You know him?
Yes I met with him already, he tricked me into the elevator in London, I
wasn't concentrating. I was off guard.
There are no warheads in those rockets, this I know. You did not need
to go all that way to ask him, you could have just asked me. What did
his face look like?
His face was like the moon, all round with no features, it glowed, pale
green and when he smiled his teeth were translucent. His hair was there
and it was long, but you could hardly tell that he had hair. He was the
man who wasn't there.
There were no warheads. But he was the warlord.
He said the same thing. But actually he was pretty disgusted by me. I
wore sweats and trainers, my hair was a mess, my breathing was
erratic. I ate with my hands, he had never seen or done that. He was
from another world. From a world of silver spoons and the Officer's
mess.
As I got off the train he hid behind a concrete pillar. He made me
nervous, but I was drawn. I'd come too far, and it was too late to back
out. A man in blue jeans came up from behind me, he said yes... yes I
fucking knew you were up to something. He startled me. The concourse
began to spin. Now I was afraid. And alone. Then he suddenly appeared
out of nowhere, well from behind the concrete pillar to be more accurate.
He made me a drink but I left it. I couldn't hold the glass I was too
nervous. I kept thinking about the woman dressed in middle eastern
garb with the facial tatoo's, like what was she doing here? In the west,
with that terrified expression?
Did you read the material I gave you?
No, well I read one passage. I could identify, but in reality it was bad
advice.
If one's different, one's bound to be lonely.
I want to know what passion is, I want to feel something
strongly. Besides hate.
Stability, darling, isn't nearly so spectacular as instability.
I like being myself, myself and nasty. And sad and catatonic.
You got rid of them didn't you. Yes. that's just like you, Getting rid of
anything you don't like instead of learning to put up with things.
Can you believe this? Nothing costs enough here. Life costs nothing here.
Do you have a soul? Or do you have immortality? The Huxleyon
prophecy is that Big Brother does not watch us, by his choice. We watch
him by ours.
In the depths of the mind, where madness and instability reign, there
flows a deep river. The currents twist and turn, carrying with them the
fragmented pieces of a fractured soul. As the waters rush and swirl, the
boundaries between reality and delusion blur, leaving those who dare to
navigate its treacherous waters lost in a labyrinth of their own making.
Only the bravest souls dare to venture into the depths of their own
madness, seeking to find the elusive thread that will lead them back to
sanity. I'm not certain I want to be lead back to reality. I kind
of like it here, with all the mad men.
Is anyone ever really satisfied to be merely themselves? We seem to
spend a lifetime aspring to be someone else.
And this is the basis of the insanity?
No.
This is the beginning of the death trip.
Ok. Now mind that street chicken.
Street chicken? That's a fucking pigeon.
Yes that thing. Have you ever been handcuffed?
You mean sexually or by law enforcement?
You on Facebook? I can't find you.
Oh yeah, I put my name in Russian characters so they can't find me. I'll
add you.
Can you imagine marrying someone without having had sex with them first?
I can't imagine having dinner with someone without having had sex with them first.
The conductors here, get your ticket app on display.
Tickets for New Jersey! Or hell... whatever you like to call it.
Hell is fine.
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