The Sanctum did little to alleviate my anxieties. I woke up half-baked feeling like a nugget hanging off a frying pan. Say farewell acrobatics! Fool such as I does little to merit such clean-shaven madness. So my day goes on the usual. And when I say usual, I mean usually bad. At least it's not halfway through. But I've been here long enough to know what it is that I know.
Friday, 20 April 2012
Last night I dreamt that somebody with halitosis poked the living shit out of Billie Jean with syringes and Stanley's
To go on the record I would like to say clairvoyance has particularly been a neglected, unresolved issue that concerns me. For whatever it's worth, I fear for my gullible self, for I believe not in such things, yet I am obliged to be wary of not underestimating such a powerful, enigmatic, undefinable force.
When I was younger I hated wearing shoes due to the fear of cockroaches living inside one of them. I've never even for a second experienced such a thing let alone heard anyone experiencing this sort of absurd and paranoid idea.
One day it just happened. Just like that. I put on my shoes -- and as fast as I could flick my finger -- this tiny cunt flew out of my Nike, crashed at my carpals and oozed its way from there to the radius and almost to the clavicle before it leapt to its doom to the ground where my mighty Nike awaits. I've never been so equally grossed out and bloodthirsty at the same time in my life. But this moment proved mightily a lesson for I.
Surely there were other moments to ponder which are on top of my head but somewhat hazy. Clairvoyance certainly is being taken noted in the back of my brain.
The fucking shit of all and why I worry about this is due to this weird paranoia of me being in the dark and persistent flashing images of a Sadako-esque figure having a stroll from my behind. Not much of a puss when it comes to dark but I'll be damned about the damned. One can never tell!
Agnostic or not, the greatest trick God ever pulled was convincing the world He did exist.
I told her nothing of relevance; only minor details, precautions, sweet impulses to show my passive aggression. This woman is as thick as a rock.
Wishing I could penetrate through her blue barriers. My reputation had been salvaged to a point of no return. The eyes of peers pierce through me even without direct contact. This is no exaggeration. The fact of the matter is that she just doesn't give two shits about me. This isn't the low self-esteem talking either. I know. You just know. You just fucking know when to stop. And I clearly should before it consumes me whole.
Now someone told me my mind is not me. I wholeheartedly agree. Even an inch of my mind's machinations, I find, are barely coherent, although manageably flexible, meticulous, and smart. The person that stares back at the mirror, on the other hand, is indecisive, immature, incompetent, bipolar, and nihilistic. Two completely separates entities both drawn together by the same neurotransmitters. Quite Jungian in nature, Nietzsche too.
Today my rapid eye movement was remarked upon by an acquaintance in the most unlikely scenario. Was I but a vessel, empty and expendable, or a torch-bearer of all that is good and fine in this world? Death and dying. Spitting out missions and visions for a future of uncertainty and heartaches. Wherever the silence reawakens there is always this one wake-up gasp to ruin the magical moment.
Brings me back to images of 'tis little, doe-eyed girl, seemingly harmless yet vile to the level of the utmost cunning kind. Bring me neuroimpotence. Lobotomy to the parietal and occipital lobes, cutting cords that connect the passions with the desires, fantasies. Then the sun, finally brought into an extremely myopic view, engulfs my senses with denial, putting an end to this farce.
Sunday, 8 April 2012
In my dream I witnessed bridges torn asunder by the wrath of my own hands. Swaying and swaying and swaying, back and forth, left and right, horizontal, vertical, diagonal, and swaying. The sky was dark by the smoke with which the torches breathe, and on the following minute an explosion so devastating the world experienced a monumental crash. All by my doing and everyone staring at me from below with vile and intent.
They rebel against the cause by which their lives were put upon.
But there was no cause.
Destruction is neither my salvation nor theirs. Neither my entertainment nor theirs. There are things that least require comprehension. There are things that just go out of the way of their course and into new velvet.
An elevator, when my best friend fell from the topmost part crevice, woke me up to a deep, dark breathlessness in bed, confused without relief. The blanket comforts from my trapezius up to the ankles, all except the toes.
The bridges I tore are back to normal, as my eyes begin to shy away.