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"Sometimes...
You can cry until there is nothing wet in you.
You can scream and curse to where your throat rebels and ruptures.
You can pray, all you want, to whatever god you think will listen.
And still it makes no difference.
It goes on, with no sign as to when it might release you.
And you know that if it ever did relent...
It would not be because it cared."


--Johnen Vasquez

Listening to "A Perfect Circle". Way cool CD. Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums.
Feeling some-sort-of-cidal. I can feel this need burning deep within me to create, to make something out of the barren wasteland that rides me like a Prussian sausage. Something dark, yet inviting, callous and friendly, chaotic, vet valuable like a jewel born of sweat and semen and blood and hatred and love.

Disaster in a can.

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