The Frenchman and Her Mature content No. 9 Published July 7th, 2015 6:11pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "Crooning with heart and soul. He throws it out and we listen like nothing on earth. We are in awe, not of his voice or the words, but of the atmosphere and feelings which take over our sorry consciousness. He delivers us into a place unlike any other and the visions begin to flow like the water over the Vernal Fall. The visions become everything and the words travel from our fingers and into the vast black hole that is the Internet. Just us and the infernal keyboard. The combination becomes hellish, disfigured, negative, and reckless. Such is us under the power of the creations of -----. His endless beauty and surrounding visions serve to allow for the vicious and flowing pointed words which we draw as a blade to cut down the world. All else becomes alien and unrecognizable. All. Else. Just. The. Beauty of his voice remains. We yearn for it and the desire pushes us into some sort of lacking being... a lump of nothingness. Only the voice and the Beauty. The other Beauty. The unavailable sight. We will segue. We will fall. We. Will. Fucking. Burn. Commanding our passion As the voice and emotion flows from the 701s, we sit as usual. We. Sit. Think. Plan. Design. Hopefully, all is not lost... Yet. The organization and small ideas continue to move us forward at a snail's pace as the dreamy landscapes are painted before us. They entice and pull like none other (well, one other). We are pushing into something unrecognizable and the journey is an arduous trial. Fortunately, we still have the capability and time to cocoon ourselves within the necessary familiar. Without that, we are to become nothingness embodied. Always there is much to do so whenever we have the chance, shit changes to the positive. Shit needs to change. We must push. And the push feels fairly satisfying. During the days of the original cocoon, we spent much time slimming the material things in order to create space both within the little apartment and inside our crowded minds. The resulting comfort was very nice. And we are moving in that direction even amidst the difficulties surrounding the Beauty and the Fall. -----'s voice helps to facilitate the feelings we experience during said organization of things. He brings a calm and spatial openness with which we have been able to relax and clearly work out troubling situations. They seem to be paramount these days (read: years). Not a moment passes within which we forget all of the past dealings and feelings. We dealt then via a carefully calculated mixture of alcohol, depression, and fits of very destructive and uncaring behavior. Very close The Beauty of all time, and for all time. It is right over there but beyond reach like nothing else. The fucking lottery has better odds. Ever better. We breathe in the air but to no avail. We grasp the bloody rope but to no avail. We drink in the burning blood but to no avail. Nothing can push us from the visions and endless pull the Beauty has on our being. Nothing. She is most decidedly in charge of our beings. We cannot draw a breath... Take a step... Conjure a thought... Without her permission and our subsequent gratitude. The Beauty is here to stay. The Beauty is all the way into our soul. She remains as representative of all definitions. She holds -- carries -- every number upon her and within. The numbers rule us and she rules us. But here we are far away and detached. Somewhere, for sure, within the vast wonder of the world the Beauty takes a millisecond to consider us... Over here... Longing... Needing... Dying... Bleeding. Hopefully, because the other possibilities are not so pleasant. Perhaps the project of structure can be completed before we fall and burn out. Perhaps our years of study will come to fruition. Perhaps we will be allowed to worship as we should and as we need.Perhaps the dream will not kill us first. Perhaps the fucking moon will drop down low enough for us to suck the powdery soil and then fly the 238k miles back into orbit. Fucking hell the odds are unrelenting and unreal. They are also completely fair and understandable. The point remains... She is there and we are here and the time may come and it may not. It may fucking leave us on the porch of life with nary a possibility of walking out and away. Her... We are here and we were... There. There was good. Here can be good but it is nothing like there. There had possibilities and a future. Here has wonder and some possibility, but nowhere near the same. We need a new there. Where is it? Within? Without? Is it Her? The Beauty? Or perhaps some disjointed image of there? A distorted and twisted thought brought into focus and thrown randomly from our disturbed minds and onto some mangled canvas? Is it there? Is there actually there? Or is it here after all? Fuck it anyway. The solution... The answers... The definitions... All of them reside for and with the Beauty. When we were there the Beauty was a dream. Now we are here and the Beauty is real. She is there. We are there. Unfortunately the two are not one. Unfortunately the two places are strewn to the landscape of the blackened destruction within our soured consciousness. Fuck it anyway. We may make it back there, or we may burn here. No one is to know." Addendum Point one. Since admin is discussing Her, I will too. Albeit a different Her. A short while back I brought up my unending fucking desire to be her and still the feeling lingers like pancake syrup on my bony hands. She is absolutely unreal in every way and a much better looking Asian than myself. Oh, I am not bad other than being a fucking middle-aged drunken negative hag, but she is a vision. All of her. Lanky, tall, curvy (despite the thin), pale, big beautiful eyes.... Oh gawd. I would swallow her whole and not look back. Just dive the fuck in, baby. The real sushi! Yes! Oh fuck that will never happen. My desire is still there, of course, and the pictures are there, of course, however she is as distant as Neptune and me turning into her is not possible. Not. Not. Not. Too much fucking not. Too much Goddamned fucking not. Forever not. So, I will stare and dream just as I have since 2009 when I discussed her with Maynard. He knew, and now I know. I also know that she is six years older now but I would still bend her over anything and proceed to devour. Balance and poise She seems to represent everything I wish to be but am not. One aspect I have is height. I am taller. That is all. I am a fluke and those around me have noticed. Whatever. Admin states the importance of height as it relates to scale, the golden ratio, and visual impact at first glance. Again... Whatever. Of course, he seems to be versed in such things, but my opinion of myself supersedes all others. The images of her cannot be denied. She is a beauty like none other. Long and lean Point two. An acquaintance of mine has taken issue with my use of colorful slang and colloquialisms in my blog and other areas. She told me that a 'nice girl' does not speak in such a manner. Well, fuck her. My writings are mine and as such must reflect my mind in its condition at the time of the entry. Lately (and for most of the last decade) I have been 90% pissed off and the rest of the time reasonably happy. Mood swings? Perhaps. Manic depressive? Hell yes. Don't like it? Fuck you very much. As for everyone else who visits me here -- and they are only a handful at best -- this is me and I apologize if she has caused me to speak with more of a potty mouth than usual. Honestly, I write what I feel. If I feel like some childish emphasis is necessary, suck it up. I am not necessarily a 'nice girl'. Funny, admin knows this yet he still lets me publish here. Hmm. Tone and curve This brings up another point which is related on several levels -- point three -- human beings are the worst species on this spinning globe. We have turned it into absolute shit over many thousands of years and we still do. We have not changed, and the interconnectedness of everything now only serves to press us into the fucking distorted mold we have been destined to inhabit. People are on about the smallest issues and cannot seem to see it. They are caught up in everything which is unimportant and stuck on suck. They sit and watch the most inane apathetic content in order to boost their own self-image and are doing nothing more than perpetuating the same stupidity and extending our already overwhelming missteps. They are the very problem through which we wander. Wander, yes, in hopes of locating something which brings a temporary view outside the sphere we are. Yet there is no outside. The sphere is all of us. We built it and live within it. We destroy everything and then look around wondering why. Idiots. We are supposed to be the shepherds... The progressive... The stewards... The intelligent... Those with dominion. Well, we have fucked everything up and now scramble to repair and improve. That will never happen. We are far too stupid, selfish, blind. We will continue on this downward slide into the blackness (and I for one cannot wait until we destroy ourselves). Goodness gone. Insight nonexistent. Stewardship fucked. Go ahead and point the fucking finger at others. You are them anyway, you fucking moronic, despondent shitheels. Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
The Frenchman and Her Mature content No. 9 Published July 7th, 2015 6:11pm pdt read ( words) Past entries "Crooning with heart and soul. He throws it out and we listen like nothing on earth. We are in awe, not of his voice or the words, but of the atmosphere and feelings which take over our sorry consciousness. He delivers us into a place unlike any other and the visions begin to flow like the water over the Vernal Fall. The visions become everything and the words travel from our fingers and into the vast black hole that is the Internet. Just us and the infernal keyboard. The combination becomes hellish, disfigured, negative, and reckless. Such is us under the power of the creations of -----. His endless beauty and surrounding visions serve to allow for the vicious and flowing pointed words which we draw as a blade to cut down the world. All else becomes alien and unrecognizable. All. Else. Just. The. Beauty of his voice remains. We yearn for it and the desire pushes us into some sort of lacking being... a lump of nothingness. Only the voice and the Beauty. The other Beauty. The unavailable sight. We will segue. We will fall. We. Will. Fucking. Burn. Commanding our passion As the voice and emotion flows from the 701s, we sit as usual. We. Sit. Think. Plan. Design. Hopefully, all is not lost... Yet. The organization and small ideas continue to move us forward at a snail's pace as the dreamy landscapes are painted before us. They entice and pull like none other (well, one other). We are pushing into something unrecognizable and the journey is an arduous trial. Fortunately, we still have the capability and time to cocoon ourselves within the necessary familiar. Without that, we are to become nothingness embodied. Always there is much to do so whenever we have the chance, shit changes to the positive. Shit needs to change. We must push. And the push feels fairly satisfying. During the days of the original cocoon, we spent much time slimming the material things in order to create space both within the little apartment and inside our crowded minds. The resulting comfort was very nice. And we are moving in that direction even amidst the difficulties surrounding the Beauty and the Fall. -----'s voice helps to facilitate the feelings we experience during said organization of things. He brings a calm and spatial openness with which we have been able to relax and clearly work out troubling situations. They seem to be paramount these days (read: years). Not a moment passes within which we forget all of the past dealings and feelings. We dealt then via a carefully calculated mixture of alcohol, depression, and fits of very destructive and uncaring behavior. Very close The Beauty of all time, and for all time. It is right over there but beyond reach like nothing else. The fucking lottery has better odds. Ever better. We breathe in the air but to no avail. We grasp the bloody rope but to no avail. We drink in the burning blood but to no avail. Nothing can push us from the visions and endless pull the Beauty has on our being. Nothing. She is most decidedly in charge of our beings. We cannot draw a breath... Take a step... Conjure a thought... Without her permission and our subsequent gratitude. The Beauty is here to stay. The Beauty is all the way into our soul. She remains as representative of all definitions. She holds -- carries -- every number upon her and within. The numbers rule us and she rules us. But here we are far away and detached. Somewhere, for sure, within the vast wonder of the world the Beauty takes a millisecond to consider us... Over here... Longing... Needing... Dying... Bleeding. Hopefully, because the other possibilities are not so pleasant. Perhaps the project of structure can be completed before we fall and burn out. Perhaps our years of study will come to fruition. Perhaps we will be allowed to worship as we should and as we need.Perhaps the dream will not kill us first. Perhaps the fucking moon will drop down low enough for us to suck the powdery soil and then fly the 238k miles back into orbit. Fucking hell the odds are unrelenting and unreal. They are also completely fair and understandable. The point remains... She is there and we are here and the time may come and it may not. It may fucking leave us on the porch of life with nary a possibility of walking out and away. Her... We are here and we were... There. There was good. Here can be good but it is nothing like there. There had possibilities and a future. Here has wonder and some possibility, but nowhere near the same. We need a new there. Where is it? Within? Without? Is it Her? The Beauty? Or perhaps some disjointed image of there? A distorted and twisted thought brought into focus and thrown randomly from our disturbed minds and onto some mangled canvas? Is it there? Is there actually there? Or is it here after all? Fuck it anyway. The solution... The answers... The definitions... All of them reside for and with the Beauty. When we were there the Beauty was a dream. Now we are here and the Beauty is real. She is there. We are there. Unfortunately the two are not one. Unfortunately the two places are strewn to the landscape of the blackened destruction within our soured consciousness. Fuck it anyway. We may make it back there, or we may burn here. No one is to know." Addendum Point one. Since admin is discussing Her, I will too. Albeit a different Her. A short while back I brought up my unending fucking desire to be her and still the feeling lingers like pancake syrup on my bony hands. She is absolutely unreal in every way and a much better looking Asian than myself. Oh, I am not bad other than being a fucking middle-aged drunken negative hag, but she is a vision. All of her. Lanky, tall, curvy (despite the thin), pale, big beautiful eyes.... Oh gawd. I would swallow her whole and not look back. Just dive the fuck in, baby. The real sushi! Yes! Oh fuck that will never happen. My desire is still there, of course, and the pictures are there, of course, however she is as distant as Neptune and me turning into her is not possible. Not. Not. Not. Too much fucking not. Too much Goddamned fucking not. Forever not. So, I will stare and dream just as I have since 2009 when I discussed her with Maynard. He knew, and now I know. I also know that she is six years older now but I would still bend her over anything and proceed to devour. Balance and poise She seems to represent everything I wish to be but am not. One aspect I have is height. I am taller. That is all. I am a fluke and those around me have noticed. Whatever. Admin states the importance of height as it relates to scale, the golden ratio, and visual impact at first glance. Again... Whatever. Of course, he seems to be versed in such things, but my opinion of myself supersedes all others. The images of her cannot be denied. She is a beauty like none other. Long and lean Point two. An acquaintance of mine has taken issue with my use of colorful slang and colloquialisms in my blog and other areas. She told me that a 'nice girl' does not speak in such a manner. Well, fuck her. My writings are mine and as such must reflect my mind in its condition at the time of the entry. Lately (and for most of the last decade) I have been 90% pissed off and the rest of the time reasonably happy. Mood swings? Perhaps. Manic depressive? Hell yes. Don't like it? Fuck you very much. As for everyone else who visits me here -- and they are only a handful at best -- this is me and I apologize if she has caused me to speak with more of a potty mouth than usual. Honestly, I write what I feel. If I feel like some childish emphasis is necessary, suck it up. I am not necessarily a 'nice girl'. Funny, admin knows this yet he still lets me publish here. Hmm. Tone and curve This brings up another point which is related on several levels -- point three -- human beings are the worst species on this spinning globe. We have turned it into absolute shit over many thousands of years and we still do. We have not changed, and the interconnectedness of everything now only serves to press us into the fucking distorted mold we have been destined to inhabit. People are on about the smallest issues and cannot seem to see it. They are caught up in everything which is unimportant and stuck on suck. They sit and watch the most inane apathetic content in order to boost their own self-image and are doing nothing more than perpetuating the same stupidity and extending our already overwhelming missteps. They are the very problem through which we wander. Wander, yes, in hopes of locating something which brings a temporary view outside the sphere we are. Yet there is no outside. The sphere is all of us. We built it and live within it. We destroy everything and then look around wondering why. Idiots. We are supposed to be the shepherds... The progressive... The stewards... The intelligent... Those with dominion. Well, we have fucked everything up and now scramble to repair and improve. That will never happen. We are far too stupid, selfish, blind. We will continue on this downward slide into the blackness (and I for one cannot wait until we destroy ourselves). Goodness gone. Insight nonexistent. Stewardship fucked. Go ahead and point the fucking finger at others. You are them anyway, you fucking moronic, despondent shitheels.
The Frenchman and Her
Mature content No. 9 Published July 7th, 2015 6:11pm pdt read ( words) Past entries
"Crooning with heart and soul. He throws it out and we listen like nothing on earth. We are in awe, not of his voice or the words, but of the atmosphere and feelings which take over our sorry consciousness. He delivers us into a place unlike any other and the visions begin to flow like the water over the Vernal Fall. The visions become everything and the words travel from our fingers and into the vast black hole that is the Internet. Just us and the infernal keyboard. The combination becomes hellish, disfigured, negative, and reckless. Such is us under the power of the creations of -----. His endless beauty and surrounding visions serve to allow for the vicious and flowing pointed words which we draw as a blade to cut down the world. All else becomes alien and unrecognizable. All. Else. Just. The. Beauty of his voice remains. We yearn for it and the desire pushes us into some sort of lacking being... a lump of nothingness. Only the voice and the Beauty. The other Beauty. The unavailable sight. We will segue. We will fall. We. Will. Fucking. Burn.
Commanding our passion
As the voice and emotion flows from the 701s, we sit as usual. We. Sit. Think. Plan. Design. Hopefully, all is not lost... Yet. The organization and small ideas continue to move us forward at a snail's pace as the dreamy landscapes are painted before us. They entice and pull like none other (well, one other). We are pushing into something unrecognizable and the journey is an arduous trial. Fortunately, we still have the capability and time to cocoon ourselves within the necessary familiar. Without that, we are to become nothingness embodied. Always there is much to do so whenever we have the chance, shit changes to the positive. Shit needs to change. We must push. And the push feels fairly satisfying. During the days of the original cocoon, we spent much time slimming the material things in order to create space both within the little apartment and inside our crowded minds. The resulting comfort was very nice. And we are moving in that direction even amidst the difficulties surrounding the Beauty and the Fall. -----'s voice helps to facilitate the feelings we experience during said organization of things. He brings a calm and spatial openness with which we have been able to relax and clearly work out troubling situations. They seem to be paramount these days (read: years). Not a moment passes within which we forget all of the past dealings and feelings. We dealt then via a carefully calculated mixture of alcohol, depression, and fits of very destructive and uncaring behavior.
Very close
The Beauty of all time, and for all time. It is right over there but beyond reach like nothing else. The fucking lottery has better odds. Ever better. We breathe in the air but to no avail. We grasp the bloody rope but to no avail. We drink in the burning blood but to no avail. Nothing can push us from the visions and endless pull the Beauty has on our being. Nothing. She is most decidedly in charge of our beings. We cannot draw a breath... Take a step... Conjure a thought... Without her permission and our subsequent gratitude. The Beauty is here to stay. The Beauty is all the way into our soul. She remains as representative of all definitions. She holds -- carries -- every number upon her and within. The numbers rule us and she rules us. But here we are far away and detached. Somewhere, for sure, within the vast wonder of the world the Beauty takes a millisecond to consider us... Over here... Longing... Needing... Dying... Bleeding. Hopefully, because the other possibilities are not so pleasant. Perhaps the project of structure can be completed before we fall and burn out. Perhaps our years of study will come to fruition. Perhaps we will be allowed to worship as we should and as we need.Perhaps the dream will not kill us first. Perhaps the fucking moon will drop down low enough for us to suck the powdery soil and then fly the 238k miles back into orbit. Fucking hell the odds are unrelenting and unreal. They are also completely fair and understandable. The point remains... She is there and we are here and the time may come and it may not. It may fucking leave us on the porch of life with nary a possibility of walking out and away.
Her...
We are here and we were... There. There was good. Here can be good but it is nothing like there. There had possibilities and a future. Here has wonder and some possibility, but nowhere near the same. We need a new there. Where is it? Within? Without? Is it Her? The Beauty? Or perhaps some disjointed image of there? A distorted and twisted thought brought into focus and thrown randomly from our disturbed minds and onto some mangled canvas? Is it there? Is there actually there? Or is it here after all? Fuck it anyway. The solution... The answers... The definitions... All of them reside for and with the Beauty. When we were there the Beauty was a dream. Now we are here and the Beauty is real. She is there. We are there. Unfortunately the two are not one. Unfortunately the two places are strewn to the landscape of the blackened destruction within our soured consciousness. Fuck it anyway. We may make it back there, or we may burn here. No one is to know."
Addendum
Point one. Since admin is discussing Her, I will too. Albeit a different Her. A short while back I brought up my unending fucking desire to be her and still the feeling lingers like pancake syrup on my bony hands. She is absolutely unreal in every way and a much better looking Asian than myself. Oh, I am not bad other than being a fucking middle-aged drunken negative hag, but she is a vision. All of her. Lanky, tall, curvy (despite the thin), pale, big beautiful eyes.... Oh gawd. I would swallow her whole and not look back. Just dive the fuck in, baby. The real sushi! Yes! Oh fuck that will never happen. My desire is still there, of course, and the pictures are there, of course, however she is as distant as Neptune and me turning into her is not possible. Not. Not. Not. Too much fucking not. Too much Goddamned fucking not. Forever not. So, I will stare and dream just as I have since 2009 when I discussed her with Maynard. He knew, and now I know. I also know that she is six years older now but I would still bend her over anything and proceed to devour.
Balance and poise
She seems to represent everything I wish to be but am not. One aspect I have is height. I am taller. That is all. I am a fluke and those around me have noticed. Whatever. Admin states the importance of height as it relates to scale, the golden ratio, and visual impact at first glance. Again... Whatever. Of course, he seems to be versed in such things, but my opinion of myself supersedes all others. The images of her cannot be denied. She is a beauty like none other.
Long and lean
Point two. An acquaintance of mine has taken issue with my use of colorful slang and colloquialisms in my blog and other areas. She told me that a 'nice girl' does not speak in such a manner. Well, fuck her. My writings are mine and as such must reflect my mind in its condition at the time of the entry. Lately (and for most of the last decade) I have been 90% pissed off and the rest of the time reasonably happy. Mood swings? Perhaps. Manic depressive? Hell yes. Don't like it? Fuck you very much. As for everyone else who visits me here -- and they are only a handful at best -- this is me and I apologize if she has caused me to speak with more of a potty mouth than usual. Honestly, I write what I feel. If I feel like some childish emphasis is necessary, suck it up. I am not necessarily a 'nice girl'. Funny, admin knows this yet he still lets me publish here. Hmm.
Tone and curve
This brings up another point which is related on several levels -- point three -- human beings are the worst species on this spinning globe. We have turned it into absolute shit over many thousands of years and we still do. We have not changed, and the interconnectedness of everything now only serves to press us into the fucking distorted mold we have been destined to inhabit. People are on about the smallest issues and cannot seem to see it. They are caught up in everything which is unimportant and stuck on suck. They sit and watch the most inane apathetic content in order to boost their own self-image and are doing nothing more than perpetuating the same stupidity and extending our already overwhelming missteps. They are the very problem through which we wander. Wander, yes, in hopes of locating something which brings a temporary view outside the sphere we are. Yet there is no outside. The sphere is all of us. We built it and live within it. We destroy everything and then look around wondering why. Idiots. We are supposed to be the shepherds... The progressive... The stewards... The intelligent... Those with dominion. Well, we have fucked everything up and now scramble to repair and improve. That will never happen. We are far too stupid, selfish, blind. We will continue on this downward slide into the blackness (and I for one cannot wait until we destroy ourselves). Goodness gone. Insight nonexistent. Stewardship fucked. Go ahead and point the fucking finger at others. You are them anyway, you fucking moronic, despondent shitheels.
Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
legal
about
archive
home
