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This diary entry is written by sandb0y. ( View all entries )
Previous entry: in category blah.
..... (general)
Sunday, 17 August 2008
02:13:52 AM (GMT)
i was watching it, i got distracted by msn, i look up, & there's a fucking snail
covering the screen. how does a burlesque dancer get dragged out of a window, eaten?
there's hoards. this is a new time for war this is an erradication. my racism could
stretch to insects/bugs. without wasting my time on such trivial matters as
discrimination, i'll get straight to the squishing. it'll be an arguous task, but
ultimately worth every ounce of strength.
i'm tired, my thoughts are kind of clouded, there's many sounds coming from close
proximity that i can't even try to recognise.
trashy old music, combined with the smell of dinner i forgot to eat, somewhere in the
impending darkness, i don't have he capacity to change the lightbulb. my eyes aren't
taking to kindly to staring at the computer screen for hours on end. i despise bebo
for being so fucking addicting.
small, stupid things are making me really frustrated. i can hear drunken people down
the other end of the house, singing the wrong lyrics to the same song that's been on
repeat for the last half hour, maybe longer.
the occasional slip & crash of an intoxicated aunt adds variation to the same sounds
constanty circulating my house.
i've noticed, there's no clock here, other than the microwaves one. 
i'd love to not understand the concept of a reflection. simple replication, in the
form of seeing something in anothers eyes.
eternal; alarming. infinate; perplexing?
it's like a murmur, in the back of my head, i can hear it, i know what it says, but i
can't translate, nor make in by any means comprehensable to the mind of someone not
burdened by this stupid way of thinking.
there's a boudary here, time, i believe. necesities that i find i'd rather function
without, eating, sleeping, triangular roofs. for some reason, we overlook the madness
of all that we do, incorporating it into everyday life, making what should really be
strange, utter normality.
until it sleeps
i cannot be content with this normality.

i believe i've forgotten (or never possesed) a purpose for this rant/thing.
perhaps it's a subliminal warning sent to me by something in the future to warn me of
the iminent threat of a snail-like invasion.
it'll be slow, painful?
my hands are able to move across the keys at such a rate that i can't actually keep
up, but somehow my mind has turned into an 'autopilot' like state.
Last edited: 17 August 2008

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