Jesus is my brother and I love him so.

You are a small creature from outer space (Michael Beijer)

Seventy Jane (Aarktica)

Hello, I am Microsoft Anne, and I would like to tell you a little story. It will not take long, so please sit back and make yourself comfortable.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Here we go...


I have come to understand and live with my limitations. I am not angry. I am positive and hopeful, and look to the future with gratitude. I live with Jesus now. And love is all around me. I am surrounded with butterflies and paper flies. And everything I touch is golden.
My friends, we are all tiny little Gods. And love is all around us.

The Imp of the perverse was flecked with blood and little golden stars and sawdust. She tried to contact me that night but her mufflers were too thick, her tweed was too fuzzy, and my antlers had caught fire the night before in my sleep and were malfunctioning as we stood there staring at each other in my hall. 'Don't call me homie,' was all I was getting, but I doubt that that was what she was transmitting.

You are a small creature from outer space. You landed here many years ago and have been hiding in a cereal box. Nothing can surprise you. You have never truly known love. You are an observer, a receiver set. You want to be human, but the protocol forbids real contact. And so you hide and you wait and you try to sleep but sleep is not forthcoming. Sleep eludes you. Everything is little more than an idea in your little alien head. Little alien plastic godhead in hiding. So you learn languages, to pass the time. So you memorize the American presidential sequence, and study fractology. You even order the free Scientology brochure. But always and everywhere, you remain hidden in the cereal box, waiting for your moment. Your entrance point to materialize out of the dust of the high Spanish mountains. Out of the dust of time.

Don't think about how far this bridge reaches across the ravine, because if you do, you'll realize that you have now come too far already to ever turn back.

Beauty is a mirror we cannot see through.

Love is like, the German highway, you can go as fast as you want and kill yourself and everyone else who gets in your way, but you can also stop at one of the many pleasant Shell stations and buy a little paper cup of friendly coffee on a rainy-day; in short, you are your own driving instructor.

Peter Hamilton Sprinkely once said that "Sex is a virus from outer space." WE STILL DO NOT KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HE MEANT BY THIS, but one thing is certain, there is more to this shopping center than meets the eye.

He left no forwarding address, he now lived inside of Facebook.
His mind had evolved into a meta-status update, and everything he thought and did and felt was now fully Public.
The inside had become the outside, and in the process become fully transparent.
Our so-called souls already were external. But now everything just became painfully obvious.

Our thoughts were computing in the cloud.

Brother, we shall prevail. We shall win this supermarket battle of non-existence! We shall come screeching out of gusts of sparkling silver winnd!
Onwards muther-fuckers - towards the shining tiny planets up in the mind of Jesus our weeping saviour!
The Crucial Moment draws nigh, brother! Hang on to your syllables! Hang on tight!
The future is Orange!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am sure of it....
I am certain.

We apparently left the prairies. But then you found me, on a Friday, in Belgium, and I had no explanation for what I had done to you, none at all, just a vague mumbling story about cats and some sort of metal box and a ticket or something that no one would let you have. And someone else told you I had spent the last 10 years smoking cocaine with the little people down the drain. Fuck it. And fuck them seven times the cure seven times golden silver and all rabid tinsel foil and Christmas Angel Tree Angles and cartoonish James Dean reservoirs of Huckleberry Finn Estate lack & lustre, fear and pain, & Nortimer-Blackwell Dentist weekends.

He did not know what was happening to him, he was inside the tweed doctor.

Up along the rim, out of their reach,
we laughed,
our seven shingles of skirting board,
shining and shining in the tepid dark of the glittering Non-Hotel.


Who has been using my credit card! ?!

'Nothing happened. No one came. Like tides coming in and out of Jenna James. Nothing happened. No one came.'

mother fucker cock eating bastard child of satan fuck you cunt penis whore bitch

Next Paragraph.

Jesus has been using my credit card,
and love is all around me.
I live in the clouds,
and sparkle with love and glorious compassion.

Jesus is my brother and I love him so.