[rappf]

Go ahead. Demolish the careful architecture of your thoughts. Your gut doesn't care about your mental flying buttresses.

There is something really, really gratifying about breaking things.

I'll start:

Like That Today, the child holding onto the mother's pant leg—stifled breathing as you see tired hands and hear the drone of the fan, jingle of change. (Don't look at me like that anymore.) (Look at me in the way I want you to look at me.) The story of humanity on tape deck—flip, click, repeat; easy to wash away your fears with fleeting fancies—nothing to hold onto, nothing to lose. The fear (unspeakable) wells in your chest, showing you quicksand but keeping you at arm's length. (Thanks for the coffee.) There are countless worlds in countless eyes—easier to handle with caffeine, self-stories, and umbrella words. You show me your wallet sometimes, and I understand. I like to think I'm good at dialectics, and there's something flattering and morbid about it all. (Take your dice roll—I'm not one to begrudge pleasure.) (There are too many "yous" for offense to be relevant anymore.) The times you close the drapes and pray for—dread—tomorrow (hypocrite), your doubts like high beams in concrete jungles, crude—merciless (I tell you). Scribbling with no coherency as you acknowledge your mortality and drown in the nuances of speech (when did everything become so fucking personal?). I'll put in a bulk order for sociopaths and pay in obligatory phrasing and reprimand, you fool. (I'm no one's and everyone's fool, and that's okay; it's most fun that way.) Don't forget the weight of hands on your shoulders, and brace yourself as you open your inbox. (Understanding is painful—it hurts around the sternum.) The pulse under my fingers is glorious and frightening, and I share it with you; it's more proper to let it not be said—odd, how propriety and avoidance coincide. We like for others to not understand, yet we crave to be understood—push-pull like the salt and the grit that laps at your feet in a dull roar (roaring the South Beach Diet and a consuming fear of loneliness). Kindred spirits in the mug shots—viscerally, you empathize, but it's not okay to sympathize for some reason. The personal affront comes in many colors—sixteen million when you say things like "hexadecimal," a whole shitfest of sound and meaning (of which we have tenuous control—that's why she cries all the time). (Laughter is, strangely enough, a cousin of the tears.) It's a good release to grit your teeth, let your eyes blur, and let yourself melt into the world (and the sheer insanity of INFORMATION). Smiles of vengeance and a desire to share the hurt of being (it's so much bigger that we can deal with without becoming douchebags in a desperate attempt to feel okay (and not feel small in the face of time)). The words of weight—abrasive, armed—are often underestimated and misused (misunderstood). I suppose, of that, something as silly as unintentional cruelty is born (we're all perpetrators and victims of that, regardless of consciousness, desire, pride). (Don't ask me to qualify who I am—don't make me write in subjective terms; look into my eyes and see for yourself.) I have no right to say these things, but I do—I'm just succumbing to base instinct, to hedonism, and to humanity.

...Your turn.

Deconstruct your constructs. Have fun, or simply: just have.

[Entr0py]

Am I here? Yes! No, hahaha, that chick looks awesome! I told you we should go play some cricket together, just me and 13 of you, you multifaced dumbshit. I love the worms eating my flesh, it feels so out of this galaxy when I am digging a whole to the center of the earth. I am lonely, do you want some biscuit? It suits you pretty well doesn't it! How did Stephen Hawking managed to cheat on his wife? Maybe thats just me but why is blue blue and not green? In my opinion green has a lot more potential!

[hteeba]

after having reached another of those 4.30 in the morning moments, what is there to be done, but go attack that chocolate thing with whipped cream? So it's attacked, in the most unceremonious, tasteless way imaginable. On the way back to the room a passing glance into the living room is enough to convince that it looks much more ordered and comfortable than the own room, what with pizza boxes and pringle cans, coke bottles and notepads, old shoes and socks, broken consoles and monitors, bookshelf full of dusty books, and clothes strewn about in the most leisurely patterns imaginable.

Grab the headset and the mp3 player, head to the rocking chair and stare into the glow of the streetlights through the basement window. Isn't there supposed to be Na in the lamp? Fairly sure that's the causer of the orange glow, the beautiful orange glow, but why is it orange? What if it's green and the individual perception of the color is wrong? Doesn't matter, no one would know. Back to staring at the streetlight with some . Such a nice name, blonde redhead, sort of kicks the carefully constructed social norms about blondes and redheads and brunettes and dirty blondes and bleached hair. Maybe it's a good time for a smoke, there's snow, plenty, but it's not that cold. Or windy, for that matter. Perfect conditions for a smoke, preferably it's much more pleasant indoors but it's like sex. Unbearable to inhale and feel the next morning, gross, nauseating, spent, greed, misery, attraction, chaos, chaos, chaos.

Happy? Go for a smoke. Sad? Go for a smoke. Lonely? Go for a smoke. Too crowded? Go for a smoke. Too much work? Go for a smoke. No work? Go for a smoke. Feel like smoking? Go for a smoke. Don't feel like smoking? Go for a smoke.

Surely you get the gist. Done writing this up? You guessed right. Go for a smoke.

[Stephen1]

There's already a thread about trolling.

[rappf]

There's already a thread about trolling.

Nice. Perhaps we can get some imports. :D

[Infrared]

Bro, I don't even sure.

[Nirrith]

Being immortal would suck. I have a katana, though.

[Cheveyo]

[rememberthisusername]

This is a stream of consciousness, or at least it's supposed to be but I'm aware of posting it on a forum and I guess the above posters were too so it's all still kind of cultivated. I am bored now because anything that really is my stream of consciousness is not worth posting because it's boring and if it's not a stream of consciousness then it's something like this paragraph which kind of is stream of consciousness but it's self aware streams of consciousness which just gets into big loops of self referal and even self referal about self referal. I am gonna go make a double decker mother fucker of a sandwhich. The end.

[Taylored]

This seems like an xNFP thread.