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SlaveofmyThirst's blog: "PSYCHOBABBLE"

created on 04/04/2008  |  http://fubar.com/psychobabble/b204315
.... the clang of metal , the rush of blood and the stench of broken dreams......fragments of bone , chalk white against the sticky ragged flesh......lost in the corridors of a nightmare enshrouded by visions of overwhelming pleasure.....atrocity stared back from the depths - beastial , voracious and foul . the world is always ending for someone !
We were born naked but for the halo that burns beneath our skin , like the cloak of eternity itself.We have surpassed all other creatures in this mortal world , with our beauty....savagery and power. We have eaten at the table of every war ; every conflict of word or weapon . we draw our life as the moon draws yide , yet we are drawn to our own weaknesses like a moth 's to a living flame . We burnish our hearts with the cold gleam of ancient furies or melt them in an alembic of overpowering lust......and -consume these word's , as a flame digests the soul of haunting feelings that you thought you had buried in the back of your mind . The illusion is brittle to our own kind , deliriums ; self-imbued to escape the wieght of our own existance . Now the final war is coming like a storm , the winds ringing with our laughter ; with our rage and with our mystical serenades . Some words should have stayed interred forever . Some beasts should have never drawn first breath . Some voices should have eternity only in silence . Against a fall of snow , a being beauteous and tall whistleings of death, and circles of faint music make this adored body swelling and trembling like a specter . rise ..... Black and scarlet gashes burst in the gleaming flesh . the true colors of life grow dark , shimmer and separate in the scaffolding around . Mutter and rise , and the furious tastes of these effects are charged with deadly whistleings and raucous music that the world far between us ; hurls up at our mother of beauty............ she retreats us , she rises up .... o-ash white face o-tousled hair o-crystal arms on this cannon i mean to destroy myself in a swirling of a tree's soft air .
This is the hour when the mysteries emerge . A strangeness so hard to reflect , a moment so moving goes straight to your heart. a condition thats never been met. The attraction thats held like a wake , deep inside something i will never forget. Pattern set , the reaction will start ; complete but rejected too soon . Looking ahead in the grip of each others impulse that blinds every move. Shadow that stood by the side of the road always reminds me of you. How can i find the right way to control all of the conflicts inside, all of the problems beside. as the questions are right and the answers don't fit .
Some people love with restraint as if they were someday to hate , but we hated gently carefully as if someday to love....! lovers play games of no and yes , a quick caress ; a sigh....goodbye and why ? lovers play games of yes and no , of stop and go.....of wait for fate till it's too late ! they laugh when they want to cry , stay when they would rather leave . lovers quit when they should try , and lie when they walk away . Lovers play games to save face ! You know the most frighting thing about love is that you don't own it , it owns you . This thing upon me , like a flower and a feast ; this thing upon me crawling like a snake . it's not death , but dying would solve it's power. As my hand drops a last desperate pen in some cheap room , they will find me here ; and never know my name........ my meaning nor the treasure of my escape ! life is but a dream ? no wonder i prefer my nightmares !
i must go now....don't hold me with your eye's and reach your heart across the room like that or my own will break ! ........Love you ? of course i love you ! thats why i have to go ......before you know how much !
your face , your face . show me your face all the worlds a stage and we are but nails for your crucifix . oh , but the night is so lonely and the rain ; like a hammer falls so hard . your scars , my love . show me your scars what a delicate pattern they must dance across your heart ; as the guillotine invites my regrets my losses my bitter memories my yesterdays dissolve away and you smile !
Through a mirror darkly , we dead walk among the living ; though they do not know it . everything the living see and do we do as well . we watch tv in their living rooms.... attend aa mettings and wittness the crimes against their fellow mortals . we can also see things that the living cannot . as in the decay and death that is already present in things , people and things that are close to their death even when it is unexpected are marked by it . destruction and decay take vivid forms . their marks are used by use to understand those of whom we hunt , whom we feed upon . a person who's about to die appears cadaverous , with hallow eye's and roughend skin ; their veins gleam out calling us . a car destined for a crash already look's dented . billboards tattered....roads cracked ...paint peeled ....metal rusted....buildings in rubble .. flowers wilted and people die . If you slam through day and night in death , you might learn to appreciate the sanctity of life . the dead remember the throbbing pain of being alive , pain buried all their need's ;then the drug's buried the pain . perpetually tense yet coldly numb even their sex was a drug , A hole to be filled with an unrecognized need ; only the most violent pain the most overwhelming pleasure could even register a whimper of a sensation . one owe's respect to the living ; to the dead one owe's only the truth . I am by myself but not alone ; where the teeth of maddness jump , jump dance and sing . i am pilot error i am fetal distress i am that random chromosome i am complete and total madness i am fear .
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