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I am here to make a difference, isn't that why we're all here?

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Flash Friction

2017-04-23 22:26:40 by nietzlawe


Insane in the membrane and every other brain circulating on the Hyndburn circular, squarer and having to earn every penny to meet Paul Bearer who is now deceased... How much can we bear by turning a deaf ear to a blind eye, and queefs that'll knock ya for six, seven or 302... Numbres hombre, bric-a-brac, sick o' Brexit talk, too much hearsay and not enough eyesay... Mind Strays and wonders like an absconder and has to be hunted to the ends of the Earth. But why always the ends of the Earth? Why not just recaptured immediately and thrown in Solitary Confinement with Sol, Terry and Simon... Sounds camp as all hell being in this hellish hole, like some kind of gay Shawshank Redemption. What kind of redemption is this? Rottin' away like tooth decay until all that's left are 'What Became of Him?' sob stories... Don't worry 'bout me, kid.. why am I talking to a baby goat? Why am I preaching like some Kenny Veach type shit? Tryna teach wisdom and history sprinkled with a little mystery and topped off with some good old fashioned misery. Gotta end on a sour note after dipping your suicide letter in vinegar. Eager to watch Vine or Vice videos and some VEVO to finish the viewing pleasure of the three Vs. Hard to concentrate after 24 hours of David Paulides. Hard to keep these eyelids open, "impossible to keep a lid on all this," said a Micky Flanagan mannequin in a quintessential manner. Quite. Where are my Manors from Heaven? Or Womanors from Hell? Woah man, you got that aLL wrong! Women are from Heaven, men are from hellooo there what's your name, honey? So sit back, relax as I hone in and hire variety. Variety is the Spice of Life, as is tamarindu that's been tampered with by Ginger Fingerz. Time to put a hinge on a zinger burger so it can be opened and closed like a Hermes globe. Did Hermes ever have herpes? Immortality has its flaws and Nietz Laws of Logic. So eat this collective cock that gets waved in your face like D-Wave quantum tech... Time to tech over again and teach these newbies a thing or two about deep thro... I mean deep thought. Stalking deers that have beards and goatees, and the weirdest horses. Rams on the edge of cliffs, astray, having lost their memories. No longer attached to Mama's Mammaries. That guy... I forget his name? Oh that's it... Guy! Its funny the things you Forget. Amnesia Hilarity Clinton with so many Rods stuffed up her bottom. She is truly Satan's Spawn, along with Billuminati. Devil Incarnates. Nietz is back to wreak devilish carnage, like a trafficking operation in Varna. WARNING! The fire is barely warm yet. (Why would that need a warning?!) You tell me, you're Mr. Clever... more fucked up than Ceperley House. Burnaby. Urn Full of Ash. Burn babies? Taoistic cults seem to appear more than North Korean ballistic missiles. BALLISTIC PRESENTS! Hardddddball. Mega Drive. Loved that game man before 'Terror' had a name. Even had a slingshot back in the day, but bloody political correctness. Won't even let me ping rocks at windows, what is wrong with this world?! What next? Water Pistols? Sex Pistols? John Lydon. I think I need to take a lie down, and throw it off a cliff because I have no intention of being held in a detention camp having my style cramped by camp stylists. Put me on your watch list? FUCK YOU! You're going on MY watch list. Watching and listening... "Hi, Ding... What shit is this i Ching, hiding?" ... In its esoterical symbols and writings, its not that simple at all to find answers. Even if I use logic I'm stumped, like a British Donald Trump. "Build a wall, Mr Grumpy?" You should be in a Mr. Men book, read in a crook's prison on a Telmate tablet. Prescribed technology. My Eyes are gonna go square!! They were square! Don't worry, got a spare pair. That was a close scare, like a scar closed and stitched, post car crash. All day long the itch has been there, to switch moods and be offensive and rude to my own friends, and kick out the teeth of my own Dentist. Now there's a twist, like a limp-wristed faggot. Nah, he's just one of Cleopatra's slaves, doing that bendy hand thing. You took it all out of proportion my friend, distorted it and put a caution sign in front of it. But I'm here to say... that everything's Kosher, except Kosher meat... nausea meat when he knows how the animal was killed. Blood spills when the throat gets cut, and people get put off by the sight of blood. "This is 2017, not the 1890s, bud." I Joke I Joke. I Ching! I Ching! I think I must be losing Mind! Thine Marbles are Lost, like an Emerald Tablet older than immortality itself. I could come up with my own scrawls and scribbles with crayons drawn on fabric made from rayon... But just don't got the time, bruh. TL:DCrayon this shit. I'd rather stay on track instead of straying and being attacked at the staY on main. They say I was susceptible to scepter. But I was just sceptical. Until the evidence was presented and I passed out from seeing a placenta in that box. What do you want? "We're here to brighten up your day with a little Hotel Color." Brighten up my organs more like. Brighton up... like a Championship promotion. I'm so fucking miserable I should jump in the ocean or Swan Dive in Groom Lake because its too late to change tack and laser off these leopard spots. Better just let them rot. But for now those dots are weapons, and the only leverage I've got. We Play for Pleasure, the things we say are meant to push buttons. Made to measure. If you want to tempt fate and end up on the end of a preemptive strike, because I have nothing better to do and life an empty life. Then its fine by me. We shall stand our ground, tall and proud, and we don't mean like Marcel Proust. Just a jousting arsenal and a Faustian pact. Tarnishing shit is my only bargaining chip. This self harming tells a charming tale of alarming failure. Guarded behaviour is regarded as partly retarded. Hardly. Its better to be largely impartial instead of having to court martial. So let me get back to my atelier so I can live ever happily without mishaps and the Father of all Fuckups dropping the Mother of all Bombs. Fatman orders Fatman. Meanwhile I'll just go back to being 'that' man. What man? Some kind of fake robocop man? Head sticking out of an open top bus. And topless hookers hotter than gas mark 6 cookers. Pure poetricks up the sleeve, double figures, I'm a figure troubled, and like Lars sold for Rubles to a femdom Sisterhood. "This is big business, bud." Who is this Bud? Some kind of Blackburnian Babylonian Pavlovian mad loner? That sums it up pretty well, like Summa Vinyl Cutters. Still a primal fucker with the mind of a urinal that's into vaginal sucking. Aye. Now I've no time for nothing except writing, something. Usually with Donald Trump in. You could say that I'm blowing Donald's trumpet. But I'm not. He doesn't care, I don't care. None of us care. Which is scary. But at the same time, cancer is a predator, like predators are a cancer. But Presidents? Meh, nothing new. Crooks and thugs and meth chefs who cook up drugs and sell them to the gullible. Full of bullshit, like this blog. Just a block of words with no dividers coz the writer is too lazy to provide this service. So why should you crucify the person who prescribes this juicy trite so fervently? Me and writing are intertwined so perfectly, this relationship is permanent, hereby this hermit is resigned to live his life a servant to the literary devil, and forever reside inside this circus. Deep breath...... before we keep on messing with your Mind. Where hidden messages sleep inside like creepy eyes of Horus. These Taurus torrents of gore and horrifying storylines that glorify the morbid side of our core. So harsh, like an offshore island for abhorrent hardcore porn practices. But the fact is this... We can't prevent the chaos. For we are cruel and mortal and vulnerable to the torture in which our Governments are comfortable endorsing. We citizens are lucky if we can find morsels in our shortened time on this rock. But sometimes those that move beyond poverty covet it more once it has gone. And they live in the land of the fairies and Oblivia. Cut off. Perhaps it is better to be put off by fame, where nobody knows thine name. So they can't openly draw me into battle or throw me under a rickshaw. Maybe I'm just sick though... and not quite right in my brain.

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