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Literature

Dress Bites Dog

Opening Fruity Loops, I'm not feeling the background pic. I change it to an image offa nude woman reclining onna draped armchair with a smoking pistol in her left hand, her right holding a lit cigarette strategically in front of her crotch from the viewer's perspective. An outstretched, presumably lifeless hand and arm lays on the floor from off camera, the subject of her gaze. Its by the artist 1019. One must constantly redecorate the GUI when staring at screens for any length of time. No matter what your DAW, grey is the color of music. Lest it be stark extremes etching college ruled throughout the evening's vista. Innan ever evolving quest to avoid any more repetitive hand injuries I have assigned mouse duties tooa Logitech USB video game controller with the valuable assistance of JoyToKey v64. The POV and the right joystick are dedicated to moving the mouse at different speeds. Currently using two monitors, so one does the long distance and the other finer, close-up precision.

Literature

Choosing To Make Noise

It is a strange enough event - the announcing of noisemaking assa consuming activity. Of noisemakers, there issa percentage who specialize, choosing one noisy group with more time and passion. Some like a straight line of lowest to highest levers and hammers. Some like to feel the vibrations from strings. Some just like to hit things. Some, more than anything, like to make fart noises with their lips forras long as possible. Of these, this last mentioned group, there is The Tubist. What expressive tool defines my noise, Tubists ask themselves but once in their lives. The Tuba, is the answer. If you're gonna make fart noises with your lips, then of course they'd be better amplified and bassy. I have never met a Tubist. I have never been to someone's home and seen a pile of scratched, dented, homemade from various materials tubas. Making noise issa disease. Support your local Tubists and show them you care. Before its too late.

Literature

I Am Ubiquity

My weapons are ideas. They are in my head until they are released. No evidence to collect. There may as well be armies of angels and demons warring invisibly between the air all around you. Only the effects are seen. I am everywhere. Try finding a place on Earth where a screen orra speaker is not. I am Ubiquity.

Literature

I'm Doing This Forra Prophet

Go tell it on a mountain Far, far away from here Go tell it on a mountain Your disease is present everywhere Go tell it on a mountain Suffering spread in the name of your Lord Go tell it on a mountain Evil like yours will get no listeners here ( For your efforts, reap your reward ) Go tell it on a mountain Poisons tainting our thirsty eyes Go tell it on a mountain As a result of your enforced lies Go tell it on a mountain Isolated and starving, trapped at its peak Go tell it on a mountain For your climbers lost no one will weep Go tell it on a mountain The air is thin and you can't catch your breath Go tell it on a mountain Talking to yourself until your emaciated death Repent! Hypocrite! And be ignored The Prince of Lies Penned your Word Repent! Hypocrite! The damage you have done Will only live on In our victory songs Go tell it on a mountain All of your number dressed the same (Suits, shiny shoes, and nooses 'round necks) Go tell it on a mountain Sloth has made your legs

Literature

Together We Prosper

Searching for file types Engines browsing securely Pasted addresses, images reversed Dial-up looked up Whois analyzing the local forum Documented bulletins posted Software solutions transforming Virtually no currency Broken links uncuffed and free radical Routed messages received Discovered tags edited Hidden extensions classified Dotted pixelated periods Hard driven airtight cases Airflow glowing liquid cooled lightshow Fiber optics targeting Data scrubbed and scraped and codified Hashes smoked Instant faces displayed in spaces Named domains imaginary boundaries Sets of sheets spread No privacy no authority perfect love

Literature

Amara Amygdalin

An essential element of the romance story: geniuses are only worth something after they're dead. Ingested and accepted when the mission launched. Repeated once as proof of journey, a bill of lading adhered to a steamer trunk discovered by a thrift store purchase. Being trained as a writer drove me from the medium. I didn't appreciate the gift of precognition. I still consider it a curse from the cackling hyena that is the inventor of suffering. You know how this ends, kid. Now please to stop dragging the feet. All plots are conflicts, except burials. Self against interior. Self against exterior. Self against independent mirror. (Ack! Verses with versus) There is no story without conflict. The violence is required. Life steals life in order to live. Being able to guess the ending shortly after the director's name infuses bitter almond to the palate. Even if it is advantageous. May you find your fortune, my friend. Let the longing make the victory sweeter. More caustic flavors