!OHNOTHEROBOT!
it is early. my friend is sending me a video by Mastodon via the hatemachine (computer). so i cannot sleep yet. not until i get this metal through my skull... which will probably get me so pumped I won't be able to sleep.
vicious cycle? or the workings of the hatemachine? it transmits beauty, ignorance, friendship, and knowledge to the deep recesses of this muscle in my head. all the words we type are poetic. all the words we speak are phonetic. do you sometimes read into the symantics of your own writing and surprise yourself? do you hate yourself for it? i've analyzed symantics. fantasized schematics. it's what you need if you write or read (or even think about it!)
reason and sensibility fall asleep well before my strange inner workings do. it's 4:00 am, and this is when i type the letters that come together in the strangest fashion. it's a subconscious da vinci code. i'm the explorer searching for lost clues. somewhere in these ones and zeros. tomorrow i'll make fun of myself for this.
now i'll type randomly about my user picture:
was that him in the slick grey pants? did he steal your heart with his icepick glance? they've all been held in his textbook hands. is he under your skin with a bullet-proof vest? did he tunnel behind the designs on your chest? there's a place in his heart for the weak and the rest.
the discern in his eye is a mask with no breathing apparatus. and the nostrils lead to nowhere.
his clutch is the last ounce in bottled-up dreams, and trapped under his arm?
his balloon self-esteem.
thank you.
it is early. my friend is sending me a video by Mastodon via the hatemachine (computer). so i cannot sleep yet. not until i get this metal through my skull... which will probably get me so pumped I won't be able to sleep.
vicious cycle? or the workings of the hatemachine? it transmits beauty, ignorance, friendship, and knowledge to the deep recesses of this muscle in my head. all the words we type are poetic. all the words we speak are phonetic. do you sometimes read into the symantics of your own writing and surprise yourself? do you hate yourself for it? i've analyzed symantics. fantasized schematics. it's what you need if you write or read (or even think about it!)
reason and sensibility fall asleep well before my strange inner workings do. it's 4:00 am, and this is when i type the letters that come together in the strangest fashion. it's a subconscious da vinci code. i'm the explorer searching for lost clues. somewhere in these ones and zeros. tomorrow i'll make fun of myself for this.
now i'll type randomly about my user picture:
was that him in the slick grey pants? did he steal your heart with his icepick glance? they've all been held in his textbook hands. is he under your skin with a bullet-proof vest? did he tunnel behind the designs on your chest? there's a place in his heart for the weak and the rest.
the discern in his eye is a mask with no breathing apparatus. and the nostrils lead to nowhere.
his clutch is the last ounce in bottled-up dreams, and trapped under his arm?
his balloon self-esteem.
thank you.