Abnormal
Obviosities 3
By L.S.
Preston
Copyright © 2012 L.S. Preston
Smashwords
Edition
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1: from the Book
of the Undead
From
the Book of the Undead
Weakest
link
Secrets
of the asylum
Fog
spawn
I
like people
Spirit
killed
Time
for the Iceman maybe
Van
Helsing’s mouth open
Beware
of medusa
The
Good Fight
Chapter 2: Fallen
angels
Fallen
angels
So
what?
Too
much and the age of degeneration
Loser
Gravy
train
There’s
nothing to worry about
Space
station in orbit
In
high definition
Mass
magic
Gods
talk
Happy
humming
Once
upon a social cohesion
Of
ghosts
All-seeing
Maxed
out
High
in the towers
Identify
and die
The
trickster knows best
spongecake
The
earth was there
Chapter 3: An
undead cry
An
undead cry
Critical
mass
weak
spot
Confidence
trick
Backbone
The
dog seems to get it
The
torture never stops
Dam
busters
Crux
Ignore
the watcher
Blind
in matter
Mind
prison
Demon
hunt
Individualism
or collectivism (the system)
Apples
and oranges
Persona
and the inner world
Revolting
Peak
experience
The
Squid and Humanity
More
than gold
Something
like a beginning
Chapter 1
from the Book of the Undead
when the person or
group
strangely achieves
a gap between itself
and ground it
weirdly deceives
itself and others
to the point
that
right is wrong
and short is long
Clueless
walls
reach for the sky
beaten hanging
lullaby
Like
when this pile
just feels like home
and powerful push
the
glutton gloam
Underneath
something more
wanting
out
cutting core
The weakest link
ironic hero
no one
absent
really zero
Given something
things to do
changing
things
a feeble few
Blaming people
Expecting sorrow
Some responsibility
Change
tomorrow
Guarantees
Perpetual pain
‘Cos in the
asylum
We’re completely insane
Felt hate towards
their game
believers game
rushed through his veins
through
his brain
clogged damaged stupefied
flashing a victim
A
product
a toxic hell
spawn of Babylon
lobotomized
junkie
sucking
addicted to screens
And information
sugar
soaked stuffed full
and yearning begging for more
obese blob
no
structure
no discipline
No will
constant
compensation
weak and angry
struggling to hold on
to grip
the whole
meaningless mess
What’s real can I feel
my
body automatic
symptomatic
mess malignant
dull indignant
do
not tell me what to do
Need dad hate dad
need something
teeth grind directionless
self hate with no money
hate
money
want money
One the absorption
of information
And the effort to manipulate the contents
The
box which are themselves unstable
Their potential for greatness
pompous
And the world outside shows itself truer
Path more
fundamental and real
The black box I’ve ridden to have
Be
careful of all connected danger
A hellish hell, a social
one
Warrior to the king
I see an approach with labels and open
sore
React attract imperfect
Fragile surface and fear
hide
Ignore carry on regardless change
Nerves with fright and
threat
Ok to excess perhaps not a smile
But a scowl talk to and
approve
Can I do this is this ok
This instant
lightning
Milk hand touch
What was needed
Is still needed.