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Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Telephonic Roulette
Hold the phone! HOLD IT! The time has come for telephonic roulette. Antennae first. Thankyousir.
Ring.
Hark! What be this glorious day of downpoured melancholy? It's raining silver spoons I tell you. Babies are drowning in a sea of metallic utensils and there is nary an arm floatie to spare. But I digress, onward towards the horizon my stuttering steed!
The fog continues to creep up on me each night like some sort of clocked work. Syringe in tote, it scales the back of my swirly chair and plunges me directly in the juglular. Truely a horrific event if you've ever witnessed it. But of course you haven't, for the clocked work is never seen, only assumed. Like cottage cheese. I seem to have slipped into the fathom of incoherence. I am well aware that a decrypto ring is required for digestion of this data, so search your local cereal boxes and super heroes.
Ring.
My mind is currently stuck in a groteque bout of ring-a-round and there's no sign of stopping. Small children, disguised as hopes and hallucinations, push it along at an alarming rate. It is no longer in my control so the only question left is what will this accomplish. My tongue has become forked and it bleeds white blood. Futile? Perhaps. Deserved? Certainly. What is the goal? There is no goal. There is only a cycle of defeat devised purposely for that reason. Slavery is freedom. War is peace. Shove a stick in my spokes and tell me you love me.
The hands are dirty; the boots muddy; and now it is time for sleep. The sides are slick and there's a flood coming. We shouldn't have made the chains so tight.
Click.
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