I will become the chilly wind on a Wednesday afternoon in winter. I will become the Wednesday Afternoon. Watch the leaves fall and then crumble into nothingness on the cracked pavement. There once was a puddle left after a late spring rain and oil swam in it like minnows. The oil shined it’s beautiful sheen like a peacock’s feathers. Can I weather this storm inside me? I paid attention in school. I paid attention to what my parents told me. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue like diamonds. Does anyone have any spare diamonds? In elementary school a classmate gave me a piece of glass that was trimmed into the shape of a diamond and he said he was from the future where diamonds were everywhere, I wonder if he was telling the truth. It’s cold at the bus stop and my skin gets bumps as big as mountains and the chills shake me like electric current. What is virtue? What is value? Is value always in relation to something else? Living in the kingdom of artificial scarcity, I wonder a few things. I wonder what my life would be like if I had parents who nurtured me. I wonder what my life would be like if I had a safety net to fall back on. These are just a few things I ponder as I scratch lines on the cave wall. The bon fire casts light that licks the wall like shadow tongues. I wonder what is behind a shadow. Does a shadow have a shadow? I want to be friends with a black hole. I want to be friends with a star. I wonder what would happen if a light was cast and it lit up every little crevice of my psyche and I could see what the darkness wraps up in it’s void blanket. I shake out the darkness like I lost an item in that blanket. I’;m looking for a piece of jewelry or maybe the "diamond," I mentioned earlier. Virtuous. Nauseous. Cautious. Trust issues, trust fall, trust spring, trust summer, trust the wind on a Wednesday afternoon in winter. When the embers burned to nothing, I went back inside with my eyes dry and my clothes smelling of smoke. The wind changes directions and the smoke proliferates my sinuses. I live to tell the tale, I live by chance and heads or tails. Dead end job, dead end life, dead end prospects and hobbies. Reading as a child, I don’t feel real, I live through the pages as a character of my own design. Is it all by design? I hope not otherwise God is disturbed in ways I don’t want to think about. I hope there is a higher power out there that will embrace me one day. My domain gets very lonely despite having a community to fall back on. Punching in the numbers, punching in the clock. Closed eyes dirty sheets and dirty socks on the mattress. Strike a match, 3 strikes and you’re out, out and about and drowning in a crowd. don’t think, don’t judge, don’t blink, don’t smudge the ink or the paint or the glass. Don’t drink. Don’t pass out. Close that door like Chief Keef said. The door with the demon pouncing through it, the door without a lock. The door that sparked an argument that led me to be displaced. The door in my mind ;d rather not acknowledge or ever open. ;d never open it even a hair. The hare that we follow down the way and through the looking glass and through today and tomorrow and yesterday. I wish I wasn’t Alice, noone takes Alice seriously. Take it with a grain of salt, take it with a shard of glass, drink it with a chaser, bottom out the glass. There is blue salt on the sidewalk and the concrete is chipping away similar to a river bank eroding from flooding. Lately I can’t think of what to write. I am someone with many things to say but ;m becoming a person who listens more than anything. ;m attempting to hear the rhythm I often overlook in my flow states. I want to hear the flow state of everything else. I take a deep breath. I almost forgot to take my medicine I will do that now. ;ve spent so much time thinking of what ;ll do and forgot what I was doing. Exit through it, the door I left open. When you know that after certain things there will be noone to hold you afterward, no warm embrace for you in the after life or in the current life. Forever tainted by the decisions made before you were even conceived as a thought or a concept or idea. It pains me to know what I know. It pains me to be who I am. I wake up and my skin crawls with bugs and the window is open. I wish the air wouldn’t constrict me, I wish my honesty wouldn’t convict me, nothing can convince me that anything is okay. Nothing can convince me any of this is easy and I accept that fact to the best of my ability and I take another deep breath. I keep fighting.

Mutation of vision and perspective division, divide up attention, the tension, the setting is shifting the rest of us lifted on the gift of redemption. Transmute, T.V. on mute refute, refuse, chute, shoot, who is who?

glitch me out and watch me fall to pieces, the wails heard from the summit disturb us, use your inside voice, inside choice and truth and lies there’s a little compartment.
camera branding is scraped off the plastic and turned to particles, there’s ash in the grate outside in the backyard, ash that once was paper that once had ink that told of a few things,
the era we come from and the zeitgeist and all of that.
grunge, unwashed clothes and morning sickness
movie stills and moodboards and save files.
liminality losing my train of thought and losing reality.
cyber sigilism, building artificial exorcism, systematic
building liquid obelisks, oddly twisted and at risk, rake in leaves and hold your fist out for the handouts
fractal fragments made of snow flakes, the imagined notation that we won’t follow. follow your agency out the room
a web crawling with spiders and struggling bugs that happened to run into the aforementioned web.
divine machinery, my fingers pluck away at the keyboard hydraulically.
its all automated angel blood, its all angel blood, watch the angle of the flood, my ankles sink into the mud. angel blood, angel mud cleanse, suds from soap from the aforementioned cleanse
play pretend, attached to the end like an hr giger painting.
gage your sensitivity with me, lets be proud of our shame and break it all down, lets be contradictions, living breathing contradictions.
hit with the 2000s smell, hit with a reason to sell my soul, hit with a reason to tell my goals to everyone around me.
just a girl who blogs, just a girl who blogs, just a girl who blogs, just a girl who blogs, just a girl who blogs

bathroom mirror fogged up by the recent shower, car mirror fogged up by my breath, we’re headed for death, we’re heading to hell for heaven’s sake
;ll find my forgotten core, ;ll design my own fate and watch the boredom grow on your face as I describe it in detail. words won’t do me justice
flyover states, injustice, had to make a few adjustments, the growing budget, the smudge on the glass, a touch of the grass on my skin stained like paste, make haste, fade to grey
motion blur on the trail cam with the deer in the abandoned messy stone structure, it’s made of limestone to be exact, become a cryptid with me lets watch the memory of us become obscured. suburbs and blurred minds
abandoned time, abandoned twine in a plastic bag that will be resold on the shelves at Goodwill messy
;ll wait till there’s less of me
;ll sink into the old web,
the cold hand of death hold’s my head.

living up to expectations, taken, forsaken this life
it gets so difficult
theres way too many eyes
watching me in a centerfold
it gets so hard to please
watch me melt like ice cubes
standing with disease
im friends with it and so are you

i listen to the inane hiss of cars on the highway traversing over melting slush. the summer months becoming, what am i becoming? what have i become? bee hives full of bee cum. honey secum, septum, lorem ipsum, if this then that, if alive then kill, better dead than real, reel to reel, raid the fridge, raid the end of the earth for revenge on the hearth that burned and burned and burned with anger and a coat hanger abortion and a coat hanger snapped into two different portions, potions and curtains on the window made of leather, life made of pleasure, life made of plastic, life made into a classic novel, literature, overture, are you sure? are you insured? are you injured? what can i endure?
what can I pretend to endure? what’s fake what’s real? what’s manufactured artificial substandard submarine, join the marines today the ad says, stay awake for days thats what my brain says, stay away from pain thats what my skin says, typing new words on the index, inflect my voice, infect my face and rejoice after you’re done and over with and burnt out into a pile of ash, pile of cash that’s nonexistent, negative cash in the bank, thank god, thank the hankering you have for sweets, sweepstakes, sweep your room, death and doom and gloom and no room for anyone else on earth that’s what the housing people say, stay awake for what you get for christmas underneath the pine tree that’s shedding shedding shedding as times passing passing passing, passed out on the floor, flakes of scalp on the drawer, laws broken immature, it’s all a chore, chose to change to more, chose the change chump change changed from nickel to copper, cops and their coffins and coughing ;ll take the offer, the material bargain is tempting, the sun is leaving, the moon is rising, my soul is retreating, its my treat, ill buy you a drink or two, sink the boat, sink the canoe, can you do it? can you make it till next year? quarter of a century and I have nothing to show for it, lost in the forest of thoughts with the fog and the draughts and the rot in the branches of the tree that fell over on the roof of your house, the root of my tooth falling out, the root of all evil in a drought, drown doubt out with the sound of music, use the auditory use the labratory, told a story, jumped off the third story, stole a rock from the quarry, a quarrel a query a theory an eerie feeling that slightly grasps my skin then strokes it.

I dedicate myself to the slab, the slab that heals all, the slab that frees the mind from pain and torment of the flesh, the slab that creates mindfulness in every path it takes.

What whim will take me back to the heart of you? What beauty is the eye of the beholder on this fine afternoon? Turn the chapters in a book, turn your laughter into tears, turn your tears into a tea, take my spot inside the air we breath. I count my breaths, I count my sheep, I count the hours that I sleep. Sleet falls on my head and shoulders, dandruff in the winter and head and shoulders shampoo. Shameful husk of a human. Hide from myself I can’t prove I exist. Exit the room, I don’t miss you. You remind me of a time in my life ;d rather forget and I don’t hold resentment against you for that anymore. You were ill equipped to handle my state of mind and to be fully honest with you I don’t think anyone was equipped to tell me what I already knew and for it to stick and feel real. I never felt real for the better part of twenty years and often I still don’t. I held a lot of pain over how neglected I felt by you but at the end of the day who you are is not for me to judge. I know who I am and how ;m perceived, ;m afraid to admit that. I still love you but I don’t miss us. I miss when anything from before 2025 felt on any level redeemable. I hope you are well. I still think about you and I wish I could’ve made our time together less harsh for the both of us.

I leave my heart at the foot of the slab. I laugh at the times I took too many tabs of acid then wince when I get close to that one memory. ;m dirty, where do I go to get clean?

777111 Octava Spera Mnemosyne Celestial Memory

i can't waste any time i've spent
i cant taste how the climate changed
in the room we were made in the room we decayed
flush a few decades down the drain, unmade
fade back into the spring, fresh water
we were fresh slaughter for the author of the book
what did it cost for the souls you took?
what did it cost for the rules you broke?
the rules you uphold you were blowing smoke
we were napkins, we got folded up
told me quit and told me good luck
stuck getting fucked by the golden goose
i was outside in a molten noose
i was outside got a no good truce
from the oldest trick in the book.