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Oh, God. This again? Divebomb Me Or, I Could Divebomb You 100 Things Those With Honor Estella Floats Styrofoamkitty WittandWisdom pea I, Asshole She C. Briantology Sheets and Blankets Mister Crunchy R80o Daymented Lily White Intentions Stutarded (this shit) Get to the Choppa Chucklehut tequila mockingbird (done) Generic/Synthetic Melman Teahouseblossom Jen and Tonic What's Mine is Yours Almost Lucid Elfcakes Dirty Fez Sarah B. Viva La Crap Panajane Bored But Busy What's Brewin' Down Yonder Not Well Planned (done) Malicious User Fussy Run Jen Run Sweetney EmilyM Knotty Yarn Fresh Pepper (on hiatus) Breakfast of Losers Philosophical Marshmallow Random Musings Brooks Blog Eurotrash Bad News Hughes Geese Aplenty Blue Ruin Tiny Voices in My Head The Art of Getting By Other Cool Drinks ... er, Links The Onion Pitchfork Wonkette Get Your War On Questionable Content Archives ![]() |
Sunday, April 08, 2012
MY BALLS, MY EYEBALLS As Peter Murphy sings, I have seen too much, wipe away my eyes, and the gunman says, You don’t want to be a hero, there are things you can’t unsee— not like goatse or tub girl— but real things. In Egypt, a man is lying in the street with a valley where the top of his head used to be. You’re safe on the other side of the television or computer monitor and can’t say, I was there, or even, I saw it through my window as I was driving past. It’s brain matter, scattered and pixilated or in high def, but out of reach. And you’re a cartoon where the only danger is falling into the lumpy abyss. At least you still have your eyes. At least you can still see. |