disynthetic

I'm hung over. But it's a good hangover. One of those where you enjoy every conversation you have and everything is humorous/intoxicating. Intoxicating as in so enjoyable that it should be deemed "wrong".

I'm pretty happy that I got the responses that I did. I almost thought no one ever read my shit. Does my heart good

Well I'm at work and god bless high-speed internet access that I don't have at home. I'm downloading some porn and stuff. Xip is awesome, if no one has read her journal, they need to "go and go now" as Arnold says.

I think Candylac is so hot that I blew my load looking at her profile picture. But it's strictly visual, there's no personality there. "Thanks for sharing," right?

Anyway, this was the longest I've spent NOT checking up on SG over the course of the last month. It was only two days however.

I wish Irish didn't hate me. So I post something nice in her journal as a response to one of her posts, and I make an ass of myself by assuming my humor is funny. Now she hates me ;p. Way to go me.

___

Distant, cold and picturesque
token separation enamors me.
Silent, lithe and barely dressed
exquisitely betrays my hate.
Don't ever commit,
Don't ever placate,

___

Alas, here is your serenade my darling
That leaves you speechless and weak.
May it teach you how to feel,
May it remedy your heartlessness,
And may your cries not interrupt this swansong.

This is a call to arms
For all those who recognize romance as,
As a dying scene, who'll take it to their graves;
This is a call to arms
For all who hold this sacrament close,
May our hearts burn on.

How dare you weep,
For it's insincerity that trickles down your face.
Alas, here is your serenade my darling.
And oh, what a long time coming it has been.
This cruel lullaby that shall plague your dreams
And carry me towards revolution.

I'll sing for you the threnody of modern romance.

______


Can you hear them?
Their weary screams of agony,
Traveling back,
From the blackest regions of their hereafter.
You may have to hollow me
To understand this mortal blasphemy.
We are born of the blackest hearts:
We all are heirs to the morningstar.
Do you hear the caitiff choir?
Faithful to none but themselves.
Now do you see them?
Can you see me now?
Can you see that we are...?
Born of the blackest hearts,
We are all heirs to the morningstar.
Disheartening, isn't it
To find that man is inherently perverse.
Disheartening, isn't it
That man is inherently evil.
Do you hear the caitiff choir,
Faithful to none but themselves?
We are of the blackest hearts;
We all are heirs to the morningstar.

_____