Shits and Giggles: “Doll”

Welcome to Today’s FYB Post featuring the Music Video “Dove” by the Band Anthoney and Animated the Strange Content Creator by nana825762. In Fact the Only Reason We are Posting it is We are Big Fans of nana825762’s Extremely Unusual Content. As Far for the Music well Lets just Say it Simply  isn’t Our Cup of Tea, But We did get a Kick Out of the Cringy Anime Vocals. Basically the Reason We like this Video is Due to the Fact it Reminds Us of a Hunter S. Thompson Drug Induced Hallucination Directed by David Lynch.

For those Unaware nana825763 is a Notorious Japanese Animator (also known as PiroPito) Who was made Internet famous with/for His Infamous Video “User 666” (which We also have Posted here in the Strange and Disturbed Video Category) which is still making People Uneasy to this Day. There isn’t a Whole Hell of A lot Biography Wise Pertaining to nana825763 and He Never Reveals His Face. His Videos are Typically of the Horror Genre, and Tend to be Extremely Unsettling.

As Far as Antihoney is Concerned Antiohoney was a Female Japanese Artist whose Music is mainly Ambient Pop/IDM/Trip-Hop/Dream Pop/Art Pop/Dark Indietronica. Anthony is Self Described as: “Ambient Color, plus Musica Production. Darkly Multicolor Vibrant Honey. As Impure as it is Sweet and Innocent.” Unfortunately She Passed Away in 2023 Due to Mysterious Causes related to Her Health.

 

 

It Is What It Is,

Presented By Les Sober

It’s already gone

You
I felt you
Your presence calculated in my broken horizon
I wished you
Would vanish you distress the only one

As altruism slowly dies
This lock of hair lends its cries

Nefarious, the way you strike me in the face with it
Where death prays to be my solace
Time choking slowly on its way down
To asphyxiate my mind
Just let it all die
Let it all die

You hear the weak lyrics
Come out of her cheeks
Her mouth taped
Only bleeds
Cherish
Never wanting to know

She keeps her self crossed
Like a lady like her curtsy
Broken, not torn
Shattered maybe reborn
The best she can hope for is scorn

Lacking what time has to send
Living with no fear of end
The taste is what ends her prison
Yet it is already gone
The end can never be born

  By SpaceDog

Letters From The Fallen

Dearest Deidre,

I’m not sure where we are going. It was really great to finally see you after all the years had gone by. We have been through a lot together. Yet still you continue to disappoint me. We once had such high hopes, for ourselves, for each other, for the world

Yet these all crumbled over time. Things began so great, but aren’t things always great before they inevitably would fall apart. We lived in a land of perfection, but the perfection we experienced was just the eye of the storm. The storm whirls around us constantly.

I never knew there was a storm for such a very long time. Things were different back then. I was different. We were different. But I look back. And I realize. Things were almost the same. Exactly. To the tee. We may be longer in the tooth, we may be wider in the hips (wait I’m not a chick), we may be colder inside.

Still it remains. That piece of hope that never dies. We see it in ourselves, some days it shines bright, other days we hold it all in wondering if it still exists. Yet it does in me. I hope it does in you but a lot of times I’m not really all that sure.

Someone told me some things about you. I didn’t believe. I was naive. Funny how we can be so jaded, yet so naive. You promised me false hope. You left me with nothing. Little did you know I like nothing. I am invisible, the transparency is abundant. The veil has been cast.

I will wrap this up now. You need to follow your heart. You need to put it back together. My heart has been healed, along with my mind and my soul. Take the time and say hi to Neil for me.

xoxoxoxo
kyren

SO, this letter is not to anyone in particular. It could be read into and picked apart and well you may think you are Deidre. Most likely you still are not. You see the world is Deidre. Life is her.

We start off so carefree and innocent. We have so many hopes. For life. For love. For how we want things to be. But then the ideals in our minds of how the world should be are broken down by people who want to impose a new worldview upon us. We can personally choose to talk to them. Have a debate. Yell at one another over coffee and crumpets.

still even if we choose not to yell or starbuck fuck these people, these people still permeate the atmosphere with their negativity. I feel it everyday. I see it all the time. People that are just completely miserable and don’t do a thing about it. It poisons us.

people that are not free. they also are a cancer. I dont mean people imprisoned. People who build their own prison and never leave. I am never going back behind my own walls of doom. Nor should anyone.

We, as a nation, need to give ourselves more freedoms. Less control over us. We need to be accepting of all people and not have the government run our lives. We need to get national health care, take those stupid fucking drug ads off the tv, prescription ones that is. We need to show fucked up shit like the commercial in the UK with the girl  sending text messages and dying in the car.

Other then that the government needs to back off. Stop printing money. If you are going to print ridiculous amounts of money, please give me some. Or let me rob a bank. Who would miss it?? God knows where the bailout money went. Lining someone’s pockets.

I am disappointed by people every day. It’s crazy. Still the same people that provide the disappointment can bring me hope, joy, and serenity. For that I say nothing. I simply smile.

 

By SpaceDog 

Obliterated Sunshine By Spacedog

.One cold and rainy day in September, I layed my head down for a short nap. I had a few plans for that day, no more then most days, but felt a certain comfort and a certain ease in my steps. It was about to happen. The clouds that had gathered in a firestorm around my head were beginning to clear up from their eternal misery and gloom. I carefully placed my head on that pillow. He was next to me. He who could exist only as a dream, as a figment of my imagination was breathing right there. I had to pinch myself to believe that everything that was happening to me really was. It’s always like that pinch or suffocate, pinch or suffocate. The greatest day of my life or just Halloween all over again. I closed my eyes. I thought if I kept my eyes closed that time would stand still. It really doesn’t, you just don’t really age at all. It’s like virtual Botox. Anyway…..time was not standing still it only felt like that illusion, it was that illusion for that moment. I fell face first into that illusion. I didn’t have time to catch myself as my right cheekbone crashed into the tar of the road. I forgot to pack my angel’s wings and couldn’t prevent the cascade of gloom doom richotting down my spine. And then I was awake. I was here typing this blog. Here but really gone. Enigma speaks from her cave atop the highest mountain. The villagers perch their ears to listen. AWAKE? No, it never really was a dream. It was reality. Long obliterrated sunshine. The memories having been forgetten, no longer really exist. They only exist in my own head, only as real as Ebeneezer Scrooge or Hayden Caufield or Anne of Green Gables. They are real, but if you are the only one left that can remember what once was, should we hold on to these things or leave them long forgetten? I am a firm believer in the mind. I know what it is I am here to do (shhhhh I’m not telling) and believe that is something else forgetten. Not obliterated forgotten. I only wish my obliterrated sunshine could rise yet again but that would be like hoping for 90 degree weather in Alaska. The sun may rise again but it will never be warm enough to cascade into where things reach comfort. More of an uneasy chill. Nah. I would much prefer the dark of the moon. The sun can play her games with me another day.

Centralist by Spacedog

I am not a fuckin’ savior. I peel away at people like onions. We all do. Some of us are the peeled and we cry. Some of us are the instruments that scalp. Away. Away. Away.

 

We peel away the layers.

We peel away the sunshine.

We prefer it this way. Peeling away until there is nothing but barren terrain. Nakedness of the soul.

I see that barren flesh. I run. I hide. I capture but I do not seize. I growl at myself. I cannot kill the already dead. I cannot usurp what is already fallen at my feet. I plot. I ponder. I smile, I beckon them forth.

 

Centralist

I have always stood in between time and reality. I have always liked my part in this pathway towards truth, towards honesty, towards good.

I have always hated my lack of proofreading, my lack of utter care over things that most writers would throw hissy-fits about. Is this proper grammar? Am I spelled this write? Yes I know right.

I play dumb for the prey to think I am as such. It is not a very nice thing to do, but do it I shall. It was how the wolves conditioned me. Maybe I’m still just a wolf.

Most likely though, I fall in between. I am a centralist or centrist. I care not to look up spellings in dictionary.com. Usually words flow in my head that don’t make sense. Nine out of ten times, they are real words and I do a little spellcheck and poof they become what they were intended to be. Microcosisms of my head spewed out to the masses herky-jerkedly like a disenfranchised orgasm at a self-righteous porno store.

Yes. yes. YES. !!! I would think if I had a bigger ego, that yes I am the fuckin’ Dr. Phil of the next generation. I have been in the middle of many things. I somehow italicized my shit and have no clue how. I havent been in the middle of any bi relationships but if I could have would have just so I could enlighten you all further. But that is not the point of this blog. The point is this………………………………………

there comes a time…….. when we as people need something more. I need more. I hear my friends call me after many a beer and I hear my friends after many a sober evening. I do not hear stability call. I hear everything but.

I write and write and write some more. There is no sense to the melody. There is no reason to the rhyme. Perhpas if I could hear the music. I could tell the tale better. But I have equal melodies of those captured by the waves of the substances and I hear equal melodies of those not captured by such.

What road should I travel? What road will hurt me less? I care not. I care to live.