Saturday, January 2, 2016

life support as a construct.

00Ooo00one. on life support.

when i look at something and believe it is there, i worry about the devil having an influence on me. we are all slaves, you know; truly subservient, subservient to anything that says it isn't. our shadows are coming forward, coming together, forming a monster. we don't try to turn it back into the way it once was. our shadows are now here.

the rest of me is animal.

there's a fork ahead of me in the river i've been swimming. it understands that what i want to happen is what i consider the right thing to happen. i remain before this fork in the river with it rushing past my two hands that are petting the fish in the sea. i do not see myself going anywhere anytime soon. now is the time to float on my back, to be the sea, the wind, the sky.

the sky is tearing me, loosening tissue, giving me to the clouds.

how many...? how many...nuts? how many nuts have hit you on the head? did you hit your head as a baby? yes, in fact, i did. i fell down a staircase in a stroller. you do not know how much the past means to me.
i've spent so much time ruminating. everything has broken the boundaries of reality- these things on which i ruminate appear far more present than they really are. the things i don't ruminate over are the things that are present, but...but i overlook them.
i have two candles burning. one sweet basil deal, twenty some-odd dollars, and one i made myself, beeswax. i'm getting a nostalgic feeling for all the boys i love in one car. i dive into the car and drive it off a cliff. now everyone has died in ecstasy. everything is taken care of.

i hold air in my chest and bring it into my abdominal region. breathing is my favorite exercise around. i'm reading about suicide and philosophy and rebellion, words in front my face. "today is the best day i'll never remember."
i wait on my bed of desert sand, waiting to pass out, i guess. i kill time by reading the works of sappho. i feel so ready. i feel this ready because i feel peaceful.

it is time to fold this world into a tiny square until it disintegrates. i'm not feeling right. i'm going to sleep. time for the next life.

ttt2ttttt2ttttwo. the woodlands of criminals.

my mother is suspicious of me, probably because i began acting differently since i purposefully drove off a cliff and killed many people including myself. she's just being a mother. i will always be her little baby.

i will always be mom's baby because her bed is cold as hell.

i've been spacing out a lot while driving recently- i think it's because i'm stressed. in my spacing out i found myself watching over a pizza place (planning out exactly how a date would go with some guy i met for like half a second), a group therapy session (planning out that too), and myself about a month ago (to find out if i've changed or not). look, there i am now, being carefully observant. charming the people i've just met.
walking forward with my eyes closed was the next step in life. it was doomed to happen. i finally made a mistake and had not choice but to allow it to continue to live. i then proceeded to tell the world to go fuck itself someday. i am blind. i am blind. this is my walking stick; my "i'm blind" sign.

listen up.

once upon a time there was a fugitive. her life did not start with disgust. she was born in a jungle among leaf litter. she knew the leaves and the other creatures of the leaves as the whole world.
one day she turned thirteen and hated everything about her home so she left. she found herself sneaking away, splitting, wandering off to what turned out to be the big city.
after a few hours of applying to be a little bitch girl in a dungeon, she found herself mummified and stuck to a wall, all four of her limbs chained to it. all she knew anymore aside from her own self shriveling away was cocaine and probably whatever else was laying around.
poison grew in her body and she became an evil fugitive. her name was lydia lunch. she showed the middle finger to all who were blind before, but now can see. they see that they can burn.

it's interesting what could happen next when things fuck with you. you could become a saint after suffering. you could run into the impossible.
for instance:
the other day i watched myself get depressed to the point where i was ready to spend the rest of my life in my bed. so i got up, and i walked. i lost myself, probably because i was escaping into the music i was listening to. i felt like i was being swept between waves in a very big aquarium, the reflection of the sunlight resting on the tip of my tongue.
i'm an aquarium, myself- there's this tide inside me, or a parting of the ocean in me from the shore. the tide wants to protect all of its little starfishes and seahorses from the burn of the sand on the shore when it is dry. the shore doesn't want anything to do with the ocean, either. they're both too good for one another.
there is a girl on the shore. she knows how to sing well. she fucks mighty. she does what you want to do. she is the fugitive.

she walks forward not knowing where she is going, not attached to anything, and certainly having nothing to do with chains. not a single chain. she is free to go. if you were free to go, you'd wander the earth just as well, too.

the fugitive hands me a bowl containing vanilla wafers. i can eat them, she'd love it, they're better than sex- but the cookies are from alice's adventures in wonderland. one bite of one cookie will make the pressure of the sky continue to weigh down into my head; will make me get crushed into, only on the inside. that's a problem because it's one hard to explain.
however, there are other kinds of cookies in the mix. one will make me dispassionate, wanting only to eat and sleep. one might not bring me anywhere. one of the cookies- this is a special cookie i speak of- returns you back to the weight of your shadow. the other special cookie brings you the fur of your animal.

i eat all of the boring-ass fucking cookies in the bowl, as well as the sand, and the sky, and the fugitive. i lick the crumbs. nothing shall exist any longer. i tear a hole in the multiverse. i discover damage- it's an enormous nerve ending i've snapped. i discover this is a body i crawl on. i've turned off a leg or a thumb or an arm. their respective abilities to feel. the place they step on, where they go to be crucified, is kitchen tile covering scum.

hi; i am a gaping hole in the universe, but that doesn't mean i can't do what you can do. my lights blink without rhythm. i walk toward the woods at night.