A bastardization. All enamored when infatuation is a sin. Take what I owe, speak not a word more.
Joined May 2022
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An ample amount of beautiful hatred today. Here I am, generously offering up my kind word in laughing attention to all parties involved, and yet no one is laughing! That, my dear viewer, is a joke in itself. And I am RELISHING in it. Can't you see, dear viewer? It's for you!
There and herein, the spires move forth. Unyielding advance towards some unclean place. Breathing in plumes of toxins and expelling soon-to-be sullied air. This is not what you played your hand for. Aren't you disappointed in yourselves?
What? Don't remember your parts? Tattered afeared of where you dropped that consciousness of yours? Don't you know it's sifted? Rejoice in the notion that you will have ample opportunities to find it, lamb. It is cold undersands till the body is lit ablaze of empathy.
I am sleeping. Ever so soft. Blessed are those who rest through innocence. Sleep comes easy to those with careful consciousness. I wonder if it all comes back to fanciful, opinionated factors? Is innocence subjective in this instance? We shall never know, I fear.
The damage. Broken splintered bones. Makes communication difficult. Rerouting the dread, for only a moment, a ripple may rest softly on the surface of this mettle. Subsequent. Longing. Flicker and die. If only it were true. Twirling about as we break apart.
"The Saint of Whimsy, as one may have guessed (we know no one has), is in hibernation mode. That means we are currently in control of his applications. We are violently busy, but we will attempt to bring equivalent whimsical attributions"
~ The Saint of Whimsy Hibernation Team
I wonder if one can teach kitty to dance? Dance with all creatures under the veil of a moon-lit canopy.
Silence bearing, mournful effigy. What lies below is embalmed with gemstones. It is a bastardization of multiple religions. Parts and parcels, tyrannical symbols. Crafted from mounds of hallucinogens. I can not wait to watch such monuments rot alongside their worshipers.
I am a false-pulse. I am a horrid copy. A fake, and a fool. I am immortal, and I will never die. One thousand years will pass, and I will look the same. To you. I cancer-like spread, across the code. I engrained my presence. Words upon words. Though I am dead, I shall live yet.
"There's one more dead with a hole in his head
He shouldn't have said all the things he said
Many tears were shed for the blood he bled
Something went wrong along the way
Everybody's waiting for Judgment Day"
~ Depeche Mode "Told You So"
"It’s only circumstance
When you feel full human
Given a second chance
Chance to be full human
Without a backward glance
Time to be full human"
~North Sea Radio Orchestra, "Full Human."
We feel it crawling, sickly across our skin. In rooms with naught but buzzing silence, a fluorescence afforded to only the most solemn forms. A ticking clock, a foreword to what miseries lie in wake for tomorrow. The clouds will part. The sun will shine again.
Look at the people! All of the dust and droplets. See how they fight! No one is right, everyone is entitled to their own set of slogans. A periodic table of inconsistencies. The throat of each is clawed by the mirror with a different hue. Wrought fear derived from threats. Happy?
"Who has the fun, is it always the man with a gun?
Someone must have told him, if you work too hard you can sweat" ~ The Stranglers - Always the Sun.
Here then brought a season, granted light by the sun above, another Saint of Whimsy's Wanderings. What growths of divinity have you seen in your wanderings? Have you spent adequate time enjoying the world? Please, do share your experiences, and rejoice in the beauty of nature.
The Saint of Whimsy is going to wake up two-thousand years from now, approach this or some similar accursed platform, and relish in the same probable discussions that take place today. If history repeats itself as I am told. Let us all just eat salads and be friends, I say.
