12:00-12:20
Play until fingers bleed and wrists cramp up awkwardly. When your forearms are huge. I want to take a night away with a lovely girl. I want to create and hold on and drink and paint by candlelight. I want to bask in the warm reflective glow of innocent kids. Mix drinks for each using random things from the fridge, recently filled. Make up names while handing them to each other. Try to pick out the juice and alcohol used. Just to see if your tastebuds are acute enough to date. Mine's called the white and black out. White Russian with an extra five shots. Those drawing, craning my neck, watching a movie between exasperated gulps of air. The rain makes things dirty and I feel like I'm inhaling mud or dust. You're red face and your tan hands. I will get revenge. You steal girls and I am celibate. I am a monk in a monastery but without a primary focus. I am a scatterbrained monk of many different disciplines. I study the air and the water. The fellow hermits are test subjects and we enter and return from Plato's cave in regular succession. Read up about the thinkers. The Einstein's and the DaVinci's. Most eccentric artists of the renaissance period are fascinating in their insanity or their incredible bodies of work. Their incredible work of bodies. (inhaling thrills through 20 dollar bills).
Vivid existentialism. If only literary theory revealed itself to me in a language I can read and feel. (from the cascades to puget sound). Dress up in a suit to sit at a computer and drain life fluids from your ears. Let your face become paralyzed into the screen, into the void we climb higher still. Nobody knows what happened to the one with no legs they just help him into and out of cars or buildings. Good riddance he says and hopes they get run over by a train. Shit.
Nose ring. Feathers in hair. Beautiful singing voice. It appears they all just live in a type of commune. They have sex with each other and smoke dope in peaceful harmony. All the while brushing up on music theory.
5:08 am
this is technically the 19th but if anyone argued i would kick their ass, i am holding my tongue between my teeth to keep out the evil intrusive thoughts that plague this existence in frame. I am sinking farther into my keyboard and it is frankly getting hrader to type but there were lines waiting to be smoked and to be written about. There were genuine moments that could partially be enhanced by the sheer proximity and moment, transient, as it is. We all miss it and I type without any real meaning. Hollow and holy words that will help me pass the night alone in a coffin.
