a magical helicopter was bought by a rich farmer. The
farmer flew his whirlybird wherever he went; that wasn't very far. He flew
it once every three minutes every day and night until he found that he
couldn't anymore. When he found this out, he saw why. The Russian
sattellite "Sputnik IV" crashed right into him when he was flying it. He
couldn't take the separation from his magical helicopter and died.
Shortly after the farmer died, a deranged boy decided to see what fire
tasted like. All of his friends gathered around to see him be stupid. He
lit a stick, put it in his mouth, and said, "It tastes like... burning."
After that, he promptly died.
Afterwards, about four thousand annoying jerks did the world a big favor
and jumped off a cliff, thinking they were going to hit some water -- only
to find that they landed on jagged rocks, glass shards, cacti, knives,
needles, and other sharp objects. They died quickly enough.
I wish 4000 jerks would jump off a cliff onto an assortment of sharp and painful things.
Excerpts from my novel: An Egg Is Not A Fruit.
La Rue de la Coq DOr: 6 Oclock in The Morning (Orwell)
Statement number 1: we are you. There is poetry as soon as we realise we possess nothing.
Even if I were a supernova, youd never see me for the clouds above your head.
Im going to hell for something so I might as well just do everything.
Rhythm & Stealth (Leftfield)
Help! I cant stop eating my face: your jaw goes wild.
Fools make the best lovers: cures for the soul part II.
This isnt really wrong: as if there was wrong that was pretend.
We Who Walk On Clouds (kapnabatai)
LISTEN I would put it there if I could see it. If I even knew what I was doing. Fuck Zayik
She never mentions the word addiction in certain company.
Your concept of art is irrelevant: my heroes are mine.
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
The lions are escaping into the street : do not feed the animals
To bring crimson death to the blue eyed enemy: from hells heart I stab at thee.
The most stunning game The Devil plays is to convince you that he does not exist.
(This is the end, Beautiful Friend.
You dont put out the candle when the room gets dark: explaining failure.
Saturday night: a rat crawls under my pillow to die.
If I should die, think only this of me.)