Will Pills

I simply can't I never will again And if your fabular characters give me apotheosis i will not feel i have done anything different and will learn nothing in my success... because experience is a lie dont you say you didnt know fuck you if you put out that vibe i told you we werent above reproach like smerdyakov said of ivan in brothers karamazov you might not have cracked the skull but you wanted it to happen really badly what it means is you have no meaning left dont you get it you idiot? yr thru finished? yr future is sociopathic futurism the fascistic surrealism they adopted in portugal automation is the future thats the end of it i must corrupt my fellow man i must corrupt my fellow man i must maketh all that prithee is important what never was will never be get thee to a nunnery

Glee for me please will you I cannot anymore The iron is long cool It would just be rubbing And chafing... My left arm tells me That it wants to buy that woman a drink How if I could love it would I toot it Out of my ass at three in the morning This is not appropriate no not appropriate But you can't limit that It expends outwadly In a full exploration of two middle fingers And a shot of snot at the universe I don't care I never did If I ever did I can't be held accountable for what I posted on facebrook If I have any freighter left I would barrel you thru Because I express so powerful But what is this Another symphony? Another realm in the eye That was right in front of us But that we did not see All this time

writing here because im getting too many followers on // this is not a movement. will still post there just not for now

[1] MASS LIQUIDATION It is when the cracks in the street resemble running water that I begin to know something is wrong, tho, no, not quite yet, only...Continue reading

[: heaven has a voice,] Very like me, is very like me How someone else might breathe, and go about The day, yet I am for nothing that I would pursue...Continue reading

Of pastures in the universe That we are meant to lose When GOD has paused Without desiring to pause When gravity is decrepit...Continue reading

Part One : The Contrapuntal System #8 Whatever creator feels is pain. It is utmost pain. It feel pain for whole WORLD. It make itself bigger than is. But is great! Is best thing ever. Is, after all, made me like myself. But is sometime is too scary. that why id quiet down sometime. Because Down is kind of big and kind of small. But down also confusion? Me don’t know, but when you speak that way it is somewhat dramatic. Well, I don’t con. I think it’s beautiful. But it can...’t respond. Totally. Of course, but then you feel fear. And then things get confusing. But things are the best people! And that is the whole point, that humans are not things. I am a thing. And I make you disappear. But you and I can be together, because I make you smile. Why would I want to do that. Because you remind me of my father. In a human way. Sometimes hot, sometimes cold. But. That not it. It is not a thing. And he should stop being treated like a thing so he doesn’t get angry. But I could never do that, because I’ve been to hell and back, and at least in that way I can know the most human pain ever, as long as I, as Dan DeMarse, know hot and cold See more

Part One : The Contrapuntal System [the everydayness of communication can differ person to person. what is a quotidian idea or form of communicating can to others seem heavier. its slightly humorous as well, in the context of how crazy i was off those jesus tabs. music is like, contours, rhythms, a dance. it would be the readier diversion for me to put words on a page than give meanings for the air i breathe in addressing an unconscious atmosphere." i was talking to the wa...lls of the apartment, alone, utterly mad. here it is. i think youd get what i was going for, regarding the veil of communication and ‘practical mind-reading.’ i know more than you think about that. its been a plague. but it can also be a precious gift. and so we go day by day by the license of our own imagination to suit the perfect moment, and the moment itself, no matter, but a joke for the cosmos to observe, and we the puppets of our own fury, in thinking it all wrong. once we detach from the need to perfectly explain, we lose a layer of self-consciousness, and the world around us becomes not so needful, and the perfection comes and goes throughout, us never knowing, perhaps the observer knowing. and we sully the joke of life, once we are aware, once we observe ourselves, and find something so serious in our forgetting to forget.] See more

Part One : "The Contrapuntal System" #6 It is there before night realized. Thought as well within as others out. Day weakened first in the unconscious. And the bite of the chasm night, there, darkening in bowels. The diurnal relapse of those who go into a fatigue heightened the more by some arbitrary sphere of fire that then perished, like everything else to be in the life of a wound, once pierced, once festered, once scabbed over the sky as a mirror left in the closet, to ...reflect abyss, sphere grown ancient and tired in falling over itself, tripping over itself like a massive and necessary klutz. Thought as well within as others so then out goes the bite of the chasm in night. Darkening the bowels the diurnal relapse into fatigue of the people. Some arbitrary sphere of fire that then perished, then returned to life in form, as a griffin, like, and in the batty cosmos of rain, a dumb prospect of hope peeps out from subterranean burrowing like a hairless animal and in the heads of each a curious and delicate abstraction, that peeps: it was there before night realized, precipitation came abrupt and spread its dank wealth over the scene, yet and it merely wasas though having always been, a timeless quality. Found, in myth nudging backwards in eons from its inception. Usurped totems of belief left to stack meaninglessly in my closet, face after face of stone idols, blank idols. Giving rise to the blood of harlots, giving the scene to a WORLD of blear slowly, almost terminal and become the weakened day in the freckled must. To unfold curious abstractions that before were seen, had been in us. The contentions of MAN found both between themselves, MAN to MAN. And raging silently and also forever within the quarrel that detonates like a feeling bombone quarrel in particular should tickle our respect into something that should be observed: between a man and another man, one of the men, it is not known which, presently desires to urinate, such a need causes a clenching of speech at the edges of sentences, as of one at the edge of a cliff, who suddenly fathoms the fathoms

Part One : "The Contrapuntal System" [Heidegger’s stylistic enterprise in Being and Time, as far as I can tell from what I have read and absorbed of that book, opens one to question the differentiation between an actual ontological definition and existential analytic. As metaphor it works; ontically, the swerving-away from the truly explicative analogy and towards the new point is though harrowing and an apt metaphor for the redundancy of time, a less than apt conciliation fo...r what is being-in-itself. The analogy, his hammer to break the stone, then, is productive as an existential indoctrinating of a primal value to perpetuity but is ultimately a foregone cluelessness as to any sort of final say to this. Yes, The Phenomenology remains an unfinished thing, which I suppose was his great discovery. Imaginative Myth as a psychological break-down has its roots in the mind, which, too, remaineth an ubiquitous infinity of what is to be regained, not gained for more. This in itself would be for the sake of a new quality to life, man-madelife, a thing most unchanging despite our best efforts. So then we are all in the snare of our heads, and what is unchanging is exactly what is the cause, in our minds, of what is missing.] See more

Part One : "The Contrapuntal System" #4 I exist within a WORLD of frailtythe white shells were frail as blue birds clenched too hard in the fist. Both of my feet slipped in to yellow, pathetic membranes scattered like ornaments on the imageless ground, and each shell fractured like a scream out in-... to the developing wilderness of shells, this WORLD of shells and frailty, this cryptic, timeless space of aborted embryos and, ringing out over it all, the disgusting, immortal crunch of leaves