Strutto, a hypnopompic hallucination

What was painfully odd to me, at the beginning of the foray into the subliminal liposuction of my grossly incandescent professional transformation, was the slow and perspiring descent of lardy over there to graciously, and maybe even begrudgingly, accept me as one of their own. Kind of like a very long-winded induction-cum-hazing into the silly little microcosm of who-gives-a-fuck, making one wonder what was all that hullabaloo over these past few weeks were for; a haven for hypocrisy, perhaps, or self-doubt. It is somewhat reluctantly disenchanting to feel due to the manner with which it complicates my relationship with others and myself, first and foremost. This is precisely how I came to be, not the one I used to be, but the person I feel like I truly am; one that ceases to partake in the jests of pollution for fear of being taken for less than nothing. For however relief I feel compares to absolutely nothing when it finds itself accumulating into moulding rage at the back of my head, even if its aroma is most certainly enticing. A new ingredient, only recently discovered, that now morphs me into this pioneer of self-defeatist extremism that not even the emos and the screamos combine can even imagine, let alone live a life of.

To be fair to these aggrandising fucks, were I to be moulded into being one as well, I would most certainly give in, for all is fair in tête-à-tête. And it is due to these mechanical anomalies in the system that I find myself wanting to distance more away from the idiosyncracies of modern lifesurfing. There is a prize at stake here, by which none of the persons within their ever-so-important microcosm cares to want to attain, except perhaps by me alone, and it clings to the hope that this charade will anthropomorphise a lard into becoming an actual human being. Kind of like the same one I am talking about and referring to, of which I spun the web they spat. And within their domain I watched as the victims all clung for dear life while being consumed intermittently by the same strutta to whom I respect and despise with equal measure.

The revelation that slapped me earlier today signifies something other than a simple let-go-and-let-god thing. More of a one-person horrorshow who has the mental capacity of a rabbit with twirly eyes and  constantly being high on narcotics. But truth is that I remember a certain someone's nameday only a month and a week later after it took place. It should be a good thing because it is, and will leave that bullshitton where it deserves to be for now.

There is a storm ahead, but I feel fine...