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Bill Watterson = Genius.I imagine bugs and girls have a dim perception that nature played a crual trick on them, but they lack the intelligence to really comprehend the magnitude of it.Reality continues to ruin my life.I'm learning real skills that I can apply throughout the rest of my life ... Procrastinating and rationalizing.That's the difference between me and the rest of the world! Happiness isn't good enough for me! I demand euphoria!From now on, I'll connect the dots my own way.It's not denial. I'm just selective about the reality I accept.
You can find me in the masturbation thread. At least that one is somewhat more interesting
"Right then, I'll die here, but I'll take a few of you with me. Well, come on, froggies. Who's first? Or are you going to sit there clicking and grocking until I die of old age!"
(Sorry if I am unintelligent, since the knowledge I have only comes from a school text book...)
"God made mankind but everything else is made in CHINA"i just made it coz i cant think of any
The mother tongueSemblance to wakingSemblance to movingSemblance to being over withThe mother tongue joining of the drumMutter to the dream gutterThe bar of light blinding us at the peak we wait for no longerSuch speech in search of the deadOnly one sound jumping up to theeThey have sent me in search of the dazzling deadAnd their face is blurring into mist behind the hillOnly one song, crazed purpose, enactment in the landWhat was granted on that first time out over the shadowsThey were filling every crooked palace of my eyes' hollows, that look and lungedOn that first walk outWhat was spoken first was how all of thisEvery least part must be supernaturally clearer, illumined on eternal tables that shiftWhat was spoken on the first part about the fresh, the vivid, the hole in the vortexWhere worlds pierced ideas with an absolute embracedAnd allowed themselves to exist in beautyWhat was spoken from moment to moment, revolving in a clear space, without confusionAnd the doors openedThe entire map appeared, plan of the wholeWorlds appearing, crashing into perfection like unimaginable powerful and efficient weaponsStars consume us with longing, boulders reach for us like loversAnd we enter singing; we have gone nowhereWhat was seen with a thousand eyes of us, at the brink of allSuns, glory of mists, cleared from the entryways across the valley floorAnd the keepers who wait at the gates of the planWhat was heard in a skeleton's brief aria of obedienceAs its rainbow bones paid homage, wing-tip to wing-tipThe ones of the magnificent, crowding to catch with tender claspMy wisdom which never wasTo transport it, with all due pompTo a distant spot where it may revolve forever on its own delicate pivotIn a style to which it is accustomed, safe from meUntil time is no moreAnd every gate to the plan and every threshold of every gateAnd every approach from the far placesAnd every cloud that hovers above the plan, desiring wind and the gleaming skyWhere will the cries of the astatic iron bird find us, now that we knowAnd the shift has shown us, and we are walking with ourselvesInto the shaking air needing nothingAnd all being has become as breath over the transfigured spaces?Into the house of the heart on that first timeInto the plan, through the gate of the first timeThroughout the land I saw you, whom my heart had never hoped to seeAnd it was all fire, as the first drops of rain fellAnd the scents, sliding down the air of the million and one desires of the unnamed godPenetrated us, who are empty of all wisdom at lastThe gate of entry was passedAnd night fell over the dissonant rangesHere, where it all began, as the ground tremblesThe wraiths of what was un-god, anything beforeBestows itself prostrate before us, prepared for annihilationEngraved on the ground where we walk is this warning"Everything is now destroyedDo not seek to be anything other than thisYou will be divested of every garment until none remainWhat is born must become whole by annihilationBy the gates of the first timeBy the glittering flight of arrows into all twilights of knowingBy the din of the waning light"What was spoken, what was heard, what was seenBeyond the shift
