-Setting of the advanced incoherent artistry paradigm-

 

there comes a time when radiation manipulates our impenetrable psyches to imagine and feel a different enveloping embrace of backward kaleidoscope anti-articulate advances. Radiation or tiny little invisible insects that we inhale unknowingly. They build beautiful villages inside of us and the effects of their production cause dizziness and psychotic tendencies. All in the interest of experimental artistry. keep perfectly still. Give me your blood.

 

With it I create a complex weave of stills set in front you carelessly open and naked. Most often they become abused and neglected-frozen to the cold metal pipes that slither through my inconsequential frame and warp my ethereal mind.

 

I am a small girl of abstractual brain. A daugher of make believe. In the air I see sparkles of regret, and I collect them in the most beautiful jars and put them on display. I lock my case with a harsh look. I probably won't let you in, but you may observe a few layers...if of course...you are so inclined.... In the calming ebony we dream of albino peacocks.  My eyes are ringed in black and red.   I bring myself to the river and hold me under, the soft feel of coleoptera.  And my flesh spread out, scales resplendent to create a map, showing you how these autumn leaves fall.  Personified, the vortex extends an intangible bough into glassy antagonism. Feeling throughout the extraordinary textures of defensiveness and unawareness it comes to a standpoint between four large and shrill beings. This is the first introduction to a pristine filth….

 

I think I almost drowned that night.

 

I'm tired. And my back is killing me. But if I close my eyes, I see strange things that make me want to run again. Into....into.....the faultless void......where everything implodes....i'm solitary....in my fetal state....thinking only of the comfort of nothing.....

 

maybe. i should forget everyone. and fade...i want to....disappear....i don't want to feel responsible....i don't want to feel connected to anything....i want to break away from everything....and stop you all from breathing....and stop me from feeling..i want to be lifeless....i want to float through life knocking everyone down...a drone....like death...senseless....elite. just me. and the way your screams glow against my schizophrenic backdrop...the way the brush glides over your twitching outline...why don't you feel like this...i want you to feel like this....

 

and its coming down to a point. the blank. the time. its going. if you were here i'd make you look. make you see the things that crawl across the ground and whisper in my ear. make you taste the texture of hallucination. or the next level. you don't know. you're not here. some of you want to be. but you can't. no matter what you do. or how you play. you can't be here. unless you are.

 

you have no idea whats going on in here. *points to her head* its like. an ant hill. when you kick it. it moves

 

My head feels like a disco ball. All these different lights shining on it. Yes. Colors of confusion shooting out everywhere. And spinning. My god the spinning! I don’t even know what I’m thinking any more. I’m regretting everything that happens to tumble out of my mouth. Or fingers. I need some sort of assurance. But it feels like even that wouldn’t be enough. Why can’t you understand me? You’re so close…and if I get to touch you, I won’t be able to let you go….

 

It falls in step with the narrow eye and whistles-thunder wrecks my alkaline ambiance sketch-some sentimental discovery[jail time]-pondering the segments of-cardinal chords and gasping bodies[hardcore]clicking tongues-I lost my favorite alphabet book-binding-drudgery in the thickest entrapment-our skin-oscillatory-orthodoxy-the beats within-a day for known monsters to cause a circular upheaval----on this axis----blood and fingernails-[a series of graduated wooden bars implanted in your spine-beautiful-prodigy]I-talk-in-math’s[disorder][reorder]edible wrought iron talons[stationary]carrying off your misunderstanding-i-consume-you-love----immoral acts of exciting worth [drain] bound by fulfillment-enter the parasite. Erotic dyslexia-sex and eating disorders-burrow in the soil-a sound-registering-feeling you-against me[dreaming]----i do believe its in your best interest to come in and begin the process of layer removal. You have a lot of guilt and hate to shed[symphony of red][devil]-crystalline incognito sylph. Inhale. Sinuous simon pure.------------- [ - -- --- - - ] - - -yes i could kill you---i’d love the intimacy in it-----I’d make you enjoy it---

 

He came home that evening, tumbling up the stairs
Yes you can...stumble up stairs....
Thin walls in that apartment i remember...
I could hear him well....
Unlock
Embedding creak so....familiar....
I was watching star wars, the sandmen people types scared me.
“where’s your mother!?” (he looks weird)
“sleepin”
“and she has no fucking sense to put you to bed? Its 1:30 for christs sake!”
“its 3:37 dad...and i know how to go to bed my own self”
“ so why aren’t you in bed then?”
“star wars is on, but i don’t like these guys!” (i pull my purple blanket up to my eyes, still peering over)
“oh yeah?” (he sits on the couch beside me, he smells weird)
“yup, they have funny eyes, are there real things with eyes like that? People or maybe...monster things?”
“nah...i don’t think so”
(puzzled look)
“not in closets?”
“what? No i said”
“not in mine?”
“no! why!?”
“wonderin...you sure?”
“yes, now be quiet”
“moms sleeping...” (i say more to myself really)
“no i have a fucking headache”
“theres cherry ones...but they taste gross”
“yeah...they do...want some popcorn?”
“uh huh, but don’t go until this parts over”
“okay.”

Golden blue light creeps through the window...revealing no disruption...that night. I can focus on the good times...sometimes...

 

back to the drawing board....I have one.....i draw on it.....it speaks.....but i don't listen....

 

Preposterous satchel sanitarium inside voracious conceptual disinfecting episcopal citadel inside and then inside. You require an amphitheater for that wealth. You got just what you wanted. Fire. When I dove in, elegant feline reflex. Let go of me (please). Maybe it will change the way you perceive things, you’ll be thankful. Drifting...... streamlining......drivel.......origami millipede...each fold.....a question...each flat...an answer.....blank in all respects....the horror of misplacing my favorite pen....

An emaciated cerebral vine spouting awkwardness and and and bizarre conjunctions. Sometimes, those who strive to speak intellectually seem unnatural. False. It irritates me. You are not the bindings of your “All You need to Know About Philosophy!” manual. Nor the letters placed accordingly inside to tell a story of a story....of a story....of a story. For the purpose of art, for the purpose of exploration, for the purpose of pure description, then so be it. But for the impression, to make it influential in a condescending trend.....disgusting. You don’t impress me. You don’t move me. You don’t make me twitch with mind-boggling awe.

----reborn left to sigh recure maybe I’ll be born and simplify the way i lie before i get bored------

 

The whole lot seems so fucking meaningless if I imagine myself off in the corner watching everything go on its all perfect, when I’m not a part of it. It’s all beautiful when I don’t distort it. The balance, the interaction between real people and emotion. And then for some disgusting reason I join in, I speak, I listen. And it tears everything apart. Maybe I want to feel as natural as everyone else seems to. I want to feel human and functional full of lively teenage hopes and dreams. I want to feel something. But I don’t. Sometimes I trick myself into believing that I have a reason for breathing. That maybe I can contribute something to this whole scene. But shit that happens, like what happened this weekend, reminds me that I can’t contribute anything besides hurt. I fucking hurt everyone that tries to get close to me. Everyone. Why do you bother....i should wear a fucking sign....”I am the definition of hate and i will take it out on you” just to warn people.....because when he was clinging to me...begging me....crying...his tears running down my neck...all i could think of was the lake beside me....and how the water filling his lungs would ease my anger and disgust....would clear away the haze...would shut him the fuck up.....and yet i couldn’t move....I let him think i cared....I stood there saying nothing and let him think that i was listening to him......i don’t even remember half of what he said...then i walked away.....left him....as he sputtered “i’m going to fucking kill myself”...i smiled....

”Would you care? amy? Please.”

“Yes” I lied.

“That’s all i needed to hear”.

 

I guess its there in the corner usually. Rusted hinges shifting to the movements, playing the piano. Small childlike rise and falls, simple notes really, the odd chord joining in. Basic. Peaceful. It’s some sort of tin figure, no, more so an object. How it looks changes with every second. I just feel its cold strength. I associate it with metal. And the coloration with rust. It just appears to have hinges. Because its harsh. And it plays in the corner of someone’s home. I don’t know whose. The wallpaper is peeling off, the floors are hardwood, light. Water stains on the ceiling and a window just behind the figure. Its open. I can see through it. At first. All I see is flowers though. And just for a second. Then it fills with light. And the window is washed out. And then it fills the room. It dissolves everything. And I wake up. Or perhaps more correctly, realize I’m imagining it. Oh yes, and the piano is black. Even the keys. Always.

 

It’s a strain of viral telekinesis. With stiletto heels mauve in the center walking on the hands of dilution, but it makes it dazzling. [ln 3 col 40]-I’m a pretty feminine guy, I know how girls talk-she is not to be classified. She is she because its what you can handle. [At 1.4”] -this is your life this is your fucking life-\\\\\\\\\….[ the wrong way round]-----------[1/1]----[total 213-270]-fucking her was like fucking machine----respected sir/madam]]] the score received by me is as follows: substratum, but its like a chocolate bunny. You’re ripped off because its hollow. There should be. Leaves inside. A cyclone of leaves that emits strange red lights and snowflakes. [09/09/81///]. Please let me know about any further requirements[[[I’d walk on water to get to touch you, you kill me with love morri]]]]]----that’s not my mother fucking name[going back oh, a few years. 3. 4 maybe.]------I said someone shoot me quickly, I could smell the barbeque out in the bowl and I wanted a hamburger, badly. I’m utterly disgusted. ---trapped in a 2 x 3 foot cage the German Shepard tried to nurse her dead maggot filled young back to life struggling to keep her own head up, pushing them around---in cages next to her, dozens shared the same predicament. The ones that survive. You buy. At the local pet store. You sick mother fucker. *laughs* Wait until you hear about how your effective leather jacket was fashioned.-fret for your[insert everything here]. I bet that you are spoiled. That is what I bet. That’s the impression that I get. Another longing to be wrong, but you’re not wrong, you just pretend to be. Why does everyone want things to be wrong with them? You fucking weirdo’s. I’ll tell you what’s wrong with you…you all want to be like astro boy….its not going to happen….so take of the fucking boots….

 

orbs. like a screen, with an image projected upon it. and someone is behind, making ripples with their finger. That is what my eyesight is like...there are blips in my vision. I’m used to them though....they don’t get in the way too much.....

 

satan stole my aspiring well-dressed soul. It is now available on the black market for .000.0.0.0.0…245274$. Bidding starts Noon tomorrow. Tis a formal occasion, so bring your swimsuits.

 

My stepfather noticed me acting strange in the car this morning. I couldn’t help it if I seemed a little preoccupied and awestruck. The ground was meeting the sky for the first time and the conversation they were having was exceptionally worthy of my concentration.

 

Just when you thought being an extra was creditable, something shifts and you’re just an angel. The halo isn’t as burnished as its made out to be, and wings? They have holes. Hardly able to support you, not even enough to glide. You’re thinking to yourself “I thought I was supposed to be something more, I thought I was supposed to pass through these brilliant mammoth gates into a world beyond my mortal minds acuity.” But no, this isn’t so at all. You see, over a zillion years ago a small globular creature decided it wasn’t going to pull its weight any more. It just didn’t sit right in the superfluous globular community. So it destroyed its fellow globulins and carved a new race out of a small piece of flaxen cellulite. The problem that arose with this was that he himself couldn’t walk among this new creation. Because new things arrive on new levels and old things are left behind. And this upset the lonely fellow. For days within days among days extending days he pondered his quandary “however shall I join my new and wonderful monsters? How am I going to pass through to their level?” And then it came to him. There wasn’t a way to join an existing level. It just wasn’t possible. But to create another level, above theirs, that surely was...wasn’t it? Of course. We’ll say it is. Because this is my story, and it really isn’t going anywhere anyway. So the globular guy created a new level following the new race. Once their time was up, they’d move on. They’d join him. But of course, they’d have to want to. So he made up immaculate tales of what was to come when time was dead. Beautiful stories of a paradise beyond their understanding. Happiness. Bliss. Satisfaction. Who wouldn’t want this?

When you think you’re going to heaven, you’re really going to meet up with some weird globular dude.

 

They’re at it again. Gnawing away at the edges of my intransience. Sure it’s all a marvelous facade created to keep things in formation. But it can still be disrupted. I never see it until I feel it, that dangerously sad pull from the depths of my stomach, the thickness of my bone [you are losing yourself again, don’t disregard] I miss the things that I hate as well you know. Perhaps that isn’t the best way to describe what I mean. I guess I’m not sure how to say it. It makes no difference. I walk and there is no feeling in my legs.

 

It takes a take of the doll light fell this tell my where i if i were so calm I’d then we’d but tastelessly I’d decide to walk my own way to this we control the detachment of callousness deemed and i can’t take you with me and i can’t tell you want to do –shakes the dust off of austere focal points-we like to listen when its all just right

 

transposetwinge: want me to tell you a story
iron translucent: please...
transposetwinge: alrite...
transposetwinge: give me a moment to think
iron translucent: kay
transposetwinge: hmm
transposetwinge: okay...
transposetwinge: um
transposetwinge: *ahem*
transposetwinge: here i go...or something
transposetwinge: once upon a time, morri had no stories to tell...
iron translucent: =]
transposetwinge: wait...
transposetwinge: ummm
transposetwinge: *thinks*
transposetwinge: okay
transposetwinge: it starts with
transposetwinge: a photo album
transposetwinge: yes
transposetwinge: with immensly colorful pictures
transposetwinge: capturing a dead memory
transposetwinge: well...
transposetwinge: capturing dead memories
transposetwinge: It lies on the floor in the middle of the empty room
transposetwinge: the smell of fresh paint lingering about...
transposetwinge: on a day like this
transposetwinge: you're expected to be sullen
transposetwinge: distracted
transposetwinge: busy with your melancholy
transposetwinge: [but wait]
transposetwinge: he walks to the center of the room and picks up the photo album
transposetwinge: amazed at the loud echos his light footsteps make...
transposetwinge: "my dead memories...I was once a superhero..."
transposetwinge: he sits down cross legged
transposetwinge: centered
transposetwinge: the center of the universe
transposetwinge: he's found it
transposetwinge: it is him
transposetwinge: he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of scissors
transposetwinge: "my dead memories...vacant expresions...even when they are laughing...."
transposetwinge: and he's cutting each one
transposetwinge: letting the pieces sprinkle to the floor
transposetwinge: he spreads the clippings across the room
transposetwinge: working from each corner
transposetwinge: working back
transposetwinge: when its completed
transposetwinge: he sits down
transposetwinge: [cross legged]
transposetwinge: "now...I am a super hero...at the center of my dismembered dead memories...they can't touch me....because I walk all over them...."
transposetwinge: he sits calmly...
transposetwinge: enlightened
transposetwinge: he closes his eyes
transposetwinge: and drifts off to the sound of his neighbours fucking in the suite above
transposetwinge: the end
transposetwinge: *bows*

 

I’m not just being falsely self–extinguishing. I’m really that indescribably pathetic. Lithium carbonate is used in making glass. It is also used in treating manic-depressive disorders. Mindful reframing and challenging the distorted thoughts. Out side disturbance. Stop breaking through my foolproof barrier, you’re making me look ill at ease. Twisted shapes cast randomly about your crackling disconnection. It’s looming, explaining the unearthing of what something was and how it transforms into what it could be, delicately laced in the ideals of an over imaginative dreamer. I’m an artist who doesn’t know how to create anything and you are a muse who doesn’t know how to inspire anything. I’m not aware of what surrounds me, I’m not aware of what I surround. All I have a hold on is my anxious curiosity. Something’s coming. It fucking has to be. Maybe nothing is beautiful. I’ve just been imagining things in a different setting, adding my own details. Playing with your chalk outlines. Dusting up the fact that I can't bear anything, so it’s not as clear, not as detectable. I want your eyes in my hands your screams in my ears your blood on the floor all these collectables destroyed. You’re ugly. Awful. The epitome of all that’s wrong. All that’s wrong....all that’s really wrong with me. I can fix everything, when I’m all that’s left. I can wander solitary through abandoned destruction, reflect on the pain I’ve caused, feel it work through my broken deliverance. You should hate me when you discover......I’m the worst part of you.

 

while you make pretty speeches...
i'm being cut to shreds.....
you feed me to the lions....

////a delicate balance\\\\

 

This is my tripping fusion exposé, tall ersatz juxtaposition. But you never really approach the fine breakdown with all out faultless acquiescence. There is always some bone structure bent incarnation of your own personal devil pulling you this way and pulling you that. Should I back up. Should I go further? Should I deny myself the recognition (you are how you perceive everyone else to be) and fall softly through the bindings? Not ever the same thing in the same moment. Contorted invigoration pointed downward, going away. Dancing contemptible fucking imp in the drawer vertical displacement colliding with random debris yes just fragments of what it wants what it thrives on you can’t get away with what you leave behind-torn between and catching-you don’t understand things but you have potential-and it begins again siren highway passing decomposing nomads and their tiny perfect china dolls along for the cycle what are we learning here and how are we believing what do you have to hold onto what do you really have you don’t have anything i can’t see anything i think you’re suspended flaccid wavering pinned to a display case beautiful through vacant eyes so many so many masquerades....stratagem fury....why\

Because it’s made of salt and subterfuge

------little glass dreams-----
------little glass teeth-------

rise and fall rise and fall they sing they sing and it means everything-[how did that make you feel-imagine him here in this chair alive and well tell him how you feel-i know it’s difficult-i know-i know-i know-it will help you in the long run-imagine him in front of you-tell him how you feel-did you-did you-was it an open casket funeral? See him there-tell him how you feel-its all a part of release-leave it behind-it isn’t your fault-don’t feel at fault-don’t feel-don’t feel at all-imagine him here in front of you-tell him how you’re doing-tell him how you feel-talk to him-i bet....he’s listening....what do you think? What do you think about all of this?]

I think I’d enjoy taking you apart slowly and painfully.

[wrong answer]

 

Those haunted fairytales of love and hindered despair. You came gracefully through, a brilliant astronomical wonder clothed in disorder and concern. Black my eyes with distinctive vision a resonance in the system a prisoner of the prism. Walking past you would mean collapsing all I’ve built my reason on, all I’ve ever taken a stand on. Listen and you’ll here every particle of my soul exhale when you lay your treasured thought upon me, observe the illumination of my state of mind when you go out of your way to empathize with me. Know that I’ve never been more honest with anything when I manage to speak unclearly unsteadily [I love you].

 

Retention. I have unjustly painted a definition of your overconfidence. Today I’m talking about someone different, some one I don’t even know, however observe. It could be you, and it could very well be you. But I know, that it is you, my estranged acquaintance that has been coming up in my thoughts more then once. Why……why….I haven’t decided yet…I haven’t decided if I enjoy you….or abhor you…. There is some false hidden wiring but it could be mistaken for purity….I’m fighting the urge to test it….you….but I think…I think I just want to be cruel….for some reason…and I’m not sure why….to uncover perhaps…something I may see in you…..but for the meantime I suppose I’ll go about this quietly….respectfully…gently….casually….if that is, I intend to pursue my nagging curiosity and instigating tendencies….mostly I’ll try and ignore that crazy destructive inner voice….but mostly….mostly that doesn’t matter anyway….

This is ridiculous and pointless…central conflict….or something…

Sometimes you’re just like me….

 

/I can’t\ I just cannot suffer the dead interval the crushing moment the absolute realization that flutters into my mind. /you are exactly what they’ve said-what they say-\ I feel so useless so worthless so stuck in nonexistence and clichéd conclusions are all I fall into- interludes fate----declining monkeys with stone stomachs and a deviated plethodontidae (Ensatina eschscholtzi-to be exact) plays the launeddas whilst shocking an audience of non-believers. “But how can it be? No lungs. No lungs. Does it have lungs? Have they been, stepped over?” where is the significance in this and how do we grapple with its tough outer skin. Who misplaced her emotional being-trickster-is-durable-and who will take the fall for it-responsibility]]] this refusal. I hate you. This refusal. I hate you.

 

The scheme-a symptom of essential craze [need] and this to be unraveled and opened to the elements of guilt and shame [reminisce]—because it always shuts down like this. Eyes glazed over in wonder and some newfound enlightenment and struggling not to recoil in shaken evasion all there is, is stillness-controlling panic. I am assuredly mental and messed up but I think I pulled an efficient level of reason off well enough.

Maybe they’re lying when they say adversity makes you stronger. What do I know…

The question crushing my mind at the moment is…..how do you feel now?

 

I tore it apart and watched its head run around on the counter. Gazing curiously I wondered if I would do the same if I were to be in that same situation at some point in time. Of course don’t have limbs fitted closely to my head. So I guess I wouldn’t.

 

The need to isolate clear-cut alien sentiments in order to fight it more efficiently. And why struggle against it all? Because it’s something novel and possibly perilous. We have to double our sanctuaries paper-thin walls. Alert the toy soldiers of possible intrusion. Barricade sensibility to the deepest darkest corners of the edifice. Sit down and slowly begin to cut the chords. And every movement sends fire shivering through your vision, every shift makes them scream.

 

Ragged mental relapse turmoil. Slightly dusty, faded by the sun. I’m feeling sick and oh so light headed. Jovial cantering, these chemical additions will not be successful! You all speak with these furrowed tongues, tripping over what you’ve absorbed. And so I have to uncover the meaning of it all. Why? Because it was assigned to me by the highest of the high. The ridicule incarnate. Devilish grin. You think it’s justified to whine and scream and pull at your roots. Sputter and drop when your way isn’t the way. God how I wish they hadn’t sewn up your eyes so accurately. And I have forgotten where I’ve been. The street isn’t echoing like it used to. The sky isn’t living as it should. Nothing is speaking to me any longer. And I suddenly realize, I took it all for granted. I need a poison cocktail, with an umbrella.

 

Words are slowly being filtered through the system of ruin. It’s interlacing complexities damaging the significance that is struggling to expose itself. Reflection, be it correct or incorrect, always has more then one possible conclusion. I refer you to the dancing imbeciles on worn and frayed strings, free in confinement truly wallowing in their real selves. This is the mile to walk backward down. The air is clean when you can part it with your hands. The dust woven through the fibers of denial and resolution paints ancestral significance. Everything is breakable. That is something for you to remember.

 

I am a bruised beacon dancing through the spinal fluid of forgotten organisms. Trying to breathe life into their fading assemblage has left me sallow yet disguised. The times were merry when all else was chaos. This we’ve forgotten, bestowed upon our perilous chase a new developing completion. Burn their masterpieces. Construct devils in reverse, devils exposed. Splinter broomsticks with chic glances, fitted for the dressed down dragonflies mocking their cohorts-the collaborating oleander wastelands. Control your poison. Control your poison. Because it blows the whistle on your paltry frontage, your frills and tears. Your deafening naked back. Exposed. Because the devil is exposed.

 

Fucking folkish music screaming through my fucking window. Dialect crashes. Because the cable collapses. Just like before. Fucking oblivious. On hinge with swollen leaves under relentless pressure. You [click] don’t [click] work [click] anymore [sputter][resign]- folding cataracts between the thin paper slides-where do we go from here- the words are coming out all weird-wher-e are you now---when I need-you—but they skip out and tumble to the floor collecting everyones dirt and thus perishing from morbid self disgust. “they’re all on me! They’re all fucking on me!” pull- strangle – tear –erase. Talk out loud. Fellow. Child. Invisible to everything-hush-suicide soldier tragedy coiling around your scenery- he cried and we cried but no ones ever seen tears before. They are legend in the cracks of my mind, soft and mysterious. So easy [simple] my eyes close [simple] and I move on [simple] through storms of nothing, and straggling behind me, is you and I’m content to leave you there.

 

Silent I walk amongst these ceremonial boundaries touching the lines as I go along oblivious to existence-it doesn’t see me-and I take photographs of its windswept teeth to bring back with me to indescribable alterations where no end meets any beginning this is where my mind lingers enveloped in conflicting barriers that really have no limit at all, malleable they fold like treason, skinned they beautifully glisten, I am a target against a thorough backdrop, curled edges, color slightly fading, dormant in tranquility.

Slurred speech tipping schematic spiral constriction gathering the mold to itself in a protective attempt to devour the hideous rebellion against examining the detoxification of puerile memories-this delving into plastic sockets that suck the centers out of wasted meaning and feed it into a thick morose tube attached to the source of all human activity- It is growing weak and giving into the voices that call it-fear your end that stems from one who has grown weary-crush it into thorns to make it more pleasing-eviscerate then meditate-this is where oneness will be born.

Because they’re crawling and speaking at the same time. And that is a fascinating thing.

 

The bloody tapestry fell gracefully to the floor. Murdoch waited a moment to take in the exquisiteness of it. He wished he had brought his video camera along, but he hadn’t anticipated such an array of pure luminous color. He could consider himself an artiste, like any other. Why the hell not? He had his tools, his creative methods, and his delicious work of genius that was the result of his fetish. Oh yes, he should have at least brought his camera, taken a few snapshots, but this image would be stored away with everything else. Hidden behind the intricate folds of rotting tissue. He liked it there best of all anyway. Stuck on repeat, flowing through his body like coarse abrasions. Pain is the focus of this worlds essence. He engraved it into the atmosphere and felt peaceful being able to see it in front of him. “This is what worms are made of,” he thought. “Worms are such superior creatures”. And with that, he took his leave. Backward he walked out of his unconscious and into the blaring pattern of pragmatism. It was time for edification and a take on normality.

 

I should be in bed. I haven't really slept all weekend. The clock, it reads "I can't keep this up tonight" and I'm really not too sure what that's supposed to mean to me. I shrug it off and begin to fold my clothes slowly and carefully. I should be asleep. The green lights in my shaw cable box thing remind me of the tommy knockers. It blinks and swirls and steals my attention from how very alone i am feeling right now. And do i show my appreciation by closing my eyes and making them bigger and brighter. My mind has become a large mass of green swirling light. There is no room for anything else. I slip to the floor in a liquid rush and evaporate into the air. the particles that are me spread throughout the city observing and brushing every detail. I should be unconscious.

 

[check to see if this is already somewhere else]

 

Use the wildcard character when evaluating the known and the super-unknown. With succession at our gain and delayed mesmerisms a photograph forms in the face of elation we fall into frenzy and lose our awareness of communal illustration. Not dirty but common. Not sick but diaphanous. My daddy was a dollar he wrote it on a fence. There’s a twitch in my back and I can’t quite reach it. It’s telling me to display upheaval successfully and if I don’t it will slowly bend my spine until it shatters like semiprecious black and silver stone [hint of red] [hue of corrosion]. I’d like to give it a title, embody it with a traditional explanatory label that will keep it fresh in my mind as a degrading benefactor. I used to call it, Mister Jester. The trickster of tricksters on parade. Mister Jester did it, certainly not I. But something’s turned marginal along that line. Something has given way to practicality and I realize that some numinous idiosyncratic devil is not the source of my atypical demeanor. I am the only make-believe player in this theatrical production. It’s time to move to the next level. It’s time to prioritize unawareness and internal exploration. It’s time to evolve.

 

You can’t misplace irony with lack of meditation this says the constructive humanitarian to the drifting desire of the intervallic serial killer known as [I have no taste of commonsensical insight] but before this strikes a chord with any unsteady syndrome one must come face to face with jumping cinder blocks as the best recreational standpoint- mishandling crucial evidence escorts the idiocy with spectacular urbane entertainment and we can’t help but wade into the masses of eccentricity and ordinary in hand. I can see you sinking into your sofa of wasted brainpower trying to pinpoint where I am saying something and where I am pretending to do so. Unfortunately you will never really discover the answer to this question, because I will never breathe a word of it. The perseverance of a broken star. Scrambling. Sliding. Swallowing.

 

authorities report that a small peculiar contrast between village idiots and seperation has caused many of the locals to rage against their molten lava producers. The intensity of this incident has yet to be dicovered. Dangerous? you better fucking believe it. A chill changes everything.

rip tides and gnashing teeth.

doll like eyelashes.

blinking.

closed.

 

let us play the sad game, let us crawl and whimper and cover our eyes. let us stamp the forehands of our debasing filthy children and plead to those who threw us to the ground and stole our bottle cap collection. He’s stepping into the limelight and exposing his bony shoulders. Dripping from them a black liquid sticks and slips [I never thought I’d sacrifice this much for you] to the words that his skin expels with every breath he takes/but we never knew which way was the right way, we always just wandered aimlessly through the fields and watched the wind play with the tops of the wheat. Tiny blue butterflies would flutter about through the air and sometimes if we were lucky, come to rest upon our frail hands. [because you didn’t want me]----/when his eyes land upon yours images of dissolving bodies and raw anguish join hands with that of secretive painful connections with pavement and broken glass/pain/pain/pain/fear/pain/pain/pain------[you never cried for me at all]---all my life-----all along-----but then I didn’t know---not really------a place I’d rather be, drumming my anywhere bits of skull in my cereal-[split]—be quiet for one precious moment, there is some voices in the distance, chanting, humming, moaning, dreaming. They are all wrong. All wrong. Because the waves are stale and drawing out nostalgia spreading it in thin layers across the hot gravel-a foot print---chime---light and the gyratory patterns as the silent weeping violin tries again and again to play….it fails…and cries….it fails….and cries again….

 

Shivering switchblade ties with elongated white lines to walk along carefully whilst they borrow into your decomposing womb. Deep along the intangible bellows from the gaping mouth of old discarded wounds and rusting merry-go-rounds, faces twinge to the cyclical stomping of severed feet as they grow their perfect bodies at an alarming rate. Beware the atrocities you throw away in repugnance for they turn on tops and bounce back candy in knotted palm eager for the sadness in your pallid fleshy sockets. You can’t get the wrapper open. Or it melts when you touch it. Whether you are in a state of salvation or a state of advanced psychological attainment you hands are still glued to your ear drums when they call your name in a lowness not even sarcophaguses can place. I think we’re alone in the universe tonight.

 

In my dream I saved the ants. But the snake had my throat in its pockets. water. strangers. and of course the evil man. vipers in the mudslide, covered and choking. if i fall to pieces, shall there be rain?

 

i watch my self smolder in the bottom of a dirt red pail. above small children peer down at me. you are so tiny, they say. but when i speak. they cannot hear my reply.

 

he's running but i still feel eyes on the soft areas of my spine. raising to the surface too quickly is death, and he's kicking, squirming, headed for air. we don't yet understand all of the signals. we can't touch where light lays dorment. and when he stretches out in painful concentration, I give the order. pull the wire, for he is not meant for this earth any longer. it is done, and i watch as the clown fish dance in the water beside me. i think i hear one say my name, but i am already headed down the hallway....

 

She’s a prepackaged wise man stringing Christmas lights inside her body to make things a little brighter, as they should be. Yes I’ve been wrong, she said. [How can you be so down all of the time?] When there is Christmas lights everywhere, warm to the touch. And she takes in to account all that has been wrong in her life and falls to her knees because she has been lying…lying to herself…this is how you remind me…what I really am….and they’ll wait for me to take their hands. I save a box of old leaves under my bed, there they cast wistfulness around me because I need to be reminded, I can’t let it drift away for too long. Who am I to say, that I handled it well. Who am I to understand, what it has made me today. Who am I to care, about your inconsequential anguish. The cold takes away my feeling, my way. I can’t find you, I can’t find her. All I taste, silence. I didn’t want a witness; I didn’t want to be looked at like that. [it’s more effective that way] You can’t be it because you were never…….terrified…..she screams into the snow, where has the marionettes gone to this time. If placed wrong…they tangle….[someone’s writing down your mistakes]……[wrong]…….-this is why-…..-i am alone tonight-……too many things you don’t’ know…too many things…I don’t know…because I didn’t want me…I never cried for me at all…..i should have spoke….i should have brought it all down on them….you never……I don’t want anything anymore, I don’t expect anything and I am tired of my search for understanding….i don’t care….i don’t care…I don’t…care…I don’t…want to be that girl anymore…

 

an old couple reunited. the kindness of a stranger. angels. soot. total annihilation. pride, the fly in our consumption. i want to be inside a killers mind. i would pick apart the pieces. and see if they ever fitted together in the first place..//tears...there are so many....

lets be dramatic, and dress up.

 

my blood has you in its hands. this is limitless

 

here i am. setting the perimeters. lowering my voice. sacrificing the event. she doesn't want to say goodbye anymore. whisper my questions. develop my contusions. slide up the forgiving stairwell. touch the surface. stop altering my molecular chasm. or I will find a new place to conceal it. This this this dancing devil cyclometer words and phrases and mazes – I don’t want to be like this – fall back. Catastrophic semblance in the rental bed of cruel love and patience. Selfish stole my crushing icon. Waiting. Its all horrid.

transposetwinge: i feel like a zombie
zkillmenowq: why is that my dear?
transposetwinge: i don't know
transposetwinge: i think i have many many mental problems like they say i do, and pretending that i don't isn't always going to work
transposetwinge: wait i don't think that
transposetwinge: nevermind
zkillmenowq: well...good...because you don't
transposetwinge: okay
zkillmenowq: what do you think?
transposetwinge: hm
transposetwinge: i think i hear chimes

wrong it gurgles like bloody overflow you’ve got to stop the look here little girl I am selfish and I am acidic and I am not the one to discuss this with. Don’t you know who you’re dealing with yes that’s right the misuse of cobwebbed basements. They should be cherished held close to your skin, the itch devoured. synthetic suicide.

This is hurting my eyes.

 

When she cries the tears do not even escape, don’t touch her cheeks, no adventure. And she doesn’t know why…..that’s the thing…..she doesn’t know….I can’t begin to understand why this is who I am inside…...but I will pretend otherwise until the day i die....

 

just because you think so, doesn't mean i'm justified in this
*sighs* life is slowly eating away at my body parts. soon i will be nothing but bits of thin hair scattered about on the floor. i think then i'll come to terms with who i am and what i'm worth. miniscule substance utterly replaceable. contributing nothing but menial tasks that can be completed by any simple creature. dragging my limbs behind me day to day in a meaningless cloud of listlessness. everything I “create” is a mockery of my inner fabrications. the outcome throws my disgusting unintelligible thoughts back in my face with a leering disdain for my emotional well being. I destroy myself, I have only amy to blame. Maybe I could be worth something…if I’d only shut the fuck up once in a while and mimic the actions of regular functional beings…

maybe I’ll donate blood.

maybe I’ll concoct a delightful killing pattern that stumps the nations with its twists and swivels.

maybe I’ll paint the walls with intimate detail of my crumbling internal organs. And call it art. My contribution to the system.

I must stop talking now.

 

i nside my head-so frequent
Suddenly I felt the vomit rise up to greet my tongue.

“You have to illustrate it! Demand the eye organs to peruse what you’ve experienced!”

“But I live in a cellar.”

“Is it not an interesting cellar?

I spew molten vomit upon the earth.

“Aye, it is.”

“Splendid! Then begin on this hour! No time like the despicable present. Would you like a bit of material to cleanse your mouth?”

I use my sleeve.

“Splendid! Material conservation eh old chap?”

“A mannerism disease”

“Ah yes. Comes with the ear drums I imagine.”

“Yes, I should think it does.”

My shoes have a very curious creature crawling upon them.

“This is Laszlo.”

“Splendidly intricate little fellow eh?”

“He is a worm.”

“Ah, yes marvelous color.”

“Black.”

“Oh is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Apparently.”

I suddenly feel the vomit rise to greet my tongue.

“Excuse me as I develop my thesis.”

 

a laszlo in my bowl of cheerios
It feels like I live beside an ocean right now. I'm not quite sure why that is. One of those chilled grey oceans that lightly pushs you around with a discomforting breeze. It's just past the pleasant mark. A bit too cold. Perhaps it is the gulls echoing off in the distance somewhere that really initiates this odd feeling of being secretly relocated during the hour or two that I drifted to sleep.

Why has everything decided to take on the blury form of slow motion?

We now crawl at a snails pace, our bellies exposed to the enemy sun.

 

There is this tree outside my window that is utterly naked. yet all the others surrounding are still covered in leaves. why has it chosen to shed them early? I wonder if it knows something they don't. we don't/.

 

once when i was little, we had these giant flowers all over the yard. and i loved them. and would walk, from one flower to the next and inhale their fragrance. then. once. I was walking from one flower to the next inhaling their fragrance when suddenly from the center of the big flower scurried a large white albino spider. i could see its veins. its vessels. its ships.

 

once, next week, I was walking through the river[along the bottom] exploring the different patterns in the sand and rock. above the shadows and gulls and pelicans smoothed over me. and i began to feel a bit cool. so i lied down and took a nap.

 

Yes I am damaged on the versatile versatility versatexural----kick. Kick the-ground. Some things are meant to be spattered. Eyes. Heavy. Close. Open. Close. Eventual gloominess and a ghost who is witty and scared. I would like a proper formal introduction my lead and degree. I wrote my initials on my heart tissue between each beat, I timed it just right. A stitch….in….time….look you fucking rejectable collectable you need to put on the make up and the wigs. Damnit. Put them on. Put them fucking on you sad mother fucker. Sing it isn’t singing but a rise in the wave-loud-silence-dream-I want to--------r.u.n. so come on out with your hands up. In the right, I expect understanding[its empty] in the left I expect comfort[its empty]. Socket conviction. Replay. Did you hit. Replay. Did you hit. Rewind. Play. Jacob. And no last name. Three….c’s…..seas…..my step in line with sacrilegious dirt my step in line in the mud in the hollow. One more….we drop together in the snow. The coldness mellow in embrace. I say into the snowflakes. Goodbye is near. Because everything is so far away.

 

spine swivel-that girl is comical-spine swivel-apple crepes-my spine is the center of the universe. everything revols around my spine and its rigid and unrully behaviour. my spine will trip you if you are passing by and my spine will throw things at you when you are not looking. my spine has a rubber band aimed in your direction.

many many things have been going on inside my head lately. and these many many things are quite strange indeed.

[this is just a tiny tiny sample]

tooltoolbrandontoolbrandonbrandontooltoolmonstersbrandonbrandontoolinsectswormsfrenchcamera
brandonneedlesjocetooltoolgreekletteringclocktoolbrandonbrandonbellinghamspinaltapcrashbuzz
devildoorbrandoncandletoolwaxringsoceansharkeatingmybodyfordinnertooltoolbrandonbrandonbazil
brandonbrandonbrandonbrandonbrandonfuckinguncomfortablecomputerchairtatsmashesmyspineintomud

 

how about i dance for you and scream for you and melt down my fucking eye[lashes] for you-even if it is a somber day of regret and pine and dead trails in which to travel----we can't just stop and sit down to have our breath catch up to us-it isn't needed-and don't you tell me how i feel-you seem to forget-fuck-less and less[patient] are the birds coming 'round here--less and less[patient] are they landing upon the feeder i constructed with my tiny disfigured hands. I am going to listen to some music now. i am going to. do something else now. I want to disconnect. i want you to want this again. ha. i am stuck in wanting nothing. wanting nothing. i want. nothing. [smash] won't be needing that. we need a quiet audience. why is everything turned up so fucking loud. drip drip drip drip drip hum hum buzzz zzzzoom rawr.fret. im sure it will pass. im sure it will. bored.sick.tired.ofsilence. it is too loud for my fragile states. brainrooms reject your self-indulgence. reject you. reject. from the back of the room, the corner, the street. Not enough. Dangerdangerdanger to be a stranger to the danger that Is kissing you: film. From this side we are hoping repairs can and will be made. But we are doubtful. My options are open. This could be defense. Reaction. Mine. Can’t let myself feel this way……its time to destroy the source he says….it is now time to destroy the source…

 

*Saunters around*

tra la la

I want to destroy your face lady

Yes you, the one that’s an idiot.

Here’s how we are different. Where as you would do anything to prevent it. I would do everything to help it. Why? For my safety of course….

tra la la

[/incoherence]

tra la la la

destroy destroy burn pillage massacre/love

 

tired tired tired of thissssssss

we shall see if i survive the week.

take notes.

i'm going anti-everything 654321switch

i remember a time when....but....that makes me cry.....i think back and...but then that makes me cry.....

crying for me is a touch of salt water in my eyes. just enough to make them glisten.

before we start
shooting

 

something i can never have. repeat. over and over. speaks for everything. i want to get technical. i want to get....mystical. my piano plays in reverse. we say, i like it that way.

diediediedie die die die die(drama)diediedie die di edie eidieidiedie die die dieid eid(queen)
diediediediediediedie die die di edieid iedie diedie(addict)die die di edieieidieidieidi

what. is that for me. oh my. you shouldn't have. really i couldn't. nono. please.

this thing is slowly taking me apart. neon green and yellow stripes would be the color if i had a heart. [i do] and it is on display at the local art gallery. my heart. and everyone stares at it each day. some of them pay for it. some of them are special and need to pay a dime. if you look close, yes there are little worm tracks, they create a beautiful pattern. look there, i think i see a face. [laughter].

| just a fading fucking reminder of who i used to be |

worms. that turn into flowers. that turn into mold. that turn into streetcars. that turn into felony. here you see us constructing a miniature armadillo.

no.

thinking is not fun. i want to be thoughtless. yes. thoughtless and insensitive. apparently it is very easy for some.

you can make this all go away

smells like forest fires and singed hair. i shall wrap myself in it and lay down.

 

Emotional repercussions when one spends too much time solitary in a manifested world of urchins and deepest baronial cerulean. In front of a glorious mirror brushing through each strand of silken tresses the delineation of true peculiarity creeps along the sighs of loneliness and dissatisfaction. Slyly the black eyes of strangeness turned to touch upon the focal point of cold crisp winds that rustle my infatuation with coattails and you. I have lived my life separated from what most people seem to have. Encouragement. Consolation. Well-being. Respect. Attention. Appreciation.

 

And there are these children in a unknown forest that are invisible and hunt any people who accidently stumble onto their dwelling. I see the throat of a fellow companion slit to the left of me to the right my other companion is shoved to the ground and stomped upon. I fear for my life. Sage and I run. We run as fast as we can. And suddenly. there is a building. and an old lady that turns into an old man helps us into a section of doors that locks on the inside and as you're leaving to go out. there were are. trapped in glass. And the invisible children form. We can see them. they are not children at all really but imaginations with bits of flesh crudley slapped unto bones. they are banging on the windows. pounding pounding and it gets so loud. sooo loud. I crack and make a break for it. As we run I look back as they file in and begin to consume the old person. I am not guilty. I stop. I look around myself. I listen for movement. I hear nothing....and I think....this is my dream....if I don't want children to consume me...then I suppose I just won't make it so....and I am dreaming....I am awake...in my dream....look....I am aware.....the sun is setting....because there is an eerie glow about.....this is a meadow.....surrounded by forest.....and now I will wake....because I will it so...

 

Sometimes, everything is beautiful. Do you ever sit back in shock when you realize this? Sort of, embrace the moment in your stuttering confusion.

 

Dragon flies kiss the back of your agitated hand.

[knock] I am here to denounce your hasty glances. Do step aside as I massacre the antihero with my sidestepping knee snapping secular eye blinkers. [flash] wiped out over contrast develop. White.

Sweet sweet treasure coal swift crystals-my love saline criminal where all you know is I know all of it we can have our cellos and we can have our mandolins and we can sit and watch the fins glide across the surface of our tethered aliens.

[knock] I am here to force myself down deep inside your manifestations of life’s multifaceted tribulations I’m going to tear all your mendacity down and layer it with purifying ash and nail sharp sharp noises are causing me agonizing pain

aghast! She has removed one of her eyes and written a story on its slick exterior. Permanent marker has it filthy. Throw her around.

 

:sharp-witted untaught to be deserted, tiny swallows ricocheting off antithesis periphery obfuscators-deafening pain in the ribcage-what is that[scar]-uniform prose is misplaced in the qualms of subtraction and specious sentiment-wits in a bud vase [larva] lackadaisical creepy-crawly riding tricycle envisage turn toss terrorize-the helm on the forearm- calmness/stillness/air/cold/.. pungent bereavement murky bliss[covered in rushing scrapes] never this [perfect] never this [honest].

 

and when you walk down into the valley pillars of compressed antediluvian sediment thin and faintly lucent brushwood cajoles your receptive myopic accessories and stages syrupy validation. Contrary to the general encumbrance one stumbles upon with this decent, the deliverance from anti-smugness is far beneficial. You are correct when you are at most wrong. Graceful betrayal bejeweled in the most tantalizing sleeve. And here we have snow in a glass case, and here we have our assemblage of oil-covered suffocations.

 

its amy's lead brain rolling along the pavement....it is taking itself for a walk...getting some fresh air...and a break from its owner that keeps kicking it.....watch as it takes out the old man with the walker....it tends to do things like that.....

i am constantly making up things in my head to amuse my silly little self....

*sees her lead brain ask for directions*

 

Blue scarlet lesions my hand developing lavender pull this squalid thistle musing from my pale woven dialect. I am tripping stones, rerouting palatial overflows. And even from way up here upon this covering of soot and sail I can see your many fists crash into the soil of those who have forgotten you and those who have walked away. You solve nothing but the earthworms’ boredom. [struggles]. I wouldn’t be surprised if the strongest glass peeled apart from this devious flare of ardor.

[handle with care]

notice the wings split open with quiet torment. Blood and feathers stuck out ripping through the sky, tearing dark voids in our exquisite milieu. You can feel the cartilage begin to lose its footing and we are in need of a stitch. I will teach you how to feel the infringement on ones creative poise. Then perhaps next time you won’t be so quick to mimic it. It is stretching, the end…far beyond your amateurish capacities

i…

fall…

without you
I’m
No
thing

 

It is snowing tonight and the atmosphere [realm] forces every cell every particle every scrap of being into ruptured fanatic tinsel. All around entities christened with lucid dewdrop solidity sparkle with the reflection of tiny white spotted lights. I want to fall to the glossy cement and run my fingernails along its surface, breathe in the essence until I perish from the superiority of it all. This is life the raw beauty of simplicity and sometimes it is so extreme I don’t think I’m able to survive the connection the recognition.

This feeling.

This lingering haze.

And you look to the night sky.

Only to see yourself looking back down on you.

 

Diagnose

Sardonically

Repression

Reverberate in this teeming chamber. Hand in hand through images and choir noises. Being significant. Being insignificant. Being despised by the sounds that used to practice their gentleness for you. And so we pick up small pebbles and make our way to the back alley of our dementia. Twitch when our nervousness sets in. I wrote this story a long time ago and I should know how it ends. Regardless I step forward on fluff and paper. Surprised when I plunge through. No not surprised at all, comforted? Solace in my sadness my hurt my disorder? Quiet now. Hush….

This bloody [piece] of bone matter makes the most wonderful pen. Now where was I, oh yes…newspaper clippings and ’92….the smell of ants [yes the insect does] and dusty roads. Wait.

She has lost the picture.

Lets start again.


Wait.




She doesn’t want to anymore.

 

there are two flies on my ceiling at the moment. and i have a feeling they were sent to spy on me. why i'm not to sure. but i think it has something to do with me being the key to everything. therefore my life is in danger. fucking spy flies. they came out of the water. i am on to you. devil machines.

 

where did the reality go?

[that way]

quiet.

calm.

-carnage-

spoiled little kids.

 

Enigmatic soft strand of limitless defiance. I watched the fictional cenotaple enclose the saturine memory of monopolized tiresome renditions. It stands strong in the river of somber bracelets engraved with angst and mental disintegration. Your voice takes me down like a colossal fiend training my uniformity to be something more then useless villainy. Beyond the window. They are singing about me.

“She’s a nightmare born at the wrong time and she’ll take her visions out on you”

 

Cough, what is produced; the smallest bubble of uniformed lichen. It is shaped into a prism, and inside a trapped dust mouse calls out to its companions. But they are nowhere to be seen.

In my prophecy, the smallest metal dove walks along the edge of the ocean. It touches the water and feels its limbs begin to freeze up. Jumping back, listening to the soft flow-a voice-a dust mouse.

It follows the current, it floats on cider.

This field of warm luminosity, washing over tendrils of resonance, this balance of high and low. Shivering naked, stumbling, drinking water, making the way, to introspective guillotines. Somewhere, deep, there is a display. You lose your hair, but it is worth the degradation. Decontaminate. Distil.

My how this all appears so amenably nauseating. I’m reaching out for something that has long ago walked away from me. When will I sit still? When will I start moving? When will I stop breathing and begin the process of inhalation. There is something I need to find, it can no longer remain misplaced.

That thing there, it won’t talk to you. It only listens to the music. And now again shakes its eyes whole.

 

goodnight sweet prince
may flights of dust mice
wing you to your
rest and fill your head
full of golden
fuzz and diamond back spider
machines

oh the wonders of pure chaotic
love

this spoil of delicate
creatures

escaping

sigh

 

hum.

mass be thy enemy.

obstruction.

over there.

too much

[in between]

the dreams i have been having, will not leave me to sleep peacefully...i don't know what to do....i wake up so disturbed..unsettles....confused....

but i am so tired....

so.....ti...red....

 

Suddenly I feel strange. It is that respite that leaves me blank and hovering in some uncertain ambit. I close my eyes and the rush hits me coiled and full of microscopic brain feeders that plaster all grounds with their overpowering mind-numbing senses-fucking claw like appendages. I sit still for a moment and let the feeling wash over my emotional frailty until I know that I can breathe again without collapsing to the ground in shrieks of human disturbance. These sharp edged blocks I call brain matter are of different shapes, and do not fit in place.

 

tonight it rains the bright things. so i have heard times two.

finished.chain.saw.massacre.2. made me giggle to myself. that is such a funny little show.

[-yaw-nn]

we don't like popcorn. them and i. we thought that we did. but no. we don't.

because you are just low like that.

i can read thoughts. but not my own. it is a connection thing. and i don't connect with myself.

[amy]

is a cold pattern.
[cloud of dust particles]

-debris-

100perminute
east

the|study|of|touch|

 

ti-re-d-

i can watch from the window.
i wait for the black screen to change.
i sit and shiver.
for it is cold.in.here.
brr.

 

a little earlier, I fell asleep with my teeth clamped upon my tongue. when I woke my tongue had no feeling in its end. that was one of the weirdest things. to have ones tongue fall asleep.

 

Flail and feel these reprimands and vice recourse chill my bones to their bones in stately brisk delight[my body hardens to keep at bay the antipathy surging through the bits of air gone unacknowledged ]---mourning the splintered adrenaline one lies motionless mouth full of dried leaves and ailing moths-[eyes brimming with metallic wonder]-hands upon hands leaping off the superlative spire [bells ring] into churning gulch asphyxiated by the toll of the peal…..my the flat you have wandered upon is rickety and full of worm holes…each step wary of your brittle ankles….sedation….I have lost my way in this field of displaced mind and nightmare…I am beginning to think I wake to sleep……to create my day in miserable strategy……I no longer fear the teeth of my adversary….I look within and grapple with its tendons….[red souls]----orange centers----but my breath is my escape and my escape my deception….sprawled across the ceiling he looks down at my tiny frame….

“you speak too often for you never speak a word”.

And I have to marvel at his tasteful attire.

 

I have decided to inject my hands with a newly discovered liquid entitled miscalonopiotoxide. Secretly I have been operational in my subversive lab concocting this astonishing remedy. I know you want it, but, it was never meant for public interference.

[marches over to the wine]

And so my ever-incandescent companions, if you notice a change in our hand structures and the pinky flesh shade to blue, this is why and it is no cause for alarm. I am expanding our growth. I am ensuring our domination over this weakling genus. I am going to make some Liptons Chicken Noodle Soup and by god I am going to revel in the life that was destroyed for me.

 

i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane

i am a composed being of tranquility

i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane i am insane

 

Its cold. The pencil in my lead has been trying to escape for hours. Captured in stills I caught a bit of stale air and packaged it to send to you, just so you could see what it is like to float inside yourself. Mirrors upon mirrors, shifting black solstice hiding in hail stones splitting me open don’t believe me I just write it on the palms of my hands-extension-there is this mind, a mind filled with pockets and rooms. People use this mind to see the future and they use it to clean their gums.

 

The length allows you to shift doesn’t it. you shift and you glide and you pour on through the waters under ice and over fish……glistening…..save me from the deaf monsters….save me from…. a savior….bullet…take me…..forward……such a waste….hm…..it will come child….hush…it will come back….i swear it…I swear it to you…and I swear it to myself….

 

beauty strike me through
when she breathes
breathes for
you

 

oh is it the day....has it arrived again....it has....and i feel i am not prepared....we dreamt of nothing...us and them....thankful....yes......left out......yes......hungry...YES.....we fly to the refridgatory fast as lightening/fast as our little stubby legs will carry us.......pickles...and condiments....blast.....we had been tricked.....and all the while.....raindrops were falling.......the carpet was molding.....and the candles had gone their way.......it is still dark out...you know.....and there is snow on the ground....dare i venture out into the world....so many things could happen to me....like......alien abduction.....they want to consume my frontal lobe......they want it......they wanttttttt it.........

 

and long peaceful sleep...in a field of grass...tickling me...and there will be ladybugs....and maybe some tiny blue dragonfies.....with shaply clouds....look....that one......it is an aardvark...but it is night....and the clouds are visible only because of the bright moon....its watching over me...and rocking me to sleep....

 

it would be so easy
just to
shift
and what would happen
i don't think i should think about this
because i am far to curious
hm
what
and how would it feel....
how do you think it felt....hmm...
if its anything like getting your blood taken i imagine
its not so bad at all...
just the pulling
that is sort of odd
i could paint
with it

 

grind my bones
step on me
smash me into the ground
peel off my skin
tear out my eyes
crack my skull

sit in silence

 

transposetwinge: it feels like i'm dead and remaining behind because i have unfinished business
transposetwinge: i feel like i don't belong in this place
transposetwinge: and its seperating me from it with a thin resiliant invisible film
transposetwinge: i'm not really touching this chair
transposetwinge: its just the impression that i get
transposetwinge: everything is trying to fool me...because they are disgusted with me....but they really can't get rid of me
transposetwinge: because my body thinks it has to stay here
transposetwinge: my minds just resting on this pillar really
transposetwinge: it could go anywhere
transposetwinge: but its choosing to rest
transposetwinge: i don't know why here
transposetwinge: when everything is anywhere i am not
transposetwinge: i don't really have a place anymore...
zkillmenowq: i can understand that...i certainly can
transposetwinge: i dont belong anywhere....
transposetwinge: i just exist unwanted
transposetwinge: i exist...to gather paper...to gather objects...to make myself think...that i don't know that everything is really rather pointless...
transposetwinge: and if i allow the power of that reality build....and i accept it...then....what is left...
transposetwinge: whats left is
transposetwinge: death
transposetwinge: the only thing that alters what we know...
transposetwinge: death changes everything really...
transposetwinge: death of others
transposetwinge: death of ourselves
transposetwinge: when you realize that everything is just....nothing....all you have left is....the chaos death creates....
transposetwinge: because murder is something....
transposetwinge: and....
transposetwinge: hm....
transposetwinge: perhaps people who kill others or long to do so realize that its the only true thing
transposetwinge: what do you gain from it?
transposetwinge: nothing
transposetwinge: what does the victim gain from it?
transposetwinge: nothing
transposetwinge: does anyone gain from it?
transposetwinge: no
transposetwinge: it isn't an occupation
transposetwinge: not in its pure form
transposetwinge: its not to make you money...gain you objects.....or affection...or love....
transposetwinge: its just an alteration
transposetwinge: of what feeds our minds
transposetwinge: hm....
transposetwinge: and our insides are important
transposetwinge: an important part of it
transposetwinge: because that too is unatural
transposetwinge: well because it is a part of death
transposetwinge: i suppose
transposetwinge: hm..
transposetwinge: i don't know what i'm talking about....
transposetwinge: i forgot what i was talking about...
transposetwinge: oh yes....i don't belong here...

 

 

oh, in other news i bought a race car. It's name is speed and turmoil. i'll be racing it today against a pale blue sky. and all around, onlookers will stand with there eyes wide and their mouths open. my race cars name is delve, it will find its way inside you.

 

i've decided i have an imaginary friend name poccco, short for...hm...apocalypse...he says the world it is coming to an end....in alll different variations...and i will survive...and i will live...the rest of my years alone...wandering a wasteland....with nothing but the dust and a brown sky as my companions....because well....poccco will have to go to....its my punishment for...existing.....

 

-fallible-

delphic....

monster...

 

i'm burning paper in.front of my eyes smelling the comfort of its ancient scent. wishing i was playing the piano. writing thoughtles....for an hour......because sometimes i place a cage across my face.....so i can see through choosing circumstance......big words are not for your physician.....you....kid.....with that neck in your palm....wriggling....well i think its....well i think you're.....well its time that i.....but....

 

oh no, i have sold the fireflies to undeserving buyers. drat. they have been went. they have yesterday gone. they have been sacrificed to the underbelly of collicomytosism. now what have i done. now what will i do. what will they think of me. what will i think of next. why hasn't anyone answered my question. where the hell do you start on a mother fucking christmas calendar. does anyone know. does anyone care. damnit. you're evil you are all evil. spawns of the monster. pawns. fireants. doctors!! you can't be physicians!! you don't know the words. i have the words. i have them alllll. you cannot have them, nor twist them to your wane use. we grow, grow weary of your meddling. foul machine. i smashh and i break you.

 

bugs bugs bugs
all over my skin
insects[segments]
sections
*bite*

 

i think i am going to create rows of dandelions out of my hair. each one will be named after my negative personalities. and then i will bite off the flower. and bask in the beauty of the stems.

the girl is mad!

she has stems coming out of her eyes.

 

suddenly something has to change again. what what. i don't know. something, i feel uninspired and lacking in anything significant....something must be created...altered.....damaged.....what is it...what is bothering me....what......

-falters-

i can't figure out what i'm feeling
i then cannot begin to solve the conflict
shadows are blinking .transpose.
-fret-fret-fret-

what is wrong. tell me.amy.

she won't give in.
she won't reveal.
what is going on.

 

and as i peered through my bedroom window watching him carefully remove his gloves, fix his hair so that it isn't behind his ears, but not in his eyes either, gather and prepare his music for the eleven hour trip and then just as carefully place those gloves back on his hands...i couldn't help but smile a bit....such a crazy boy...with his pockets so full they bulged out about a foot.....silly black clad monster with crystal water eyes sparkling about against the whitest backdrop……

“come with me”

but then I really would be limitless.

 

Your skin
On my floor
Is
Bliss.

I should be in the shower. But instead I am burning eons. Sometimes your thoughts laze down upon my consciousness. And I see them in their pure forms, contorted with others….mingling…dancing…exposing. Sometimes I ask for it. Usually they come on their own. The breeze is cool on my warmed skin, it folds against bone biting deep into subliminal terror. We could float….float away….lose boundary….and melt into that aching need….the need to bring the doors down…

Someone is playing the piano….rather….happily….

 

i'm forgetting so many things
my mind is getting tattered
there is more and more hallucination
more blinking lights
more fuzz
more fury
the more i learn to act normal
the moreilearnto.hide
the more intense it is in here.thiswoven shell of glass and chance.

seirots evah i
?seirots evah i t'nod

eht esae ni hcihw i etirw sdrawkcab si tsomla gnientghirf
ebyam siht si woh i dlouhs etirw morf won no

 

its so close
you know i fight
i do
but its hard
the faces are so comical
the scenery so transparent
each voice rotting in monotone
softly peeling, i can hear myself hum inside my head

 

and now i sleep
still uncertain
still lacking comfort
still biting down on my lips
contemplating the little blood that comes from it

you're a fool to wallow in your own self-loathing
you do not have all of the answers
you are not correct in your narrow angry view
stop speaking as if you are similar to another
stop playing the sentimental twin that regrets

listen to me
for i am a bowl of candy
you cannot resist

 

I went for a walk a little while ago. Took the monster down to the river, the air is warm. So warm the smell of leaves was about and birds, oh my the birds where in their glory.

[Are you a religious man, Mr. Corso?]

The best part is the old woman, dead in her wheel chair, neck stiff with rigor mortis spinning into the fire. That eerie erect twitch is what gives it the effect.

 

Because I’m polychronic. And everything I work for, is unknown to me. I exist on the feeling. Scarlet lines across my forehead have categorized emotion and realism. And I shred, because the dirt had found its way under my skin.
And you’re looking for….beauty. realigning for….. desire.
Each mind a fascination. You bitter bitter organism.

 

i was awakened this morning by whispering.
only to realize there was no one in the room.
now my mind feels unsteady.
and i can't remember what the whispering voice said.

 

tonight I jumped into the river….and it filled my lungs with quicksand…..half ice half water. Still in view of the golden wreathes. I hear foot steps tapping behind me….it is the whispers lighthouse….in time with my essence….(it is my pants)….always 2-4 inches too long…..swaying in the mudded slush and debris….some sort of nightly handle……and there…..a dark hole…in the ice….some poor being has fallen through….shouts….baying hell hounds….but I’m still focused on….the glistening muck below me….i am an earthworm….feeding through the channel on decaying materials….composed of slime and cushion….the river half one….half another….ice breathing passionately against my clam flesh….i’ve gone farther under than I imagined I would and I see the clear black sky blink its eyes twice for yes…..blood rushes out of my fingertips in ribbon streams….i’m halfway across the bridge now….the shouts are young hooligans pillaging the banks that I had set up so perfectly…..you there….you are displacing my mud….ragtime clothing….earth echoes…. drenched times….i feel the madness of march…..i am the quicksand…..and i’m bringing it in….all the emotions swallowed and held tight by the obscurities no one takes note of….ahead lies the heavy blue green door….and I know it will stop…once it opens for me…

 

……sigh…….

Its mass is increasing…….it is closing the tentacles around my main arteries….sputter…..falling into delicious maniacal seizures…..cutting slivers of meat off of my ribcage….pasting them to a sheet of black plastic…..sssssssssssssssslipping….down…….

retch.

i.....i......i.i.....lost my pocket book....

 

Inside this prism of benevolence I see thick azure paint, no luminous accord.
tonight, I eradicated someone. gathered their faint wit into the palm of my hand and squeezed….they followed me home….dancing from shadow to light….and light to leaf….chattering about jean paul sartre and popular philosophical movements….

“its in to be meaningless…” (pouncing through puddles).

then I slumber…clad in internal quills…a diminutive squishy invertebrate…so that when you step upon me….i pierce my own body with myself….

and the sun strike us down. in amongst rows and rows of human limb. but I am vanished in devout ray and layer……separating the white light…

missing your mad scientist hair in the morning…





-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
.no i won't make the effort.

 

can't sleep can't sleep
there is no sleep
can't sleep
cannot sleep
c subtract ant equals s plus leep.
there will be no rest this evening.
no rest.

 

(shift into a position that allows your head to fall upon your shoulder for support)

 

oh the low low tides rushing over my exposed and slightly cracked skull.....he lifts the metal cap....peers underneath...and sees a gaint mass of wriggling maggots....consuming...always consuming...my brain matter....

 

Somatosensory areas
I am one of those people that should have died a child. Burrowing through boxes and boxes of old plush toys and beautiful plastic dinosaurs I knew it to be true. They still smelled the same, not even the musty fume killed that warm familiarity. I should have died a child because then, I would have died content. Given everything I’ve experienced now and then I suppose one would never think it possible to be content with this sort of lifestyle, or what it was. Things are different now. But I think my innocence, back then, protected me from the ritualistic events that left my little frame all crumpled and confused. My head was full of teddy bears and story books.........sand boxes......good climbing trees.....dirt.....earthworms....bumble bees that i used to catch with my bare hands and then release again.....

I was never a giant fan of birthdays....whether it was mine...or theirs....didn’t concern me at all...my father and i have the same birth date.....almost to the hour if i recall correctly. Holidays are different.....easter....christmas.....they blew my fucking mind.....so magical.....swirling me around in passionate inspirational whirlwinds that made everything else insignificant......tiny and locked in some forgotten room.....

But now all rooms are open....and i am a million beings drifting through them....all connected to one scarred and frail mind....and i don’t know what to do......everything abandoned me at my worst times....and now i am left here.....alone.....without the comfort of childhood magic....to question and analyze and cry over the burden of my past....

 

 

“Pin down the field of clay
And moderate the bony appendage
That’s cracked and powder
Yes sometimes it’s frail
Yes sometimes it’s wild

Embrace the unpolished throat
And silence the merciless stone
That’s brushed with shine
Yes sometimes it’s pressed
Yes sometimes it’s hard

On a voyage of cringing reflexes
The fog clears a bit
And the doll with the rusted headdress
Holds our hands
Yes sometimes it holds our hands”

Holding the face in my palms, and you belong to me...

Death and I spin in the dirt. Will I sing again? Will the whelp in the shadow give in before he awakes? My figure stands vain with good reason. And my knees have been crushed one time too many. No more will I lie hidden in the dreams of the afraid, buried in theoretical soil. When it all comes down to the better and the worse. How do they evaluate both? I’m not as ugly as they believe, I can love. However I won’t suffer the toils of emotion, let them seduce my mind into compliance like the weak doves. For I am unlike any creature imagined by creatures. I am the very sustenance of the bleak grave race. Through me, an enhanced way of life will shape. Through me, they will all become divinities and I will be the true valve of the earthly place. Befriend the shadow I will, mold his mind like the clay of my floor.

(The instrument is on its way)

Embrace the Snowman’s lament; he is in a poor state they say... 

It’s been a long day and I can feel the blood thudding in my fingertips.

Insanity

- Delirium, lunacy, madness
- Definition (unknown) 


Oh what is this crazy spinderwheel refuse? Well let’s see. Today’s one of those hate days where virile cryptic people wind up their bodies and burst into song. I cringe with embarrassment and lethal violence that was scourged into me involuntarily. Being naturally ill natured my thin skin blisters with bitterness as I play the happy goddess of shallowness. The best I can do is sullenly bleed my unsociable sunken demeanor out on paper dreaming about later while my significant other places a wager on my life.

I own a Mini-hand bag filled with all my dirty tricks. Butterflies with round striped eyes melted into sticks. Sticks of eccentricity molded for infancy, infectious freedom resulting in non-injury. The parallelism of both ideals befuddles me in its complexity, as there is no boundary anymore. Embezzling appropriation from bodies before us has given me purpose to explore, thus coming up with new anti-evangelist ideas for myself, not a groveling assemblage of zombies to be placed upon this cryptic shelf. My enlightenment has allowed me to be exceptionally happy, as all breathing things should strive to achieve.  

Punctured veins of all the barrette clipping bottles and there is no health in us. When you can’t read your own mind and darkness leaves you foggy brained, confusion is your only enemy. That and crazy theories like the Oedipus Conflict. Honestly what are we really trying to pick apart? Machines. And I seem to have a glitch or ten. Is it all about moral development? Of course silly child.

It’s kind of like the prancing pavement smiling at transparent hedges, or like the eyes rolling about in a frenzy of nothingness.

Feeling vile and black melted into everyone else; jumping jacks just don’t brighten the day. Listen and hear the sound of[insanity]. Fun, isn’t it? There’s a wall over there, yes. A bed, dresser, and CD rack. What else...a rug that crawls with horrid ants and fuzz. Though I think its just an odd texture. Looking up is always the epitome of it all, the ceiling and the light. How keen, eyes too! Though I think its just and odd texture. Now close your eyes, what are all those lights? Little dream spots that hold a world of bizarre happenings.
 

-Gabriel speaks: “it happened on Mexico’s Day of the Dead (A day where creative skeleton people bounce about grinning sadistically). Only it happened in a small Canadian town, nowhere near Mexico. I don’t get it either. Um….I can’t remember what happened….*shrugs*

“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me. Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? I never know what you are thinking. Think.

I think we are in rats alley where dead men lost their bones.”

When asked about the things I fear, I do answer with every day things. Um, such as sharks. However there is something that frightens me to no end that I don’t tend to share too often. I am truly afraid of myself.

“Today we escape...”

*The Psychoanalytic Perspective.

- Childhood conflicts not resolved interrupting the Childs psychological development.

Psychotic Depression

- A term that indicates so serious a disorder it causes a break with reality.
- Hallucinations and Delusions or both
- Voices!
- Spells of
- Loss of appetite
- Disturbed sleep
- No appeal in enjoyable activities
- Paranoid Schizophrenic? Catatonic?
- Poverty of content? > Brilliance? Broken?

“I’m on a role”

“every day in every way I’m getting better and better”

(And that time, you danced with the stranger)



“whenigoforwardsyoufobackwardsansomewerewewillmeet” (spelling=no suggestion)
 

“And if you get too far you’ll only see my reflection”

(My superheros have heads like radios)


“My love” =my hate and love and death

(And they tell me to run the other way)

(My everything is unknown)

It’s a paste of thievery and plastic talk of authenticity.
The boy and the goat
The boy and the goat

(not being articulate again)

It’s all so simple.

Skin is a word that always wins. Don’t laugh. Don’t cry. Don’t talk. Just shut the fuck up. You’re a rock in the corner. You’re a tick in my back. Just shut the fuck up or I’ll throw you again. I’ll roll you again. I’ll steal you blind and rob your friends. Just shut the fuck up.

“Please could you stop the noise I’m trying to get some rest”

This is with no direction. This is with my life. My hand. Starting from nothing, ending with something. WE are all paranoid. The drone of society melting you down, putting you out and I’m spent. Spent for a lifetime and its bride-less existence. It must be lonely being you. I’m alone with out you. My alter ego, my dream, who’s never here, you’re never here. My love, my hate, my paradox.

Too late to fall into you.

 

-Breathe keep breathing
Dont loose your nerve
Breathe keep brreathing
I cant do this alone-

 

: the cruelties of Morri association

“Maybe you love the words themselves and not I who brings them to life”

- I can’t stand to be touched
- I can’t stand to be touched
- I can’t stand to be touched

When you’re slipping things appear fanatical. You shake your head with fierce determination. What the hell is in there? Something that betrays you day after day. When you’re slipping slipping slipping.

I strike out in confusion, blank in unison, with the beat of some invisible drone. The queen of blanking for no apparent reason.

But there is a reason.

Tommy’s paintings always tell it best. We fit together, unlike the rest. 

(Deteriorating mental and physical condition?)

(Or the opposite?)  

The words are poor and lacking truth

My voice is yours too, in the long run

I’m sick
I’m sick
I’m sick 

(A grasp at introspection??? FAULTY???)

Oh it’s the fixations...
Oh, no it’s the compulsions...
Obsessive-compulsive? Perhaps...
But not an extreme. 

-It’s easier to not think at all
-It’s easier to nod your head in agreement
-It’s easier to let someone else take the blame
-It’s easier to pretend its all supposed to be this way  

 
And then it hit. 

Picture being held under water. Struggling to stay alive, needing to breathe, needing to see. But it’s filling your mouth now, your nose, your lungs. Convulsions take over as your mind begins to drown

“You promised me poems”

Ones with that acid tongue heaven touch? Playing with fibers and fingernails. Perhaps words are my enemy. Teasing me because with only them I can’t clearly produce my vision on things. Can’t clearly produce anything. My hands sparkle and are slightly see-through

I want the phrase “Role Model” tattooed on my forehead or maybe just “Falling Fearless Phony”. Either way, you know my name. 

Just remember
Remember just
Just remember

I know, I know your name too.

We are told everything ends and everything begins. Told so often thinking otherwise is unimaginable. Whether it be explosions or phantoms, still all pillows for your minds. You look so pretty on your back, I think I need to meditate.

I hear through the mortal vine, everything ends.

My Voice. My Voice.
It comes down to this.
(No wonder)
(It’s all understandable)

What if, there isn’t?

And it all falls away...

Space, a blank film, two candy bars, and a stocking full of future. A rush of too many possible ways to live out my life…

Angst-Anxiety;feeling of guilt or remorse.

Anguine anecdote involving androgynous androids. Okay.

Andantino!
Anglophone...

Who comes up with these words anyway?
I can’t stand this noise
I might just break
Ah good
It has ended
Shall stop this
Misbehavior at once
Your complaints
That noise
So
Storiated..
Trickery
Spelled how?
I think the real meaning is
The fetish of pen on paper
The outcomes just a bonus
Just imagine
The arms and twenty-eight teeth
I counted and now I’m free.

No more clues.

 
It’s only the day after and if you think it essential the others are more lost then you’ll ever be/all my financial mistakes and all my built in fakes leave nothing positive/recognizing my morbid loss of identity when I pull those strings and make things happen/noetic/so this is how it works my friend this is how the floor curves to the laces my friend this is how the boy sings my friend and knowing too much eventually erases your sense of complete/ness?/this is too much too devious much to real for us/my signature is faded I agree however why are you speaking anyway/every hand tells a tale of similarity every cello smokes so carefully it needs more so an introduction/no I don’t have a gun/don’t speak its all under water and that’s unattractive I hear/something wicked this way comes=Macbeth/since I hope for nothing I will have nothing I wonder only if you’ll all catch on/why do you suppose the sky is the limit/it never said they never say/now most can’t relate to the pounding social complexions and thus forms various downward upward glances/the window is not a window at all but a movie screen showing me false things at least that’s what the paranoia makes me think sometimes and if I jump I will survive/we want the world and we want it/now/cancel my subscription to the resurrection send my credentials to the house of detention I got some friends inside the face in the mirror won’t stop the girl in the window won’t drop a feast of friends alive she cried waiting for me outside/

Take my hand and maybe you’ll understand before it all [searching that mind thing for some hidden words that betray me with instability] de-escalates.

It says: “Scarify with window sashes when the sudden release of your wrist becomes ornamental.”

I never perceive the meaning of its voice and all its productions. When the curtain falls I can only remain motionless all gape like in my pathetic shock and gazed realization that I in fact heard and saw what they in fact did not. Run on sentences are my favorite thing and its appreciated by the other self I guess. My understudy of sorts. Again I scream “what the fuck am I rambling on about when I could be thinking of the better things they want me to do” and again I grin and say “fuck that subordinate weak restrictive awfulness! And heroin turns to morphine. Morose to Morri. I know I don’t know either the worse thing is I don’t’ care much you realize I don’t care about too many things you realize that don’t you? Don’t you? Come on don’t you? Monochrome thing amongst monolith sheep but that has become too commercial. I think, in the long run, it’s far too easy to rely on angst its only angst its only angst it’s only...

-Smolder till the air sings pleasant things- 

Burn me to the pilots stub like the black and white film that parades through some slick streets of flashy reason and pickled felines oh you know its all about the way we show off our feathers you know its all about the way we make it better.

And this cried the scarecrow on a mid summers night feeding as the crows overthrew the government. They have to eat to you know they have to eat too you know just because they’re smaller just because they make some noise just because they aren’t really you nor your favorite ties just because they, well, you know.

 

I say I’m a bit of everything, probably more so a bit of nothing. No no, more correctly, a bit of dust that gets caught hanging on your eyelash. Some of your hair falls over your face and takes me up and back behind your ears where I tumble down your arm onto your holy wrist. You finally spot me and brush me away. I fall to the floor and join the others. Your notice grows slightly and you sweep us out the door with the narrow broom. To the ground, we join the others, and become your source of life. You keep taking and taking and taking, yes we dry out. Choke you away, the storm is rising the storm is swirling and its getting caught up in your system in your eyes in your hair in your wrists and you move to brush it away but the heels are digging in, still here, always here, here forever, becoming the you we always were.

So you allow your hair to circle like a veil
Sink farther through the sheets and you’ll find
A shopping cart slowly backing its way up hill
Carrying two passengers
Two messengers 
Taking bleeding hands and stretching them
Out along the ground as stepping-stones
For my half horrible half awful self
And there’s no coming back from my empty gaze
No dancing under my sullen spotlight 
But that’s not good enough
I’m going now to walk on water and find some way to do some back flips
That Alien says “Peace” and I say
“What’s serenity?”

Sometimes I forget how to spell
Sometimes I forget your names
Sometimes I forget how to speak
Sometimes I forget your numbers
Sometimes I forget how to walk
Sometimes I forget your words

Couldn’t tell you why this is either. 

Sitting here, going through the events of my day I realize that the most radical ideas come to mind when pondering those common unnoticeable things. Well, for example...

Shot one has me in the front passenger seat at approximately 35 minutes after eleven (nightly speaking). Too my dominant right, vast fields but more importantly the mysterious ditch that runs along beside me. On this particular occasion it is a clear sky with a whole bunch of little stars placed about. Well, things come too mind when observing all this. And those being the consequences of jumping out of this vehicle.

- Breaking a few bones
- Cuts and bruises
- Death to myself
- I’m fine as I stop rolling/bouncing
- My mother freaks out, rolls the car and kills everyone inside thus making my act a horrid and selfish thing.

Therefore I coast on into the next shot.

Shot two has me pondering the legitimacy of the whole window aspect. See, I think to myself, the window is not a window at all but a screen making me believe that there’s all that stuff out there. My mind then wanders to the idea that maybe all windows are screens, showing a picture. I’m just an experiment. Maybe everyone’s in on it, watching me, gasping at my clever discovery. Or maybe I’m just a little too sleepy.

“That’s it!” Cried the gray shoe not made of fancy colors. And it perished in the flames.
“Well, what’s it?”
“It never said unfortunately...”

 Body language is a masquerade in itself.

“CHARLATAN!!!”
[Slave Screams]

It seems to have reservations for the red eye ball of the decade. So I really don’t know what the fuss is I prefer tails anyway. Oh yes and gangster shoes as well. But I’ve lost my will to be ambitious. I feel like staring at the wall and counting trees at the same time. Don’t throw your hands up at me Tommy; I can’t help it if your cat despises you. Maybe you should brush it more often. Or pay your taxes with five alive. That’ll teach them manners and dignity. Unfortunately I’m busy building up my nerve to make a telephone call to the twisted sister. No time for keyboards like you. It all began way back in the late 90’s. I had invented guilt. That backfired and to this day we throw away leftovers while children crawl through the dust on their bloated empty bellies. Maybe I should have invented dirt, in my image, and called it Gidion (roughly translated: bottomless drone).

The date today is April 36th 1314. I can hear off in the distance sounds of thunder. Oh yes there be a storm a brewing yonder.

That storm my friends is, well, I don’t remember exactly so never mind. You see, once upon a time there was a girl who had something to say, however no one wanted to listen to her incoherent ramblings. So she went in search of those who would. No one did, the end.

And to this day she plays with dolls in the corners of your souls hopping from one level to the next. Sometimes you feel her around, but mostly, mostly you just ignore her. So it all comes down to this.

The joys of acquiring a good pen. Personally I despise those dry excuses that scratch the paper like claws to the board.

Noetic
Purely intellectual
Noctivagous
Wandering by night
Pseudo intellectual piece of crap?
 

I’ll sensitize you with silver salt

Morbid loss of sense of identity?

Well she wants to live her life
And she thinks about her life
Pulls her hair out as she screams
I don’t really want to live this life 

P.S. – Post Script.
[Note: I never did know what the stood for] 

You can’t have my shoes-Oh no-It’s time for retro clippings-Styrofoam is not to be worn forever-Not even by worms-It’s in and out of season-Much too fast-Here the next day-But good heavens-Not yesterday-My back hurts-Like I’m hunched over-Oh yeah, I am-Well strike one up for-Retro clippings or something-I don’t know 
 
Now I’m finding truth is...

Piling up um I think
Seville
What’s going on with
Marmalade these days
Yeah I have no idea either
Graceless lanyard
Snapped
Hey now are you all
Plagued by some sort of
What’s that word
I’ll say, nempholepsy (no spelling suggestions)
Yes that’s it!
Or maybe not?
You can’t see rainbows can you
Sequence of colors
Just a fraction
Where’s my rainbow?
How odd
Bitterness bouncing off the
Walls like a raree show submerged
Egomaniac spots and patches
Don’t be so hasty
Like um zymotic um screaming
And the cracking of drums
Shaking the keys
Hop, skip, and a gleam
The directress
Skipping the hit

 
 

Watch it
Now
Jack

Cause I can’t hear well

There are people that believe once you wake up for the 357th time backwards, you view the world in a while new manner. Everything just comes together. Then you die. These people are called fizzlesocialanians. The history behind the name is unknown. I think its better that way. Anyway, there is no clarity for 356 and under. Only confusion. Yep. Mind boggling, where am I, wonderings. 357 is a cosmic number, blend that with a flip and bang! You get clarity. I guess. I personally just end up with a headache. No actually, I don’t. I don’t wake up backwards hell I rarely sleep. Did I ever tell you about the time I was kicked out of the fizzlesocialan loop? No? Well I was. I guess they don’t take too kindly to personality questionnaires. Whatever.
 

All its saying right now is “why am I seeing lions dressed in green velvet robes passed out on the floor?”

I know, I don’t get it either.
I have my work cut out for me.
What the fuck is it cut out of?
Pressure and lack of motivation. Oh.

What’s that? What? The lulling pull of exhaust and fuzzy radio sounds?

My hands are cold and white. Also, some purple hue is floating under this skin. So, under the hot water, they do change, and change, and change, and appear normal. Sprawled out on the couch I watch that world sponsor thing that plays on Sundays. Sprawled out on the floor I watch the roof change and change and I can always hear the teasing echo a teasing sigh of relief that comes with wearing socks that are over an inch thick or that comes from the basement below me which happens to be occupied by some guy named stellar. Or the consequences of illness and shock. Taste to perfection the patients receive no ice cream none what so ever with their programmed nervous systems and toxic traditions noisy waters are always combining with the virtual dance of it all. Do you think systematic desensitization is truly effective? What about operant conditioning? Oh the mechanics of us silly beings. A dirty love that jolts the senses just relax and listen to my voice and the strain will stop listen listen listen and be heard. I can grab your attention more effectively by saying nothing at all and looking the other way. You want me to look at you talk to you. As we mentioned fate holds no meaning anymore. And you are my project my parrot my fancy cabaret dancer what am I to do with you?

They say hypnosis works on insomnia, or it doesn’t work at all. Take this suggestion and run with it run until you drop dead forgetting all you once knew. Then think. Then laugh. Then scream. Then smile. Take this suggestion and sing to it put it to sleep.

Superego’s and flashing ballrooms where is that colorful poster, I hesitate to give it expression. Its all sensible and with it. And if I go to work I’ll punch that card again and again day in and day up, maybe two doors down. Long walks by myself. The sky does light up at about two or three in the morning, no word of a lie. Things move up there that you wouldn’t notice if you were someone else.  Why can’t I be sensible? Michael argued and concluded that dead rats are indeed fascinating if you were never told otherwise.   

i'm gonna hide under cars with an icepick... and when the people come back to get in their car, i'm gonna jump out and jab them with it.

 

Chapter: Enter Halo friend.  [FIND LONG FULL VERSION PERHAPS ON DISK]

they come crashing through the sky bearing torches and machine guns i hide under a broken cloud dead and lying on the hardened steel floor they told me that i was for their use but they made a mistake in thinking that i would believe them i crawl from beneath the cloud i see their faces dark and stained with mud i find a rock place it in my hand and hurl it at their soul with all my light and power and crushing lies she tells me she loves me but i do not need to be patronized sanitized below my feet i feel their weight crushing me and due to the sphere's inherent strength i stand up and push my way through the noise "you're pretty if you don’t mind me saying so" i hear a click and the sound of static as backwards i fall what more do you want from me the rock shatters their fragile minds sensory overload they fall to the floor i run and grab their words and proceed to throw them violently into the air they distort the viewpoint reality destroy fuck me i beg you but you don’t listen of course sometimes all we need to remind us that we are alive is a little stimulation come on i know you’d enjoy it if you’d just give me a chance what more do you want me to say please i'm begging you the machines, my dear, they hate me they're after me fuck you fuck you fuck you and your ignorant brutality this is a message of hope this is a message of love and of hell i believe you don’t know what you are getting yourself into true knowledge is not limited it is infinite as the sky forever straight and twisted inside your head distorted all i need is a little stimulation please do not patronize me all i want is sex come on i take the shotgun from under the seat place it against her head pull the trigger and the window is covered with red paint covered with distorted humanity drained live essence i take my index finger and smear the words liar on her inner thigh fuck you ok just fuck you the sheer reality of the thing is it's immense size i mean nothing like this has ever been attempted before i see a black background with blue crackles of electricity faded and blurry i reach out into the sun and pull pieces of broken bone from her shattered skull and the words fall back and onto the cold hardened steel floor next to the broken cloud i cry and the tears freeze when they hit the floor i am cold and alone again i am sterile and nothing makes sense anymore i grab their machine gun and hide under the cloud again i sit and lie and wait for a minute an hour a day a week a year a millennium but no one crosses my path i strain to see in the distance it is huge i cant believe my eyes and i didn’t know this before but blending in with the sky a faint outline the lights of the bridge i see a huge ship hovering on the dirty beige horizon i see a torrent swing over and point at my cloud a flash of red lazer beam on the center of my forehead i feel it burn but i am too frozen and afraid to move the turret fires i see the spinning projectiles they burn into my retinas i duck and i'm afraid but they burn anyways i hear the dull sound as metal pierces skin i watch as they enter my body i feel my soul escape and my consciousness is thrown twenty meters backwards and i leave my body just as everything turns black and the ship fades into the blankness of my love

Into the new scene, self-perception a little blurry. “I ate a large portion of the pencils lead.” I’m so mad at first impressions. I spend a good deal of time just looking at you, breathing in you, and feeling for you. and it fucks me up cause maybe you don't care enoughhhh

The world now looks remote, strange, sinister, uncanny. Its color gone, its breath is cold, there is no speculation in the eyes it glares with. “It is as if I lived in another century,” said another, “things are not as they were, and I am changed.”- “I see,” said I a third, “I touch, but the things do not come near me, a thick veil alters the hue and look of everything.”-“persons move like shadows, and sounds seem to come from a distant world.” -there is no longer any past for me; people appear so strange; it is as if I could not see any one reality, as if I were in a theatre; as if people were actors, and everything was scenery; I can no longer find myself; I walk, but why? Everything floats before my eyes, but leave no impression...the things I see are not real things.

-William James

You’re always inside my head. Sonata in E flat. As in the sun, as in the zone.

His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love

The Wretched! How Keen!

Dear God the very houses seem asleep...

Sing sing sing again I want to see you scream. Is this what draws you? You’re a symbol of the state, but I am something more. Prepare your tears with dramatic technique...

In language, clarity is everything

HA!

Avoid repetition!
No!
Do not write over-long sentences!
Fuck it!
Say what you mean, simply, and straightforwardly but courteously!
Go to hell!

Terra incognita
Tour de force
Verboten

I have a few books that I write over top of. Different from what I was. Whatever happens, it makes us ugly inside, wasted. There are many advantages in doing it this way.

The self must be free

I descend from grace
In arms of undertow
I will take my place
In the great below

And that skinny girl with the gray eyes walks upon the yellow lines arms outstretched to the world humming a buzzing rhythm that brings you altogether in confusion. Ask me neither who I am nor what I am.

Stop this train I want to get offffff

Well things aren’t really as clear as you’d think
Well things aren’t really as perfect as you’d think
Well things aren’t really things if you think about it

Flash and be venturesome. Manufactured and distributed by morri industries and a small black blind sheep named Ron aka intelligence within.

This is the end, beautiful friend

I know what you want to do. Where you want to go. What you want to be. I have a knack for observation, and insight. I could see into your very soul, if you had one, if I felt like it. I am illumination’s dream, the fallen artifact that has no real inner recesses. I’m all the rage, the flashing badger, and I’m here to make you weep. If you want to hold my hand I’ll think about it. If you want to feel its solid cold frame, I’ll think about it. And if you want me to fly to your window, tap on the glass, and come on in, I’ll think about that too. But know this, every breath you breathe ever sight you observe, every fiber of your mind, is mine, it always has been, and it always will be. You all belong to me, my little actors, my players, and I will never, not ever let you go.

I’m not a dreamer; I’m just a believer in the idea that anything and everything is possible. 

-My way of doing things is apt to be misunderstood by others

-I am afraid of losing my mind

-I am troubled by attacks of insomnia

-Teddy bears never gave me no sunshine

Do you ever hear things? Slight things that do allow rational dismissal, but are still relatively with you? In the back of your mind? It could be a certain voice of the past, or sound. Or a voice you’ve never heard before. Just a small wave through your brain, perhaps mentioning your name or stating some absurd phrase. It could be the comic wind, or the soft creaks about the house. It really, could be anything.

I have just looked up “simplicity” and the dictionary says “sim-one, plicare-to fold, one fold”. I dreamed he returned to me the story I sent him which he had folded six times then I had folded it once making it double. Jesus said that the sheep he called would make one fold. I thought at the time that the Latin for six is sex, and that the number of the beast is 666. Is sex then beastly? I think I will leave you to puzzle out the difference between 6 and 666 and 6 fold; for the number of the beast is a mystery.

all people have eyes. There are some, too, who are blind. These blind people are led about by a boy. It must be very terrible not to be able to see. There are people who can’t see and, in addition, can’t hear. I know some who hear too much. One can hear too much...

Well maybe I am Napoleon or Jesus Christ!

[STOPE HERE Made In Italy-Roma]

Give yourself over to everything that invades your mind. The hidden fables. The teasing evils.

My eyes burn with agonizing fury and my heads pounds so surely audible. There is a reason for this.

She is just adorable isn’t she? A prefect replica of a tiny antique doll!

Am I talking to myself now? How clever.

A dull tale brought to you by a dull girl with a few crooked ribs.

3:36am
My eyes and mind hurt terribly quit pulling my strings making me dance in self-loathing i feel like nothing when I should feel like something anything now is one of those times that let death come easier when you’re empty and falling drained and angry so its just about the sailors now and the bizarre yellow lights in the back of my head the aching of my joints that each play films of history how they came to be and at times I scream I can’t take it anymore where’s the power button or at least turn it down it isn’t fair i don’t need the pressure and i don’t need the strain it only kicks me in the sides and throws me away i can’t help but feel sick of myself afraid of myself and my ways that hold my face under water where is this going this train this outlet i can’t think straight and i tend to play with other peoples minds pain has left me cruel and guiltless at one time and something else at another stop fighting with me fucking with me pulling my hair i don’t want to hate myself but you make it so easy i don’t want to fall down but you make it so easy in the corners i stare back i haven’t slept in a week I haven’t ate in a month I haven’t smiled in a year I haven’t lived in a lifetime i just tick tock my way through the world taking it in the knees why did i get thrown around and did i really or was it all an hallucination i never feel real nor are things real for me i float through my days quietly thinking rewinding and playing and i do believe its killing me what am I to do but run hey you fucking jesus kid stop playing on that violin and pay attention to your sins I can’t help but feel incomplete but kept so neat so neat so neat even as my muscles gleam I want to cut in the pain caused by me and no not them and no not them

6:50 am
Look at this day and how it jumps back to the last its all the same and I can’t break the routine without hateful looks and hostile words

7:18 am
New wave fixations glaring from the core of creations so beyond you the protagonist and the whore never make it in the real world I speak and i’m renounced discard me again and again and hear the rings echoing through the wires too sharp too similar traveling through my bloodstream attacking my brain shocking it driving it away the whirling and sailing the leaping and scrambling to land at the bottom in a way that won’t break me it broke him thank god losing no time I corrode the fiendish grim “who or what” is the jester anyway the border that stands high between realization scratching at the sides and making a grating sound secede is my middle name screened is the game I play everything is so obscure and disposed of the piano plays with perilous rhythms I can play it sometimes no more then one remaining whisper and be heard see which way the wind blows blow my mind with acrid crying inevitably it all comes a tumbling down in the sorrows of a homeless thing sense of beauty it runs even deeper

10:02 am
No I’m not negative I haven’t been a child since I was five years old apathetic resentment degenerate never immaculate extraordinarily freakish unwillingly reluctant disclose the main events everything is ill-considered insincere open to applications be quiet for a second the voices are too much upturned and ill-treated I’m afraid I’m just like everyone else all the malevolence and still the veneration

10:21 am
You’re so radiant it blinds me i don’t deserve you is heard so commercially this presentation has come to a close all the words are far to shrill all of this for you question of the day why does everything i say appear so disgustingly fake and where do you begin on a milk chocolate Christmas calendar the 1st or the 24th? It’s just nice to vent and now I’ve decided and in my stomach and head the butterflies rage with powerful wings

7:42pm
I still feel a horrid frustration. I think I must like to torment myself, constantly replaying conversations and situations. My mind races from one thought to the next, and then back again. It is very fucking tiring.

Change over behind the wheel headlights don’t blink don’t cross over 

Oh I like the acoustics of this creep song

You’re so very special

-Close-

(And I pass out)

-Close-

(And I back up)

-Close-

(And you're upset)

-Close-

(but what can I do)

-Close-
-Close-
-Close-

Ouch...

either way you know my name you know my name and I am sick sick sick of hearing it sick sick sick of seeing it deathly afraid you'll see me in it so sick sick sick of me being it failing to be what you want failing at everything and enjoying it all wanting to grasp your shoulders and shake you a bit you can't see me you're only imagining it you don't want me you're only imagining it as everyone does they think they know me then I tear them apart I can't help it its the name and I'm sick of hearing it run away now run run run its the safest thing to do don't ever let me get close to you either way you know my name now and i'm sick so very sick of hearing it

Chapter silly sally, tricks are for kids

[Regulators! Lets saddle up]

Give the names triumphant fine-tooth comb sounds

Trickster is weak

Such transcendent power is mine alone
The torturous experience
Friday through Friday
The initial clumsy construction of a dead eyed girl
Turgid intellects
So you’re into egoism
You pirate
You dash runner-flying pacer
Suffering a few days absence of mind do to the blast of calmer rains
This has a distinctive taste
Dearie you think like a zombie
Mediocre humming
You’ll never make it
The artiste
The antithetical
Its okay aside from the trippy levels of disinterest
Grotesque kid
Grotesque kid
Erratic is my graving green word
The proportion lake birds
Prevaricate, one, the coward man
And the nobility lifts the dress
Orchestra gang
I’m going to see you
Sometime
This family is divided
I tend to place knots in your head

I am more bad because I realize where my badness lies

Now where did that come from?
My heads a mess of words and red
I know everything at different times
L.P. Hartley
Oh it just jumped out 
Clever tranquil little doll with breathless steadfast brutal eyes
And air of melancholy
Evelyn Waugh
But where from
How did I think it?
You kicked the reason out of me

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world.

That I read and remember when
Reality check
And make me die
Here’s the balance
On the good stage
Hostile radiance
In a good way
This pen is fucking annoying
“...You want to get lucky little boy...?”
The real question is
Where is that fucking door?
Break on through he says
Seven fixations he says
Who am I he says

Shamefacedly worriedly she reaches out abandoned like
Caffeine codeine
As in me
Spontaneity
Docile small smile
Gibbering imbecile
Paradigm
Paradigm
If only for the ingenious look of digm
I will arise
And go now
“Some do it with a bitter look”
Touch down in the gutter
Touch down in the gutter
Just for the love in it
Travel the fucking world with me

Even as I spit eraser bits about the room
I burn out and hate myself
Run my hands through my hair that always shines so nice
I struggle to breathe as the normal ones do
But today it hurts
And has kept me inside
Coughing and struggling
Pathetically writing
About nothing
I don’t know what I look like
In the mirror, I see someone yes
But I can’t put two and two together
Compliments are hard to receive
I just don’t know anything
Do the things I say ever truly make sense to you?
I’m too tired for this now
I’m going downstairs to kill the world
 

[Reap it Murphy you son of a bitch]

*Tips her hat and rides off into the sunset*
 
Ever pick up the phone and just listen to the soft pulsating drone? Can you hear it or is that just my destroyed hearing kicking in? It’s like you’re listening to another world. If Sam said he killed them all because of the voices in the telephone, I’d understand. 

[Topic breaks]////fade out////
 
[Slight shift] 

[More of a shift]

Pity no one was there No angels in the air And the morning paper ran One more suicide One more suicide One more suicide

[break] 

(There was a point to this but I have forgotten it)

It has to do with jumping in front of vehicles
Or jumping out of them when an adult reaches for you
Distortion
Then you bounce a few times
Then roll into the ditch
Distortion

(Where are my headphones?)

So I lied about the drug thing
That was eons ago
When I should have been playing with my toys
And wanting more
The mad hatter he waits for me
Call me anything
Yukon Cornelius even
Or I’ve always liked the ring in Jack

Aunt Mary says they have
The darkness there
They have the
Family disease
They have the darkness
There in their minds

And all day all day
I pray to anything
I beg myself again
To let me know
That I didn’t contract anything
But it’s too late as it is
Just a little bit too late
For me

(A hint of self-pity for that royal touch of disgust)

*And the curtain closes*

Thank you! Thank you!

*Adjusts her top*

You’re too kind, really

Do

Come

Again

Bravo! Bravo!

(Nudging one another)

“That skinny girl makes eating a time out bar so dramatic!”

(Eyes now adjusting to the overhead lighting)

“Where’s the exit?”

(And they all file out)

And I learned I was a liar
Just like you

I clutch my skull to try and keep it innn
There was nothing I could do anymore
The screaming
The fading
And I guess I say it too

To my room I fled
Chess and checkers in my head
The blessed bottle stationary, my friend

(Hands to her forehead she bows in shame and guilt)

----{the dance of the runaway}//----

 

I like the pretty lights. Streamline colors can you ever get enough. No feeling. Lack of human interaction. Can you ever get enough. Typical common characterization. Can you ever get enough.

As I rest my head upon my hand I stare at a small white peice of fuzz clinging to my shirt. I wonder how it got to be there. Where was it before? And is it staring at me thinking the very same thing?

 

My spine is through the floor. My hand looks strange from this angle. He handed me a photograph. I think I felt a rush of pain. But more then likely it was, just the wind.

 

 

 

 

 

I haven’t written anything in months. I haven’t, I’m fairly sure, thought of anything in years. Even now as I listen to Beethoven’s Sonata No. 14 in C Minor, I don’t believe I’m thinking anything.

My bloody cat keeps sticking it’s face in my way but when I whack it with my pen it takes out a note which describes me: “Fatal”. But that’s not true. I’m fairly sure.

> Adagio Sostenuto <

I could listen to it repeatedly, and for what?

Wait!

Everything is killing me...

[throws a bit of eraser to the floor]

Wait!

Is this not a pen I write with?

Blast!

Erasable pen aka Annoyance.

Where are you when I need you the most.

Seething really, passing time, afloat, with a bowl of Easy Mac.

For years I’ve had it preached to me
and drummed into my head
unless you’ve played the palace
you might as well be dead.

Between brain and mind and zip....

I’ve lost myself....

I feel life calling me from this desk, I feel it bid me rise and walk out...

And there’s this shadow upon a platform that lacks self-indulgence, when I smile unintentionally it remains nameless. That saddens me most and I wash my hands of everything dishonest and therefore wash my hands of everything.

 

Once again[we alter destiny]

It all comes down to when variations of smoke collide. Stuck in the undertow where else would you want to be? It’s a good question. Do you think it’s easy climbing up the split core of reason? Reaching for the footholds that aren’t even there? Or do you care either way.

We’ve all had our run-ins with confusions hand. The back of it across our plates like the curious knife that silently approaches you on the beach. I could claim that as one of my greatest moments. The small thing dancing around me, imploring self flashing in sunsets light. My moment of glory burning vivid in my peaceful admiration. That small moment when everything’s forgotten, and everything's just fucking perfect, then fades like the knife into the dark. But the moments are always there. I must learn to recognize them more often. As we all should. I guess I too can be beautifully sensible. Sometimes.

Don’t worry, I know.

Pain is funny that way, change the song because it cries too much and my eyes are full of interesting harmful things. I’ll approach you in the sunshine and whisper “there is nothing left here that doesn’t leave you...breathless”. And we’ll drop.

Everything’s getting old and feeble. I feel an ever-growing need to strengthen the tie that binds us. I couldn’t find you, the reincarnation of me, left my balance flickering, and I dropped, without a whisper...dropped....
 
Serenity is a white bag dancing on the air currents of invisibility. The feel of a small tear gathering itself up in the corner of your eye and the honest smile that spreads across your face. All this revealed to me in an odd combination of another’s symbolism and my own. I observe a lot of things for exactly this reason. There really is no guessing what will hit you so significantly. Somehow, everything’s amazing if you allow yourself to see it.

“Make this sound,” he said as he walked around the room making quick light steps.
“What sound is that?” I asked.
“Well, it’s the sound of a pathological human,” He replied as he continued tapping.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t really know,” he came to a halt. “But it’s a sound that hurts my ears terribly.”


2:20 and it begins again. I pause to listen for a bit then resume my scribbling.

Sometimes I consider this affliction, this dramatic duet that leaves me empty day after day when I realize the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted, without a moment’s confusion, is unreachable. And what am I supposed to do? How do I handle that? I’m afraid the answer might be...that I don’t. That I simply forget. If there ever was any of it. Melodrama frustration rolled together with an aching nothingness kicks me when I’m down. Hurts me when I’m down. Leaves me thinking: I can’t get caught up in you anymore. [but i did]

That is all ye know on earth
and all ye need to know.... 

She looked down and drew another shape on the table

Mental Note:    -Decimate should not be used to mean ‘defeat  utterly’

                        -Defeatism is the readiness to accept defeat

Resolution after consideration...and there is no perfect resolution? I want one, ashen, I believe.
 

She looked down and drew another shape on the table

when you think about people and all their little quirks you have to turn to yourself and say “I have yet to do the dishes”

So I’m hanging out in this shady hotel, all the rooms and hallways remind me of hell, where everybody’s wondering when I’m coming home, some living material shining tweaked out awful basement clone.

It’s alrite though cause we’re mellow in unison. But don’t smirk, it’s just a partisan in a cubbyhole and i’m curious, well you let em out?

I’m so melodramatic I wear it on my sleeve. A melodramatic Zealot: intense fanatic activity.

Toy weapons are for children silly > well I’ve been here way too long.

I never perceive the meaning of its voice and all it’s productions. When the curtain falls I can only remain motionless all gape like in my pathetic shock and realization that I in fact saw what they in fact did nothing of the sort.

She looked down and drew another shape on the table

I want to take a picture of the reflection in the picture I framed myself, I’m bitter that way.
When I stepped outside myself
They wouldn’t let me back in
BLAST
I had been tricked

Blue       Red       Green

And a new
Acquired
Fascination
With
Colorblindness

“Ouch” I said flatly.

Inhale
Exhale

I never wanted it to end like this...

But what can you do hey?

Last night I dreamt that Beck was a purple and green striped guitar named Paper Flake. He was just standing on a spinning lampshade singing “I’m a guitar baby, so why don’t you love me?” I’ll tell you right now the dream interpretation book has nothing to say about this one.

Are you afraid of me kid?
I’m afraid of sharks.

I said...thoughts burn the soles of perception, perception of real existence and ones tears refrained unhealed, you know devil, steady significance is like looking backwards uneasy and surreal.

 

 

It started with knocking. The pipes, in the wall beside me. I’m sure I’ve heard the noises before though I can’t really recall a specific time. So I didn’t really pay attention much, and drifted back into sleep. I was dreaming about silly things, not even really worth mentioning when suddenly, the pattern shifted into something a little more, well, serious I guess. It was like as the specific dream progressed, I was waking up slowly, each moment of the dream becoming more real.

I was in the basement checking the fridge because for some reason, I knew it wasn’t working. I looked in and yes things were un-thawing rather quickly so I headed upstairs considering whether or not I should wait till morning to tell someone about it. I turned one of the kitchen lights on but it shorted out and remained very faint. So I went to the other and the same thing happened, then same with the third. I was there standing in this eerie scene, with absolutely no concern at all. I walked over to the original switch I had flicked to give it a try again and on my way I noticed that one of the burners on our island stove was on high, I could feel the heat and here that faint buzz of electricity. But again, I thought nothing too strange was going on, as I reached for the light switch a figure appeared before me, all I really noticed about it was the size and the light sweater it seemed to have on. It was a huge person, only I never really saw its head or arms or anything. It reached out and grabbed my shoulders hooking its thumbs around my arms crushing me. This waling sound went off in my head but I never muttered a word out loud. And then, with the pressure still on, I was looking at my bedroom ceiling. Just as I realized that, it stopped. I was afraid, terribly, then angry, and then calm thinking, “What the hell was that?” As I lied there I heard noises all around the house that weren’t part of the regulars. I was seeing things spread across the ceiling and feeling them brush by my hair. I didn’t move for nearly an hour, not a bit. I’d say this happened around 4:00 am because right now as I write this it’s 4:53 am. I realize that I was in a dream like state but I know I was awake at the end of it, and I still felt that draining pressure. To top it all off, this has happened before. Though never quite like this. I’m never dreaming, I’m awake; just about to fall asleep when something attacks my head. It’s like every fiber of my mind is being pulled and I’m falling inside myself, unable to breathe. I come out of it so horrified for only a few seconds and then everything fades. It’s so intense that is seems unearthly and perhaps, that’s exactly what it is. That or I’m a psychotic depressive, either way it’s pretty fucking weird.

I slept with my lamp on the rest of the night.

----------------------------------------------------------------


I live in a house, shocking I know. And in it I play the piano, loud and wild. Around me insubstantial things dance like crazy and I allow them to see me for a little while. When I crash into life they walk around me trying to figure out what I really am because when no ones watching I disappear too.

I walk, barefoot across the road. Sticks and rubbish say I go untold. No one will remember my name when it really matters. I come to a halt when the song starts to play. “No one remembers you” it sings and as my fingers tap on its forehead it jumps up “please don’t ever leave me, please don’t ever go” But I’ve already gone. I can’t hear it anymore. Now I walk barefoot to the rhythm of nothing, swaying to nothing. As my eyes close I catch a glimpse of myself and smile. Sometimes my manner lets me know, I was meant to be alone.

Have you seen me? I’ve looked everywhere...

 

I can’t begin to represent my cause articulately. Cry out and be magnified the saga screamed. Tattoos are not dirty Basil! Hey Basil? Do you remember Mister Jester? Whatever became of him? Pray he does not return. My cat is stretched out across my stomach and I think: this is my company this is my comfort this is my daily effort trapped in a kingdom of bland ideals I don’t’ ever read what I write kid I don’t ever believe what I write.


Crossroads-you’ve left, I’ve left, I always go away.

 

I’ve climbed the rope once. Many a fractured year ago. Back when abnormal wine consumers became fraudulent and stepping beside yourself, out of style. Tumbling through weaves of simulation head over heels heels over head always no room for modesty. In a moment all was consequential, then nothing. It was gathered in a network of the inattentive wicked selves. Buried for a day when everything would be negligible because everything had been done before. There is no need to curl up in the maze when the end has been imprinted on your mind. But I do believe, we’ll miss the comfort of originality.

And so I compose, fashion, form my hands with detailed resilient wire and bead. Throwing you off, just a touch. There’s comfort in insinuation there’s comfort in the rush.  

Put on your game face my day is there I think when footsteps echo upon the streets that backwards place we’ll start to reach two sets of footsteps upon the streets

 

- My neck hurts
- I’m tired but cannot sleep.
- I’m angry
- I’m worried
- I’m bored
- I’m negative
 

 

I heard something. Shh it’s nothing. And that’s all that matters. One beetle walked up to another and broke into song “outside its cold and I trace my hands across the snow it feels like inside my head nothing there but frozen stems that snap off and tumble to the ground if you pick them up and turn around you’ll be whisked away to another place where everything seems to be hey where are you going hey where have you been I’ve been waiting here inside myself ready to let you in but you’re walking backwards and I refuse to move forwards change of venue change of face to throw you off all over the place this tiresome backdrop falls in crumpled splendor how can you talk when you’ve never even met her he said I’m a fairytale spinning like a wheel winding up everyone who knows how they feel to make myself seem better so I string them all along with me until they fall apart with me drag them through my life with me until they fall apart with me.”

 

 

The Morri Party (balloons and trumpets and tambourines)

Late last night my masked collaborators and I crept across the countryside and placed about our advertisement, The Morri Party (ouch, sharp pain in my side).

By noon today it was all over the news. “Fraud party pranksters come alive at night”. Lovely we thought and set to address the situation.

At 6:00pm a fax was sent to all the local TV and radio stations stating the following:

Our friends, the masses; our coats are off and we reveal ourselves, the Morri Party. Back to the time when the puzzle was whole, no missing pieces lurking under furniture. Pull up a blade of grass and bite down. This is where it all begins; in the simplest things we take our comfort.

PS Send astronaut pens ASAP to the return address or we will burn the witches.

Sincerely Ours
T.M.P.

By 10:17 this message appeared on digital billboards across the city. No one paid any attention. It was back to the drawing board for us crazy blokes.

 

I’m down to just one thing

What’s the deal with the way I feel lately? It has me baffled frankly.

She writes “I know” across her stomach and she believes all is fine and well. She goes out for a walk and she believes all is fine and well. She lies in bed for hours and she believes all is fine and well. She talks to people on the phone and she believes all is fine and well. She tags along on shopping trips and she believes all is fine and well. Any time she stops it all she begins to think again think again think again in full think again think again think again let go

It’s cold in here like yesterdays coffee mug. Around the room flies buzz to the hum of ancient radiator chants. The walls yes the walls they crack to the measure. It might as well be Venus. So foreign. There is an insincerity that echoes off your skin that bounces through your head. Whistling through your ears. “Where’s my loved ones” you think. A diminutive black goblin that dwells on the back of your hand runs in circles for a moment then withdraws back under your flesh. Over to the sink. It’s empty. The water starts and steam rolls in the air. Soap is added, the bubbles climb a bit. You pick up a faded rubber ball and toss it in. Looking away you scrub it until it shines. Wash it until it shines. Approximately 5 minutes later it’s clean, bright. “If I wash myself, will I shine again” you mutter as the ball drops to the floor bouncing through the dust and cells. It looks up at you as it comes to a stop and shrugs “maybe”. The sink is small, but not too.

Quietly slowly, slowly quietly soaking sifting. Slowly going, going slowly through each door through each memory quietly slowly, slowly quietly soaking sifting. A 63-year-old man huddled in the sink.

Pointless...

 

When I write too much for too long I start to trip over the strains of thought and everything collides now and again. That’s when I cover my ears and say “I will never fade away”. And sometimes I feel better.

There’s a need a need for self-expression and with me that’s found through fraud. No, I don’t think. No I don’t think you understand. No I don’t think I understand. No I don’t think we understand. When it’s not broken it needs no fixing. But sometimes it’s broken and you can’t see. So you take things apart and play around. How oh how does this work. Layer by layer removed and displaced and rearranged and peeled and scraped and flipped and torn and pulled and bent and you get the idea generally. Maybe. Jack knife to the end.

I think you’re crazy.....maybe...

There’s a time when voices spread across the floor and petals drift from the lock box. There’s a 30 second delay and then we see you. Rolling the corners of that paper between your thumb and index finger will give you away. The corners....well...they corners...they...they...the corners they...my head won’t give out what I’m trying to say....deteriorate? Deteriorate. The corners they deteriorate. Was what I wanted. But it tricked me into thinking it wasn’t a word at all. But if I think hard enough I always remember, I always win.

 

The pulsating graph of dystopia then you’re pretty shaken up.

 

Ouch.

 

That girls a walking nameless narrative. A tack in the sides of naivety. Harmonizing genius with acid. Mute frustration.

I take the easy way out if you ask me it has nothing to do with my wild guitar lashings or my obscure plant/bone drawings.

Loganberry has two things wrong with him, one is his lip protrudes at an awful angle

[switches from pencil to pen]

And two he’s saving up to get it fixed.

“What the hell are you talking about?” [screams loganberry] “I don’t have a fucking bottom lip! It was burned off in that explosion remember?

Oh right, my mistake.

 

I’m so fucking omniscient. Word up. I’m so freaking cool.

 

Where’s my Mediterranean shrub? I planted it right here I’m almost certain. I’d like my motor vehicle beaten, fried and folded over filling! Now! You can’t go that way insubordinate flake! Regal squeaks only. I know it’s a bit stagy.

 

Parts of it are used as a narcotic and parts of it are used as a metal vessel for donkeys.

Can you hear that? It twinkles ever so lightly. Get me the forceps! There should be nothing like this foolery here! This is a place of macrobiotic practices. But we don’t eat a thing. So back up charley in that perfect little way. I am a magical pilot, quasi-god. What? They’ve pinned me on the magical rotisserie, where? South of Oz south of the border. My lame affair is up for grabs. Over and out I’ve lost my touch.

Mittens make it hard to write well. But that’s cool with me cause I’m sporadically crazy about material objects that I have cause they made me dip into the barrel they made me take my turn and I can’t get out of this retro case stop it my anklet came off and now they say my wish will come true now they say I will come true no I’m not paying attention actually these mittens add some formality to my writing style it’s very elegant I’m impressed with the use of my hands when I play the keyboards with these things on it doesn’t sound like it should and thats my favorite part.

[Break away]

I feel the horde of it all because they’ve locked me in the fun house again! It is a hot, dry, dusty place. Have you seen this, my friend? They answered, “Here we are, studying escapology and fine wines.” I have no excuses for this days relentless charade games. Provoking elephants provoking peanuts stop. He’s spilling satire all over the lens.

My backs support has given out.

Snap. Click. Bang. EXit. 

 

 

And enough of that.

In general context I am not defined. A mental incapacity that fundamentally modifies the boxes on the screen. They float randomly at me while people share adjacent cubicles. Are they watching my face of confusion? I hope not. Keep your composure, keep it close. Against his or her will. Sign. Situational influences back to the painful circumstance. I don’t have tunnel vision I swear.

 

Look at that chimerical alcove briskly deafening the recommended dosage.

Too much sodium too much...

So forget about them and what they’ve done it’s all over now and forward is the only direction we should be headed. Learn from but do not hurt from. The past has no solidity, no form.

 

I find myself easily irritated lately. Bothered by the simplest things. I think it stems from my perceptions apparent descent. why can’t I see things as I used to? All is turning so alien on me and the struggle leaves me breathless and uneasy. I don’t understand if its a figment of my imagination or a harsh reality I refuse to recognize. Words don’t come together, feelings seem detached from reason. Nothing is rational therefore nothing “is”. Nor am I. The wave lasts a minute or two then fades into some other zone where I move on and function instinctively before circling back and down again.

Now I’ve lost my train of thought and how utterly relieved I am.

[flash back to Sunday]

[flash back to yesterday, being Monday]

 

Today I stood in front of the mirror making a lit match dance from eye to eye centimeters from my face to the sounds of something I can never have...

 

Today. Today is a cold day. Everyday is a cold day. You see those icicles jabbing through my spine? They account for its frequent agonizing twinges I’m sure of it. Or maybe it’s my posture. Who knows?

Oh my I’ve been weird lately. I have got to clear my head. Does anyone have a head-clearing machine? One that clears it instantly? None of this, ‘it takes time’, patience is my enemy.

 

Now thoughts are jumping off each others backs making it hard to say anything at all but describe this phenomenon as best as tedious words will allow////////////I said they aren’t as the crow flies they look more like /\/\/\//\ /\/ /\/\/\/ / /\ /\\/\/ \/\ that, something like that, you know, I told you so here I am rapped in this fleece blanket shivering and typing awkwardly for this stiffness in my hands from the cold in the room makes it hard to type conventionally but who wants to do anything conventional anyway?

 

But it drains me....unfortunately... it drains me...

 

Fleeting look with touch-tone gurus my stroke of texture and twine and taste you look this way spiked with velvet stratum a look of ostensible doubtful glisten.immovable and absent touch this face.spellbound shepherd where its extension is illuminating erratic system has fallen through this diversion has slowly thawed out and walked away I stretch to possess you but you lose your balance and take me downward with you.deadlock and fantastic my structure all eccentric the filth so intoxicating believing in miscommunications my head my head vibrates with dancing bugs and electric tape.I smell the element but it can’t connect with me.I click with no reason such things as treatment.when i’m not you i’ll become them when they are not them they’ll become us.don’t impair yourself don’t trip don’t slide.make the water neurotic and i’ll drink to that.

Look. It is another day. The question is. Will tomorrow come at all. It might. It might not. Who’s to know these things?

Who is that, walking on my bridge? Who is that stepping on my stones? Oh. Its me. Damn.

*this is your life*

 

*on drugs*

 

,p> crashhhh=tipover=hiphoptick=bingo was his-----race car.

I feel like walking into one of those churches where everyone sings freely swaying back and forth with no restrictions. I fell like walking in and allowing my own voice to fall in with the rest. I feel like bellowing “oh happy fucking day” and forgetting about everything. To be in that moment. No worries. Just the pure feeling of positive energy. Yes that’s what I feel like doing. 

 

*stretches*

 

I know why you don’t take what you need...

Source and limit retrospect engaged in your fantasy created casement///I control you/////divine my distinguished pattern of distortion////intuitive theologians on a drinking fit///play that tune on ultra squeak////fuck it up divinity/when I climb the stairs and fall back down I get back up and fall again//remix/or/re-intitiate.?/you knownothing about me///[background music kicks in]///I’m all about..//everything/a royal journey////his name was paris././and he said to me---what he says with reasoning power buys him a far more vigorous tongue// /psuedo-hesitation//mock elaboration==;;don’t waste my power of sight.///i’m not you, slightly timber’d!-//and allusion interruption/I’ll/fix/it/i’ll ghost you jawless floating above resistance///see inside me///its thick and vague and fettered. Shackled to me////what did I iiisayiii////I have a hold of you.

Everyone I know goes away in the end....

But sometimes. Rare times. They can come back. Maybe. No.

Color headwords.fleeting.alway off trusted air...you were thought to live on it...dumb show noise sneaking synth drops for another spike with a bitter look, erasing you...

[back ground music kicks out]

Crooked photo frame, I turned it upside down. All the pain and plastic tumble to the ground. This is where I play my cards clever to the dial. Still looking to taste that remedy. It said, jester, make me smile.

[ExiT.Enter.ExiT]
[hit]
[spin]
[loop]
[spin]
[hit]
[ExiT.Enter.ExiT]

 

A while back. (piece of straw in mouth) I read your problems on a bright headache making thing. I went to speak, talk, say something, but instead, I switched on that lack of patience machine. I’d like a kit kat with that. And some licorice. Will I need a tissue? I’m not that fucking sentimental. I’m not that fucking sensitive. The next time you cry to me, don’t be so fucking primitive.

Erased. Ever. Out.

*Disconnects herself*

We've all become ones that step too lightly. I feel the weight of pestilence.

What am I supposed to do?

My ring looks flooded with reflection. Because it is. So what’s going on lately? We must re-evaluate our priorities. Right? We should probably also take a second look at our worth.

I am the voice inside your head...

Detachment. I become. Just like. Snap. And you never see me leave. You only notice a slight change in temperature

Do you believe in...nevermind.

How does this fit you? I can be the snare drum inside your chest that never ceases its indescribable pulse. I could be that then drop. Looking blankly. No one ever said that to me before.

Always watching from the sidelines. I’ve seen you there before. Holding my hand like it was all you had left. Though really, it was the only thing you never had. I think you liked that best of all. I’m liar fit for experience and you’re a duck flying back again. All I ever hear is...quack. and I can’t help but become slightly amused.

 

 

Chomp they go, oh filter out the red construction paper this is taking too long and i’m growing special roses to pass the tick tock tick tocking time come here a moment I want to whisper something to you hush be oh so quiet this is significant.

[So there it is
The whole philosophy
And the whole was founded upon a lie
You cower like yourself
Afraid of yourself
In hell already by your own choosing
Enchained more surely then the lowest mortal
You wish to punish because we do not?
Follow our example because we do not? ]

Well you know she blacked my eyes with suicide again. Went to that cold broken safe place in a remote part of town. She went for that childhood swing one last time. They didn’t find her, for a couple of days. By then. She was a swinging popsicle.

Emotional convulsions needful cravings I grasp the pillar saint about the wrist. Then reality bites my lip. There is no wrist to hold onto. Touching your eyes with gentle steps. You don’t belong to anybody. We are unconfined in bliss. I don’t belong to anybody. Bring me to my senses with that friendly greeting. The hum that never ends. I’m left alone to think that I can never stop thinking. Make the change fantastic. Just come and fucking save me.

{reverse effect}**

 

This book rocks my blind sight baby where on earth is my neon low ride. Kick back and reflect because today my friends marks a new form of dance it’s called the world ends a million sighs at a time. My dreams betray me with synthetic realities and I fear for interpretation.

There are these eyes cut out of some forgotten dusty magazine. They’re pasted onto my leg and I simply cannot scratch them off. Someone has tied a red ribbon about my ankle and it trips me. Ouch. On this. Physical pain I can endure but this knocks the wind out of me.

On my christmas list this year:

Show me someone I can trust or show me no one never

 

I’m switching colors and it makes me dizzy. There is a part of me missing. I do not want it. If it feels like this.

Black cloister pull it fracture [cloak my spine and sex talk] my crutch is useless made out of suggestive facts difficult to handle, tactless. Swallow this prosaic piece of schizoid starlet mental disorder agreement\\--cylindrical spindles located [there are no two types] next to my [shh] oblique pattern of [-sketch a draft] waves. [Inconsequential] my minds eye throws light upon destructive tendencies.

Well fuck me the electors choose cruelty. He handed me a pen and said write write about all that you know of me all that you see in me all that I am. He left me there a month or so and returned one bitter jointed day. [plural] only I was dead. No food no water does that. To some. I was always lacking breath. He picked up the notebook and saw it blank. [blank] this girl was as strange as pennyroyal mint. It was cubit Sunday but felt like turquoise Wednesday. [no more beats].

 

We used to hate people now we just make fun of them its more effective that way

All were waiting for is something worth waiting for

 

I got up grabbed the book and stormed out of the room.

We all just want to die a little bit.

 

He sat down and scratched his chin. How peculiar. [chews on lip] she left without saying goodbye.

[avoid tapping base]

Desire is not an occupation

Oh well I suppose she does that often. And he went to sleep.

[meanwhile back at the lab]

This is me b-r-e-a-k-i-n-g away from [you]

Drat...foiled again....

You’re so beautiful I think I hate you –split-

Confusion-throw into disorder

Shambolic++I like it

Every brilliant remark has its curious texture.

[[[[dramatic boy rendition]]]]

alone, whats that? –split-

you are more then the sum of what you consume

A plague on your house!!! [erases you]

Blast..i’ve stumbled off the path....

· sits down and waits for someone to find her *

· looks at her watch *

your time...is running...backwards...I guess I realize...

[dead]

Stitch it across his lips ‘sacrifice my fisttt’ and I will walk through town “where will you go?” I’m going to the train tracks to collect iron samples of myself. Another gasped in fear while one just gazed on with contentment.

“she will not find anything”

I found you though didn’t I? Alone on the side of the road looking at the sky afraid it would all come down upon you. I showed you how to be in control. I showed you the difference between them and us and now. You hate me for it. I gave you clarity in the sense that there is none and you loathe me. I gave you what you asked for! What you wanted! Everything but myself. Quiver like spinal reflex. I never wanted you anyway. But you came to me so easily. So useable. Lurid speech. You know I can see all through you. why do you speak at all? Pure instinctual habit isn’t it. You’re human. I in turn. Am not. You still can’t handle it....can you....

[mass decay-clean]

Transform defect isolation hit dysfunctional synthetic high endurance fit behind the case the rain has stopped a blurred still I reach my hand through the film tattered I can feel it but you say you cannot redeem patient fixation hit carried fallen back breaking fit

There is a faint scent of candy in the air. It comes and goes.

You never really knew the-honest-you never really knew the girl-no-I’m saying you never really knew her-no-you never really know the girl

[turn the scene]}

I’m so so sorry it can always go either way with me. And now the basement persuades me to allow it to handle the situation. And so I shall. Killing me just the same. A harsh crawling animal behavior pulls at the fibers that make me civilized even you I see destroyed ever so volatile. Hate. Falter.

I can reach out and feel nothing. What am I to anything but jack in the box? So shocking when my eyes change their face. You see it. Don’t you. fuck.

In the street I am attacked with religious proclamations I don’t mind he is watching me I don’t mind protection from me I don’t mind a bit save you all from me I don’t mind just a child with a devilish aura I don’t mind at all just stop yelling those things at me I don’t understand I don’t mind it no one tells me anything I never knew I was a threat to you chrome gut slither heavy feel this mystery is me why does everyone look at me? I don’t know you I don’t know what you speak of my bitter reflection inspires my killing spree instinct you see it don’t you I don’t mind.

Such silly solar representation when I look at you can I not be someone else? Who isn’t bothered with mental disfigurations. Hush do not worry. That is just the most amazing thing walking away from you.

I rather enjoy it.

Simplify my chaotic fascinations shall we kill it? Test it truly bargain everything for a change of taste?

Learn to swim
Desolate intervals served egoism sardonic style for pale reactions purify domestic science like you pray for inanity inertia wonderful inertia stunning in bad taste in good taste defame your positions pushing the fill I know you can think like this. Sometimes I’m sure you could.

Squeal uncultivated measurements for that watery odious bouquet expression.

Many times superannuated numbers fall into pattern.

Die they say envelops consciousness.

“There deeds must not be thought after these ways; so, it will make us mad.”

I just realized...that the music I was listening...to...wasn’t....really...even there....I thought....I had some playing...but it was just....in my head...

 

[Nonduality asked shadow, "before, you were active, but now you are at rest; before, you were sitting, but now you are up and about. Why don't you behave consistently?"

Shadow said, "do I depend on anything to be as I am? Does what I depend on then also depend on something to be as it is? do I depend on the sloughed-off skin of a snake or the empty shell of a cicada? How would I know it is so? How would I know it is not so?" ]

 

the city sun set over me. my skin it thawed. my neck it burned its bright darkness. and I spun and spun and spun. as stranger screamed. I spun. eyes wide with gleam

 

all i knew, all i believed, crumbling images, no longer comfort me
--------------- ------- - - --------- ----- -- - - - - - ----------------

Stop. This is the kill representation the final soliloquy with your hands in my back just listen to the sounds of the scratching the rush of the pain just stop. With your fucking hollow deals your empty wasted tiny arms that flail and grasp at nothing you flail and fucking reach for nothing just stop enjoying your arrogance its not very becoming

Dreaming
To be unlike that empty
Seeming
To be unlike that [take] down.

Grate my nerves with detailed turns of your head don’t know me unless you really want to when they fucking scream or scream in silence when you scream and scream in silence when I scream and scream in silence it all points to the things we’ve fucked it all points to the things we’ve wounded with stomping leather shoes//shoes of skin and indifference are you all indifferent works of metal and blood and sweat and hair and clothing and programmed tears do you remember what it is like to truly cry for something to truly feel for something to be wounded and lost and violated and torn do you know what bliss feels like do you know what true happiness feels like as it pulls at your tired soul waking it fixing it making it breathe again have you found love have you tasted it clung to it enveloped it took care of it...returned it?

Have you done anything worth your time. Have you been fucking your time. Have you been mistreating it. Passing it with no significant outcome. Are you significant? Do you bleed for the rest of the world? Do you work to change the things you hate? Or do you just hate it all. Are you fucking whining? Whining but doing nothing? Are you sitting down again? Get the fuck up slick. Get the fuck up.

unlike that [empty] unlike that [take] down

fucking stand up [twitch] stand up

l-i-v-e

This is my love for you

I’m cold

It’s about time to give yourself the credit you deserve.

Both Passion and intent mean focusing the mind on things.

So being and non-being produce each other, difficulty and ease compliment each other.

Why can’t we sleep forever?

Upset at [this] walking advertisement hypnotic translation of skin on skin and the glowing signs never blistered so bright white explanation washed behind my eyes in the distance leering slapping knee briefcase grin. Who are you? through the gravel and steam and tapped realities authentic inner isolation who told you it looks this way oh it is curious and grandiose playful and mysterious until it tires and changes everything being the essential activist sketching a graph of detained comfort and satisfaction. You said who handles the big words now darling, now who is the big shot. And I smiled because you knew it. You knew. I smiled because I did not fucking care, couldn’t even if I had wanted to. You knew it. When your fervor instantly transformed into a wane pathetic vulnerability I knew you knew it and I fucking loved it. I fucking adored every moment of your vanishing grasp your vanishing strength and security. I was thrilled when you broke and cried and ran from me. I fucking adored it my dear. I fucking loved the end of you...

-fetal transition-this is what makes me tick-

Oblivious is not an option. Random. Meaningless. But just as disturbing as options go. look over there volume. There goes the lachrymator. Strutting its stuff. Not effective though. In my direction. But just as disturbing as tears go. or not for that matter. Suddenly. You look perplexed. Sit down. Please. Sit child. Sit. Its okay. Are we just like it? Stirring up the dirt...

Such a tragedy when your breath tremors with the weight of all that you’ve endured.

You look so precious...

Sleep child

What you want and what you need don’t mean that much to me...

 

Word power tactics fashionably suited for the schizophrenic at heart? Making me elemental. A part of your search for the perfect elegy. The perfect fit.

Small sharp fragments of wood weaving amongst subtle distinctions. Cause nobody loves me its true. Bullshit. Self reflection division. Splendiferous histories resulting in tugging centers of sensation.

My bold bravado disintegration intrudes forcibly accustom to habit and program mishaps. You don’t feel a thing. A change to deflect the code. It can be broken. Begin suddenly thinking through your daily interaction with you, them, and your household vegetation.

Psychiatric/flinch/get smarter

Shrink/catch a disease/formal agreement

Evade/clever trick/quick sideways movements

-shrink
-contract
-dodge

The missing link...

Plagiarism

[no recognition found].

Here is a new test for the disinterested impartial belligerent virtues of nonsensical ideals. Round the clock stories of hurt mislead. Hit me will you because I’m small and forlorn. At the right angles everything’s perpetual.

In the sweet sadness of artificial negatives my phobias and etching transparency spill out in pathetic examples of phraseology. Paint this experience of hate, isolation, pain, confusion, and broken decency. Paint it with all malevolence and treachery.

Tintinnabulation I’ve become nothing but a hollow space. Feel nothing. Consider nothing. Preserved non-regret. The most dangerous thing. It hides from all perception. You don’t see until I’m gone. Denouement. Slick. I’m serious.

 

Here I said as I handed you a folded napkin inside a tiny glass lady bug black speckles painted awkwardly about its back, crooked eyes, not much, but beautiful. I got it for you I found it for you. Instantly when it came into view I thought of you. devil. Fucking devil. There is no tact in this shabby sickness. And maybe at times I sort of enjoy it. You can’t lie to me unless you think I’m a human you/ if you are not from this country I will not send you a scholarship application/thats the breaks when i get paid what i do.[frightened] keep your distance because i am right next door/right there/ looking at you laughing with succession in my throat one after the other one after the next/i have nothing to sell but selling itself/

Sallow and refined with trouble on her list she trampled through the flower beds of unprepared graciousness/oh no here it all comes again/ sour fail to recognize the value of eye-catching blabber/ talk nineteen to the dozen/this mess we’re/ just don’t plead with happiness on your tongue with rectified intentions that lack density/ i care not to hear again. Hate your monotony decked with fabricated mystery/all we want is a head rush/ all you want is to be amazing. Well you are fucker. You are.////you’ll under no circumstances disco with the contemplations of bona fide ardor/nor touch anything as this-problematic imp who shimmers with such splendor/im just a child/ don’t see my violent side dont see it don’t-close your eye[fast] venture front wards with the speed of a damned snail metaphor flexing fleeting falling failing fickle fucking tripping unfilled deli-style compact typical egocentric monkey. Flap. Take. Inspiration. Who fucking needs it.

 

i can tell you things. sorry. i can say it all. and then. fuckit. i cant claim to listen if i have no fucking.nevermind.

im tired. sing me lullabies. tell me a story. then sleep beside me

Do you stand on the edge of a precipice? My symbolic flesh is torn as if it were made of you. I cut you open to define my hallucination. You don’t seem to be a part of me, when you’re flailing and convulsing on the floor. There is only pure beauty in this sanctuary of justifiable pain and reason. This is where life steps up and reveals its true self. In death all fantasies dissolve into harsh real prisms of acceptance and defeat. Just because you pretend otherwise, doesn’t make it so.

I have become weaknesses greatest companion as I sink below my own self-inflicted wounds of time and suffering. Battering my way through frozen stills of faces that have stolen my strength and peace of mind. I reach for hands that always pull away. Everyone backs away as if I were the worst plague, the most terrifying disease. All for nothing and still I go to sleep and wake again. Who cares? I don’t believe I do anymore.

Picture my thoughts playing tin soldiers to my emotional asphyxiation. Snap your fingers if it suits you. I want to bisect my pain and identify the halves as caster and polex. As I break for a sip of my tea I forget why. What’s done is done. Isn’t it? I am biodegradable. No different then an orange peel. In all honesty, I am the orange peel. And totally lacking the ability to stay focused. And I feel it. The nothingness, the comfort of utter emptiness and isolation. I don’t want it, but its there. I’m struggling inside myself with all the blemished details of my past. I want to pretend I made you up in my mind and thus can unmake you. I want to sever that fine line that barely holds us together and cover it with cynical dirt. Behold the weight of regret with bitter flavor. I feel like walking forever...but I don’t want to do it alone. I wish I could see myself. Just once.

With folding arrangements full of misguided virulent codes of performance, he’s full of zones and numbers. Come forward and touch the blessed hand of the devil and you will see your skin as it truly hangs. The beautiful skin falling from the sky. Turns to dust when it sees how we play the game. We don’t say hello anymore we only look away. There are flowers on the walls of that old place. Where they used to gather and sing songs. Where doves and beetles shared time together. Smiled together. I am being held in the arms of the orchestra. Separated from humanity. Was I ever real? He is dead. And I applaud him...

 

transposetwinge: *ahem*
transposetwinge: he lay there frozen sprawled out upon the grass
transposetwinge: from one eye he watched everything settle down with him...
transposetwinge: silence so beautiful it filled him and fell around him
transposetwinge: touched his shivering skin
transposetwinge: greater accessibility to what makes me relevant
transposetwinge: he thought to himself
transposetwinge: color highlighting the bold words that raged inside
transposetwinge: maximum relaxation through immense physical and emotional pain
transposetwinge: and to think
transposetwinge: all I had to do was revise my system. Revise myself a little. its not so bad really.....stepping over....
transposetwinge: stepping through
transposetwinge: in fact its breathtaking
transposetwinge: he sighed
transposetwinge: then
transposetwinge: curled behind one of those locked doors commonly mistaken for useless information panels.
transposetwinge: i fell cramped and confined
transposetwinge: my chaos has the influence of starving xenophobia
transposetwinge: predictable and exposed
transposetwinge: he rose....gathered his aura and began to walk
transposetwinge: each pass him eyes down
transposetwinge: i am so cryptic
transposetwinge: i am so cryptic
transposetwinge: i am so cryptic
transposetwinge: -he paused
transposetwinge: im utterly fucking arcane
transposetwinge: civilization never appeared so puritanical
transposetwinge: no no not pathological
transposetwinge: you can't find me regardless-
transposetwinge: i am so cryptic
transposetwinge: i am so cryptic
transposetwinge: -he paused
transposetwinge: I lack levels of disposition
transposetwinge: I have no atmosphere
transposetwinge: excuse me lady
transposetwinge: do I appear erratic?
transposetwinge: wandering featureless
transposetwinge: soporific
transposetwinge: toneless
transposetwinge: my realm expresses distaste in inferior perversion
transposetwinge: a ways off
transposetwinge: i hear a song
transposetwinge: fantastic chime of moderate conscious
transposetwinge: salivating enemies
transposetwinge: how dare they pretend to know what it feels like to cleanse ones hand in boiling water?
transposetwinge: they have no idea!
transposetwinge: you can see from above the stitch of befuddlement in his simple chill
transposetwinge: -to the bone-
transposetwinge: he paused
transposetwinge: he coughed
transposetwinge: he grew tired
transposetwinge: he walked backward
transposetwinge: he sprawled out
transposetwinge: he watched everything settle down with him...from one eye...
transposetwinge: [the end]

 

yeah i guess infallible adolescent with you could be reach for the higher ascendancy inertia born you fool yourself fool yourself transmittable contrast transmittable difference relating to that low point account for peripheral diffusion enact that day you eternalized your puzzled look immortalize this unstable dream of completeness meshed with spurious regime we have no swing we have no feel of things he pulled a fast one on you jack didn’t he didn’t he pull on your ragged insipid disgrace it doesn’t matter how deep you go you still feel this same in the end in the end it all feels the same it all feels like nothing with a congested assemblage of condemnation cower at the feel of something real recoil at the feel of skin on skin

i’m shaking. Uneasy. Things don’t’ feel quite right inside my head my head hurts i should have ducked i should have raised my hands i should have played defense/offense even. But instead. I dropped to the ground dust and fuzz crept behind my eyes everything started to holler and i grabbed at my ears to make it stop but my hands wouldn’t move i wasn’t moving i wasn’t seeing anything anymore and then i stood in front of myself a shadow of who i supposedly am the essence of anger peril and malevolence wake now or you will never get up or you will never. All my life i’ve dealt with my lack of physical self perception and at this moment it was so reinforced. I am patterns of thought encased in a shell i am blind to, restricted to. I am limited to the confines of my own skin.

Nevermind (what was it anyway)

You could make it wonderful you could make it wonderful you could make it wonderful as my eyes burn and fall out im forced to remember lights and detrimental suffocation/don’t step on that! You’ll loose your balance and wide-range like the rest of us severe wastes of skin. I’m just looking out for you making sure you don’t salt your own blood with infantile takes on love...sex...and this pulsating euphoria basement condition called tinnitus. Or existence. You don’t really exist. And I never really did.

Total time----42’22

Try and look at it this way. Through hurt and pain and fear and sadness comes growth. Renewal. Shiva. With destruction comes renovation.

If you touch my fucking things again if you throw them again if you disregard all aspects of respect again i’ll tear you down so fucking horribly you’ll scream and scream as i have and scream and scream and die as i have

The museum of pain/sanctuary of justifiable indignation

Listen. Please. I know you can hear it. Listen. Please. Try and feel it...

Saxophones tear my soul apart

Sonic youth rocks my blind side.

To dream of anyone’s death may represent a murderous impulse. Dreams of earthquakes sometimes indicate that the dreamer feels she/he is going to explode or suffer some kind of breakdown.

I had to do it. All around me they swarmed with their pointless bigotry. Everywhere I stepped. I stepped inside you.

Compelling voices put into picture its tired of self centered death plays. Circling the fields in bitter cold finally slowing to adrenaline position. The permanent marker isn’t there yet. It has been this long and still nothing. The moon seems observant tonight awake invading my enlightened moment. This was careless...cruel. for a second maybe...no it was never really there

Slowly i touch my eyes and vanish to that other place where the light is beautifully unnatural the scent of lilac is in the air and all around me birds sing each other awake. I am outside on a cement slab. Hiding beside the shed watching the sun rise as my ears listen for footsteps.

I’m done with this place. You have what you want. I’ll feel this forever.

I leave the grave yard....walk back home..

I haven’t been there since. It will be two years soon...

Will you walk with me? During dark hours.... that’s when everything’s different you know....when everything’s winded...your heart can barely take it...it gasps...overwhelmed....so picturesque...hurt me...

Its all faded on the wall tribes of indecision where is my way that everyone else has traveled does that make me a fanatic dressed in vinyl and uncontrollable static electrical tape fixes just about everything from broken footsteps to shamed and empty philanthropy you’re all transparent quacking sheep pretending with your sickening bleats it rips me up inside i just realized i am the lie i realized i am excuses definition of clutter and release walking and talking in false stoicism beats I’m just a child i’m just a fucking child i’m just a child i’m just a fucking child

I don’t remember the darkness and the muffled sounds as my muscles twisted and scrambled against each other. I don’t’ remember my dry eyes and faltering intakes of oxygen slowly thinning. I don’t remember thinking I am comfortable in this punishment I am afraid but comfortable in this confinement. I don’t remember remaining through the night and through the following day. I don’t remember finally being let out unable to move blinded by the invading light shivering and hazed. I remember the need to be placed back. I wanted to go back. Leave me here to die. It will be okay. Leave me here to dream of better things. It would have been better that way.

Have you thanked your barcode today?

For more information please contact the programmer, Mister Self Inflicted.

He wrung your neck like cellophane sleeping in the core of jail time caress the sharp edges stare directly into the sculpture talk no further into decline take out your eyes there is a funny taste in my mouth like despair and transgression this lad is sad said jimmy take the pills and swallow hard fix yourself with everything else sleep in perpetual ways

You’ve got the flick-shrinking obsession the taste of debated connection keep your hands from your face dance to the trance of what’s in the air. Solidify. It says.

Have you hugged your barcode today?

 

the voice spilled out like rabid violations of peace my head it swam and i felt release i can't even talk to you anymore I decided i can't even talk to you anymore

that was beautiful

this is vile

i want...y....i want what i want...i want what i want...the one form directed its sound to me i looked away ashamed and i cried. this wasn't what i was supposed to be inflicted with i shouldn't have seen things in this light this painted feeling makes me believe i feel something this draining[[[[just stop and stop and stop and stop/ive had too much of this at this moment i want to tear down everything and smile for once. you don't you don't you don't see me you don't see me at all. i want to hurt you i want to hurt everything i can't help it and i don't think i want to. that is the problem. that is the melody

 

 

Nothing is authentic anymore. As I sit here scratching at my dry cracked hands, refusing lotion, I realize everything is reflecting on something I’ve already done. Something I’ve already pondered. I am a walking thought cycle sickness. And so are you.

And I will always walk along that center line full of desperate measures and caffeine pumping through my bloodstream nails visible in the dazed city/////he grabs my arm and says baby what the hell are you searching for? The corporation of denial has its hold on you, drop this wasted soliloquy, exhale.

It all started when the guitars were blinked out of existence and the drums began to cry. Circumstantial evidence pointed a finger at christ. He didn’t mean it though. He just tripped over the chords. I mean...we all make mistakes right? Meaningless. Are you actually reading this. Because it sure means a hell of a lot of nothing. Zero time with a lisp for filler.

Damp with the heel of your right hand because left hand damping is not enough on its own. Do not press down with the fucking slide man! Lightness is best. Bah, I like to buzz. I save my dreams in a small pocket when I let them out I choke and sputter. They’ve changed their style and I can’t comprehend it.[right behind the ICU hides your self-esteem] over head neon lights burn down and flicker and spark. This long hallway holds me close to its hard frozen walls. [notice the fire extinguisher next to you] I lost my lid on things and goddamnit it’s all dirty now. I laugh aloud and it echoes everywhere then back to me. Everything appears so fucking funny. What am I waiting for? I’m being dragged away from the realism of things and Strickland knows exactly what I mean, dontcha buddy? Yeah? Lay me down lay me down now and slide directly over that wire and tell me what it’s whispering to you. On a parallel plane I’m allowed to know. Without interference and effective technique [now use it]

In my head you are so beautiful in my head so beautiful and groundless in my head you are so beautiful but in my head everything is illness

 

[Actually Molly there are a few other questions that have occurred to me

What are those limitations that you referred to?

What did you say you were anxious about?

What are you afraid of? Do you feel pain?

What about babies and children?

Molly? ]

 

Historicy plagues the signal as like two peas in silica handbags one nudges the other in an unobtrusive fashion. “See her there? She lay bleeding, unscathed”

“That makes none sense it no all no”

-Not suitable for or seeking society. And slightly unsightly.

“None sense skinny tick”

“Purgatory of elements, her own choosing running now running”

-The pusher dipped into his trendy coat and drew out the pusillanimous liquid

“Stuck between red and blue, submissive to force first”

-Spiritually chew the slate that is your skin strip it down and see yourself

“How fortuitous”

I was just playing defense I was just - - - Duck and cover.

By my own general admission free of all heterogeneous masses I bow my head and congratulate the fires of my convictions.

“She is the dangerous version of you”

“you funny little man said strickland”

you funny funny little fuck

I canter here I canter there but my hatred canters everywhere [toccata]

Without limitation

This is my love
This is my love for you

[notme]
so that's what you're missing, that's what you're dying for. can you see it...do you know where it is. mind recoils in horror at the very thought. i expected as much...knowing how the notion of kissing the burner may cause your lips to fall away. you fall to ground a pile of ashes. but at least the thought was still there...and that's all that counts. if anything ever did...the thought was the least of your worries. and yet it's all i worry about now. reality is beyond my control, a slippery slope and i've slid too far. lost his grasp he did. even the doorknob too heavy to turn. you feel no love, but you feel no pain. kiss the burner...lips fall away. you tighten your grip with one last exasperated movement. it was all so long ago. so far away. yet the memory is still here. still sodomizing my lifeless corpse. i'm a winner. i can feel it. it's near the end now. do you remember...how the night was so tender in it's infancy. back when we could still see the stars. and no, not those little twinkling things in the sky. the stars...beneath all the sanitized plastic covering. i thought i could...but that was probably an illusion too. i can't trust them anymore. they know too much. never there when i need them. just more thorns to cut into my mind as i writhe in the ecstasy of it all. in that hurt place. i can't ever let it heal. but that's already been said, already been felt. what's the point of carrying on when you can't even carry a point. was there ever a point? to it all i mean...not that i expect an answer. that's just what you say. pretty pointless really. i used to hate them, now i just kill them. it's easier that way. the blood washes away, but their words can break my bones. canceled my subscription but they keep showing up at my door. i could slit her wrists but i couldn't make her smile. i don't think she laughed because it hurt...that deep kind of hurt. i couldn't laugh because i didn't have a voice. still don't, but at least the tik tak tickity tack allows me some semblance of an artificial recreation of some facsimile. merely a copy of a copy of a copy. i....... can't........ remember. and you were there, and you, and jesus. he talks to me. on the water we walk. he tells me to do things. craaaazy things. in the confessions of a knife i'm the one with the synthetic delusions. on the water i sleep. no...i mustn't grow complacent, i mustn't. fuck your god. 'never thought to question why.' well i'm on the fast track and i'm shooting to kill. don't get in the way or you'll end up just like the rest. just another bump in the road, just another cold uncaring lump in the road. rha ha ha ha. can you hear the laughter. it's not me. noooo...not me at all. but i can hear them too. they're all around me. pointing, laughing, look at the sad pathetic little man. dance for us little man. dance you silly bastard. sparkle and twitch...you know how i like it. but things turned deadly sunday, when stones shattered the windshields of two passing cars, striking their drivers in the head and killing them. police were quoted to say 'of course the jam leaked, you only had the lid on halfway you stupid...' and with lacrima tristis i could barely summon the courage to stammer 'swallow the flames, sink in the snow, he enjoys feeling pain, he enjoys peeling slow.'
[/notme]

wow....inside my head you glitter and shine....

And the world died screaming. While I lay dreaming. Dreaming of you. Bliss is in my cranium I can feel it ambling from one place to another mumbling “I am here I am accounted for”. I’d like to draw it. In my schizophrenic ink style that is supposed to delineate my assorted objectives. Most tending to be intolerable in common place state of affairs. I want to bind it in allegorical castles in the sky so it won’t melt away. So it is always concealed by the hallucination of splendor. I don’t want it to fade away leaving a trail of agony and desolation. I appreciate that all too perfectly. I want it to fuse with my sickness and make me better. I want it to outshine the bad doors and crooked rooms. I want it to be the only thing that matters.

You are the only thing that matters.

if i just reach far enough...

I step outside of this depleting ambit and inquisitively into you. All around they explore my expression. Looking for. Something. What. My skin is crawling. The lights radiate off the yellow walls and it makes me fade a bit. Makes their visage loom and violate me. I said my skin is crawling and I drop to the floor twitching and convulsing, spasms stirred up by the jolt of a lifetime full of nothing. A body and spirit and teeth and soul and hair and heart and skin full of nothing. Then. It breathes. And spreads its contemplation. And you feel it. Touching you, bleeding through you, filling you. For a delicate moment. You feel valid. You feel the validity of what this is. What this is supposed to be. I said my skin is crawling. With spiders from the locked parts of my mentality. Dripping out they climb all over me evaluating me testing me for my strengths and weaknesses. And slowly get away. I don’t think I can rely on. With a barren covering speckled in repulsiveness. I don’t think I can. And slowly get away. Where have I come to? If it’s this. Where have I come to? And slowly get away. He sits. He dies. And where have I come to? He sits. He cries. And where have I fled to? He sits. He sighs. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to. Slowly get away. I said I see them. Cutting through the out most layers. Trying to invade me. Trying to show me that I will not feel any different. That I should walk through the obscurity into the cool indifferent consolation of the garage. Stepping over old puddles of oil, scattered chips of wood, and dirt and turning on the vehicle. I could sit so tranquil in my release. Practice my breathing exercises. Take in everything I push away. And enjoy the feel of stillness.

Sick with this I don’t want to be your back up. Spinning aneurisms give me my liberation fix is this what it is if it is what is this? I can’t elucidate my safety net its there and then its gone and I just want to feel okay I just want to trust you trust anyone trust myself. Detailed reminders fly about inside my head and I can’t feel dead again I can’t allow myself to die again. It’s so much easier to imagine that nothing fazes me so much easier to just remain indifferent. Even if I’m lying to myself. At least I won’t feel that again...

I hate myself when you flow through me like unrefined wretched abhorrence this is all you taught me in life and it makes me nauseous this is all you gave me and it leaves me with nothing but utter red and black and streaming unconstructive adrenaline don’t challenge me don’t challenge me he’ll come out of me don’t challenge me don’t fuck with me he’s made it all a part of me you’re such an inspiration for the ways that I will never ever choose to be stop with your words and stop with your denigration sometimes I can’t take it sometimes I have no control over this or anything or everything take that tone out of your voice and apply it to yourself don’t look at me don’t talk to me don’t fucking touch me I’m hanging on by a infinitesimal piece of twine and you standing there with the worlds sharpest scissors is making me uneasy and edgy and angry I can’t stand this useless complication I can’t deal with this stupid realization mind your own fucking business just back off and let me deal with me because he’s there lurking through my fists and feet and he’ll strike you down with no sympathy fuck your god he did this left you this way grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr a lifetime of built up frustration really fucking kills me. I’m cold. I’m shivering. I’m sick. And my mother fucking head hurts. Nothings working. You’re all fucking with me. Tell me straight. Or don’t fucking talk to me. He did it all for you.

I’ve been here before. I recognize the familiar twinge.

 

I’ve escaped cried the forgotten crack head whose eyes were black as the blackest feedback. The crowd of clams and automobiles clapped with bona fide enthusiasm. They rolled their invisible tongues and clicked their nonexistent teeth. I’ve escaped and found my reason for inhalation. He tore off a bracelet that, from a distance, seemed to read “Jacccob” and flung it into the crowd. This is my epigram this is my revelation to the people. His shrieks and moans shook the swell of gathering senselessness and everything began to foxtrot around him. He picked up a pen and wrote on his hand “congenial” and everyone did the same. From that day forward there was peace among all substances. For it was written. And they saw it everyday. Some. They cut off their hands and rebelled. Some. Never had hands to begin with. Some took pictures and sent them to relatives. And some. Didn’t know how to spell. “Congenital?” what is that supposed to mean? But in some odd way. It all meant the same. I walked up to the goddamn pulpit took out my hook and removed his heart and right ear. I began a mural. A vision. I was working for Shiva. He had been a pose, a set up by the antihorde. He bares false witness. I painted his life. He lay at my feet dying but with flower petals in his hair. He was beautiful in his failure. All I want is a head rush he sighed. And now you have it. I answered. And traced his blood in the shape of a dove. His head exploded. I waved to the crowd. I stepped into the light. [your time will come too][I’m lifeless now][stand up to me][show me I am not a leader][take out my heart][paint my life][mangle my head].

 

 

i hurt myself today
to see if i still feel
i focus on the pain
the only thing thats real

she's carved herself out of cedar and styrofoam. they picked up needles and erased the stitches.

you had to covet what was mine
didn't you

the days they smile quickly with blackness in the corners. its just dirty blood. coming back.

try to kill it all away
but i remember everything

the countdown begins and you know you'll just sit there. you destroy. and the sun screams. you destroy. and the sun screams. you destroy. and the sun screams.

you didn't hurt me nothing can hurt me
you didn't hurt me nothing can stop me now

 

So small. Red pillar atrophy like all the panchromatic-don’t start-it runs because of its inability to move. Cut off in good order. He suffers from imagined trichinosis. Only they form into squirming spies and he screams, “The moon casts shadows too! The fucking stars cast shadows too....” goddamn this noise inside my head. Rusted my wrist begins to split and out marches tiny imperfections holding dragonflies on wooden platters. This is my body. And the insects stir and stretch their wings. The breeze feels cool against my blistering skin as they trickle into the atmosphere. “We cast shadows”. They vanish. You have no idea what’s really trivial in this epic of disillusionment. She disconnects herself from consciousness when confronted with the situations that affect the wall she maintains around her. The jester steps in for a few wan moments-he opens and closes his fists-he rolls his eyes to the pounding of my cores repression-he begins to shake violently-a sound fills the room-you cover your ears and i begin to smile-he’s singing for you [parched indisposed exhalation of indication. An impressive display of biliousness. Disdain and you release it. My shrine is my ear-splitting silence. You invade my quivering voice. And see that? The scent of forsythia falls around us.]

I’m feeding off of you. With perilous steps exploring your contaminating vigor, I take in your splendid obscurity and let it kill every hurtful fiber that causes this wretchedness I call placid obliteration. I feel blissful in this severance, blissful yet bothered.

Reaching. Don’t let go.

She rolled over and stared at the wall. An image was looking back. With your hands locked and your heads down you appear so damn futile. And why couldn’t she be an angel with eyes of steel and phonograph. It all sounds like hushed immorality and you think it’s the clean thing. Dragging me through my abysmal grasslands where the barrenness is vibrant with casing and segments. The lights begin to dim and the floor begins to bend and your head begins to sink and my touch begins to burn and my voice begins to stray and my arms begin to reach while the world died screaming you hide and hope for you my savior my love they hide and hope for them. It’s all about intensity as I slide along beside you the sound of horns and traffic has nothing to do with this with my feet to the pavement and my resound to the streets I fold the small paper inside my pocket. But it catches fire. And I read it one last time. There is nothing inside this shell but a small little uncanny rat. And I collapse against myself because there isn’t anything else. Tired....alone....dead.....the rat sings a soft song. And the blinds. They shine against the wall. Its paranoia maybe. An image was looking back....it is upside down....always

I am not your fucking demon. But sometimes. You make me believe it.

 

oil pastel – swelter gaffe – ardor agony – malicious gap – need you

intense
lucid
oscillator
vice
erode
yeebillatoriational
oblique
uselessdeterminationfit

 

I think I’m god. [then my eyes are held open by the sweetest hands, and they burn to nothing again] – lozenge entirety\ /But I have no therapy for your condescension\ / Nor your immobile mind's eye in working condition flashing hesitant in the wake of real intensity[this is the break free ride for your daring forgery blunder][rushing molding building exteriors with crooked doves raising there worms to build them castles of leprosy]]]]- - - and he throws back the angels with the black eyes and silhouette smiles >>>>( i always see your words in that haze that surrounds the halo over every light fixture and every crack on the wall. every drop of rain and every thought of winter.) ///deadly array of emotion flourishing behind that shell of misery, i think i feel something i think i feel something[this time{i do}]and its real because everything else has never been[such an irreplaceable turn of events] so its all distinctive in its painful radiance you make me feel so special so fucking special though i know i’m not worth it i can see it through you and thats better then anything i could hope for. emblazoning me and you and you and me characteristic injections of happy atrophy[killing everything that kills me].gone. this is where you look me in the eye. And say. I think its better off this way.

 

Yes I see that. Your Obituary fluttering from the stack of loose leaf I found. How on earth did you get there? And why did you land still so perfectly? What he wanted. And she breaks down upon the casket in front of a crowd dumbfounded. Utterly shocked. I remember. I was off a ways, to the side. She never looked at me. Not once. I burnt that kid to the bone. Fuck me.

“well come on in then, we’re in the basement”

And the clarity collapses..

Golgotha tenement blues. She is your health under rustic windowpane. The sighs of solitary reconciliation with yourself and your tendency to look past what’s really there makes this parody all the more edible. Tethered with vines that preview a coming burden of dire violations they bare witness to the swarming of the drones as your body begins to over flow with poison. They keep calling me. They keep calling me. She is so wrong inside. I am so dignified. [they keep calling me] Scream for me. Fucking scream for me. Die for me. Don’t you fucking lie. A heavy smoke begins to fill as domination walks about the room picking up tiny dead butterflies with torn silver wings, he blows off their dust and watches it sparkle around him. Parting the air he steps through to a desert of metal scars. There is nothing here but jagged cold eyelashes and terrific murals of hemoglobin. I want to be elsewhere. And the image of a vast body of water appears with hundreds of ugly gray fins. Wading. Down through. Machine and ivory. Where’s my equanimity? The mouth opens and he walks into the receding gums of indiscretion. I am inside my souls reflection. I am terrified. They were always me. Raking through my limbs. Looking through my skin. If I stop. I drown.

 

things change. sometimes. its good. sometimes its bad. most times. it will eventually work itself out.

 

Torrid tearing antagonism ripping out my fucking soul. These heated words are enough to destroy me. Apathy for everything. Fuck you. Don’t move too much just sit very still. Fuck you. breathe. Count to ten. Walk through the rolling hills of your delicate mindscape. Fuck you. my lip is bleeding damnit. Austere skies for the dullest of eyes. Fuck you. I’ve stumbled to the floor again. This doesn’t fix a thing again. You always make it worse again. I’ll make it hurt like hell again. Fuck you. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Yeah. Way to go. my fucking hero. No one knows how to make me feel as bad as you do. No one ever made me feel as low as you do.

i feel sick. i feel dead. i feel invaded. just leave me alone...because once i'm gone. i'm gone forever.

fuck you...

*dies*

Oh the stale grind of last moments. The withdraw of hell obliteration. Because I fail. Always.

 

Stepping petals step lightly the doll its eyes flash up and close this is how the turbulence grows. Down by the erratic marsh she’s washing her hands in the mud. Reeds watch with pacified shivers as weeds grow around the ground below her. Bending over backwards tip your hat for mulled picturesque spite dream and I have seen the sun rise over the river. She’s drifting by. Nothing hovers here. They bend their brittle extremities down and brush against her cheek. No feeling. In unison “this is where it all began and I have never been real. This is where it all ends and I have never been real.” Run your hand along the edges of surrealism and dramatic covering. Does it feel. done with? It did not begin like this for you. distant apparitions blinking to the sound of envy. Walk out if they drag you down. Weak. Have we found perfection? I am perfection. Because I am the farthest from it. They drag down. It’s falling all around me. And nothing really matter does it. Nothing really has a pulse. Never. Stop. Running. Can’t stop thinking. Make me stop being. Please.

You sing black morning (vessel) and i just want to run my fingers through your (skeleton) and oh my angel intact it was avoidance.thecharcoal side of silver conversing psychometrics (timid) do you hesitate. Analogous to murky waves with a smile ~i gain-i prosper~ the end walks with everything that holds interest |enter occupant| why the need. Invited maybe. It was no one spherical. But a mere square. Edges. (protest) and the foreigner was with his escort-together we rip paper to pass the time {-Fizzled wandering beauty-} I am tired. You are not making sense. I am needful. You are essential. I have never looked straight into the gaping wounds of reduce to nothing fit physical pain with this distraction don’t you dare don’t you dare.h.i.t.m.e. that is terminated. But it is still in there. Among the rip chords and vapor lock. I can’t see anything good in this. Why can’t i see it like you seem to. Like you say you do. To be honest. I can’t really believe.....i cant really understand....fuck it....

Let me know if if if i decide maybe sometimes possibly there’s a chance i may might could perhaps somehow someway damn you for making me think all day ha/shallow room temperature fuck it can’t even won’t not never damn. Feeling faint outface me ha/crooked ligament profile spirally intrinsic galore. Look look look optophone mechanisms it stole the fucking light I hear it plead for mercy nononononononnononono quiet!!! This won’t go down like that. Must try to recover lost time. goddamnit!!!!!!!! Shriek shriek pale vision bouncing inward off sterilized canned epitomes hush hush elusive torrent sallow sickly sadistic heartlessness when it hits she blanks and thinks of no one messing with your mind who then where how can I be this what coward cradle my crutch is disorder no limitations not even empathy care is what when it comes down to zoning out to the layers of blundering incitements of the mean machine you call intellect run don’t pace yourself hide skip cry fetal thing i am a thing i am a thing i am a thing anesthetized it hurts so i hurt you and i enjoy it devilishly at the moment falling through your bewildered ambiance taste of metal and stems and hectic acquaintance radioactive metallic element whose chief isotope yields actinium by decay no no it isn’t layers its fields upon fields no essences upon essences dreams upon dreams eccentric eloquence touching your insides and turning them grey and blistered all in all slip through all in all they fathom miraculous ideas that somehow i’ll turn out well and good and perfect and simple and clear and pleasant and mindless and fucked.

Stellar is in my basement and everyone cowers at his echoing pronunciations. The jester is to the right and everyone cowers at his echoing pronunciations. Basil is to the left and everyone cowers at his echoing pronunciations. I am in the middle. And everyone cries at my echoing fabrications.

 

 

The Dynamics are as follows:

Amalgamate this surging need and focus on the way it bends and communicates the more you give the more i want no pulse no praecocial palindrome breeze I speak to you in unstable silence I want to destroy everything with you

“I’m the Jester” His face darkened.

For a strange half second sugar tastes like salt. It’s the small unseen dust particles. If you only knew how much dirt you consume. I’d laugh a thousand laughs. Out of habit of course.

Yes.

I said.

I’ll approach you. In a deserted sanctuary. Yes you. I’ll tap you on the shoulder and whisper “there is nothing left here that doesn’t leave me breathless”.

And then we’ll drop.

Yes.

How can you be sure you can handle this?
Tell me you can.
Please.
Tell me.
Hold me.
Thrill me.
Kiss me.
Kill me.

The essence of a straw girl smoldering on the inside.

 

 

[lovers and legions i've seen your whore try not to reason forsaken i'm poor fire nerves and dissension flying at a glare a ginger reaction whisper care a hairpin decision falls against the brain to formulate the anguish and alleviate the pain the silence is warning soul search nothing can't regain reach for air scenes of a cheap thrill summon an old ghost the foremost and sterile suffering one lost to face the potential for fantasy and flair forever and forgiving summon me and dare they keep on the mainstream forging their demise while playing with the hopeless not facing their own lies the symptoms of recourse i've seen nothing overspill far too frail. ]

 

This is the circle that circles and circles.

A test. No.

We wont be scarred like that.

Portrait send-up yes you reel and tip to the feel of it. My oh my what is this inside my convoluted nervous tissue but cobwebs and looking glass materials relaying a back alley nightmare scene of roses without color who go by the name of shame and loveless.

 

i find him in this water park. y'know like those cement ones with painted blue water
where the water travels down and into a little pool or something
and i'd walk from the pool up the 'stream'
there's a building to my right
it's shading the sun from the park
and i see my brother
ahead of me about 30 feet
lying in the stream
face down
and i get upset
and run to him...
and when i turn him over
..he has no face...

 

But where are you. At this hour. I have to search to control the sounds of what generally goes unheard. I have to find my distraction and cling to it. Because it never shuts off. I never shut off. They never shut off. Whispers and winds and startled appearances did you did you, you did didn’t you. don’t you know things only laugh for one reason. That the gap is lacking luster for only one reason. Look at how you torment me with visions of significant existence to say it as its been said before i’d walk on water to get to touch you this descending space and song of possibility this isn’t enough this isn’t enough for you i wish i could i wish i could be enough for you

 

It’s all a matter of staying calm and in control. When the memory machine decides to corrupt your silly little head, there isn’t anything but the proper use of tranquility. In a few days. I’ll be hit with a part of my past that will surely send me swirling into a void of disruption and instability. I have to plan ahead. I have to imagine how I’m going to survive this. I have to take hold of myself and shake me senseless. Yes. I can do this. Of course I can. And so with the clicking of nails and the briny taste of lemurs running down the walls, my mind slips into its defensive casing of bizarre vile interpretations of every day life objects and circumstances. It creates a picture screen of wild diversion, to keep me safe, to keep me hidden from the other delicate sides of who I am. I get through everything because I don’t really think like you do. I only suggest it. Sometimes I wish I could show you how it is in here. But most times. I’m glad I cant, because you wouldn’t be too happy with me. And all these saccharine ideas would be washed away. Honestly.

I can’t harness electric nostalgic currents superimposed on dry humor without giving up my corroding dialect specifically created for nonexistent beings such as I. No matter where it is-compare. On razor like touch surfaces the feel is so numinous the whirlwind inside your head begins to recite the true meaning of looking both ways before crossing the street. Please wait while you are. And through all this moss and other forms of curious vegetation the only thing worth biting into is the embrace of one so close you can’t even touch them. Please wait while you are being connected.

May I be the one to rip the shackles clean away and lead you to a place where loneliness is tackled with a kiss?

Distilled-Purify./letting go—time.

Back down in the atrium the streets lights flicker against the leaves and all the good little moths play cracker jacks with the bees. This is what little nonsense fiends are made of.

 

Sometimes I can’t help but set my tolerance aside and let my bitterness take over. How dare you presume to know what another is thinking or feeling? How can you even begin to make such a ludicrous statement? Do you find yourself that bold? Because I never found you that insightful when it came to the complexities of human thought. When your ignorance shines through your positive elements it makes you look so incredibly ugly. And I despise you. Selfish. Arrogant. Superficial. Narrow-minded. Child. You have no idea. Today I hate you, but tomorrow, I’ll love you again.

Sometimes a person is wise to do a little thinking before they speak. But most times they really don’t give a fuck about the consequences anyway. It’s all about making things more dramatic then they truly are. And my friend, you are terribly good at doing that.

You are not the only person surviving in this world. You are not the only person struggling through each day. You are not the only person who feels as you do.

I wish you fucking knew that.

I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just want you to see. Maybe see through it all. Maybe see me. Because you have absolutely no idea who I am. And soon I guess, that will be fine.

 

i'm such a bitter girl. bah. *goes anti-everything*

hm.]]]]this is the trip to somewhere unsaid {fake laughter} stop. walking. like. that. [stutter] read...you see. is the ideal fetish. what? [wait] I am what you are what it is...

honestly. why am i so weird looking. i look like. a sprite. heh. or some odd twisted being.

Chase facet in the company of dimness and computation because our jaunt is coming to a close and I’m feeling somewhat ill lessening my elation with flawed anecdotes to compel fallacy and trash my castle in the cosmological downslide...and great, I just got interrupted. I fucking hate that. Now what was I getting at. Ah yes. Sultry effects rippling transversely in the section of your awareness that outlines massive frenzied alliances with manipulation and dynamism to expose the intimate wisdoms of a damaging essence whose handle on life is shaken daily by metaphors of slaughter and dreams of common emancipation.

[drop your cynicism]

Because the butterfly is never truly the derogatory swine it longs to be we can only sit and envision the ruination of all that makes us look twice and all that makes us turn our heads. With a sweeping of our internal analysis we can clearly come to terms with constraint and cerebral inactivity. Yes. I am. What you are. What it is.

[drop your hedonism]

 

Philistine black spider moralizes diagrammatic reminiscence. You are my fucking phobia.

This grey still evening depicts something I’ve seen before. Etches it into now like there was no then. Broken bottles and smoldering cigarettes. Metaphysical currents lurking in every change of light. We are speaking in undertones. We are singing loathsome. Toppled over teddy bears, my brand new bicycle. Shattered dishes and I am careful. This untruth I wish it were. And the spider scratches its third and eighth leg together producing an eerie sound that overflows every secret, confesses all.

Artless black spider scrambles across my arm. It pauses to speak but decides it isn’t worth, isn’t worth talking to me...

Is this. What. You. Want.?.

 

Lethargic like my purple hues but I can’t even see them and I never would have guessed it give in to present your demons world-weary apparition passing by more door not bothering to lower your voice because my finger nails are crystal clear and when you shake them snow tickles a beautiful city of small people and little elephants in great numbers they are stronger then you in great numbers they stand taller then you in great numbers, if you pick the right one, they all come tumbling down around you. You are like insects, just not as beautiful. I am like a reptile, just not as beautiful.

I try to focus on other things. Let my mind drift over incidents that have nothing to do with the situation at hand. But I hear it. And I feel the house shift. It knows. And it hates him too.

-What you don’t see when you look is called unobtrusive. What you don’t hear when you listen is called rarified. What you don’t get when you grasp is called the subtle. These three cannot be completely fathomed, so they merge into one, above is not bright, below is not dark. Continuous, unnamable, it returns again to nothing. This is called the stateless state, the image of no thing, this is called mental abstraction. When you face it you do not see its head, when you follow it you do not see its back.

Simple as un-carved wood, open as the valleys, they were inscrutable as murky water. Who can, in turbidity, use the gradual clarification of stillness? Who can, long at rest, use the gradual enlivening of movement?

When the fingers have no more kindling to put in, the fire goes on burning, unaware that it is gone.-

“Those who know others are wise, those who knows themselves are enlightened.” [Ta Te Ching]

“Small knowledge cannot reach great knowledge, those of little experience cannot comprehend those of great experience.” [Chuang-Tzu]

 

I look up from my deteriorating blackboard and realize that everything is suddenly inverted. Menace grinds the practical core of appearance and miscalculation. I have taken a wrong turn, it says so on the closing eyelids of those I’ve spoken to. Of those I’ve listened to, it trails behind. Were you told this repeatedly as a child? To rummage through self worth with disinfectant and white gloves?

Together extempore reprimand-this floor smells like must and-uninhibited sacrilege monster in my-garden of-tell me something you wouldn’t dare speak aloud-approaching-defining-embracing-zenith-and I see me reflected against a mirage of clear crystal falling to pieces at the feet of my split personalities-she doesn’t-I’m drowning in the thickness of repetition. I’m scared. I’m so afraid. Because everything has been done, and I had everything to do with it.

We present a gorgeous array of inner mockery don’t we love? I want to watch it, I want to cheer it on, I want to touch it, as it all comes down.

Oppression feeds off our mistrust. Every one of you is keeping me sustained, while tearing me apart.

October 30th. |Devils Night|

I’m stretched out on my bed watching the crow, jotting this down, and thinking about brandon (oh I know, so surprising). When I go too long without talking to him, I get really low, really detached. Unreal and dead. He makes me feel like the blood running through my veins is justified. And I need that. I need him.

There is this rhythmic ticking in the root of my control. It’s getting so loud now and I’m not sure what to do about it anymore. I cant talk. I can’t express this. Words are so cold and emotionless. Swing out into the night my starving creature of melancholy texture. [ I want to assimilate. I want to annihilate. ]

(goddamn I’m having trouble reading my writing)

Which one of you motor city motherfuckers wants to bet me this one isn’t?

I’m going to paint my face and fly from the tallest building with freezing rain against my skin. The signs of lethal encirclement. Some one take these dreams away...

Let me tell you about murder. It’s fun. And its easy.

It approaches in a sporadic trip and everything else loses its solidity. It’s nothing but a dark shape, and it can't bear me. Ridicules me. Reaches out for me. I try so hard to pretend I don’t see it. But its almost impossible. Last night the blue suit placed its hand over my mouth and nose and I was suffocating. He pulled out a long thin blade and carved something into the wall beside my head. I turned to read it and saw an infinite rainbow of dilapidated energies withdrawn from every occurrence that had something to do with who I am today. Half of the world came from the mould, the other half from the parts that didn’t make it. [It can’t rain all the time] but what if you’re the unhealthy runoff? Dirty water. Something else lives inside of me. I’m just the waking center of destruction. Anguish thrills me. Especially yours.

I had a dream about Jon last night. Which is odd because I haven’t really thought about him in a while. But dreams are like that. He was suspended in the air by the arms of his victims. I guess they were his victims. You just know those things in dreams. I don’t know if he killed them or what kind of victims they were. But anyway. He cried out for me to help him but everything was red and I just looked down at the ground to see strange orange and black bugs. Then I said quietly. “No love, I cannot. They are your arms, let yourself go.” So I guess that answers the victim question. Some how. And then he smiled. But you know, that’s all I could really make out. A smile. No characteristics. And that’s basically all I can remember.

Enigmatic soft strand of limitless defiance. I watched the fictional cenotaple enclose he saturine memory of monopolized tiresome renditions. It stands strong in the river of somber bracelets engraved with angst and mental disintegration. Your voice takes me down like a colossal fiend training my uniformity to be something more then useless villainy. Beyond the window. They are singing about me.

“She’s a nightmare born at the wrong time and she’ll take her visions out on you”

That was actually written for me. I don’t want to show the rest of the song.

The music box thinks its difficult to get over the procession of doleful beings covered in mud that argued till the sun rose about the beauty of death and suffering. It gave me the pen. And I wrote it a poem.

-Things that obstructs-
-Noticeable-
-Dark glassy surface-
-Nominative-
-Direct-
-Sliding through the-
-Broken hearts-
-Coming form the-
-Warehouse-
-Torment-

 

Pocket change too shy to point toward that bible-throwing incident. When we all pray for bad karma, we all go backwards. If all our palms unfold, puddles are no longer muted

Electroconvulsive therapy. Damn.

The roman philosopher Seneca praised suicide as the last act of a free human. Deliverance. You know you want it.

Bithology-For Death and Raincoats-I-Control-You-Scarce-I Keep Going-Forward-Only-To-Turn-Down

Sorry my undertaking was full of roses and swirls and keys and picture frames gave to the side of dilapidated stream to catch myself some fairness I am the need in you for more daylight tricks the toils of streetlamps danger hostility furious abhor everything’s blue in this world crazing struggles of self conception do you focus on the pain? Well I’m stuck in this glass bottle and its filling up with nonsense like soaring I am still right here what have I become stop this music theres too much comfort in it. She screamed but there is so much more to be delirious about there is so much more to contravene I want to die I want to die I want to know what it feels like to be alive.

Right now I think I’ve swallowed pine needles and they are doing back flips under my skin on some sort of excursion but to discover what, is the question. I wonder. I wonder if. I cut his....[you know not to dwell on this] I wonder if I tore out his fucking throat....would they look at me strangely? Yet still the same? Would I get away with it? Would I do it again? Would I enjoy it? Yes. Sickly so.

Tell me. How fun would it be to destroy monotony?

This much fun.

· spins around *

“you need professional help”

“you need to bleed for me”

The small boy had wooden hands and when it rained they grew thick and heavy. It was so hard to carry his back pack to school. He probably dropped it five or six times on a rainy day. His nick name was mister maple head, but he didn’t mind, he chose it himself. He was kind of vain that way. See all the kids looked up to him. He was a hero among his peers. Because his hands were like the trees, it brought them all to tears. But I introduced him to termites and killed his hero glow. For I was very jealous of him, more then you could know.

A simpletons nursery rhyme. The joy of it. The pure adrenaline fix.

This recording is skipping.

Moving stealth underneath the gentle attack of good times bowing our heads confused by the marks that’s left after we’re driven to smothered cartilage the mystic iron rolls in upon the rows of stone and ash so there is nothing left to gape at but the crooked knuckles and translucent flesh don’t cry sweet thing because its raising the quake for a benevolent reason [will you will you now would you die for me don’t you fucking lie]

-you claimed all this time that you would die for me why then are you so surprised when you hear your own eulogy-

A spool-like toy reeled up and let down by a string. It takes skill. This far it is a language derived from a person who is always agreeing with those they view as superior [she seems well, yet she is weak] This velveteen martyr sells small frayed articles of yolk and growth. Reweigh with a scythe, the value of your tendency to be practical and with a beam of jealousy burn into my skin how I’m gaunt and ugly. I don’t mind. Too much.

I’m angry right now. And I’m thinking too much again. And I have this urge. This need. To fuck up everything. I don’t know what it is. But I’m drawing a blank. And that always means something different with me.

Time is on my side, yes it is

 

I’m killing myself now. And it’s literally giving me a stomachache. Why do I think like this? I want to fucking know right now. Why the hell do I feel like this? It doesn’t make sense. I hate it. I can’t accept things I have to tear them apart destroy them inside myself to make me feel terrible its like I want to punish myself and eviscerate every positive thing I may have. All this and then they knock you over with filth in their fists set out to discredit everything that I love everything that i hate I’m fucking numb and ignorant and i’m hating everyone and I’m hating everything and i want to fucking die and i want it to be you that kills me. Fuck. You have. Its them and me against myself i don’t have anything i don’t want anything no. no. i want to know why you did this. Why i still have to know about you and know that you’re alive reveling in the idea that i trusted you and loved you and respected you and that you could take hold of that and twist it to amuse your insecurities. You fucking child. You really have no idea do you. and you won’t. not when you live like this not when you take advantage of people like this. I’m feeling better seeing you in this way. I can see you struggling with yourself and i just feel sorry. I feel sorry for you. it still hurts. But i’ll survive. I’m just so tired...why did this have to happen tonight...i like when i forget about you...it makes things so much easier...

I can’t stop shaking and thats making me angry....i think i’m already dead...so what does it matter anyway? I hate that you all read this...i’d love it if you didn’t....i’d love it if you didn’t know me....then i wouldn’t feel guilty...but i guess i’m used to guilt...i guess i’m used to a lot of things...why am i still typing...i’m so fucking pointless...i’m going to stop now. Because i bet you fucking love this.

 

You can’t misplace irony with lack of meditation this says the constructive humanitarian to the drifting desire of the intervallic serial killer known as [I have no taste of commonsensical insight] but before this strikes a chord with any unsteady syndrome one must come face to face with jumping cinder blocks as the best recreational standpoint- mishandling crucial evidence escorts the idiocy with spectacular urbane entertainment and we can’t help but wade into the masses of eccentricity and ordinary in hand. I can see you sinking into your sofa of wasted brainpower trying to pinpoint where I am saying something and where I am pretending to do so. Unfortunately you will never really discover the answer to this question, because I will never breathe a word of it. The perseverance of a broken star. Scrambling. Sliding. Swallowing.

 

Use the wildcard character when evaluating the known and the super-unknown. With succession at our gain and delayed mesmerisms a photograph forms in the face of elation we fall into frenzy and lose our awareness of communal illustration. Not dirty but common. Not sick but diaphanous. My daddy was a dollar he wrote it on a fence. There’s a twitch in my back and I can’t quite reach it. It’s telling me to display upheaval successfully and if I don’t it will slowly bend my spine until it shatters like semiprecious black and silver stone [hint of red] [hue of corrosion]. I’d like to give it a title, embody it with a traditional explanatory label that will keep it fresh in my mind as a degrading benefactor. I used to call it, Mister Jester. The trickster of tricksters on parade. Mister Jester did it, certainly not I. But something’s turned marginal along that line. Something has given way to practicality and I realize that some numinous idiosyncratic devil is not the source of my atypical demeanor. I am the only make-believe player in this theatrical production. It’s time to move to the next level. It’s time to prioritize unawareness and internal exploration. It’s time to evolve.

It is so magnificent outside today. In this new office windows surround me so it’s not so dull. However, I sort of feel like I’m being watched by televisions. Or put just on display. I think this is what a fish in a fishbowl feels like. Only if I go outside, I won’t die.

 

 

I keep seeing bugs lately but not ones you’d ever see. Small squirming pieces of metal that ravage your brain and build little colonies that can manipulate your body movements and use you to transport them to other hosts. They move in clusters. They keep moving towards me and I dodge them but each time I grow slower and heavier. Then they disappear. Fuck.

How would you like it if we used your absorbent skeleton to wash the walls with unknown chemicals that can cause strange mutations inside your body? Or is that where the fun lies? Or is it just measurable to the ninth letter of the Greek alphabet? Who’s to say, really.

I’m so void of logical constructive thought right now. I can’t recall when I wrote this, and if I have put it up anywhere yet. Just this little bit. The rest I know I haven’t but yeah. Like shadowboxing with those strange areas in pictures that speak to you in iridescent shambled levels. I swear I’ve typed this up before. And I will not forget this unearthly transmission as tedious and confidence racking as it was. I think I’ve reached out indifferently to caress some ungrammatical mythical creature only to discover that by touch it converts into a shell of sardonic humor with soft petals behind its eyes. Not so frightening when you take it apart and examine the contents. I want to learn how to splice composure and bliss into the backbone of spoken mysteries. I think I have a prosthetic head and no ones bothered to tell me yet. It would certainly explain a lot of unanswered questions. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. Everything around me seems unutterably pointless. Every link I have to hope and freedom and understanding is betrayed by my self-hate and worthlessness. I just can’t handle it. I have to give into it. Rediscover it. Break it down until its raw. //I’m down to just one thing-and i’m starting to scare myself\\

I feel like making someone cry.

I guess technically I have such a violent nature because I was raised under negative circumstances. In certain ways of looking at it. But that doesn’t make anything okay. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to validate that theory. I don’t want to be a prime example. Everything around me is fucking ugly. But not half as horrid as I seem to be.

[Neuralgia fit]

 

In a practical sense, you really have only two options when it comes to dealing with your negative thoughts. You can analyze your thoughts-ponder, think through, study, think some more-or you can learn to ignore them-dismiss, pay less attention to, not take so seriously. This later option, learning to take your negative thoughts less seriously, is infinitely more effective in terms of learning to be more peaceful.

To a large degree, the measure of our peace of mind is determined by how much we are able to live in the present moment. Irrespective of what happened yesterday or last year, and what may or may not happen tomorrow, the present moment is where you are-always!

 

Easier said then fucking done mister carlson

 

I never really though it was possible, something so beautiful existing at the same time as I. My mind wants to explode. This time, I don’t care. My cells want to create a collage of everything that makes you amazing and have it plastered in the sky. It’s true...look how they shine for you...

 

Oh my, the mischief is bright tonight-done. She has a gun and it shoots bullets. You’re taking it from me. And you’re vulnerable with me learning from the vortex eclipse-Self-loathing dance dream-Self-loving respectable seam. Holding it together the feral circle straining against lines of new revised human beings. And you’re taking it from me. “watcha got there?” Barrels of epilepsy follicles to hand out to tall the children randomly. I’ll drive a decorated vehicle down the street, a parade of gifts to give. And you’re taking it from me.

Take it.

Please allow me to introduce myself. Jagged volume and distortion histories. I can hear your voice crack inside my head and it burns. And you’re taking it from me. Fucking take it. Arlington curled its lips and sneered down at trailing stumps. With electrical tape and a stapler he built a space ship. It flew so far. So high. It said “You’re taking it from me, you’re hurting me, you’re hitting me. Take it. Test your word power and compare yourself to me. Take it. Please. Take the microphone and rock my fucking world tonight. Take it. Pretend you’re like me fanatically. You’re taking it from me. Take it.

Take it.
Destroy it.

If I go to the circus like this I’m certain they’ll paint my picture and if I bring my darkest dress I’m sure they’ll paint my picture [gypsy feeding]

I’m sure if you see me with this you’ll want to take my picture and if i show you my fists i’m certain you’ll want a part of this. [gypsy bleeding]

If I knock on your door I’m certain you’ll let me in and if i bring every part of me i’m sure you’ll let me in [gypsy teasing]

You killed my brain, now i’m going to make you feel it.

You will die from those contusions on your throat. And you will suffer the consummation of the worm. Do you feel it devour your wasted splitting skin? I do. How about your stretching limbs that drag along behind you as your mouth turns to scales and the soles of your feet to churning clockwork egg shells ready for the harvest ready for the transformation-the door swings open...then closed....open...then....laid out on your cot of dented pipes and hollowed ghosts your coming undone and pieces of you have fallen to the floor. Look. Look at yourself. The mice come in to clean up after you; there is somewhere to go. you’re splitting up. Walk with care over twine and shuddering hallways for every step is blasphemy. Walk towards me. Pay no attention to the nails in your fingertips; it’s just inside the barricade. Touch me. The distant. Take it from me. I don’t want it anymore.

 

No ones coming home tonight. Because no one goes there when you’re alone. They see your silk and plaster about and tie their ankles to the floor. Ill. No ones going to you again. Kicking through the stack of shabby exhaustive damage-we have no central location to rest our weary nerves-sexual stardom with a bag full of ringing bones he goes from town to town searching for the most difficult victim. Its taking malevolent steps towards you and on its mind I think is synchronization. Run. I can’t carry you. The jaws of mechanical hair and paper handicap the willingness for enlightenment through rock bottom selflessness. I can hear my brains degeneration taking place. Expiration Date: 09/09/91. So I’m getting strength from siphoning out your smashed murder conspiracy. Here I am growing twice as tall the river of killing spree flowing in my fall I’m approaching the gate of caring forgetfulness wearing my spirited disclaimer shame skirt sporting hype crazed sunglasses aiming to torch your suave therapy umbilical cord with the gnash of my teeth and a flick of my worst you spill around in a pathetic state of aggression. But I get bored. I’ve been here before. Been here forever. I’ve killed you before. I’ll kill you forever.

When I read you I always feel your uncertainty turn its callous skull in my direction and I get bothered. I get distressed. I wish I could breathe my adulation into you. I want to envelope the art of you.

[pain confliction]

 

Singing tranquil melodies to a disheartened bramble, to the river among the shivering thoughts of wonder. No artifice. Even with my blindfold on I can see your torture intermingle with my own and it disappears under striking attachment, ruined by the complexities of adoration. I see you wandering a darkened street with pale light washing over your outline, hostile in perfection. Silhouette in style. And in a glimpse, belonging to me.

The sky is green and it does not go well with the unparalleled shaman. He builds a wall to block it out, people follow because of his third eye. It was plastic. But realistic. Birds on fire fall over the horizon. Red against green. Red against green. It’s the green against red. Do you think I like you just because I say I love you? Am I so naïve to you, that you think you can rummage about in my feelings absorbing what you need to convince yourself you have a reason to keep breathing? You’re lying to yourself, and that’s what really hurts. You never wanted to hold my hand; you only wanted to look at it. I never want to hold you. I only want to look at you.

 

Lately I’ve been feeling rather compact [relapse] addicted to some chic utensil specially formulated for the easy exchange of ideas-----but I don’t disapprove. And among all this fuss I take in a most curious read about nothing and something but not necessarily everything. I’ve been meaning to type out some things that have struck me as significant but a day in the life of wasted parasites has no time for -R and R-. Hark!? A sound shifts to the left. And I imagine some lanky being creeping up on me. [do you have a license for that slithering posture] someone arrives. Someone leaves. Some one stomps around uneasily. There are headlights and cotton candy. Wood sprites and metallic trances. The scorching feel of reminiscence hanging on the banister. A sliver in my escape. This respires and respires and respires into everything…don’t you fucking lie…

 

its late and im so very tired. I can't stop my mind from spinning and i think i'm getting a little bit sickkk...hmm...listening to this music isn't helping either//i adore it...however its always made me feel strange...always put me into that zone that scares me...but its wonderful all the same...indeed...its like...warping everything...my amazement filtered through a tunnel thrown against a wall...our gathered selves...gathered...smashed...split...then split...where have i gone today...but where ive already been///this song has ended and i go to the next///backwards////why is it that...nevermind//best not to...linger////ouch/...#$@^%...hmm...where are..nevermind...its best not to think about it at all/...this sounds like a siren it blares...like a boat...where are {quit}. and howling. like. stale scales///i can't keep changing just because you think i should...hm...where are..{don't/morri} //i know why you don't take what you need///stop/ because you're afraid. this could all end so beautifully {she says}{she is}{me}{though}{and I never}{think}{of the right}{things}/-i know its not a good idea /\but/ i know it would work best for me \and/i can be selfish too..can't i? now this song is over and...I need to feel another//it sbeen a while/i feel jealous...and i remember a time when {stop} with all this...again...you're only feelingthe absence///oh god i remember these theres that click...it isn't fair {she said}{and}{she}{is}{me} which is funny that way///you know///yes you know i'm talking about you/I know ive never been to kind\\\i want this;;;;;;;;where is this going[[[[[oh my]]]]my eyes are burning because the screen keeps moving its like a battle i can't compare///////inner conflict////melodramatic......enough....she said...where are...where....i flip the switch but it doesn't matter....why do you do this to me [stop it] listen its you but only with charm/you're crazy/i think it is in your best interest and your families/if we could just come to an understanding/no/we'll look into this further/no/a danger to yourself/no/a danger to others/so?/wait/no/no/no/no/don't look at me like that/what?/no/its not happening...my god...its not that simple...how do you know anyways? maybe you're more crazy then i...and that..wait...i can't say anything anymore...where are....why are you doing this....i can't...go along...with it....anymore...she said and she is me and i am forgotten...long ago...i thought...maybe I was...you...its too late now...i guess...i guess it is...what...i don't even know...i dont really even...I can't manage to...why are you...why...i know why you don't take what you need to...i can't keep changing...just because....this isn't a good thing...so close so close so close...you have no idea...how close...where are...why do you...what am....i...................just because......i can't see things...doesn't mean...i'm blind....psychotic....no....no...you can't stand there....you can'tflick thatpen....likethati'mnot fooled by your stature..maybe i can't admit...but maybe you can't...either....where...where...why.....ive heard this before...but then it wasn't for...[cough]nevermind...i'm sick...so what...enough of this stale fellowship////look at her/she's an exp...she can't even see words right....ouch..................doens't mean a thing..............so close...you have no idea.....and then what................i can be selfish...can't i? i sure can....talk the talk...and i sure can...walk it as well....oh look what ive done///history repeats its self. the dial never turns counterclockwise the tap never ceases its dripping...my back hurts.....my eyes hurt....my head hurts....my heart hearts......but mostly..my back hurts....where are.....[quit it] you're only making it fade....i know its these sounds that always make me skip the step......i have no. sequence of events....where are YOU....when I need you the most....she said and she is me and i am.....so out of style

Drat with skinny puppies in my head. I drink from metallic containers and think, where has my halo gone? I could have sworn I put it down right here. So that I could seem, dirty and faded. But now I want it back, and I guess, someone has stolen it from me. [laugh sequence] Have you seen my halo? It’s been away for years. On vacation with its dearest friend 24.112.158.238. Now I wish it would return. I received a letter the other day it said –i’m always running away from you- and I cried like a mother fucker. But that was the other day. And today is a day where everything lets me down. [sips from her metallic container]. My tolerance grows weaker. weak. weaker. [flickers]. I have bitten my nail down. I cannot defend myself. I see you with cracks painted across your eyes; interesting techniques form your mouth. Tres frightening, lest I shiver, you don’t know the effects it has on me. What I want you to know is. [sip] I can turn off. I can walk away. I can hitch a ride. If I feel the need. I can leave you thinking. What the fuck was up with her?

Converge and endure me I have become a stuttering indigo saint. With adoration connected to my influence. When I’m left wondering swallowed in my own mayhem, transmutation to a kinder essence begins. This mess we’re in. I know its a little intimidating, a little dreamlike but maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe this is where everything comes to rest. Maybe we are each other’s answer to our forlorn psyche. I have to question the validity of what I once believe in. What I once felt. I’m cautious now it’s true. I’ve been destroyed by this before. I just want you to know that...I’m such a fool for you...

fatal outcome peruses stealthy degenerate fucking unyielding sense of skepticism in performance on an ample stage of stardom with two cadavers beside each hedge and sketched into their ivory are the emblems of the idiocy you said with me so honestly I hate with all morality my son my plummeting idol I bleed with you even now when you are used up lets take this further/delicate embers in the quality of the contact when tracing morose feelings along my spine you twist and retch my enhancement if you incise this to my stomach I’ll hang by your admission this is this-stale regression touch my hand profligate errors I am purposeless leisurely thrashing by the coil of seething agony this is so dramatic I am so dramatic we are so bucolical optical my traditional epical he takes the lamb and opens its throat to the world walking talking upc codes she can’t breathe and he’s so regal dressed in fine elaborate fables of who is what and what’s betrayal I’m the queen of fucking melodrama king of deadly human taste dripping with vehemence posture I just can’t lay down my memory I just can’t replay the good things I just can’t imagine exhilaration/ slithering through my wrist you’ve become a part of what this awfulness is\

-i-take-all-that-i-need-and-let-it-work-its-magic-on-me-
-i-know-how-to-look-at-you-and-i-let-it-work-its-magic-on-me-

send my reverie to the highest chamber and let it scream until it goes you don’t know what you’re feeling now when everything gets a part of you----

[and moreover-i saw under the sun-in the place of justice-that wickedness was there-and in the place of righteousness-that wickedness was there]

 

Over....this is always.....over.....come closer....i have something....i have something to tell you...

 

And we dance oblivious to the other, mere players…

But its full of jackals and deckled airplanes and when it rides it rides like talon eclipse malignant and thus untainted because it is measured against the worst and feared against the worst and complete in striding hem built to fill and carved to dream-collection pragmatically-we do our best when we stumble on our coattails for we always buy them much too long much much too long-its a method and a game. To the top to be sturdy to the bottom to imagine and it comes together-nothing when I’m something. Blind but iridescent. Kissing stars and blood red skies has become a silent addiction. Nothing when I’m something.

i tried that when i bought my pants too big but i walked along the tails and i realized the error of my ways and i don't want to be your master i just want to let you go because it's not me who tells you to be so sad and it's not me that drags you down when you're not watching where you are going, i'm sorry , no i'm not, i'm not sorry for the pain you feel because it's what your subconcious tells you you need and it's not my place to correct that mistake, if you must dispise me do it for who i am, a seeker and a failure and the thing that you can never be because i am a being that is free.

How droll, the tackling shadow among serene miniatures and skeleton halos ricocheting off meaningless mimes in sunken streets that act the downfall of your bright-eyed misshapen demons. We are those that are gathered together and placed in cylinders with twinkling afterlife and drops of dark room jazz [sad and calm]. You have that outline of going places in dazzling attire but its running from your veins and not from the ringing of purposely striking the wrong chords to hear something a little different from time to time....

you seem to have mistaken error for airs which i do not carry needlessly around like a hound trying to pass for a verniable being i can show my true colors when i walk in the light if you try to see through me you see only what you want to see or what is locked away inside the disheveled center of your thoughts it's not my duty to tell you when you are wrong but i wont be chastized if i take the priviledge as my own.

And I enjoy this struggle of interpretation and how it veers from madness to simplicity-she isn’t jumping to conclusions but researching a few-lest we get callous in what we’re really trying to articulate-lets keep going-adroit essence brazenly burned into ones fluttering eye so that it springs open in disorientation but thankful to have stepped upon ethereal surfaces\we spin with words fastened to what we emit in defense in uncertainty and just in case\ and all over the world strangers talk only about the weather all over the world it’s the same....it’s the same....

it's the same from one blind eye if that is the only one you choose to use but when you peel back the layers you can see the inner clockwork that reeks and spits with all the turbulence of individuality, but i haven't forgotten the specifics of abuse that perpetuates and pestualates all dialogue into something that is a bit more easily digestible, it's not easy to open the blind eye and stare back at yourself

-walk backwards-

 

Melodic hiss of stolen faiths
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In the bottom of the barrel there are many little creeping things that twitch upon each other. Not a word is muttered. Not a ligament extended. And one telepathically motions to the others :::::[ The delight of reading: that has not grown dull. I am still wonderstruck by that metamorphosis of little black marks into a word 

Without answer, they devoured him in seconds. He didn’t show up anyway. He was always just a figment among the leaves. Getting caught up in the heavy sent of nostalgia. Leaving nothing but disenchantment in his synthetic shadow.
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You cannot break what is already broken. But you can leave it for someone else to fix.

I’m nodding off to the sound of the floor air conditioners. Today has been a very strange day full of ludicrous enticements. I’m not even close to kidding, however I’m also not going to elaborate further.

Ludicrous. Take Note.

“The downfall of the dust mice civilization” by Murdoc Mayhem.

To each there are three perpetual instances. Played out on dismal screens we observe as they replicate our current inhibitions. Whatever those may be. And these three perpetual instances hold us captive, and direct. It’s different for the next character collapsing their acoustic rendition of what the sounds of life really tell us. You see, damn it all. I have been interrupted. I’ve fallen out of step and lost the identity I was adapting to. I have also lost all grasp on what the hell it was I was trying to say. 

Murdoc Mayhem was a simple dust mouse. He was also the last of his kind.

The Beginning.

Oh the toils of elusive brain activity.

Every time you speak to me and every time I think about you I’m surprised at how real I seem to feel. Valid. I don’t know. It leads me to believe that maybe I can be about something good, something important. This is something different and it’s opening my eyes to a whole other part of me. I’m so curious about what’s going to happen and I’m also dreading everything…I want to go away…and examine life with you…destroy symmetry and savor the moment….nothing quite like the feel of something new…

Encircled in some beautiful symbolism. That is what it is, what it could be perceived as. Oh yes among many other sentimental points, but it defines us doesn’t it? I think so. Fragile. Pure. Honest. Compassionate. Tied by our respect, our wandering minds. In the center of lovely ruin. Blue and brilliant.

And I can’t stand this. It shouldn’t be like this. I keep turning, and expecting to catch your outline beside me. I keep hearing what should be you breathing.

I hate it that you’re not here. I hate it that somewhere else has the pleasure of your existence.

Drastic.

675321? [generates memory action]===abyss.

Oranges & Rings & Roses & Madness/------crossing.

Upshot: caught in the whirlwind. Reap it.

And the swathed imp tore away its preventive garments and stood upright across the morose terrain and it said “from this day forward, all shall crumble at my glance because all shall be truly beautiful when I lay my eyes upon it”. And the people of the terrain raised their heads in mock interest. They new his words couldn’t match his actions. They had heard this many times before. 

Stop handling me it isn’t working. Stop it because it is.

Disaster. Is at hand. Because I will it so.

So here we are. All these bizarre intensities. Shifting realities or would be realities. And those what ifs. And the "am I doing the right things". Am I going the right way? Right is defined by myself, yet how do I choose to define it. You want to know what I'm thinking but nothing is ever concrete inside my mind. It doesn't work that way. It jumps from the transparency of murdoch to the valor of raindrops to the fields of distortion to rainbows to chalk. Mixed in with quivering Silhouettes and dashing lights. Chopped sounds, high sirens. I want you and I want you and I want you too. All in sequence with the want of nothing. Disintegration. A fancy word for boredom.

I need to experience everything. And you're all just tools in my madness.

no.

The significance lies in the simplest of things.

Another delirious hopeful moment in the chronological spectrum of who and why. Stumbling about like a gloomy drunkard spilling out words with hidden meanings I have to remember that I’m actually conversing with someone, not myself. Not my collected selves. I have these things going on behind my eyes that aren’t pleasant things. And no you can’t imagine. I struggle with myself, trying to realistically manage my first thoughts. My first reactions. To whatever may be entering my mind. It’s so difficult. And so maddening to be a logical psychotic and not be able to explain it. I am a nice person. I am polite. I am quiet. I am normally fairly calm. I care about people I do not know, my eyes even tear when I witness certain things. I’d do anything for anyone. But then.

Then.

I am an uncaring person. I hate you. I hate everyone. I laugh pleasantly at someone in great pain. I want to hurt things physically, emotionally. I want to tear people down, people who don’t deserve it, though I feel they do. I want to inspire shrieking anguish as I destroy something very dear to someone. Be it alive, or not. I want to light people on fire, stab them, peel off their skin as they watch, I want to hurt and I want to hurt and I want to hurt....I could even enjoy hurting you. oh god could I ever.

There is no battle. It’s a game of chance. And I’m afraid.

I have been this way since I was a little girl. A little girl who used to hurt little animals, and love it. Then cry, as she hated herself so much for doing it, cry because she didn’t know why. Get angry for feeling guilty, and take it out on herself.

I’m different now, only because I’ve developed some form of control. But sometimes i lose it. And I cut myself. And burn myself. And tell myself bad things. Because I deserve it. I deserve all of it.

I deserve every fucking thing.

Rat race. Doleful organ donors line up behind the ----malfunction-----but there isn’t any room for-----malfunction-----so the conclusion was reached that------malfunction-----categorically------malfunction---stop------malfunction------must reach-----malfunction-------level of safety------malfunction-------stop---------------------

This iced tea contains too much sugar.

The orchestra is shouting “TAKE NOTICE”!!! So I do. But I see nothing.

I am aware of the fact that I’m not really aware of anything. There is an all to curious and strange reasoning behind this present charade. It applies strangely to a newly discovered coincidence, and what lies within it. Unfortunately I am falling into it. Victim to it. I just don’t know what it is exactly. And so, I wait. I wait and let the devil of fate shove me to where I’m supposed to be. It always seem to shove me in the right direction, it just takes me a while to realize it. Sometimes I have something to do with it. But mostly, it handles everything on its own. I can deny it or I can accept it. I’ve always done the latter. I think it’s worked out all right. But now. Now there is this strange twist. A mixture of love and hate and chance and conception and utter irrationality that bends the norm at inexplicable levels.

It’s all experimental. Isn’t it? Oh god I cannot be that heartless. I cannot be. I was never greedy in a materialistic sense. But when it came to….the test….the need to discover…to explore….to…..consume….to consume ones essence…to consume ones reason….to take all I can and fucking run with it…mold into a separate pair of eyes…..and apply them to mine…expand….

I don’t know. I don’t know anything.

I get so sick. So utterly internally deranged. And this feeling overrides me, this feeling of turning inside out. Tearing off my skin. And holding it in, hiding it, is making it worse. I’m getting worse as I learn to keep it in. Something needs to be done. I need to do something.

I need something.

I don’t know what anymore.

fuck I wish I understood myself.

I’m not a crack head I’m just addicted to you and your bloodless acoustic theories about wreckage in a dirty courtyard and the way you pick apart these shallow wonderings its just a simple thing to rewrite the back of your faults and its just as chaotic to wonder if you can hear it snivel through the vibrations in the pavement

I can’t even dream when I’m screaming.

I’m old and diminished. Sick and finished.

I’m waiting for my invitation to bring me over to utter freedom-I’m waiting for that one thing to happen that will strike my record clean of conscience and it is so close…so close...and I think I want it…I think I want it all…

I remember all the things you tried to adapt to. All the costumes you tried on. Each one had its charm, each one.

[invert][reorder][reject]

I approached the light with coiled intestines and as it reached for my ewer of rare blue starfish I changed into an enormous black swine with silver ribbons for eyes and counting blocks for hair I spewed filth and fantasy and covered everything in metaphor-singular prose wants you to holler a melody-singular prose wants a taste of your alteration-and so it ran and I set the starfish free they began to paint the cold warmly with shades of lemon and pomegranate little bits of scales and heat-this is my[fault]-----my[fault]----my[experiment]----I want red and I want bright red—this dull pain---this dull fucking pain won’t leave will it----it won’t----the source is selfishness and---and-----abuse----abuse has become trendy----it has----its fucking trendy----my wall and my corner my hell and my border was constructed by it---the truth of it. I’m waiting for it….when it chooses to break through and introduce itself…I’m waiting to meet it….waiting to sing for it…..waiting to complete it…..i’m fine….i’m just a little bruised sometimes….no film-no face-illusion in the welded confines of morality with the colors and the frames no ones faultless-------contract------verbal----------getting me to talk about it---terrible-----full--------full------------------------------it’s a metallic fire retained in an undersized glimmer of shame

There’s nothing much worth saying though
Without the picture books and postcards
There’s nothing much worth anything
Without the sky and its underlying asceticism

I have insects inside my head they’re multiplying at an alarming rate…..

In a small secluded town. They took off their limbs and created a web. They called it art as they happily bled to death.

In a dazed extreme I awake to the numbing pull of the world and all its obscure watered down shifty advances. There are crocodiles in the underbelly of the subconscious mind; green murky waters surround ankles and knees. She tries to reach an end to it all, but it stretches out beyond reason. A body floats to the surface and to the horror of the audience, it is the protagonist herself, a perfect replica. She stares down at her lifeless frame ill yet curious. What is this supposed to be portraying? There isn’t time to considering the symbolism in this part of the dream, I must keep going. The ceiling looms overhead, but a blue sky with chunks of yellow overlaps its reality. Moving slowly through the water as it pulls at my skin I feel motion all around me. I no longer fear the possibility of crocodiles[we have one old one but we never see him around here anymore]. It is the figures under the water I can see rising up, that have my attention now. And suddenly my arms are taken and I am being dragged through the scaled air and it feels like needles upon my skin. I can’t see them, but they’re hands are bones with wings on the fingertips. This doesn’t make sense. I see my bedroom window for a split second but it fades away again. I am being tied to the wall by my invisible assailants. In a dark cold cave of sorts full of hideously beautiful figures dancing to the rhythm of the fast beating inside my chest. I start feeling pressure as it increases and they increase and then it is no longer my heart controlling them but their speed controlling my heart and they begin to get faster and faster-too fast the sensation is unbearable-their wild movements, the vibrations in their footsteps-I feel it all invading my body and filling it beyond capacity. My skin begins to give way as it slowly tears I struggle to wake but it is not in my hands. The dark waves of unconsciousness come rushing in and everything turns into black swirling ripples. My ceiling comes into view again….my window….my walls…..I believe I am awake…..I have woken up…..I look down at my arms and still see their hands…..I breathe in and still feel their crushing weight…..

I am still a little confused as to whether I am truly awake or not. This low hum in the back of my mind will not go away….the icy feeling on my skin will not warm……I need you here to validate my existence in reality…..I need you here to hold me…..to make me feel alrite again.....

[I have you, delimited by the beauty of azure wishes, placed upon the pedestal of timid artifacts. There you spend your days coiling to the rhythm of ominous thoughts stolen from that tired little room that hoards all of those damaging tones of red and plastic. From all sides blurred figures approach and shrink back…approach…and shrink back……because you’re are accelerating….and the more speed you gain…..the more unreal you become….your hands….they are not your hands…..your mind…..it has become anesthetized by the onset of new tribulation……eventually….you fly off….out and up…through the stars and sonorous thunder……….. and you think…..i could float here forever……but gravity has always been the finest pillars enemy…]

Breathing settles and I’m left nameless and insincere. I hear the static voice ringing in my dread; my own vocal range has been cut short. It comes out in circuits. Spitting steal and molten discontinuation. We are devilish children in cheap canary suits, holding question we trot through the profligacy. It’s handing out flyers, and we are invited. I’m bringing stones. I’m bringing wire.

[where are you when I need you the most]

but it lacks creativity. -walk backwards-

 

 

trying to remember when. smiling. no. not then. and now. stretching across splintered rocking chairs. for me. its for me. drown. me. down. can you, change the scene a shade please. i would be forever greatful. and i would give you something. in return.

 

So then they said, we’ll take some nails and we will take some popcorn and we will mix them together, place them in the cupboard and then a week later stumble upon them and see if we recall why it is there and why it is significant. I’m drinking perilous liquid and it is slithering through my veins. Like twisting slithering vines. Veins. Vines. Vein…vines….sharp jagged thorns dragging across my abdomen….and my vine veins…strangling my esophagus…setting up a graph for me to follow. Little bones, sallow eyes. And the two of us baking cookies clothed in dusk.

Today my monsters put on mittens. But their hands were no less frozen.

 

So I start, slowly carefully with easy easy melancholy. Gifts and cigarettes, tiny goldfish and feeding raw hamburger to the piranha named fred. Sheets over the windows, pythons along the floor, television dressed in satin and silk. My rings, I have many. And until you are greeted at the door with a hug and a wink you cannot step foot upon this golden ground. Candles. Dripping. And the dishes never done.

Wandering. Lighting matchsticks. Wandering. Lighting matchsticks.

Blowing them out for the sheer joy of destruction.

I don’t know.

I really don’t.

It’s just a fettered masquerade ball.

 

Why don’t you know.
[shudder]
-cold iron insects-obsolete-morose-
how.
[shiver]
-scaling spine coated entrails-utilize-reduce to ashes-
to.
[shallow]
-lack of control-salt burning ocular disruption-faint-
help.
[shaken]
-reverberation-dull emotion-reprisal failing meditation-
me.

 

Will it be enough to save this swollen aphid full of nail biting habits and dirty ruminations.

Though we’d like to think so. It is doubtful.

born to swerve.

she pretends to be average.

 

 

Benign keys thud with immaculate resonance [replicate(2)]. And when triggering starlight impulses with a ticking finger changes the roll of decoded empathy the ball drops on rippled figurines who march and scowl along the roadways of here I am and there I should be. My stomach is exposed and inside it is shredded into a picture of chaos and wagers on my quantity of control. It is measured in sharp healthy tracks and now I pick up the receiver and a tiny voice whispers the description of my souls best friend [ancient elmicmantra]. [you are way off] I cry and slam it down. A strong feel to the air around me begins to introduce its intentions. I am dying I am dying and yes there is a bug residing in my ear the wonderful thing is he has begun to tell me bedtime stories. We sit back and play chess. I let him win because it is good for his ego. Being a bug and all he feels very inferior to my great human size. He says if I guess his name correctly I get a free spin. But that doesn’t concern me. It is bedtime in amymachine land, all authentic machines needs their rest. The bug is yawning and that is my sign. Until next time. We all live in the same world, but reside in different realities.

 

Run away. Cold lying in curves. I am heading nowhere with bodies on my belt, weigh me down. And I’m waiting to. Fall.

[this is me being beautiful]

-so-fucking-special-you-are-]----------------------no[undone]

hands to my temples in mimicking grief/---center of my regression and all the description of the wry mud and slivers with our comas on repeat, comforting self pity. Singing to herself in the skipping spotlights of nonbeing and a strange portrait of longing. I paint the taste of metallic sustenance; you cannot do without this infant position. I didn’t know I was the machine I always blamed it on you. Because he said I had too much blood in my alcohol system, and that the condition was easily reversible and in time would be. You have no luck because you turned to me. Called my number. Wrote me a letter. Sent it through the wire. Coil, northbound and on fire. It lives in me. I think it all comes from me.

[stale]

I expect more then anyone can give me

I want your dust in my anticordial stystem.

 

 

I am a tired girl. I want to sleep for warm eternities. I want to shut everything out and give in to the mysteries behind my eyes. The unreal melodies of future speculation, past regrets, wire, mechanics, brain matter. Self-inflicted cannibalism never felt so blissful.

Selfish

And an unstable stranger approaching me quietly keeping his intentions hidden while testing my strengths and my weaknesses. When I turn on my defense, I can be anything. I have you. Where I want you. Structural damage. Because you’d look so pleasant with your bones on the outside, laced across your delicate flesh.

I can’t hear myself walk. No sentiment. I want to make my ruling again. The one that takes me away from susceptibility. And I’m stomping on the ground but I can’t hear a thing. Yes. No. Yes. No. I can’t. But I am also not strong enough to cope with this. So what is there….I don’t know what to do….and you don’t care….no matter how cold it gets, you glance off into some distant world, oblivious. I am frozen to the sidewalk, one arm bent backward in spilled coffee. The structure protruding out into the harsh sunlight, warming itself. I can’t get enough of this garden laden with ebony petals, I wade through and they caress my vocal chords, travel down and through my body to nestle in its center. Give me more. I can’t absorb nothing forever. I have torn off my nails, one by one, to see what really resided underneath. There wasn’t too much besides a wounded inferno, licking at the buckle of their knees. And it makes me cry. Which causes me to swerve around my usual way of things, because I know it must mean something more, if its causing me to feel so powerfully. Even as I write this I am stapled to the eviscerated montage of disarray and auburn skies. You’ve taken everything from me, and now there’s nothing left. I understand…..but the struggle is devouring what little inner beauty I have left….and covering me with sand….

 

And he finds the book, full of all the torn images that will aid him in his search. Climb inside, hide beneath the worm ridden artifacts. Dripping wet carnage in the scream of lightening stretched out among the freckles. No one is left untouched. As the clouds move over my head, the wind halts, and I am left swallowing it down. Hold on. Look. What is that you think? You’re clamoring in terror now. Run. Die. Run. Vomit. Now it is time, now it is time. I know all about you. My slick squealing avaricious drone. I suppose it was inevitable. Spectacular. Feed. Release. Now you will know. One day, I hope this forms itself in your mind, and you smile when you get it. Soon I will make my appearance. But until then, enjoy your time in the playground of disaster, see how long you can keep it to yourself, when they walk towards you, crying blood red guilt and humor, see if you can keep your treasure close then. So cold Richard. My jesus is my open wound. Please take this all away from me. And let me have my normalcy. I need it. I need my break. Just a little break. It’s all I’m asking. Just a pause in the volume.

He got away with it. This can’t be the end.

No one plays songs for me anymore.

iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming iceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecomingiceagecoming

I am intelligent.

I am dumbfounded.

and.

cut the kids in half.

why?

because I am a geek.

sequence not available.

[abstractionfix]

maybeeeeeeeeeei thinkyou'recrazyyyyyy

transposetwinge: i don't know whats wrong with me
transposetwinge: i think thats the worst part
transposetwinge: because if i don't know what wrong, i can't even begin to work to fix it
zkillmenowq: hm...you're a complicated creature my dear. with many inner workings of wire and coils...i don't think that means there's anything wrong.

 

Enter two pairs of elongated cerebral clowns. Towering over the impressions they leave on the black and red checkered earth they sketch a backdrop of bent metals. It is impressive. And it shivers. We are frightened.

[the duck will go there among the termites]

they began placing the pieces of the puzzle about in such odd configurations that all we could do was detach our eyelashes and form a devilish prototype to represent our well-being

[we’ll practice animism and then cannibalism]

-Jesus Christ why don’t you come save my life now-

The delicacy of Tool is whispering softly to my spiraling corridor to be at ease with the mystique of two elongated cerebral clowns. I don’t remember turning my stereo on but somehow it was done.

It is getting late now. I haven’t begun to finish yet.

 

I discovered something I probably already realized but never really looked at it in this light. I think I avoided it. I avoid the truth about myself.

 

She picked up the world on the back of her fingernail and smoothed its delicate viscera….imagining the evening pink orange sunset….grey is colored….sometimes….she began to rasp a myth of contemplative penalties…why you shouldn’t think…anymore….and all the larva with its wide open eyes settled down around itself to focus….but it didn’t comprehend the sincerity in her words….the poorly veiled misery in her tone…the lunar ghost sobbed clusters of liquid sand….while the sunken audience took in the slenderness of her thigh….

[but I have drawn so many pictures, I have tasted so many interruptions, why can’t I dance on the shade and converse with shellfish free from your hateful glimpse]

you don’t know what it is to genuinely look at me.

 

 

So the end has been inspired by inverse realities, because of dreams you can’t have. This the pale form of not being able to move further. Visions of shadow and disdain. What have I learned from this intricate journey of pain and psuedo-pleasures. The validity of trust, the definition of sincere and ardent love. You can’t find what you are not searching for. Blinding there. The difficulties of removing your own eyes. A sea of collected dirty artifacts. Washing limbs clean of flesh and fallow mind. I grow weary of your existence. I grow angry with your flailing body. I move close to my comfort when you pass by me. I bare my teeth, at your incandescent confusions.

Here we are, submerged in two separate goals.

I have everything I require.

You will never ascertain your feelings.

Reciting theirs, applying yours. I am not amazed, moved, struck down. I will not smile, laugh, dance. I have flown beyond the heights you remain stubbornly in. I have this swelling intensity in my thoughts, this vigor, this amazing ability. Rare times I see it and I understand it. And I realize I could change everything with it. But it leaves me, because I am still young, still held by my own limitations. I can change this. I can evolve. I can take hold. I can manipulate everything. I can create beyond human understanding. I can do this, because something and I will it so.

At this late hour, I am calm, I am in control of my emotions. I am smiling to myself. And I know I will survive everything.

What is this dangerous confidence that introduces itself from time to time. It tells me a story of strange things to come.

Wake me up tonight because tomorrow is another day. On these mellow England streets dogs and English cattle march about ostentatious in their filthy coats. We play the bagpipes and write stories and we do not go to work on Wednesdays. In a moment, I will leave you and when I return I expect the walls to shine and the floor to sing. I will give you three and a half penny if you comb my hair, four and a quarter if you draw a bath. The sink is over flowing, the gutters jammed with unmentionables. In a moment, I will have to step out and I do hope you will give me a seventh thought. I bid you adieu. Echoes and ancients plea for my very souls soul.

I have returned, fingers solid and shrill from the ever-dropping fever. I must chose something so pleasing to my selective ear and burn the lights to a comfortable taste. Watered lips must not satiate the silence. The silence must not pronounce its own name. Hollow philosophical adores its way immersed inside my shoulder. Pain is the bead from my thin film; the scent is leaves of eucalyptus. Ether bleed. Allegorically unbound.

[embracing xyrophobia-(amychophobia)]

walking up to……and reaching out to………and taking hold of……………my eclipse….

Ah yes. It is dangerous for you now. Slowly the anger grows and creates small pockets in which to rest. To burn. If you continue with this. Flaunting awe of another. I will escalate….reevaluate…..cut down your psuedo-mysterious dysfunctional brain matter. I don’t write any longer because you’re not worthy to read it, nor am i. Or they. In a few short weeks the stems have grown. In a few short weeks the electrical charges have sparked new ideas….new possibilities…..and a clearer view on just what it is you’re trying to accomplish. I am becoming dangerous for you now. I have chosen to see what you’re keeping alive behind me. holding on the side, by chance I turn my back. Or by chance you turn yours. And you would risk this. Which spreads my eyes to see, it doesn’t mean so much.

I’m stuck in a moment that proclaims Is it possible now, that you don’t mean what once was thought. You do not feel the same. It is the weakness, I’m allowing myself to see it. This is…foreseeing the future under one light…..but there are other forms of luminosity….

And though I hope we flourish in wonderful stupor, the defense mechanisms are systematically removing all areas of vulnerability…you have been recognized as a threat….it is no longer…in my hands…

 

I wipe out or wish to wipe out everything that makes me feel slightly negative. Down. Out. I want it away from me. I weigh the bad against the good and however miniscule the bad it still wins over…and I want it all gone and I want to fade away and I just want to run…and I compare things to this and I compare them to that….and the simplest thing is to just….break off….I sit here and fret and observe and cry and shred and feel inadequate and lonely and I can’t figure out why I can’t let things go….i want too many things from what is around me….i want it all…I expect too much….i use….i devour…..i get nothing….when I’m given everything…

you really don’t understand how thin the ice you’re walking on is….or perhaps…its not a big deal for you…actually…I’m fairly sure….it isn’t….that it wouldn’t matter…really…that’s the impression that I get….and that’s upsetting….hm….[confusion/no care/concern] far below walking along streams of paper bags and inhalation. She mumbles and she fumbles and she doesn’t know what to love anymore. Code red. Code red. Code melancholy separation. If I love nothing there is nothing to lose and I can be free to wind down and set my head on the table and watch as it decays into a mountain of dirt….then I can grow beautiful green plants out of myself….and be at total peace……yes……..nothing lasts….it renews itself….but it doesn’t last…..and its just not fair to me or to anyone that dares come in contact with me……so I should I should…move to some underground land where naked machines twisted and crumpled create intricate jigsaw puzzles and take bites out of the rock walls to sharpen their teeth…

tired and again running low on that natural chemical most people have in order to keep their spirits glowing and in shape. Please don’t humor me, please don’t assume things about me, please stop thinking that you understand things about me. please make the effort to…I can’t even say it…..i can’t even refer to my need for constant comfort…..hm…..difficult……trembling….i don’t know…..i don’t….know…..i just sit here in my chosen isolation pondering questions I can never answer…..that no one can answer…..she thinks she is the worlds biggest mystery only because….she is her own biggest mystery…..devil…..fret…..puzzle…..cigar…..preemptive turn of events. I don’t know….

stretching out in boiling water, letting it cleanse the plastic skin, I want warmth…I want something…..

he walked up to the dwelling he rang the dwelling bell but the dwelling inhabitant had left moons ago…..he cried….then he went to the next house….she was long forgotten….in mere milliseconds….no-th-ing.

oh. something’s wrong. I will go about my daily business. Tra la fucking la

 

The sun never looked so dazzling with its wounded outstretched brilliancy. Immersing itself in liquid blue I am transposable to that sole expression. We walk under water dragging forthcoming venture attached to our ankles. Yes from the surface we are distorted and realigning each second, but down here all is still, all is calm, and all is everything I’ve ever wanted it to be. Gentle shadows tracing over our quiet balance, light melodies streaming through the fervent undertow, hand in hand; falling into the vortex of one.

 

On this day, I walk alone searching for you. But you have been taken away with the rest of them. And I stand in the center of everything. A small helpless little girl….part of a transparent backdrop….floating in the valley of space and splatter….