07 November 2015

eyes wide shut = the nightmare blade

i suppose while i've got you here i can write something haute cotoure, have gotten have to get, neither on a night of misceif, i'll have the worst job if they let me, interrupted - again - yes i know where the dash is, i inventoried? make the tare to pay the loam that buy the subsidy, but the break to the menial one mights the seller if the regent would work at all, ive no right to ask you this, but will you left, looking for cooperation in the resistance, it'll take some time to purge their thoughts, that i could not take the translation if the sourcecode was indecipherable and the composite translator did not capture memories leaks, it connat be done starting with holes and ending with tools, that'more akin to eating grass, a stretch of the phy psyche, punk techno, industrial new wave, thre was the nether gate to cross the days lost and then I saw these people, not to blame this here, there, the newsie, not the activist, the vengeful anchor, we were all critics now, we will be then, to abrupt methinks of this, and that lo sighting ravaged thing, lĂ©nfant sauvage, peeking at twenty feet a ten px thru my eyelashes over a glow and a focus i could see, i saw? the cursor at the right place cursory, but not this time, taste the flesh this way, poetry of pasture to be someting ridiculed, you do not know what you did, no time without measuring and wandering looking for you, saw that perfect , thought me well in both ways, the thing unsaid things, the thing said  tu unsaid things, maychance one more, the loneliness on this without voice, i sound like cheif master when in control, then lost this is that a singing voice thereby, with to for, typing sake, i have not, say halo sing the ring it seem so like it should be it like, things necessary that the sedentary break for monastary casualty as the price to breath this tragedy is the place of being not, if de course you could, and told me i could be a king, it's the exlacl exclamantation that come thru, and i suppose i've ruined those now too, for me its thoughts, that come thru so clear, the same vernaculars, a person thinks as fast as they read, so you all think too slow in so much as then as compression, a first in a long line of thoughts i guess it could be said, yes my eyes are closed again, that only in deep thougths the long sentences can on ocassion, that can be plain mentalist guesses, get sea gold, and others plethora, analytical, bored, never so afore it, this was to clear my thoughts, and so it may again, has not it seems, and this is where they are, feel my honest i can t even, wherenever none to believe, and none to prove no one can focus, i listen to a round table of a thousand souls and the difference is , is that, that, i heard a translation the other day and i'm rethinking my entire life, for the experts, three encrypted, and their three cleartext, that is the plural of itself is itself, i have gluttony myself to pointedly,  it sorrows me the things that call themselves men, can we rightfully say "them"selves, by overlooking itself, enoughts about my mind when there are bones to save and blue fangs in the moon, carving a wolf, wolves to see into a fallen tree, the ravens are fallen totem, our tallest broken, a vmpire drinks water from a serene river called the mirror road with the palm of is own hand, the autumn mage purns a leaf by her palm of hand, the red band long strand of flicker and dither not stands to dalliant stance the qucik romance to which it lends its name, fire of sage te forces four, or five, or three, coven six and warriors three and good were half of eleventeen, into the trees themselves, as long as the instrument did not fold to carriage old the right length of channel to ben the canvas to its mend, but whispers of the beast beneath blue starlit heaven night and firght of ages dense the righteous whence the breeze, and morning apace the lightest grace of seven days, stalker of the leaves, harvester to reaves, voices in the ligtest dawn that falls upon the wasting day, and soon dismay the sight of burn-ed house that island weigh of tears let ghost, his yes began to dry in the sigound of thoughts., touched by the brightness soon the silence in the likeness of the treachury dismayed, are these devils in the mischief or just rebels here to sstay, a boy walks the wicked forest and a wolf is laid, time has no sharper blade, cravings under wonderous lands have put themn at the snd, gathers one witch one when fighting two as half are foe and half was friend, conjoined by race against the wind, double of that long the tracks where both are met by traitors'racks and fire set a fifth alapse and join they at the pagan lapse of judgement they call society, then a lap of thunder and the rain she falls asunder on the fires of leaves and the wolves of trees, a dark nest of branches surround the boy and the canopy calls into the air to call him raven, i made myself like the name but soon the book became the game, a ganger to himself and others like a misery beneath the covers of the finer things in life like tyranny and strife that i meant a life with hunters, had you a better die the higher would be numbers, that doesnt even rhyme, i know, it's scene change, and now the castle rumbles at the spot of time and stone and thunder, a voice bemoans the lessers that rakes and wanders, like a case neneath the grass that will climb the least of last, another insight in the land of others if i were to have my druthers if the line were soon asunder in the dark and dreaery common clearly lights and things of gold, that obscurity would not but send a file assurity, even brak out t their homes, i left out something, ohyes, the simpler science of the undead carving their own names in stone and the dead hunter of life taking forst steps away from the river of time, it walks three hundred paces from the river's edge to find three hundred of the cemetary citizends who forgot they should be sleeping to him signs of devils peeking if to see but how he mauls thru them into the speaking of it later or the bridge of ultimatum had he run from walk or stone, but they arebrittle to the bone and do not affront him nor confront with whome are river to the road, dead to dead, hunger to hunger, labor to labor, breaking many legs he watches them crawl to nary worse fates to such accomplications of dying nations that would burn them as they crawl thruout the oak or oat, bdoes at the bridges of the dead worls of lokis hell, and soon to tell, he makes his rounds in round to such an efferot to barricade the themselves, burning one with wine potent but to spare but of a quotient to make torch and carry flames of vine, like forest fires autumn dry some catch, others damp with swamp and writh the muster of the sight would oft of midnight lights to bring rare travvelers a speech and a blood donation to not second chance travail, the wolves are pale and surly moonrise early and death is still the flesh to smell thruout the vale, the scent allures two ravens and the wolves apparent craven to meat themselves on unholy border's flesh and bone, and one by one they fght for organ meat of the living each other tainted takeing and the unhexed dogs the giving that their pack the sooner three attackes the vampre like a tree, i was bit in the leg and the fangs were lodged, backhanding one with my own claws down slows, impatience grows, it would only be a bravery to see it fight and not remain, stepping on one and holding two only to throw at three, two trusted knives, never had they not made a sound, their blood still warm from the ground that the strength of beast resounds and i am young, and we are young lost foul treacherous witch defamed and dishonored and ill littanies of my wordsto by them mark, the taste of curse and spell of the rotting and walking with desire, soon became a bones and fire, were to would to wil to tell the fire's hell of walking hate and why did they crawl, the beasts, and another, so and still, to them ran like beasts, an d no sound, the torch rols thru the burning oil and emerges bright and into the woods a dark ride, ravens follwing hatred coloring the shadows of the cold evening and faint breeze, not a sound no sound, flames flicker and the torch rolls over itself, a burning hand burns the heart, the noise of it landing , thru the air the torn burning the roof, unto for, my own two knives into my back and i reach at my atack and throw with twist to the ground and cut out a heart, two hands burn my heart, the voices rumble tumble song of antiguado, solemnity a three see, orange, blue, red, jagged grainy crystalls of saltspin around the bruja's handi am blinded by a light un natural or unholy, a potion like bottle set afire from their burning walls takes my jaw by wave of rage conquest of power, itslef a wave to leaap a march calm faster than time to also barrel, throu to find a stoneseparate to her free hand, still afloat, three hands burn my heart and slowed am I, the wolves gnawing at the bone to find blood, the narcisistic reflection cutting the shore, what is the purpose of the carvings, i remove the blace from the heart on a pedastal and it freezes to my skin, i scream and voilently it takes the dead moisture like the queen of hell to cloister me conscrpiption were by chane my only liptian, and of fear a quickish kniptian it thaws and drops in the fell watered leaves, shards explde in my face, the warrior carves into the tree, aslip of the wrist and without blood his skin glows, by the envy the comraderie ends whence the blade is lost to the zombie cheiftess made of shade, perhaps skade, the last wolf looks at him ready to attack, the last witch looks thru the window of a burning building at him wanton to witchery things of things to come and soon undone the second crystal turns to smoke ans suffocates him, my instinct is to run when living and fight when dead and there are no thoughts in my head to discern as again the forest burns, the living watch in awesome fear that keeps them, the curious witch takes my deathblow too slowly,  and i feed on fire and veins and war, thoughts of desparatuion pure, where i was uncertain now in chaos, unable to tear at my spine with hands of tooth and claw supernatural of evil harpees, and lay to be stepped adn skull boot crushed happily after and ever, the hands three burn at my heart a torment tornadoe fomenting folly hardly drought of resistance misgivings and the tide of rage inwilling to sea or ebb controll, i am lost, the sound of my first lightning, the clouds falling thru the air for the curtain of first drink from that river, bones breaking i hear my ribs filling with the blood of my own heart that has not bet in ages in its cage of gold, the blade in hand will chosen take their work outdone by departure, i peirce the forgotton heart, the pain stops, the cauldron begons to smoke and consume flame anient thirst, the last stone lodges in my chest and begins to burn, the smile of choice and death and sexual bliss the fear was never mind and the coven magistrate, this whimpering witch of the diamon house tasted better than any have since, and broken like a twig, into the house, there is no door, the windows burn the walls clear, the fire darkness, bright skies from the ground of infinite dimensions, i remove the blade and the three witches wake and i wait to see who will be death and who will control it, that mental rage of hearts and plague gives growls and teeth like demon wolves and eyes like mine a sign to open them like sacks of wine and drink them until i get to the river