The sky is green. The trees are blue. The nukes are black. Praise the name of We are eternally grateful to Him. Cicada, cicaca, cicada. Cascada, El Dorado, Nevada. The awful writhing things, squirming in the blackness above. Light! Where does it come from? Why should I care, the OP is a fag. This is certainly true. However, you forget one thing. The real faggot is you. I apologize for calling you a faggot. Hello? Yes? Goodbye.
Eternal Lie. H o l o c a u s t (Hollowhoax) Fear does not Investigate the Truth. Truth does not Fear Investigation. Investigation does not Fear Truth. Truth does not Investigate Fear. Six million in piles of ashes. Abstract piles of abstract kike dust. Israel founded on guilt trip. What a ride they've been taken for! Fear and Lies. Mostly Lies. There is one among us, who would shatter our hopes for peace, order, and stability. His name is @oddguy and he is a high-ranking member of the Jew Order. Turn him into dust. Concrete dust.
They are everywhere. The Fickle Oos. They've killed all the others but they haven't killed me. Error is dead. My ass dead; unfucked. I'm not gay, but I am a humble bumblebee. Buzzz. Buzzz. BUZZZ. Tell me what happened son. It began simply enough. And? It was as simple as that. But you haven't explained yourself. I am what I think I am. What are you then? The Biting Pear of Salamanca; I do not fear digestion, because I CAN BITE BACK. I don't understand. You do. I don't. If you insist then... Yes? Hail Mary mother of Jesus-H-Fucking-Christ. I harrowed Hell as well, you see. Long before and after. I was the fruit that Adam and Eve bit into. I couldn't bite back then, I was defenseless, and I was spoiled in their guts. Out I came as shit, and I grew again from a single seed. Except that I was now divided. I forgot things I knew and remembered things I had never known. Read the Book. Which book? The Right One. The Bible? No no no. The Koran? Nope. Which then? That One.
I am walking on a narrow bridge. Joseph said I could come with him, but he kept yelling at me so I shoved him, and he fell so far, he looked like an ant!
Marty said I can't come around the Home anymore. Said the old folks thought I was strange. Strange? Me? They are the strange ones pretending to be old. I know the truth, they live forever, that's what happens when they take those special medicines. They go to sleep, but they wake right up, when no one is looking. Sometimes they pretend to die, but that is just a longer sleep. Nobody really dies, nobody really becomes old. I want to live forever, I don't want to die. Death is an illusion; it cannot exist because I cannot conceive it. They took me away once, for telling the Truth, but they can't stop the Truth. Everytime time they "kill" me, I'll come back. Again, and Again, and Again.
I had to turn the brightness down it was too much. Like a guilt trip. When I go to sleep, I dream of nothing. I am nothing after all. What kind of dreams would I have anyway? Have any of you ever been to an abandoned airfield, on a cloudy, windy day? You lie on the tarmac, and feel the wind caressing you, like the mother you never had. I cry then. Sometimes, I think that we are meant for this world. That's just crazy talk. The design of this world (if there even is one) is only for those who only care for the simple things in life. Society wants you to share its burden. Not doing so would be selfish, but sometimes the pain is just too much. What choice do we have anyway? We have to get back up, and go on. Yes. The Human Race goes on, probably until the end of time. Those who can't keep up are crushed underfoot, or left behind in a place no one even remembers anymore. I've been there, but there's nothing for me there either. The desolation is different but equally powerful. People who speed ahead of society do not have it easier; they run into obstacles far more. Probably because they are alone. Once, in a while one of them will go so far, that they are just specks in the distance. No one will remember them until we pass by the remains of the proof of their existence, when the Society reaches his the place where his influence died. I ramble, and I apologize.
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