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long-form writings:
meandering ramblings:
- 1784444000: there must be something im missing. some thing thats making it so hard to sleep tonight. eyes open but never really seeing, just that special way my eyes work. maybe its the song of my mind, getting stuck in a new and extravagant way. imperceptible microscopic uncontrolled decents into something which has no mouth but must scream has no hands but must claw and has no eyes but must see. that's it; my eyes are open but im not really seeing. the pull of the universe, that heavy weightyness, is lifting from my chest and heart so that it may move normally again. t the least bit anxious, i promise. the meds are working. please dont make me take more meds. so hard, so hard to sleep tonight. the pull of creation has its grips on me again. i feel most at home. most in control when im writing. so thats what ill do until the thoughts are clearer, defined enought and devoid of that strange mentalic taste. i dont want more meds. i dont want to go back. doiling am i the frog with no escape, the slippery walls of my mind forcing me back into the hot, uncomfortable water. lest i be taken back to the world of which my mind come from. i do not wisht this on my worst enemy. i dont want to be on more meds.
- 1784417564: hot tension in her muscles causes her to convulse uncontrollably, her body the writhing pre-corpse of a squashed bug at the heel of the world. the shock of the fall was enough to leave her mind reeling, fresh red paste still dripping from her face where a fresh lasceration had been struck. with a tip, then a tumble, then freefall, she was left scrambling, her arms and legs flail helplessly, trembling hands gripping at nothing but the air. she was dead.
- 1784409689: my short, stubby fingers tear at my wrists. "traces of circuts and circuts of traces!" i shout, "traces of circuts and circuts of traces!" my neck, my arms, veins everywhere, millions of tiny logical circuts all working together, screaming my name, ones and zeros flowing like a broken firehydrant. each bit and byte and megabyte and gigabyte and terrabyte tearing at my psyche. symbols of florescent green blotting my vision, its so hard to think! "traces of circuts and circuts of traces!" i hit my head agaisnt the wooden floorboards, a pool of blood forming beneath the strike-zone.
- 1784069941: the siren of solitude, her sonnets rippling from beneath my skin in waves. her gifts are for some, her love for none, and her terror must be meant for all. "would a man so heroic his hands steady, mind clear, dare to challenge the challenger of the deep? for a man so heroic, his salt filled lung, heart bare, you're not much of a challenge for the challenger of the deep."
- 1784000634: in the rolling hills that are my human experience, it is appearent that now that i am viewing my life from the outside; a passing train and a longing gaze from a smoke-stained window. distressingly it's few and far between that i feel the clairvoyence of a peek between the hills into the cloudless sky. these moments are colored in dread, the deep black and purple sun shunning me for looking too deeply; i am terrified of what im becoming.
- 1783979413: what is a time if not the bellows of a beast, filling and emptying while craning its neck, overstretched, its tendons and veins pulling and stretching and twitching? who is the passage of time if not the beast who seeks its resting place, eyes scanning an endless sea with no dry land to lie on? where is time if not the cage in which she's kept, lock and key, serving the mind and the body, a slave of the soul and the human experience?
- 1783827938: i saw god today on the corner of main and fifth. spectacular red, her wrath a luminescence. mighty, all powerful, the fist and palm who hold me still, very still, with a firm grip made of calcified terror. the many faceless men perform their ritualistic dance of slow sways; imperceptible to all except for i ... 4, 3, 2, 1 ... glistening green, and pastures grow; from times without a touch of her humanity, her love a luminescence.