Caverns and Wind Mature content No. 206 Published January 19th, 2021 6:19am pst read ( words) Past entries "If she is not out there, insurmountable problems will arise by end of week. Wayward, unfilled containers, empty words, futile everything... Arrival at the back wall of being, with one over there and the other over there, waiting, watching; we know not what to do; the wind is blowing and the power flaky. Wayward unfeeling. Un- The white and then the gray, just as up the hill that one day. The gray and the white, just as the beginning of the fight. Forward without the ring engaged, Grace there and us here and it doesn't matter. Jolene flew with us for a moment but now the flying is dead. Waiting for another... Not them, not her... Not even Her. The blue dress could have arched the moment, yet the moment is covered with dirt. Blue dress, unseen. One over there and the other over there. Looking forward for the clue. Nary a clue. Nary a thought without the hammer blow. Nary a movement sans the hell, not even toward the eyes we sought for whatever the value. No value now. One over there and the other over there. The water runs off the edge again. Mysteries abound Morning afternoon evening night. Wind. We rode along and then stopped. We rode again, paused, and then stopped. We cannot do anything without stopping; the waves push and we try. The one over there is in the waves. Blue dress empty and in the wind. Wind. The end of the street was shown. The end of the line was shown. The end of the track was shown. The end of those people came to pass. In the wind. And the blue dress pays no mind to the mystery. Golden, dreamy landscapes give way to sullen, gray caverns full of moisture and haunting illusions. The cavern sans wind; no blue dress. They are not there. None of them can enter. Air is short, though. Very short. We will enter when the hour is nigh. At hand. Maybe. Nothing is certain except for them out there. Those. Them. Over there and over there. Wind. Golden landscapes; stirring moments; hope and fear. The middle of everything. The end of everything. The beginning has died. Over there and over there. See? Altercation and alteration... One to the other and then back again, just as the repeating words. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Up, down. Into the cavern. The blue dress follows. The beginning has died. Wind bringing the over there to here, but not them. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Not yet... There is still wind and one thought. One thought. The blue dress is over there, blowing. The dress is empty. Our heads are empty. One thought. Not them... Not them over there. Just over here, close. Right there... Just like the idyllic scene. Never us. Just never us. Full now, and tired. Wind. Tired. A push can lead to another push. No back, not now. Too late. Everything is closed. Little push. Out in the wind. Out... In. If she is not out there... Holy God. Light of day, giving way. Bringing night, pain sans light. She is out there. Zero." 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
Caverns and Wind Mature content No. 206 Published January 19th, 2021 6:19am pst read ( words) Past entries "If she is not out there, insurmountable problems will arise by end of week. Wayward, unfilled containers, empty words, futile everything... Arrival at the back wall of being, with one over there and the other over there, waiting, watching; we know not what to do; the wind is blowing and the power flaky. Wayward unfeeling. Un- The white and then the gray, just as up the hill that one day. The gray and the white, just as the beginning of the fight. Forward without the ring engaged, Grace there and us here and it doesn't matter. Jolene flew with us for a moment but now the flying is dead. Waiting for another... Not them, not her... Not even Her. The blue dress could have arched the moment, yet the moment is covered with dirt. Blue dress, unseen. One over there and the other over there. Looking forward for the clue. Nary a clue. Nary a thought without the hammer blow. Nary a movement sans the hell, not even toward the eyes we sought for whatever the value. No value now. One over there and the other over there. The water runs off the edge again. Mysteries abound Morning afternoon evening night. Wind. We rode along and then stopped. We rode again, paused, and then stopped. We cannot do anything without stopping; the waves push and we try. The one over there is in the waves. Blue dress empty and in the wind. Wind. The end of the street was shown. The end of the line was shown. The end of the track was shown. The end of those people came to pass. In the wind. And the blue dress pays no mind to the mystery. Golden, dreamy landscapes give way to sullen, gray caverns full of moisture and haunting illusions. The cavern sans wind; no blue dress. They are not there. None of them can enter. Air is short, though. Very short. We will enter when the hour is nigh. At hand. Maybe. Nothing is certain except for them out there. Those. Them. Over there and over there. Wind. Golden landscapes; stirring moments; hope and fear. The middle of everything. The end of everything. The beginning has died. Over there and over there. See? Altercation and alteration... One to the other and then back again, just as the repeating words. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Up, down. Into the cavern. The blue dress follows. The beginning has died. Wind bringing the over there to here, but not them. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Not yet... There is still wind and one thought. One thought. The blue dress is over there, blowing. The dress is empty. Our heads are empty. One thought. Not them... Not them over there. Just over here, close. Right there... Just like the idyllic scene. Never us. Just never us. Full now, and tired. Wind. Tired. A push can lead to another push. No back, not now. Too late. Everything is closed. Little push. Out in the wind. Out... In. If she is not out there... Holy God. Light of day, giving way. Bringing night, pain sans light. She is out there. Zero."
Caverns and Wind
Mature content No. 206 Published January 19th, 2021 6:19am pst read ( words) Past entries
"If she is not out there, insurmountable problems will arise by end of week. Wayward, unfilled containers, empty words, futile everything... Arrival at the back wall of being, with one over there and the other over there, waiting, watching; we know not what to do; the wind is blowing and the power flaky. Wayward unfeeling. Un- The white and then the gray, just as up the hill that one day. The gray and the white, just as the beginning of the fight. Forward without the ring engaged, Grace there and us here and it doesn't matter. Jolene flew with us for a moment but now the flying is dead. Waiting for another... Not them, not her... Not even Her. The blue dress could have arched the moment, yet the moment is covered with dirt. Blue dress, unseen. One over there and the other over there. Looking forward for the clue. Nary a clue. Nary a thought without the hammer blow. Nary a movement sans the hell, not even toward the eyes we sought for whatever the value. No value now. One over there and the other over there. The water runs off the edge again.
Mysteries abound
Morning afternoon evening night. Wind. We rode along and then stopped. We rode again, paused, and then stopped. We cannot do anything without stopping; the waves push and we try. The one over there is in the waves. Blue dress empty and in the wind. Wind. The end of the street was shown. The end of the line was shown. The end of the track was shown. The end of those people came to pass. In the wind. And the blue dress pays no mind to the mystery. Golden, dreamy landscapes give way to sullen, gray caverns full of moisture and haunting illusions. The cavern sans wind; no blue dress. They are not there. None of them can enter. Air is short, though. Very short. We will enter when the hour is nigh. At hand. Maybe. Nothing is certain except for them out there. Those. Them. Over there and over there. Wind. Golden landscapes; stirring moments; hope and fear. The middle of everything. The end of everything. The beginning has died. Over there and over there. See? Altercation and alteration... One to the other and then back again, just as the repeating words. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Up, down. Into the cavern. The blue dress follows. The beginning has died. Wind bringing the over there to here, but not them. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Not yet... There is still wind and one thought. One thought. The blue dress is over there, blowing. The dress is empty. Our heads are empty. One thought. Not them... Not them over there. Just over here, close. Right there... Just like the idyllic scene. Never us. Just never us. Full now, and tired. Wind. Tired. A push can lead to another push. No back, not now. Too late. Everything is closed. Little push. Out in the wind. Out... In. If she is not out there... Holy God. Light of day, giving way. Bringing night, pain sans light. She is out there. Zero."
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
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