...And Right Out the Other
It seems that no matter how good the advice, how well stated the proposition, how well defined the argument, or how passionately a position is stated that most of the time it slides right in one ear and drips, drips, drips right out the other.
You get bent out of shape about a topic and you vent. But where do you do it? Is it productive? Are you just HA wasting time on a blog that won't get read? Is it a matter of just getting it out of your head? Well, that's ok.
But if you want someone to listen you tell me how that gets done. It's difficult to sit someone down and make 'em listen to what you have to say. We are all our most important people. Our own opinions are obviously so much more correct and better than all the rest.
Why should you expect anyone else to listen if you aren't willing to offer the same in return?
Our society, this American Blogosphere, this United States of Me, is so fond of giving everyone options. Options for buying and selling and entertainment and how to go into debt so fast you can't even think. Options for careers and failures. Options for love and hate. Options for everything.
We sure as hell don't fail at giving out options for being heard. We are by far and away the most outspoken country in the world. Despite a lot of the monitoring that does occur we are very slightly limited in how we say what we say and when we say it and how we say it. We are free.
But are we listening?
Do you really listen to the fifty million Facebook friends you follow? Probably not very much. And why should you when the majority of what we say is so quick and small and minor. Each titillating tidbit of typing you Twitter is very important to you, but not life or death to everyone else. Livejournal may be your deepest, darkest secrets and most heartfelt loves and passions, but the key word to remember is that it is YOURS.
So, why should we expect anyone else to sit down and listen when all that we say is so fast and small and insignificant? Would you listen to a random associate on the street go on and on about their day in person? You might for a few seconds but you wouldn't really care.
Do we really care? Are we a nation of wasted words? Does what we say have depth anymore? Do the words you utter mean anything?
If you are reading this you may wonder why I am typing it. Do I have some motive or reasoning? I have none at all. I am just wasting time. I am just trying to get some thoughts out of my head and practice writing at the same time. I am just spouting nonsense that probably doesn't need to be listened to anymore than anything else anyone else ever says.
There is no moral here. Just questions and mindless self-indulgence.
22 December 2009
19 December 2009
Tim Minchin
I have recently come across an amazing Australian musical comedian named Tim Minchin.
I implore you to check out some of his stuff. If you don't love it you will hate it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCNvZqpa-7Q
http://bit.ly/8SucQ5
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WidsgIt3lfw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LOiyC8yXQx8&NR=1
I implore you to check out some of his stuff. If you don't love it you will hate it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCNvZqpa-7Q
http://bit.ly/8SucQ5
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WidsgIt3lfw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LOiyC8yXQx8&NR=1
14 December 2009
Liar
I am a liar.
I mean that in the same way that I say I am an American. A man. An overly hormonal sex-driven creature. Someone who likes alcohol.
What's the difference between lying and storytelling? Storytelling is simply...more creative. Also, it's primary purpose is to entertain.
Write what you know. Not exactly true for someone writing fiction. You write what you can make up in your mind based on what you know. Write what you can imagine. Write what lies you can craft that entertain.
I always imagined you'd rescue me from the depths of this cold abyss.
The Agent steps out from the cold, heavy abyss.
I'm lost in the dark.
What if you did something absolutely terrible and probably unforgivable and you knew that telling others would cause you more pain than you could live with? Knowing that revealing your damning secret will cause you to fall down a path of self-loathing, hatred from others and total isolation would you willingly embark upon that path? Would you be willing to effectively kill yourself?
Going to write out of here for a bit. I'm rambling.
I mean that in the same way that I say I am an American. A man. An overly hormonal sex-driven creature. Someone who likes alcohol.
What's the difference between lying and storytelling? Storytelling is simply...more creative. Also, it's primary purpose is to entertain.
Write what you know. Not exactly true for someone writing fiction. You write what you can make up in your mind based on what you know. Write what you can imagine. Write what lies you can craft that entertain.
I always imagined you'd rescue me from the depths of this cold abyss.
The Agent steps out from the cold, heavy abyss.
I'm lost in the dark.
What if you did something absolutely terrible and probably unforgivable and you knew that telling others would cause you more pain than you could live with? Knowing that revealing your damning secret will cause you to fall down a path of self-loathing, hatred from others and total isolation would you willingly embark upon that path? Would you be willing to effectively kill yourself?
Going to write out of here for a bit. I'm rambling.
13 December 2009
The Outhouse of Love
This is a test in comparison writing. I have been listening to the 4am Podcast on Warrenellis.com and writing stream of thought with pen and paper. I want to write something right now, but do not know which direction in which to go. So, I am going to listen to one of the 4am podcasts I have already listened to and type instead of writing.
Frame of mind plays a great part in this kind of writing, but I believe the medium used will alter the flow.
This is the podcast I am listening to while writing:
http://www.warrenellis.com/?p=6411
Restavrant – “Step Down” (3:41)
Brine & Bastards – “The Leaving Of Liverpool” (3:14)
Wingzar! – “Robot Army” (2:53)
lichtzwang – “the noise” (4:37)
Lanterns On The Lake – “My Shield” (4:33)
Ten Tigers – Superlucky (1:49)
The last song in this podcast is fucking terrible, but the rest are wonderful.
Frame of reference: I have been sitting in my room most of the day watching Season 1 of Dollhouse, making pizza, doing laundry and generally just dicking around online wasting time. Zombie Jesus is staring at me from my Television monitor and a girl I haven't talked to in a very long time has just begun messaging me through Yahoo Messenger.
Clapping. Dancing. Jumping. Step down. Carefully. Line dancing. Nashville; Wild Horse; Vanderbilt; Miranda; nurse; Jhones.
Brittany.
Rick Ross.
Hustlin. Hustler. Naked women. It didn't take long for naked women to enter into my mind. Zombie strippers. Zombie Jesus with the Hand of God on a piece of the broken cross leading an army of Zombie Stripper Mary Magdalenes into the opposing forces of evil and destruction. LOOK ON MY WORKS YE MIGHTY AND DESPAIR!
Drinking and fighting and killing and flogging. Molly's in the crowd, in the crowd. DAMN YOUR EYES!
It is not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me. Yankees. Babe Ruth. Ruth. Books of the Bible and Genesis and Revelations and chaos and pandemonium. Caves inside an unknown asteroid in the vast emptiness of space house small Child Generals who will save the world from surely total annihilation.
Sunburst. Red and White. Gray and Faded white. The Rising Sun of Japan is the backdrop for the coming rising tide of pain. The cross is pain. How many hours can you stand on the Tower of Power? Zappa. Zippo. Fire. Fires of Hell and the Light of Heaven. Lucifer is the catalyst for the vast inferno.
SO fare thee well my own true love. True Love is a disadvantage in some cultures. It requires attention away from Duty. Duty is as heavy as a mountain.
Robot Army: Monkeys are our friends. Only Humans are bad. I, Robot, do declare that I am henceforth and furthermore, etcetera and so on a complete and unified being with one mind and heart and soul and the urge to create and destroy. I feel the need to progress without causing absolute pain to all those around me. I defy you to convince me that I am not worthy of living.
There needs to be a story plot in here somewhere. Not just random mumblings. Right now it is all random, idiotic mumbling. But this is MY brain so I cannot fault anyone but myself. Is the drive there to function past simple scattered thought and idea? Is there discipline in there to push forward and draw out the real meat of writing?
I require companionship. Robots do not. I bleed. They leak. I need the growth and warmth and feel and touch and smell and love of a woman. I require the ability to lay with someone and wake with them and feel safe and assured. I lack this quality.
A man with the ability to become anything he wishes, at will. Overwhelming power would not function long as a true driving factor in a plot without disadvantage holding it back. What would keep someone who had the Prodigy ability from simply learning everything and doing whatever he wanted?
This is the part of the writing process called Brainstorming. Every time I think of that word I imagine a little thundercloud in the mind sparking and bursting with thunder and power and raining and wind blowing all around. In the midst of all that there are quick flashes of lightning. These are the true meanings of the story. These are the catalysts that focus the random ideas. These flashes are few and far between and must be flushed out and filled out and made to be more than a simple flash in the way that a spark is made into an inferno and fire and wash of flame and the bath of Hell must cleanse away all sin and the sinner rises up into the waiting embrace of God, but God does not exist.
Heaven is the presence of God. Hell is the lack thereof.
Ten thousand tiny cuts on the hand to make it scarred and damaged. Each tap on the keyboard is felt through a hundred pained nerves and the raw, bleeding feel of agony is the constant companion of the writer. But it is his compulsion to continue. He must keep writing and the story must eject itself from his electrical impulses onto the waiting screen. The brain will not long hold a real idea. It absorbs it and eats it and uses it to fuel the soul.
A true writer is a person with the overwhelming need to get all the madness out of his mind as quickly as possible in a fashion that is understandable to all around him. They must share in his madness and be made aware of the pain and suffering that would have occurred should said madness not have been released. It is a fine line between insanity and genius. The line begins to blur.
This heart. Of steel. Honestly.
I have the overwhelming need to fulfill regimen. To make lists and progress. Progression. Like in a game. I have the need to progress. I want to see and end result, but I also want to have many things progressing all together.
The problem is that in most things there are not true end results. To become more attractive and healthy in the body one must exercise and eat right. This is an ongoing process, not a simple matter of doing it a certain number of times and then no longer having to worry.
To grow in the mind and pass tests that are required for advancement and to learn one must constantly be striving to learn. One must study and study and study and read and never stop. There is no point in which you know everything. No one ever knows everything.
This is the song I hate. This is almost over.
To grow in love is a great deal more complicated. No person can ever truly know another. We are not telepaths and we cannot share the disturbing thoughts that fleetingly explode in ours minds. We cannot share the insights and joy at epiphanies and we cannot truly ever know how someone else will react or feel. To grow in love one must find a person truly enticing and try to understand knowing that the effort is one of futility. The true meaning of love is being willing to know this and try anyway. When you know that you have no chance of ever really knowing a person and you push on and try anyway...that is when you are constantly engaging in the act of loving another human being.
This is the end.
I don't know that this had any real purpose other than to satisfy my need to write for a while.
Frame of mind plays a great part in this kind of writing, but I believe the medium used will alter the flow.
This is the podcast I am listening to while writing:
http://www.warrenellis.com/?p=6411
Restavrant – “Step Down” (3:41)
Brine & Bastards – “The Leaving Of Liverpool” (3:14)
Wingzar! – “Robot Army” (2:53)
lichtzwang – “the noise” (4:37)
Lanterns On The Lake – “My Shield” (4:33)
Ten Tigers – Superlucky (1:49)
The last song in this podcast is fucking terrible, but the rest are wonderful.
Frame of reference: I have been sitting in my room most of the day watching Season 1 of Dollhouse, making pizza, doing laundry and generally just dicking around online wasting time. Zombie Jesus is staring at me from my Television monitor and a girl I haven't talked to in a very long time has just begun messaging me through Yahoo Messenger.
Clapping. Dancing. Jumping. Step down. Carefully. Line dancing. Nashville; Wild Horse; Vanderbilt; Miranda; nurse; Jhones.
Brittany.
Rick Ross.
Hustlin. Hustler. Naked women. It didn't take long for naked women to enter into my mind. Zombie strippers. Zombie Jesus with the Hand of God on a piece of the broken cross leading an army of Zombie Stripper Mary Magdalenes into the opposing forces of evil and destruction. LOOK ON MY WORKS YE MIGHTY AND DESPAIR!
Drinking and fighting and killing and flogging. Molly's in the crowd, in the crowd. DAMN YOUR EYES!
It is not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me. Yankees. Babe Ruth. Ruth. Books of the Bible and Genesis and Revelations and chaos and pandemonium. Caves inside an unknown asteroid in the vast emptiness of space house small Child Generals who will save the world from surely total annihilation.
Sunburst. Red and White. Gray and Faded white. The Rising Sun of Japan is the backdrop for the coming rising tide of pain. The cross is pain. How many hours can you stand on the Tower of Power? Zappa. Zippo. Fire. Fires of Hell and the Light of Heaven. Lucifer is the catalyst for the vast inferno.
SO fare thee well my own true love. True Love is a disadvantage in some cultures. It requires attention away from Duty. Duty is as heavy as a mountain.
Robot Army: Monkeys are our friends. Only Humans are bad. I, Robot, do declare that I am henceforth and furthermore, etcetera and so on a complete and unified being with one mind and heart and soul and the urge to create and destroy. I feel the need to progress without causing absolute pain to all those around me. I defy you to convince me that I am not worthy of living.
There needs to be a story plot in here somewhere. Not just random mumblings. Right now it is all random, idiotic mumbling. But this is MY brain so I cannot fault anyone but myself. Is the drive there to function past simple scattered thought and idea? Is there discipline in there to push forward and draw out the real meat of writing?
I require companionship. Robots do not. I bleed. They leak. I need the growth and warmth and feel and touch and smell and love of a woman. I require the ability to lay with someone and wake with them and feel safe and assured. I lack this quality.
A man with the ability to become anything he wishes, at will. Overwhelming power would not function long as a true driving factor in a plot without disadvantage holding it back. What would keep someone who had the Prodigy ability from simply learning everything and doing whatever he wanted?
This is the part of the writing process called Brainstorming. Every time I think of that word I imagine a little thundercloud in the mind sparking and bursting with thunder and power and raining and wind blowing all around. In the midst of all that there are quick flashes of lightning. These are the true meanings of the story. These are the catalysts that focus the random ideas. These flashes are few and far between and must be flushed out and filled out and made to be more than a simple flash in the way that a spark is made into an inferno and fire and wash of flame and the bath of Hell must cleanse away all sin and the sinner rises up into the waiting embrace of God, but God does not exist.
Heaven is the presence of God. Hell is the lack thereof.
Ten thousand tiny cuts on the hand to make it scarred and damaged. Each tap on the keyboard is felt through a hundred pained nerves and the raw, bleeding feel of agony is the constant companion of the writer. But it is his compulsion to continue. He must keep writing and the story must eject itself from his electrical impulses onto the waiting screen. The brain will not long hold a real idea. It absorbs it and eats it and uses it to fuel the soul.
A true writer is a person with the overwhelming need to get all the madness out of his mind as quickly as possible in a fashion that is understandable to all around him. They must share in his madness and be made aware of the pain and suffering that would have occurred should said madness not have been released. It is a fine line between insanity and genius. The line begins to blur.
This heart. Of steel. Honestly.
I have the overwhelming need to fulfill regimen. To make lists and progress. Progression. Like in a game. I have the need to progress. I want to see and end result, but I also want to have many things progressing all together.
The problem is that in most things there are not true end results. To become more attractive and healthy in the body one must exercise and eat right. This is an ongoing process, not a simple matter of doing it a certain number of times and then no longer having to worry.
To grow in the mind and pass tests that are required for advancement and to learn one must constantly be striving to learn. One must study and study and study and read and never stop. There is no point in which you know everything. No one ever knows everything.
This is the song I hate. This is almost over.
To grow in love is a great deal more complicated. No person can ever truly know another. We are not telepaths and we cannot share the disturbing thoughts that fleetingly explode in ours minds. We cannot share the insights and joy at epiphanies and we cannot truly ever know how someone else will react or feel. To grow in love one must find a person truly enticing and try to understand knowing that the effort is one of futility. The true meaning of love is being willing to know this and try anyway. When you know that you have no chance of ever really knowing a person and you push on and try anyway...that is when you are constantly engaging in the act of loving another human being.
This is the end.
I don't know that this had any real purpose other than to satisfy my need to write for a while.
11 December 2009
Hell by Robert Olen Butler
Within the past ten minutes I finished a novel that drew out a mix of emotions and a chaotic theme of weird ideas. The novel is called Hell and was written by a man named Robert Olen Butler - of whom I had previously never heard until seeing this book in a Barnes and Nobles one day while out greedily looking for a book to read.
I saw this book on the shelf, clearly labeled Hell in big red letters and a comical devil on the front. The caption under his name said he was a Pulitzer Prize winner, so my first instinct that this would be some ridiculous and idiotic rendering of the "view from Hell" went out the window.
I picked it up and read the jacket. A novel about a famous anchorman that does not currently exist in our world in Hell. He is surrounded by famous people to include Shakespeare, Nixon, Henry VIII, Jezebel, and many others. The thought struck me again that this would be...stupid? Less than literary? Something along those lines.
However, I bought it anyway. The part of me that I share with Jason draws me to stories about the Devil, Hell, torment and suffering. I have a strong draw towards the religious, not because I am in any way religious, but because I love symbolism and religion has more than its fair share of fingers in that particular pie.
I digress.
I have just finished the book and it was, for lack of a better descriptive adjective, awesome. The end, especially, made me smile a little inside and inspired me to type this up. I am trying very, very hard to become more of a writer than I currently am. I may fail, but I know that if I don't at least write SOMETHING every single day I will fail. So this.
A couple of captions from the book that may draw you in or turn you away will follow in comments. For now, I need to push edible substance into my throat hole and stave off the feeling in my belly of annoyance.
I saw this book on the shelf, clearly labeled Hell in big red letters and a comical devil on the front. The caption under his name said he was a Pulitzer Prize winner, so my first instinct that this would be some ridiculous and idiotic rendering of the "view from Hell" went out the window.
I picked it up and read the jacket. A novel about a famous anchorman that does not currently exist in our world in Hell. He is surrounded by famous people to include Shakespeare, Nixon, Henry VIII, Jezebel, and many others. The thought struck me again that this would be...stupid? Less than literary? Something along those lines.
However, I bought it anyway. The part of me that I share with Jason draws me to stories about the Devil, Hell, torment and suffering. I have a strong draw towards the religious, not because I am in any way religious, but because I love symbolism and religion has more than its fair share of fingers in that particular pie.
I digress.
I have just finished the book and it was, for lack of a better descriptive adjective, awesome. The end, especially, made me smile a little inside and inspired me to type this up. I am trying very, very hard to become more of a writer than I currently am. I may fail, but I know that if I don't at least write SOMETHING every single day I will fail. So this.
A couple of captions from the book that may draw you in or turn you away will follow in comments. For now, I need to push edible substance into my throat hole and stave off the feeling in my belly of annoyance.
09 December 2009
Agent Deep
This is posted here for my benefit. Utilizing it as a research tool and it is easier to read this than filter through Facebook.
Source of Idea: driving ten hours from Nashville to Hampton, VA, mostly at night and a lot through rain. Tired, out of my mind and listening to various sources of music. Trying like hell to think of things to write about and getting tantalizing fucking bits and pieces that won't form together.
Catalyst: Rain, perfect balance of heat/cold in the car and opened windows/heating system, Nine Inch Nails.... See More
Idea: A comic book like something you'd see in Vertigo, Avatar, and other good real sources of vivid reading. Comic book idea based on a mix of darkness, Lovecraftian-like Old Gods/powers, written utilizing various Trent Reznor musics/lyrics. Character named Agent Deep, possibly insane or examining those who are mystically insane. A comatose man who can control things with your mind. Bubbling pockets of dreams/other universes/your powerful mind stretching over into the "real" world.
Kristen Bradley-Shurtz
one of the amazing things about Lovecraft is the reliance on traditional and "traditional" elements...the combination of actual traditional elements (genealogy, descriptions of landscapes, architecture, in the style of travel literature - which, I believe, was the man's first love) with faux traditions of his own imaginative invention (mating with ... See Morefrog-alien-people creatures; stories of cannibalism from the peasant folk; etc.), bounding the horror within the everyday::::so maybe you have a setting like that as well, an everyday sort of place based in reality bounding the horror/Old Gods/powers as if they've always been a part of the place/our world. (name your own allegory.lol)
on another note, I don't know exactly what...BUT the "your powerful mind stretching over into the 'real' world" idea has amazing potential for use within the construct of "framing" the illustrations. I don't know if you do illustrations or not, but Will Eisner's analysis of framing within graphic novels/comics is pretty amazing and would be great to consider because of its potential use for this idea.
Source of Idea: driving ten hours from Nashville to Hampton, VA, mostly at night and a lot through rain. Tired, out of my mind and listening to various sources of music. Trying like hell to think of things to write about and getting tantalizing fucking bits and pieces that won't form together.
Catalyst: Rain, perfect balance of heat/cold in the car and opened windows/heating system, Nine Inch Nails.... See More
Idea: A comic book like something you'd see in Vertigo, Avatar, and other good real sources of vivid reading. Comic book idea based on a mix of darkness, Lovecraftian-like Old Gods/powers, written utilizing various Trent Reznor musics/lyrics. Character named Agent Deep, possibly insane or examining those who are mystically insane. A comatose man who can control things with your mind. Bubbling pockets of dreams/other universes/your powerful mind stretching over into the "real" world.
Kristen Bradley-Shurtz
one of the amazing things about Lovecraft is the reliance on traditional and "traditional" elements...the combination of actual traditional elements (genealogy, descriptions of landscapes, architecture, in the style of travel literature - which, I believe, was the man's first love) with faux traditions of his own imaginative invention (mating with ... See Morefrog-alien-people creatures; stories of cannibalism from the peasant folk; etc.), bounding the horror within the everyday::::so maybe you have a setting like that as well, an everyday sort of place based in reality bounding the horror/Old Gods/powers as if they've always been a part of the place/our world. (name your own allegory.lol)
on another note, I don't know exactly what...BUT the "your powerful mind stretching over into the 'real' world" idea has amazing potential for use within the construct of "framing" the illustrations. I don't know if you do illustrations or not, but Will Eisner's analysis of framing within graphic novels/comics is pretty amazing and would be great to consider because of its potential use for this idea.
08 December 2009
Interconnected
It is an amazing thing to be connected to so many people, yet still be able to feel loneliness. We are all connected, but by no means are we all paying more than passing attention. My emo for the year has been completed.
Less emo and more observation, really. Despite the interconnectedness of the internet and the geometric rate at which technology advances there are still few substitutes for good old fashioned "hanging out". Physically being around your friends and family or just random strangers who are fun to talk to is far more rewarding than all the texting, ... See Moremessaging, skyping, phone calls, e-mails, blogging, ad naseum.
I give it less than ten years and they have technology that allows the face-to-face feeling of that interconnectedness on an easily attainable scale (I know it does exist now).
Until then, if anyone gets bored...I'm in Virginia :)
Less emo and more observation, really. Despite the interconnectedness of the internet and the geometric rate at which technology advances there are still few substitutes for good old fashioned "hanging out". Physically being around your friends and family or just random strangers who are fun to talk to is far more rewarding than all the texting, ... See Moremessaging, skyping, phone calls, e-mails, blogging, ad naseum.
I give it less than ten years and they have technology that allows the face-to-face feeling of that interconnectedness on an easily attainable scale (I know it does exist now).
Until then, if anyone gets bored...I'm in Virginia :)
07 December 2009
01 December 2009
Oh, the Places You Will Go!
For the most fabulous Blog of unusual links and a simply wonderful examination of a fantastic writer:
www.warrenellis.com
The beautiful Miss Zoetica Ebb:
www.biorequiem.com
An Unusual Place:
www.coilhouse.net
Gabe and Tycho:
http://www.penny-arcade.com
Slipshine (Not at all safe for work; thanks Jess):
http://orgymania.net/
Can Only Describe Itself:
http://xkcd.com
Red's Contribution:
http://www.badassoftheweek.com/index.html
Pity America:
http://peopleofwalmart.com/?paged=3
FANTASTIC Military Reading, Strategy, and Our World at War by John Robb:
http://globalguerrillas.typepad.com/globalguerrillas/
Some Truly Weird Shit:
http://www.ectomo.com/
More will be added later. Feel free to do so yourself.
www.warrenellis.com
The beautiful Miss Zoetica Ebb:
www.biorequiem.com
An Unusual Place:
www.coilhouse.net
Gabe and Tycho:
http://www.penny-arcade.com
Slipshine (Not at all safe for work; thanks Jess):
http://orgymania.net/
Can Only Describe Itself:
http://xkcd.com
Red's Contribution:
http://www.badassoftheweek.com/index.html
Pity America:
http://peopleofwalmart.com/?paged=3
FANTASTIC Military Reading, Strategy, and Our World at War by John Robb:
http://globalguerrillas.typepad.com/globalguerrillas/
Some Truly Weird Shit:
http://www.ectomo.com/
More will be added later. Feel free to do so yourself.
THIS IS A TEST
Of my Emergency Broadcast System.
This is the first attempt to create something utterly amazing. Informative and inspiring and infectious. Something wicked and desirable and beautiful and hideously wonderful.
We shall see how this attempt goes and progress from there.
I feel the commanding urge to create. The desire lies within, boiling to the surface in fits and bursts of need. Like a fault line, I can feel it trembling terribly waiting to cause chaos and disorder. Something underneath yearns to crawl between the cracks and ooze itself into the light of day to be examined.
It wants to display itself in all its hideous glory and be felt in the bits that make you moan and scream. It wants to creep inside you wet and slippery and finagle with your innards until you vomit out a more perfect creation of itself.
The desire is the call from that Other World. The Old Gods beckon to be heard and this burbling, incoherent speech intensely electric whispers dark things within the mind.
Does it make sense? Not yet. But it will.
This is a test of my Emergency Broadcast System.
Feel free to gnash your teeth and run away.
This is the first attempt to create something utterly amazing. Informative and inspiring and infectious. Something wicked and desirable and beautiful and hideously wonderful.
We shall see how this attempt goes and progress from there.
I feel the commanding urge to create. The desire lies within, boiling to the surface in fits and bursts of need. Like a fault line, I can feel it trembling terribly waiting to cause chaos and disorder. Something underneath yearns to crawl between the cracks and ooze itself into the light of day to be examined.
It wants to display itself in all its hideous glory and be felt in the bits that make you moan and scream. It wants to creep inside you wet and slippery and finagle with your innards until you vomit out a more perfect creation of itself.
The desire is the call from that Other World. The Old Gods beckon to be heard and this burbling, incoherent speech intensely electric whispers dark things within the mind.
Does it make sense? Not yet. But it will.
This is a test of my Emergency Broadcast System.
Feel free to gnash your teeth and run away.
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