Back to me. We all know this blog is nothing less than an extreme exercise in self indulgence. I am king of the art of multideprecation. I use my ALS as a weapon with which to filet from the masses their ability to pity me outright. This is my gift to me. I would rather be laughed at or questioned than to be pitied.
Expect me to remain indelicate. I will always have questions you cannot answer. I will always have answers you cannot question. Just see. Don't rely on your education or life experience to support you. It is but a myriad of complications clouding pure judgement. I am nearing absolute thought. All I need is to harness the sensual depravation of Helen Keller.
This is nuts. I don't know anything. Forgive me. Here's that Gregory thing : But for a huge chunk of meat torn from his thigh and blood gurgling from the open arteries, fading to purple as it cascaded down his leg and quagulated in a pool around his foot, Gregory felt almost giddy. He looked around at the carnage; the landscape was a canvas of gore, the metalic stench of rendered flesh hung as a pall in the air. Strewn about were the remains of a hundred poor souls, torn asunder, ravaged and entangled. Gregory stumbled, nearly fell as a brief dagger of pain threw him forward, diminishing and gone as fast as it had come. The flow of blood began to weaken as the supply ran low. Gregory felt light headed, somehow euphoric as his brain starved. He lowered himself to the soaked earth, first kneeling, the maw of his wound gaping, then lying in grizzly repose, his head pillowed by a mutilated torso, nestled upon the soft belly, his face turned tilt against a ribcage. He slept. The blood from his ghastly cleavage had stopped.
Gregory started awake in agony. He peered down at the source of his pain, now mottled black and red, bisected by a stained white stripe, bone. He turned in wretched shock and in doing so buryed his face within the entrails of the quartered corpse beneath his head. He succumbed to his rising gorge and vomited the bile of an empty gut, afterward wincing at the burn at the back of his gullet. All the while, his leg continued to strangle his coherence, thudding and pulsing, unrelenting. The air began to thicken with the familiar boquet of decomposition. His nostrils filled with air, acrid and bitter, an excremental exhale passed his parched lips, his breath more pungent than that of the bloated atrocity surrounding him.
Gregory wished he had never come to his senses. Here, now, cognizance was a curse. His memory was as butchered as the men scattered about. As he lay, miserable, a strange thing happened. To begin with, he couldn't move. No foul air entered or exited his lungs, the searing pain from his leg was gone, he smelled......... Nothing. His vision faltered, in seconds he went blind. He heard his last heartbeat an instant before his brain shut off.
Expect me to remain indelicate. I will always have questions you cannot answer. I will always have answers you cannot question. Just see. Don't rely on your education or life experience to support you. It is but a myriad of complications clouding pure judgement. I am nearing absolute thought. All I need is to harness the sensual depravation of Helen Keller.
This is nuts. I don't know anything. Forgive me. Here's that Gregory thing : But for a huge chunk of meat torn from his thigh and blood gurgling from the open arteries, fading to purple as it cascaded down his leg and quagulated in a pool around his foot, Gregory felt almost giddy. He looked around at the carnage; the landscape was a canvas of gore, the metalic stench of rendered flesh hung as a pall in the air. Strewn about were the remains of a hundred poor souls, torn asunder, ravaged and entangled. Gregory stumbled, nearly fell as a brief dagger of pain threw him forward, diminishing and gone as fast as it had come. The flow of blood began to weaken as the supply ran low. Gregory felt light headed, somehow euphoric as his brain starved. He lowered himself to the soaked earth, first kneeling, the maw of his wound gaping, then lying in grizzly repose, his head pillowed by a mutilated torso, nestled upon the soft belly, his face turned tilt against a ribcage. He slept. The blood from his ghastly cleavage had stopped.
Gregory started awake in agony. He peered down at the source of his pain, now mottled black and red, bisected by a stained white stripe, bone. He turned in wretched shock and in doing so buryed his face within the entrails of the quartered corpse beneath his head. He succumbed to his rising gorge and vomited the bile of an empty gut, afterward wincing at the burn at the back of his gullet. All the while, his leg continued to strangle his coherence, thudding and pulsing, unrelenting. The air began to thicken with the familiar boquet of decomposition. His nostrils filled with air, acrid and bitter, an excremental exhale passed his parched lips, his breath more pungent than that of the bloated atrocity surrounding him.
Gregory wished he had never come to his senses. Here, now, cognizance was a curse. His memory was as butchered as the men scattered about. As he lay, miserable, a strange thing happened. To begin with, he couldn't move. No foul air entered or exited his lungs, the searing pain from his leg was gone, he smelled......... Nothing. His vision faltered, in seconds he went blind. He heard his last heartbeat an instant before his brain shut off.
And this comes from where? It reads like a scene from a war movie.............
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