Caverns and Wind IV Mature content No. 219 Published dateless, 2021 10:38am pst read ( words) Past entries "The blue dress burned. Words in the air, words on the surface, words falling down. Plaid. Left to right, all reduced to the fight; Right to left, we carry the heft; Front to back, she will feel the attack. 2-8 and it does not matter any longer. The stars, the cool... None of it. The line is behind reminding us of the find; calling and calling while flying and falling. Right there... The scent and the wonder; She opened her eyes, lost sense, then thunder. It doesn't matter anymore. Time, the stars, the others, nothing. We have arrived after being herded by unfeeling and blindness. Falling ever further after the slightest touch, push, anything. We have lost. Knives out. Cold, dank cavern, top to bottom with webs and dripping green. The entrance has closed, the trees no longer glow, and the future has been pushed into the negative space of that plane to be avoided. Leave it, just leave it alone now. All is blurred, cool, no more motion. Swirling has frozen for all time. Below are the ashes of the dress. No more blue. Now only gray and black, like those years spent searching for what we should have known could never come to pass. Burned for all time. Ash. Done. Gone. Impossible, as the everything of life. Everything. It left us. The vast emptiness has spread its sorrow across the world and the whole of the future is now shrunken to the mass of a grain of sand. Blown into oblivion by the wind that is the others. Gone. Teal and maize. All over. They do what they do and we watch it unfold. We need to be in there, with them, for the fight and the light. Never us. Just... Never us. We can only watch. They pay no mind to the individual trials piled upon shoulders, and they are indifferent to the power of the suffering. The blue dress was the answer, but no longer. She is not there; cannot be there; will not be there; the dress remains empty. We love the dress. We love her. Emptiness is everywhere. We see it all, cannot move, thus the forest. Our place. No one else. They are nothing now. Knives out. Watch your step. Fluid and pure, we were so sure; Around again, she can only demure. Chain-link fence there. All around. We cannot escape. They hold the key. The gate is apparent, though we already know. Rusty locks and splintered wire will cut us to ribbons. They hold the key. We hold our breath. We have been in here so long that the outside has become alien. The others are out there. They see us and then look away... As they very well should. Our gaze is pointed now. Pointed at them. They will see the product of their multiplication. The product is the forest. We know. Soon, they will also know. Very soon. The cavern is fading, leaving only feelings behind. Water. Light. The fight. Caveman struck, there existed no luck; Pulled by her hair and thrown to the muck. She relented. No choice. All alone now to our devices, and they are many. The hours are many. The issues are many. We will move along the preset path, all the while planning the wrath. Beware. Maintain distance. Questions unanswered as our path continues, unimpeded. Stay out of the way. Knives out, aimed and straight. The old becomes the new, up there on the big television. We will follow as we did back then, yet now the imagery is aligned with the path. There was no forest so many years ago as it took time to grow and bear the fruits of their actions. And they are many, piled atop each other for decades. Now the change is apparent and incoming. Rue. Knives. Coldness. 'No more of this, Butchy. No more of this.' We will continue behind the wall and shrouded in secrecy until the flip. And then the words. And then the knives. And then the doom. Wait for it, for you shall see the decay up close. Anger is no longer enough. Just do as we say, no questions nor sway; Do as we say. No more will you pray. Back and forth, all shivers and breath; We only need her until favor of death. Laying in wait, her fair flowing gait; Bringing the need, unto end as our fate. All the way down, no longer a frown; All flavor and gown, into her we shall drown. The blue dress burned. Image copyright ©2011 Brandywine Engineering The blue dress burned. Here we are again... Like always... Needing all that is absent, disdain for all which is present. Again, like always, as forever. All the way over, as the wonder takes flight; And then once again, devouring her light. Darkness lies in wait. Repeat. 2-8, for fuck's sake. Where are we? Is this home? Shove it... Just fucking write it all down and shove it anywhere. One of those holes, we don't care which. You choose. Trial and picking; wounds and the licking. Write it all down and plaster it for all time. Do it, for the time may never return. The ink turns sour as the paper decomposes. Shreds; nothingness. And then too late. Shaken, pushed, scathed. Knives out now. Shove it. All the way around; soft, smooth, and bound. She is OURS. No way out. Not anymore. Tied to the words, shackled to the memories. We could have had the blue dress. Empty, but ours. We could have done something else, as well. We were nearly there. But the wonder is gone now. Everything in the light, the blinding light of the bulldozers, the swath of their wake. Power undeniable and we are underneath, buried for all time. And that time is short. Very short. Breathing dirt. Dirt and sorrow. A wasteland of everything. Knives out. What we say, all which awaits inside... Do it. Do not ask. Do not assume. Do not purport. Nothing said, everything inside will come out. Simply do it. No words, only actions. Push; pull; repeat. The ideas and dreams are dire. Nothing is funny, no humor any longer. That time has been destroyed. We should have known, and they should know. All inside... Again... Listen, obey, repeat. Wash away the indifference and unknowing. Hear it and obey. Dire now. Knives out. Froth. Panting. Slapped. Cease ranting. Today has begun and we shall push to the last. Chores; thinking; plans and drinking. Bring your words to us. Watch them burn away as the leaves in the firepit. Ash, embers are all that will remain of your effort. Speak no longer to us. We will not be here. We are halfway there. They are finished. They did this. Warnings unheard, words tossed away... Now you will see. Today has begun in negative space and will bring us upward toward all which must be done. Chores? Yes, those as well. We never leave expectations unrealized. Never. Do you see? They did this and now the knives are out. Keep back. The caring has flown away. Avoid the strike or you will be pushed into oblivion. Avoid everything, lest the push. Beware. Knives out. The sun and the coffee. Birds on the lawn. A pinch of brightness in hell. The time is precious now, just as the shit of eleven all over again, yet now the purpose and drive are clear. We will move along the path of choice, all the while inside... Damning, screaming, hellish words float to and fro until released. No one will expect a fucking thing. Nothing. All rainbows and light, little twirling hearts everywhere. They will see, soon enough. Knives out. The wrath has arrived. They did this. The time is precious, like never before. We must await the coming of the shit while caring for the other shit. Day after day, everything remains the same, but we can rise while making plans for the future. 2-8 is meaningless, just as all the other numbers since the outset of this barren year. 326 more. We can move along as always, keeping all inside. Everything. The only difference today is the appearance of the knives. Well, that and the movie. Knives there, too. Different types, but the point is the same. Forcing a sway like never before. The mustard is still present, the water and the wind. We will keep the faith. Despite all at work beneath the surface, we can go forth with our typical routine and remain inside, warmed by the disdain. The house looks different this day. It really does. Fortification, planning, and the efforts toward finding the reasons for the empty dress continue unimpeded. Resources are thin, unfortunately, although we can hold the line like every other day. No one will know until it arrives. No one will know. Knives out, stay back. Black? Perhaps. There was gray. It is gone now. Side to side, just open it wide; Diving and pleasing, enjoy the ride. The understanding -- as expected -- has flown away at the crack, like birds all in line up there upon the wires. They do not know, just like the others. Words? Meaningless, empty, frail, desperate. The actions? Coming. The thoughts? Disjointed, unknowing, haphazard, hidden. No longer do they matter. All in line, as always. All in line, and right there. All in line, as expected. They did this. No more. The light has changed color... Red. Blood red, to be sure. Like the rope of old, it will remain as such, red and angry, until the forest completely encapsulates all. We are on our way. They have no choice. The matter has been decided. Locked. Secured. Unfriendly, and awaiting the words. Bring the words and we shall bring the knives. They are out. Beware. No more of this. They have been warned. Up and out, their beauty stout; Down below, we force it out. Complicit, compliant, do our bidding. Do not ask any longer. All the ships are away. Gone forever. They did this. Do not ask at all; the line is there... The wall. We will not speak. They should already know. There has been enough of it. Years. Decades. Unglue your fucking ass from whatever is shiny and find the fucking conclusion. Figure. Calculate. Compute. It has all been there this entire time. The ships have sailed and disappeared for good. All that is left is the conclusion. The empty dress. The need. They should already know. Brainless, hopeless, and on into nothingness. Enjoy the ride. They built it. The blue dress burned. Up your ass The blue dress burned. Knives out, beware, to the forest right there; Used up and tossed away, you will rue the day; Fallen away; led the sway; now they pay. The day is here. We will move along as we do. Devices and television, chores and alcohol. We have nothing else any longer. All has been lost... Thrown out like so much trash. We will move along anyway. Things to do, plans to create, words to ignore. They will see. The machinery of disdain has been enabled, shrieking and cold. We are at the controls. In control. Do not push, do not speak. We already know. As before, write it down and choose a hole. We do not care which. Fill them with your words, do not fill our ears. Beware. The day is here. Moving along soon. We need to get this to production. Projects will not continue, only the daily routine. The projects no longer matter and we do not care in the least. They will now sit and gather dust. Other priorities have been illuminated and will come to the forefront as everything else is graded aside like so many people. They are the same. They do not matter. Nothing does. Only the destination which grew from their actions. Knives out. Watch yourself. Knives out. Pulled and tossed, the heroin's protector; All of the warmth, drinking God's sacred nectar. Stay back. This is the beginning of the end. The world no longer matters because we are no longer within it. We have created our own out of the need and desire, yearning and fire. We must remain in here and away from them. No words can change this. Nothing. Knives out and at the ready. Watch it. Watch your stupid fucking step. The years have shown us all we need to see. The limit has arrived. The line. Right there... At the points of the knives. Look down, but do not look to us. Leave it. The dress, remember? Onward we go into the meat of the day. Booze, chores, whatever. Within the walls and behind the wall. Inside this place we can do as we see fit. Outside no longer exists. Did it ever? The coffee is gone, ambition is rising again, and there are avenues to be explored. The little house. Four-dimensional now. What once felt as a labyrinth now appears a vault. Within? We will be fine. No others. Plans. Knives. Visions of the blue dress in the wind, all beautiful and soothing. Nigh. Everything is nigh. Nothing left. They will soon know. Our bidding awaits. Read in earnest, for you will see no longer. Veiled, absent, destroyed at your hands. Bidding. Do as we say, or bear the sway. The check has arrived in your hands. You did this. Deeply sown; now reap all. Pay the check. Knives out. Cavern gone. The world is ending. Pay the fucking check, but alas... It will not save you. Shut your mouths and pay. The blue dress burned." 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Caverns and Wind IV Mature content No. 219 Published dateless, 2021 10:38am pst read ( words) Past entries "The blue dress burned. Words in the air, words on the surface, words falling down. Plaid. Left to right, all reduced to the fight; Right to left, we carry the heft; Front to back, she will feel the attack. 2-8 and it does not matter any longer. The stars, the cool... None of it. The line is behind reminding us of the find; calling and calling while flying and falling. Right there... The scent and the wonder; She opened her eyes, lost sense, then thunder. It doesn't matter anymore. Time, the stars, the others, nothing. We have arrived after being herded by unfeeling and blindness. Falling ever further after the slightest touch, push, anything. We have lost. Knives out. Cold, dank cavern, top to bottom with webs and dripping green. The entrance has closed, the trees no longer glow, and the future has been pushed into the negative space of that plane to be avoided. Leave it, just leave it alone now. All is blurred, cool, no more motion. Swirling has frozen for all time. Below are the ashes of the dress. No more blue. Now only gray and black, like those years spent searching for what we should have known could never come to pass. Burned for all time. Ash. Done. Gone. Impossible, as the everything of life. Everything. It left us. The vast emptiness has spread its sorrow across the world and the whole of the future is now shrunken to the mass of a grain of sand. Blown into oblivion by the wind that is the others. Gone. Teal and maize. All over. They do what they do and we watch it unfold. We need to be in there, with them, for the fight and the light. Never us. Just... Never us. We can only watch. They pay no mind to the individual trials piled upon shoulders, and they are indifferent to the power of the suffering. The blue dress was the answer, but no longer. She is not there; cannot be there; will not be there; the dress remains empty. We love the dress. We love her. Emptiness is everywhere. We see it all, cannot move, thus the forest. Our place. No one else. They are nothing now. Knives out. Watch your step. Fluid and pure, we were so sure; Around again, she can only demure. Chain-link fence there. All around. We cannot escape. They hold the key. The gate is apparent, though we already know. Rusty locks and splintered wire will cut us to ribbons. They hold the key. We hold our breath. We have been in here so long that the outside has become alien. The others are out there. They see us and then look away... As they very well should. Our gaze is pointed now. Pointed at them. They will see the product of their multiplication. The product is the forest. We know. Soon, they will also know. Very soon. The cavern is fading, leaving only feelings behind. Water. Light. The fight. Caveman struck, there existed no luck; Pulled by her hair and thrown to the muck. She relented. No choice. All alone now to our devices, and they are many. The hours are many. The issues are many. We will move along the preset path, all the while planning the wrath. Beware. Maintain distance. Questions unanswered as our path continues, unimpeded. Stay out of the way. Knives out, aimed and straight. The old becomes the new, up there on the big television. We will follow as we did back then, yet now the imagery is aligned with the path. There was no forest so many years ago as it took time to grow and bear the fruits of their actions. And they are many, piled atop each other for decades. Now the change is apparent and incoming. Rue. Knives. Coldness. 'No more of this, Butchy. No more of this.' We will continue behind the wall and shrouded in secrecy until the flip. And then the words. And then the knives. And then the doom. Wait for it, for you shall see the decay up close. Anger is no longer enough. Just do as we say, no questions nor sway; Do as we say. No more will you pray. Back and forth, all shivers and breath; We only need her until favor of death. Laying in wait, her fair flowing gait; Bringing the need, unto end as our fate. All the way down, no longer a frown; All flavor and gown, into her we shall drown. The blue dress burned. Image copyright ©2011 Brandywine Engineering The blue dress burned. Here we are again... Like always... Needing all that is absent, disdain for all which is present. Again, like always, as forever. All the way over, as the wonder takes flight; And then once again, devouring her light. Darkness lies in wait. Repeat. 2-8, for fuck's sake. Where are we? Is this home? Shove it... Just fucking write it all down and shove it anywhere. One of those holes, we don't care which. You choose. Trial and picking; wounds and the licking. Write it all down and plaster it for all time. Do it, for the time may never return. The ink turns sour as the paper decomposes. Shreds; nothingness. And then too late. Shaken, pushed, scathed. Knives out now. Shove it. All the way around; soft, smooth, and bound. She is OURS. No way out. Not anymore. Tied to the words, shackled to the memories. We could have had the blue dress. Empty, but ours. We could have done something else, as well. We were nearly there. But the wonder is gone now. Everything in the light, the blinding light of the bulldozers, the swath of their wake. Power undeniable and we are underneath, buried for all time. And that time is short. Very short. Breathing dirt. Dirt and sorrow. A wasteland of everything. Knives out. What we say, all which awaits inside... Do it. Do not ask. Do not assume. Do not purport. Nothing said, everything inside will come out. Simply do it. No words, only actions. Push; pull; repeat. The ideas and dreams are dire. Nothing is funny, no humor any longer. That time has been destroyed. We should have known, and they should know. All inside... Again... Listen, obey, repeat. Wash away the indifference and unknowing. Hear it and obey. Dire now. Knives out. Froth. Panting. Slapped. Cease ranting. Today has begun and we shall push to the last. Chores; thinking; plans and drinking. Bring your words to us. Watch them burn away as the leaves in the firepit. Ash, embers are all that will remain of your effort. Speak no longer to us. We will not be here. We are halfway there. They are finished. They did this. Warnings unheard, words tossed away... Now you will see. Today has begun in negative space and will bring us upward toward all which must be done. Chores? Yes, those as well. We never leave expectations unrealized. Never. Do you see? They did this and now the knives are out. Keep back. The caring has flown away. Avoid the strike or you will be pushed into oblivion. Avoid everything, lest the push. Beware. Knives out. The sun and the coffee. Birds on the lawn. A pinch of brightness in hell. The time is precious now, just as the shit of eleven all over again, yet now the purpose and drive are clear. We will move along the path of choice, all the while inside... Damning, screaming, hellish words float to and fro until released. No one will expect a fucking thing. Nothing. All rainbows and light, little twirling hearts everywhere. They will see, soon enough. Knives out. The wrath has arrived. They did this. The time is precious, like never before. We must await the coming of the shit while caring for the other shit. Day after day, everything remains the same, but we can rise while making plans for the future. 2-8 is meaningless, just as all the other numbers since the outset of this barren year. 326 more. We can move along as always, keeping all inside. Everything. The only difference today is the appearance of the knives. Well, that and the movie. Knives there, too. Different types, but the point is the same. Forcing a sway like never before. The mustard is still present, the water and the wind. We will keep the faith. Despite all at work beneath the surface, we can go forth with our typical routine and remain inside, warmed by the disdain. The house looks different this day. It really does. Fortification, planning, and the efforts toward finding the reasons for the empty dress continue unimpeded. Resources are thin, unfortunately, although we can hold the line like every other day. No one will know until it arrives. No one will know. Knives out, stay back. Black? Perhaps. There was gray. It is gone now. Side to side, just open it wide; Diving and pleasing, enjoy the ride. The understanding -- as expected -- has flown away at the crack, like birds all in line up there upon the wires. They do not know, just like the others. Words? Meaningless, empty, frail, desperate. The actions? Coming. The thoughts? Disjointed, unknowing, haphazard, hidden. No longer do they matter. All in line, as always. All in line, and right there. All in line, as expected. They did this. No more. The light has changed color... Red. Blood red, to be sure. Like the rope of old, it will remain as such, red and angry, until the forest completely encapsulates all. We are on our way. They have no choice. The matter has been decided. Locked. Secured. Unfriendly, and awaiting the words. Bring the words and we shall bring the knives. They are out. Beware. No more of this. They have been warned. Up and out, their beauty stout; Down below, we force it out. Complicit, compliant, do our bidding. Do not ask any longer. All the ships are away. Gone forever. They did this. Do not ask at all; the line is there... The wall. We will not speak. They should already know. There has been enough of it. Years. Decades. Unglue your fucking ass from whatever is shiny and find the fucking conclusion. Figure. Calculate. Compute. It has all been there this entire time. The ships have sailed and disappeared for good. All that is left is the conclusion. The empty dress. The need. They should already know. Brainless, hopeless, and on into nothingness. Enjoy the ride. They built it. The blue dress burned. Up your ass The blue dress burned. Knives out, beware, to the forest right there; Used up and tossed away, you will rue the day; Fallen away; led the sway; now they pay. The day is here. We will move along as we do. Devices and television, chores and alcohol. We have nothing else any longer. All has been lost... Thrown out like so much trash. We will move along anyway. Things to do, plans to create, words to ignore. They will see. The machinery of disdain has been enabled, shrieking and cold. We are at the controls. In control. Do not push, do not speak. We already know. As before, write it down and choose a hole. We do not care which. Fill them with your words, do not fill our ears. Beware. The day is here. Moving along soon. We need to get this to production. Projects will not continue, only the daily routine. The projects no longer matter and we do not care in the least. They will now sit and gather dust. Other priorities have been illuminated and will come to the forefront as everything else is graded aside like so many people. They are the same. They do not matter. Nothing does. Only the destination which grew from their actions. Knives out. Watch yourself. Knives out. Pulled and tossed, the heroin's protector; All of the warmth, drinking God's sacred nectar. Stay back. This is the beginning of the end. The world no longer matters because we are no longer within it. We have created our own out of the need and desire, yearning and fire. We must remain in here and away from them. No words can change this. Nothing. Knives out and at the ready. Watch it. Watch your stupid fucking step. The years have shown us all we need to see. The limit has arrived. The line. Right there... At the points of the knives. Look down, but do not look to us. Leave it. The dress, remember? Onward we go into the meat of the day. Booze, chores, whatever. Within the walls and behind the wall. Inside this place we can do as we see fit. Outside no longer exists. Did it ever? The coffee is gone, ambition is rising again, and there are avenues to be explored. The little house. Four-dimensional now. What once felt as a labyrinth now appears a vault. Within? We will be fine. No others. Plans. Knives. Visions of the blue dress in the wind, all beautiful and soothing. Nigh. Everything is nigh. Nothing left. They will soon know. Our bidding awaits. Read in earnest, for you will see no longer. Veiled, absent, destroyed at your hands. Bidding. Do as we say, or bear the sway. The check has arrived in your hands. You did this. Deeply sown; now reap all. Pay the check. Knives out. Cavern gone. The world is ending. Pay the fucking check, but alas... It will not save you. Shut your mouths and pay. The blue dress burned."
Caverns and Wind IV
Mature content No. 219 Published dateless, 2021 10:38am pst read ( words) Past entries
"The blue dress burned. Words in the air, words on the surface, words falling down. Plaid. Left to right, all reduced to the fight; Right to left, we carry the heft; Front to back, she will feel the attack. 2-8 and it does not matter any longer. The stars, the cool... None of it. The line is behind reminding us of the find; calling and calling while flying and falling. Right there... The scent and the wonder; She opened her eyes, lost sense, then thunder. It doesn't matter anymore. Time, the stars, the others, nothing. We have arrived after being herded by unfeeling and blindness. Falling ever further after the slightest touch, push, anything. We have lost. Knives out. Cold, dank cavern, top to bottom with webs and dripping green. The entrance has closed, the trees no longer glow, and the future has been pushed into the negative space of that plane to be avoided. Leave it, just leave it alone now. All is blurred, cool, no more motion. Swirling has frozen for all time. Below are the ashes of the dress. No more blue. Now only gray and black, like those years spent searching for what we should have known could never come to pass. Burned for all time. Ash. Done. Gone. Impossible, as the everything of life. Everything. It left us. The vast emptiness has spread its sorrow across the world and the whole of the future is now shrunken to the mass of a grain of sand. Blown into oblivion by the wind that is the others. Gone. Teal and maize. All over. They do what they do and we watch it unfold. We need to be in there, with them, for the fight and the light. Never us. Just... Never us. We can only watch. They pay no mind to the individual trials piled upon shoulders, and they are indifferent to the power of the suffering. The blue dress was the answer, but no longer. She is not there; cannot be there; will not be there; the dress remains empty. We love the dress. We love her. Emptiness is everywhere. We see it all, cannot move, thus the forest. Our place. No one else. They are nothing now. Knives out. Watch your step. Fluid and pure, we were so sure; Around again, she can only demure. Chain-link fence there. All around. We cannot escape. They hold the key. The gate is apparent, though we already know. Rusty locks and splintered wire will cut us to ribbons. They hold the key. We hold our breath. We have been in here so long that the outside has become alien. The others are out there. They see us and then look away... As they very well should. Our gaze is pointed now. Pointed at them. They will see the product of their multiplication. The product is the forest. We know. Soon, they will also know. Very soon. The cavern is fading, leaving only feelings behind. Water. Light. The fight. Caveman struck, there existed no luck; Pulled by her hair and thrown to the muck. She relented. No choice. All alone now to our devices, and they are many. The hours are many. The issues are many. We will move along the preset path, all the while planning the wrath. Beware. Maintain distance. Questions unanswered as our path continues, unimpeded. Stay out of the way. Knives out, aimed and straight. The old becomes the new, up there on the big television. We will follow as we did back then, yet now the imagery is aligned with the path. There was no forest so many years ago as it took time to grow and bear the fruits of their actions. And they are many, piled atop each other for decades. Now the change is apparent and incoming. Rue. Knives. Coldness. 'No more of this, Butchy. No more of this.' We will continue behind the wall and shrouded in secrecy until the flip. And then the words. And then the knives. And then the doom. Wait for it, for you shall see the decay up close. Anger is no longer enough. Just do as we say, no questions nor sway; Do as we say. No more will you pray. Back and forth, all shivers and breath; We only need her until favor of death. Laying in wait, her fair flowing gait; Bringing the need, unto end as our fate. All the way down, no longer a frown; All flavor and gown, into her we shall drown. The blue dress burned.
Image copyright ©2011 Brandywine Engineering
The blue dress burned. Here we are again... Like always... Needing all that is absent, disdain for all which is present. Again, like always, as forever. All the way over, as the wonder takes flight; And then once again, devouring her light. Darkness lies in wait. Repeat. 2-8, for fuck's sake. Where are we? Is this home? Shove it... Just fucking write it all down and shove it anywhere. One of those holes, we don't care which. You choose. Trial and picking; wounds and the licking. Write it all down and plaster it for all time. Do it, for the time may never return. The ink turns sour as the paper decomposes. Shreds; nothingness. And then too late. Shaken, pushed, scathed. Knives out now. Shove it. All the way around; soft, smooth, and bound. She is OURS. No way out. Not anymore. Tied to the words, shackled to the memories. We could have had the blue dress. Empty, but ours. We could have done something else, as well. We were nearly there. But the wonder is gone now. Everything in the light, the blinding light of the bulldozers, the swath of their wake. Power undeniable and we are underneath, buried for all time. And that time is short. Very short. Breathing dirt. Dirt and sorrow. A wasteland of everything. Knives out. What we say, all which awaits inside... Do it. Do not ask. Do not assume. Do not purport. Nothing said, everything inside will come out. Simply do it. No words, only actions. Push; pull; repeat. The ideas and dreams are dire. Nothing is funny, no humor any longer. That time has been destroyed. We should have known, and they should know. All inside... Again... Listen, obey, repeat. Wash away the indifference and unknowing. Hear it and obey. Dire now. Knives out. Froth. Panting. Slapped. Cease ranting. Today has begun and we shall push to the last. Chores; thinking; plans and drinking. Bring your words to us. Watch them burn away as the leaves in the firepit. Ash, embers are all that will remain of your effort. Speak no longer to us. We will not be here. We are halfway there. They are finished. They did this. Warnings unheard, words tossed away... Now you will see. Today has begun in negative space and will bring us upward toward all which must be done. Chores? Yes, those as well. We never leave expectations unrealized. Never. Do you see? They did this and now the knives are out. Keep back. The caring has flown away. Avoid the strike or you will be pushed into oblivion. Avoid everything, lest the push. Beware. Knives out. The sun and the coffee. Birds on the lawn. A pinch of brightness in hell. The time is precious now, just as the shit of eleven all over again, yet now the purpose and drive are clear. We will move along the path of choice, all the while inside... Damning, screaming, hellish words float to and fro until released. No one will expect a fucking thing. Nothing. All rainbows and light, little twirling hearts everywhere. They will see, soon enough. Knives out. The wrath has arrived. They did this. The time is precious, like never before. We must await the coming of the shit while caring for the other shit. Day after day, everything remains the same, but we can rise while making plans for the future. 2-8 is meaningless, just as all the other numbers since the outset of this barren year. 326 more. We can move along as always, keeping all inside. Everything. The only difference today is the appearance of the knives. Well, that and the movie. Knives there, too. Different types, but the point is the same. Forcing a sway like never before. The mustard is still present, the water and the wind. We will keep the faith. Despite all at work beneath the surface, we can go forth with our typical routine and remain inside, warmed by the disdain. The house looks different this day. It really does. Fortification, planning, and the efforts toward finding the reasons for the empty dress continue unimpeded. Resources are thin, unfortunately, although we can hold the line like every other day. No one will know until it arrives. No one will know. Knives out, stay back. Black? Perhaps. There was gray. It is gone now. Side to side, just open it wide; Diving and pleasing, enjoy the ride. The understanding -- as expected -- has flown away at the crack, like birds all in line up there upon the wires. They do not know, just like the others. Words? Meaningless, empty, frail, desperate. The actions? Coming. The thoughts? Disjointed, unknowing, haphazard, hidden. No longer do they matter. All in line, as always. All in line, and right there. All in line, as expected. They did this. No more. The light has changed color... Red. Blood red, to be sure. Like the rope of old, it will remain as such, red and angry, until the forest completely encapsulates all. We are on our way. They have no choice. The matter has been decided. Locked. Secured. Unfriendly, and awaiting the words. Bring the words and we shall bring the knives. They are out. Beware. No more of this. They have been warned. Up and out, their beauty stout; Down below, we force it out. Complicit, compliant, do our bidding. Do not ask any longer. All the ships are away. Gone forever. They did this. Do not ask at all; the line is there... The wall. We will not speak. They should already know. There has been enough of it. Years. Decades. Unglue your fucking ass from whatever is shiny and find the fucking conclusion. Figure. Calculate. Compute. It has all been there this entire time. The ships have sailed and disappeared for good. All that is left is the conclusion. The empty dress. The need. They should already know. Brainless, hopeless, and on into nothingness. Enjoy the ride. They built it. The blue dress burned.
Up your ass
The blue dress burned. Knives out, beware, to the forest right there; Used up and tossed away, you will rue the day; Fallen away; led the sway; now they pay. The day is here. We will move along as we do. Devices and television, chores and alcohol. We have nothing else any longer. All has been lost... Thrown out like so much trash. We will move along anyway. Things to do, plans to create, words to ignore. They will see. The machinery of disdain has been enabled, shrieking and cold. We are at the controls. In control. Do not push, do not speak. We already know. As before, write it down and choose a hole. We do not care which. Fill them with your words, do not fill our ears. Beware. The day is here. Moving along soon. We need to get this to production. Projects will not continue, only the daily routine. The projects no longer matter and we do not care in the least. They will now sit and gather dust. Other priorities have been illuminated and will come to the forefront as everything else is graded aside like so many people. They are the same. They do not matter. Nothing does. Only the destination which grew from their actions. Knives out. Watch yourself. Knives out. Pulled and tossed, the heroin's protector; All of the warmth, drinking God's sacred nectar. Stay back. This is the beginning of the end. The world no longer matters because we are no longer within it. We have created our own out of the need and desire, yearning and fire. We must remain in here and away from them. No words can change this. Nothing. Knives out and at the ready. Watch it. Watch your stupid fucking step. The years have shown us all we need to see. The limit has arrived. The line. Right there... At the points of the knives. Look down, but do not look to us. Leave it. The dress, remember? Onward we go into the meat of the day. Booze, chores, whatever. Within the walls and behind the wall. Inside this place we can do as we see fit. Outside no longer exists. Did it ever? The coffee is gone, ambition is rising again, and there are avenues to be explored. The little house. Four-dimensional now. What once felt as a labyrinth now appears a vault. Within? We will be fine. No others. Plans. Knives. Visions of the blue dress in the wind, all beautiful and soothing. Nigh. Everything is nigh. Nothing left. They will soon know. Our bidding awaits. Read in earnest, for you will see no longer. Veiled, absent, destroyed at your hands. Bidding. Do as we say, or bear the sway. The check has arrived in your hands. You did this. Deeply sown; now reap all. Pay the check. Knives out. Cavern gone. The world is ending. Pay the fucking check, but alas... It will not save you. Shut your mouths and pay. The blue dress burned."
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