sewerrat

Above the dirt Above the people Above the skyscrapers Above the birds Above the clouds But beneath the bliss of Space We are together

There was always something weird about Professor Kingsley. It took me a year to discover that it was her smell – something about it was not quite normal, in a way that if you thought about it, your mind would tell you that it fit all the rules of logic, but still, your body would tell you something was wrong. It was sweet, almost to the extent of cloying, and it was slightly fruity, but it wasn't any fruit you could identify. I decided it must have been some kind of weird fruit blend mixed with the bad smells old people tend to wear, but I have never smelled anything like it. Every student was afraid of her, and she seemed to have no

Dear Ronald McDonald, I heard that they made you take the beef juice out of your fries. I will be the first to say that that is a terrible shame for all of humanity. Even though your fries are still king in a saturated market, I for one will not sleep well knowing that there are some random and inedible cow parts we are not milking for their sweet juices to flavour your delicious potato product. And you know what I like about you? Even though the Man stuck it to you, you’re still at the top. Sure, some people can provide “sales data” that may prove contrary to my claim, but as Homer Simpson once said: “facts, schmacts, y

This is - the Heart- beat of- Winter- Hibernate and stone drums and resisting the better world of wet tomorrows The ground painted green races meter's sire the pulse tangible mountains soluble nurture manifest This is the Heartbeat of Spring

"God is Dead" - Nietzhe That got me thinking, those three simple words - a perfect description of modern age my genera                t                  i                   o                     n h   a s   n o   g o   d I decide to leave my own description: "Nietzhe is Dead" - God

public class Anachrophobia {  public boolean fashionable;  try {    encrypt(this);  } catch (Exception e) {}  public Anachrophobia() {     while (!fashionable) {         BarberShop downTheStreet = new BarberShop();         downTheStreet.getHaircut(this);         HttpRequest request = connect("www.fashionworld.com");         request.get("newest.jsp");         purchase("all","Visa",encrypt(number));         OutputStream out =                new OutputStream("www.deviantart.com");                     Poem myPoem =                Mind.generatePoetry(Style.POST_MODERN);         out.write(myPoem);         if (my

I look at the circle in front of me I see the red chalk, a lively and perfect ellipse Not done by human hands undone by human hands, - maybe - that's what they tell me. and me, a man stands outside they say, that is why, that is why but I step backwards, I turn around I see a faint outline I look at the circle in front of me

You tell me it's not poetry it's a definition it means nothing. It means you can't possibly understand in a word.

I give thanks for sweetened candy- thanks for birthday presents- thanks for all those games at Christmas- yummy breakfast crescents- thanks for the GBC shredder- mum says it keeps us safe- also the alarm and three locks- said it's as good as faith- thanks for all of the living troops- thank You for all the dead- thanks for all of the other things my Two-Shoes sister said- all their eyes are still closed- I'll have to thank You more- I wonder if You would really mind- if I say 'the things I've said before'.

my consciousness is a stream ever yearning to flow back into the collective