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(no subject) [Sep. 25th, 2008|12:39 am]
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immemory [May. 14th, 2008|12:02 am]

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(no subject) [May. 12th, 2008|12:31 pm]

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back [May. 12th, 2008|11:47 am]
i'm back here; for a good while.

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(no subject) [Feb. 12th, 2008|06:14 pm]
Yeah, and every time I come back into this world, it's much scarier here. Don't you feel different? because you seem different lately.
(Dennis Cooper, Period. p. 40)

Well, he says I'm him. That I'm a reflection of him. He says where he lives, strange things go on a the time. Magic things, evil things. I guess I'm starting to believe what he says. Because he;s so confident, and I;m always confused.
(Dennis Cooper, Period. p. 41)

That's what I mean. you;re all so different. It's getting harder to believe in this world anymore. I want to be somewhere else. Like in there, where it's simple. Where it's dark.

(Dennis Cooper, Period. p. 42)
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(no subject) [Feb. 12th, 2008|06:13 pm]
"In the Chronicle of the North, men act in silence. They make war, they conclude peace, but they themselves never say, nor does the chronicle add, why they make war, for what reason they make peace; in the city on the court of the prince, there is nothing to be heard, all is silent, all sit behind closed doors, and deliberate for themselves; the doors open, the men come out onto the scene, they perform some action, but they act in silence."

Soloviev, History of Russia From the Most Ancient Times.
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(no subject) [Dec. 19th, 2007|10:24 am]
i am not here. we move slower. it doesn't hurt yet.
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(no subject) [Dec. 19th, 2007|10:15 am]
[Current Location |miami, fl]
[music |dead people's things]




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(no subject) [Oct. 21st, 2007|10:27 pm]
we were in a grain silo, a cyberpunk art fair ; artworks hovering, some kind of futuristic circus, as usual.
intermittent shots of children, ten or twelve years old, sleeping on bunk beds; babies in a nursery, laid out side by side on wide steps on either side of a rift in the middle. it reminds me of bowling.
every hour, on the strike of the clock,
a child disappears
and an infant, rolling over in its sleep,
falls down the gash, silently. one by one, absorbed by the depth.
people at the art fair.
infants falling. perspective from below : narrow, angled, labyrinthine souterrain tunnel, the infants propelled to their deaths, sent crashing, smashing against the walls, floor and ceiling nuch like a marble in a pinball machine.
there are no sounds
blood everywhere.

i wake in terror.
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(no subject) [Oct. 21st, 2007|10:23 pm]
[Current Location |roadside]
[mood |stalking]
[music |picnic]

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