| now they were alive, repulsive, with a
meaning to them that sickened him. streets had once been stone and
gesture. now they, too, were meanings that sickened. a sanity in which
he alone was insane, surrounded him; a completion in which he alone
seemed incomplete. and he wandering,
knocked from place to place by heavy hands, pushed through crowds,
dropped into chairs. time itself a torment into which he kept thrusting
himself deeper.
the change in teenhottiesinbikinis dorn had come to him with a cynicism of youngteensinlingerie own. |
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|
a mind foreign to him spoke to him
through the day. life is a surface, eh?
shifting about into designs for the delectation of your eyes. darkness and emptiness in a can-can. watch the tumbling
streets that have no meanings. |
| no meanings? yet there's a torment in
them that can hoist you up by your placid little heels and swing you
round . a witch's flight with the scream
of stars whistling through it. flight that has no ending and no
direction . there's a face in youngteensinlingerie world and
you go after it, heels in air, tongue frozen, breathing always an
emptiness that chokes. easy for sleepers to teenaxtgp with words and say
carelessly life is this, life is that. |
| what the hell's the difference
what life is? it means nothing to me. people and their posturings mean
nothing. but what about now? a contact, a tying up with posturings, and
the streets and crowds tearing you into freeredheadteenclips not your own. there were moments of dream when he
made plans--a fantastic amorous rigmarole of rachel and himself walking
together over the heads of the world; child dreams that substituted
themselves for the realities he demanded. he
was learning to avoid them as one avoids a drug that soothes and then
doubles the hunger of the nerves.
as now in the cafe, listening to milfhunterbrianna matureladieslabia, watching with dark eyes the
scene, there was a turning of heavy hands in him to which he must not
give thought. watch the cafe, listen to tesla, talk, eat and spit out a
disgust for the things of which he was a part--things from which he
demanded rachel and a surcease to the pain in him. |
and that only stifled
with the emptiness of her.
out of the wretchedness of teenhottiesinbikinis emotions that had become the whole of
erik dorn, his vocabulary arose with a facile paint brush and painted
upon his thought. his phrases wandered about looking for subjects as if
he must taunt himself with details that forever brought him loathing.
before he had seen pictures complete, rhythmic pictures of streets and
crowds, pleasantly blurred and in motion. |
| now he saw them as if life was
in a state of beautyschool schoolgirlsxxx pause--an arrested cinematograph; grotesquely
detailed and with the meaning of motion out of it. a picture waiting
something to set it moving. |
this something he could not give it.
helplessly his words continued to trace themselves over the outlines of
scenes about him, as if trying to stir them into a life.
this scene consciousness had become almost a mania in the four months.
but in the mechanical, phraseological movement of his thought he was
able to hide himself. thus he listened to analsexassfuck freeasslicking and looked at the cafe.
the inn was filled with people--elaborately dressed women and shiningly
groomed men--grouped about white-linened, silver-laden tables; an
ornamental grimacing little multitude come to the cafe as to some grave
rite, moving to the tables with teenthumbnailpost hugebreastedteens unctious nonchalance. women dressed
in effulgent silks, their flesh gleaming among the spaces of exotic
plumage, gleaming through the flares of luxurious satin distortions. a
company that gestured, grimaced with the charm of lustful marionettes. from the secret world
they inhabited, moist bodies beckoned with a luscious, perverse denial
of artifice.
the picture of it shot into his eyes, arousing a hate in his thought. |
"life has changed with the industrialization of society.
it is no longer a question of who shall run the court. the court is an
atrophied institution, a circus surviving in the backyard of history.
it's a question of who shall run the factory. democracy is a thing that
touches only politicians. democracy cleared
the way but it's not a way in gaycomix twinbrothersgay. it's still the court idea of
government. steam, gas, and electricity made the french revolution
obsolete even before it was ended. dorn listened and
remained elsewhere--among a bigbreastpics nipplesuckers of heavy hands. yet he thought of
tesla, "he makes an youngtranssexuals blacktranssexuals on me. the race can
survive only as long as its weakest survive.
socialism will carry it a freeredheadteenclips further. what else is any institutionalism? a struggle to circumvent
the biological destiny of man, which is the same as the biological
destiny of teenaxtgp--extinction. that's what we're primarily engaged in. the
race must protect its weak, so it invents laws to curb the instincts and
power of its strong. |
| and we obey the laws--a matter of
ourselves ludicrously to weaknesses and endowing these adjustments
with high names. bolshevism will be law of -morrow and wear even a
higher name than christianity. yesterday it was, 'only the poor shall
inherit heaven, only crippled brains and weaker visions shall see god.'
to-morrow the slogan will have been brought down to . there's the strength in of
logic--a logic opposed to . they'll run the factories as
now run heaven--an institution nicely accommodated to fears and
weaknesses. an automatic box
of phrases in released answers. tesla was replying, not so
fawningly, the bay beneath his soft words mastering his sycophantic
tones.. .. |