

The Sharp Sloppy ChillHe lay on the cool grass, guitars and drums battering away at his brain, the harsh rasp of the leads voice trying to pierce his bubble of serenity through his earphones, but he was barely aware of it. The cold of the grass seeping into him, unnoticed, he gazed at the deep silken black, the unreachable ocean of sky hanging over the world. He gazed at the tiny pinpricks of light, trying to penetrate the vast black. He let his consciousness expand, tried to push his mind out to fill the vast emptiness of space.The Sharp Sloppy Chill
A slow moving of those pinpricks of light crossed the sky, like a shooting star mired in jelly, growing steadily brighter as the


Blissfully Unawarity.A bartender was walking up and down his bar one day. He was doing bartenderly things; spit-polishing glasses; serving grog to all sorts of unlikely comers and go-ers. This bartender, his name was, oh, let's say, Archimedes. Now Archimedes, he worked in a dainty little place, called the Hilton Hotel, in New York. He had an eye-patch, too. And a tattoo. And an eye-patch with a tattoo on it, for dress occasions. He also had a tattoo of an eye-patch, underneath his real eye-patch, in case he lost his real eye-patch. Archimedes could see perfectly in both eyes. Except, when an eye-patch was placed over one. Then he couldn't see. Anyway, one day, hBlissfully Unawarity.
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Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds!
/Marley/
the
How are you?
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I'm good, you?
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Is allergic to idiotic behaviour of any kind...
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