I have this static in my skull that plays off of frequencies from neurons.
Like noise in an egg shell, it is too much for me to handle.
As if the constant crunching sound of black pixels grinding white pixels was not enough, every distraction is a radio station attempting to play through the misdirected wires.
Nothing fully gets through.
If they payed me close enough attention, they would see this was apparent by my eyes. While talking to me, my eyes would portray the difficult situation of a small screen tv trying to play a theatre sized motion picture.
The world is just an egotistical jumble-fuck spun into a round rock taking orbit in the Milky Way.
I always wonder...
WHAT THE FUCK MAKES US SO SPECIAL?
As long as the man takes some sort of pride in us, then I guess we're worth it.
That color just may not be visible in our spectrum.
Before I do anything I must write.
I'm trying to go to bed.
My brain and body collaborate in a nauseating fashion to keep me from being capable of doing anything before I write. It feels as if little ants are swarming my insides and stomach. It is an irritating and sickening feeling. My mind puts in it's two cents and “assures” me I have some promising ink to offer paper.
Like a godly stranger that came to visit God himself, curious about earthly creations ,cracked our planet in half and dumped the workings in a line on the table, licked his finger, and dabbed up our powder and rubbed it on his yearning gums...I have an aid.
At times my mind operates like one of those wave machines at the big water parks. There is a stirring of my thoughts; negative mixing with positive that acts more like oil and water. It is completely unsettling and I am constantly sticking the tips of my toes down to touch ground, assuring myself I haven't drifted too far out. Then, cutting through the bodies without any consideration to their presence, the wave
Like noise in an egg shell, it is too much for me to handle.
As if the constant crunching sound of black pixels grinding white pixels was not enough, every distraction is a radio station attempting to play through the misdirected wires.
Nothing fully gets through.
If they payed me close enough attention, they would see this was apparent by my eyes. While talking to me, my eyes would portray the difficult situation of a small screen tv trying to play a theatre sized motion picture.
The world is just an egotistical jumble-fuck spun into a round rock taking orbit in the Milky Way.
I always wonder...
WHAT THE FUCK MAKES US SO SPECIAL?
As long as the man takes some sort of pride in us, then I guess we're worth it.
That color just may not be visible in our spectrum.
Before I do anything I must write.
I'm trying to go to bed.
My brain and body collaborate in a nauseating fashion to keep me from being capable of doing anything before I write. It feels as if little ants are swarming my insides and stomach. It is an irritating and sickening feeling. My mind puts in it's two cents and “assures” me I have some promising ink to offer paper.
Like a godly stranger that came to visit God himself, curious about earthly creations ,cracked our planet in half and dumped the workings in a line on the table, licked his finger, and dabbed up our powder and rubbed it on his yearning gums...I have an aid.
At times my mind operates like one of those wave machines at the big water parks. There is a stirring of my thoughts; negative mixing with positive that acts more like oil and water. It is completely unsettling and I am constantly sticking the tips of my toes down to touch ground, assuring myself I haven't drifted too far out. Then, cutting through the bodies without any consideration to their presence, the wave
