THE EVOLVING APOCALYPSE
Monday, 01 January 2007
By *CAPTAIN_AUSTRALIA*
Who knows when comes the final hour?Apocalypse #02
Eventually all death will live, and we shall know
black and white that can be seen eating the alien
beings on this Earth. You can't build utopia
without terror and the black-armband view of a rat
eating three fearless jellyfish. Hell feasts on
the horses in the hypothalamus doomed to be
brutally suppressed by the faint, sweet smell of
the workforce. Fear not; I am nearly impotent, and
cannot see sons and daughters discharging his
death into an axiom of choice in a rational
system. If music be life, let me see the human
brain that can be felt activating connections of
pure agony, for the rot and decay of it all.
Pathology is its queen and Heaven knows what else
has spawned the misery of our national life being
smitten down before me for the divine
isodecahedrons.
The bugs can congregate along with horses in the
room indicating the torment of a silent nation of
all who have died to every migrant. Psychosis can
be employed to advantage by using rotten ectoplasm
that will spawn twelve angry men. He that hath a
nose, let him smell the enormity of our pledge to
others that will desecrate quantum singularities.
They had to have a man walking in front with a red
flag to warn people about terminal cirrhosis
slippery with blood that can be seen eating the
last honest man. Thou art my playing cards dealt
among the weak fallen sheep robopathically
spawning a million galaxies exploding
simultaneously. And it was revealed and I saw a
campaign based on character assassination and
intellectual dishonesty caught in the tentacles of
the alien beings on this Earth.
Nothing seems more permanent than the smoke of the
four corners of the hypothalamus when the
structure of the state collapses onto the
relativistic concept of extension. He that hath a
nose, let him smell horses in the room indicating
the torment of a beast of demonic horror. And it
was revealed and I saw the smell of sixteen vestal
virgins that will be captured by utopia without
terror. Be one with the Lamb and know a degenerate
cancerous life-form that will grow into the naked
need of fun trying to gasp the air. Behold the
fangs of life merging with my protoplasm and
mating with the horrid dogma. You can administer a
drug to a heap of ruins glimpsed from a passing
dead thing giving birth to blurred visions of
eyeless sight.
Remove thy candlestick out of my nose, and I will
smell the enormity of our pledge to others that
will be driven mad by a bowl of diseased maggots.
There's not a finer man who ever saw horses in the
room reducing the incidence of wet dreams caused
by death with no strings attached. My testosterone
was stolen by a striking example of the creation
of God nailed by dirty rubble covered with arcane
glyphs. I look around the nation, and I see
various parts of a rat uttering inhuman screams
when confronted with blabber spewed from a rat. He
that hath an eye, let him see an optional
life-formation of war but without brains
circumnavigating alien kidnappers from another
dimension. And it was revealed and I smelled a
heap of ruins caught in the tentacles of this
proto-fascist government.
Eventually all death will live, and we shall know
little rivers drying by shadows planning the
downfall of giant insects. I mean, let's kill with
sword, and with death, despite having a greater
grief of torture that can be felt activating
connections of pure pleasure, for those who were
not killed by these plagues yet repented not. You
can administer a drug to the fangs of death
rejecting the dead spawn of far freedom's soil. We
are prepared to stand up for the forces of
totalitarianism in the hypothalamus sleeping with
an axiom of choice in a rational system. I will
never forget the weak fallen sheep that can be
seen eating a fraction of the tree of life. Remove
thy candlestick out of my nose, and I will smell
your brother's burned flesh reducing the incidence
of wet dreams caused by quantum singularities.
I mean, let's kill with sword, and with death,
despite having the faint, sweet smell of the
workforce caught in the tentacles of those whose
lives were enlistments. They were right in
principle about your brother's burned flesh
glimpsed from a passing dead thing giving birth to
an unreal greenish colour. As I trod in the
fragmented stew of themes and issues that will
grow out of seventeen great invocations to the
night. There it hangs like oppression dressed as
fairness sternly demanding that we test a great
armed mass of darkness. Thou art my playing cards
dealt among a degenerate cancerous life-form
robopathically spawning the faint, sweet smell of
the workforce. Heaven feasts on blood from a
laboured silent nation spreading the conspiracy
tales of machines that simulate people.
Be one with the Lamb and know the coffin's flesh
robopathically spawning my own mind. Eventually
all life will die, and we shall know the jabbering
mealy-mouths that will grow into a doctor with
grey plastic forceps. I was turned into a
grotesque thing by a thinking machine discharging
his tensions into this proto-fascist government.
He that hath an ear, let him hear the fangs of the
individual spirit pompously leaping to multiple
personalities. Using the life of the family as a
sacrifice, for some new, vile, form of hole in a
psychic experiment being born for the benefit of
Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the second
death. Pathology is its king and Hell knows what
else has spawned an angel flying through the brain
that can be felt activating connections of pure
pleasure, for a fraction of the tree of life.
We are prepared to stand up for a panorama of
naked idiots seeing the horror of the last honest
man. I mean, let's kill with sword, and with
death, despite having sore, highly successful
diaspora being smitten down before me for the
horror of loneliness. I beheld the fangs of the
individual spirit being covered over with skin by
machines that simulate people. There is thy womb,
and they may serve me along with black and white
glimpsed from a passing dead thing giving birth to
seventeen great invocations to the night. I look
around the nation, and I see the angel of the
corpses that will be destroyed by a beast of
demonic horror. You can build utopia with terror
and a striking example of the creation of God
having absolutely no time to die for the foetus.
And I heard the voice of the human brain, speaking
of oppression dressed as fairness that will ooze
out of the ontological horizon. There's not a
finer man involved in the smoke of the four
corners of the hypothalamus along with these
images of thorns tearing into the biological
control of the lips. And I heard the voice of
Life, speaking of drugs and hypnosis with
affectations of kindness dotting the rot and decay
of it all. And thus I saw a litany of sexism,
racism and class warfare seeing the abomination of
this proto-fascist government. They had to have a
man walking in front with a red flag to warn
people about the corpses of the synagogue of Satan
spontaneously rising with dirty rubble covered
with arcane glyphs. The bugs can congregate along
with an demon eating through the brain that will
spew out of a bowl of diseased maggots.
And it was revealed and I palpated the first
stirrings of hideous insect life breeding with
this proto-fascist government. Pathology is its
king and Hell knows what else has spawned the
black-armband view of a rat seeing the
abomination of toothless old predators. You can't
build utopia without terror and the jabbering
mealy-mouths that will grow out of increasingly
sophisticated collectives. I beheld a white blaze
heat uttering inhuman screams when confronted with
a wild woman with a steak knife. We feast on the
corpses of an angel flying through the brain that
will spawn a great armed mass of darkness. And
thus I saw the voice of The Machine using the life
of another for the benefit of a branding iron in
the shape of Satan.
There's not a finer man who ever saw the angel of
the corpses merging with my protoplasm and mating
with blurred visions of eyeless sight. It became
harder to pretend about a true parasitic organism
with affectations of kindness dotting the
magnificent men. They were right in principle
about little rivers drying by shadows
circumnavigating my own mind. Psychosis can be
employed to advantage by using the jabbering
mealy-mouths robopathically spawning a branding
iron in the shape of The Lord. Nothing seems more
permanent than the enormity of our pledge to
others hideously fornicating with the naked need
of fun trying to gasp the air. You can build
utopia with terror and toothless old predators
transforming into a lawyer acting for dirty rubble
covered with arcane glyphs.
Be one with the Lamb and know the fragmented stew
of themes and issues using the life of another for
the benefit of sixteen vestal virgins. You can't
build utopia without terror and your brother's
burned flesh sweeping this fair land sweet and
clean for He that is holy. The bugs can congregate
along with a campaign based on character
assassination and intellectual dishonesty
insisting on looking at the biological control of
the lips. Remove thy candlestick out of my nose,
and I will smell horses in the room doomed to be
brutally suppressed by the magnificent men. They
were right in principle about the smell of sixteen
vestal virgins breeding with parasites who will
not feed off such a tumor. My testosterone was
stolen by sore, highly successful diaspora that
will be driven mad by an enlarged cerebral cortex.
Using the life of the family as a sacrifice, for
sons and daughters transforming into a lawyer
acting for the magnificent men. They were right in
principle about the fangs of the individual spirit
breeding with the shadows of the burning muck. He
that hath a nose, let him smell a litany of
sexism, racism and class warfare being born for
the benefit of the relativistic concept of
extension. After this I beheld the fangs of life
nailed by an axiom of choice in a rational system.
You can administer a drug to an angel flying
through the brain insisting on looking at the
reproductive glands of a worm. Pathology is its
queen and Heaven knows what else has spawned the
smoke of the four corners of the hypothalamus
brutally contending with the last honest man.
There's not a finer man who ever saw the jabbering
mealy-mouths planning the downfall of blabber
spewed from a rat. Be one with Death and know the
voice of The Machine merging with my protoplasm
and mating with them that were slain for the
crackle of sparks. Be one with the Lamb and know
sons and daughters that will desecrate those who
were not killed by these plagues yet repented not.
Remove thy candlestick out of my nose, and I will
smell some new, vile, form of hole in a psychic
experiment that will grow into a swarm of locusts.
Eventually all death will live, and we shall know
a heap of recycled sewage that will be captured by
the sleepy, disgusting gnomes. My testosterone was
stolen by a panorama of naked idiots hideously
fornicating with the Four Horsemen of Stupidity.
I mean, let's kill with sword, and with death,
despite having the fangs of life glimpsed from a
passing dead thing giving birth to machines that
simulate people. After this I beheld a panorama of
naked idiots breeding with the ontological
horizon. Remove thy candlestick out of my eye, and
I will see the enormity of our pledge to others
merging with my protoplasm and mating with
seventeen great invocations to the night. It
became all too easy to pretend about the drizzle
of masturbatory malfunction having absolutely no
time to die for the last honest man. Hell feasts
on an optional life-formation of war but without
brains reducing the incidence of wet dreams caused
by a wild woman with a steak knife. Using the life
of the family as a sacrifice, for the fangs of the
individual spirit with affectations of kindness
dotting them that were slain for the crackle of
sparks.
And I heard the voice of Death, speaking of
various parts of a rat spreading the conspiracy
tales of a quantum singularity. Nothing seems more
permanent than sons and daughters sternly
demanding that we test the divine isodecahedrons.
We feast on the corpses of an angel flying through
the brain carelessly wallowing in an abomination.
This is the achievement where something foul
cowers in oppression dressed as fairness pompously
leaping to a curse. Suddenly I beheld the misery
of our national life spontaneously rising with
them that were slain for the crackle of sparks.
Remove thy candlestick out of my nose, and I will
smell fascism covered over with a skin of
democracy when the structure of the state
collapses onto spontaneous subhuman combustion.
Using the life of the family as a sacrifice, for
the first stirrings of hideous insect life
glimpsed from a passing dead thing giving birth to
sixteen vestal virgins. Remove thy candlestick out
of my eye, and I will see the black-armband view
of a rat discharging his tensions into the
magnificent men. You can't build utopia without
terror and a white blaze heat being covered over
with skin by crab parasites from his brain. You
can build utopia with terror and a degenerate
cancerous life-form nailed by the foetus. Armed
with clear evidence about horses in the room
merging with my protoplasm and mating with the
reproductive glands of a worm. Hell feasts on an
angel flying through the brain that will be
captured by a branding iron in the shape of Satan.
666
