If you're new here and even if your not I need to make one thing clear; I have never told anyone anywhere in any manner, or form that I have schizophrenia or any other mental illness. Anyone who says anything otherwise is lying. You know the problem with my stalkers? They're always on the same trip. No matter what happens its all my fault. They drug the food, and I can tell so I don't eat it. Then I'm as ass for wasting food. They drug the butter and cooking oil, and spices, and I'm an ass for not cooking for myself. I'm an ass for not believing their lies. I'm weak for needing contact with other people. I'm weak because their insults make me angry. I'm insecure because their lies make me nervous. I'm stupid because I can't tell they care in spite of the lies and obvious pain and profound physical discomfort I feel on a daily basis. To them any objection I make to the death threats or insults is just pure arrogance, and they never ever stop laughing. They always want to say everything just short of "I know everything you do on your computer, and have a camera in your room," I don't really have to guess about a lot of things because they're really not very subtle. Its clear that they think I'm a habitual murderer, and rapist. What I don't get is how I can be accused and punished for a crime, without a trial, or even being told about it. Its clear that they think I'm schizophrenic. What I don't get is how you can label someone as a schizophrenic and treat them against their will, without ever telling them about it.
So yeah, I have totally fallen for this whole "I love you, Al" game. Its what I need to hear and there are some really good liars out there. Thank god your fucking uncontrollable, ignorant pig laughter always tips me off. You think I'm not beating your fat ass because I'm scared of you, but there are other reasons. One of them is that my stalkers call you their cum faced whore behind your back, so I think they're fooling you a lot more than they're fooling me. Its possible that you actually like being their cum faced whore, in which case that's just another reason not to beat your fat ass. My reasons for not beating your fat ass are a lot better than your reasons for drugging me and playing the inside man to this bullshit, but I know that you can't tell the difference, and that's another good reason. I have a lot, but I am not afraid of you. One of us is definitely stupid and arrogant, but I don't think its me. You've probably never even seen this blog. I bet you count on them to tell you everything. Smart.
4 comments:
stay strong!
Van der Graan Generator
Man-Erg
The killer lives inside me: yes, I can feel him move.
Sometimes he's lightly sleeping
in the quiet of his room,
but then his eyes will rise and stare through mine;
he'll speak my words and slice my mind inside.
Yes the killer lives.
Angels live inside me: I can feel them smile...
Their presence strokes
and soothes the tempest in my mind
and their love can heal the wounds
that I have wrought.
They watch me as I go to fall
- well, I know I shall be caught,
while the angels live.
How can I be free?
How can I get help?
Am I really me?
Am I someone else?
But stalking in my cloisters hang the acolytes
of gloom
and Death's Head throws his cloak into
the corner of my room
and I am doomed...
But laughing in my courtyard play the pranksters
of my youth
and solemn, waiting Old Man
in the gables of the roof:
he tells me truth...
And I too, live inside me and very often
don't know who I am:
I know I'm not a hero, but
I hope that I'll not die.
I'm just a man, and killers, angels,
are all me:
Dictator, saviour, refugee in war and peace
as long as Man lives...
I'm just a man, and killers, angels,
are all me:
Dictator, saviour, refugee
wow, thanks monster. i was feeling a little down, but that perked me right up. support from friends is the best medican, huh?
I don't like you to feel down, Green Al. So, have one more VdGG lyric (this is the Cinas' favorite):
Childlike Faith in Childhood's End
Van der Graaf Generator, lyrics by Peter Hammill
Existence is a stage on which we pass,
a sleepwalk trick for mind and heart;
it's hopeless, I know, but onward I must go
and try to make a start
at seeing something more
than day to day survival, chased by final death.
if I believed this the sum of the life to which we've come,
I wouldn't waste my breath.
Somehow, there must be more.
There was a time when more was felt than known
but now, entrenched inside my sett,
in light more mundane, thought rattles round my brain:
we live, we die...and yet?
In the beginning there was order and destiny
but now that path has reached the border
and on our knees is no way to face the future, whatever it be.
Though the forces which hold us in place
last through eons in unruffled grace
we, too, wear the face of creation.
As anti-matter sucks and pulses periodically
the bud unfolds, the bloom is dead, all space is living history.
It seems as though time must betray us yet we're alive
and though I see no God to save us, still we survive
through the centuries of progress
which don't get us very far.
All illusion! All is bogus...
we don't yet know what we are.
Laughing, hoping, praying, joking, Son of Man,
with lowered eyes but lifting hearts, we're grains of sand
and though, in time, the sea may claim us for its own
we are the rocks which root the future - on us it grows!
We might not be there to share it
if eternity's a jest but I think that I can bear it
if the next life is the best.
Even if there is a heaven when we die,
endless bliss would be as meaningless as the lie
that always comes as answer to the question
"Why do we see through the eyes of creation?"
Adrift without a course,
it's very lonely here,
our only conjecture
what lies behind the dark.
Still, I find I can cling to a lifeline,
think of a lifetime which means more than my own one,
dreams of a grander thing than we are.
Time and Space hang heavy on my shoulders...
when all life is over who can say
no mutated force shall remain?
Though the towers of the city are denied to we men of clay
still we know we shall scale the heights some day.
Frightened in the silence, frightened, but thinking very hard,
let us make computations of the stars.
Older, wiser, sadder, blinder, watch us run:
faster, longer, harder, stronger, now it comes...
colour blisters, image splinters gravitate
towards the centre, in final splendour disintegrate.
The universe now beckons
and Man, too, must take His place;
just a few last fleeting seconds
to wander in the waste,
and the children who were ourselves move on,
reincarnation stills its now perfected song,
and at last we are free of the bonds of creation.
All the jokers and gaolers, all the junkies and slavers too,
all the throng who have danced a merry tune...
human we can all be, but Humanity we must rise above,
in the name of all faith and hope and love.
There's a time for all pilgrims, and a time for the fakers too,
there's a time when we all will stand alone and nude,
naked to the galaxies...naked, but clothed in the overview:
as we reach Childhood's End we must start anew.
And though dark is the highway,
and the peak's distance breaks my heart,
for I never shall see it, still I play my part,
believing that what waits for us
is the cosmos compared to the dust of the past.
In the death of mere Humans Life shall start!
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