With it written and enclosed within the boundaries of self imagination, the word would be tarnished by heat and blistered by elements. Only to be received by once. Little was known about the limbo resides. Hiding. "Ill make one adjustment" said the man with no face. If it was there, he wouldn’t have not had one. When for enough, jumping, the dirt kicked up into the only parallel, vertically transformed portal to life. Happy, but in disbelief. Word had not come. Questions, variations of answers and lies and blatant stupidity. A space where there should be a shell "almost as if it had been stolen". The truth, as a lie, had been seen, witnessed and taken not to. The note of which was sent but never received. Had the knowledge ever existed, was it delivered, if the item had not come into the vast universe, how could one notice its absence. Impossible, but apparently so. The answer lay within a number. 17. Laid as no typo but the truth. Numbers are all around the words. Just listen. 123 ABC is a cliché; the quite natural formation of lettering was banished. It was, "irrelevant". These windows of answerable telling were removed, cleaned like the corners of ones eyes. Sleep wiped away along with its teaching, its dreams, and its memories. Exact. Whilst some still believe in the old ways, a new mechanical way of life had risen, with no knowledge of pain, suffering or sadness, metal prevails. A slash, a dot point, and small marking in times ever expanding stance of liberty. The thing that never exists just wants to be acknowledged and accepted for what it is. A figment of the imagination. But how can ones figment inspire and decay in so far places that communication was unheard of. From the furthest of reaches to the most common, time was but a necessity. Fools. Half-wits. If only they knew the final plan for "their kind”. Where smiles are abolished, and frowns were blown in place by the mystical ever changing wind currents. Can one even imagine a place where nothing can exist unless the entire population knew of it without speaking a word, be it vocal or physical? Blackness is a body. What’s nothing need. The existence of the exclusion of anything other than emoting and envy. At its core of self loathing, the world aches, it cries, it wants to be appreciated as much as the wandering imagination. It is stepped on, littered, damaged and spat on. Harmony in giving is to take from another. False enlightenment. Feeling of remorse. But at the time of the separation. The word arrived. Intact. But with nothing written on it. Could this be existence’s method of informing its occupants not to become involved in anything? Anything other that natural occurrences and pure truth. Never would this day come. It was spoken. Within the blankness. The imagination had to be powerful to read the words that were not written. The girl knew nothing, he was only a child and she had not yet been taught how to be proper. His fault or not, she was at blame for had he not waited for the un-existed, nothing would have happened. Armageddon is at hand and it’s your fault. One can not deny the fact that they have hopes, dreams, possibilities of becoming anything else but un-natural, the un-natural that was so appreciated, so natural. The un-natural that had to be purged, it had to disappear and leave no traces. If this mean removing existence, the god would become this. And bringing it on their back, they would bleed, not from their body or soul, but from their imagination. For the deeds ideas linger far longer than their body ever will. This is a well known fact. The heirloom of knowledge is in ways dangerous, but also helpful. Helpful to know that the letter never existed nor did this conversation. Quality of living is not physical... but a state of mind that can be harmfully altered with ill effect to see things from existence’s point of view. Fault is not the record but the crime. 17, 17, 17, oh, what would it answer, why had it been created, why not a different numerical equation, why was it necessary. Was it just a mere symbol created by the only entities available? Who decided on its final form, surely not the gods? If this is the case, it is worthless, always has been and always will be. Simply because it never existed. Just as once it had begun, it had ended and folded in on itself. Like an un-significant mound of earth. Pocketed with air. One grain out of place causing an unbalance. Death. How does one know when death is coming, does it exist. Or are we so gripped within our own imagination that we can no longer accept fate and eventually will ourselves to fade away. Like the sand of time. The sands of irrelevance, sand of non-existence, imagination concocted by a single soul and cast upon humanity for eternity. What will cometh next? We are wrong, what is right? Answer me that in symbolic language known only as its pure form. Text. The blank. Text. That can be read only by the minds eye. Text. That CAN NOT exist. If it did, the contradictory effecting side fall would collapse all as we know it, all as it knows us. All. forget not the fact that we are not superior, we trick yourself into believing what we want to believe then convince the ones around us into imagining that what is told is in fact true. A false sense of security that will bring pain. Un-prepared for what may come. a long journey lay ahead of the one chosen to free life's restrictions, open ones body an realize ones sound. For there is a large void of nothingness where not even the imagination may exist, not because it simply can’t, but because it is not permitted to do so. Involuntarily wiped, never to be remembered. Listen to these words for they will teach you something, one day. Life is only what it seems to be. Because that’s what we imagine it to be. Think beyond you imagination. If you able to. Look with existence, think with your brilliance. For you are special. You are unique.

Ones important self must not lay down in self pity rather stand up for ones true answer, the exists is to fight for what is worth, without this, existence would cease to exist. Be it not worthy of ones actions the spite would revenge, take harmony and reduce it to the kiss of a needle, thus enabling the space from its surrounding to naturally move to the vacant locations. Being evil the cause of the reduction, the point of justice would be engulfed in thick black envy. Which brings us back to the envelope, what was in it and how could it possibly cause such a commotion? Could it be curiosity of a curse? Impossibly to tell unless one read it... imposable to read unless one knew its location. Far be it for me to indulge in keeping secrets but as far as I'm concerned, you aren’t worthy of know what is needed to know. Without measure, the boundaries would crack and shift, bend in un-parallel vertices, with the resulting effect of opening what’s beyond. Nothing. How can the universe be infinite, unless of course, it isn’t... generally speaking, completely infinite in all criteria’s. For instance, what if existence was folded in such a way that it was possible to travel to one end and come back out the side you came from. If that were possible it would explain the unexplainable, and in fact, if it were proven we would all know the truth. Knowing the truth isn’t always as important as it seems it should be rather believing the truth and/or making those around you believe you know the truth could undoubtedly put you ahead of others. belief in yourself over that around you is what make you solid, but were it not for what is around you would literally develop into nothing, confusing yes but unfortunate. But were it not for you and once consciousness, who be it to say that existence is that? Without any further questioning from solid or status, the events will change, with a reoccurring pattern of change, past to present and future as it happens. Of course it’s a color, how else do we see it. The perpetual interference of that of what its colored has no effect on its surroundings but just. Skin being listed, it has no effect on touching elements and matter only it has a neurological connection that physically does not exists, if you can put it that way. If a connections does not exist, can be it the letter too, it has no effect on the surrounding matter but a superior threshold over those who are contemplating its written. Who wrote it and why if it wasn’t written, be it sent. Could it be a test? Could it be a task? The test being that of which what the living think of it and the task being that of if it will be delivered. Expansion of the wonder will inevitably cause error in one way or another, for as long as it interferes one can not act appropriately. This must be eradicated. instantaneously in fact. the sour stench is bound, and the definition for any more is reluctantly unavailable. it has settles and is comfortable with what is happening outside its boundaries. fiction or fact, if you believe at one time or another it will occur some place or rather a place in time which not yet is complete, similar to the prophecy of it ultimately beginning. with the stand point being less than the frame of that of a second, actually getting past it is easy but getting around it more of a task than delivering the word of a letter. if the seal is broken the take has failed but the test is complete. if it’s delivered to the unknown moment, the task is complete but the other incomplete. unless word is spilled of its true meaning after arrival may both be accepted? but what if neither, was it a foul trick, a mercy cry. as a distraction it may be. when you’re observing an occurrence at point A. something’s happening at point R., obviously. alas one may never quite understand the grasp and time of the incarcerated death. being confined in an envelope would quite likely be similar to being confined in a coffin as in some cases it will be the final resting place without tampering. with the amount of mistrust, gone from the gash on the side of the last remaining whisper, hereby foreclosing the delivery of the word summoned by man. listen to what will be more likely imagined by others. fall with not grace but dignity. speak not what’s on your mind but what is on others. intelligence harvested from the mind of ones self is but a minute proportion of hate may have been were it leached from another. preparation of one to receive such material is done so in an ancient form of repetition. such as learning to read to read and write, one will become familiar and comfortable with the repetition or words, sounds, movement and imagery. by analyzing the remarks that appose the insufficient evidence of what the question implies the simplification of the preferred age of the sum that will be withdrawn by the individual. the proposal of the community to seek insight of the word that will give opportunities to those of whom normally go without. the advice gained will encourage the uprising of the independence of without imagery. performance depending on the bold cherishment of the advising will hopefully diminish in authority and spread the light as to the location of said recipient. the sound management of the interest side of the undeveloped activation of a warrant particularly aimed at the recognition of the security of what is not to be taken and have its knowledge stolen. the rate of expansion of the quality of the people has diminished in the booming introduction of the supplement of the extradition of the overwhelming curiosity. those that seek what is not theirs will most likely be punished by the third party involving itself in the others business. if one keeps their wits by their side and stays outside the circle their name shant be tainted nor will their actions. simply abide by the simplicity of self and you will be rewarded with freedom.

someone tell me if that's worth reading.

@Eschatos:
...

@Calavera
Yeah, that came up on StumbleUpon for me earlier. Pretty neat, although I know I have neither the tenacity nor the Kirbiosity to figure them all out.

Win, win, win.

This comic is also known as "100 avatars that you will see used very soon by pretty much everyone"

shit i meant.



^ lol. much better.

sam and max kirby are clearly the best

I love kirby, this is orgasmic!