Bantering with Octagons

[tortoise]

Boiled pompadours on toast, tossed into the moonlight effervescence of the chocolate pistol-whipped cream with chopped sandcastle surprise, endured while lapping hungrily at the dime-store naugahyde milk crates left over from fungus parties past.

 

[Black_Bird]

Poke that joke, bloke with a big fat sock over your - wwweeelll... Keep your jeans clean, and lets not forget to pet that wet set of lips.

 

[tortoise]

Goats are people too, unless memory severs the tie-dyed walls of their discontented winters. Ice not, lest ye forget the pine-scented forest teeming with nomad ants. The stomachs of the brave ache with the seeds of corn-kerneled ass grabbers, while the senators watch the harridans decapitate the waitresses with nary a GLANCE at the donuts!

 

[cymbidia]

for Licky...

Wild whistles keen heathen wailing; 'tis harshly constrained mourning.

 

[Black_Bird]

Take that test and ride high... You've passed! Brain a bringer, human all too human, like a falicy or crime or measure of something less seen. There's a place we all go where that Stair Way to Heaven doesn't seem so much like a middle finger in the sky.

Do you spy that little man? He's got rickets, you know.

 

[Black_Bird]

the

Index, Right hand.

 

[Dhalgren]

“We are now marked together, your right, mine being left…
in a strange, self~inflicted mutual ritual..of letting go of our egos in order to fulfill something deeper than either one of us had ever intended,” said a dear to a raven one night over absinthe poured over a piece of purple sugar..they both found absolutely divine.

 

[tortoise]

While it absolutely can NOT be any hairier than a mossy stone, the Cookbook of the Damned has been to the bottom of the deepest sea, and it will become infused with a smokier stalemate than ever could hope to tantalize the dwarf sea captain; even if he dances a tarantella with a tarantula, his fate is still tied to that of the jaunty thorn-rimmed glasses worn by the Librarian of Babel.

 

[Black_Bird]

“We are now marked together, your right, mine being left…
in a strange, self~inflicted mutual ritual..of letting go of our egos in order to fulfill something deeper than either one of us had ever intended,” said a dear to a raven one night over absinthe poured over a piece of purple sugar..they both found absolutely divine.

*Chuckles*

It could be suggested that a shot of the green fairy be substituted for blood... but then we both would be drunk in a matter of an hour.

Indeed this is fun! One has to wonder how many hours will be spent between us cleaning our keyboards when dawn breaks.

 

[Dhalgren]

Maybe we'll fucked up mutually and press our opposite…bloody fingers up to our magick TVs and feel each other’s ego ebbing delightfully away from our souls...

She thought this silently as she pondered the laughing children in a lush, green moor.. knowing this already within their lovely pools of evermore.

 

[Dhalgren]

Raven said it again, a dear noticed..

She realized she would have to tell him...they had a pact.
Would he already know..?

Magick was certain..it was showing, glowing like soft, mad children.

Awake!

 

[Black_Bird]

Raven said it again, a dear noticed..

Where? My razor is ready.

 

[Dhalgren]

.. a shot of the green fairy be substituted for blood...

Ah a razor, thinking about his red blood oozing from a cut by his own hand..somehow seems rather beautiful.

She used an exacto blade..and can still feel the throb deep within her finger.... it's taste was sweet.

 

[Black_Bird]

.. a shot of the green fairy be substituted for blood...

Ah! Thank You.

Right, Middle.

Ah a razor, thinking about his red blood oozing from a cut by his own hand..somehow seems rather beautiful.

She used an exacto blade..and can still feel the throb deep within her finger.... it's taste was sweet. [/B]

Hmm... that sting is rather nice. Didn't go as deep with that second cut - didn't want to bleed all over my keyboard again. *chuckles*

Indeed - that taste is familiar and delicious. One might become a vampire playing this game.

Does Dill mind that we have taken over his thread? Should we start another?

 

[Dhalgren]

OT...for last time!

Dill would absolutely understand this exercise we are playing..

Trying myself...to say things people still could banter off of..ya know?

Agreed though, we should start our own thread.

 

[Dillinger]

One starts yet never ends. One ends yet never begins. One is.

Lemondade.

 

[tortoise]

When traipsing through the sparkling shards of shattered daisies, do you sometimes get the hankering for an avocado facial? Standing on the shoulders of midgets makes me feverishly long for the gunpowder dance of absurdity.

 

[Black_Bird]

Crack high and Buddhist monks - next Oprah.

Did you get my letter? The one with fish in it? It's all smelly anyway, might as well eat it, or fuck it, or truck it around the world and see if it can learn a thing or two.

Did we go too far? Did we go far enough?

My hand hurts.

 

[Dillinger]

Reclaimation. Where are the octagon staples these days? I am in need of banter with meaning, meaning with banter.

 

[cymbidia]

Tenderly bestowing air warm cookies, brimming with whipped cream (and oh! how the cream licksloves that!), upon the pounding beating drumming good hearts unended topsy-turveylike into one's life.

 

[tortoise]

Streams of smoke follow the broken guitars through the tarnished wilderness of the big brass bells, twisting the thoughts of those that came before... ignoring the sorrows, but not negating them.

 

[Dillinger]

Life. There's the rub or not to rub that is the quest of the La Mancha that I am.

 

[tortoise]

Sandy trenches batter the senses of the infidels, besieging the castles in the sky, swelling the balloons of ego. Ask not, lest ye be axed. The gods yawn at benevolence, and reward flatulence.

Nostalgia just ain't what it used to be...?

 

[Dillinger]

Nothing ain't even what its going to be. All tends toward chaos and back again in a squared circle. Go get 'em champ! Where is that staircase?

 

[cymbidia]

Staircases ascend, descend, circle airly through the window of our memories, all hot topics pushed to the back burner, simming in the mists, bubbling in the madness: images of what if haunting all good sapiens through the end of time.