latest quick fix of slowness

null and void. yet still vulnerable to pain. rushing to the constantly switching beat of normality with your defences down. deceived by your underestimation of pain's effect over yourself. trying to cope with the constant switches that negate your creativity and paint foul lines of disgust on your face. they seem to fade away, but in reality they establish vast and strong roots over you that grow even stronger day by night :P. they eventually manage to choke you, ensuring their permanent infestation over yourself, marking your face with venomous mark of hate. by that moment you're bound to have forgotten pain or even worse, you might have grown to like it. nahh, dude. that is so NOT true. seek back to where it all started. it's the fuckin' mesmerizing beat of normality that's brought you here. you've let it set the pace of your own fuckin' (now) li(f)e. make a switch. force your own lifebeat. let chaos, randomness and non-determinism add some chops to it. face pain with dark-sounding crashes. face them with their edges and try to be as precise as not to flam. also don't forget that splashes and chinas always make it more interesting ;)

myrtle wreath on loan

currently, i spend most of my time "preparing" for a great festive carnivorous reunion with my old mates. it's to be held on the first day of the next month, which is coming very soon by the way (see how easy it is to make things difficult?). a few hours ago, me and one faithful ol' lad of mine, went on a quick excursion to collect the material on which we'll eventually base our perfect dehumanisation. we had to call for this fest, as the sands of time seem to be switching sides at rapid rates and the present seems to overwhelm quite imaginative past expectations, most of which lie on the negative side, remarkably. that's when you exclaim: eternity too short! and seek for an opportunity to get a small grasp of the path that your tiresome ego follows, as it seems to drift like wreath, following a rather deviant route from the one that most probably you would expect. some may claim that "mother war" is capable of snatching us out from the infinite vacuum of nihillity and assimilating these paths as typical every-day (:P) bezier curves. avast!! we warn you! this thesis is just an approach. an approach which fails to come close enough to the essence of our devious and infinitely intractable spheres of madness. the beauty of this reuniting gathering will blossom joyful sparkling sensations in us all, almost -if not- equal to those you'd get when you'd walk through the hanging gardens (babylon's pride), with your beloved unique. every angle of view that one might attempt, would not prove false the essence of completeness. the symmetry of zero should be the guide when in every effort that aims in foolproofing this statement.

suffer the children..

then you would probably have the capacity to suffer us.

[ note: some grog might help jah!! ayeeee! ]

anticipating the ide(a)s

####### (fates) WARNIN' #######

for all of you that get easily upset and annoyed by kaffir stuff, you should reconsider and reestimate your potential capacity before proceeding. the resulting post is an unintentional consequence of a get-together-not-necessarily-commercial-buttt-always-heart-touching constantly-strugglin'-for-avoidance-fluffs-ass-they're-safe-as-hell (and a whore's vagina) song marathon accompanied by FA-SOL-Lucky trivial orotund-yawn-awakening chords, full of emotion and wide-but-loosely-shut eyes with squalid sordid painted eyebrows, some belated weeping of expectoration, gob, phlegm, or whatever else they call it and an expression of vulvitis, not rare in recent adult male population which can only be cured by some squushed sanitary napkins and the squawks of the corresponding squinching "squilla" producer when she squelches on the squishy squall she's cravin' for, with aparrent squeamish squirmy energy-squandering behavior.. to all of you who happen to be classified as such, i'm sure it's not an idea that you're anticipating, it's a fart you're painstakingly forcing to be present in the past. all of us, the scumm of the earth will sometime have a drink or two, on you. for without you, most probably we wouldn't have felt pity for anything.. whatever, the grog is flowing unremittingly here so it's a pity to feel a pity.

####### WARNIN' (fates) #######

late lukewarmness

there's something that must be going wrong lately. fellow pirates do not stand up well against their notorious log of glory. they seem to be tired and purely transactional, lackin' in motivation, courage and the infamous grog-scented air-sprayed insult production. they tend to sit there, waiting for minor victims to rampage with ease, yet not much zest. their apetite has gone flat and lackadaisical, depriving them of their prior chaotic aura. only a bunch of few remain fearsome and preponderant. well, you know what? let it be so, for they will be the ones that will stand out with no effort, enjoying their truly intrinsic (supererogation) loot fests, even if they will be missing the hope that they could share all these moments with their poor fellows. it is for them, that we raise our mugs up to carribean sky, we growl aaaayyyyyyyyeeee and we finally bring them to our mouth and let the grog flow to where it should..

a guide to a blatant rant

set the voice to a bent raffish style and start a rant full of slang. here and there, have a sip of grog to ensure that you keep on transpiring dizzy scents to the atmosphere. move as much as possible to spread the effect all over. but move quickly and sharply; you don't want to let nature do its thing. you've got to force it in your own manner. you gotta have control over it and direct it where the effect will be as sinister as possible. maximize the outpouring by alternating your exrpessions. twist your mouth into triumphant rictuses (just like when you feel like yawning in a point of no return) in order to stretch your skin and concentrate your pods of existence. then squeeze your face (preferably) cells in order to empower and drive these droplets of anger and grief to the world near you and even further. repeat. choose words that will sound like the cyclons that peel your soul off your deaf-mute body in your worst, but yet entertaining nightmares. choose the fierce, sharp ones for they will assist the transpiration by providing a sonic void in which the process will be proetected by any negative impact. i won't tell you how groove affects the whole process, but you might be able to guess from the context of what i've written so far. when you think you're ready, bring some grog or insults and come over. i'm already ready.... ....or ready already (excessive superfluity)!!

not interest.... ..ing or / and ..ed ??

i am really confused..
which one is the closest approximation to reality?

think i'll have to leave the combinations / calculations to you.. but wait, why should you bother, anyway?!? i'll just let a fellow pirate answer this. he owns a nice swimsuit and comes from a country where a space launchpad is located. so, i believe he's the most qualified to give an answer with some style ;)

massive looting tour de force

Fortunately, some of my brain cells remain unaffected from the recent consecutive loot fests and it's specifically thanks to them that I'm able to be writing this. Thus, it'll be quite short and I hope it will serve its cause, giving you a hint of what's going on.

WE FUCKIN' RULE!
NO FUCKIN' ONE CAN EVEN BE A DISTANT APPROXIMATION OF OURS.
OUR ORDER SHALL SPREAD FESTIVE CHAOS EVERYWHERE.
CONFORMITY IS BANNED FOR EVER, NOT TO RETURN.
STAND IN OUR WAY AND PREPARE TO GET SPARED.
EITHER WAY ; P

The forementioned is realized through many imaginative ways, the most notable of which, was a special invitation to swing party that is to be held in about two weeks. Till then, we'll keep applying the chaos theory (through the use of grog among others), in its significantly enhanced festive version. Ayeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!