|i have exactly eight hundred and eighty-eight deviations in storage.|
un/healthywe are pooling our resourcesun/healthy by Satah
lacerated pill packets litter the bare mattress
and assorted half-empty bottles have collected
ten different variations of the same disease
on their necks
deep, wet coughs
echo through the halls
and my hands twitch all morning
from the combinations i'm keeping up
just to maintain a wry-smiled "functioning"
and the temperature is never right
active ingredients and seasons change
but i'm not sure habits do
Dr. Moses recommends...life is aDr. Moses recommends... by YouInventedMe
film is a
thought is a
ghost is a
time is a
loss is a
Exploding babiesExploding babies by truedragon
A great deal of people remember June 2nd, 1986. Unfortunately, a lot of those people are no longer living. Fortunately, Robby Winters is. This is his eyewitness account.
"The funny thing is, later on everyone found out our's wasn't the first or, hell, even the biggest. Since around, oh, '84, really downright weird shit had been happening. Everyone knew about it, but no one talked about it, the governments denied it, y'know, most people saw First Watch coming. They had a hell of a time covering up every little baby boom that happened.
But, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself, let me backtrack. Towards the begining, I'd guess, early-mid '85, this mysterious explosion was all over the news. I'm US native, and everyone couldn't quite understand why there was all this coverage for a Chinese accident. People started wondering if maybe it was some kind of attack, or they were testing nukes or something, basically everyone had some crazy theory. Everyone assumed it had something to do with all t
there's a carnivalthere are stories sewn in the seams of his jeans;there's a carnival by singmelovesongs
the jeans, he screams, are only in his dreams
of girls in cream coloured carousels
drinking arsenic from wishing wells.
of joking gypsies in july;
crying and crying without a goodbye
hiding in hollows of their own hunger
taking each beating after each new blunder.
of menacing men with macabre maledictions;
grins on their guilty faces, soaked in gin
sulking on stilts strewn with splinters
only to whine and whimper throughout the winter.
of useless umbrellas with undenying truth,
of tempting trees topped with decadent fruit,
of restless roamers ravished and old,
of late- night lovers feeling no cold.
there are stories sewn in the seams of his jeans;
the jeans, he screams, are only in his dreams-
but the pants, i know are not what's being told
it's the story of the young man, who'll never grow old.
tonight, the sunset looked more beautiful than ever.
on my own, alone.