135 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
135 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Chinese Water Torture
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I thought about her again today. Once more, my mind touched upon the hole
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where my heart should be, and once more it remembered her... And yet, what
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is to be remembered? There was nothing between us to recall, not even
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anything intangible to carry with me. I carry with me the loose ends of
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many ropes that I started but hadn't the courage to continue with, once
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they bade that they leave my person and pervade to another. Some day, those
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ropes will be my noose.
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And then I remembered her again a little later. There's not much to
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remember; just her face, sublime in its demure honesty...but that is All.
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It never lasts for more than a few moments. To perpetuate the reverie past
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that point is to leave the valves open too long, and draughts of bitter ash
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inundate the senses and leave them in a burning coagulation, the pain of
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which surpasses the hollowness of a blank mind. The heart is an insatiable
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sponge and vacuum, but the mind may still hold thoughts with which to
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entertain and occupy itself. Thoughts of resurrection, of retribution, of
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life, of hope...and again the valves open and again must be closed.
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Once more, her countenance struck across my fancy. It happens with such an
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insidious acceleration now, as though an inexorable drop of water. As my
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throat burns for repose from the drought, another and another drop yet hit.
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Cruel, cold, impalpable drops of among the most tenuous and unsatisfying
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waters on earth: those of desperation and an inhibited longing. Those of
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the pallor that I see in a cadaverous caricature of a world, and yet I
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continue on in hopes that she will seek me out.
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Drip. And perhaps it should be wisest, all things considered and well
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counseled, that I move on and look for another. But as I walk among other
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possibilities, I can't find what I seek. A bovine mind can hardly be
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countered effectively by a size C and tight jeans. I don't want sex; I want
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life, and a companion to share it with - and yet I act as though I would
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stand a chance at any of the three!
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Drip. No, nothing capricious will do. Intimacy. A soulmate. A reason to
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revel in victory and slump in defeat. A reason to feel. To feel all of the
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things that I no longer feel with authenticity. A reason to Live. And yet,
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instead i sit, perched helplessly upon the most desolate chair I could have
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picked, writing with the most desolate words I could have used, and acting
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in holistic futility in attempting to tie up my mind long enough not to
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remember that I have nothing to remember.
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Drip. When none understand you, and none truly care about the things
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you're most passionate about, you needn't find anyone's condescension to
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feel deprecated. Oh, but far be it! For here I stand, and even the
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slightest breeze now makes me stagger like gale-force. So why, then, do I
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still find solace in the sunset? In the crispness of brisk fall air? In the
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magnificent and impermeable splendor of nature?
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Drip. After all, these things cannot be carried with me. They are no
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spoils of any journey, and they leave as fast as they come, much like Drip.
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her. Little more than a quick inhale of her perfection, and then the sun
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finished setting and she was gone. Does the sun rise again, though belated?
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Perhaps it, too, wished for a break. It is inconceivable that fatigue would
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not befall and permeate the Atlas of Radiance. Helios, too, may need his
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sleep.
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Drip. But I am more cognizant than I let on. Nature is truly immortal.
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Humanity may pollute, it may rape, pillage, plunder...but withal, nature
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will be there. As I write, yet another plant is creeping up and bursting
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through our mighty asphalt and concrete sculptures of austerity and
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sterility. Yet another FuckYou stems out from under our artificial earth. I
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dare you to defy it, I DARE YOU!!!
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Drip. Nature is our by far our elder, and in fact our very derivation. We
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could not conquer it if we tried. Extinctions can occur each day, and still
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it continues on. Some day, it shall all topple and so shall we. I scoff at
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the feeble assertion that we are masters of nature; to disrupt, repress,
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and destroy something is not to hold mastery over it, and neither should
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this be mistaken for what it is. It is simply more patient.
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Drip. We may use it and force its might and grandeur to defer to our
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designs, but at our end, it will be its maggots and molds and fungi that
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reap the benefits of our decay. All of our concrete phalluses will one day
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sink into the earth and we shall be but a scar in mundane memory.
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Drip. I often ponder what I so indolently seek, when I have nothing and
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foresee less, still. I have learned, through lessons spanning years, that
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the only falling into place in life is when you ultimately lose your
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footing and fall into the desolate convolutions of the Black Widow's web. I
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stare upon her red hourglass underside now, watching as each grain of sand
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settles to the bottom, one.
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Drip. by one in tandem. I should not have believed, in prior naivete, that
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so much sand could move so fast, nor that such velocity could have a
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nightmarish, narcotic effect upon my very soul. But still, I hear the
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incessant swishing of the sand through the glass, and still I do nothing to
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stop it. It doesn't stop, no matter how much I miss.
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Drip. it. It simply continues away, remorselessly, perhaps even
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unknowingly. And I remain, and likely shall for years after the last grain
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falls, and the hourglass is inverted to prepare for the next fool. That
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shall be my true test of time.
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Drip. When the remainder of my existence is nothing more than finishing the
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trek down the back of the hill. When every face Drip. is just another gray
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orb, and every intricacy and meaning is lost upon my very mind...gone.
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Drip. forever; and me just seeking
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Drip. deliverance
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Drip. by the hands
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Drip. of death.
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-agrajag http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Club/1610/Dep.html
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