Can't stop the stupid from breeding, can't cut out there fucking moron babies, can't switch off the power to there homes, can't poison there better buy food, can't fill up there mouths with cement, can't force them to do a days work, can't make them stop shooting up smack or stealing your car, can't stop them from vomiting on the street, can't punch them in the face on the bus, can't stop the fucking stupid from doing anything... can't even make them eat your shit or force feed them razor blades. Can't do anything useful these days.
When drawing any given line you must have a start MUST HAVE A START start and end end END point in mind. lines that THAT intersect must have reason reason to as all lines that cross are diluted are diluted ARE DILUTED. There will be THERE WILL BE will be will be some lines that you will be not able to see SEE see see these lines take some time to FIND other lines will adopt will adopt will adopt WILL ADOPT your very own rationale RATIONALE LOOKING looking at ink INK flow velocity velocity VELOCITY velocity compression and and retraction we are able are able to depict to depict DEPICT DEPICT the drawers true intent when drawing the the the the line LINE beware that what it gives it also takes takes takes takes away some some lines are permanent some lines are permanent and can not be crossed out. Its TRUE that there are some lines that divide us into sections US INTO SECTIONS and there are some to bind us together to bind us together AND make us stronger humans When drawing ANY given line you must must MUST have a start and end end END END END point in mind.
3:35 and the the coach moves deeper into the unknown. At this precise point in time the driver takes another swig of vodka from his coke bottle. His teeth grit as the liquid stings the back of his throat and ignites the daemon inside. He glances into the wing mirror, steps on the brake pad and pulls the coach over onto the hard shoulder.
Outside in the baking July sun the highway stretches out, from inside the coach the world looks as if it has been plunged into the silent vacuum of space. An idle sky harbours a rouge cloud frozen over a lustful crop of rape. A few minutes pass as the driver sits at the wheel thinking about his next move waiting for a passenger behind him to speak up. Nobody does.
He looks at the clock, twenty more minuets have passed. He still sits there afraid to look back at all their agitated faces sweating in the afternoon heat. There is no air conditioning on this shit tip. His mood hopscotches. Biting at his lip, he moves deeper into insanity yet still the passengers tolerate this unscheduled stop. They are going to be late, he has even forgot where they were headed?
After and hour of looking at passing traffic a car pulls up in front of him. A family carrier. An elderly gentleman walks towards the bus. He mouths "do you need any help?" holding up his hands with a friendly gesture. The driver is sweating, wondering if he does really need any help. He wants to get away, he wants to turn the key and take off, be he cant. This is all beyond his control. He opens the passenger door and nods his head welcoming the old man on board.
If only the poor old man knew the situation. The poor poor man should never have stopped, should never have interfered. He realises this when its too late, he realises this at the top step of the bus, he realises this as he looks at a coach half full of decaying bludgeoned do gooders just like himself.
The old do gooder looks at the driver in horror and sheer astonishment. The driver cant look them in the eye, his passengers. He sits tight looking down at his feet ashamed, embarrassed, defeated. He slowly reaches down and draws out a blood caked hunting knife resting in the foot well. The old do gooders eyes widen, his fingers bury into his arm as his heart stops beating and starts quivering like jelly. No sound is made, not even when he falls to the floor cracking his head open against the coach steps.
The driver moves into action, the body is quickly dragged into the nearest empty seat. He dumps him next to a rotting corpse that starved to death 5 days prior. This man was a flies paradise and a maggots wet dream. The old man still twitching is tied just in case, a mistake only made once. The driver pulls out a black marker pen from his pocked and draws a number on his forehead for the records. The slumps back into his seat, starts the engine and pulls the bus back onto the road. As he passes the old mans car he sees a bemused boy playing with a cigarette lighter in the front passenger seat. He merges with the traffic heading north. The driver still sweating wishes these ungrateful passengers would shut the hell up. He begs them to be quite, and tells them they will reach their destination soon enough.
Outside in the baking July sun the highway stretches out, from inside the coach the world looks as if it has been plunged into the silent vacuum of space. An idle sky harbours a rouge cloud frozen over a lustful crop of rape. A few minutes pass as the driver sits at the wheel thinking about his next move waiting for a passenger behind him to speak up. Nobody does.
He looks at the clock, twenty more minuets have passed. He still sits there afraid to look back at all their agitated faces sweating in the afternoon heat. There is no air conditioning on this shit tip. His mood hopscotches. Biting at his lip, he moves deeper into insanity yet still the passengers tolerate this unscheduled stop. They are going to be late, he has even forgot where they were headed?
After and hour of looking at passing traffic a car pulls up in front of him. A family carrier. An elderly gentleman walks towards the bus. He mouths "do you need any help?" holding up his hands with a friendly gesture. The driver is sweating, wondering if he does really need any help. He wants to get away, he wants to turn the key and take off, be he cant. This is all beyond his control. He opens the passenger door and nods his head welcoming the old man on board.
If only the poor old man knew the situation. The poor poor man should never have stopped, should never have interfered. He realises this when its too late, he realises this at the top step of the bus, he realises this as he looks at a coach half full of decaying bludgeoned do gooders just like himself.
The old do gooder looks at the driver in horror and sheer astonishment. The driver cant look them in the eye, his passengers. He sits tight looking down at his feet ashamed, embarrassed, defeated. He slowly reaches down and draws out a blood caked hunting knife resting in the foot well. The old do gooders eyes widen, his fingers bury into his arm as his heart stops beating and starts quivering like jelly. No sound is made, not even when he falls to the floor cracking his head open against the coach steps.
The driver moves into action, the body is quickly dragged into the nearest empty seat. He dumps him next to a rotting corpse that starved to death 5 days prior. This man was a flies paradise and a maggots wet dream. The old man still twitching is tied just in case, a mistake only made once. The driver pulls out a black marker pen from his pocked and draws a number on his forehead for the records. The slumps back into his seat, starts the engine and pulls the bus back onto the road. As he passes the old mans car he sees a bemused boy playing with a cigarette lighter in the front passenger seat. He merges with the traffic heading north. The driver still sweating wishes these ungrateful passengers would shut the hell up. He begs them to be quite, and tells them they will reach their destination soon enough.
the village streets glow on
moon about to rise
but not a soul to be seen
no reason for the end of anything
drawing in the cold sea air
nearby city sirens scream out
another half filled dream
an unobtainable piece of history
silhouettes of the valley face cast shadows
rocks tumble and turn about
insects freeze and run riots
people loan money without doubt
chased sun light creeps out of my home
crossing the void that is left
turning this nothing night apart
quickening my silent beating heart
holding in my breath
like a ghost in the dark
I turn on the light.
moon about to rise
but not a soul to be seen
no reason for the end of anything
drawing in the cold sea air
nearby city sirens scream out
another half filled dream
an unobtainable piece of history
silhouettes of the valley face cast shadows
rocks tumble and turn about
insects freeze and run riots
people loan money without doubt
chased sun light creeps out of my home
crossing the void that is left
turning this nothing night apart
quickening my silent beating heart
holding in my breath
like a ghost in the dark
I turn on the light.
“A tomb of a city, a cave for a home. It’s the sickening laughter of humanity that echoes out into the stratosphere. London is dead, forever live the new order, the new world…”
Schloyts at this point drinks from a brown bottle. He gags but keeps it all down inside, making sure that this time it’s for good.
Pandemonium…
This madness is infectious, the dammed walking bare foot through the city streets, London crumpling under them. Pedestrians falling into the gutter in laughing fits, looking directly into the sun as it tips its hat, no one is safe anymore.
Lunacy can get a hold of your collar and kick you in the groin, even if your one of the few left who is not infected. I’m surrounded by people without there own thoughts, without reason, only a chemical imbalance in the brain. How can the voice of sanity be heard over the screaming of the insane? I knew at some point they would look on me as if I was the crazy one for tying to save their helpless souls.
Two days ago I woke up at 7am to find my wife clawing at her face as she tried to empty the blisters filled with sand that appeared overnight. She had taken large chunks of flesh from her cheeks and forehead, I dressed the wounds and taped mitts to her hands.
I’m woken up at 3am last night, the shards of glass left in the window frame are dripping blood. On the pavement below is my wife, there are people in the street but they are in there own worlds, some running from hell daemons others following childhood treasure trails. I don’t even bother going down to see if she may have survived, I just pull the cupboard up against the window to dampen the wild sounds of the night outside.
They will not take care of me, they will not build me a road to the other side. No one in this world is the same anymore, I’m not.
Schloyts at this point drinks from a brown bottle. He gags but keeps it all down inside, making sure that this time it’s for good.
Pandemonium…
This madness is infectious, the dammed walking bare foot through the city streets, London crumpling under them. Pedestrians falling into the gutter in laughing fits, looking directly into the sun as it tips its hat, no one is safe anymore.
Lunacy can get a hold of your collar and kick you in the groin, even if your one of the few left who is not infected. I’m surrounded by people without there own thoughts, without reason, only a chemical imbalance in the brain. How can the voice of sanity be heard over the screaming of the insane? I knew at some point they would look on me as if I was the crazy one for tying to save their helpless souls.
Two days ago I woke up at 7am to find my wife clawing at her face as she tried to empty the blisters filled with sand that appeared overnight. She had taken large chunks of flesh from her cheeks and forehead, I dressed the wounds and taped mitts to her hands.
I’m woken up at 3am last night, the shards of glass left in the window frame are dripping blood. On the pavement below is my wife, there are people in the street but they are in there own worlds, some running from hell daemons others following childhood treasure trails. I don’t even bother going down to see if she may have survived, I just pull the cupboard up against the window to dampen the wild sounds of the night outside.
They will not take care of me, they will not build me a road to the other side. No one in this world is the same anymore, I’m not.
The Get Out Girl - Sample
"Sometimes a legend is not there to be made but to be broken, you get what I mean boy?"
"Seen things that will stick with me for the whole of my life, done things that have cost me as much too. When a woman screams its hard to tell if its because of the pleasure or the pain your giving her, I don’t care as long as there screaming."
"I never met a woman who could take a right hook to the chin till I met her, she took it like fucking a heavyweight boxer. She didn’t even flinch just stood there looking at me waiting for more of what I had to give."
"That fucking beautiful whore, she can drink a pint of cum before you'd blink your false eyelashes"
I hear all these stories on the inside, men gossip like their woman they left behind. A man sits next to me on the shitter and asks me how long I got, I tell him 5 years and he sucks his teeth. Balding ugly fucker says his name is Joel but the people in her call him giggles. I don’t ask for an explanation on the name just figure less talk is more in here.
"Bit of advice son, start saving your money for her coz she nt cheap!"
Joel starts laughing, although its more like a small dog screaming in pain or the proceeding fit of a child whose ice cream falls to the floor. I figure this is why he's called giggles.
"Seen things that will stick with me for the whole of my life, done things that have cost me as much too. When a woman screams its hard to tell if its because of the pleasure or the pain your giving her, I don’t care as long as there screaming."
"I never met a woman who could take a right hook to the chin till I met her, she took it like fucking a heavyweight boxer. She didn’t even flinch just stood there looking at me waiting for more of what I had to give."
"That fucking beautiful whore, she can drink a pint of cum before you'd blink your false eyelashes"
I hear all these stories on the inside, men gossip like their woman they left behind. A man sits next to me on the shitter and asks me how long I got, I tell him 5 years and he sucks his teeth. Balding ugly fucker says his name is Joel but the people in her call him giggles. I don’t ask for an explanation on the name just figure less talk is more in here.
"Bit of advice son, start saving your money for her coz she nt cheap!"
Joel starts laughing, although its more like a small dog screaming in pain or the proceeding fit of a child whose ice cream falls to the floor. I figure this is why he's called giggles.
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