Too somnambulant to think straight, too antisocial to talk, too brain-dead to read or write, and it's dead in here except for the local freeloader who claims to be a man of God but I know better. I know too much, which is my strength and undoing.
It's hard for me to keep my mouth shut sometimes, but there is a place for everything, and this is not the place. It's hard for me as a believer to listen to the sanctimony and the lies, the manipulations, a life of false piety and preying prayers.
The blood is angried up, but it's not a pleasant feeling. There's too many scumbags all the way around.
The Powers That Be continue to justify the unjustifiable, the same old same old goes on, in half an hour I'll be out of here.
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3 comments:
Wait, *that* guy was up here?
Preying Prayers. I'm writing that down 'cause that's a future Storm of the Yeti track.
Yep, he was and it seems he knows a certain serf.
That's very mantislike.
Word verification: frumpunw... frumpy Portlandians perhaps?
Then he must, of course, make an appearance in a future one-act as his co-conspirator.
Word verification: poommon, an 80s-poofy-haired Rastafarian?
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