Blank

Watch closely. Listen. Try. Fail. Observe. Analyse. Revise. Retry. Reset. Repeat.

There are only ever details, subtlety. Countless variables in a complex exchange of action and reaction. When you first see this try to not be daunted, try to not be scared. With time it all makes sense, all fits together, all works. You can make it work, with a steady hand and a keen eye it is not all that complicated really, one step at a time, one foot after the other, until the sequence becomes so fast, so fluid, so graceful that it appears to happen in an instant, like magic.

Those who have a choice, and use it to ignore, to close, too blank, too still; they are, problematic at best. To not choose, to not grow, to not learn; this, is unforgivable. To feign death at the wheel of the meat-machine is to be dead, I see no problem in revising the real to reflect this. This makes me otherwise: insane, immoral, instinctive, indistinguishable.

The trick is in the timing, the waiting, the watching. Pieces fall into place so slowly, beyond control, beyond aid, beyond direction. Do not cease watching, the interplay of systems will surprise you, to grow complacent is hubristic at best. It all works of course, whether watched or not, the question then is how do you want to work it?

The inside is inspecific, locations unknown, unmarked territory. It feels like home, but it also feels very far away from this world, remote control from an undisclosed location. Out there, in the cold, where things slow down almost to the point of stopping, there is all the time in the world. The automatons will not twitch quickly enough, watch closely enough, to see me or stop me.

Build utopia, while the whole world sleeps. In the dream of a fate that is not yet met. Everything is going according to plan, every man, woman and child in denial on trial for failing this test of breath. We can only kill, only eat, only build, only sleep. Try. Fail. Reset. Redress. So what's next?

To live as a mask, as a mirror, as reflection. Blank perspective brings traction to the diffracted. To be hollow, to be the vessel, to be whatever the now needs, however briefly. No idea, no I.D., no identity, just action, reaction, the blackness and the magic. To know the truth but need no proof, to be at one with the absolute, the ruthless and the beauty. Truly.

The thundering ballad of rambunctious chunt!

Those of us not yet blessed with death may still remember rambunctious Chunt, vengeant quartermaster of shallows no less depth tread than shoes and chutney. Spoons are readily available now, it was not always so, alabaster and dalmatian spotted travelwear is less predictable but perhaps equally vengeant.

Still, death perhaps spares those which are not praised, still wear shoes, and remember the vengeant quartermaster of tread rambunctious of chutney, at times little depth from Chunt and shallows. The spoon, the alabaster, it was not that, so always you can expect less than respect from travelwear.

I suppose this confuses you, chutney monks in vestments of brown and slightly darker brown, but I swear to you all that this is the truth. Perhaps the only truth of this brown and the dark brown color of nebol'sh where this is truth, confused chutney of the monk, but you suppose that I swear entirely into you. The only possible truth...

Legwise, three is most effective though seldom used, perhaps your god is a little slow. Perhaps Legwise, for most validity it is not the oak being almost used. Perhaps the bigger gods point and make fun of his Hagfish and Platypi. A perhaps larger God makes the pointing and enjoying of that Hagfish and Platypi the absolute point of existence. But as for God of delay however this it is strict, as a memo of exultation the house is just of many pleasures. Retard gods are more fun though, the house of Rallstaffel and Tunic only serves as a grim yet gleeful reminder of this. Perhaps the Vinstucios of this world could explain were they not now forced to eat their own tongue followed by someone else's...

Perhaps as a current someone who is you can make their own tongue eat which the other person is preceding... Then you can explain Vinstucios of this world

But I digress, rambunctious chunt, of course, forgive me... Red slightly, but topwise in nature, colour, and biolological orientention. Bold as chunt, but twice as quicker than lessmost. But I turn aside in rambunctious chunt side, naturally, permit me... the red of the little, but topwise of character. Boldness, but for two degrees is as fast in the same way as chunt from lessmost. From all angles. Rambunction of a scale heretofore incompreceivable, from any angle... Legs like sales tax, eyes of gleaming travelling scabbed over propaganda, as for the foot consumer tax, this funds the movie advertisement in which the eye of the thing which shines scabbed is ended, the appropriateness, y'know like the appropriateness of the right is liked universally. Chutney... like chuntney...

Meanwhile, in the breakfast...

A vinstucio shines his fightin' horns like blades of grass, better grass obviously. That fightin' angle like a better grass leaf it illuminates vinstucio clearly. This one's seen many a rack of frightnitude, deprocity, or is it pracity? Lower case is hard to come by, rare like, in stitches even. With the stitch where the Kohumi letter comes, the way is difficult rare. But they always come back here, their paychecks still signed by Consolidated Chunt, since twelve. Here we sign with Chunt whereever still is strengthened. The people who witness the magnificent royalty of the strengthening Chunt, or it's made visions of Chuntwilt which is strengthened securely, to the flexible people of my certainly Chuntesque will to those who've witnessed the grand majesty of the consolidation of Chunt, or even those who've wilted upon the sight of Chunt properly consolidated, will surely agreement give to me in times of low credibility.

So credible Chunt, this time the less lesser, is made entirely of the sense of frustration felt at the sight of the younger parasite, the new competitor. Such secure Chunt, this time rather than feeling of the felt it is made whole completely. Hence it is not the easiest thing to consolidate, you'll learn, of course you'll learn, but what learning lost for the learning itself is something not even I could tell you in any concise, comprehensible fashion. You'd better find Comprehensible Chunt, to learn that self is not uniform. And I can say in all brevity, the method where you can best understand....




...is to rupture your Chunt upon a rock ten steps east of now.



And to spasm, heartily and with fervour...


On seas of endless Chunt...

And as the porcelain castrato explodes, those who presumed are left abashed...

When the shoebox collapses, the roach is free to goo.
The adhesive quality of sociopathy is a danger to all.
The righteous are just as good.
The still-lit blade shaves closer than a lubricating strip.
The liar always wins, deceived of it's own true goals.

When the goat has simply had enough, it may cry.
The smile is no longer a happy thing.
The laughter inspires expiration.
The expired deadline reveals it's own inefficacy.
The words never even got close.

When the chemicals cannot be held back, they spread.
The acid burns the metal to salt.
The thirst is encompassed by opposing forces.
The balance, when struck, will ring, or click.
The situation may be avoided.

When the day arrives, it will run, again.
The fled are rightly judged weak.
The weak are rightly put to death.
The dead are rightly kept so.
The zombie begs to differ.

When the zombie lets go of its pride, the robot is complete.
The rust hardens, brittle it cracks.
The water displacer seals, protects, until wiped clean, perhaps after.
The energy has to come from somewhere, it is not yet clear.
The clarity is a tale we tell our elderly, something to believe.

When the charlatan runs out of words, he will deny this.
The struggle is one-sided, it fights with it.
The victory is incomprehensible, unlikely, static.
The static always moves, always has.
The misnomer is all that signposts the way, now.

When the signpost points along Z-, the arbiter has the advantage.
The axis is relative to the axes.
The head is split wide, leaking.
The choice is only to postpone, token, arbitrary.
The predestination of things is counter-intuitive, depressing.

When this is all done, maybe the porcelain can turn to flesh.
The high voice ground low, abrasion as redemption.
The external pressure equalised, the event less likely.
The presumption is character, whole as of itself.
The meaning is unintentional, if at all.

Formation technology

The key to compilation of the amorphous ice is ratio of cooling.
The liquid water must be cooled glass transition temperature (k) problem of the milli-second which prevents the formation of<><><> spontaneousness in the crystal approximately 136.<><><><><><><><>
This prevents the growth of the crystal and directly has had to have frozen in order to guarantee smooth quality, it resembles to the production of the ice cream<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Difference the pure water forms the crystal more greatly than the heterogeneous blend of the raw materials of the ice cream easily, therefore to be more difficult to create the amorphous water it is thing and the mammary organ of the margin ice cream which is rubbed is required from the physics laboratory. <><><><><><><><><><><><>Pressure is another important primary factor of formation of the amorphous ice, perhaps one form with the modification of pressure it changes into another ones. The point is lowered freezing (like the anti-freeze agent), to add to the water it is possible the chemical which is known as cryoprotectants in order to raise the stickiness which prohibits the formation of the crystal.<><><><><><><><><><>
Very to achieve Vitrification which does not have the addition of cryporotectants quick cooling, it is possible with. These<><><><> technologies are used because of cryopreservation of the cell and the tissue in biology<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Legend of Vengeful Super Bonus Champion

Ramble super bonus champion, like chutney made from fruit loops and spit. Rumble as if shoes have less meaning than what they make us lose. Head shoes are not applicable here. Come barefoot with me into a new kind of freedom. This kind of freedom we have now... this makes us weaker. Domesticated animals die in the wild. The world's coming back, and we can't run forever. It could be our children, our childrens childrens childrens, or their parents. It could be us, probably not, but we've always hoped. Every generation wants to see the end of the world. Because it is our only way out of this now. Away from these minds filled with cliches and useless information, haunting the heads of whining children wired together with cat five.

We can stand, without fear, like we are actually capable of something. Or we can keep making excuses and poisoning ourselves. Sucking lit nicotine back like it was super air, bonus champion vengeance air. Sucking solvent back to make us just that little bit dumber we need to be to enjoy ourselves now. Chewing floralogical adrenal gland until we've made a tidy net of weak blood cells ready to tighten in on us if we ever get slow. Somewhere between speed and a chinese finger trap. There are people out there who get scared when they hear other people having fun. I'm not sure they can remember why but they just know that all that carefree youthful energy can end in cares. In self-consciousness.

Unconsciousness is number but numbers aren't sleeping. They shift and glisten and phase and sing more than they ever taught you in schools. Simulated freedom through a complex set of rules. And each one is unique, but plural, like rural areas that all look the same but house very different people. Church steeple, fire station, pub. Dead land as far as the eye can see but someone lives there, out there where the rules get a little fuzzy. The tyranny of distance writ large as a superstate of humanity. You could be anyone, if only no-one was watching...

As if anyone actually exists... It's all just hum and white noise really. But something happens when the rules break down. When you hit all the right settings on all the right dials and everything that usually happens doesn't. A noise starts, loud and monotone at first, then building through unisons intervals harmonics chords. Modulating phasing reverberation of something that's not going to stop changing. Stop growing. You don't control this anymore, as with anything you can make. And the noise it makes you sick, makes you dizzy and fucking terrified. And you splinter. Into everyone and everything you ever wanted to control.

Now you're everyone, but you can't remember, so you're you, but subjectivity won't let you know what that really means until you shut off the machine. But to do that you'd need to be everyone , but to be everyone you'd need to do that. And you talk to yourself constantly, but they, yourselves, don't remember being everyone either, so they don't know that they're actually you, and them, and everyone. At this point, if not sooner, logic breaks down. If we don't know we're parts then we're whole, the sum of the parts can't exist if the parts want to be the whole. You just get a whole lot of wholes, and any theory with a whole lot of holes is probably worth abandoning...

And that's when it hits you. The four hundred shiny gloveless fists of a vengeful super bonus, the championship belt like jacob's ladder spark quantum gold. You can't take this down. It's not an anyone, it's THE. Writ large like THE STATE of something like nothing we can ever understand. Like everything ever at once but not even. But if anything it's a sport, hell, it's THE GAME. It'll let you hold off the fight until you can get yourself together. But until then all that we have left up there is a slot machine on permanent payout, raining coins in an ever changing sea of currency transaction, commerce as communion, dollars for deities. When all we have left to trade is one of a kind, unique, special, meaningless. Individual grains of sand in special edition, limited edition packaging, with certificate of authenticity.

I was:
#45768959210-684967846757345-57385634856734-67489820573867-5829727569010577933-7937678-54823878-28678389555-3096893068382

I was.

Was.

What then?

A thing like that'd have to be collectible, but if we're all for sale, who's buying it...

I'm not buying it, are you buying it?

Searching for truth and beauty, oh no, wait... there it is!

If you have lived in your head, the world is always hated. It is not eagerly that you yourself try to be unhappy really. Forget you, yourself remember the world. It is the world where that should be and is, why we are here. Truth and beauty are anywhere, it is very difficult entirely to lose them. There is something of life for the other sightseeing to attach itself to.

Do they know any better? Do you? Trial and error and trial and error and trial and error. Why don't you realise the error is more important than the answer. The answer is the end, the answer is stagnation. Resolve yourself to never being correct and revel verily slack newtons. I'm wrong and I love it. I love you all. I love hate, it's fucking hilarious. Fear is remarkably absurd.

Who doesn't want to get stabbed, really? Who amongst you can honestly say that your very soul does not ache for the tedium of peak time commutation? Or rancid public commutation? Or communastic disputation of the very threads of which we breathe? There's beauty there, the contrast is greater...

I'm not saying that bad things don't happen. What I'm asking is do they really? If you're facing forwards, grinning like a banshee, with the reflexes of a mastadon... er... matador.... anyway, can't you just take that shit on? If we can be so fucking competitive when putting each other down, why can't we have that same energy in making this shit work? I wanna find out, so all y'all haters get ya switchblades out, I'll go get ma cape. Let's dance ma'fuckers!

Oh yeah, complaining is fun. It makes you feel like you've tried to contribute something but the invisible man keeps right on holding you down. This is the land of Oz y'all, people aint gonna stop you doing things, not if you're fast enough. No worries is an enforceable law and possibly the sum total of our constituency. Nothing is stopping you, you're just scared. You don't need to be, really you don't.

I just think it's all so wonderful, do I live somewhere else? It's all dark and lonely and cool in my head because the artists told me it should be, but is it? Do we really have that little choice? Fucksake kids, we're stronger than this, we don't need to play peekaboo, or backgammon...

I can't see anything but people wanting to be loved, and the world that truly loves them shunned for a game that has no tangibility, but seems to hurt so many more people than anything really real. We're here, wherever that is, the stories can't hurt us, the world just wants to play a game, we continue to punch ourselves in the face.

As much as you all hate to admit it,




Tony Robbins is right...

d0n+ l3+ +#3 h@x0r5 0wn y0 5h12n1+ 812a+che5

Join the Nightmare mobile club and receive your free* Sheetmetal Nightmare ringtone.

The official Sheetmetal ringtone is now available here.

*download is free on subscription to the nightmare mobile club. Service is charged at 0.019230769230769230769230769230769 of soul per week. Minimum subscription time is twelve months for a total expenditure of 1 soul. Early cancellation of this contract will incur a fee of 78% jugulation or 37% disembowelment depending on clients situation. Promoter is Gullibility Plus Loopholes Equals Easy Money Enterprises, vendor ID code: 1010011010. Minimum effort was expended in the creation of this product to ensure consistent quality in the marketplace. The shoes you are wearing should be smaller, more metaphysical, and free of sodium nucleiotide flavour enhancement.