In my dreams ive been traveling or fleeing somewhere consciously shifting between dreamscapes, like in Quantum Leap
Are we all just trying to get Home
The revealing of the stuff
Mordality
change as a genome-mappable geometric plane
which was Put
You couldnt destroy the Wind,
Flowers born of ancient dew
05:30, 12 July 16
My mind is a torrent. i cant remember the last time i awakened angry, and so early to boot.
A bird’s morning song, rising from some grey-blue shadow sure, cuts me down my middle line with surgical precision and uncanny finesse – i hadnt even noted the stillness until the mammoth a.c. box outside kicked on and destroyed it. An anger intertwined with unspeakable sorrow exacerbates and one hot tear escapes down my right cheek
This machine drums out every subtle sound
Just wondering when death will come – and if im urging it on – Tired, ugly i guess
Taking mental note of own signs of psychopathy. It’s the “~pathy” part that gets me
Relic, i c u | it must require outstanding fortitude to pierce and draw a blade therein across one’s belly
Will i dance without my legs? Will i be cursed without my eyes?
Great movie line: “Would it have mattered?”
In Mokabees, just coming back from a shit. this one kinda hurt butthole on the way out, but i really wanted it out — i think my mind wanted to ease itself some & i became eager at the prospect of potentially having ANY of that hot dog out of my body — when i had that super wiener i definitely had the feeling “this shouldnt be here [in my body]”
Washing hands, in the mirror – as oft has happened in vulnerable times or “low points” – i look at my face with the classic mild surprise–and in the same manner as one may irrationally turn to suicide in the mind, i think to myself “this sux”; not my haggard face (my east coast face), not the circles or bags, the pockmarks nor moles, not even that i can never seem to do a thing with my hair — i see this brown skin, and in a rush of a moment when it feels like all of society’s -isms and -ists lurch at and onto me, i think, “this sux”
which is ridiculous–i do not suck nor does my skin or my hay-like hair–It is the effect of outward perceptions(?)
Ive come from loathing my reflection in the teenage years, to something of a solemn apathy
Too Queer to be “black”, to “black” to be anywhere, still black enough to die – silent stranger, arrested in the inbetween