Natural Is Not Synonymous With Good.

Just because something is "Natural" does not mean it is good. Natural is sitting in a tree in the rain, naked, covered in fecal matter eating a live rat. Very natural. Very disgusting.

Of course I'm not saying that everything from "nature" is bad. Much of it is very good. Plants, fruit, air, cows, rivers ect. are very good. But just saying that something is natural does not mean that is is good for you and therefore isn't a drug and you can smoke it without feeling guilty.

Not everything "unnatural" (that is made by man, and not by nature) is bad either. Intravenous fluid transfusions are unnatural. But if they didn't exist, I would be dead when I was four years old through critical dehydration due to a sever stomach bug I contracted at that age (ask me to tell you that story sometime). Vitamin supplementations, organ donation, swiss army knives, clothing, shoes, bridges, snorkel masks, mobile phones, assisted childbirth and watches are all unnatural. And in my humble opinion, none of them are bad. Very good in fact.

I Get A Feeling

Sometimes I get this feeling.

I don't think it has a name, Its so hard to describe, but I'll do my best.

Its like the entire universe is being smooshed through my brain to a place just behind it.

And everything that ever happened or is happening and all the people and things and places and animals and events everything that exists or ever did or ever will is being pushed through my head, like honey through a flour sifter but phenomenally fast.

And I get little tiny images and sounds and things for the briefest moments in perfect detail, things like a little boy eating dog crap for a dare and a woman crying as she is lined up to be shot by Nazis and an old couple kissing on a park bench and a tree being chopped down with a red axe and a car crusher crushing a yellow volkswagen beetle and a frog exploding in a microwave oven and a drugged junkie girl scratching her arm where she inserts the needle and a policeman polishing his helmet and a gentleman asking for a dance from a woman in an emerald green ball gown and an alarm clock going off loudly and a businessman putting down his briefcase to adjust his tie and a packet of chips falling off a bench and a bored woollies worker packing shelves and a middle aged tradesman's funeral service and a girl complaining on her pink plastic mobile phone to her friend that her boyfriend is no good in bed and a family marveling at their first ever colour television and...

But there is more to it than that. Its like all the instruments in an orchestra playing at once make a totally different sound, but you can still hear the individual sounds.

Because behind all those little flecks of things happening in my head there is a running theme, like a long drawn out scream of a feeling. Its a little like nausea but really all I can think of when I feel it is horror.

Not fear that makes you want to run, but a deep set inescapable horror that makes you want to sit down and do nothing. But that is just the feeling that accompanies it. The thing itself is utterly, utterly impossible to describe.

I can feel it now. Pressed against my head like a face on a window. Breathing on my brain.

I wonder if there is anyone else who feels like this. I'd like to talk to them about it.

I'm Not Happy About That.

I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that. I'm not happy about that.

I'm not happy about that.

Thank You For Your Prejudice.

Your a hypocritical moron and you sound stupid when you growl like that. You don't sound evil, you just sound like a retard. I laughed when I first heard it.

Cry For Me And I'll Believe You

All we've bought,

Is what we've bought,

We've nothing more,

And yet, Nothing less.

What we've forgot,

Is what we've forgot,

Remembering's a chore,

But we do our best.

And now its missing and lost,

And now its all gone,

Here comes the dark frost,

And you're just a pawn.

I'd hope when you see me,

You forget who I am

That past all that debris,

I'm as lost as a lamb.

Then we'll dance,

we'll dance,

We'll trip all around.

And not touch the ground.

And it will be fun.

And not just for one.

Cast Away This Mortal Skin.

In my deepest reaches, there is a hunger.

Down inside, the sadness is held off, ever longer.

Clawing within, like a raging fire in my soul,

I'm never sated, because in me, there is a hole.

The wicked wind scours, my skin grows rough,

And something in me has had enough.

I can barely think, through all this pain,

And ethereal voices call out my name.

My limbs are heavy and my speech is course,

Never will I find my disease's source,

I will live always in this wretched, blighted form,

Never to know the tender touch so warm.

Piss Off.

I could have gone away,

But then I'd still have to see the next day.

I really miss you, I never knew you,

All you did was make me blue.

I can't stand you, you make me sick,

I really want to hit you with a brick.

You think your just so great,

But you're just a pretty face.

You little prick, you tiny moron.

Go drink a pint of molten boron.