him from being earsed from this earth. From his ashes the rose bush grew strong. If you looked at the rose bush one could feel the emotions of the world. For even though he forgetten his life, and all the wonders of it. His experences were full of emotion which this rose bush now expreced in such a quite way. Survival had taken precedence over mere words. Passion bloomed, the thorns ripped fleash from pasersby and reminded them that in beauty there is violence.
The blood the sap of the bush ran not just green but all the colors. Symbols ran deep to its core, and if anyone spent the time to look the answers laid in its roots. Yet many people are blind to the beauty, power, and knowledge that is nature.
One did see it though and read the messages in a strewn way. Human life was no longer worthy in his eyes or in the eyes of the beautiful bush. Human are the filth of the earth compared to the beauty of nature. Humans are the lice of the world. crawling and bredding and consuming all in their path. the bush was rundown years latter, in its prime, torn and mutilated in lay on the ground making way for some new construction of human greed. then he and the bush were forgotten. all they had stood for rotted away again. nothing but faded crisp petals in gravel ramined