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You promised variation of a macabre nature. To satiate us with carbohydrates, a nutritious mind state. Delirium in Delaware, a world of grandiosity and heightened self-awareness. Are you even aware of this? Be wary, the second album is difficult, a labour of necessity rather than of hunger. You need to heed the Danger signs, be ready, rocksteady... and Bebop. If you keep things grounded, you can't be-stopped because you don't wish to be another cog in the system. Better to be incognito like Danny DeVito in a room full of tall people. Tall peeps, Beau Peeps at people while they sleep which is kinda creepy if you let the thought fester inside the mind, and you can't get it out again, not even with pesti--cide. So sui--cide is the only solution, that and solvent using. You're an addict now. You're addicted to these blogs, so Listen to the Man, while he listens to The Troggs, then fogs up your mind and memory, and clouds up your judgement temporarily. You can't focus, you can't think, you can't speak, you can't do anything but you can drink. Too much pale ale, a yard of, stale bitter. Dregs. Time drags --- drunk man out of bar. How many days do we have left, dazed, with bad breath. The lad frets --- his guitarpeggio. To seek solace, accused of breaching the peace. But you wont hear any apologies. Why should? You can't begrudge a man when he Lights up the Fire. To break the eerie silence. To block out the ear-splitting sirens that spit in people's ears. Sirens that pray on people's fears, based on the pretence that they are only stopping the violence. Nothing does. Sheltered maybe. Life is a Helter Skelter, a fat man with a Skull Cap belching in your face, then felching in your anus. Skull Crap. Pull back Nietz, don't let this blog get out of hand, so that this latest log is branded tasteless. Instead of being blatantly brainless. Deliberated by the liberated, and the Carl Sagans. Words and thoughts you can't quite place, but love them or hate them, you will take them, with a pinch of salt, while I inch towards the dinner table and pinch the salt. In a Ninja suit. Ninjutsu.
Skin to think too. Huh? Skin too thick to pinch you. This insurgent surges, this is urgent, censorship surfaces like a wave to sink the surfers then send the ship crashing. I smell Cash in? Monopolise, these motherfucking tropical islands, then kidnap the Somali wives. So that's where they disappeared to. No wonder they went missing, they are living with the bankers, not stuck in the kitchen, like sex kittens knitting eyepatches. Meow. Meow. Why legalise a legal high? While regal authorities evily breathe a sigh of relief as people get relieved from this illegal drug and die like their heart has been slugged with a knife. Yeow. You shouldn't have taken meow, you silly cow! Now look what you've done! You've only gone and done it. Honey, you spent the last of our money on this drug, so that you could go and feel funny? FUCK! I'm no Saint either, brandies, whiskies, red wine my ether, I walk out the Postal Order getting intoxicated deeper, slurring, speecha'.. hic, I can't see neither.. hic. I wanna be sick, then I fall asleep in it. until my brother hears me puking, I feel worse because I'm still in my meeting with the Grim Reaper. He says, 'Nietz, c'mon man, I can't take you with me just yet, you got some unfinished business dude.' For a Grim Reaper, he didn't half sound like such a positive cunt. I just said to him, 'you're not as bad as people make you out to be.' Then he smiled and left. I managed to get back inside my house and fall on the couch, slouched over, puking in a bucket. In a way I was lucky not to die that night. But every new day is another day, it may be bright instead of bloody grey. But not blood and grey, as that would be maroon. That is why I say to VicariousE, tread precariously and don't give up on life too soon. Life is full of amazing variants that we, cannot even begin to comprehend. One day your fortune could change, ride out the bad times dude, and seek out the good times. You have plenty of life in you. You have a licence to-- have a good time. Some people are much worse off than us. Shake off that rust and get a thirst to readjust your thoughts, dust yourself down and push forwards. Do as I... Use the Mammoth Tusk, which got me out of the harsh times. Subjective humour and dark rhymes. I know we get weary and exhausted, burnt out from the spit roasting. But most things can be overcome with a little gross out posting. Like when my Nan passed, the only coping mechanism was humour. If I laugh and it sounds insensitive, fuck you sue me. Susan. I'll drink your piss like I'm slurping through a hole in the soup can. Ooh you canne say that! Oh yeah he cayyan. You can't stop this fellow from being a Kinkster, so what if he's got his tongue on your sphincter. Who really cares what people think of ya? We're just atoms, Oxygen, Carbon, Hydrogen. We're nuttin' special motherfucker. Wealthy, unhealthy, disabled, smell of shit, all just Oxygen, Carbon and Hydrogen. Or if you're Lady Gaga - Androgyny. But each to their own. Nobody is special, except everyone, collectively. The world would change overnight if they elected me President. Unless I'm being bullied from up top. 'We've written your next script Mr. President.' --- 'Er.. what is the point of that? Wasn't I elected to say things for myself?' --- 'You know what. I QUIT!" --- "No! No! You can't quit Mr. President, you're fired!!" --- "Fine!" Resigned man. Just couldn't take any more of that pressure that the Rockefellers were applying on me. Too much tension in the house. I had to leave, like unleavened bread, I couldn't even sleep in bed without someone spying through the Eye Slot Painting. I had to masturbate under the sheets, which was annoying like prisoners in a Hanoi jail. It felt like the Big Brother House. DAY 55 in the Big Brother house, Nietz is trying to fall asleep again, but can't because of the intrusion of privacy. "Now I know how Winston and Julia felt, trying to copulate, then getting rudely interrupted by the ol' cheese brigade." I only call them that because that's what you tell someone to say when they are on camera. CHEESE! Which is cheesy in itself... Like eating feta, gorgonzola and cheddar in one mouthful, then pulling a facial expression that says 'I regret nothing.' Cheese and Chong on your tongue, that's where it belongs. Being berated like The Berongs, an old musical band from Blog 294 whose album 'Long Penis' moved a million units and went Platinum. The Bemongs on the other hand were never heard from again, after having their songs banned from all the radio stations except Shortwave DUGA-3. But we already knew that. Their new album Newt Alliance was deemed too shocking even for Shortwave Receiver, and thus it was consigned to the Void of Unknown Nothingness where it will remain for ever more with Raymond Mane. Who definitely was not from Maine. But he was trained to say he was. Nobody really could understand his motivation for performing such an elaborate hoax, and they couldn't even coax him into spilling the truth like pre cum being used as a tooth filling. Ray Mane was an insane motherfucker, wore glasses, they nicknamed him The Professor. Knew how to carry out a hit. In fact he was so good at his job, he could hit the zit on your face with the red sniper dot. Double Whammy. Hammy Acting. But Pay Achtung as I deliver the satsang. But on the whole, I've got things I can't conquer which make me feel irresponsa.. Taurus Bull drinking too much Taurine, getting me more hyperactive than TOrvill and Dean. Hopping around more actively than a Mexican jumping bean. The Things He Has Seen like Things He Has Seen, like Sean Connery and Sean Bean in the same Scene. Eating scones. But only a one-off sitcom that lasted precisely 15 seconds. Then the camera footage was cut. The screen went blank, like my cheques before I've written them out. In fact they are always fucking blank, I've never had much cash. I'd rather sift through the trash, filled with newspapers full of cigarette ash, just to locate the last slice of pizza, that by now, is colder than a man with a bald head during a Winter on an old sled. Christmas time is fast approaching, get your friend a Papa Roach CD, or a 486 PC from the 90s. "Damn ain't that exciting?" Not really, you have to live for short-burst excitement like finding a green, red or purple Starburst. But you have to start first, by rooting out all the orange ones, and forcibly eat them quickly. Which gets sickly like prickly heat.
Writing has become a drug that must be prescribed daily, like a running commentary of the dysfunctionality that torments my synapses on a Dairylea-basis. The neverending cycle of standing on this Hamster Wheel, trying to share how I feel in vague short star-bursts of Raw Inhumane Emotion. Some Days we Grow weary But shall Remain Beat up... I mean upbeat. And not be ig-nore-ant witnessing bullying by doing nothing at all. Syntactic permutations, tall tales and tragedy, all rolling off the tongue in the same line. This parallel structure must be a sign that you didn't see the first time when you were walking through The Hall of Mirrors. Too full in the stomach to eat those all-day dinners. Soul search staring at your own small future of uncertainty. You aint seen nothing without readers, blind to the people leading the sheep, but they keep leading the people onto the steep end of a cliff face. You'll fall so far that you'll need a face lift. Intensive care, then extensive surgery. I have no idea what to do with my life. I have no idea what to do with my knife that I just used to kill my wife. Bury it! What? The knife? No! Your wife! Stupid! All your life you've been ruled by your loin juice, a disappointing distraction to a potentially brilliant career. Do something about it old bean! Kick the gears in motion and stop eating old beans and farting out bad news. Use those potent gusts to bust a gut and make the most of the potential that you potentially have, exponential reserves of energy.
Talking to people in real life?! PFFT! What does that mean! 30 years of Youngness.
Pressure? I feed off pressure! .. (Literally, there's no food in the house. Time to count up the last of the food stamps and cash my chips.. for chips and cans of coke because I'm broke )
If you take every human being off the planet, you no longer have countries, you have only one continent. Mad head!!!
I dunno what else to say? Everyone is okay, Jiovanni is doing great with clay. What other perfect time to come out and play? With the Big Guns.
You know how I roll... down a hill at speed of course.
Storage Hunters where that Auctioneer Guy goes, dlbfhuuehuh dlbwuhwhwuh dlbaakai dlbuh dlbhaaaaa. I don't know what's worse, what he is saying, or the fact that I can understand what he is saying...
Awww Revoir, Dog bless, Nietzlawe