Saturday, December 03, 2005


Serenity is an asylum, for all its claims to be in tune with the land like some supra-eco-literate Walden, it tries like everyone else for absolute control, blasting creeks with concrete because the natural flow is painful aesthetically displeasing. "I'm okay with the use of concrete, but only if it doesn't change the natural shape of the rock. Don't put too much on." Multidirectional orders for the willing lackey.

The meals are killing me. My palate is a long-repressed virgin at the college res, ultra-stimulated with new nerve sensations in every pore - you never knew you had so many erogenous zones in one place! Nipple raped cows suffer for my flesh sins, if indirect. My stomach attacked by acids fatty grooving in my guts churning excremental absolution time after time, gastrointenstinal stress. Perscription addiction can't even save me.

Serene concentration camp with Nazi hours, yet free muscle liquidiation massage therapy and psyche straining clarification exercises.

But where are the answers?

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