inspired talk of the crazy variety

this place by place I mean within my head a landscape crafted by sounds and ideas and visions borrowed from all sources external meaning the scape of the mind, this place is shifting and changing with the tides with the moment, the colours are moving back and forth as quick as they can the feel of it is something fluid something unpeggable that you can't as they say put your finger on. I don't know much about it aside from what they tell me... unravelling. untravelling. reverse progress. the complete inability to move forward. sucked back into the skull like eyes of jelly absolved and resolved through a straw.
I think that maybe once all this hooplah is said and done that I shall go towards the sun a single thread to be undone this cause is lost among the throngs of right and true believers madmen and sweet deceivers what was it that you asked for what was it you last said these ears are so faulty so completely incapable of piercing the miasma you call a mind how did you get so far your maps are all so useless...
my guides have all collapsed and fallen off the edges of reason and right and true, rotting in the valleys of madness decomposition slow sickly smells wafting up from the dust and bones

cold winds bring the miasma once again

(G)0thIc picturebook

Abuse delivered to a body like this one is guaranteed to generate results of a serious nature why is it that everytime I see myself reflected in the eyes of another I always look so twisted mutated distorted expressions puked from the maw of a monster oddity in one mirror is never anything but oddity in any other someday I will be remembered by my peers as someone incapable of reconciling with society's virus, the man who could never take the cure in silence, the beast that muttered and gibbered and begged with the powers that be, in a serious effort to destroy everything that makes me normal all that keeps me trapped within the confines and walls of this miserable species, I pray for escape, to be carried away on wings of leather and latex and mascara, rescued by an angel of aesthetic horrorbeauty, consumed and crushed recreated and spat back out in a fury of filth and shameful ideas, these hands will take your body and not give it back untarnished these hands will take you and where will you go but the darkest corners of your own mind what will you find what will you see everyone's even more scary than me.

glass walls

This is not anything like a diary, more like an attempt at genuine expression that may or may not fail. What's the expression, the feeling is isolation, the idea is an island, no man is an island surrounded by safety, I grow ill tired of the bipeds that plague my days, that leave my head in a stinking haze, that keep me wondering whether or not the bonds I'm attempting to form are worth anything at all. This is an exercise in futility, a hamster wheel where every step is deceit the idea that you're making progress when the reality is quite different indeed. I just want people who aren't so fucking shallow and cold to come strolling in anytime now no hurry no stress just you know get here I'm not dying or anything just a little disgusted.

choking on strings(a)

she told me to write about what I felt, to just get it all out, ya know? I think that maybe this could be a rather difficult task, maybe I'll just get all goddamn hesitately, or pull some bullshit where I don't talk about them at all, but maybe that's just how I feel right now, like nothing I do is right or the best path for me at all, but that's just me second guessing myself at a rapid ridiculous pace I can't shut this shit off, I need to readdapt in order to regain my focus, there's a huge rush of strength, of mental power raw form that I need to focus and hone, this gift this wicked boost must be controlled lest I go crazysauce and we really really don't wanna fuggin deal with that, no I think that'd be an awful thing to have to reconcile or come to terms with I guess is the idea,
do you believe in fire and it's gifts in the idea that manifestation of a particular element within oneself is important in establishing control that this energy you are experiencing is something you need to focus and hone but on what well what do you want I want...
I want the noise that fills my head silenced I want all that useless dredgy bullshit that does no one any good to be gone.
I want it and I always get what I want.
crystal shines within sunken hollows
every fibre every filament is lit
roots snake down to unknown depths
the fire is deep
the fire is white
the light and the heat
my body ignites
patchwork assemblage of written body of ideas expressions put it from pieces to the whole a string of concepts bound by a singular theme.

Someday all of this will be wreckage, with no one to sift through it but the madmen, the crooks, the social cockroaches, the edges of our polite society. My words will provide cold comfort to the generations beyond this desperately seeking refuge in the ideas of their own, poring through relics and ancient tomes in an effort t oreconcile the chaos that envelops their world.

hands stained with mud and scorch

this is not a dream, nay, this is a long and strange nightmare, one populated with all the traditional elements of groundless fear and panic and tightly wound energy. This is a tribute to the evolution of cultutral insanity, our grand and glorious leap from the impossible to the obscene, with only minimal pain in the transition phase.
I can't feel the bonds of this anymore, there's a lot that I'm having a really hard time experiencing, what with that goddamned girl distracting me something like 23 hours a fucking day. I don't like this. I know it isn't going anywhere for a while if ever at all, I know we have so little in common it's laughable, so what's the fucking draw? Why is it that when I start thinking about her I can't stop? Why is it that this fucking ball of energy in my gut isn't ever completely going away anymore? you have found the fire you dug and you found it isn't it just fucking glorious and great and absolutely beautiful i don't think that this is bad at all why what the hell is so terrible about having the fire within you my boy?
burning burning i think this might be what drives me nuts drives me off the edge down into the sweet abyss slap at the walls while you fall put some bruises and marks on your palms this is rushing air sucking wind white light burning holes through all your clothes it shines through and there isn't anything you can do about it maybe if you're already tumbling off the edge that means you aren't going but gone crazy loopy separated on a permanent basis from the majority society this is a sweet release to take you from your body to someplace really nice.