I am not missing, I am over and under like your rope friend. I stay close, I cleave to you, even if you do not realize it. You miss me because I help you so.
Remember you are a sheep, Bleet. Remember you are blind and unfeeling even if you are not. Precious Moments is where you should head.
Head over to me, there are wide-eyed miscreants, soft and guilty.
... and ready for the bashing!
This doll looks like a boy-doll, but the bun is confusing. Gender confusion is upsetting Sloth. My sister... my brother... my sister... my, uh, brother.
please take me out. I need crushing. I need pressing. my suit is crusted. I am wheaty.
He is boy, Sloth, but I understand your nerves regression. He is distant boy cousin, not brother. He is zombie-esque. Ham. If you need him to he will top over bottom come over to crush you. Just give me the word.
I do believe this bun is a sad form of winter cap.
I am interested in a sardine can style tune up. There is rot in the pant. I carry many packages so to speak. There is one pant that is clean and the other is not, this is likened to my brain child. That is, the third nipple, the dead person attatched inside my organ. There is only hair and tissue. It is absorbing extra food for the rest and will not let go anymore, to anyone.
Do you have a dead twin too? My dead twin died in my mother's womb. She says I killed him, that's the kind of man I am. I believe her.
I know this fixer. The fixer is missing, he is hiding.
Horrible twin facts: there is a kind of "monster twin" that is a giant headless twin that feeds off of the other twin in the womb. There is also a phenomenon where one twin grows out of the roof of the mouth of the other twin. No joke.
How come no one can see me? I am here amongst you but sadly not visible. I am mute.
Cut out the offending tissue, Hammy. It will hurt and bleed, but when it heals you will feel better.
Oh Sloth. I have heard of these kinds of things. Disgusting and scary. The twins, the teeth, the sick tissue, it can all grow without meaning to.
Nature is freaky. All we can do is try to equal nature in the freakyness.
The twin is feeding non stop. It is red kinky haired and GREEDY! I can not cut it. The tissue is THICK AND TOUGH. It is the mean sibling. IT IS DEVOURING MY INTESTINES! I must follow orders!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ham, this is quite an emergency. I have dull scissors, I will come over at once to bash this sick shit. Sloth. You must join me. Perhaps Wandee too. Let us cut cut cut.
We must fetch PD with the Turbo Slicer. At once!
MM, you could bring the magic knife, the white one.
Yes the xtra ultra uber sharp mega mega knife of white to cut. I am ready for surgeries.
Ham who is this red kinky haired menace? Is she related to the cocktail sauces?
This fixer is fading from view. He worked in the carpentry realms with saws and is now missing. He burns bright under the earth in the fires. I miss.
I cannot decide if I still have relevance. The circumstances of reality propel me away from the monoliths of ecstatic oneness. I urge away. I enmesh in the tasks of urgent now. I fear I am not needed, I fear I am loneliness.
That is sad. The crookedness of the fixings was appealing.
Maybe you don't require assistance. Maybe you perceive I don't require assistance either. Maybe your hands are preoccupied with playing and caring and careening. I will see you another time.
please stay, fixer! fix our broken-toyness.
That is a soap opera of strangeness in our midst. Who are they and what do they represent? All I can think of are cookies. Sloth. What is your favorite type of cookie.
I will not recede from view, I just doubt my qualities in relation to utility. I want to stay, to fix, to reinforce, I want to. I want to urge and enhance. I require cartons of chocolate milk to stay.
The sweetest, sweetest cookie possible, MM. With honey and nectar and sugar and marshmallow fluff and big eyes.
I am in love with a fictional TV character. i am ashamed.
Yes eyes on cookies are a good idea. Large googlers. Edible googlers.
Anonymous. Is it Buffy?
No. It is House.
Please tell more.
House fixes brokenness, but he is like a broken toy, too.
I am in love with a house too.
I dream about him at night. I know he is pretend, but the brokenness makes me love him.
House sounds lovely.
House is not a house but house, a broken toy?
I am talking about House, M.D., not a house that you live in, silly anonymous!
House sounds like someone I can imagine in real life.
He appears on Tuesdays at 9 pm on Fox. And I love him. I think about healing him with kisses of fixing.
This sounds like a good thing to love. Does house have wide eyes?
You need to bring him to your prom.
I am ashamed because I am in love with a TV character, but am in a nice, actual and real relationship. What does this mean?
That you have longings that can only be satisfied in imaginary worlds. This is not in conflict with the real.
House is angry and hurt, and also a genius. He is sarcastic and mean. Hurt me, Housie!
Housie sounds intense. Sounds like a keeper. Keep watching and longing for house without concern. You are safely in the real and cannot be blown to bits in the ether.
Call a carpenter to fix that House, anonymous.
I am confused.
I am confused too. I am trying to go with the flow as they say. I feel that House is a message from Jesus. I am frightened.
Mountain Man, your advice is so welcome and gentle. Thank you. I no longer feel ashamed.
No, House is an atheist. This is part of his perfection.
You should never be ashamed, anonymous. House is a unique phenomenon. Even if no one understands House is worth loving. Even if House is from Jesus.
He has a huge closed-off, pain-wracked heart that cries and makes me cry.
I am sorry. I am sketchily oversensitive to the spiritual/religious realm. Please forgive.
House sounds truly compelling in the best way. I love to cry and make cry. It is lovely.
So I should just feel the longing and allow it to happen?
Yes that is my feeling, anonymous. Feeling is better than no feeling, even if it is a hurtful House-wanting feeling. The bubbles of need are propellant for makers and fixers. They push and make urgencies where before there were none.
Anonymous, maybe your feelings for House can tell you something about you and your inner workings.
Like, that you are drawn to brokenness?
I guess so, Sloth. It is such a deep feeling, more than a crush-feeling, more like an obsessive-love feeling. It must touch something raw.
Broken houses can be lovelier than fixed ones. Broken is ok. Fixed is a state to aspire to but accepting its unattainability is fun-making. Maybe.
Desire is a powerful and stirring force. Allow yourself to be stirred.
Anonymous, you are a sweet cookie.
Anonymous, it does not pay to become involved in a rescue-job relationship. If your real relationship is healthy, you can fantasize about the rescue job, but believe me, it is a tough row to hoe.
Mountain Man, you are so smart it is scary.
Nardlet has a point. Rescuing and fixing an hoeing in another garden can lead to dissatisfaction and distraction. You must know what you are after. A state of longing or a complete re-shuffling. Whose lawn are you wishing to mow?
Anonymous I don't know if I am smart, I am weedy to be sure. Weedy like a snowball. You seem like a lost soul. You need warmth and pats.
I think I can be happy in my own lawn Mountain Man.
That is lovely.
thank you for the warmth and pats, everyone. I will go now.
I'm not just for breakfast anymore!
Shit. I spilled. What to do.
Spillage, I wouldn't worry about it. Just call Mr. Brawny. Where has Hammy-Hammy Paw-Paw gotten to? Sloth misses.
you are a superstar and a stalker's dream. your fixed glance along with only your head should be mounted in the altar of precious moments. the rest of your parts should be spread around the world as miraculous relics of an androgynous saint. the rexif is 666 spelled backwards.
The rexif is natas in the form of one singular solitary human being. Live is not bad. I like your blog is something I want to tell you.
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A blog about the New York artworld, body modification, mythical beasts, getting high, and wanting to die.