Eating my first brakefeast.
Eating my second brakefeast
after few minutes. Watching
trailers of potential and digestable
incredible movies. The sound of Clint
Mansell, moves my body electroimpulses
on another trajectory.
Unremarkabley I lose my weight
how to live in society. My own worlds
in my own mind is so much more fun.
Though the word "fun" is just a low
subject over these matters that
hide themselves under the dead flies.
Pour the blood and pour the acid.
The mind of brilliance and murder.
I could write it.
I could write it all in one big and
fat book with urinary-yellow pages
and ratblood ink.
The masterpiece of the butcher.
White plane corpse inbetween these
green fields of fake freedom.
The electricity, the machinery
takes it all away, cageing, chaining.
Lesser real work with hands and brain.
Lesser joy and passion.
The orb of happiness has been painted
into the Alice In Wanderland rabit-hole.
*
They sit beside the lake of cemetary.
Smoking ciggaret by ciggaret.
Menthol, without menthol.
Pure nicotine heaven.
Deepest drag, a push of words.
- He tried. He tried his best. But he was afraid.
- By overdoseing and failing.
- It was brilliant movie.
- They were, by the refusement.
- Perfect ending for such a movie.
- Ending of the Magnus.
*
Wish I had number 30.
For ciggarettes.
Wish I had bigger number than 3.
For life.
The mountains of clothes.
Small acidflies.
Some random cookies.
Coctail, made for comfort.
Worse than the mother.
*
If there were anyone, anything
that could see through my eyes
and hear through my ears.
In my eyes is the cities of cameras.
Everything I see, is filmed by apocalyptic
scenes and race of mankind.
The impulses of brain give me the talent.
The hormones of my own brain
give me the hallucinations of reality.
*
The concept of Death is my sanctuary.
The secret love. The secret passion.
It isnt about blood, or decaying body.
It isnt about life or 3 gramms of soul.
It isnt about hope or losing one.
It isnt about everything and anything.
It is about the beauty.
The simplicity.
The purity.
The It.
Eating my second brakefeast
after few minutes. Watching
trailers of potential and digestable
incredible movies. The sound of Clint
Mansell, moves my body electroimpulses
on another trajectory.
Unremarkabley I lose my weight
how to live in society. My own worlds
in my own mind is so much more fun.
Though the word "fun" is just a low
subject over these matters that
hide themselves under the dead flies.
Pour the blood and pour the acid.
The mind of brilliance and murder.
I could write it.
I could write it all in one big and
fat book with urinary-yellow pages
and ratblood ink.
The masterpiece of the butcher.
White plane corpse inbetween these
green fields of fake freedom.
The electricity, the machinery
takes it all away, cageing, chaining.
Lesser real work with hands and brain.
Lesser joy and passion.
The orb of happiness has been painted
into the Alice In Wanderland rabit-hole.
*
They sit beside the lake of cemetary.
Smoking ciggaret by ciggaret.
Menthol, without menthol.
Pure nicotine heaven.
Deepest drag, a push of words.
- He tried. He tried his best. But he was afraid.
- By overdoseing and failing.
- It was brilliant movie.
- They were, by the refusement.
- Perfect ending for such a movie.
- Ending of the Magnus.
*
Wish I had number 30.
For ciggarettes.
Wish I had bigger number than 3.
For life.
The mountains of clothes.
Small acidflies.
Some random cookies.
Coctail, made for comfort.
Worse than the mother.
*
If there were anyone, anything
that could see through my eyes
and hear through my ears.
In my eyes is the cities of cameras.
Everything I see, is filmed by apocalyptic
scenes and race of mankind.
The impulses of brain give me the talent.
The hormones of my own brain
give me the hallucinations of reality.
*
The concept of Death is my sanctuary.
The secret love. The secret passion.
It isnt about blood, or decaying body.
It isnt about life or 3 gramms of soul.
It isnt about hope or losing one.
It isnt about everything and anything.
It is about the beauty.
The simplicity.
The purity.
The It.
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