:: Empty dead babies; searchlights on. ::

:: Wednesday, August 21, 2002 ::

A million little glowing, itchy things. Parasitic viral thought patterns burst into existence in strident waves of green phosphorescence on the neural oscilloscope.
:: OwenF 2:01 PM [+] ::
...

I sit here wondering, can this be it? This hollow life, barren and wretched at the dawn of a new age of hopelessness? The body recoils and attempts to retch, packed to the gills with fast-food-substitute, carcinogenic preservatives leaching through the porus skin, as the whole being threatens to haemorrhage spontaneous? Dreams of freedom and equality, the summation of thousands of years of human thought and struggle, dashed against the jagged rocks of an illegitimate election? The latest gristly, pasty-faced member of a long line of robber barons takes his seat upon the ceremonial chamber pot that America calls it's throne, shitting down vile rivers of blood and sputum upon an uncaring electorate. This is the environment in which journalism is forced into birth, the rancid corps-fired forge of razor-honed violent intellect. Fuck them. Fuck them all.
:: OwenF 6:57 PM [+] ::
...

Exolate! Defornicate! Hobilate! The parade is hundreds of miles long, a slowly snaking phalanx of tired men in grey fatigues. Back, it stretches, through towns and cities, under overpasses and bridges, curling around monuments to the fallen leaders of countless wars long forgotten. It bubbles and twists like a broken adding machine that spools out tattered ticker-tape on worn hardwood floors. And in the distance, the booming of great machinery of war can be heard reverberating through cavern-like masonry halls of corporate edifice and remote oil wells drained of their liquid ebony in the ceaseless pursuit of profit.
:: OwenF 6:47 PM [+] ::
...

Gentle moonlight kisses dew-stained blades of velvet grass. Mild reality complexes collapse spontaneous in empty purple vessels. It's the witching hour, and fiends and cacodemons cavort naked in amber pools of liquid bone. What gentle species is this? what hairless breed of psychotic half-ape? Man, the creator and destroyer, vision of God and last dying ember of frozen zircon wails. The sky is wet with empty energy, and a translucent haze of moisture shrouds the waning of the moon.
:: OwenF 6:43 PM [+] ::
...