Mitch

[size=1] If you want to lose weight just do what I did. Starve yourself for the first few weeks, excercise daily, and eat as little as you can forever. Oh wait, this is almost like the Atkin's diet. Anyways, if someone wants to lose weight, all it requires is a lifestyle change--more excercise, less concentrated foods, more veggies, more nutrutional crap. You get the idea. Dieting is going to hurt you either way, really. It gets obsessive, trust me. When I feel very full I usually feel like puking, and I usually starve myself for that day mostly. I even feel like I want to give into the urge to puke. I've been eating more lately though lol. So that's good I suppose.[/size]

The darkness is all around. It envelops like a closing fist. His eyes are closed tightly, coiled on his head in thick concetration. [i]Mosquitoes come, suck your blood[/i] whispers like love. [i]Mosquitoes come suck your blood[/i] He is a murderer. His leather seats dash his car like a cozy sofa. The dashboard is litten up in a neon fizz. And he is a murderer. He sits with his head going nowhere, his thoughts reoccuring to flashes and sparks, all litten up but just there, like his dashboard. Like his entire life. Inside his mind the metal messenger of death is ringing. And he picks it up. A little clang and a little clatter. [i]Hello[/i]... Little deathbirds whisper in his head, the hollowed-out skulls of memories. In his mind he can see the messenger of death in his hands, he can see himself speaking to it, telling it all he wants. All he loves. All he hates. And the messenger smiles, he can see it as he hears it. A small uplift of small cheeks, a big grin, a qauvering grin, like a beating heart. In his mind he can see the wound seeping into him, like acid poison, like crumbling, skipping stairs, falling one by one in an endless depth. He can see it taint and bleed and spasm and kill. He can taste the smell of gunpowdered wishes, like snow falling endlessly and helplessly and scentlessly in its dead, flittering white. He can see white covering him, like a coat, and blackness right on his eyes, his beady, empty eyes. He can feel splattering, mangling wishes and dreams and brainmatter strewn about, a murderer's art, a picture only blood could paint and blood could finger. [i]Bang[/i] He can hear the bang in his mind. He can hear little voices, a small choir of whores, telling him to stop, to end, to resist, to cease. To not give up. The whores were empty hearts, red bloodholes in his mind, faded kisses that nourished nothing, only cold skin. They were white as paper, thin as ribs. Little bases that gave his face a head. Little cements that glooped in an endless loop, so frantically, so quickly. And they were all drying, all melting, and all tears as they stood around and moped and sulked by a now filled piece of Earth. By a murder's rug, and his stone home. The hate that rises through the pavements. The little cats that are as feline as love. The little slips of paper of a torn up test grade, buried forever in a trash can. A bottle of soda smeared with fingerprints, small, tedious fingerprints. A little boy with a little heart and a little life doing handstands in the rain, his hands wet with enthusiasm. A bigger boy, tall as the moon, short as the ground. But gravity always wins. [i]But gravity always wins...[/i] Between his eyes I see his brain, a silent tape in the open breeze. Spinning like a pinball in a machine fed too many quarters and too little love. Spinning like a twirling, spasming girl kissing and wooing with endless amority. I see a tape unraveling like a red carpet on a short stair that ends as soon as it begins. I see a tape playing with its sound dying, its wheels overused, overknown, overneeded. I hear a man in the classroom singing, "Lalalalalala listen to yourself, go on and on as if you spoke to someone else." I see flashes, endless lightbulbs burning out and preparing to be dead and gone forever and ever. I see metal in the cold night, dancing on his closed eyes, dancing with his brain in a slow dance that never ends only when it stops. He thinks of all the people in life. He looks at them like knives, too sharp and growing too dull, one day to be broken forever. Tears touch his mind like a lost ocean, but he pushes them back, he pushes them back in a wave of water, a wave that will cover everything in its hands. He grabs the messenger of death for real this time. He winces in anguish, in some last plea, in some last wish, some last dream, some last could have been. He pauses for a moment longer, like a sloth, slowly, coldly. Movies are playing in his head, movies just as powerful and moving as any other. Memories face him and touch him and grasp him like an old man too dead to know what he's doing. And then he puts the metal messenger to his head. He places his finger over the trigger like a teacher first grabbing chalk, first teaching. His finger lays on the little slab of the trigger, uncertain and capable of its potentials. Uncertain and capable potentials that will kill other uncertain and capable potentials. Like a sigh that turns to a scream, bloodcurdling and cold as hell. With a twitch of his brain his muscles move the trigger back forcefully with his finger. Little shadows dance and recede. Little memories breathe one last breath then cough and die. Hands move and wiggle for the last time. A face moves and licks and breathes for the last moments and fades to just another rag doll, just another doll that was stuffed and nothing and dead. [i]Bang[/i] The bang is sudden. Sudden like a wrenching, decayed ghost appearing and showing its face. The red is all over the car, the bullet a cannibal to its own end. The murderer a murderer to his own end. The blood is all over; it is all over his face, all over his hands, all over the ground. A spaghetti of brain matter paints the leather seats, brain matter that once was. That once had a being. That once danced like a neon sign. He squirms for a while longer. Then there is nothing. Nothing but a lone car in a lone road with its litten dashboard, just sitting. A few days later, snow fell, a confetti parade for the devil. A purgatorial white that scattered and clawed in a gnawing cold, cutting the air with a dead breeze. It fell like one last sneeze, showering the world in the white of bone, in the purging color of white. The snow ate at us all, chewing and munching on us. All of us food that hasn't died. All of us paralyzed.

[size=1] There is right and wrong without god...there is something without God. This is what I say. It's fine Justin; you are merely stating your opinion. I don't find it gets too much into me. You don't sound like a preacher or sermoner, but more like a lover's lover. My views on God should be well known by now. I label myself as an apatheist--I do not care if there is not a God, and I don't care if there is a God. Either way I will not worship He Who Shall Not Be Named, and either way I shall hope that in the end, when I die, that I am left to the beauty of nothing, and I will not have to think or be anything any longer but a memory. As I've said, I don't want heaven. I see it as a prison, as holy as it might be. I feel blasphemous to God. I feel that I wouldn't like him. Eh...this is all beside the point of this thread. We've already gone and done through this, Justin, heh. I actually would rather there not be organized religion. Community has never, ever appealed to me. I believe religion is a very personal matter, and as such, it should not be ingrained into society's ribs, allowing and holding its heart to beat. I rather think one should worship whatsoever they want to on their own rather than religion be such a big matter as it seems to be. Ah well. Back on topic. As technology prevails, it will be pretty possible to become as female-looking or as male-looking as you want, no matter the barriers. Are you prepared for this day? A day when surgeons can fully tranform a molded male or female, with fully functional sexual parts, a fully functional voice. I'd see that in the future...there shall even be things that goes as far as to tinkering with one's mind, and making it more like a male's or more like a female's. Even ways to alter the body to naturally force the body to supply its own ways of making more estrogen than is needed or more testosterone--thereby making a male more feminine, or a female more masculine. Trying to get back on topic lol.[/size]

dimes and quarters and cents and dimes and quarters and cents and dimes paper tongues lullied to their own sleep sticking on their salivated gains dimes, quarters, cents, dimes, quarters cents, dimes, quarters, cents. your sinner, your bad, your good post-apocalyptic kisses in the horny rain. the clattering of metal and change. and a nickel for man's head to be shot on metal. shot, bang, boom, blam splatted like eggs, scrambled like lust an endless red an endless rust. an endless touch. brushing, printing, clatter clang hiss, huss, bang. death written on a dollar's dame. a lamb's leg. emblazoned on a sad cynic's everending neverdying lessless disrespectful disdain. clitter clatter bang. suicide written in a foreign hand with wavy lines on wavy walls. in cursive twists in sacred halls. a man kissing a wood stake and a wooden casket for his name. corruption buried --today. death like death a lifeless flutter wings on dimes and endless clutter. we are the dimes --we are the currency --we know how much we're worth-- boom, blang, bam, click clang. build an empire on metal, on paper dimes and quarters and cents and dimes and quarters and cents and dimes paper tongues lullied to their own sleep sticking on their salivated gains dimes, quarters, cents, dimes, quarters cents, dimes, quarters, cents. your sinner, your bad, your good post-apocalyptic kisses in the horny rain. the clattering of metal and change. clattering metal and change.

[size=1] It wouldn't happen because the systematic anomaly--the one--continually recreates Zion as it is destroyed. And thus new versions of the matrix are made. It goes something along those lines. It's really hazy in my mind at the moment, so I may have gotten some wrong. Supposedly, according to the architect, there have been about 6 versions of the matrix already. Edit: What I said is kind of beside the point lol. I'd say it would never happen because the machines would not allow it. Why do you have to be so vague lol? Maybe this is the reason Neo could use his one powers outside of what is seen as the matrix?[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Queen Asuka [/i] [B][color=hotpink][size=1]That statement right there is why people hate religion and think it's a cult. Submission, huh?[/color][/size] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Exactly. Religion itself is so biased, and shows you yet more segregation which leads to further stereotypical things. This is one of the higher reasons why I totally loathe organized religion.[/size]

[size=1] Go to [url]www.google.com[/url], click your mouse pointer in the message box, then type, "I'll take all your thoughts away." Browse the sites until you find them. You're welcome. And please don't post useless threads like this in the totally wrong forum. Erg. I wish I still modded here lol... I don't really have the right to just barge in here, but no mod here has yet closed this. As for the song...try [url]www.mp3.com[/url] or get any of the varying Napster clones out there, which I shall not link. All of this stuff is easily found on your own, you know. What a useless thread lol.[/size]

[size=1] There was [i]just[/i] a thread about this, and an endless amountage of older, decayed ones. Erg. If anyone sticks around here enough, they will understand my frustration. I cannot stand the same threads over and over again. Perhaps the older one was recent enough to have this one closed? Let's hope so.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by RicoTranzrig [/i] [B][COLOR=darkblue] In a way, a person who changes sexes denies themselves because they follow what society is telling them. "If you act this way, you must look like this..." Which is crazy.[/COLOR] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Wonderful point. But then again, I don't think it's all about that. I think most often, these people actually want to know what it feels like to be the opposite sex as much as they can. This includes being subjectified in society. They enjoy being viewed how they think they should be viewed. It's like wearing a band t-shirt, or such; or an entire body suit, one that disguises you. Some will not even notice. And people enjoy this, since they are treated and fully seen for what they think they are. I am assuming, but putting myself in that thought process, this is what I'd be led to believe. It's like a masochist. They enjoy pain, yet act like it hurts, and like being seen as helpless and to be given help. It's like a wicked crutch. It's superifically becoming more, at least to those who do it.[/size]

[size=1] Did I already post in this thread? Who cares. All that matters is this is one of the best games of all time, and I seriously mean that. If you don't love it and worship it like a crazed pagan, then you should. And if you haven't sacrificed enough of your life playing its very granduer, then I believe you should. I love this game. Probably love it like I'll love some good woman some day, or some good ole dog. Great, great game.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by James [/i] [B][color=#707875]Favourite scents? Hm...I don't really have any favourites in particular. Some perfumes and aftershaves are really nice though; except when people apply them so strongly that they nearly choke everybody. lol I wear cologne and deoderant called "Joop!" They come in dark purple/red bottles. It's a really nice scent...probably the favourite of all the ones I've ever had. I also have a bodywash of the same scent. But I guess there are lots of scents I like, whether it's the smell of freshly baked bread, or crisp/fresh air that you often get at the beach, or the smell of melted chocolate. It's all good. ~_^[/color] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] For some reason I thought you were going to say Fortune Cookies. lol. My favorite scent? Do you know the smell of autumn leaves, and all...yeah, that's what I like. I don't know. It's just a very scene-setting, crisp, hitting smell that just feels right. [/size]

[size=1] I actually say segregating more and more pieces of pie to labeling of peoples will only bring more prejudices; such as how I think this metrosexual term shall be. It obviously hasn't been heard too widely as of yet. I hadn't even heard of it...I'm sure most people that hadn't heard of south park had heard it. So yes, I do not see this benefitting anything. Blacks are still, to this day, more prone to less education and poverty than whites. Things like these don't change. They're beaten into the very ribs of society, and they hold its heart and allow it to beat.[/size] [color=Red]EDIT: Same thing goes for you that I said about Crimson a few posts down. I don't want thing stemming into some debate on choice. Read my post after CS's for reason. If you want what you said, I have saved it and will gladly send it to you through a PM if you so desire.[/color]

[size=1] It'd be just a little, incy thought in my head, maybe, you know. I'm sort of paranoid lol. I wouldn't say it, and the person wouldn't know it. Yeah. I do want to think some girls look at me sometimes, of course. :p It adds to my "confidence" lol. Yeah. Don't worry about the deletion of the post. :) [I'm just in a smiley-user mood...] I have done it before, back when I modded here in OL, I believe. It's really frustrating when you do it, too. And yes, it's just another false stereotype. As with most things that are such a big deal to people. It's just like how people think that since someone is in a religion they are all pure. Or how if someone's not in a religion people think, if they are religious, that they are bad and evil and tainted. It's just like Indians being seen as weaker than whites; whites being seen as better than blacks. It's all rooted from the same weed, heh. Stereotype its very self seems like a stereotype. Where'd this word come to be? Although, when talking to Poison Tongue, I came up with an interesting metaphor. It's called a stereotype, because like a tape played in a stereo, each and evey bit and piece of a stereotype gets worn down and of lesser quality, since it's all analog. The only digital, crisp, everlasting thing is what comes from the heart and breathes from it. [/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mitch [/i] [B][size=1] I also don't think it's right, Josh, for you to just state that all heterosexuals misunderstand homosexuals. Of course not. I suppose you meant some, but you didn't add any buffering word in between that statement, so it's taken as such. [/size] [color=#707875]I took the statement mostly as a generalization. I think it's an accurate one; [i]most[/i] heterosexual men do fear and misunderstand gays, at least on a very basic level. Even men who say "Yeah I'm comfortable with homosexuals" will feel queasy or weird when he's around one. And that is still, fundamentally, the result of an in-built prejudice that needs to be overcome. In any case...I don't even see how this "Metrosexual" thing has any real meaning whatsoever. In my opinion, it's an insult to homosexual people. It assumes that all gay people act feminine, when the vast majority don't. The truth is that you probably come across dozens and dozens of gay people in your life and never know it simply because they don't tell you. That's just how it is. This Metrosexual terms is only another stereotype. It stereotypes homosexuals and it also stereotypes heterosexuals, by assuming that all straight men are butch, uncaring, single-minded morons. There are plenty of straight men who care about their appreance and are sensitive, as much or moreso than most gay men. lol The whole thing is utterly stupid.[/color] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] James, I see you accidently must have deleted my older post and edited it and added what is in your textual color lol. Ah well. We seem to see mostly eye-to-eye in my case. Yes, most , and I, would feel strange around someone whom is gay. I would think, "Is he checking me out?" and other such thoughts. But I would not be disgusted, and I would not think any less of them. It's only following one's nature. That is what sexuality is in its most viceral form. And I do not see anything wrong with that, whether one be homosexual or heterosexual.[/size]

[size=1] Well, here is an interesting idea for a thread that popped into my mind. I was watching Tech TV last night, and they have sexual-oriented shows, such us Unscrewed and such. Anyways, I was watching a show called Wired for Sex. Its topic was the changing of one sex to another via plastic surgery and such, and all that goes into the transformation of that. I'm sure every person has lamented some facet of the opposite sexes in their lifetime; I also believe, a while ago, there was a thread ascertaining to this point. It's interesting, though, how quickly technology goes on its way. It has been documented that people in earlier centuries had castrated themselves to show their want and lamentation for the opposite sex. Sometime WW II-ish, some guy got a crudely made vagina. The show went to show that it is relatively easy to take a penis and make it into a vagina--the surgeon said he simply leaves the some nerves of the penis for the clitoris, and from there is able to form a nearly working vagina, whereby the patients have been pretty satisfied and able to achieve orgasm. It is interesting. Most people that feel they should have been born as the opposite sex underwent some mental trauma, just as murderers, as was stated in my last thread. I do not know exactly what this thread shall be about. It is nothing too specific, nothing too based. It would be nice to hear other's opinions on this, see if they actually lament being the sex they are, perhaps. It is kind of disgusting to me, in a way. But I am open to all things. I can understand someone at least acting, or somewhat having characteristics and inherent feelings of their inner sex. But I do not exactly understand and see the amounting of changing one's entire outer appearance for the sake of being seen as what one may see themselves in the inside. It costs a sizeable amount of money, and some surgeries are quite imperfect at this time--such as taking a vagina and forming a penis. It's just taking it too far in my opinion. Do you think it is? In closing, maturity is a [i]must[/i] in this thread. If you are ignorant, young, or anything such, do not post in this thread, rather ignore it, or simply move on your way. Maturity is needed. I do not want any perverted, entirely sick posts proclaiming, "OMG THUTS SICK OMG WTF!111" and such. [/size]

[size=1] I also don't think it's right, Josh, for you to just state that all heterosexuals misunderstand homosexuals. Of course not. I suppose you meant some, but you didn't add any buffering word in between that statement, so it's taken as such. [/size] [color=#707875]EDIT: Oops! Sorry Mitch; I edited your post rather than quoting it!

[size=1] This thread is purposeless advertisment. Advertisment is against the rules, albeit a link or simple recruitment. This is what a sig is for, and PMing. Thread closed on this account.[/size]

[size=1] Double posting is not allowed, and I don't find that this suits this form too well. If you want to do a blog-like thing, then register at [url=www.myotaku.com]My Otaku[/url], or any of the other various blog tools--such as [url=www.blogger.com]Blogspot[/url] and such. Thread closed.[/size]

i had a stonehedge where i axed my name in the swirly snow that fell in the winter air gragoyle my morbidal friend that is cold won't you love me it is so won't you love me it's so won't you love me it's so. winter is coming in the wake of fall and the bears aren't sleeping in the caves at all and all that's left is the last leaf that fell but there's too many so i can't tell grim right sleep tight grim right sleep tight goodnight. there's sun in his eyes that falls over his hair that's grey in the snowytop in the wintery night. he stares to the skyline and at a cloud that's over his eyes and in his face. he can't see it he can't see it can't see it can't see it. he gapes. he blinks. he grieves. he sighs. lovely love lovely lies. snow, cold as stone clinging to rooftops, and clinging in a girl's messy hair as she walks down the street below the snowytop, below my mobridal gargoyle's lair, perching, waiting. it's as certain as shade. as certain as eyes. all midnight eyes, all shut closed and tight. the windows are dying. the light is dying. his heart is dying turning to stone. his heart is dying turning to stone his heart is dying turning to stone. it's dying, as he sits alone, onhis snowytop, as fall is eaten wide-eyed and moth. like blood all clot. two-sneered, winter's jaws, the sloth. the neverdying, neverliving, neverending caressed froth. twisting bows of snow and cold, cold as stone, snow as bold, tenacious. atrocious, tenacious, sticky on their tongues. dieing an irong lung, beating heart to the sun, brushing away the bloodless splatter, the endless fragorent clamor, the endless spinning earth's laughter. like a hand, brushing a stick, and finding a thorn being reborn, and rebirthed in a storm. snowy dorm for the warm. hypothermia poisoning a brain an endless shock of rain, snowing in the drain of an old wagon's wheel. winter hath come. morbidal gargoyle, snowytop, tight and taut, and as cold as mother's hell. as cold as heaven's purgatorial heart. as tart as an opening wound's part. winter hath come, pumpkins hath died, the souls hath lied. season's morbid side.

[size=1] You show heart in your poetry. And that is what is needed. Also a brutal honesty with yourself, and an unafraid aspect to what you write. It's good. Flows well, has rhymes here and there, is metaphorical, deep at times. Everything that keeps poetry good company. Post more post more post more post more is what i do emplore in the emptiness of a revolving wheel the carnagial red of a poet's hand need leave me marks and sad.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Lady Asphyxia [/i] [B][size=1] Basically, to become a mod, you follow the rules to the best of your ability, and try to be a good example. At least, this is what I've heard. So...really, to become a mod, you have contribute positively to OtakuBoards. Heh.[/size] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Lies! All it requires to be a mod is to get on James' good side, if you know what I mean. ;) Heh. It should be obvious someone doesn't get a modship position by posting a thread about them wanting to be a mod. Sorry chaps. And bribes are good as well. We accept the Euro, Pesos, and the American Dollar; we much prefer the American Dollar over all else, though. I also accept shards of glass, and any other "favors" one would enamor me with. To tell you the truth, being a mod isn't all that great. It's a job, and its power is not to be abused.[/size] [QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Dondar [/i] [B]Ok, i'm only half posting to prove Kyo's inability to close threads. Also, I bet Raiha is next up for being a mod. He has enough posts for sure....... [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] He has already been a mod before. He was once the mod of Poetry/Fan Fiction. He sure has a lot of posts. He really is awesome. He really has a lot of posts. [i]She's a she. She would really slap you for posting this about her. Do you want to get on a former mod's anger? Because her anger is really, really evil. [/i] I should know. Raiha did quit her job herself, if I remember. And posts do not matter when it comes to being a mod. Recently, 2 or 3 new mods were hired with little or no posts. I do not know why newbies always assume this, and I do not know why, having read this thread, one still does. Ah well. I'm sure Raiha, he'll be A WSEOM EO LOLZ!!11[/size]

[size=1] Yeah, explain. I cannot get the definition off of [url]www.dictionary.com[/url] without signing up for a premium service, which costs money. It should be obvious you would need to explain your thread. Not everyone watches South Park incessantly; this should be granted and given. In threads in the future please do explain things that others might not know.[/size]

[size=1] An electric guitar, some music CDs (whatever comes to my mind...), leather jacket (black), money. That is about all I can think of.[/size]

i had a stonehedge where i axed my name in the swirly snow that fell in the winter air gragoyle my morbidal friend that is cold won't you love me it is so won't you love me it's so won't you love me it's so. winter is coming in the wake of fall and the bears aren't sleeping in the caves at all and all that's left is the last leaf that fell but there's too many so i can't tell grim right sleep tight grim right sleep tight goodnight. there's sun in his eyes that falls over his hair that's grey in the snowytop in the wintery night. he stares to the skyline and at a cloud that's over his eyes and in his face. he can't see it he can't see it can't see it can't see it. he gapes. he blinks. he grieves. he sighs. lovely love lovely lies. snow, cold as stone clinging to rooftops, and clinging in a girl's messy hair as she walks down the street below the snowytop, below my mobridal gargoyle's lair, perching, waiting. it's as certain as shade. as certain as eyes. all midnight eyes, all shut closed and tight. the windows are dying. the light is dying. his heart is dying turning to stone. his heart is dying turning to stone his heart is dying turning to stone. it's dying, as he sits alone, onhis snowytop, as fall is eaten wide-eyed and moth. like blood all clot. two-sneered, winter's jaws, the sloth. the neverdying, neverliving, neverending caressed froth. twisting bows of snow and cold, cold as stone, snow as bold, tenacious. atrocious, tenacious, sticky on their tongues. dieing an irong lung, beating heart to the sun, brushing away the bloodless splatter, the endless fragorent clamor, the endless spinning earth's laughter. like a hand, brushing a stick, and finding a thorn being reborn, and rebirthed in a storm. snowy dorm for the warm. hypothermia poisoning a brain an endless shock of rain, snowing in the drain of an old wagon's wheel. winter hath come. morbidal gargoyle, snowytop, tight and taut, and as cold as mother's hell. as cold as heaven's purgatorial heart. as tart as an opening wound's part. winter hath come, pumpkins hath died, the souls hath lied. season's morbid side.

rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting in the sun in the moon in the love in the caress rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting beauty rose, beauty bloodflower, beauty man bleedly bleed in the bloodily bled bland distant, ship sank down, titanic and above and below, and above, and here, and now kissed, clutched, climbed, crushed, tripping rotting on the words rotting on the sounds beautiful mess, beautiful caress, beautiful duress i hear the choir sing the energy the energy distancing me, distancing me rotting me, rotting in me effegy energy, dead as skin dead as bones dead as skulls clacking groan dead as rotting rotting rotting dead as rotting distant as water, distant as you distant as me, distance. endless distance, endless. congested, feeling endless feeling leftless, feeling rightless feeling grinded. feeling tamed. feeling dead. feeling dead. rotten, rotting, rottens, rot. leaving, going on a ship, sinking, sinks, sinkens, sink. eating. effegy. living, livens, live, rotting. i hear the choir sing to me the energy has died has died has died has died has died has died blood in the grave, blood in the hair, blood in the eyes blood cries. has died what has died has lived has needed has wanted has waited has bloomed has felt has needed has touched has greeted has life all rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting rotten. in my mind in my head in his head in his mind in his arms in his legs in his head in his mind in my head in my head and where and when. paper thin, window panes, office stacks, paper voices. rotten choices. rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting in the sun in the moon in the love in the caress rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting, rotting beauty rose, beauty bloodflower, beauty man bleedly bleed in the bloodily bled bland distant, ship sank down, titanic and above and below, and above, and here, and now kissed, clutched, climbed, crushed, tripping rotting on the words rotting on the sounds beautiful mess, beautiful caress, beautiful duress most distant most less most lest in death fearless lifeless twitching rottenly in rotten eyes flies flying around a central world in the central capitol. most distant most less most lest than death. distant and rotten and death.