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It ain't right in my world at the moment.
Car license plates re-arrange in front of my eyes to display "who dares wins". Vengeful demons inhabit bumpers and pay me lip service, calling me names. I ignore them and they reshape themselves into humanoid figures and step away from the car to engage me in incoherent fisticuffs before being knocked out of existence by private investigators shaped like dogs, who fight amongst themselves in a private telepathic war of attrition. I am told to ignore what I have seen, and go about my day, but I can't. Oh, I can't.
Horrible things are happening, and I have no one to tell. I try to explain the devil's details that singe my cortex and they tell me that my insomnia is making me hallucinate. The slumber that has forsaken me only opened my eyes to the true torment that hides behind our world! And no one will listen...
Anti-abortionists are crucified in front of crowded orphanages by jeering legions of re-animated fetuses, all wearing crowns of mangled coat hangers. I've seen it, damn you. Seen it with these two eyes of mine, the eyes infected with icebergs, great hunks of ice that scream curses as they launch themselves like cruise missiles at hapless cruise liners. The cruise liners re-attack by arranging themselves in the secret names of cosmic beings long since lost to the awesome entropic energies that can kill even the most resilient of gods, calling upon the death juice of horrendous things beyond all comprehension. Multitudes of innocent passengers and criminal warlords are lost in these cataclysmic and unyielding struggles between ice and metal, and I am forced to behold all of the desecrations. Arsonists done up on angel dust stand outside churches, chanting esoteric grindcore lyrics in a vain attempt to light matches through the pure power of grind. I watch this while bewildering battles between sandworms and tapeworms escalate in my intestinal tract as proselytizing enzymes convert my digestive juices over to Catholicism. Slow churches build themselves into my bloodstream, evangelizing my organs and starting holy wars with my epidermis. My tongue carries on a singular jihad against unicorns while my forehead's stigmata drips whiskey so potent when I pass by winos they serenely seizure from benedictions of booze.
Toy stores sell carnivorous teddy bear assassins originally created by alcoholic alchemists to attack belligerent Nazi sorcerers. Now trapped in fur and armed with powers stolen from delusional armored ghosts who died in the first Crusades. It all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but now these creatures are unleashed upon innocent children and no one knows. Mangled bodies of young children are found in alleyways with ornate silver swastikas impounded into their foreheads and unspeakable warnings carved into them, blood trickling widely around the words, unwilling to come into contact with such profanations. The coroners who read these warnings die of brain cancer within weeks.
If I didn't know any better, I would tell you how all the art galleries in this city aren't full of people, they're full of slowly moving flesh sculptures that pretend to be uncultured bastards, when touched threaten to ship off morally ambiguous living helicopters to war-torn African countries. But I do know better, and I know none of you have seen the horrors and that inhabit this misbegotten midwestern liberal hellhole. The occult and surreal haunts me and poison my every step, burning my footprints into the sidewalk and leaving black and white photographs fluttering upward from each flicker of dancing lurid flame. The people seen in these pictures have all died from growing supernumerary bones through vital organs. I feel my own bones grinding against each other and wonder constantly what fate awaits me.
Hello, my name is Grace, and this is what I have to deal with sometimes.
- the infamous
Car license plates re-arrange in front of my eyes to display "who dares wins". Vengeful demons inhabit bumpers and pay me lip service, calling me names. I ignore them and they reshape themselves into humanoid figures and step away from the car to engage me in incoherent fisticuffs before being knocked out of existence by private investigators shaped like dogs, who fight amongst themselves in a private telepathic war of attrition. I am told to ignore what I have seen, and go about my day, but I can't. Oh, I can't.
Horrible things are happening, and I have no one to tell. I try to explain the devil's details that singe my cortex and they tell me that my insomnia is making me hallucinate. The slumber that has forsaken me only opened my eyes to the true torment that hides behind our world! And no one will listen...
Anti-abortionists are crucified in front of crowded orphanages by jeering legions of re-animated fetuses, all wearing crowns of mangled coat hangers. I've seen it, damn you. Seen it with these two eyes of mine, the eyes infected with icebergs, great hunks of ice that scream curses as they launch themselves like cruise missiles at hapless cruise liners. The cruise liners re-attack by arranging themselves in the secret names of cosmic beings long since lost to the awesome entropic energies that can kill even the most resilient of gods, calling upon the death juice of horrendous things beyond all comprehension. Multitudes of innocent passengers and criminal warlords are lost in these cataclysmic and unyielding struggles between ice and metal, and I am forced to behold all of the desecrations. Arsonists done up on angel dust stand outside churches, chanting esoteric grindcore lyrics in a vain attempt to light matches through the pure power of grind. I watch this while bewildering battles between sandworms and tapeworms escalate in my intestinal tract as proselytizing enzymes convert my digestive juices over to Catholicism. Slow churches build themselves into my bloodstream, evangelizing my organs and starting holy wars with my epidermis. My tongue carries on a singular jihad against unicorns while my forehead's stigmata drips whiskey so potent when I pass by winos they serenely seizure from benedictions of booze.
Toy stores sell carnivorous teddy bear assassins originally created by alcoholic alchemists to attack belligerent Nazi sorcerers. Now trapped in fur and armed with powers stolen from delusional armored ghosts who died in the first Crusades. It all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, but now these creatures are unleashed upon innocent children and no one knows. Mangled bodies of young children are found in alleyways with ornate silver swastikas impounded into their foreheads and unspeakable warnings carved into them, blood trickling widely around the words, unwilling to come into contact with such profanations. The coroners who read these warnings die of brain cancer within weeks.
If I didn't know any better, I would tell you how all the art galleries in this city aren't full of people, they're full of slowly moving flesh sculptures that pretend to be uncultured bastards, when touched threaten to ship off morally ambiguous living helicopters to war-torn African countries. But I do know better, and I know none of you have seen the horrors and that inhabit this misbegotten midwestern liberal hellhole. The occult and surreal haunts me and poison my every step, burning my footprints into the sidewalk and leaving black and white photographs fluttering upward from each flicker of dancing lurid flame. The people seen in these pictures have all died from growing supernumerary bones through vital organs. I feel my own bones grinding against each other and wonder constantly what fate awaits me.
Hello, my name is Grace, and this is what I have to deal with sometimes.
- the infamous
posted by CleanSlate @ 1:31 PM
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