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Posted by Feral Automaton on 08-26-2000 08:26 PM:

Post Facial icing glistens mucous sticky...

Idiot inevitable: my pancreas descends.

Malevolent special dissection reinvents my every task. All of my scented lipsticks gloss my retail flesh. Bid. Bid. Buy. Consume.

But this space is rented. Rendered from the grace of a portable broker.

Sip.

Sir Pixilated Arms, Madam Blurred Feet, the youth Burnt Skin, and Ms. Misogynistic Pretense were all waiting for the cyber-whore to cease his verbal despondency, however, it was incapable of self-defeat while left up to its internal specification.

And our fabulous intentions…

We were all meant to help it along. Show it a path. Shine light into the fatty oblivion skyscraper so as to incorporate personal success with toilet trained accuracy.

We failed.

We ruptured the collective carapace and sent liquid shivers ascending the ladder. This could only be indicative of experimental failure.

When we woke up. She was out of breath. Suffering nocturnal asphyxiation.

I felched her ears with micron maggots…

Fallacy.


Posted by Pangloss on 08-26-2000 08:29 PM:

Post

On the whole, I think I disagree.

------------------
I gave myself to sin, I gave myself to providence,
And I've been there and back again, the state that I am in ...


Posted by wonderaz on 08-26-2000 08:32 PM:

Post

I feel your pain. Feral.


Posted by Feral Automaton on 08-27-2000 08:06 AM:

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Distorted historical myth planted in our minds by the precursors of civilized association.

My hearing has been subjected to countless disfigured lambs and now I am pasting my swollen testicles against a porcelain hope suspended precariously above a guaranteed aggression. Initials adorn the base of her requisites. The initials are mine.

Were mine.

Now she posses my presence… Controls my sense of self.

Relegates pleasure in my oversexed sweet tooth.

!MERGER!

Stone Trapeze Island, where you’ll die every time you fall.

This does not satisfy my peculiar taste. Something is askew.

Something is inebriating computer system analysis. I knew the session kill horse maniac was overkill, but he fucked me so fine. SSOOSOSSS FFIFFNENENEIINNEEE!!

Digital.

Awry.

Fuck elitism.


Posted by melon on 08-27-2000 08:11 AM:

Post

quote:
Originally posted by Feral Automaton:

Fuck elitism.



i like elitism. its like, we cant keep the fuzzy ones with the soft ones, so we build an elite for them.



------------------
come ride, my banana car.. la la la.
ALL HAIL FISHLEADER!
you may be british.


Posted by Bibrau on 08-27-2000 09:43 AM:

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woa, Im drunk and that just really fucked with my brain...


Posted by Feral Automaton on 08-28-2000 07:56 AM:

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Filial arcs of stifled sound cut the air with magnetic draw. My father, alone in his expression douses the dull routines of eat, sleep, TV by escalating his soul into social orbit.

I wanted to say all of this earlier. However, my chance to speak was cornered by my forced inebriation.

You cannot count on me to complete tasks that are best retired early.

Berate my indolence. Force-fuck my pedant grab ass reference.

A visitor clings to his external perspective. The evidence to all of histories maladies and misfortunes rode the tempestuous geological hurdles while I sat and I watched and I waited for something normal to occur. Although, all I received were the felonious regrets typical to inaction.

Months pass!

But this day looks as it did months ago.

That night I sat awake and dreamt of her. All night I slipped inside of her soul, as I knew that she was sharing with me, somewhere in space and time reciprocating my feelings by lending me her unspoken, unnamable attention…

And I haven’t seen her in two months.

And I haven’t felt her since that night. Since our suspension from time… Adrift inside our shared reference frame, alone in each others hope.

We are the asymmetrical representations of our own various pasts.


Posted by PeachPit on 08-28-2000 08:16 AM:

Post

Hm.
Fatty oblivion skyscraper.
Interesting.
I have no fucking idea what you're talking about.


------------------
There is nothing
innately evil in
doing what comes
naturally to oneself.


Posted by MadBomber on 08-28-2000 09:11 AM:

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did someone say "pudding"? ... no? ... damn.


Posted by Feral Automaton on 08-28-2000 09:42 PM:

Post

Cellular insulated fracas.

This supply train is inordinate in pretense, selling mucous and glue to every sucker, slime and breadwinner.

Uneasy glances scour a white washed bureaucracy. Forms to fill, people to marry, deep-fried horses to weld.

I don't believe in anything. I don't believe in everything.

I believe in the horror.

And I sense my own termination is at hand.

Bridle my cantankerous disease spread and rattle my bone skull in the base of a magnetic stone field. Present your delay upon me so that I may scissor kick your jaw into an unrecognizable smear. Placate my uneducated utility for the amusement of your empty yet potentially infinite smile.

Crystal onion.

Planting intentions. Gardening actions. Horticultural soul.

Manage papers!

Super sleuth arrangement. Semantic whelp killing menacing politicians.


Posted by memdink on 08-28-2000 10:12 PM:

Post

i ate a baby.


Posted by Feral Automaton on 08-29-2000 12:14 PM:

Post

Am I an exotic dancer?

Am I staging my own destiny in a small town musical production, complete with olfactory and tactile inputs for audience’s young and old? As I unfurl my atrophied wings, stretch them out into my empty closet, I begin to verbalize existence and being in mighty colorful manners.

This might frighten the beast, however, it is without tears whilst it molests my personae, and therefore, it is without fear whilst it meditates quietly in an orchard.

My only smile is expended in futile hope that she will return to me. That she will disable her own desires and wax slavery over my emperor empty.

Fuck. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

She called me at three in the morning. Her boyfriend believes that they are both HIV positive. She knows better than to jump the gun, and she spoke rationally about infection. However, her voice had an impish doubt cowering in the small of her cerebrum. I could hear it whispering. I could hear the machine gnawing at her tonsils, suffocated by her innocence.

I could see her sliding in and out of her disposition, oscillating between consciousness of circumstance and pedant assurance.

Sisyphus was happy according to Camus because he had a consciousness of his actions. He was aware of his position, and despite the seemingly overwhelming absurdity, found comfort in that awareness.

Perhaps, if this is the end of her life, she could, like Sisyphus, be opened up to the essential soul trapped inside of her failing form and physical function.

I am overwhelmed, but I think that I can acknowledge the stranger.


Posted by memdink on 08-30-2000 01:05 AM:

Post

Facial Icing


Posted by missphinx on 08-30-2000 01:30 AM:

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Feral. I just want to acknowledge this and you.


Posted by Feral Automaton on 08-30-2000 06:45 AM:

Post

I fist my older brothers anus because I don’t think that he feels quite yet at home in his new wave fan fiction.

Honesty. Plant my eternal detritus upon your furrowed flesh escapade elaborators and the mere thought of reply dispenses whore juices in the masked market of sand castle tuberculosis.

It is almost external my own physical oil concern to enslave the media.

!Despot of sitcom filth! (a new play ensues)

SWOLLEN – by an ape fraud.

Nipple one: “I am so tired.”

Nipple two: “Why are you so tired, the episode has yet to begin?”

Nipple one: “Because someone forgot what they were… Some human. Some female. And now I cannot rest while her fiber optic wraith vocal is regressing my sleepy vestige.”

Nipple two: “Oh. I understand. However, you must also understand that, although you are frustrated with this cantankerous superfluity, know that you are not the only one who suffers.”

Nipple one: “I understand.”

Nipple two: “Now rest.”

Nipple one: “I will. Thank you.”

Fin!

Water secures a distinct trough of erosion upon my soiled jaw exterior. And in an echoed spasm my head is cascading through all of time…

Performing for the mechanistic accountants and businessmen and politicians since my position in waiting was adopted by a recluse hate carapace.


Posted by Harsh1 on 08-30-2000 11:24 AM:

Post

Feral
Have you read any jeff noon by any chance? if you havent do, I think the two of you would get on very well.


Posted by Feral Automaton on 08-31-2000 07:39 AM:

Post

Scraped skin. Scabbed wallet.

Alliterative nuisance dooms classic pilasters to an infallible routine. Prescribed drudgery is impossible to escape due to its oversized crab pinchers and adhesive mystic spit.

Bounding through the typical and inaugurated into apathy while countless lice flow north to the useful pole of the scalp. If I’m not positive than I am probably suffering some other unfathomable genital malady.

White stabs the blue. Blue huddles behind gray. Gray is speckled with green. Green is home too red. Red confines peach. Peach restrains yellow. Yellow surrounds white. White encases a bowl of ramen noodles. Those noodles are being stimulated by Ayn Rand.

Cause to panic. Cause to suffocate your maggot children because the relative strain has collapsed your generic patience.

The booted foot stiffens and strikes the potential away from a prototype mind. We have christened this the path to order, however, I feel that this abominable repression stems off the cast iron brutality of 1950’s child denial.

Plants can grow to become horses. Horses can grow to become the pain.

Pain procures essence through unnecessary physical violation.


Posted by Feral Automaton on 09-01-2000 11:18 PM:

Post

Misrepresented malnourishment.

Bend my knees around in a binary geometry. Cancel my force field by a derivative of five while keeping the textbooks suspended precariously above a snail.

Zap my flavored tonsils.

T-Minus 35, 34, 33…

Waste.

In a short while she will plague me with return. Supply my angst with portable disdain. Symbols dance around my arcane past and she summons flares to encompass my predetermined suffering.

…32, 31, 30, 29, 28…

Backfire.

Molded around my sorted flesh are the desires of a life indebted to passion. Empty receptors combine malformed plasma with cesium rain while the intent of a million warriors is drowned out by the cry of a single king.

…27, 26, 25…

Finite.

Crenellated parapets stand upright against a stiff wind. Defiant to natural force they play tennis in autumn and winter.

The cold is an unmentionable non-entity.

…24, 23, 22, 21…

Envoy.

Brambles covet misogyny's emporium. I think the medicine is burning my literate pancreas.

Damn.

…20, 19, 18, 17, 16…

Crypt.

Slipslide down the length of my progenitors nutrient canal... Surrounded by the impenetrable pink walls. Laying in wait inside of my Trojan horse.

Waiting.

…15, 14, 13, 12…

Oak.

Tendrils of molecular beauty enhance the endless expanse of blue on white. A solid disc of bright light dominates a dime-sized portion of the sky, but shares itself with all of the crevices and canyons of earth.

Trepidation.

…11, 10, 9…

Analysis.

Hair covets the brow. The brow is furrowed. See furrowed cringe.

Oceanic.

…8, 7…

Regret.

It isn't fair. The noose the knife the scalpel bisecting her porcelain epidermis… Nothing interrupts my fun like razor blades and underage sex.

Errands.

…6, 5, 4…

Concern.

Expected to copulate with a mundane $6.75. Pressure to meet specific deadlines and provide assurance unto the selfless inquisitors.

Square pegs. Round holes.

Fitting.

…3, 2…

Proximity.

Fountains of restraint fellate my distraction while horses meld into the jungles mystic scenery. Canopy of leaves heed my feral call: "ENOUGH WITH THESE RATHER LARGE DOUGHNUTS!!!"

…1…

Tremors.

…0.

Shadow.

Tomorrow she will sit in my room. Tomorrow we will sit and we will talk and we will hold each other and in the end we will have never actually met.

Repeat.


Posted by Eliss on 09-01-2000 11:27 PM:

Post

++++++.


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/\/[].


Posted by SocialParasite on 09-02-2000 04:05 AM:

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I couldn't agree with you more, Eliss.

Feral, what the hell was that?

------------------
You know, I was going to type up a signature but then I said to myself: "Why fucking bother? I mean, people just ignore what you have to say anyway, and when they do read what you type up they either flame you or make fun of you for it. So, I say screw them. Screw them with a rusty shovel." Then I realized that there is a midget somewhere out there in southern California that is masturbating right now to what I have to say... All I got to say to that is: Thanks Bob.

Everybody dies frustrated and sad, and that is beautiful.

Fuck you, and your little dog, and your little cat, and your little monkey, and your mail man, and the small rat you hide in your pants, and that midget you have in your pocket. FUCK THE MIDGET!! FUCK THE MIDGET!!!! FUCK HIM UP THE ASSHOLE!!


Posted by Feral Automaton on 09-03-2000 09:45 AM:

Post

Please delete this thread.


Posted by Pangloss on 09-03-2000 10:19 AM:

Post

Keep it the fuck here. When I'm questioning my own sanity, I read this thread to remind myself thet Feral is more wacked out than I could ever be.

------------------
I gave myself to sin, I gave myself to providence,
And I've been there and back again, the state that I am in ...

[This message has been edited by Pangloss (edited 09-03-2000).]


Posted by Feral Automaton on 09-07-2000 11:33 AM:

Post

Horizons.

Speculative disease crowds the harbor of an intergalactic solar affinity.

Swimming in the distension of an endless embryonic ocean. Beautiful azure rings permit the interest of pure black obelisk radio interference. An aura. An individual beauty surrounded and not suffocated by a row of filaments.

Standing alone and completely aware and waiting

For

Me.

Who is also alone and completely aware but had given his self unto inanimate expository and waxed precursor to elementary physical principles.

Riptide.

I have to go now.

But I will return more indirect and irrelevant than ever before.

Cacophony spleen.


Posted by J E B Stuart on 05-31-2018 06:21 AM:

quote:
Originally posted by Feral Automaton
Please delete this thread.
No way, Hondo.

Those gabby nipples still have much to say.

Amen.
__________________

" Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official surface courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the Secession war; and it is best they should not�the real war will never get in the books." ~ Walt Whitman


Posted by GoFuckYourselves! on 05-31-2018 06:41 AM:

When people commit suicide, I guess they're deleting their life.

__________________

Report this post to a moderator!!!


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