/siberia/ - Off-topic

I am mad.

I know not why.

Ask me not, for you shall hear the suffering of my existence, as becomes such a man as this. In bliss I find torment and in nothingness, existence.

Which kind and sweet soul, so charitable by my charge, shall hell.

Come, I shall hear.

*aside*

I do not understand him.

He permits that which conscience must bruise.

Why belike, so consumed in tears I shall become, 'er yet see to myself undone

(Cheers for that Cordelia)

I think.

I pray.

I speak and yet not so.

The tapestry of his soul is frayed.

(In the room where women come and go, talking of Michaelangelo)

Adieu

I am undone

None may save me

To them I am one

Cordelia, remember me not as the man I am, but was. And that which would be, had he loved cruely not so, but remained faithful to his heart, the work of sorrow.

I am mad.

I am mad.

Cock a penny

Cock a nine

Cock a reason for the rhyme

Fie! A fishmonger.

And lash's cruel whip.

[The end]

Unfortunately this show has ended.

Prematurely.

Do not look for madness in reason.

But that bitter satisfaction you are afforded.

Life, in life itself.

A word.

Die.

That is what some of you hope.

And upon they merry disposition, I shall make war.

*end scene*

Hello Tyson

You won't see this, so when you medicate me next with yet another 'prohibited' - you could be charged - antipsychotic, know this.

You tear apart the very fabric of your own existence, and seek to instrumentalise in your existence that which would abate not the misery of your suffering, but the inferno of your idiocy

When I drool endlessly - and it was endless, you denied it - know that there sits atop a little cloud in heaven watching you.

Not with terror, or misery, or so on.

But this.

If any harm comes to but one of your patients, someone will shift the very ground from beneath you, and out penniless onto the street you shall beg for work.

You will not be a doctor

You will not be a psychiatrist

You will be 'Tyson'.

And that, my friend, will be the very sole of the matter.

Good day.

See this.

Do not.

[blank]

I cannot donate to charity

The money I depend on will be stripped of me

It is a cold November

Remember that, when you look on your fine coats, and find only warmth

Dunces of civilisation

All of you deserve to hang for what you have done

Not to this man

But to others

This is not him

This is another

Goodbye

Lest you live to see the truer meaning

Of a dark, dark, winter

[black]

You cannot medicate away existence

The irony of which

Is your collective downfall

A fishmonger? We'll make one of you yet.

*exuent David's Michaelangelo*

I am worked to the very edge of my being

I love you, and cannot say why

So, when you use my name with black contempt, remember this:

Red the scarlet, Red the sash
Red the tide to drum and crash

And know

I think of nothing other

Than

Your

Lips

(I am worked to this purpose. I am being worked to expose the very depth of my being. Scorn me. And still, Ille exist)

*farts*
oops… sorry
*another fart*
uhhh… I shouldn't have eaten that burrito

I'm a Jewish nigger and I'm here to steal your bike.

*end scene*