There's no such thing as yours and mine; We were all just thrown here There is no thing as up and down Or in or out– We're all just born to die here The theory or hypothesis of cloud based lifeform states that some humans, born with less conscious energy than others, are made in a basic state form and must be programmed by other forces of nature separate from one's direct environmental circumstances, but rather a synthesis of technological or even hybrid computational constructs within

Isn't it strange that I can write something, and not remember what I wrote the next day? I remember that I wrote it, and writing it, but not the words, really, or the structure. They make pictures in the documents, shapes that they themselves as things make imprints as etching but have never been seen, by anyone else but me, at least—and whoever is phishing in my documents. That's the dangerous part. I do remember Jimmy Fallon, or just glimpse of it—that's the other dangerous

MARTHA STEWART is having a bake sale when literally ALL HELL breaks looseMARTHA STEWART (sighing in disappointment, tossing down her spatula firmly) “I wanted it to be fun.” Do you sleep with a gun? Do you sleep with a gun? What is done in the dark, Comes to light just for fun What is done in the night, Tends to turn to the day Do you sleep with a gun? Do you sleep? Do you pray? It is early 19th century and almost nothing technologically speaking has become available,

Ugh, it's a fuckin riddle. *sad eyes* No fair. *super sad eyes* Super no fair *Super duper sad eyes* {Enter The Multiverse} YO! LETS GO TO TUBBY'S! YEEEAAAAAHHHHH! ITS TUBBY TUESDAYS!!! “TUBBY TUESDAYS?!” “Tubby Tuesdays” WELCOME TO TUBBY'S–I hope you're having a very Tubby day! We are now! Well, that's what I like to hear! Happy Tubby Tuesday everybody, right this way! All the tables are booths! …uh…okay. Before:

CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical intentions. Now the DJS are in a rush to extract this

The Collective Complex Foundation Art Series Mixes 001. CARL COX curses BLŨ out in an extreme show of brilliantly vile COCKNEY FASHION. CARL COX [unintelligible cockney] BLŪ I have no idea what you just said, or why you're yelling at me! CARL COX (Sarcastically) Well how's this—? “Ello, poppet!” In THE DJ storyline )which is technically storyline a, we've just discovered DJ DILLON FRANCIS used BLU — (originally CC) as a sort of horcrux for his darkest magical

Let's break this down with scientific research and data:1. Passive-Aggressive Hostility & Covert Racism Passive-aggressive behavior is an indirect expression of anger, hostility, or displeasure. Rather than open confrontation, it manifests in resistant, defiant, or undermining actions. When this behavior is directed towards individuals based on their race or ethnicity, it falls under the umbrella of covert racism or racial microaggressions. * Covert Racism: This is a form of racial

I'm no complete Christian, but the bizarre act of hacking and spewing and gasping by whoever was next door while I was reading the Bible was telling of its claims. “that girl really fucked you over.” I wasn't sure what exactly the voice was besides the voice of God itself, or maybe even the same voice who had warned me who'd win the election and was right, and so eternally and internally always kind of a voice I trusted, and besides that, I was sure it see right. The evil girl next

If this is a vault, I could get ambushed– If it were a parking lot, Then I could get robbed My plate was a lot, But i'm going back for seconds; Well, I walked right into that one It'll take awhile to work its way into words But for now, i'm still heart being hurt Does your stomach hurt? Did your eyes go wrong? No! I got hot all over, Wrote words to a song Worese is, I don't think Anything under the sun And all of esoterics Really string along the whole hypothesis I hope I off

…We have a weird connection, don't we? The scene was from The Television People, but the image was the clear as day vision of Patrick in a sunlit warehouse somewhere in Manhattan with one of his many lovers—somewhere in my mind, amidst the distractions, I was still trying to formulate the leeways between things I'd already written, and for whatever reason assembling an actual plot for its pilot season. STEPHEN COLBERT enters and unbuttons his suit jacket— in trademark

“Look what they eye unearthed,” leaning into the tip of my ear with the warmth and closeness of the coming waves, high tide approaching in the waning moon. “More secrets.” I replied. It was a question but also a statement— there was never such as this the luminescent trace of the glowing lava that was his force and might that I could not see for miles before he would even wander— first in twinkling stars and then later the wind itself and the birds, and then

Every time I take him in I must remember the best thing That have ever happened to him As he said And whether or not the band Wraps around the bent and broken digit I just simply remember that, I'm just infatuated as a friend I mark it like a mantra Just as adequately as the director Calls to action All the actors at the set; With no resentments We're all just doing our jobs All just doing our jobs We're all just doing our… Lessons. Come back. Not quite. It's not (Uh) There

[The Festival Project ™ ] Look, I've got some… time. How much time we talking? Enough. Alright, what's that make us? A deal. Alright. But you have to be quiet about it. Body is a minimum concern But accolades, achievements, Education— If you want to know, A billion's the goal— There's a goldmine full of pretty, perfect women But what are you worth, And where is your value What are you, earth, sir? Where are your manners, and What are your

Someone help me. What happened. What's good bro. I think deadmau5 is my cat. Nah. You're serious? I'm…deadfuckingnserious. What makes you think that? [cat is deadmau5] lol isn't it super torturous as fuck as a woman knowing All you really want is for like, one man to like , Just like you, But dudes are notorious for like— Never ever really being able to just ”like” one person? Like dudes like everyone They are notorious whoooores. The like

JIMMY KIMMEL uses his newfound ability to time shift (not time travel, persay, but to alter many parallels of a given time) to undo joining a college fraternity. Also in the present nothing appears altered. This invisibly and almost even silently skews several multidimensional parallels into disarray. Unknowing st all of this, he seems content with his decision. Then again, he always seems sort of... JIMMY KIMMEL is quietly enjoying his fishing trip. Basking in the wonderful allone

It was surreal, I was off the grid and in airplane mode, and completely lost without giving a care I was so frustrated that I just kept waking. Just when I started to seriously consider suicide, with the exact timing of my thoughts reaching the logistical point that ‘there was really nothing let in the world for me'— then it appeared right before my eyes; as if it had just sprung up in my path. I wasn't worried that I was lost, or even panicking in a suicidal spiral, I just

I feel like that would be a– coincidence? No, I don't think so THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES. THATS A CHALLENGE. CUNTFACE. 0.0 WHAT DID YOUJUST CALL ME. FUNTCASE. WHAT. IT'S A DJ– WHAT! GROUP–OR WHATEVER. Harvard; How'd I do that? I wonder what else I can get If I just ask I thought watch my thoughts I been bad I'm a dog (ruff) I should watch my process I been good, nothing lost I been bad, I'm a dog. I been bad I'm a dog Woof woof I'm dog I been bad I'm a

Suddenly, as I looked up from my makeshift workspace, where I had been toiling away for hours at seemingly nothing—I realized the world was full of everything I'd ever wanted to fuck; something primal and ancient had been awakening within me and I was left in a dangerous volitile position, drifting somewhere between reckless promiscuity in a sexual escapade—and the pseudo-conservative now-only partially celibate maiden form of fantasy—there wasn't anything I could do but wait

425 I don't know which bridge is the Brooklyn one, I won't lie It's frequency too famous for suicide I think about it every time Is this my stop? I want to die And meanwhile, On the four to five I caught the four right on time But only because I've run a mile You can't take anything from me, I already have nothing If you want more than what I'm made of, Then hold on and let me grab something Take all the waste and the filth And the days I've lost, The guilt Take the birthdays,

“The Golden Rule” I finally did it. I finally set my house on fire. You don't know. I've lived there two years; I just now did it. This amazes me that just how. Here's how it happened. So I'm in my kitchen, cooking. I just worked out for like, three hours so I'm cooking everything. Everything. I put the soup on, but by the end of the workout, I'm not sure the soup is going to be enough. So, I thought to myself, “You know what, I'm going to make some tortilla chips”