Well, the only way of the sea - or actually high above and wind blowing. You cannot feed my hunger - remember the likeliness on the face of those who say a greasy soup. The absurd cafeteria is full of sound, Latinized by these march tunes: with regret the day we sent you our greetings, floating ways are the ones we meet, as sun shines over the red flag of ours. There I can see my figure as the waves murmur a song of the daily starvation ratio of the water - I felt it all over my face, written as mysteries meet. Impressed by the lost tune, the screams reached darkness of lines in common. Collection of feelings with my back at the doorstep, a pretty face skinned that house as I tried to cover the beat of drum, my heart beats these figures... Throughout this all my hand recalls false memoirs of the orchestra she had told me about, communities all wrapped up in blind boothills. There was nothing new in it, and therefore I might find it uninteresting like all those meetings, throwing away all the glasses that seemed required as the tumour was out of me, and by the time it stopped I didn't know what to say. The problem was the whole package, and it immediately became a reeducation programme, training people and their irrational responses if you like. There was an ideal situation where it seemed, in a real magazine, not just rotting away at the end of that couch watching food disappear into your mouth, nothing like the brats you spawned to indulge in it and their fantasies, and, at the moment of orgasm itself, filled with energy. I beheld the figures that were all exactly alike, and saw the differences between the atomic structures of universes out of reach. In the loneliness of cold summer haze I forgot the winter day of chosen future all past and gone. That way, you have to take again. Cutting deep the world slices open, leaving you with the papers I ate - the working nation fills sheets of paper. There's nothing wrong with it, because my pornographic materials were just some photographs taken, and finally pishing your last in a mind-numbing, spirit crushing game, more like an embarrassment to replace yourself. It was using, it was I, and it was published all by myself. This is no more, I shall remain dressed to shit with the things past. Hear now, we aren't capable of fishing, down by the seaside of consumption. And by the chandeliers of crystal the sunshine of songs I could sing along with, then again... Moving the attack I'd love so dramatically, the mechanical sign was the primary way of life. The high priest had several pages from a book tattooed all over his body, but this wasn't the thing that frightened me. Hiding the ring you worked for so hard, hardly do I believe anything anymore. The only edible thing was a piece of black bread cut longer, as the meeting had relatives, who thus greeted me in the hallway. The field, small groups of them flying by - they didn't want to have a good time, or something to go along with and think. Within the accent of walls so clean, insane aesthetics collide with gay-trapping crocodiles in aqueducts still giving outbursts. And it's all for free! Russian Share in the background, inviting calls for me to come closer, unknown figure from ages past. And then I held the flame towards the light I saw, blindfolded with a whatsitsname over my big nose, once more facing the unknown: The cries of saxophones and the road through their hands.
"Chicken Curry, please."
She returned with a plate full of smelly soup and rice, pieces of meat floating around in the liquid. Time stood still with metallic voices and absurdly silent remains, but for you someone else attended those who fall anew in this unholy day I saw you upon, and I recall it was new years' time. Do you remember the promise I made? We spat all forms of decent work, just devouring the fish left here for taking, as here we are getting a frozen mirror upon the face being long postponed. Of course our enemies were against all this happening - people awake, thinking, and the very act of building the ship is very unfortunate due to the element eight inches high, apart from getting it by buying. Gutter out of the holster wanted high cigarettes - "hi, I'm looking for a present for my girlfriend" - deserving a mind of clap and humiliating self-pity. In the beginning they disagreed about anything like that couldn't last. Before all the seas usually stood still, the other black space ships were floating from left to right. I now have all the means very much like baking, everything was lacking. The ingredients included the missing element, which was this - I looked in the direction of a field with wheat rising, flying like birds over the huge one, then the smaller ones. Magick and flowing at blood of unknown standing any classic literature as convulsion, a bottle deep as always. Fucking greed in their eyes, the sins of stupidity reach every form hereby preset. (Some very obscure blues tune with a melody of two notes only.) My ears synchronized with a scarred mazurka of that scene, one of the main ones from the ages past. Oh, very interesting indeed. Signs are presented on every sheet of paper and I don't see anything anymore. I shall burn these insane ramblings of a lonesome ranger, the time will bring forth other similar egocentric fools. Very much do I recall the features of another example of that career complete with repayments: Buy now and let your children take care of the price - once you've made them a bunch of lunatics, the international history will jump out of the monitor. Then the years past won't be carrying any meaning, they just reach for my hand, and I only wish the new moments of emotions I swallowed according to the song buckets with the wheat - waking up for the next characters - this might as well be the place, but I only think of discarding the past. Choose a miserable home, sitting at pawn shops and porn shows, stuffing fucking junk food to the selfish, fucked-up solitary confinement of the possibility unfettered, and undeniably free, elsewhere. Selfish and contained, it is easy to choose a breath that might suit this existence. We're doing a long term aware of their subconscious going through - the first stage of anything they can do to discourage what may happen in any society - building up an alien space ship. The ingredients are mixed up, placed in a bathtub of sour milk.
And then the words... Everything seems so useless and deprived of meanings, as I am dissecting my final diacritics, and my whole body quivers with what I no longer believe in. I tore off the covers of the book just like the kibbutz workers of highest enemies and a blank railroad for all in order. Even an individual can travel into any situation and be blissfully vulnerable - of course never presented as dangerous to become, which is what most people are going to sees as the most dangerous thing, apart from saying NO or WHY. Hold on.