"The History of the world, my love.
is those below serving those up
above. How gratifying for once to know
that those above will serve those
down below!"
Arriving overdone, used, and content with the cycle we've depended on since last March, I had to sign to keep this package. It's vicious and horrible, but they don't even know they're a part of it. I wonder how insane you need to be to ignore your impending doom. I'll be the official videographer, but I'm not wearing the yellow shorts! That's going to far because black and gold are not my colors anymore, would it be rude to announce my loyalty by wearing red and white? I might take on the bandanna, because that's part of the football game style, however the face paint is out of the question and I don't think Barker will let me hang out with you, so I'll bring Mikael and Chris for support, hoping and begging it looks like I'm fine.
There's two posts in one day because I needed to do this now. Sweeney Todd is an odd way to describe it, but I feel like Johanna, sans Anthony the singing sailor and his long-ish girly hair.
Are you interested in the ride we take, like her? Don't think it's safe, I can assure you, it ain't. Demons and monsters attack 'round ev'ry corner and in the end we learn to respect the french-ish foreigner. With tattoos shaped the mockery I was made and a decision kept to assuage the pain, the shades are spotted and drapes are stained, in the house I learned was my domain. Usage on the frontier is coming to a halt, while her low-neck cleavage abruptly stops because she was ever only an A cup anyways, and the shame of the thoughts made me drop and do twenty for myself and the discipline I've attempted to gain. Power failure's and epic falls, landing on the sweaty grass of blood and jerseys, the wind will drag your six-foot-poll and the gloves you bought are sure to unravel, because gravity acts on things that go up and it's novel to imagine they wont come down. The sound of the music, the glare of the screen, and the history of ambiguity all add up to the experience of "we." As if we'd known how sorry we'd be, once we learned that she was the key, and the door was locked, nothing to see, so how can I possibly compete?It's fair and share when you think of the ground, pounded on with abstract nouns, strung together like beads from the show, gold and painted by celebrated artist we'll never pay to view in a gallery. It's not our actions that show who we are, it's the thoughts we mention and those we do not. And if it's not to last, then who am I to say? I can't do anything but write and complain, Belle, I wish we could be together now, at last. But nothing you could do would rearrange the past. I'm feeling your skin and inhaling the scent of the urges I felt and repressed. Alms! Alms! for a miserable girl, fornicating with the air of desire and despair. Only two dollars for a gander over yonder where we've discovered the heart and sealed it in a bulletproof glass encasement. I want to bomb the terraces of your lost promises and make you cry the tears I lost in the cause. For the greater good, I've held my tongue and it's sour with backwash and bittersweet memories I burned the night she left me forever and all, back to France in her Castle of Beasts, devoured by her BMW and perfect lives led by feasts and indulged weaknesses, I let slide and overlooked because I felt more for you than I ever should've and that was my fault, but you had a hand in it. You pumped water into my lungs and held my nose while I drowned and suffocated in your so-called love.
"I'm alive at Last and I'm full of Joy!" He screamed and I felt the same as he. And if i ever received a compact mirror, I'd steal it in my pocket with a watch the roofers stole in a previously written Blog for the sake of myself and only I. The Ambiguous meal occurs when my stomach rumbles for apology, revenge, and blatant sorrow. What started as joke became my life giving motto and encouraged a brand new mode of operations, commonly referred to as an M.O. regarding the dark and death, surrounded by grief, but for me, it's relief with this city on fire and Mischief (!) lurking like I did while she slept as soundly as the wind on a white leather couch I gave and delivered to a cousin's house on Vassar Street, where I lived for three months and was eventually kicked out, like I always am. Don't get used to anything good, or anything bad, because it changes like the mood swings she has on those days the stress rises and so do the bills and debt, I never attributed to but am held responsible for as a member of our so-called family. The cliques are formed and I've lost my own because he feels its time to part before Chicago. My city has betrayed me and is now the cause of my depression today, in case you could not tell, it's grey and droll like Orlando because it's raining and here comes Hurricane Hannah, bringing category worthy winds and whitecaps consuming this 100-year building constructed for golfers and judges in the distant decades back forty years past.
I ramble on this page and nobody ever reads it, so it's safe and mine like Anna was. Like Belle could have been. and like Bishop Moore is preserved in my memory, focusing on the positive because the negative brought me here and the dwelling stage has gotten old and moldy like an uncrustable I found under my bed in an attempt to clean up the mess I can't see. Mayer plays and wails of the place I'm trying to be, the person I'm doing everything I can to emulate. The best days were the ones I can't remember, nor even begin to explain. I forget the times I knew nothing more than the happy life i lived and the security of ignorance and naivety.
I might have thought of killing you. I might have written stories where you were dead and played out scenes in my mind of breaking in your skull, or shooting you in your head, with brains splattering all over the pavements below or the grass, depending on where I decided to kill you that day. but I didn't. they were empty threats and heavy bluffs, but no bullets to back it up and means to succeed, like everything else, my love.
