FFW! the dream weaver jds catcher

11 January 2019, 6:47am; This is actually a rerun of a blog post that I dunno. I found it saved in a document and am deciding to friggen shove it here for all to see. Maybe it evokes the vision of a revolution, and one where you might pay me (a dollar a month on Patreon?)


a hedonistic whore. I’m also an allusionary anarchist and a serpentine seductress.

No one will ever be able to tell my story my way. I’m the artist scientist. My sciences are for them to do with as they please. This is my garden by world my plaything anyway. They don’t know me they don’t know my methods. They only know what I have spoken and recorded in a notepad somewhere in one of my fucking beautiful mind journals.

I was search for my own identity and my one true name. Brother deader told me something and I laughed the shit out of it. The tourettes girl ticked her heart and saluted me without realising. The mo man told me of his love for metal and I asked him if he meant the material or the music. He said he is actually into grunge and I went ape shit and fucking loved that shit and so I played them are you ready by disturbed on kyle’s speaker. And I fucking got up and danced because I could not contain it. I had to tell them the good news. Fucking good good news.

And the shepherd came and asked us what were we doing, for tourettes should not be in the sun. We were not exactly doing sport but it was sport and I was the teacher (looking at her phone for jain had messaged me messages of pain.)

Literally. What happened in maybe 20 minutes. True story. Who’s story? I can only speak of the truuuuuth *singing voice, because it’s like disney*

I tell the tale of the messiah, the teacher of teachers and herald of wholes. Her name is Kim Lane, and I am her herald. I am the goddess of eloquence, and you may call me Dr. Kalliope. (i’m a doctor of spin, graduate of my own university I constructed some place). I only wish to heal. And spread the word of love as known as no other one can express it except for the love of a mother. But I’m not your mum, so I’ll show you my bum. Look at me and see me, and know the truth from which I speak.

Look at my bum again, if you won’t or don’t I’ll paint you an image. Here is my bum and pretend all sorts of allens allsorts or gummy bears are pooping out. Sugary sweet treats of cuddly bears for you to eat.

Don’t shit where you eat, my friend. But if we are not friends and instead we are lovers, I want you inside of me. Pick a hole and fill it. If you tell me about it I can crystallise it and help you fulfil it.

Love forever and ever more,

Kalliope Veign.

*curtsey*

pistol whipping cross bows shooting bolts into the air!



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