:: 2003 25 November :: 6.11 pm

Something something something. The little bastard philosopher:

Psychosomatic, you little cunt. Stop it, shut up, shut down, die die die. Look at me. Expose my legs to see the Filth, can you see it? Now look at in a mirror. Can you see it? No. I'm strangling myself trying to slow this down for you, so pay some fucking attention, whelp. The Filth is a product of the giver's own mind, it does not exist outside of itself. You can put the Filth on the ground or in your throat or on somebody else but they will never see it or understand your reason for it. You can't see the skin underneath your own congealing blood {your Filth} but they can and as far as they're concerned, you're a fucking saint. They see Filth in themselves and they can't imagine anyone could ever love them. They don't understand it's just an optical illusion. You don't understand it's just an optical illusion. Hey. Which one of you am I talking to here? Pay attention. Stop staring at your new God. You know something else? That glow is just like the Filth. Nobody's beautiful, nobody's ugly, nobody's anything. It's just false perception. Humanity is just broken mirrors.

myxomatosis

:: 2003 25 November :: 5.35 am

Emotions are not plate tectonics. No matter how much pressure is expelled it will just keep coming back if the trigger is still there. It must either learn to not be bothered by it, or expel the trigger from its presence.

I'm working on it.

myxomatosis

:: 2003 25 November :: 2.48 am

effigy will not stand for anything less than pure, resounding hatred. Hence the cheshire. Hence the aggression. Hence the perversion. People hate this shit. Or they claim to. And you, you little fucking bastards, you claim to . . . like {how repulsive} . . . the cuntmonkey? Idiot/s. No wonder she changed. It's to get away from morons like you. No, you don't get it. She's the worst of me. She only sounds good on the outside. Like a rock star. She makes good music, but her personality is to die to get away from. And if you don't hate her already. She'll make you hate her.

[And bizarrely enough, she acts as if she is not the cause of our stupidity. Sabotage indeed, of the worst kind, she denies it all. Can I name them or can I name them?]

Edit: Monkey wrench. HAR FUCKITY HAR.

myxomatosis

:: 2003 22 November :: 7.37 pm

Or so she'd like to believe.

Genocide is easier than it looks.

Edit: Nevermind. Ghhzzgh.

1 in | myxomatosis

:: 2003 22 November :: 7.38 am

Raining again. Dry spells always worry me. Foooooooooool, she hisses from a rooftop, black bandana over her eyes. But I can see them rolling. See the tongue running over those teeth. Those u-sed-t-obe-flat teeth. Can hear her breathing. Sounds just like... {wish I could remember}

And none of this. Will make any difference. I can see the {} as she wrinkles her lips. She's standing perfectly still and the rain is making it very cold but she will not shiver. Just gets weak at the joints. Muscles locking up and turning to jelly. One of these days that knife's going to fall from her hand. One of these days.

Turns her face to the moon and snarls at it. Like the movie-fu panelist said: You may win, motherfucker, but I'm taking an eye out before I go.

myxomatosis