this is where it ends

"mountain ranges, morning red bathed ridges, stab up at the trembling blue horizon, grey slides lazily off rooftops, lands on the incandescent ground, and dies. a flock of little men touch down on the thin surface of porchlight, dawn's footsoldiers return to march twighlight across our faces, the skylights ignite and explode, scattering shards of april around the room, but no one even lives here.

we're too busy crashing our cars every morning in the same house, paving the same roads, unwilling to walk them. and even when we extend ourselves, it's only to be included in a moment that stands still. so often, we don't struggle to improve conditions, we struggle for the right to say "we improved conditions." and so often we form communities only to use them as exclusionary devices. and we forget that somewhere man is beside himself with grief. we forget that somewhere people are calling for teachers, and no one is answering.

somewhere a man stands, walks across the room, and breaks his nose against the door. and somewhere these people are keeping records, writing a book. for now we can call it 'the book about the basic flaw' or 'the book about the letter a' or 'any title that a book about a man that no one cares about might have.' and as we turn the pages, we call out the sounds of a vanishing alphabet, standing here, waiting."

where the circle ends - thursday

die i am

i continued my blogging aventure because it was the holidays and i was dead bored. now school's started so i hopefully won't be that bored anymore. so this bloggie is going back to it's previous 'dead' status again.

being the fickle-minded cunt/ass/dick/person that i am, it probably wouldn't remain dead for too long, i hope.

in the meantime, go busy yourselves with other great blogs like ms. beautifuk, dr. fletcher, rockson, and of course, my favourite sex addict, the great steve.

retard patrol and museum of twits are wonderful retard hunting grounds as well. just hope you don't see your own picture in there.

have fun.