these hills have eyes

he will articulate my thoughts and I will illustrate his articulation. Fear us for we are boys…the crownless king and eye were chatting in the park and I told him a story about how it must be like to be a child. Sometimes you’re telling a tale about wondrous gardens and grassy water sources (that was definitely not my fault…) and beautiful hands and painting and your thoughts turn twist and then shout the names of everyone except one until your mind stops…reconsiders…retraces…sits back…falls in love…but wait because wait you must because of the reason that has haunted you like anything…like those cheap pterodactyl screams that they used to play in old cartoons…nobody’s watching…so you run away…you realize you haven’t run away…you realize you have run away…and you go back to thinking about the only thing you really want…but that’s a bad thing…therefore…and now…we come back to it and complete our circle of misery…Babylon fading.

There were other thoughts inside…like for instance…if you want it the normal amount and just the right…(disaster and boredom)…then you are allowed to fall in love…if you’re going to be seeing it everywhere and lose your mind before you ever even taste it…just in anticipation…then it is obvious…you are unfit to fall in love…(disaster and boredom). There must be something you’re not getting that I am…there must be something in the picture that only I could see…and you could only watch the waves fall and disappear beneath the rocky edges of the extent of your imagination...shabby coat sleeves.
Rude interruptions are like times when you’re madly in...you know...famished…right…and not really alive. when…it beomes a different plane of reality…everything is natural here…everything perfect…everything is only just the most beautiful parts that you can possibly think of…and then somebody touches you on the shoulder and speaks loudly and asks you if you’re alright…you’ve nearly been in a really bad accident...and you just turn your head around as the thoughts recede…and you say…haan kher hai. But you’re thinking…yup…I want that hand…that writes so well my name and leaves.
Another one written down…another one done for…thoughts are precious commodity and I waste them the most…complete change of thought means that you are circular but you’ve been inserted into a square tube…but don’t worry about it…you’re made of clay…you’re flexible…soon enough you’ll be a square…another thought wasted…they are a precious commodity as I said before…and it goes well for you to accept that as a fact because we hear things on this side of the spectrum…and some of those things are helpful…some not so much. And you wonder why they were wrong every time…how could they possibly commit that same error over and over again…you’re obviously doing it by thinking that…but hey…you are so very far away by now in what hubard said about being lost in the milky white arms of her. We appreciate that…that was one articulation that you weren’t expected to procure but I definitely would’ve illustrated.
About these splits in pages and scary stages, it’s all just laziness and blasphemy coming together to frustrate you and you’re still thinking about eyes and what strange wonders they are…how can you stand in the depths of someone, stare around and yet not be able to perceive the amazing ness of…er…them? Hide away little jug…hide away and speak nothing and show them how silly you are…how you can’t say a single thing…stutter…fall down…touch…understand…feel…want…alone…and shit we’re back with Morrison…Babylon fading.

I was home when I was away and away when I was home…but I still had to hop out of the car when it stopped…whether you’re away or at home…doesn’t matter…the car has stopped…now get out.

Met buttar today in lums…it was fun…he had beaten the crap out of someone and the someone was now abusing him whilst buttar swore that his nails weren’t long and this is all a misunderstanding…those cuts are obviously the work of gremlins. That’s how it goes with that part of the spectrum and it’s always fun…because it’s a broad place which seems narrow to pseudo intellectuals…people who used to think never thought so little as people who think nowadays…although these guys know more languages and obscure thoughts and facts than anybody else…but they still don’t know what it is that they’re supposed to be groping for in the first place…a pause for a bit of hate now.
You wouldn’t understand how difficult it must be to be made that way…if only I had been fortunate enough…I’d still be a bit late…because let’s face it…I’m me.
The physically challenged deserve my money whilst the mentally challenged deserve my hatred and my anger…and if you disagree with me then you’re obviously missing out on something…because this sure as hell feels nice…how ironic.

Insane hallucinogenic experiences don’t enhance your writing skills. I was warned today of not messing around with people…how shameful is that…I’m considered armed and dangerous…and I see myself standing in the depths of someone…staring…dazed…crazy…yummy…got to go back because reality awaits…but you don’t give up…just a harmless touch…a souvenir…something to think about…something you have thought about…it’s not as good…it’s just like when you write your name on a desk in that insanely sad style…" ______ was here”

Really so where is he now?

I don’t know man…you seem perfectly normal to me…now come to my arms.

even kings make turds...
turds become manure.
manure becomes food.
food becomes food
food becomes come
come becomes you
you become king.
kings make turds.

i think your shoes are very......jango.

i will obey your orders...although you couldn't bring the right emotion to your face because of various reasons...and something disappointed me...alot...but i looked. and amazing it was...wonderous like a cavern full of shiny stuff...better than diamonds...older than the sun...stranger than goodbyes...lonelier than hellos...hollower than me and beautiful in that same way that...slays me.
i am slain by you. said the mad boy to the ghost. to the hallucination. sneeze. and just for that...you can beat the shit out of me and hang me like a chicken but don't ask me why i wear socks all the time...don't just mouth words...i have a hard time following instructions when you speak with sounds, speak to me with your eyes and i am liable to explode...there was no fakeness...there is just me, my dellusions, and now i see it in everything and somebody touches my shoulder and asks me if i'm alright...i can only turn slowly...and say, "haan kher hai."

the crownless king and i walked in forests tonight. there were elves in there. i was home when i was away and away by the time i was home. it's kind of funny. i guess i'll call out and ask if there's anybody out there who feels the way i do...but that has never proven worth it. oh well...grab the hand before it vanishes...or at least watch it complete the paiting.

martin pale...did exhale.
these bearded girls will never do.