purrplexed cats piss upon my gratings everyday

postmortem

jesustittyfuckingchrist.what limbo am i in? where did i find my idle and encompassing christ that invokes in me not a religion of love, but one of hatred, putrid fucking dissatisfaction? i'm lingering in a limbo of broken arms limbs legs, my senses are distorted, warped by in-numerous lies upon lies of six months of utter solitude, cien anos my ass, linger in this limbo of unrequited longing and you will realise that there is nothing beyond your shortsighted horizon of peppers, cardamon, and aniseed. wish i had the strength and courage to brew a curry strong enough to empty my bowls. remove the awful, all-infesting parasites with one spasm of disharmonious oblivion. why am i continuously lost in her maze-web, my black widow led me down the i-thought-it-was-a-rabbit-hole, she waited with her soft venom of countless chills, releasing me from my cautious frame, let me flow free, and then the pestle struck deep in our mortar of what i believed was love and now i am just spice in a life of malenky deceptions, the milk bar has run, oh, well terribly dry, my droogs and i gather our banter and our battlesticks of off colour jokes and rye and i will soak myself in butteredscotch aka whiskey to relieve the pain and cleanse myself of fetid, flesh-hungry worms. there will be butterflies still and i will once and for all have to fall through the ceiling gazing upon my love bathing in another man's love have my skull crush upon the not-yet-decided-upon tiles. let i come soon, so death will be no longer proud

my mentors, i thank garcia-günter-salman-burgess. the rest is rest and tomorrow i will cut the waves like butter to finally???? expand and exspend the love i had-have-willhave for her.

guess what comes first...

this would be the first page of my blog had I one to write in. sitting in my hideout on the corner of ráday and kinizsi I try to slop away from it all, slip slidin‘ away, I still remember when I listened to it continuously when finishing up the door of dorothea, magrathea the world of fantasy, where I manufactured planets out of thin air and then went bankrupt due to overspending, see the parallel, is surely do, though the unnamable vodka that just dived in suicide down my throat surely tells another tale, it grew in the telling, and tail between by rearfeet I wonder down my own solitary road, indecision, and in the room the women come and go talking of, I was once the same archangel to someone, wore the cross like an ill omen that I would crash down to hell, exiled by the god of all-mighty fucking love, still lingering around in it, my flat is finally becoming flat, slowly the holes in the wall are filling up just like those in the albert hall, septimus tripped on a brick, underconstruction this is, thought it was a mine, that blew his mind, when will mine blow? blow, blow, blow your men down, or something along these lines, wonder when my phone will fall away off the table, when dani rings, if he’s not engrossed in stuffing himself with jewish-easter-shite, do they have one at all? and if so what has it got to do with easter anyway? lemme light a luckylight, silver that is, blasted eu norms, it’s stronger than I remembered, oh dismembered, woe is me, lemme hang my body from the highest tree