You Are The Dead
And here in my hand I see this knife; the blood I believe is my own.
Explicit paths to the fore and beyond, intractably damning all, I succumb. And here’s where I get to do some really cool shit.
He was handing out noses, and I said, “Get fucked, shit-heal. I got no time for you.”
Ah, good times. I’ll wipe this tear from my eye later.
Eric Blair, who wrote as George Orwell, wrote 1984, and you didn’t.
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- November 29, 2005 / 12:40 am