it's, well, it's a bit boring to be part of this sometimes... what with insomnia new york, london, whatever.... i feel not allegiance to give my ***** a sprout of waiting to be, a fully functioning human: nurtured into a fathomable presence, to be later ******-about like a ping-pong... if huamnity had a deserter, a Judas, i'd be him, i feel absolutely no allegiance to this: man = animal, i feel no existential threat, nor bias... i feel no basis to keep an argument, to be honest, the current argument just makes me express sentiments of acquiring the darwinism of dodo... i can't, just stage, a necessary continuum... it's not that i feel lost and want to continue... it's that i am lost, and don't want to! who the hell am i to suggest for implanting me with this ghost of apathy? me?! so i mastu-***** myself into feeling it? colonialism, right? i didn't cut off my *******, right?! i can't be bothered, i am vomitting on darwinistic arguments, because, well, i can't sorta feel them... and given the numbers, i don't really care that i see them... seeing a tapeworm would gratify me more than seeing some loon John Smith take out a load of garbage... as you do. no, not really... what's being described is hardly a prescription, i don't feel it, and i hardly want to live in it and be aged 70... what you said isn't, and never will be: a postcard... i will never want to live in this anglophone ****-pile of faked-hope... it's actually a shame that i live in this language-sphere, i'd be better off in Mongolia scribbling quasi-Mandarin... i literally have no impetus to compete... i must be a half-baked monkey... but you know... you watch enough Renaissance painters, and you watch enough ****... being given the beginning with a monkey's hairy ***... you sorta need to lose the plot, had there ever been one to begin with.*
i mean when the gensis of the senses being dimmed,
and the origin of thought...
for the senses to reveal a moral cursor,
a moral dimension...
before the big bang, what came into our world
most debilitating... thinking...
a case for making choices, and a reality
of moral agency...
it's beyond the big bang and darwinism
replicating boo boo skeletons equipped with
a middle-class wives...
it's when our senses became so *******
blunt and ineffective that a "sixth sense"
had to be established, that we countered running
away from a tiger to playing football...
and running from a tiger
was nothing... nothing! compared to jogging...
what's the date of that beginning?
oh right... no date...
the genesis of thought, and the moral agent,
begins with us experiencing less and less
sensually invigorating anti-ego tsunamis...
given that we were, literally pulverised by
sensual stimuli for such a long time,
that for such a long time our medium was
sensually based, biased,
that we heard so much than we wanted to heart,
sore so much more than we wanted to see...
and had no need for narrative,
or an internalised moral code,
or thought...
we are experiencing the exhausting
end, or the banality of thought,
personally: i think the existence of thought
is banal, it gave us god...
thankfully we are exhausting thought,
thereby succumbing to populace atheism...
thereby returning to sensual gravity...
pulverised by the 5, rather than a single,
establishing plateau sixth...
i rather prefer thinking about
the theory concerning: first thought
rather than the big bang...
ever hear a bang in vacuum?
so what the ****?!
when we first started thinking, and went against
the brutality of nature...
and became more brutal than nature...
i don't believe in heaven, or in hell,
but as an emotionally biased being
i like to think of both...
before i translate either case as a thought
before encouraging: die groß schlaf.
origin:
they make the grave
a fastinating place,
the crowd really does,
the crowd really makes so much
of an insistence or d'uh or applause.,
i mean, it really antagonises
the people...
like the time i thought i was: sprechen deutsche...
but wasn't, and it was cool,
because i was kinda Sax and anti Schwab...
and a bit like bot: hope you don't rememeber
the Holocaust..
so i became transgender,
and, also, trans-phobic,
so said: pronoun neutral!
and yes:
the grave,
it's a necrophilia i wish i had,
the cold of Februay,
you allow me misery, i allow
yours, you deny mine:
i'm sorta alive against my wish,
and i sorta wish i wasn't,
bound to spend 5 - 7 in a restaurant
with you...
cos you're just cutting up
my blues...
no, you're cool,
if i was in need of an ice-cube...
so yeah, you're cool...
a ******* iceberg of wanting clues....
chat chat and the crush,
if i make it to the medium of crazy-speak
with you, and i don't **** you,
you're lucky...
i mean: i wasn't as ****** up
as you wanted me to be...
i guess listening
to metallica leaves you ****** up
after a while...
so is there a need to compare?
i don't think so.
it just happens after a while,
you sorta hear the whale's groan
and strart to mimick the groan...
cave and ocean...
an echo in an ocean...
vibrations in water,
vibrations signatured into metal...
apparently it's only as fascinating
as it is, that we dare to ****
beyond encouraging politics
and a gravity leading toward social
stratas and concepts of class...
my... find me a masturbator content
with his hand being a ****...
and i'll find you an oyster! quicker!
