We are PROTECTED by the LAW these guys will take those suckers DOWN! Shit talkin’ always made it’s way to the top! Shit talkin’ always has it’s mouth full, and hands as well. They be talkin it up! And still……..we wonder.
My infant spirit would awake To the terror of the lone lake My infant spirit would awake To the terror of the lone lake Yet that terror was not fright But a tremulous delight And a feeling undefined Springing from a darkened mind Death was in that poisoned wave And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his dark imagining Whose wildering though could even make An Eden of that dim lake But when the night had thrown her pall Upon that spot as upon all And the wind would pass me by In its stilly melody -Antony & the Johnsons
we live on a half-lit stage, a concrete platform.. waiting it’s grand appearance, it’s ultimate performance.. dark & light, kissed infinitely by the sun. day becomes night, night into day- the anticipation of change, of an end, or a beginning. the cracks in the walls take their last breath, a soft exhale of tired days… we live in a dream of exploding hearts and hot streets. -eileen garcia
Did you know that boredom has several categories? That it can lead to depression? Social problems? Don’t give in to the depths of boredom! improve your brain and memory with these activities: puzzles crosswords simon says fly swatter language games sticky fingers glue inhaling cat chasing jelly beans Boredom can lead to death! Keep yourself focused and alert at all times, or end up in the chains of the of the dead zone. “Boredom is a reactive state of emotion that interprets the condition of one’s environment as wearingly dull due to repetitive, non-existent or tedious stimuli. Boredom stems from a lack of interesting things to see, hear, or do (physically or intellectually) when not in the mood of “doing anything.” (via Wikiquote)
“…The law-abiding citizen is entitled to own a rifle, pistol, or shotgun. The right, put simply, shall not be infringed…” ” SAD.” me. D ll ll Disgustipated ” TOOL “ And the angel of the lord came unto me. snatching me up from my place of slumber, and took me on High, and higher still until we moved through the spaces betwixt the air itself. and he brought me into a Vast farmland of our own midwest. and as we descended, cries of impending doom arose from the Soil. one thousand, nay, a million voices full of fear. and terror possessed me then. and I begged: ’angel of the lord, what are these tortured screams? ’ and the angel said unto me: ’these are the cries Of the carrots. the cries of the carrot. you see, reverend maynard, tomorrow is harvest day, and to Them, it is the holocaust.’ and I sprang from my slumber drenched in sweat with the tears of one million Terrified brothers and roared: ’hear me now, I have seen the light. they have a consciousness! they Have a life! they have a soul. damn you! let the rabbits wear glasses. save our brothers. can I
Books make great holiday gifts. They’re not usually very big or expensive, though they can be both. And they can signal a regard for the receiver’s interests, intelligence, and aesthetic sense. This sort of multi-level communication is very much in vogue these days. The Philosophy of Andy Warhol from A to B and Back Again (1975) is maybe the easiest book to give, at least in my library. Everyone loves it. So many people that it almost cuts down on the specialness of the book as a gift. Except for that it is an incredibly intimate piece of writing. Not exactly in the sense offered by the latest Kitty Kelley biography, which imagines the uncovering of salacious gossip as some kind of final or conclusive knowledge about its protagonist. And Warhol loved every porny detail, don’t get me wrong. The thing is this is a “philosophy”: a warm, funny, charismatic, and full view of the world, its workings and its workers. The chapters alternate between a transcript of a telephone dialogue between “A” and “B,” and loose collections of anecdotes and aphorisms. Both genres are longtime staples of philosophical writing: Plato and Rousseau wrote dialogues, Pascal and Nietzsche wrote aphorisms. In
Working out is a proven anti-depressant and happiness booster, yet Prozac still seemingly reigns intrepid king of attempting to propagate endorphins. “Endorphins work as “natural pain relievers.” !!!!! Forget any kinda pill!! Popping pillz is much more costly than strapping on running lace-ups and taking to the streets, yet it’s easier, a real fast method. Warm guns produce flushed cheeks, flat abs, sex appeal. Happiness is a fucking warm gun, people! Exercise =Sex appeal = sex = happiness. Anti-ds= funky brainwaves= happyhappyjoyimsoexcited demeanors + decrease in libido = loss of sex + she/he’s freakily excited = sadness Which equation is more appealing? Duh. Sex is so open-ended too. There are the many fetishes which spill forth from our extensive human genomes. Sex for Furry-lovers, sex for people who enjoy only themselves, sex for moms, sex for grandfathers, sex for exhibitionists, sex for nuns, sex for orange juice-addicts, sex for people who like being in little booths in Chinatown with a woman in pleather whipping them, sex for accountants who only get off during tax season… We all could/can be happy. All it might take is a little flexing, heavy breathing, spandex, water bottles, dedication.