zikes

Look at them dance and sway, those fragile sacrifices, how their young eyes dart to and fro in horrid anticipation of the horror that awaits them. They quake at the sight of their peers destruction, dashed up on the rocks of organised systems.

I too stand and watching this promiscuous scene, thousands of unwashed souls fit for the Seine, it isn't to long before they become outright, institutions of money grubbing greed for the control of peoples' souls. They deal in salvation, pay the stern man with the greying hair, he is the leader of your community. But who gave him his authority, did it come from God? Is it passed down by heretidy, no, by democracy, no, by any other sort of machination known to man? No, it is born of posturing and magic tricks, leading people along a beautious goose chace from which none of them will return. Deep into the nothing of an unrepresentative life.

I'm not so sure that I've made myself clear, are you all aware that I am stark raving mad. can you not see that I am a fool, a foolish piece of sausage just waiting to be fed to dogs. I am not even glorious in my downfall, I'm doing an ungraceful nose dive into a place far more wonderous that here. A place where you forget to fall when you trip. To just simply disattach your connection to the phsycial world, loom into a different place and find out that there are so many more perspectives on life than buddhas on bodi tree. I'm not talking about salvation, I'm talking about wandering, wondering about. I love the clean clear road with mountains and valleys, trees, rivers and towns. I ramble to these places in my mind. Take trips to places no one has even heard of, so that I can tell people a story that is really unique, not some half baked notion that some historian somewhere is holding the magic piece of the puzzle which makes it all make sense. No, there isn't one, no saviour of our aesthetic design for the unknowable G-D's blasphemed face.

Things got hairy back there did they. ummm yes, i do believe they did. well then, we'de best get out of hereI should say...but what are we to do about Tommy, we just can't leave that savage puke behind like that. i forbit it, I will find your mother and tell her that you are a little ninnie, if you do such an obscene thing. Now then, onto the killing fields of Cambodia, i rather like the right to that name. It is marvelous there in the spring.

Now I sit, all alone by the keyboard once again...hack...

Whose other coloured face is this in front of my knee-

leanin so far back he got cut by a lean mean fighting careening donut...

And that kiddies is why you don't talk to communists

fin