Posted: Mon Aug 30, 2004 3:33 pm
Ghost
Best of bread fuzzy with mold under your breath.
Page 7 of 20
Posted: Thu Sep 02, 2004 3:41 pm
Lumbering turtles LOL
Best of bread fuzzy with mold under your breath.
Best of bread fuzzy with mold under your breath.
Posted: Thu Sep 02, 2004 5:00 pm
Ghost
Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2004 8:31 am
footprints deep in the forest of my mind lead to mushrooms
Posted: Wed Oct 13, 2004 5:12 pm
Words break off the ends of sentences and fall to their deaths unless you stop them with a . or ? or ! What a mess of coiled tangled sentences and broken letters. What keeps them together, they make me read them, can you ignore a Word on the instant of looking opon it? What if my mind could play tricks on them HAHAHAhaha and their corners pull towards each other into cursive writing then into patterns. Strong hard backed books bear the weight of the Words in print on their spine and their delicate pages rip and tear...they itch and burn its sad to see them suffer, they all die dried out and crinkled from chronic Word infection infestation.
Never know what's around the corner, funny how a change in direction is a change in the future or so it seems. Whatchamanakina. Sometimes every way I look is down or up I don't know but its all the same like I am a sphere in weightless infinity that is charged with life.
Never know what's around the corner, funny how a change in direction is a change in the future or so it seems. Whatchamanakina. Sometimes every way I look is down or up I don't know but its all the same like I am a sphere in weightless infinity that is charged with life.
Posted: Mon Nov 22, 2004 12:47 pm
Ghost
Posted: Tue Nov 23, 2004 10:46 pm
The crabs nibble on my meatloaf.
I can't stop the infant dynamo.
How do I escape from this paradise?
Godzilla chases me into eternity.
I smile and then open the drawers.
I find righteous days of long ago.
Memories I find that are not mine.
I cannot think or feel.
I can't stop the infant dynamo.
How do I escape from this paradise?
Godzilla chases me into eternity.
I smile and then open the drawers.
I find righteous days of long ago.
Memories I find that are not mine.
I cannot think or feel.
Posted: Thu Dec 09, 2004 6:09 pm
Ghost
Posted: Sat Dec 18, 2004 3:01 pm
Ghost
Posted: Fri Feb 11, 2005 5:03 pm
Ghost
Posted: Fri Feb 11, 2005 6:29 pm
reason
Posted: Fri Feb 11, 2005 6:55 pm
unreality bites
Posted: Sun Feb 13, 2005 6:46 am
Ghost
Posted: Sun Feb 27, 2005 8:14 am
Everybody with their eyes rolling around in the sand... countless secrets outside your bubble... not hiding in the sand... even the sand is changing... Clocks changing face with every hour and a one way street in the adverage mind.
Posted: Sun Feb 27, 2005 12:00 pm
Sands never change... over millions and millions of years entirely unable to move under their own power, they wait for a spirited wind to catch them in his turbulence and set them down in a far off land. Sand, above all things, knows the gracious and gentle art of letting go. Be he Mariah, Sherraco or Mistral... the warm wind touches the sand and says... "come with me.
And sand is free to go.
Clocks never change nor do they move from the wall or the bedside table. They stand still in their safe little places with their hands flying in frantric circles feigning importance. They never change. If they are created red or blue, they die that way. They go in never varrying patterns. Why cannot six sometimes come after eight instead of before? Clocks stand still, people move...
Clocks are silent birds of prey eating our time... and make a great deal of noise in the morning.
A one way street carries profound wisdom. Unlike people, it knows one can't go back.
And sand is free to go.
Clocks never change nor do they move from the wall or the bedside table. They stand still in their safe little places with their hands flying in frantric circles feigning importance. They never change. If they are created red or blue, they die that way. They go in never varrying patterns. Why cannot six sometimes come after eight instead of before? Clocks stand still, people move...
Clocks are silent birds of prey eating our time... and make a great deal of noise in the morning.
A one way street carries profound wisdom. Unlike people, it knows one can't go back.