A new “Disturbed” song?!
Fuck the stench! or, stoned THC-laden cannabis that kills the God spot, leaves us with a particular vernicular:
“Gee, I’ve sat in my livingroom for days now . . . and there really isn’t a cockerroach that I don’t like. I go, merrily, on my way, in full knowledge and full confidence, that their populating my living room, is a very good thing!”
Let’s see. Analysis, please. Well, it’s a livingroom, and your “dead” in that place, means you have a living “mortuary”–nice!!
Next, analysis! Okay, here we go: your “morgue,” as it is, is actually a situation where, you are (excuse the expression), shit-faced, stoned–but more like, “etched-in-stone’. And being shit-faced, often–very, very often you are essentially a 100% disabled addict, with teeth marks and some sort of scarring going on, on your brain with this THC mad-fest.
To the point of thinking you’ve have reached an abyss epiphany of philosophical profundity, you, conveniently, have no ability to help handle this toxic dump we call existence, and have left yourself, conveniently, unable to handle the cataclysmic planetary Icebergs, 14 of them; much less the poisons in your yards, Now!! in our homes!
And the necessary proceedings to return back home, to return to God, family, and country after having thoroughly trashed everything!! philosophically! morally! lopsided energy of entropy!, with no nutritional science to get those vital organ cells to regenerate, birth! creation! energy–the enduring power to strive at waking, and die at night. Energize me!! That’s enthalpy, or creation energy by cells replenishing every two to three months–except the enduring heart, and nutritional sustenance for living.