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...no one reads this anyway.
Dear pain ow agony,
God please kill me now. I did not understand pain before this moment. I ache as if all my muscles tendons and bones have each been individually ripped, stretched, and shattered respectively. There is no part of my physical existence that does not pulsate with agony at this moment. Sweet God, please let me die!
I doubt many people know what it's like to push carts in the snow... so let me give an analogy... to no one at all since no one reads this. I'm bitching, it doesn't matter. Anyway, have you ever tried to run waist deep in water? Tonight was similar... only suppose you're doing it constantly for 8 hours against a strong current and trying to go 20 miles.
Maybe that isn't vivid enough. Try this. Supposing it were logically possible, cover a steep hill with ball bearings until there is no spot uncovered. Then hose it all down thoroughly with motor oil. Now push your 20 cubic foot freezer up the hill on a handcart. If you manage to accomplish this before 8 hours has passed, repeat the process so that there is no point at which you are idle.
Add on top of these illustrations the fact that you've been working just as hard for the past 2 weeks without much more than 18 hours break at a time, so your legs are already sore and you're already quite tired. Then have some random woman b***h at you hysterically because you aren't progressing quickly enough. Keep in mind that you still have 4 more days to go at least. You don't know next week's schedule, so it could be 11 more days for all you know. If by the end of this day you are not begging God for your swift death and the slow torture of all your oppressors, I will bow to your inhuman stamina.
******** up beyond all repair/recognition, ~S~
hawflake · Thu Nov 25, 2004 @ 12:24pm · 1 Comments |
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Dear -insert witty descriptor-, Here's another poem. This one deals with my paradox. My faith insists on peace and love and being Christlike. But, my 'happy place,' where I feel comfortable and powerful in times of turmoil, is a pit of anger and mental violence more intense than pressurized magma. Poem:
Malevolence reigns inside this shell Homicide fortress, seething cell. Damage obsession screams my name. No one survives my killing game. Legions of corpses piled high. Eradication blots the sky. Malice undying shed by pride. Waiting to see my white horse ride.
I am all rage, I inside blood red. I am all rage, jailed in my head. I am all rage, I cannot control. I am all rage, I dream you dead!
Voices within beg me for peace Futile restraint to my war release. Shrouded by Lies' cacaphony Brutally saved from apathy. Love and repulsion, divisively gripped, Insipidly tryst beside my crypt. Ethically charged to kneel and pray. Unbiased malignant disarray.
I am all rage, I inside blood red. I am all rage, remorse unshed. I am all rage, I cannot control. I am all rage, I will you dead!
Massacred victims greet the dawn. Army of rot, present and gone. Consummation of wrath profuse. Monument to my sick abuse. Malevolence reigns inside my shell. Homicide fortress, seething cell. Belligerence bred, dissatisfied. Now you will see my white horse ride.
I am all rage, I inside blood red. I am all rage, affliction bled. I am all rage, I cannot control. I am all rage, I am all pain, I am all hate, I am untamed. I want you dead.
(c) ~S~ 2004
undisputedly malcontent, ~S~
hawflake · Wed Nov 24, 2004 @ 03:41pm · 0 Comments |
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Dear cell monster, Good mourning. Today ends the first day of my graveyard. I worked from 10pm until 6:30am. It kicks rocks. There are so few people... you're automatically best buds with the other 2 workers there, and I rang up maybe 20 orders all night. You'd figure that would be boring... but no. Third shifters do clean up. You find the lanes sparkling and spotless at 6am? I did it. You got more bags than you'll ever need? Thank me. You hear voices in your head? twisted join my rebel army of saneless ruffians! Anywhat, I found out that I'm getting paid more, too. Apparently there's a "night premium" so extra 50 cents an hour... Which sounds crap, but that adds up. That's calculated into the 10 hours time and a half that I'll be working Thanksgiving. And the 8 hours time and a half for overtime. That's right... I'm working 48 hours this week. Slay me sideways. eek surprised biggrin xd twisted evil scream <--transmogrified.
slyly spryly tryst by my crypt, ~S~
hawflake · Tue Nov 23, 2004 @ 12:17pm · 0 Comments |
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Dear callous inanimate cube
It has come to my attention over the past week that my soul cell is, in fact, a useless carapace. How pathetic that work and lack of sleep should cause so much pain. My blood hurts. If my body were as strong as my... intangible... nevermind. It would be even weaker...
Dear callous inanimate cube
Today I found out that every part of my being is weak, feeble, and mostly useless. It becomes always more apparent why mankind deserves death. "The weak are here to justify the strong" and there is not one who is strong individually... not one. The truth will set you free.
gratefully bled in humility, ~S~
hawflake · Thu Nov 18, 2004 @ 01:38am · 0 Comments |
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Exuberent Immodest Reposal |
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Dear Audio-Visual Device of Wonders, I am a metal god in a masterful metal machine called Sacrament. Yesterday at practice, I was given a 5 song demo from our long-awaited album. Normally, I have little self-esteem. But listening to these 5 mind- (and ear-) blowing songs, I feel like the most famous rockstar alive. The thought of sharing this with other people brings me so much joy I could race traffic on the expressway.
Who knew my band and I were so indisputably fantastic?! I have the songs in MP3 format on my computer. They aren't completely finished... one is missing a solo, and there are a few minor level problems. But if anyone wants to hear a sample, I can possibly (if you're nice and lucky) direct-send it to you on AIM. Beg me.
phenomenally spectacular with unsurpassedness, ~S~
hawflake · Sun Nov 14, 2004 @ 07:49pm · 3 Comments |
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Dear box of crap,
I would like to make an appeal for an extra Halloween. We can have a second Saint's day too, if peoples want it. But definitely Halloween. Not enough of it to go around as things are.
Working in a largely conservative arena of souls, I've heard a handful of people say how much they hate Trickytreat night, and won't decorate. I smear my proverbial feces on their doorways. How 'joyful' and 'safe' their horrible lives must be. I'd like to give them a horror film moment and show up outside thier window with a hockey mask some night nowhere near Halloween. xd See how fast the cops show up...
If I get my way, I will have a massively decorated house every year. Possibly a mini haunted house too... This year I went Trickytreating in a rich neighborhood and I saw the best house ever. Instead of a garage, there was a massive archway right through the house into a very very dark back yard. If anything had been hiding in there, there'd be wet pants all over the neighborhood. I want it.
Voraciously parenthetical in uncertified schitzophrenia, ~S~
hawflake · Fri Nov 12, 2004 @ 06:25am · 1 Comments |
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Dear lightboard of my illusionary subsistence,
I have found the essence of fear, and it is indeed that which is unknown or unfamiliar. Refer to my vast exhibitions of evidence.
Exhibit Q: Resident Evil. My introduction to the Gamecube version of this fantastic game found me faking a headache. The scares given in the horror genre collectively, never leave prolonged terror to subsume my mental imagery, but something in this game did just that. I faked a headache and had my friend turn off the tv. I had nightmares for a week. I waited a whole year and a half to buy it. True we were alone in his basement with no lights on, surroundsound operational (with subwoofer), and the volume cranked. But those alone are hardly enough to make me tense. So why was I so horrified? Because I knew the game perfectly in the PSX version. I can recite the entire game to you backwards. That is my fortification. Nothing in that version scares me because I can predict and recite everything that happens. The Gamecube version differs just beyond my powers of familiarity.
Exhibit 23: Not so much fear, but confusion. In my experience, people very very rarely like math. I am one. I've been helping out a few people on FAAFN with their homework. Every time some one comes on and says they have math homework, and I respond with exuberant pleas for participation, inevitably someone reacts with complete shock and sometimes horror. It's unfamiliar. Why would anyone ask to do math?! It's not sane!
So there you go. My plethora of evidence. 2 examples. xd Meanwhile, back at the ranch, anyone got math homework for me? I will only charge you in Gaia gold based on the difficulty of the question!
..until my face imploded, ~S~
hawflake · Thu Nov 11, 2004 @ 07:38am · 2 Comments |
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Dear non-paper documentation of my conceptual madness,
This is a poem that I am partially proud of:
Flee, ungod; unnamed angel of deceit. I end my unlife for unending life. Lower than thee? No. None. Failed usurper, unmade unmaker. Unhand my heart, unrighteous prince. Unhinder me my joy. To you I will unanswer, My soul is not your void. My God, blessed unemptiness, Undid His death for me. I am unforsaken. Uncreation is for thee.
The end. quotation of this document in whole or in part without proper documentation is a punishable offense. Copyright 2004 All rights reserved, Scott Ericson and Terror Engine, Ltd. Thank you, and goodnight.
Irrefutably, ~S~
hawflake · Thu Nov 11, 2004 @ 06:58am · 0 Comments |
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