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- May 21, 2016
- Jul 6, 2015
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Member, Male, from BEWARE THE WHEELERS
- DancingCorpse was last seen:
- May 21, 2016
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Dancing Corpse partakes in the consumption of copious ham bagels as he contemplates his constant midnight marauding and zombie massacres whilst adoring things that drift and avoiding critters that buzz and deciphering his puppy's perpetual quizzical expression. He also deliberately gets lost in forests and expects to be eaten by a grinning bear before too long. He may drown someday in his paints, notes on paranormal cases, castles and long lost civilizations or pots of green tea. He hated swimming lessons and learned to swim a week after he stopped having them. He is an archetypal dysfunctional insomniac and consequently whenever he does obtain that precious slither of glittering tinsel that we deem unconscious chess... he dream journals, which he deems his kinda ''divine zealousy''! We are cut into two states half n' half after all so why not explore our subconscious delving each and every night? You learn many more whacked out demented yet delightful shades with a candle burning at both ditzy, damned ends!
- Political Views:
- No Preference
He advocates cheap rum and cheaper musings, it helps clear the clattering clutter of the soul.
He is frequently wallowing in poorly filled in colouring books, paints that desire better destinations and pathetically predictable jokes, mandatory pollution! Taking things too seriously is not a particularly strong area of Dancing Corpse's cognitive functions although he is able to process the darker sides of the globe, this is probably why he often prefers the simpler, salubrious and child-like face of the pyramid...
He both dislikes and adores Count Duckula... he sometimes wishes he had a beak, especially when he does his weekly feeding of whatever ducks are friskily floating along the nearby river.
After all, quacking ducks, twinkling trinkets and glowing stars impress him immensely, then again it isn't too difficult to impress him. Whether it's a flashing lava lamp or canis majoris, makes no difference to him. Perspective is over-rated.
He considers himself a theme park, ww2 and air crash nerd, he can ream off doomed voyages and rollercoaster manufacturers like clandestine candy bars!
He often yanks up blades of grass and conducts staring matches with it, you see a lot more of this wretched world when you dare to clutch the miniscule, mystical components in your naked grip. It is cool to see it scatter in the wind too, like snapped off embers from a daddy long legs's frazzled last frenzied scatterbrained death-synapse... whatever that means.
He credits yoga with keeping him chill, sometimes on the hill above the moors, sometimes on the carpet, wherever he does it he's sure he looks like an ambitious scarecrow.
Depleted uranium and empty marionettes donning Suits bleating out tiring recycled scripts makes him screech. He is well versed in CIA black projects and has a soothing stream of conspiracies gushing through his brain almost 24/7. He is paranoid but has not seen them peeking through the curtains yet. He has a tinfoil hat in the cupboard just in case. He swears down to seven thousand caped and crowned gods he saw a 'classic UFO' floating above his roof as a curious child. He also lived in a very haunted english pub.
He spends half the day writing awkward but potentially valuable crud concerning fantastical situations cause he has always believed escaping into crazy voids was the best tonic.
He adores moths and spidereenos, cute and curious and plenty frivolous ♥
He doesn't feel he is important enough to reference himself in third person usually but just decided to here.
He also howls through all things macabre and malevolent, confirmed horror freak, he chows cheese cake, seeks out oppressive growls of a thunderstorm, especially in dewy meadows, rummages through retro video games at every opportunity when he is too stressed with the raucous rigors of continued existence, makes haphazard furniture out of his blossoming bouquets of books and struts out along the curious swathes of cold pavement occasionally to ponder and glare at the cackling, clackety clack-clacking mysteries of cloud conundrums clashing off the calculating colander-verandas of... whatever you deem fit to impose upon this sentence since I am too unconcerned to finish it
Uhm what else... *BLINK... just because blinking is an under appreciated undetaking...* That's about it for now... \__/
Thankies for making it this laudable and demented distance.
I look forward to conversing here and there.
SignatureSome are born to sweet delight, some are born to the endless night...