# writers block



## neversickanymore

where did the "fuck fuck fuck" piece go.. well anyway this was a post for that writers block thread.. just a story idea for you. 


alright your not into a novel  about the biggest looser on the planet.. all the worthless piece of shit has left is a plane ticket to his or her grandmother's funeral..  and the only reason they have that is because they stayed in touch.. yeah he/she loved her.. but as they had given up, lost ditched, fucked over everyone else in there entire life.. i guess the real reason then was because she would send them a little cash anytime things got real tight.. and she would answer the phone at anytime of day or night and listen to whatever insane rant of troubles and lies and guilt and pain they could scream, cry, whimper, or slur into the phone.. she would listen to tha whole thing with out the slightest judgment and with just a little soft word of encouragement when the words would or could no longer come out, but there was more to say as she would know when it was done.. then she would remind you of that childhood time and tell them they were loved.. and they really were.

So as they had nothing better to do and in fact had nothing to do and in fact could do nothing better if they wanted to cause they no longer had a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out or any chance or sliver of hope or desire of getting this stuff again.. they thought they just might take the long plane ride home to nothing and no hopes, delusions or dreams of anything.. just the funeral of the only person who would notice if they were gone.

So they thought they might just take that long plane ride home.. To reflect on there god awful mistakes and fortune in this, they thought and it took a few minutes to come up with a life they knew of that had been such an utter failure.. mm

So they walked over to the airport.. all seven miles from the squat they had been at.. they carried that pathetic suitcase with no buckles that worked, it was held together by a strayed rainbow cord. it was hot and miserable.. how they really ended up in this country, after that long line of countries.. that long line of fresh starts.. each twice as miserable as the one before,, but they couldn't remember why they had come here.. they felt by that time they had long since stopped being honest with themselves.. it seemed normal to them.. some people just get to the pint that it to hard to bear.. why bother with reality.. its so hard and sad.. why not just wake up and live a brand new fairy tail lie every day.. he had lived many years of daily fairy tale lies before they ended up here.. and a handful more since.. So I guess they really did have something to think about on that long ride to a place they called home a life time of lifetimes ago.

After they dragged and humped that damn suitcase all those miles, they glanced at it while passing a dumpster.  They realized there wasn't anything they could even pretend to be valuable to them or anyone else.. so threw it by the side of the dumpster.. 

One gifted plane ticket, One battered passport and ID, and a whole lifetime of regretful mistakes and utter failure were all they now owned and all they intended to carry home.  When they got to the gate the plane was already boarding.. they had nothing left and figured they had just about left nothing to justify their life.  They wondered what they did to people who just sat down unable or unwilling to move ever again.. they wanted to sit down.. they wanted to sit down.. but if they were never going to move again once they sat down.. then they didn't want to die with the god awful  cottonmouth form carrying a destroyed suitcase full of garbage, just so they had something to hold on to something that said I still have a chance.. something thing that pretended purpose.. they had carried a suitcase full of garbage around for a long time because it was the only thing they had to live for.. some one had to be responsible for that suitcase...  A thought then came to their mind.. such a bizarre thought.. they were about to throw in the last towel and just sit down and never move again.. but then that thought.. the thought was about how utterly embarrassing it would be to have to own up to some ticket taker or gate keeper in the after life.. own up to how they had failed at every aspect of life, had not one accomplishment besides such an utter sustained life long failure failure that it must be unique.. to own up to this and then have the ticket taker snicker if the cause of death was possibly listed as dehydration due to carrying a suitcase full of garbage seven miles through the afternoon african sun to catch a ticket to nobody in the middle of nowhere with out even a prayer of a prayers chance of ever getting anywhere.. they wondered if it would reads like that on the ticket. it was to much.. better to die of something else.. maybe if they could put a little distance between them and the suitcase it wouldnt even be mentioned on the ticket.  

They then smiled as they thought what the snickery ticket taker would say if the ticket read cause of death.. self administered through the consumption of a monumental amount fo airplane ginger ails. they guessed if you going to sit down and die, better to do it in a smelly coach airplane chair with as many of those stingy ass half a can split pours of ginger ail as they could beg borrow and steal of the attendants.  well shit they had made it through decades of the heartache, pain, misery, disappointment.. it just kept getting worse and worse and worse. never thought it could but it always did.. at first they had battled with all they had.. then they had tried to role with their punches and wait it out.. then they had just ducked down and kept their head covered, then it came to just keeping their head above water.. finally they were swallowed and drown, sinking so far down that the light of the surface of the water was no longer visible.. there was no hope and there had been none for a very long time. 

But I guess you can never be to certain of where your going to land when you get on a plane with nothing to loose and nothing to gain.. The only person that was expecting you was on ice and no longer had any worries, including if you were there to see her slipped into the little plot of mud she had bought with the last of her money.. all the money she had left.. all the rest most likely had gone to you.. her charity was to fund a decent portion of the biggest failure in life ever.  you wondered whether she might be more disappointed than you were with the whole deal.  I guess though that you can never be certain where you going to land traveling from one minute to the next.. in fact they kinda chuckled that life seemed to be looking up.. I mean they had to admit that sitting in a smelly airplane seat and drinking a ginger ale was a step up from carrying a suitcase that was infact filled with garbage through the streets of  the latest failure in the latres cesspool city in a long line of failures in a long line of cesspools.. they had given up so long ago that it would ever turn around for them that there was no dream of it turning around left.. there was just a little curiosity as to what was going to go dreadfully wrong next.


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## neversickanymore

>this is fiction and should not be emulated or followed as a proper way to do anything<​

	Jerry's lonesome voice has been smiling up from downstairs..  belting out Standing On the Moon for days. Marcus is lying in bed and finally is able to move after yet another life extinguishing hangover.  His head pounding, his stomach so upset that he dry heaves into a pillow; each time the pressure assaults his head causing him to shriek silently.. as the angry world comes into focus he is given a brief respite from the migraine like pain.  Then its back.. and he seriously contemplated severing his own fucking head.

	With his eyes softly closed, Marcus feels around for his pants. His hands work into the giant pockets of his cords.  Working his way through the contents, a wad of bills of all high denominations, folded once, is still at least six inches thick.  He takes the five G wad and tosses it to the ground, carefully noting its approximate locations it lands .  This is imperative as his second story master sweet floor is covered with crumpled up money.  Anything less than a twenty is deposited all  over the floor. Crumpled fives, tens, and ones were are four or five inches deep over every open spot on the four hundred and fifty square foot floor. 

Whenever he pays for anything,  Mark takes a new twenty and deposits the change crumpled up into wherever he can stuff it. digging through wad after wad, packed in so tight that his pockets look as if they have been inflated.  He tosses handful after filthy  handful to his bedroom floor.  His hand finally closes around a couple of script bottles.  He opens up his eyes, just to slivers,  enough to scan for the one marked alprazolam; he twists the top open and shakes six little footballs into his hand.  He tosses them back and washes them down with an insulated glass filled with ice water.

Another wave of pain assaults his head as he settled back under the down comforter and egyptian cotton sheets to await the relief promised from the drug.  Alprazolam will take that system back into pleasantly depressed once again.  After twenty minutes Marcus stirs again and is able to down the entire forty ounce glass of water.  Back to bed for another five minutes and he Is able to finally sit up, cupping his head and experimenting with opening his eyes.  

He is just dressed in boxers and his body is ripped.  Marcus is twenty four and has been in the mountains for six years.  His age and his weekly regiment of mountain sports have transformed his body into steel.  If he quit drinking he would immediately loose the little padding over a washboard six pack.  His hair is long, reaching three inches past his shoulders.  His massive legs are surprisingly steady as he finds the courage to stand.

Standing on the moon has begun again for the thousandth time that fall and the brothers down stairs have joined in again screaming out with every word this time.  Marco shuffles through the the money and dirty clothes to a wooden cabinet, it slides open silently.  There is a safe completely surrounded buy ziplocks carefully filled with quarter pounds of kind.  The sweet pungent piney sent of big skunk mingles with the cat piss aroma of C1.  There are over twenty such bags and the smell is all but overwhelming. 

Marco punches six, two, zero. zero  into the digital cabinet safe and the mechanism slides open popping the door ajar.  Inside are hundreds of c notes are stacked to the ceiling in three piles.  To the left are drawers filled with jewelry, a couple of high end watches, and bags of loose gems.  Stacked on the drawers are zip locks and jars filled with a significant stash.  There is a bag filled with a half ounce of mollE, a jar filled with a quarter pound of kief, freshly shaken from the clippings of the last harvest, a jar with 20 grams of raw, a small vial with a couple of grams of Ketamine, a jar with the whole rainbow of pills, and a large zip filled with high end iridescent flake fish scale cocaine.  

The overhead lights marco had switched on just a few minutes before suddenly dimm and there came a growl from the garage downstairs.  The chorus downstairs brakes off from their accompaniment and began to giggle.. like kids busted on a childhood playground.  This was a common reaction to whoever visited the house and witnessed this phenomenon. Some things just take a bit of power.  

Marco pulls back the heavy blinds as he removes the yay and the raw and falls into the big chair at the rolltop.  It was a blizzard and the snow was horizontal to the pains on the window.  He opened one of the drawers and took out a large tup and opened another of the drawers and took out a bottle of water and and a black zip attaché case.  He cracks the tup and a perfectly cured bouquet fills his hung over world.  Picking a beautiful large cola and flipping on the antique desk light to examine the crystals that covered the lime green flower.  He grabs a cleaner and packed it to the brink, gently twisting the specimen and then released it onto the desk.  Marco ripped out a huge rolling paper and made a terr to expose the paper fibers in preparation to eventually close the massive joint.  He carefully placed the cleaned Big Skunk into the paper and worked into a perfect cylinder, wet the fibers and closed the joint.  

After unzipping the attaché case he removes a clean nail.  Unscrewing the top to the bottle of water marko draws up the water.  He replaced the needle guard and set it next to the joint.  Pulling out a pocket knife marco digs into the brown, savoring the mix of its spicy bouquet with the mix of the grass.  Using the knife he pokes a pile onto a silver cooker he grabbed out of the attaché case.  Removing the needle guard he depresses the plunger, squirting water over the brown powder.  Setting the cooker down, marco shuffles back through the wadded up cash and dirty clothes to search for a bic in his pants pockets.  After transferring more wads of cash from his pockets to the floor, he finds a black bic and returns to the desk.  Carefully he picks up the spoon and gently puts the lighter to it.  Slowly at the edgers tiny bubbles of water vapor start to form as the brown powder begins to stain the clear liquid. He keeps the heat on until the tinny bubbles swirl and stir the liquid just a little.  After altering the ph the spoon clears.  

The smell of ether hits marco and he picks a decent rock out of the pile.  Marco finishes examining the coke and places it in the spoon, the warm liquid dissolves the chunk almost immediately.  He begins to become excited.  He uses the needle guard to stir the spoons mixture.  Leaving the spoon he wades through the money and litter to silently lock the door to the suite.  Marco shuffles into the bathroom and opens the glass doors to the shower.  He turns the silver handles causing all three silver jets to come to life out of the green and cream marble; clouds of steam begin to waft out of the hot shower. 

Marco makes his way back to the door, listened to the revealer singing with Jerry down stairs, and worked his way back to the bathroom.  All the cabinets and the walls are done in marble.  He works his way back to the desk and then back to his pants; he removes a pack of reds and removes a cigarette.  He peals the paper of the filter and takes the filter and tears off a piece.  Marco balls up the piece and drops it into a freshly stirred spoon.  The filter sucks a great deal of the liquid.  He removes the needle guard and facing the needle in the correct direction he uses the plunger to suck the spoon up through the filter. Shoots a small amount of the liquid on his tong, he tastes the raw and the chemically taste of the white for a second or so before his tongue went numb. 

Marco replaces the guard and snatching up the lighter and the joint he pre lights the joint and taps it out on the black bick.  placing the joint in his mouth he slowly puffs; The intense pleasurable taste makes its way to some of his taste buds that weren't rendered useless. He puffs a little harder and inhales.. the first of the smoke searing his lungs.  He begins coughing wildly, his smooth and stubbled face turns purple; the coughing lasts for perhaps four or five minutes as he sneaks in a hit here and there. 

Tapping out the half of a joint in an ashtray, filled with half joints, it joins the others.  His mind is squared, His stomach has ceased to be upset.  Thoughts come dumbly and glazed over and his sight has changed.  Light blue and light green, many paisley highlights draped over the world in front.  His poor alcohol dried mouth was taxed again buy the joint and he refills the huge glass of water.  The music from downstairs takes on a appealing familiar tone.  He takes a large haule of the water and lights up a red and shambles to the bathroom clicking on the fan, marcus pears into the the half fogged window.  He has dark circles on a boyishly smooth face.  His eyes are a blood red on hazle green and blue, and his stubble is near long enough to be called a beard, many shades of brown and blond making their way to sun bleached ends. Finishing the cigarette he tosses it with a quick hiss into the toilet. 

Marco smiles..  He grabs his pants and removes the brown weathered belt and swiftly crosses the room picking up the loaded syringe.  Siting on the can,  he shuts the door to the bathroom.  He belts up, setting the syringe on the double sink counter.  He waits a minute and looks at the inside of his left arm, a large blood vessel has risen.  Marco picks up the syringe and depresses the plunger slightly, causing a small stream to fly from the needles tip.  Carefully he lines up and eases the nail home. The blood vessel pierces causing a  bright flash of crimson to explodes  like a blood red sunset at the end of another long day.  He always gets a little hard when he sees that flash; in no time at all he is going to be streaking like a rocket strait to the Goddamn moon. 

Marcus slams the plunger home. 

One, Two, Three, 

He tastes the either and cocaine inside his tongue, 

Four, Five, Six...

*Standing on the Moon*
by Robert Hunter

"Standing on the moon
I got no cobweb on my shoe
Standing on the moon
Im feeling so alone and blue
I see the gulf of mexico
As tiny as a tear
The coast of california
Must be somewhere over here - over here

Standing on the moon
I see the battle rage below
Standing on the moon
I see the soldiers come and go
Theres a metal flag beside me
Someone planted long ago
Old glory standing stiffly
Crimson, white and indigo - indigo

I see all of southeast asia
I can see el salvador
I hear the cries of children
And the other songs of war
Its like a mighty melody
That rings down from the sky
Standing here upon the moon
I watch it all roll by - all roll by

Standing on the moon
With nothing else to do
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you

Standing on the moon
I see a shadow on the sun
Standing on the moon
The stars go fading one by one
I hear a cry of victory
And another of defeat
A scrap of age old lullaby
Down some forgotten street

Standing on the moon
]Where talk is cheap and vision true
Standing on the moon
But I would rather be with you
Somewhere in san francisco
On a back porch in july
Just looking up to heaven
At this crescent in the sky

Standing on the moon
With nothing left to do
A lovely view of heaven
*But Id rather be with you - be with you"*


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## neversickanymore

basically it comes from all the things that people look at that may make you happy.. thus "all the things they said"

so this macro character has all the money, all the material bull shit, all the drugs, all the free time, alone no one to answer to... and is waking up from one disgusting drug experiences to go right to another.. maybe the reason there is no explanation of his life is that he has none, maybe its all just drug to drug to drug..

although it was not very clear maybe I can bring it around.. but as he takes the shot he goes strait to the moon.. and then the lyrics states what it really like to be on the moon and the picture isn't a pleasant one.

*Standing on the Moon*
by Robert Hunter

"Standing on the moon
I got no cobweb on my shoe......................he's healthy just fucked up.
Standing on the moon
Im feeling so alone and blue.......................the painful isolation from drug abuse
I see the gulf of mexico
As tiny as a tear .....................................How far away from life people stuck in drug abuse can feel
The coast of california
Must be somewhere over here - over here......salvation must be somewhere or getting back to a time where they weren't lost.

Standing on the moon
I see the battle rage below
Standing on the moon
I see the soldiers come and go....... no longer in the fight
Theres a metal flag beside me
Someone planted long ago
Old glory standing stiffly
Crimson, white and indigo - indigo...........could speak to the folly of following the dreams of others or how unsatisfying the american dream can be

I see all of southeast asia
I can see el salvador
I hear the cries of children
And the other songs of war.............not making any difference in the world when he could
Its like a mighty melody
That rings down from the sky
Standing here upon the moon
I watch it all roll by - all roll by.......... just a spectator in the one chance they have at life

Standing on the moon
With nothing else to do.............. just geting fucked up
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you........ thought of the delusion that they are in heaven when they just want to be with the person they love

Standing on the moon
I see a shadow on the sun........no longer in the light, somethings not right.
Standing on the moon
The stars go fading one by one........dreams disappearing
I hear a cry of victory
And another of defeat
A scrap of age old lullaby
Down some forgotten street............ just another wasted life

Standing on the moon
Where talk is cheap and vision true
Standing on the moon
But I would rather be with you
Somewhere in san francisco
On a back porch in july............possibly the source of their despair, the instant they were really happy but made a really bad descion
Just looking up to heaven
At this crescent in the sky..... not in heaven but can see where they want to go

Standing on the moon
With nothing left to do
A lovely view of heaven............................saying that they can see heaven witch is earth.. so they aren't in heaven anymore
But Id rather be with you - be with you"...... just stating that with all they have they dont have much that's worth anything.



*Broken*

In its dark sliver, 
Looking at black and grey

Hallowed by an evil sickness
Spurred on,  warmed by a dank flame

Stubborn anger
Persistent judgment

Dragging its tattered soul 
On corrosive talons of hate

Through but humble efforts 
Glaring up for cracks

Screaming detest
Vomiting its sickness 

Poisoned by its chosen world
Venomous in thought 

Seeking the flaws in its world 
Thus finding a word so flawed


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## SweetCaroline

beautiful writing


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## neversickanymore

I'm not worried.. I'm posting from planet HD 209458b, or was it kepler 22. Who knows I was krio frozen for so long and then I had to wait for you guys to invent the internet. 

You see, when we all took off from our last dying planet, we all split up as you never can tell which planets are going to turn out  hospitable.. Back on the last planet, lizards were the top species and you guys were our food.. well on the trip to earth there must have been a leak in the reactor. Because when the ships landed damn "dinosaurs" came out of the mother ship. You should have seen the looks on your guys's ancestors faces. Yeah it was ugly. Some of you got away, but given you weren't really smart back then, You had a long way to go.. Im talking a long way. 

Alright.. what happened to us is we landed alright. This place was heaven at first, that is until the little bugs took over our minds.. they caused us to turn paranoid and eventually violent towards one another. We slaughtered each other by the millions. Your human wars do not compare but at times they do remind me of those awful days. 

For some reason three of us were not affected like the rest.. it made everyone else raving mad.. but it made the three of us seemingly live forever.  Can't say as i am the happiest about this.  I really wish I could have died with the rest.  sometimes I day dream of being burnt alive by my wife.. the fantasy of its so pleasurable I cant adequately express it. 

So it was me, this incurable gonda flush.. He spends all his time in a complete stupor.  You see as we evolved we have this gland we used a long time ago to sorta poison or disorient prey. This vile smelling liquid could be shot out of a nostril like sprayer at the prey.. well godel's get hooked on drinking from floosh from their gonda. They spend the whole day compulsively hiding other peoples belongings while hailing a non stop hail of insults, to the highest decibel and pitch they can manage, at anyone they can find.   

We used to pair them up back in the old days. Two gondas, because then they could go around hiding eachothers stuff and screaming insults at each other.  So we would pair them up and lead them off with a giant jug of Floosh to a secluded place.  Until a healer could get around to helping them.  But unfortunately The only healer that survived was the gonda himself.  I figured he would die quick, but since we dont die and everytime I kill the fucker he regenerates and goes right back at it. Im fucked. I tried to kill myself about every eight earth days for the last million years but I just regenerate with a wicked headache and wake to the gonda having hid all my shit and its standing over me drooling on me.. screaming something. Usually how I'm so worthless I can't even kill myself and everytime I blow a whole in my face i look so much better because im so ugly and so an and do forth. 

The other person that made it is a snorken baby.. (I think your word is colically) yeah we dont die and we dont age either.. he has been crying none stop since before we even landed.   I have tried everything nothing will calm the thing down.. at first I treated it so well.. but criest after a few hundred million years of this shit I no longer look at it as a baby.. some times when the gonda isn't so pissed up we place that little shit way out in a lake on a little raft.. then we have a little contest to see who can blow it to "kingdom come" as you all say.. we blow that little rech into as many pierces as possible and that hell of a mess sinks in the lake.. but sure as the sun rises the monstrosity regenerates and crawls out of the lake crying it eyes out.  

So you can't belive my joy when the ship began picking up communications from you guys.. at first "we" or I should say I didn't know what it was.. but since the internet came about I have been so pleased.. I mean really pleased.. I hardly even shoot the youngster more than once a week.  

I don't know what the three of us did to deserve this never ending hell.. but you have to come save us.. or baring that please for the love of all thats Holy come save me!


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## neversickanymore

Perfectly synonymous twin answers,    
replicated, combined, doubled and squared,
rooting the split. 

Equated and faultless tantamount pairs,
separate mysteries cleared. 

Constituting experience so intimately bound,
engendering unique living canvases.

Sent unknowingly, 
to paint themselves,
play their starring role.


Creeping hurriedly.

Painting everlasting decompositions, 
through a journey instant and eternal, 
blazingly stuck fast, in a hurtling crawl.   

The whip and the compass, 
driving an unrelenting delirious mad pursuit.

A neverending hunt for euphoric ecstasy,
easy to catch, 
impossible to capture,
an unending sprint at no satisfying finish.

Constantly teased,
little glimpses, 
quick caresses, 
tiny tastes.

A moments definition and a memories label,

Astonishing pigment remains as testament, 
of the perceptions hard experience.

Malleable like a child's whim,
as constant as the weather. 

Its quills inspiration to forge ahead,
and the magic that captures time.

Frozen solid,
tucked away instantly,
hidden, warm, safe,
sheltered and protected in soft, secret, deep pockets.
there it will ripen and grow.

These tinted clear colored lenses,
of today's spiced perception.

Instantly creating tomorrow,
materializing unknowable unknowns, from nothing, 
utilizing invisible illusory slivers,
harvested from hidden secret pockets.


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## Shadowsblaze

I just got to say that NSA your typing skill is unmatched. Are reading skill leaves something to be desired.


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## neversickanymore

Shadowsblaze said:


> I just got to say that NSA your typing skill is unmatched. Are reading skill leaves something to be desired.



Can you clarify as I dont understand blaze? 

I think this one will turn out pretty good after its edited.  I write a ton, when I write I let it go free flow, not worrying punctuation etc or editing until later on, if I ever come back to it.  This combines with a Yoda like sequencing disorder to have some pretty funny results.  But, this piece I actually like and plan on at least editing it.  once its done Id like to know what you think.. This is also a writer block thread as the name states so I come here when the brain is clogged and just write the hell out of it in an attempt to get it firing.. so its not like these are my best works, my good man.


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## Shadowsblaze

Sorry if I was't clear, what I meant was your writing was outstanding and that I bumped another of your lengthy prose because it was meant to be read, although I pointed out that I sped read though it. Sorry again if I was misunderstood. You have provided this site with so much info that if there was a medal to be received it would be my honor to be there to witness such. Cool your jets you have reached many people whether you know it or not. Donny


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## neversickanymore

Hey, thanks for the great compliment Shadow.. that made me feel pretty damn good


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## Shadowsblaze

Vice versa


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## neversickanymore

Up Against It
Paralyzed solid in predatory glare, 
Peering into adversities clear, powerful, merciless eyes.
Pitiless and cruel.

Heartless, 
Brightly blazing intent and purpose.

Fearless, 
Abandonedly fixated on torture and destruction. 

In their fiery depths, burns our utter failure.
A sinister glint, mocks any resolve.

If for an instant, we shake the spell,
Interrupt its heavy chained progression,
Fear, doubt, hopelessness, surrender, defeat.
Will the moment

Then sorceries shadow is divined,
A speculum is uncloaked, 
A reflection is revealed,
A penetrating glimpse is presented,
Illuminating a recondite, yet profoundly intimate mystery

Ourselves.


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## neversickanymore

I'm so far from stubborn that I vow, with pertinaciously obstinate pertinaciousness, never to acknowledge the ridiculous prevarication that I am stubborn. I know me. In fact, i'm such an authority that i'm required to endeavor a recalcitrant attitude towards myself. I'm not stubborn and that's the unassailable truth upon which I crouch filled with incessant defiance.


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## neversickanymore

*So what's left*

When we have succeeded and failed at everything we did not need to do 
failed successes and successful failures professors in our madness 

a merciful transition to a higher plane where success and failure no longer dwell 

Whimsically wandering into the meaningless 
while defyingly hunting meaning 

can we make an epic slaughter  

For a moment we got it
For a moment we arrived
For a moment it made sense 

Blissfully embraced and protectively blanketed 
Sheltered for an instant under the deliciously warm fickle threads of a hard universe 

Then your right back in the thick of it
just trying to survive


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## neversickanymore

Its been a slivers moment of infinite eternity since I sat down to write. 

I'm finally up to the task.

How do you make God giggle..  Tell Her your plans.

"Once in a while
you get shown the light
in the strangest of places
if you look at it right"

If you interact with something, wether or not by choice, both you and the something are effected and each path is effected permanently.

Now what I need is a table and stool, some light and another slivers worth of reprieve.  

I already have a desk and stool and for once I do not hear her laughing, so we might just be on the same page.







"


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## neversickanymore

*Put Your Big Boy Pants On*

So much of this stupid adult stuff makes me want to take my big boy pants back off

Those drab stuffy restrictive pants
Demandingly marching me dutifully to the most mundane choresh  corners of existence

Every chance I get I rip those off

Released from their clockish correctness 
Leaving them crumpled where they fall


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## neversickanymore

Wow.. That took a grip.. alright it just hit me.. I have to write this  The Miners..


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