Gothic Rainbow

Ah, The Righteous Satisfaction Of A Killing Spree

SillyLilly — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 22:22:30 +0000

This morning I woke up with Bellatrix Lestrange hair.

This is possibly because of the insane set of dreams I had. First, I was messing with a live jellyfish that was sitting on my parents’ kitchen table on a little pedestal. I was squeezing it, and trying to turn it inside out (like a Popple–remember Popples?), and playing with the tentacles…all in good fun, but due to its ‘still living’ status, it was not so happy, and proceeded to take one bite out of each of the chocolates that lay scattered around it on the table. Did you know that pink, melon-shaped jellyfish like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? Well, now you do. (That bastard jellyfish…it knew that I wouldn’t eat the rest of the chocolate after it had sampled a bite from each…ewwww.)

Next in the dream, I found myself parked in a space that would tow you if you weren’t parked there to go to Pier 1 during certain hours of the day, which I of course wasn’t. Just as I was about to move the car, a cop appeared out of nowhere and began to write me a ticket. I tried to tell him that I hadn’t even been parked there more than a minute…I’d gotten out, seen the sign, and then come back to move it, but he insisted that I’d already gotten three ‘warning stickers’ on my hood, which meant I’d been there a while (they appeared one at a time right before my eyes as he announced their presence…damned magical police). So, naturally, I did what any sane person would do in this instance: I tore the stickers off my car, banged my head on the door frame while flinging myself inside, hurled the crumpled up stickers in the cop’s face through the window while banging my head again, and floored it out of the parking spot. Then, for good measure, I recklessly threw the car into reverse at top speed, and ran him over. Oh, the gratification.

Then I went blasting down the road full tilt, sometimes steering between people, other times just hitting them. (I even hit a golden retriever! Bonus points!) It was like mental Grand Theft Auto. The only problem was, I wasn’t ENTIRELY sure I was dreaming when I did this, and concluded that ‘I thought I was in a dream’ wouldn’t be a great defense in court. Oh well!

Cocknified

SillyLilly — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 07:11:27 +0000

I just had a dream wherein I’d programmed the iPhone (in my sleep, according to the dream) to turn movies into a format where the dialogue was normal, except any questions asked and answers given were all in rude, cockney accents:

“I’ll see you later, Sweetie!”
“Okay, honey, bye!”
“Hang on, are ya bringin’ the food with ya, ya daft bah-stard??”
“Nah, ya dumb wench, I’m leavin’ it ‘ere!”
“Okay, love you!”
“See you soon!”

The Siren Call Of The Nectarine

SillyLilly — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 07:10:36 +0000

So, I had this nectarine. I could smell it five feet away. It was SEDUCING me with its aroma. So what did I do? I brought it to work to eat, and as of the first bite, I discovered to my massive disappointment that it wasn’t ripe enough. Its three companions had been ripe, and mouth-wateringly amazing, so what gives? And you know you can’t go back after the first bite of an unripe fruit. If you leave it alone again, the rest of the fruit will ripen as the bitten part quietly rots, mocking you with its oxidization.

WANT.

SillyLilly — Wed, 07 May 2008 07:09:50 +0000

I want a mural depicting Bill Clinton, arms outstretched, blessing the masses with free pedometers.

Things That Go Bum In The Night

SillyLilly — Sat, 03 May 2008 07:08:58 +0000

So, at this large intersection near where we live, there are two bums. One lives on one median, and the other one lives on the other. One is clearly installed there: there are blankets and lumps of stuff and milk crates galore, and he sits there, day after day, smoking through his big, curly, yellowish beard, accepting tips. The other bum is not always on his median, but when he is, you can catch his performance of bending over slowly, more and more, till you think he’s perhaps fallen asleep on his feet and he’ll fall on his face any second, when he rears up suddenly, ready to start the whole process again in about five minutes. He thinks that this, for some reason, will make him money.

The other day we were driving by there, and we noticed that the installed bum’s stuff was all gone! He was still sitting there, though, and then I realized to my amazement, there was a sign propped up where his stuff used to be, and it said, “For Sale”. Now, my question is, since when does a bum have a moving sale??? Now that’s a real sidewalk sale if I ever heard one. What’s even more frightening is that his stuff was actually gone. Someone bought the bum’s possessions. Other bums? Wealthy men out for a lark? It boggles the mind.

Later we were speculating that perhaps he was moving to another corner after all, and the leaning bum was perhaps his broker. What would his cut be? A Sharpie, some old french fries, and a cigarette butt?

Who Knows What Evil Lies Within?

SillyLilly — Fri, 02 May 2008 07:07:53 +0000

So, last week, the Fedex guy came and dropped off two large packages for my next-door neighbor, whom I don’t know. She was out, so I consented to hang on to them for her. He left her a door tag, explaining that the boxes were with us, but I didn’t trust his English skills too much. Sure enough, she failed to show up for them, despite having removed the door tag later in the day.

The next day I was on my way out, and I decided I’d just ring the bell or something to see if she was around to get them then. Instead, this middle-aged dude was already standing on her doorstep, inside the main door but still standing in the little vestibule.
He said he was there to deliver something (it looked like a liquor bottle in a paper bag, actually). He wasn’t waiting for apt #1 (the girl I was looking for), but he said she’d just come to the door a moment ago because he’d rung the wrong bell. He then knocked again on one of the interior doors, presumably for the #1 girl since I needed her–I thought. Then he went back to his car for a moment, leaving me standing alone in the vestibule.

Finally someone came to the door he was knocking on, and then. Then. An old woman, scary beyond all reason, opened the door. She had long mousey hair in one big tangled dreadlock, with things stuck in it that resembled corn kernels, long, curved, yellow nails, and her pink and blue-veined wrinkled skin was showing through the middle of her ragged blue robe, which was not too carefully wrapped around her small, thin frame. In fact, it was open about a half inch, all the way down. Not cool. Tentatively, I asked her if she was the woman from #1, and she said no, #3, and then she admonished me for having opened the outside door. Hastily, I told her that the man had done it, and that he was trying to deliver something. I dashed out, telling her he’d be coming to the door. I found him in his car, asked him what apt the delivery was for (he seemed unsure, even) and then told him that the woman from #3 was there now. I then ran back into my own house a) without warning him of the terror within, or b) watching the carnage myself. About a minute later, though, I heard screeching tires…

Seriously, this woman was frightening. Kind of like the witch in Suspiria, but scarier, especially since she lives next door.

Nuts With Feathers

SillyLilly — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 07:06:13 +0000

Is Sunday the 13th Friday the 13th’s gentle sister? If so, it’d better prove it fast. Surrounded by wheels when I woke up this morning, bicycle, spinning. No familiar muffin or Tiny. Empty yogurt, full dreams, backwards. A seductress who makes time stop, convinces you of her genius IQ (up in the millions), and gives you projects that satisfy. For me, it was things to assemble. Little screws and washers and nuts with feathers, that attract nursing cats when properly aligned. Old friends abandoned at frame shops for three hours at a time, way past closing yet I still try to pick up the artwork or frame it myself. After all, I have the experience. Putting things in the house to keep them safe, but the door knob has come off, the lock is broken, and the living room is full of uninvited friends and exes, and what to do? What to do?

Votive Hands

SillyLilly — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 07:05:15 +0000

Shimmering chimeran shimmying was the spectacle of the night. The wings fluttered at diagonals, the bells jingled, the fringe swayed, the swords cut through the air and not through the heads, and the music was all around us. Such is Ivy League college on a Saturday.

Titan-ick

SillyLilly — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 07:04:44 +0000

It was gradually flooding higher and higher outside the building. Even the Spiderman-Batman hybrid couldn’t stick to the outside, it was so wet. I was in the luggage hold when the steam liner hove into view in the parking lot, viewing it externally even though I was internal. The object of the game was to go through ALL the luggage, listen to ALL the passenger conversations, find out who each trinket belonged to, what it was, how the card game was going from the paintings, who was cheating whom, who everyone was, and what they were after. I could see that this would be no mere weekend of gameplay, and I was eager to start. That didn’t keep me from eating some of the steam liner’s food, but I kept careful track of what I’d ingested, and questioned the demise-portrayal lady closely to get an early edge.

Typical

SillyLilly — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 07:03:05 +0000

Today is a four-ten-t of doom, as far as I can see. I am utterly unable to wake up for a 10am job, for the zillionth day in a row. Sadness abounds as I am unable to work at said job, preferring to endlessly surf the electronic spider threads. And here I am now.

At least I got in my taxes, 5 minutes before the PO closed. Typical. Had all day to do it, yet there I am. Draining my money away for a war effort I don’t support, while the lady behind the counter gets pre-work-ending calls and vows to call them back. Right now I am tired. In the extreme. I ought to go home or something, but it’s the first actual day in a long long time and I’d rather be on the swings. But I’m at the office, and even the scant two-mile drive home looms large–like a large loom of some kind–ensnaring me in its sleepy, stop-start city traffic threads.

Nee, Revisited

SillyLilly — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 07:02:05 +0000

It’s my half birthday. ‘Hap- Birt-’ to me.

Status Update

SillyLilly — Thu, 31 May 2007 06:58:53 +0000

Well. Just took a long nap under my desk, and have now risen from the ashes like a groggy, half-insane phoenix.

OH GOD.

SillyLilly — Fri, 25 May 2007 06:57:33 +0000

Just when you think things are finally looking good, the cat starts throwing up sparkles.

God help me.

Functionality

SillyLilly — Fri, 27 Apr 2007 06:56:48 +0000

If no more coincidences happened, would you assume that the universe had stopped working properly, or was finally working properly?

Paralleloworld

SillyLilly — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 06:54:48 +0000

Ever have an event, like nearly getting run over, or being really sick, and then come away from it intact, and muse that in a parallel universe, you probably died just then?

Triumph!

SillyLilly — Sun, 04 Feb 2007 06:53:26 +0000

I am a phoenix born from the ashes of yesteryear, ready to fly up the nose of tomorrow!

…

SillyLilly — Sat, 06 Jan 2007 07:12:17 +0000

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Turtles fall on deaf ears! A banana a day keeps nothing away, except a life free of potassium! Some Amish guy ate 40 bananas at once and got a potassium high! You’re not innocent if you’re still gettin’ it somehow!

Ardvarks. Ardvarks. Why do they plague me? Are they after my corn muffins? Well I already ate them, SO TOUGH LUCK, you ant-consuming mammalicious quadrupeds!

I’m so tuned in it hurts. I’m so turned on it hurts. I can’t even get through the first purification of the story anymore, it just sends me, baby, know what I mean? Groovy, 23 skiddoooooooooo

Every night this week a useless prophecy! They’re getting more exact! Look out, world, you’re going to have to ask ME when the apocalypse is coming! I’ll know! And will I be told what to do about it? NO!!!!! Just have fun on your way OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!

Volcanic explosions, popsicles, Zoobilie Zoo, it’s all going away! This is your LAST CHANCE to parasail! Your last chance to throw up! Your last chance to cut your head off! Don’t waste it! Use your full potential to burst into flames, change colors, and choke! This is it!

GGGGGGAAAAAAARRRGGGGGGHHHHsmurfs.

Oy, Etymologically

SillyLilly — Sat, 16 Sep 2006 06:52:45 +0000

You know you’re in a bad way when you wake up in the morning with a pen under your back, various ink marks on your legs, and a few crossword puzzles crumpled under your right breast.

I’m not completely sure yet…but I think I OD’d on crosswords last night before blacking out…

Obviously Not

SillyLilly — Sat, 06 May 2006 06:52:03 +0000

“If you can solve your problem, then what is the need of worrying? If you cannot solve it, then what is the use of worrying?” – Shantideva

This person was clearly not a Jew.

Hobbyist

SillyLilly — Thu, 16 Feb 2006 06:50:15 +0000

“We watch with baited breath as the gothicus femalicus comes out of her cave. Ahh! There, we can see some black hair wafting to the edges of the cave… a bat just flew out… she must be coming out soon… this is an exciting day for GothWatchers! It is not often that we see one emerging this closely… if someone has a good enough zoom lens they might even be able to catch her coffin on film as she opens it!”

Musing

SillyLilly — Tue, 30 Aug 2005 06:49:31 +0000

She graces the skies, her pale beauty shining opaline in the darkness. Dark, fluttering gossamer wings spread and enfold the creation in their soft caress, as hundreds of birds twitter softly to their rest under the wings of their lovers and small sounds fill the skies with contentment. She waves her delicate hands and the clouds gather as one, pillowing her nightly soujourn amongst the created, and as she reclines, her raven tresses cascade down to shower the earth below in soft darkness, pressing close in with a cool warmth only a spring evening can impart.
The tiny points of light in her wings are the glitter of the stars, her gentle breaths are the soft, sweet winds, and her dreams are the peace that flutters down gently onto all the tiny beings she protects.

Self-Phone

SillyLilly — Thu, 25 Aug 2005 06:45:07 +0000

To me, a cellphone is a mysterious thing, because in the privacy of your own home when you choose the ringer you want, you are pleased with the tune, and even shamelessly dance to it a little. But the instant your phone rings in public, it’s as loud and embarrassing as possible, and you find yourself scrambling to turn it off the moment you feel it vibrate, before it can get to the ring. It’s as if once it starts ringing, your own personal barbershop quartet comes dancing into the room, harmonizing the worst, most embarrassing song, gradually getting louder and goofier, until they have morphed into the Mormon Tabernacle Choir wearing clown costumes.

Furry War

SillyLilly — Sat, 06 Aug 2005 06:26:18 +0000

So I’m downstairs in the bathroom feeding the cats, and the big one is sitting on the toilet lid, and the little one (from my point of view) is behind the toilet and hidden. Every so often, in response to the irresistably twitching tail of the big one, I see tiny claws and teeth hop into view from behind the toilet, at which the big one does her best to fend off the little one’s efforts, with her own teeth and claws. I watch this “twitch hop scratch scratch thud” exchange for a minute or so, and then I start laughing. At this, the big cat turns to me and gives me the most baleful, accusatory look, as if to say, “Shut up. You did this to me. You brought this miniature fur explosion into my life, and now I can’t sit still for one second without being pounced on. Death to you.”

Only Real Ones, Please

SillyLilly — Fri, 05 Aug 2005 06:41:27 +0000

My next point is, what possesses people to list ‘eating’ and ‘sleeping’ as their hobbies? Does this mean that if they weren’t interested in sleeping and eating, they wouldn’t do them? Does this mean that someone out there has an extensive and intriguing collection of silverware, upon which they lavish attention and special care, all the better to pursue their favorite pastime of eating? Does someone out there have a bedroom collection, in every size and type of decor, only to satiate their endless passion for sleeping? Are these hobbies right up there with stamps and baseball cards? Are there clubs these people can belong to, where they can meet others who share their interests? Honestly. If you’re going to list hobbies, list ACTUAL hobbies, please, not necessities of life that you happen to be fond of!

Uh, Yeah

SillyLilly — Sat, 30 Jul 2005 06:25:24 +0000

Oh, that’s right, I had the nap from hell today. It lasted five hours, and included such scenes as Orthodox Jews on motorbikes, Queen Elizabeth 1 from Black Adder wandering around making peoples’ lives difficult, and Mary Tyler Moore (as Laura Petri of the Dick Van Dyke Show) directing an episode of Frasier, in which Frasier and Niles and a camel were all supposed to be tapdancing on stilts.
What a total waste of time.

There Is No Reason On God’s Earth For This

SillyLilly — Fri, 29 Jul 2005 06:24:16 +0000

…It’s just that as cute and cuddly as she is, Fluff here has all sorts of problems, as it turns out. First it was ear mites, now it’s worms and some eye thing, as evidenced by enormous amounts of eye boogers, throwing up, diarrhea, and an inability to cooperate when being given her de-worming medicine, which resulted in her becoming very yellow, matted and sticky. Add to that the fact that she’s been sick to such an extent that she really isn’t cleaning herself, and she lost 3/4 of a pound in the last week (leaving her weighing in at a whopping 1 3/4 lbs. at eight weeks old), and you get this sad, skinny, stinky, dirty little fluffball as a result. “Why don’t you bathe her, then?” I hear you screaming. Well, she just got spayed too, and I’m not allowed to bathe her until her spay scar heals up. The most I can do is chase after her with a wet tissue to try and clean her off somehow, which, of course, she hates. This left me with only one recourse for improving her appearance. I put a bow around her neck.

Beachy Keen

SillyLilly — Sat, 09 Jul 2005 06:23:30 +0000

I find myself on this exotic beach with all these different ledges of sand, and below each ledge you are supposed to put out your towels, etc., and swim in the many gorgeously blue small pools of warm water dotting the beach. There are all these multi-colored kittens all over the beach too, purple, green, orange, etc., and I start picking them all up and petting them. At this point my parents reappear, and I tell them about the beach, but we have to leave. I relocate one of the scary bugs, and entrap it in a tupperware container, and it turns into a centipede of such proportions that it looks like there are many insects all writhing in this container at once. The Marx brothers seem to think it’s a good find, and we try to sell it to a rare insect collector for a lot of money.
This gets interrupted somehow, and I find myself as part of a foursome with Woody Allen (!), sometimes being Woody Allen, sometimes being one of the girls. This is, of course, thoroughly unpleasant, and I untangle myself from it somehow and go to clean myself off. I wind up in my grandmother’s house, and my relatives are wandering around, and I try to use the kitchen sink, which in real life is very high up, but in the dream is almost inaccessible, as I can barely reach my arms over the countertop. Someone has chocolate chip cookies, and I have a few, and then find myself back to the whole bug motif, wherein I am discovering a rare species of spider, where it’s a miniature spider monkey for the body, but actual spider legs for the four legs. I am, of course, extremely creeped out by this. The dream turns into something involving differently colored compartments, some of them shimmering, and I vascillate between them for a bit while trying to wake up and finally do, only because my mother is calling on the phone.

Argh?

Beatific Insults

SillyLilly — Tue, 28 Jun 2005 06:22:31 +0000

Yes, I am directly implying that God is a bad contractor. Take that, God. Now fix my feet. And don’t do it by having me lose them in some fashion so that I realize how grateful I should’ve been to have them at all. That’s so movie cliche. You’re God. You can do better than that. So why don’t you just make them pretty to me?

Yep. Not even ten in the morning, and I’ve already insulted God. A good start to the day.

Irony

SillyLilly — Wed, 08 Jun 2005 06:21:13 +0000

The Realm of Darkness is surprisingly well-lit.

New Measurement

SillyLilly — Wed, 16 Jun 2004 06:20:34 +0000

“Don’t bother emailing him. He hasn’t checked his email in bananas.”
That’s right, my friends! Great exaggerations of time can now be expressed in units of fruit!

Egg-Cited? No.

SillyLilly — Fri, 28 May 2004 06:18:49 +0000

I sincerely believe I am the greatest failure on earth. Why, you may ask? Because I decided to take it into my head to boil eggs, that’s why. Firstly, I must’ve bought these eggs months ago, possibly a year ago. Second, I put the five of them in the pot which I filled almost to the top (gasp! you say, already seeing my first mistake). One of the eggs persistently floated when the others decidedly did not. This egg may be a terrible idea, I have yet to find out. Then I turned the burner on. As the previously near-frozen eggs began to heat up, I heard a pop! and got up, triumphant that I would find the floating one to be the culprit. Alas, an otherwise totally innocent secondary egg was the miscreant!
After letting it continue to boil a bit to the point that I could attempt to scrape out the escaped egg white that was now frothing over the others, I realized that maybe I’d put in too much water, as the whole thing began to boil over. I removed it, got rid of some water, and then the same thing happened. I repeated the step, and then things seemed to be okay. I went over to write this, and heard a tiny noise, rushed back over, and found that the water had all but boiled away. Bad. I refilled it, and put it back, at which point I dimly recalled that perhaps I should have been doing this in a pot that had a lid on it, which of course, I do not own. I have just now taken them off the burner after their proscribed twelve minutes and refilled the pot with water in an attempt to calm them, and left it in the sink. The floating one, even after being boiled, is still floating. I am sure I’m in for a stink bomb such as the world has never seen. Well, after the eggs and my ardor cool, I will try one, and report back, or die in the attempt. If I do die, there’s the reason: a bad egg. Wuh-wuuuh.
This, friends, is why I don’t cook.

The verdict: First seemingly-normal egg: good. Yolk closer to scrambled than hard boiled, but good. Second seemingly-normal egg: rotten. I didn’t open up the white, but where it would usually be an opaque white color, it was instead ever so slightly pink with something black inside it, and the yolk decidedly undone. Third seemingly-normal egg: rotten. Fourth seemingly-normal, but popped, egg: rotten. Fifth, floating, clearly abnormal egg: only half-full of stuff, and disgustingly rotten.
YUM!

Mallow Bed

SillyLilly — Mon, 17 May 2004 06:17:09 +0000

There’s nothing like dismantling and then remantling your futon in a different place during the hours of 2-5am and then sleeping on marshmallows that have assumed the shape of a couch.
But tonight I am merely packing things normally. Or as normally as packing things into categories of flammable and non-flammable can be.

Brainless, Yet In Charge Of A Cash Register

SillyLilly — Sat, 07 Feb 2004 06:16:07 +0000

Today after work I tried to go through a register and buy some things that had been clearanced, and just my luck, I got some new chick, who, I swear, was one of the dumbest girls I’d ever met. She absolutely didn’t believe me when I informed her that the calendars were 66% off, insisting that ‘they were for this year, so how could that be?’ I told her to go over and look for herself. I mean, I know that discounting the current year’s calendars only at the beginning of February is weird, but if you’ve ever lived on the earth AT ALL, you’d know that THAT’S WHAT THEY DO. In addition to this, the idiot girl thought that taking 66% off meant charging me the amount she got that equaled 66%.
And then she tells me, after my protests at her stupidity had reached a fever pitch, that she wasn’t so great at math. REALLY??? IS THAT SO??? YOU DON’T SAY! And still, not believing me, thinking I was shortchanging her or something, she calls over one of the managers, who, being an actual human being with a brain, totally confirmed everything I’d been saying, and finally got me through the transaction. Well, only good thing is, she (all by her brilliant self) did not charge me for the individual candleholders that were in the candelabra, nor did she charge me the (correct) higher initial price for one of the calendars. Also, she was unaware that she had a booger noticeably roosting in one of her nostrils, which I thought was hilarious, given her otherwise immaculately made-up appearance, complete with carefully drawn-in eyebrows and elaborate, snowflake-themed manicure.

ANYWAY…the last of my hermit crabs, the Duchess, is dead. I am still convinced that she was the mastermind behind the deaths of the other two that occupied the tank with her, the Count, and Itsy Bitsy. Just goes to show that even in the crab world, the good die young and the bad live (comparatively) forever.

Ooo-Ahhh

SillyLilly — Sat, 31 Jan 2004 06:15:29 +0000

I am a man, a monkey, a pin-up girl. I am the sum of the parts, I am part of the sum. Feline watches the primate typing on the box. My friends are covered in ceramic dust, my friends are covered in paint, my friends are covered in metal shavings, my friends are covered in milipedes. My friends are artists and we collectively as a group on the whole make no sense whatsoever. We are out for the silly and the making and the saying of things. And here we are taking up your time space and money, yet you admire us. Admire! And are jealous of! If only. A show of force, a skin of iron, strength, a stout heart. A march, a boot, a coat, and forward momentum. I am the juggernaut, hear me jugger!

The Cake On The Icing

SillyLilly — Thu, 13 Nov 2003 06:13:00 +0000

A four-sided enclosure formed with four thick, clear plastic tarps. In the center is a table, covered in a black trash bag, and the floor is covered in a dropcloth too. On the table are two immense sheet cakes, one chocolate and one vanilla, and eight pie tins full of whipped cream. Standing at attention at opposite ends of this enclosure are eight people altogether, four on one side and four on the other, with the table between them. All are completely clothed in black trashbags. They stand at attention, as a spotlight shines through the plastic sheeting onto them. The class files in and absorbs the scene as nothing happens at all for two full minutes. Suddenly, the lights go out, and for thirty seconds there are tiny explosions and clapping sounds in the dark.
The lights come up, and everyone lunges for the cakes, and instantly the enclosure is coated in a layer of icing, whipped cream, and utter stickiness and slipperiness. The two groups have at one another with the baked goods for two minutes, and then progressively die. The lights go out for ten seconds, and come back up. There is a survivor from each side; they get up, survey the carnage, shake hands, and commence eating what’s left. Lights down, the end.

The Fragility Of Human Existence

SillyLilly — Sat, 25 Oct 2003 06:07:10 +0000

Do you ever look down at yourself and realize that YOU are trapped inside this pain-feeling, fragile, severable skin thing and you are condemned to this for the rest of your life, and you have no idea if you’ll ever be free of it if you experience consciousness in another form, and it just makes you want to scream and scream? I felt that way a few minutes ago, and also earlier when I nearly cut my thumb off.

Je Suis Nee

SillyLilly — Sun, 09 May 1982 18:38:27 +0000

I am born.