Newsworthy
1. The quality of being sufficiently interesting
2. A quality of being notably containing a sufficent amount of interesting and/or unbelievable gayness and/or possible importance and/or proof that the world is a crappy place to live. See news.
Flesh: A living body, often moist in various places. See cunt. See cock. See men and women in the missionary position, possibly in love, or failing that having sex like it was drugs. See them know various things about others, not even having to assume, because they are so clever. See them falling. Listen to them fall. Again. Every seven seconds an idiot gets what he wanted all along. See them land, crashing through the floor of normal mode, now broken, like reality never happened, because after all it couldnt have. Of course not. See them repairing the floor with their own bodily juices and scorn. Cynism unending. Thats all they ever wanted from the moment they were born. What the fucking fuck do they hope to accomplish by wanting more. And what is this compulsion towards being entertained? Is being entertained a spiritual thing or not? I guess it often is, and the closer it is to the truth, the more problematic it can get. You follow your bliss too much, he said. You should follow mine. Here, I wrote a book. You should follow my bliss, for mine will lead you to the special place i.e. my cock. He said. Him. The guy. With the truth in his pocket. Like a cock that he kept trying to shove into my mouth, until I swallowed it whole, with one supernatural bite, the fascist, the god damn arabian night out to save me from the fun of being alive. I miss his cock now though. Now that Ive swallowed it. Good god, the holy fucking jackass. Why does he have to be such an asshole. Please explain in words printed on a papyrus leaf and glittered with bits of dried semen. God is an asshole, and fat as the earth is vast. Very fat. Fat as a goddamn elephant seal. Truly fat, I tell you. Male and female for sure. Depending on the angle that youre looking at her she goes dark and very cruel. Also bright and very nice. Depending on her mood. Depending on the amount of truth reflecting from the moon into my my blasphemous lack of respect for anybodys desire to know what is best for others. The problem with dead authors and their books is they cant change their minds, and say only the same things, in that dead way that they have. See that look in their eyes. See the cage they made out of clay. See the glaze that dazzles its so green and black and purple. See it on the shelf. See the shelf tipping over. See the sculpture break into a million pieces. And see the builder of the cage come right over and ask us Why? Why? Why? What has happened to the treasure? Like the answer was going to save his precious life and cure the world of aids. And in the distance those two in the missionary position creating a moment that is real because they know that it exists because they made it up together. He says, all I know is that a month ago I was drowning in a pool of words I never heard you say. Now I just want to be alive and not killed by this idea you have of who I should have been. And all these reasons that you give. It doesnt seem right. "The only thing Im sure of in this world is that I trust you, and yet I hardly ever understand a fucking thing you say." Gorgeous, she said, fantastic, and then she came, and then she waited, and then she left.
1. The quality of being sufficiently interesting
2. A quality of being notably containing a sufficent amount of interesting and/or unbelievable gayness and/or possible importance and/or proof that the world is a crappy place to live. See news.
Flesh: A living body, often moist in various places. See cunt. See cock. See men and women in the missionary position, possibly in love, or failing that having sex like it was drugs. See them know various things about others, not even having to assume, because they are so clever. See them falling. Listen to them fall. Again. Every seven seconds an idiot gets what he wanted all along. See them land, crashing through the floor of normal mode, now broken, like reality never happened, because after all it couldnt have. Of course not. See them repairing the floor with their own bodily juices and scorn. Cynism unending. Thats all they ever wanted from the moment they were born. What the fucking fuck do they hope to accomplish by wanting more. And what is this compulsion towards being entertained? Is being entertained a spiritual thing or not? I guess it often is, and the closer it is to the truth, the more problematic it can get. You follow your bliss too much, he said. You should follow mine. Here, I wrote a book. You should follow my bliss, for mine will lead you to the special place i.e. my cock. He said. Him. The guy. With the truth in his pocket. Like a cock that he kept trying to shove into my mouth, until I swallowed it whole, with one supernatural bite, the fascist, the god damn arabian night out to save me from the fun of being alive. I miss his cock now though. Now that Ive swallowed it. Good god, the holy fucking jackass. Why does he have to be such an asshole. Please explain in words printed on a papyrus leaf and glittered with bits of dried semen. God is an asshole, and fat as the earth is vast. Very fat. Fat as a goddamn elephant seal. Truly fat, I tell you. Male and female for sure. Depending on the angle that youre looking at her she goes dark and very cruel. Also bright and very nice. Depending on her mood. Depending on the amount of truth reflecting from the moon into my my blasphemous lack of respect for anybodys desire to know what is best for others. The problem with dead authors and their books is they cant change their minds, and say only the same things, in that dead way that they have. See that look in their eyes. See the cage they made out of clay. See the glaze that dazzles its so green and black and purple. See it on the shelf. See the shelf tipping over. See the sculpture break into a million pieces. And see the builder of the cage come right over and ask us Why? Why? Why? What has happened to the treasure? Like the answer was going to save his precious life and cure the world of aids. And in the distance those two in the missionary position creating a moment that is real because they know that it exists because they made it up together. He says, all I know is that a month ago I was drowning in a pool of words I never heard you say. Now I just want to be alive and not killed by this idea you have of who I should have been. And all these reasons that you give. It doesnt seem right. "The only thing Im sure of in this world is that I trust you, and yet I hardly ever understand a fucking thing you say." Gorgeous, she said, fantastic, and then she came, and then she waited, and then she left.