Truth is the actuality of events of a fixed point in space/time.
You ever just want to vomit without preamble. No heaving, no gasping, no doubling over. One second you sit there then next spew on the computer.
That is how I feel right now. I have that strange heavy hara feeling of unmet potential and I want to spew a'sudden, release those inner demons I have named and nurtured and chosen to blame for my own shortcomings.
I know pain, it's an old friend. But I don't know pain like Batman knows pain...mores the pity. How at times I long for that pain, deep burning oil in the pit of the soul that drives relentless. I have known that unquenchable fire a'fore but she moved in to torment a new soul. The stairs will never be the same.
I retreat now, return anon, to contemplate my entrails and search amidst their wreckage for tidings of the future and hope to find the seed once more of the greek fire of vigilance.
Leather, steel and the wherewithall to fling careless the flesh from the wall headlong to death forsaken me have ye. Or more accurate closeted as so much good of the world is. To decay in dust and soil for the ext generation but with example set of apathy will not generation said, to just lay the burden at foot and pass along to those pre-speaking, pre-walking and pre-existing.
It is not, much to the humour of the absent gods, that this power supressed has abandoned we. It is that we resist and run from the opportunity and temptation to release this might. There, feel it did you? The texture of wet and light and raw. Slithering beneath the facade you have chosen to convince us is you.
You ever just want to vomit without preamble. No heaving, no gasping, no doubling over. One second you sit there then next spew on the computer.
That is how I feel right now. I have that strange heavy hara feeling of unmet potential and I want to spew a'sudden, release those inner demons I have named and nurtured and chosen to blame for my own shortcomings.
I know pain, it's an old friend. But I don't know pain like Batman knows pain...mores the pity. How at times I long for that pain, deep burning oil in the pit of the soul that drives relentless. I have known that unquenchable fire a'fore but she moved in to torment a new soul. The stairs will never be the same.
I retreat now, return anon, to contemplate my entrails and search amidst their wreckage for tidings of the future and hope to find the seed once more of the greek fire of vigilance.
Leather, steel and the wherewithall to fling careless the flesh from the wall headlong to death forsaken me have ye. Or more accurate closeted as so much good of the world is. To decay in dust and soil for the ext generation but with example set of apathy will not generation said, to just lay the burden at foot and pass along to those pre-speaking, pre-walking and pre-existing.
It is not, much to the humour of the absent gods, that this power supressed has abandoned we. It is that we resist and run from the opportunity and temptation to release this might. There, feel it did you? The texture of wet and light and raw. Slithering beneath the facade you have chosen to convince us is you.
Haha! At least that is what the Subgenius book Revelation X says to blame.