Toast tower crumbed? It turned to crumbs? Who died. How did this happen? I thought you were feeling ok.
It is all true. The crumbs are shaped like hands and feet. Several casualies. The body was in a black bag and carried on a stretcher surrounded by onlookers. I'm lucky it wasn't me today, but the signs are there.
Just go down beneath the slabs and have a laugh. You will feel better. If it's your time, you must go. Until then, have some potato salad or some orange soda. Please do enjoy the clouds.
Oh shit, I thought that only happened in Black Metal music.
I guess this victim is toast now.
I am coming onto your cute head. If there is darkness, it has animals in it. It has goats and fanged ones.
The puffs are healing, yes. The super removed the window, now dented, now out of sight. The glass promotes bleeding. Blood is clean, more or less without disease and malaria. The pestilence is becoming to the complexion if one is in want of a blushing fevered presence.
crumbed toast is fodder for broken heatrs, an ideal state in an artistic pool. It is the sand. I am the pearl.
I have a broken heart MM. Where have you been--I have been waiting down below, so to speak.
I am so down with down under the slabs. I am restless.
I am sorry to hear about the toast tower.
I am coming down soon, in a minute, I will for a spell delight myself in the area below. I have a fiery heart.
Pointed and robust are the clouds. Clean fuzzy edges to portray the moods you are in. What are they?
I have a complexion worth addressing with tongues and sand. I love you!!!
I am coming back, no worrying, my fair friend. I am re-emerging in a shinier state. Better than last time. Crumbs are temporary.
I need to speak to an oracle. I need to know what to do about this overload on my brain. Any suggestions anyone? Ham Paw? MM?
A cool bath of ginger ale is advisable, krixfort. Mountain man, death is inevitable. Look upon it in the knowledge that you will be it and it was you.
The brain is temporary as is the pleasure principles of the considerable exposures to the realities. Sushi, table salt, phone messages, highlighters. These are distractions from the self and the turmoil of identifications. Krixfort, your efforts are accumulations. Clean the body.
This bag with body good luck.Dark bag reflect much sun. Your window is now open like heart.Your air get clean.Your tower can remake.Blood beautiful, many good.Pink clouds with fine fiery edges are most better; look careful, Mountain, be open.
Wow Mountain Man,I haven't been around for a while and things seem a little dark for you now, but I must agree with Sushi, these seem like good omens. A breaking open of things, a passing by of Death, what more could you ask for? Reminders of our mortality and the fragility of all things bring us closer to others and ourselves. Be strong and love.
Okay..what is goin' on here--I'm so confused.
I will try. The breaking of the window is an opening of the flower. I myself opened several flowers in high school.
MM cannot die until he comes down below.
what is below? Hellish firey tempests, the anguish of lost souls and wretched sinners?
you do not want to know what is down below.
There are no labels for what is down there. It is asexual; there is no vomit. No one can determine it. I am not afraid of dying, it is so full right now that I feel great. I want to give away pieces. Scrumptious bits and toes and fingertips.
There is no hell, no S & M, only fun.
I do, and I'll tellyou why.1. I have an excellent member. 2. It is shaped to please.3. There is safety in numbers4. Control is unusual and has it's own numeric qualities.
gross. Please don't come down.
Jillian, anyone who wants to come down can come down. That's what's so special about beneath-the-slabs. We are practicing for better times. We are not hiding.
Today my legs feel like they are made of shredded wheat. I am angry at everyone for no reason. My legs are crunchy and wispy. Bland-tasting.
I love this blog! It is so ridiculous.
I was trying to protect you from badness. You don't care I see. you eat it.
I'm sorry Jillian, you fragile little pooper. Chick Fil A seemed ok to me. I like lists. Almost as much as poems.You are a fern.
all you are saying to me is that I am willowy and fresh smelling. Thanks for the compliment. I am sure the same can't be said for you. You are moldy. crusty. you are sour.
jillian, refresh thyself with carbonic methodicus.
I am overpowered by the slabs...they are crushing me now..OW!
Jillian I was trying to be nice to you before. But guess what? I hate you. And your stupid name. You sound like a cheerleader with below-average intelligence (no offense to cheerleaders). I suggest you go back to grade school. You are making me cry like onions.
hey, i am getting used to the artistic thoughts vernacular. it is very interesting and worthy of volumes of literary theory.
Am I in Hell or Pergatory? Or, maybe Walmart's warehouse? or is it Mountain Man's Whorehouse?? So confused.
whatever you have to say to feel good about yourself..
I think you are between the unfurling properties and the unruly blamelessness. It is a moment. When your looks are gone you will understand it better.
Jillian what are you talking about? You sound like you are truly the most ineffectual boredom house. Please try to weighten yourself.
Hi Crux. You are fun-improving. Good terms. Good thinking.
I am no longer so angry. Just very foolish, very misbelieving. I know I am loved by my inhabitants. I forgive them and they adore my fertile crescents.
Where is my Bucket? Come back you cutie!
I have a problem. I am feeling hatred of everything. I can't stop it, it's coming in waves. Luckily I am not seeing anyone right now. Why so much hate? I am no good.
Yip, I can relate to this. Easy does it. It's not worth your cellular networks to force them into hatred shapes. Let them lead you around in new ways.
Seething is not good for your stomach.
me too yip. I am filled with self loathing. The mouth of hell is opened to me. The vaginal gaping has begun.
My girl complains about vaginal gaping--I thought it was my fault.
Big opening not so lucky like bunch-up. More good sun in bunch. Less roomy, more happy sun.Best under slabs of open luck. Outside city.
I hate open. I hate lunch and slabs and hurting girls. Poison gaping vortexes.
Lunch no good, breakfast much luck.Hurt girl, Mountain, girl like. Beth bad luck. Other girl open in mind, bunched inside.
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A blog about the New York artworld, body modification, mythical beasts, getting high, and wanting to die.