crazy, nigga
I didn't wake up drunk!!!!!!
fucking wetbacks
you're drunk!!!!!!!!!!
your mom was drunk when she concieved you
don't have daughters
......seriously
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
rainy season comet blossoms
cooked and ate outside every meal. a little too warm to cook inside+homes of wood and straw. long table under an old titan palm when the local binaries or hammer rains beat. 27 hour day, thick damp atmosphere, disinterested indigenous pathogens...(the things I've seen), this colony effortless. Sol foods thrived...rice, soy, salmon, buffatees, and kiwis. I tried to get sick of fish, steak, and berries...impossible. Last Turn eating amino sludge on dry tack for the final 91 months...He is not without mercy, at times. the locals called R12-5 "Harvest", 'cause it's all they fucking did.
Originally Harvest's rights were bought from the Fed's by the Draconis Combine, as a Buddhist philanthropy... Monks feeding the universe. They even planted Zen and Shaolin sects, to advance the sweet science. more Earth than Earth, holos of 20lb. cantaloupe were seen, and technocrats tasted obscenely marbled and delicate buffatee loin (there body produces a natural butter)... Once the DC realized the profit of modest and cheap homesteads...there have been worse cases of social engineering.
at the end of Delta-Fall during the rains, the titan palms finish loading their blossoms. its easy to tell, the trunk launch rings glow from indigo increasingly to rose with each successive night, up the trunk to barrel pod, til even it's pulsing ruby hazard. they wait for a clear night...so the colossus pennons can thrum low, thrust ganglia vibrations triggering the seed pods. phosphorescent catalysts combined, build to release, volcanoing anvil seeds skywards. where the colossus pennons see and gulp. tourists love it, but titan palms and colossus pennons were produced by the DC splice labs.
A "Jewel of the Confederation". Only problem, it used to be some other insane empire's jewel 10 million years prior. reason the indig microscopic fauna acted disinterested...it was pathetically basic...no viruses or prions, having only evolved for 9,983,647 years. (Talent #2: can feel a Spiral's age). the terraformers marveled at Harvest's baseline habitability, and lack of complex indig biosphere... ardent corporate lackies ignored the question, "who and what wiped the slate clean?". my presence indicated imminent revelations of secrets.
Titan palms utilize ludicrous amounts of nitrates and water, in addition to solar radiation. As more were planted in tighter proximity, there massive root systems tunneled downwards. massive photosynthetic icebergs, 30 tons of titan palm above ground=100 tons of roots. fibrous tendrils sought more Calvin cycle fuel...until they ran into something impossibly ancient and malevolent (big surprise)...vacation over...
Harvest's previous tenants really fucked their biosphere with weaponized phagocytes...only rational recourse, destroy all the DNA on the planet, using massive sentient vacuums, that power themselves through ripping apart adenine, thymine, guanine, and cytosine...all of it...live in orbiting Arks for 1,000 years...then repopulate. Only the Arks didn't last that long, or some of the "cleaning" machines made it out of the atmosphere... different sizes, shapes, symmetries, psychologies, modes of reproduction, but hubris remains universal amongst intelligent life...
cue the usual temporally vulgar, intradimensional struggle for flesh and sanity. spare ya'll the explosiony and soul wrenching details... Cleaning up a some other Creator's mess, left for a promising but ignorantly masochistic species. Gods? Pah! hardly, all their creations constantly cunt it up. And they wonder from whence hubris originates...
Originally Harvest's rights were bought from the Fed's by the Draconis Combine, as a Buddhist philanthropy... Monks feeding the universe. They even planted Zen and Shaolin sects, to advance the sweet science. more Earth than Earth, holos of 20lb. cantaloupe were seen, and technocrats tasted obscenely marbled and delicate buffatee loin (there body produces a natural butter)... Once the DC realized the profit of modest and cheap homesteads...there have been worse cases of social engineering.
at the end of Delta-Fall during the rains, the titan palms finish loading their blossoms. its easy to tell, the trunk launch rings glow from indigo increasingly to rose with each successive night, up the trunk to barrel pod, til even it's pulsing ruby hazard. they wait for a clear night...so the colossus pennons can thrum low, thrust ganglia vibrations triggering the seed pods. phosphorescent catalysts combined, build to release, volcanoing anvil seeds skywards. where the colossus pennons see and gulp. tourists love it, but titan palms and colossus pennons were produced by the DC splice labs.
A "Jewel of the Confederation". Only problem, it used to be some other insane empire's jewel 10 million years prior. reason the indig microscopic fauna acted disinterested...it was pathetically basic...no viruses or prions, having only evolved for 9,983,647 years. (Talent #2: can feel a Spiral's age). the terraformers marveled at Harvest's baseline habitability, and lack of complex indig biosphere... ardent corporate lackies ignored the question, "who and what wiped the slate clean?". my presence indicated imminent revelations of secrets.
Titan palms utilize ludicrous amounts of nitrates and water, in addition to solar radiation. As more were planted in tighter proximity, there massive root systems tunneled downwards. massive photosynthetic icebergs, 30 tons of titan palm above ground=100 tons of roots. fibrous tendrils sought more Calvin cycle fuel...until they ran into something impossibly ancient and malevolent (big surprise)...vacation over...
Harvest's previous tenants really fucked their biosphere with weaponized phagocytes...only rational recourse, destroy all the DNA on the planet, using massive sentient vacuums, that power themselves through ripping apart adenine, thymine, guanine, and cytosine...all of it...live in orbiting Arks for 1,000 years...then repopulate. Only the Arks didn't last that long, or some of the "cleaning" machines made it out of the atmosphere... different sizes, shapes, symmetries, psychologies, modes of reproduction, but hubris remains universal amongst intelligent life...
cue the usual temporally vulgar, intradimensional struggle for flesh and sanity. spare ya'll the explosiony and soul wrenching details... Cleaning up a some other Creator's mess, left for a promising but ignorantly masochistic species. Gods? Pah! hardly, all their creations constantly cunt it up. And they wonder from whence hubris originates...
Friday, February 18, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
getting sloppy
wow, two home invasions...threat of a pattern...
Those intimate kills remembered, ever fresh...despite their pedestrian methodologies. Multi-block shots in Prague and Paris appear glamorous to the layperson, but really depersonalize iconic cities. the scope's view provides a spiritual disconnect, I don't lock with the dimming eyes of the recipient of the .338 Lapua round. I am not the last thing they see and touch.
I plaintively beseech the world's pretty eyes to avoid the assholes with my phone number/carrier pigeon address. these Republicans are beholden only to their self righteous superiority and wealth hoarding. Smaugs down to their quarks. ugh, how passed lives would mock new found concerns...
dark shapes congealing out of the mist at lapping ocean's edge, torch and axe in hands, camaraderie and intent preparing to express the most heinous of peer pressures. that was a life...for awhile...up to my hips in eviscerations and lamentating pussy. We scourged from Mull, up to the Shetlands, and south to Arboath. and for the second time the Horned Helm grew comfortable upon my brow, it's tusks well fed by wailing toddlers and piked craniums.
they say the tastiest meal is one caught/gathered/grown...hunting, fishing, farming, and gathering...but they lie. the best meal is one taken, cooked at crimsoned kissaki, the last of the villages' winter stores, with children and sanity in play, when a half decent roast is the difference between ship's cook and plaything...
but the razed hamlets, galleys of ginger haired slaves, and brooks choked with crumpled humans began to wear. The Terror of Portlethen, the Bloodletter of Balintore, Mangler of Mangresta, became disinterested with butchering fishermen. escaping His attention and validating tasks for too long, indulging/gorging/reveling in the fire and sundered hymens...holidays aren't indefinite. returning to His Wellfont in Rudol'fa, I encanted Rites of Revelation, opening my dessicated soul to His re-purposing.
Those intimate kills remembered, ever fresh...despite their pedestrian methodologies. Multi-block shots in Prague and Paris appear glamorous to the layperson, but really depersonalize iconic cities. the scope's view provides a spiritual disconnect, I don't lock with the dimming eyes of the recipient of the .338 Lapua round. I am not the last thing they see and touch.
I plaintively beseech the world's pretty eyes to avoid the assholes with my phone number/carrier pigeon address. these Republicans are beholden only to their self righteous superiority and wealth hoarding. Smaugs down to their quarks. ugh, how passed lives would mock new found concerns...
dark shapes congealing out of the mist at lapping ocean's edge, torch and axe in hands, camaraderie and intent preparing to express the most heinous of peer pressures. that was a life...for awhile...up to my hips in eviscerations and lamentating pussy. We scourged from Mull, up to the Shetlands, and south to Arboath. and for the second time the Horned Helm grew comfortable upon my brow, it's tusks well fed by wailing toddlers and piked craniums.
they say the tastiest meal is one caught/gathered/grown...hunting, fishing, farming, and gathering...but they lie. the best meal is one taken, cooked at crimsoned kissaki, the last of the villages' winter stores, with children and sanity in play, when a half decent roast is the difference between ship's cook and plaything...
but the razed hamlets, galleys of ginger haired slaves, and brooks choked with crumpled humans began to wear. The Terror of Portlethen, the Bloodletter of Balintore, Mangler of Mangresta, became disinterested with butchering fishermen. escaping His attention and validating tasks for too long, indulging/gorging/reveling in the fire and sundered hymens...holidays aren't indefinite. returning to His Wellfont in Rudol'fa, I encanted Rites of Revelation, opening my dessicated soul to His re-purposing.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Gaia's taint
By St. Elmo's Fire, Would you vapid vespine hoors allow an awareness ember whoosh to pyrolysis, please? Perchance, a cool eyed Mason/Halliburton Suit drops a backhand, it's crystal he ain't leaving the Mrs., and the fuck nugget gestating will be excised. I feel ya...hardwired maternal subroutines Itch...but zygotes aren't worth exiting x,y,z without His shard. Old White Mens' errands, can also leave a little wiggle for me in you...
Dog owner? I killed it. we shared a hunters moment then ground beef/too much ketamine. Your cell's virus is kicking in. Aerosol fentanyl leads to some hard zzzzzzzzzzzzz's. Front doors only stop vampires.
I will hover...to fondle...Dart Awake...'nother backhand (sensing a pattern?)...taser if feisty... "Therethere pussy, want me to lie about hope?" the silenced S&W M&P is a crowd pleaser. Yeeaahh, Dawning realization of whom unleashed this stooping falcon. Something about desperate babes bargaining inspires the physiological responses...Perk Time
Ancient Cracker Ass Mother Fucker needs somebody else's DNA on you, Crime Scene. life fear predictably inspires torrid enthusiasm, I learn all your tricks...until one shot violates endocranium. have the old Bowie knife wedged around a few times for the fuck nugget. could just disappear you, but nothing sticks on the news like a missing white girl. so the CSI techs and Pig profilers get lucky/published working a Crime Scene spectacular.
sheeiitt, boredom encroaching...
Dog owner? I killed it. we shared a hunters moment then ground beef/too much ketamine. Your cell's virus is kicking in. Aerosol fentanyl leads to some hard zzzzzzzzzzzzz's. Front doors only stop vampires.
I will hover...to fondle...Dart Awake...'nother backhand (sensing a pattern?)...taser if feisty... "Therethere pussy, want me to lie about hope?" the silenced S&W M&P is a crowd pleaser. Yeeaahh, Dawning realization of whom unleashed this stooping falcon. Something about desperate babes bargaining inspires the physiological responses...Perk Time
Ancient Cracker Ass Mother Fucker needs somebody else's DNA on you, Crime Scene. life fear predictably inspires torrid enthusiasm, I learn all your tricks...until one shot violates endocranium. have the old Bowie knife wedged around a few times for the fuck nugget. could just disappear you, but nothing sticks on the news like a missing white girl. so the CSI techs and Pig profilers get lucky/published working a Crime Scene spectacular.
sheeiitt, boredom encroaching...
Monday, February 7, 2011
1,000 apologies prease
several times per millennia, tyro Shepards ascend the mount. if a correct inquiry is made...descent acquiesct.
methodology. why. peace? are incorrect
sneaky stumble is "why". compulsively worried minds shouldn't consider ∞ish questions. thee is or isn't, if you have to ask... evolutionary terminusses deduced? Itch? Realized the Dream?
how...really? only the faintest egos crave style advice. We're frozen tantōd precipitation, plethora of caligraphy brushes. consider the divine nano filament event horizons of re-purposed plowshares.
And so dialogue inevitably arrives at Peace. Two avenues out of His mandate: incomptence and sepuku. Most succumb to latter by way of hope's escape. (picked by rational agency, we makes few mistakes) Wolverines and Ronin exhausted, our inhuman actions sapping the human chakras long denied.
As remorseless as selectees are, somewhen in the culling, in all the conflagerated nanoseconds at some point She emerges universally. Teasing salvation. His various Deals made, realized for their injustice. Is there a way out? Seek Lance of Longinus? Deicide? Undo the Continuem? Force to helium all hydrogen on this plane and several others...
Terriers marked feral by such queries. Malfunctioning tachyon disruptors endangering the Experiment. only one solution for a rabid lobo...
methodology. why. peace? are incorrect
sneaky stumble is "why". compulsively worried minds shouldn't consider ∞ish questions. thee is or isn't, if you have to ask... evolutionary terminusses deduced? Itch? Realized the Dream?
how...really? only the faintest egos crave style advice. We're frozen tantōd precipitation, plethora of caligraphy brushes. consider the divine nano filament event horizons of re-purposed plowshares.
And so dialogue inevitably arrives at Peace. Two avenues out of His mandate: incomptence and sepuku. Most succumb to latter by way of hope's escape. (picked by rational agency, we makes few mistakes) Wolverines and Ronin exhausted, our inhuman actions sapping the human chakras long denied.
As remorseless as selectees are, somewhen in the culling, in all the conflagerated nanoseconds at some point She emerges universally. Teasing salvation. His various Deals made, realized for their injustice. Is there a way out? Seek Lance of Longinus? Deicide? Undo the Continuem? Force to helium all hydrogen on this plane and several others...
Terriers marked feral by such queries. Malfunctioning tachyon disruptors endangering the Experiment. only one solution for a rabid lobo...
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