I long for a good glass of coffee or tea at the moment. I love the warmth that goes down my throat that intertwines its self with my veins. Somehow.. it feels like like that the liquid its self makes my circulation flow much easier. Without it, like right now, I think my blood has thicken and darkened up, like mud. Constipated with melancholy, bitterness and just plain old denail, my blood refuses to supply me with the motivation, energy, and reason to go on. I wonder if it is even dark red anymore...

Excuse my mood mind... for I know you don't want to hear such thoughts right now.. not after the hard work I'm doing. I'm in a workaholic trance right now... coffee is my late night fuck buddy helping me numb that tired stress that beckons my body every now and then. He whispers a lullaby that puts me into a sleep of awareness.. because my dreams seem more tangible right now. I know for a fact that this tiredness is something I am experiencing in dreams. I expierenc falling, floating, the searching, , the sensations, the beautiful, the supernatural, the real surrealism in my wake.

--------

Other than that... WHY DO I HAVE COMPETIONS 3 WEEKS IN A ROW?!


Got P O R N? :<>

 am however working on this .. or... whatever I or you wish to call it. I've only shown it to a couple of people.. and since it is somewhat historical... I'll have to do some research... well alot. >,>

I did the prelude in December... procrastinated.. and I did a bit of a bit of a bit 2 days ago.. I don't like my writers mood ( especially listening to boris-red or something)

Man was equipped with free will, and shall do as he pleases , when
he pleases. Some think about the consequences , while other simply
don’t care. Having no consideration for the people or things they
affect. Whether it’s stealing money from an old woman, or having death
paint your hands red. Some of them are unlucky, and pay with their
lives that end suddenly. Or they end it their self, no longer being
able to cope with the guilt that lingers in their confused soul.
However, there those who seek impunity, with all the short cuts and in
the least harmful way. Of course that will never happen. Every action
has it’s own reaction. Whether it’s the fate of being on your knees to
the guillotine, or looking at the crowd below as you hand from your
neck, gasping for breath, your punishment shall find you. Somehow
though, fate has it’s own set of desire for these fortunate people.These
seven men who sit at a cherry wood table have an intervention. Changing
their fate, before they are soon to be thrown into judgment. All they
must do is confess their sins. Silently they sit there as their eyes
are narrowed in wither frustration, embarrassment, or pure distorted
amusement. Compulsive liars fabricating their appearance , holding
their faces stoic , not even blinking. Red as rage its self, their eyes
were blood shot, revealing the insanity that is partially hidden.One
calm figure has his legs crossed, standing still as if a soul was
absent within him. Only a smile decorated his face. His inner thoughts
affecting him physically.Across the seven men , was a tall
spiraling stair case that was dull made out of some matter, pleasantly
not metal. There a cloaked figure sat on a high chair with baroque
designs. It was also cherry wood, like the table the men surrounded.
His cloak was transparent, revealing the universe and all that was in
it, flashing images or scenery one moment, and a scene of a obscure
event the next, over and over again. All is transparent but his profile
hidden by a mask that expresses all.Like a silence that proceeds
before a execution it slowly dragged its self out slowly, like time
it’s self was drowsy, poisoned by their toxic state of being.
 
this was december
------
this was 2 days ago

The silence had remained in that unknown place for quite sometime, extending it’s self unnecessarily long.  Could it be that the silence had some sort of physical form as a matter? An unknown paraphernalia? A black or white occurrence?  Silence may be the most beautiful thing ..calming your anxieties, helping you to organize the cacophony  that lingers in your mind until you find a sensible melody and harmony. But also silence may be the most maddening “ something:“ that that has ever shown it’s self  to human ears. It’s nothing. A blank sound. Can one describe this sound? This ear shuddering silence makes one think and when there is nothing to think about, what is there to think about? “ Nothing” is hard to describe, define or even imagine. Just like infinity, nothingness is something that can only be described by one and one alone. So many theories, so many thoughts so much… “ nothing” is what drives the unactive to insanity. Would a “nothing” color be white?  Impossible! White is an existant color. Black as well.

Finally a man speaks up ,unable to take that horrible shrill of silence any longer. A horsemen was he, and he clears his throat  to speak up. Only the closest of listeners would have caught such a small noise. It was barely audible. From the looks of it, it looks like he got himself into quite a mess. Dirt on his face told the story. His powdered wig half  way on and torn and no longer considered a pure white.  The frock coat he wore was majestic blue with golden embroidery stained with red. How beautifully it shimmered with such contrasting colors. However, the red was not blood. For blood smelt too bitter and nauseating. Just as it is when one looses too much blood.  No, it had a sweet aroma that manifested life. Something that manifested purity. It almost smelt like strawberries. Red and bold just as his blood shot eyes were.

How strange was it that his voice made no echo in the endless room. Once his words emitted from his lips, his chapped lips moved and bled.  His voice so weak and feeble told a tale. Stranger than fact, more believable than fiction.



~~~


In the middle of a vast plain he owned a farm. Growing in bundles many times he produced wheat, barley and strawberries. Of corse he didn’t grow them on his own. His slaves assisted him. Yet he did not wish to declare them such a belittling name. For he was a man who thought with logic, knowing is he did thr slightest thing to upset them .he would have his lifeless head  rolling across the ground, eyes rolled up and wide in shock, and body limp, missing a crown. booty desu.... wtiters bloock


Lazzy writer can’t do no moar nao.

~*** I plan to add the horseman’s description… a better one. so people ( especially I ) can know what he’ll look like.

I'll fix typos and crap too. so leave me aloone.

wow...
I haven't updated my livejournal in months..
I really need to learn to update this thing moar. >m>