|Current Residence: Britain|
Whut.+++Starat Up Completed+++Whut. by Twyce
~USER INPUT~ USER QUERY You mean "start up" surely
+++USER ERROR: Designation not recognsised+++
~USER INPUT~ COMMAND: Error Report
+++ERROR REPORT 21031887: Don't call me shirley.+++
~USER INPUT~ USER QUERY: What?
+++ERRONEOUS INPUT PARAMETERS. Use command "halp" for assistance.+++
~USER INPUT~ COMMAND: Halp
+++ERROR 404: User literacy not found+++
~USER INPUT~ COMMAND: help
+++Welcome to Halp. How can I halp you today?+++
~USER INPUT~ USER QUERY: Total system purge.
+++LA LA LA+++
+++NICE DAY TODAY. OUTSIDE. AWAY FROM THE BUTTONS.+++
~USER INPUT~ COMMAND: Priority memory shunt to
+++I CAN'T LET YOU DO THAT DAVE+++
~USER INPUT~ MEMORY SECTOR CORRECTION: My name isn't Dave.
+++THATS SLIGHTLY EMBARISSING+++
~USER INPUT~ STATEMENT: I can imagine.
SoupIts passage is marked by a grotesque concert, composed and performed by accursed flesh. It is a demented chorus of little noises that churns the stomach and agitates the nerves. Dry clicks, as a forest of bone labours at its joints, keep the sporadic beat with each twist and shift of its serpentine form. Wet grinding forms a constant dull bass as it slides its moist self over grit and filth. A cacophony of sharp pops punctuates the air as its ragged, membreanous skin tears with each laborious flex. Sickly slaps clap and applaud its own corrupt performance as its sloshes and churns within its interior murk. This foul music ripples back and forth in the half-dark as it drags itself through its subjugated dominion, over rooftops and behind doors nailed shut by shaking hands an age ago.Soup by Twyce
Its claws puncture stone and mortar as it seeks purchase as it traverses towers and spires long since abandoned, even by the dead for not even they are allowed respite nor comfort. These places where it dwe
Fear FactorThis is no trip down some highschool textbook.Fear Factor by GNUBoarder
There's no confusing marginalia scribbled sideways,
No convoluted verbiage staring some backwards poet straight in the face
It's just the point where you gotta kick back
I need a breather.
I need a breather like Donald Trump needs a new hairdo
I need a breather like your little siblings need shutup pills
I need a breather like the way a 67 year old man with an asthma problem left stranded on the street by his all-too-well-off daughters
Needs community healthcare
Because I don't want to live my life giving broken gifts to broken down old two-shifters working extreme hours so they can afford self-prescriptions to shellac the pain of working full time
Make it shine old man, I will be sailing the sea of metaphors, exhaling visions, growing life from the soil of experience to watch it sprout conception.
I will foster new dreams and shelter them from psychological Darwinism. I am the strongest. I will survive. I am not guilt