where the sky seems hollow. the shadows of certain door frames have sinister intentions to capture you and consume you. everything echoes inside your head. rattling gears of a broken machine. the day passes by you like a slipstream, do you feel the pull of the tide? do you feel earth's shaking bones? all of the minerals and fossilized rodents that make up our carbon. looking forward to becoming carbon yourself?
you are well on your way, oh consuming of biproducts, of unhealthy life decisions in order to sustain the burning sensation of pleasure receptors in your brain, they constantly firework in that numb skull of yours, you wish to keep everything simple and to put absolutely zero thought into your surroundings. stay small, it might be where you belong.
nights of silent suffering, with no power for the radio, with only vehement thoughts, cultivated by previous drunken rage, and exaggerated by splitting headaches compounded by the lack of soothing music to carry me off into that sweet blissful reality-exit. It's safe to assume that sleeping is much like death. A dreamless night of spacial unawareness. where you float through your astral body until the sun dies and the world turns into a spiraling block of ice to collide with comets or other bodies, I will watch and laugh in an eternal lotus position, through space and time, watching my whole life unravel before my eyes and always regret how I failed to soak up the essence of situations, but I can't drown in regret with a dead liver, and no sustenance is required after you die, your heart is now an object of science and of brevity, we lick our lips at the taste of cigarettes and smoking through vomit and the excellence required to be fully committed to present moments as they occur, the ability to remember and to forget all of the vices that fuck with this remembering self. the experiencing self says pour another shot. the remembering self says you will not remembering this shot. you pour it on the nearest planter, killing life without remorse in your heart, a raw answer to supposed divine questions, we will decompose like fruit in the grave, tombstones in the sky, launch me out of a cannon and over the sea, I'll laugh and cry and explode into oblivion, can you do that for me jesus?
fall into an unforgettable rhythm, although a dark tangent, the excuses almost always instantly lost because there is never validity, the truth exists and we ignore it for personal warmth or for societal norms which need to be crushed beneath our feet like cockroaches who will in turn outlive our species after the next cold war turns hot.
life is a cool colored twisting confusion. we are elements in a machine we can't comprehend. cogs in a wheel know nothing of the concept of the wheel. they are cavemen before they entered caves. they are our ancestors though somewhat got it wrong a very long time ago and now political beliefs consume people and they use the words of others to justify their atrocities, their incongruous thought and action, the polyrhythm of life, where we sleep soundly in baskets pushed down vast rivers, we experience the world with blinders on to cancel negative thoughts.
I'd kill to be more self aware.
Understand how this body works and how the mind unravels.
constant new discoveries
be humble
don't buy into the standards.
the expensive watches that have the time wrong
constant disappointment in humanity
all following each other like lemmings
because we don't know who to trust
or who to love or who to fuck
the nights are not silent
they are full of the dead eyes
of brilliant liars
all of us involved in a massive scheme
keep progress to a minimum
so we can rape the earth a bit longer
