Rub It Off. Or Out. Or, Nice Try
Some people make a stain on your soul. It’s the kind of shape that will stay in you forever and have that annoying ink-blot-like quality that will cause you to occasionally stare at it and wonder what the hell it is. Either that or you’ll begin to ignore it until you actually don’t see it anymore—it is just a part of your blotchy inner life once and for all, and indistinguishable from the rest of the mess. But it does contribute to the entire blobbish creation one way or the other, which, possibly, is reassuring.
posted by TK @ 15:10
5 comments
5 Comments:
love lint
it does not work .stain gets deeper
hello my intelligent man friends.
you have each impressed me with your concise commentary that somehow encapsulates much of your personal life philosophies. you have shown me, in turn, the difficult path, the easy path, and the third path. (i'm sure you can each understand which is which.)
i must consider these ways to enlightenment carefully. one false move and i could fall into the filthed-up abyss, and who knows what kind of cerberus-like creature is living down there, waiting to eat me. (where's sheleena these days, anyway?)
i have so much to learn from you all. except from maybe you, vex. from you i probably just need to extract a drink. or five. i think you owe me one anyway. or i owe you. no, you definitely owe me one. come on down and pay up, already, dammit.
one observation :
the abyss is about the creatures you create so don't be afraid of the fall ;
in fact there's no fall but the illusion of it
profundite, profanite, howfundite.
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