. .prosodic arson. . . . . . .(header pic tribute to Zilon).

   nope, when I bleed, it's most definitely a pretty shade of red.

 that's only how you see it.

   well how do you see me then

   blood red blue and golden grey with 14 thousand shades and hues of every colour and complexity.

   sweet talker


   There lies no silver on this tongue. You accuse a perpitrator with no plan, a thief devoid of larceny.
   all that comes forth is bunk and glamour so, it does not shine ever.

   red is the colour that contains every intention. It lies only in hue that one may decifer the human soul, devoid and heartless. I give you a pump; a mere tramp of a machine that is responsible for your life flow. It whores out your blood; the one thing you call your own and tells your brain of tales; stories and epics that feel...
   That you feel, deeply, darkly; instict from the dawn of time.
   Part of a whole, part of society, part of history. You exhist none of this. Folly is the human condition. Mistake without redemption. Repetition without...
   without, without, without...
   what one thing, what emotion what purpose is it that you do, truly seek?
   The ever evasive ever changing question of the night; what is the MUTHER FUCKING POINT!


   Contradiction as it were. I tell you, it's the only real thing out there. If you find your opposite you found your fate. You have become real becasue there is a black to your horrible white... But at the same time you are the black to their/it's white... So what is this to say? is it false in it's contradiction? BAH! The only real protagonist has an antogonist and antagonizes the shit out of the...


   don't explode


   antagonist who in turn becomes the protagonist... For every thesis there is an anti-thesis... when these two colide they fight, conform, unite and unfold the synthesis and the cycle goes on until the end of time....
   but then I ask, when is the end of time?
   Where and what determines the end all of all ends. As far as I am concearned I have been driven to a life of egocentricity. When I die the world ends and time stops; my perception of you is gone and I therefore say, you are gone. I dare you.... I DARE YOU to prove me wrong.

   ... And fancy that: me saying this now, it's been said thousands of times before. My original thought; the idea that I nurtured in my brain has been thought before, before and before again. I fucking love originality. It's so banal.

Here say I: just cheapened myself with the originality swing. Could have cut this out. I could have given you a thought free of that stupid 'it's all been done' crap, but, you know, it's become a cliche for a reason.
Smoke a gahd damned cigarette! Die a little to live mutherfucker. I only wish adrenaline could kill me 'cause my veins are full.
G'night...

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