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Old Blue
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By:
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c4
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Mood:
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other
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Date:
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03/10/2008 05:44:30
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Music:
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Hum - Downward is Heavenward
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i live where the walls are painted with shit and blood. wasted apparitions of incurable castaways hide under the bathtub with the sewer rats, and cockroaches knock on my bedroom door at night. plastic cups stationed haphasardly throughought the place arm themselves with week-old white russians; apathetically prepared to flood stomachs and floors.here there are no forks.no milk is left to sour in the fridge. the sound of termites gorging on innards of attic-door keeps the gnats awake at night, and 24 hour peep-shows play in every detached window--this week's feature: "Blue Hands Finger Out-of-Tune Acoustic Guitars" . the result: dissonance commonly mistaken for cries of ecstasy.mistake or none, the sounds go unnoticed by droves of once-coveted, frantically-emptied, and promptly-discarded clips of ammunition gone-biohazard, appropriately dressed in little uniforms made from the last roll of toiletpaper. these disguises rape their existences, and their bodies slip through gaping holes in mold-encrusted linoleum.i live in the shrine of a dead flower whose corpse is worshiped unconditionally by a cult of locusts.i do not practice organized religion. i believe there is no god. i worship none and am aware that my lack of faith forces my lids from closing and makes my skin glow in the dark. The musings of a radical outcast are victims of assurance fraud--Time and Again insists, and The Words truly believe, that they fall not on deaf ears.they are both wrong.
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