Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Fatty Dippin'

Sinking infinitely into this blacker than black hole
Racing towards my inevitable doom
With arms wide open
Eyes ablaze
Hair flying
Fearlessly diving into the deepest darkest parts of the ocean
Without thought or planning
Without reservations
Just the raw action of rapid relentless motion
Dreamless
Aimless
Only one thing is sure
Nothing will come of it
Everything given up for nothing

Friday, April 19, 2013

DIYs for Domesticating Incidental Young-uns

This blog post is going to be a very bloggy type of post where I am going to attach pictures and use numbering and make it look all nice and organised. I've been doing a lot of art/craft, not sure if that's the word to use, but off late, I have been doing some nice things with my time. Like,

1. Me and a friend together made bags!

The small sling ones!












The canvas tote bags!















2. I made wine! It took me 42 days and I used this.

This is what it looked like on Day 1!


And on Day 42!


3. I made a body wash out of this Dove bar.

Step 1 - Grate!














Step 2 - Boil with water!

Step 3 - Bottle and LABEL bitches!

Toodles.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Raper Pauper Reaper

The raper needed some tape and paper to properly write down all his raping sins while the tap outside dripped and then the reaper in his cape tripped and fell down that's what caused him to cough out some pepper all the while he tried miserably to prepare his dinner.
The pauper sat on his lone stool in the lone subway and watched as the hours of the night slowly dragged on. The rats they seemed unperturbed as they scurried beside his stool. Two of them holding in their vile jaws the flesh of a man named Tyron whose decaying bits lay on the tracks all haphazardly. One of the mice was fatter and blacker and seemed to dominate the one following closely behind. The pauper, musing, imagined for 32 minutes mundane conversation about dinner between the two city mice, before falling into a deep slumber, his little finger pierced in his left ear and other fingers bearing the weight of his oversized head and feeling the moist bloody scabs of his 32 days since a wash, an unsanitary gutter water wash at that, scalp.
The reaper in his cape didn't really like his cape. It was too brown for his liking. But it was cold, and he was hungry so thinking about more fashionable shades of brown at this moment in time only made him nauseous not to mention nervous because of how the colour brown had caused his sister's death. Which is an incident for another time.