Monday, January 18, 2010
i enjoyed tracing its genotype, precursors and things like that, and i formulated the following hypothesis,
"it is a visually appetizing idionymically bloated parody of the holy Matrix, Pocahontas and Jurassic Park.. all very dear films to my heart" yet i do not think i will remember this film beyond january
1.i hate america
2.yes, i believe that energy is shared
3.i still hate overt testosterone
4.i like humans, aesthetically
5.the public is a gullible chicken that needs proper seeds to awe, so i might die poor
7.i don't like 3d cinema
Celestial suicide bombers have been reported to be the reason behind the mass destruction flung upon Haiti a couple of days back. NASA has been put under the microscope for not being able to ban Islam from outer space, but it seems that these bombers were not Muslims, autopsies confirmed on Sunday. So this new religion of destruction of nuclear scale might just be the new primetime enthusiasm around the globe, leaving Islam back to its original intention and couch-potato-ism to a new level. That being said, aids have been transferred in traumatic amounts – Excaliburly immense quantities to Haiti, that in turn gained some pounds on the total field of perception. The Israelites, now, doubt their book, for how come Haiti gets the extraterrestrial treatment, and as we speak – new testaments will be found, and the Torah will be reconstructed to produce pieces of knowledge that even Moses didn’t know, that YES, Haiti is in fact the Holy land, and efforts to communicate with Mr. Belford will commence via the ZOF (Zionist Ouija Foundation) to collaborate on a new party. In the meantime, Richter falls into a slight depression and commits suicide, where he will be buried in Lebanon, to be proclaimed Saint Richter in fifty years.
Disassociated Leitmotif(s) Press © 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
i must apologize to leitmotif(s), but i have been tumblring for a while. i think i liked it because it looked nice and new and sent me cool emails, with love and tumblrbot signatures - but i think i'll just make me another coffee and come back here
thankyou leitmotif(s) for not biting me, or pulling off a dramablog attitude.
i love you,
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I AM NOT A DISBELIEVER, REALLY, I JUST DONT BELIEVE IN GOD, BECAUSE IF I WOULD, I WOULD HATE IT. MITIGATIONS, I KNOW - I KNOW, BUT I STILL THINK WE CAN RETHINK ABSTRACTIONS IN ISLAM. WE SHOULD RETHINK THE FACTORS OF PRESENCE AND DISPRESENCE THAT ARE SOLID PRECURSORS OF THIS CURRICULUM.
I WANT TO SEE GOD'S FAKE FACE through paintings, sculptures, literature, video, and any other media technically capable of doing so, and i dont want to Hubble it up, to 'find' it - i want interpretations. i want to look at its face, and know that it is not its face, but a projection of other people's fetishism upon its holiness.
I WANT TO SEE THE PROPHET, with the same media used as above - and similar intentions, for conceptually, a precursor for belief would be the common sense of differentiating reality from ornament.Let's do it.I want to see what he could have wore, what he could have ate, who he would have ate..and how.
THIS IS POINTLESS, you might think - but everything is, and is not (both at the same time and not). the flexibility of communicating with this supposed creator and its logic makes this whole game a bit less monopolous, and a bit more scrabblish - a.k.a - better.
I WANT MOSQUES WITHOUT DOMES OR AUDIO STICKS, because of disneyland. we must snap out of this momentum,
I WANT MECCA TO BE RECOGNIZED AS THE VOODOO CHOREOGRAPHY that it is, because turning around something seven times, to later run between two rocky volumes in varried speeds - amidst throwing stones on poles in a religion that claims abstractions of physical representations of the divine makes sense to my pet rat.
6.I DO NOT HAVE A PET RAT.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
She left the door, and as she left the door, she left part of herself – that she needed, she needed that part – but she left it anyways. She did not forget it. She was very aware of this slit, even though there was no blood, it didn’t drip – she was very aware, that her pain was negligible to how alert she was, as she left the door, the stranger that raped bits and pieces of her – otherwise not so very whole self, until she reached the spot where she felt comfortable. From her clitoris, she grabbed a piece of chalk, that she kept for occasions such as this one. She pressed it to the ground and rotated around herself – her body as axis – she revolved as herself, as lust, as compass as loss, as willful captivity, as safety only within chalk checkpoints. She sat in her circle, her home – and she wept as if to fill the extrusion of this virtual cylinder in which she resides in, now – that she had left the door.