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I am here to make a difference. Isn't that why we're all here?

37, Male

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Sax And Violince

Posted by nietzlawe - August 5th, 2020


I don't feel at peace unless I spew for ten minutes at least. Only feel settled doing deals with the Devil. Like mixing ketamine with amphetamine to make a new kind of medicine that is even more menacing to the mind. Like a drug inventing equivalent of Thomas Edison. Don’t be Peni-silly. PENIS IS ILL! Penis is down in the dumps! Like being down with measles and mumps... I'd rather hump and grind or bump off a pig for its rind bacon and try to pass it off as faux meat. Isn't it time to wake up? Instead-of-hibernating-in-this-hyphenated-mindstate-of-childish-and-mindless-statements?!

Nope. Why stop this bullshit, when you can feed this slop. People need this slop. People eat this crap. Haven’t been this enflamed since Dante upped the ante by pulling down the panties of his Auntie to shove a cucumber up her glistening cunt, then realised it was his Uncle Dan! Offended? I hope you’re listening, cunt! To Liszt. I only get pissed off when I’ve been pissed on. That’s when the fists are swinging like Sonny Liston in a wife swap episode. I’ve snapped, biscuits and twigs, pulled triggers I didn’t know I had. Go figure. This Gold Finger should know better, but it’s configured at Go Reckless. There is no happy medium, the other fingers I haven’t needed them. I’m doping, not on meldonium, but on meltdownium since the millennium… Since I hit the floor and woke up injured in my kitchen at home trying to take my clothes off. Freezing my balls off. Nothing has changed since that day, still as strange spilling my train of thought trying to make my way, with something to break my fall. Something to take away my mind from the pain of it all. Revered by some but bored to tears, I’m numb. The morbid years I’ve done and thoughts I’ve hoarded, mental planes I’ve boarded, may as well use the misericorde. Take my own life and sign myself out of this ward. Just to see what beyond death is like. Life is just a warped warzone, porn and excessive hormones. I need my hands amputated and grafted onto a hamster’s anus. Damn… I see a red light blinking. A HandsTer with cubic squares of pubic whiskers. A modern-day Johann playing the piano with no hands. Just banging my wrists and teeth down hard on the keys leaving spatters of blood as I play a discorded version of Disco Inferno. Yeah, burn baby burn! Not literally. Nobody wanted that baby to accidentally touch the hot stove while I was distracted by playing music from the stave. No staff or slaves on standby to stand by the cooker and stop little fuckers in their tracks. Relax, I'm not a father and never want to be. Too much responsibility to respond or react at all which would just be irresponsible of me, to inflict my burdens and woes on new-world sperm. I'm cut from a different cloth, but not at a loss yet. Haven't got clots. Haven't been shocked like Teens Reacting to Windows 95. It'd take an age to load the window, a picture of a bimbo with her legs akimbo. 56k, 56 days of waiting, so you learn how to sustain the masturbation. And if your ass is patient you'll get an ass in waiting. For shure, dude! All good things come to those who wait. And all those same people cum to good things. On this Mundane Wednesday, I'm Thirsting to write some Frightening shit that even I campaign to censor. We have given up everything for this, a normal life, self-sacrifice. I feel like a child in a Borstal throwing invisible bar stools at farmyard animals. That'll be the Patterns of Mass Destruction. Patty Salad Cream. I Have A Dream...... That's all I got. Not as profound as MLK or that random dude who deliberately lets his glasses hang down low from his eyes making you think they will crash to the floor like my magnifying glass. That's the lass time I buy a cheap piece of plastic with a magnifier that can't even find words. No wonder man, you got it from The Works. Yet ironically it doesn't. This was probably the worst purchase you made since that fucking steam cleaner. Yeah blast grime with hot steam and watch nothing happen!! Awesome £20 down the drain!! It would have amused me more to make a paper aeroplane out of that twenty pound note as it ended up flying and landing in a bird's nest. "What's this?" Exclaimed the bird in its own tweety shit language. "Currency of the Gods" said the other magpie in a very posh English accent. An educated maggie, one not on the slagheap, a mag that plied its trade in the art of linguistics. C'mon man! This is taking the fucking piss! Like that dog Lucy that is guaranteed to bark and snarl if you pass it too closely. Volatile bitch! What's wrong with everybody? Am I the only nice guy left on Earth? The only one left with common sense and reason, getting pissed off at that Deezer advert? Screw Deezer, I'd rather make you chew deez nuts and eat the Cheeto cheese like Dorito extract, giving your digestive tract something different to try out. Having sex with the lexeme next to me, unprotected, but there is ecstasy, Extreme? Porn. Let’s see what's on the next stream. WARNING! Are you 18? Accept Accept Accept all day long. The Terms and Conditions I am conditioned to turn a blind Jap's eye to. That's life. Nature’s Needs. Dopamine distractions. Get to the action quickly.

You should have seen the beads.. of sweat. On second thoughts you've no need to have no knees. Only feel at peace when I'm in pieces. Can write for England but can't speak for shit without stuttering and slurring my worms. Just write to see you squirm, while trying to burn myself too. Self-depreciating, which I guess that you as the reader appreciate.  

Every thought in my noggin logged with sweat, wetter than a toboggan ride that I’ve forgotten how to hide away and keep to myself.

How can you call the shots? When you've got your head dipped in a bowl of walrus snot.

If it isn't Leonard Tucca. You haven't aged a day!! You look like you've aged a 100 years. Still on the meds?

A bachelor back to butcher the language, it’s too hard to gauge this anger as I end up strangling the page. Rage, which is unusual as it usually takes an age to lose my rag and get aggravated at all. Usually it’s a tall order to fall, but nothing will stall me, except for the tall blonde that has me by the balls. Branded, bolted and shackled at the end of her leash. Eeesh! International Women’s Day sure evolved in leaps! Now we are down on knees grovelling like personal property, begging to gobble pussy like crippled Goblins hobbling with Blue Balls and can’t even stand up properly.

They just wish that your train of thought was trained to put a space between A and B. I used two? What's the fuss?

Me and CyberD don’t even speak in words, it’s like our whole lives are centred around rhymes, play games, lay mines like Claymore, or fixate over a Playmate of the Year. We flay skin and say things that might even upset our own next-of-kin. But that is the breakfast of kings. To not break, or change the original phrasing. If you’re fazed then change the station. If you can’t escape, change your nation. If you can’t leave Earth, then you’ll have to live with these statements of hate being blatantly made into your ear drum with a megaphone until you’re begging to be permanently deafened. Hastily basted in this sharp tongue sauce and hit in the face with some far-flung horse dung, where some of it sticks in your throat. There is no getting away, like me from my 38-inch waist when I’ve been sweating all day. Head in a daze. Dead in a maze of words, and pain so amazing yet so beautiful it hurts the brain. It’s impossible to turn the train when these thoughts are hurtling at a scarily fast pace.

Play games, lay mines, piss them off because I say what's on mine? Hate Minions, don't want to make millions, just enough to keep this scruffy git out of the runny shit. Funny Games are being played every fucking day, but at least I'm not being bloodied by hoodies. Brain too busy, already flooded with thoughts. Already head-butted these pussies through this prose and wit.

If you can just let philosophy into your soul, it will reward you. Make you hard and want to bust with Ontological lust.

You can't blow my mind when I'm inside your head already...

If there is a God and God is so perfect. Why do we have to regulate nature?

Novel idea: Lesbianity.

Got to leave the audience guessing. And by guessing, I mean totally infuriated.

Remember the mock up of when I lifted her frock up and stuffed my rock hard cock up? Until I was between a rock and a hard place. As always, touching on the times using touching lines of prose, vicious enough to get you round the throat like a garrote and leave you dangling like a carrot. Before I beat you with a stick until my hands are wracked with rheumatism. There's a room in prison for a man who was victimised by stigmatism? Get your mind in single file, its not okay to be free and wild, we just want 'em meek.. so smile my polite little child, read between the lines and weep. Your fucking minds are weak, you cannot change your fates, not while you are sleeping.

And so... the vulgar genius shall flourish with such a moorish pastime.