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I didn’t do it.
You would literally not believe what I will tell you, like a fucking miracle, shortly after the last update things got interesting and I got sidetracked. And for the first time in my life, I literally forgot I was doing this at all.
And I won’t go into great detail because who the fuck are you and why do I care what you know?
But it was exciting. It was thrilling. And it was sad and happy…
…just to be able to avoid acknowledging the hurt of others, to in return have a built-in excuse that allows me to ignore my own. A clever little trick that makes it appear as though the reason I’d be a hypocrite is because of talking about it, but in reality, I’m a hypocrite for pretending we aren’t all scarred and broken. Scared and chokin’ on the thoughts unspoken.
I tell people to open up, speak their truths, acknowledge their pain and work through it by exposing themselves to the trauma head-on. Meanwhile, I speak to no one about the demons I face. Quiet internal battles. I’m so well versed at the art of misdirection that I’ve trained myself to store backup smaller traumas to disclose the moment I’m questioned on the subject. Practical, tactical…
…life trying to piece together who I believe I am, all while pretending I have it figured out. I haven’t a shred of an idea.
Word vomit covers the floors and surfaces, splashing across in random directions. I seek patten in all the madness hoping to find organized chaos. Lingering shadows hover over my shoulder with twisted grins watching my every move.
Perpetual nausea in the pit of my stomach leaves a lasting unease to pair with the chest pressure restricting airflow. Only in deep breaths does…
Ancient the sting of fiends with dried wings
These being's death sound like rings
Ain't it fresh when breaths sing?
Faded stress from great things
Slayed fits suited for….
She makes you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain.
But when we reviewed the footage, there was no one but you, sir.
We’ve got you in multiple camera talking to yourself in the rain naked.
The bodies were found nearby and the knife had your hand prints on it. All the evidence aims towards a premeditated murder. But based on your account, it seems you’ll likely plea insanity.
The interrogation room door swings open with one of the officers reviewing the footage in another room with a horrified look on his face. “Sir, I we need you to come…
I didn’t do it.
You would literally not believe what I will tell you, like a fucking miracle, shortly after the last update things got interesting and I got sidetracked. And for the first time in my life, I literally forgot I was doing this at all.
And I won’t go into great detail because who the fuck are you and why do I care what you know?
But it was exciting. It was thrilling. And it was sad and happy…
…just to be able to avoid acknowledging the hurt of others, to in return have a built-in excuse that allows me to ignore my own. A clever little trick that makes it appear as though the reason I’d be a hypocrite is because of talking about it, but in reality, I’m a hypocrite for pretending we aren’t all scarred and broken. Scared and chokin’ on the thoughts unspoken.
I tell people to open up, speak their truths, acknowledge their pain and work through it by exposing themselves to the trauma head-on. Meanwhile, I speak to no one about the demons I face. Quiet internal battles. I’m so well versed at the art of misdirection that I’ve trained myself to store backup smaller traumas to disclose the moment I’m questioned on the subject. Practical, tactical…
…life trying to piece together who I believe I am, all while pretending I have it figured out. I haven’t a shred of an idea.
Word vomit covers the floors and surfaces, splashing across in random directions. I seek patten in all the madness hoping to find organized chaos. Lingering shadows hover over my shoulder with twisted grins watching my every move.
Perpetual nausea in the pit of my stomach leaves a lasting unease to pair with the chest pressure restricting airflow. Only in deep breaths does…
Ancient the sting of fiends with dried wings
These being's death sound like rings
Ain't it fresh when breaths sing?
Faded stress from great things
Slayed fits suited for….
She makes you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain.
But when we reviewed the footage, there was no one but you, sir.
We’ve got you in multiple camera talking to yourself in the rain naked.
The bodies were found nearby and the knife had your hand prints on it. All the evidence aims towards a premeditated murder. But based on your account, it seems you’ll likely plea insanity.
The interrogation room door swings open with one of the officers reviewing the footage in another room with a horrified look on his face. “Sir, I we need you to come…
... A limitless stride forward, like tunnel vision but more literal, lost but direct. Skin crawls at the cost with regret. A tinge of rotted flesh lingers. Smells fresh of death to the...
Blade in hand
Under my command
A madman, a badman, a mad plan
Still nerves curve cuss words
Fuck truth
Hurts to know…
So basic update, the apocalypse began early this year. It’s very boring and very slow. A mutant virus broke out of what could only be described as the real-world Umbrella Corporation and infected a large portion of the world’s population. But instead of creating mutants or zombies, it created sheep and bigots. So… Yeah, that was unexpected. I’m also not sure there is even…
Pen and paper
When I write in the tech it feels fake
Or maybe it muddies my thoughts
That's not something I want
I want to flow
Like a river that refuses to accept "no"
During a flood
Dragging dirt along to make mud…
We are at war with ourselves.
Our inability to listen and understand has made us enemies to one another.
War over semantic differences in ideology.
A war that continues to strip all sides of freedom and squeeze the life of those most helpless to defend themselves.
We are the bad guy…
We're mindless
Adoring violence
Worship crimes in silence
We hide since
We're frightened
Waiting for lightning
To strike while hiding
Seemed right then
We try to be better
By sending our selves motivational letters…
A short poem expressing thoughts on life and making choices.
———
Question marks in the air
Answers aren't abundant
Uncertainty is persistent
Aimless wander is built into the system
Aimless wonder is built into the system
Its not different destinations
Its different paths to the same destination
Not knowing where we step
A warn dirt roads
Paved streets
Or a jungle and a machete
Question marks in the air
Sleep isn’t easily accomplished in my life. I spend nights quite awake, tinkering and creating. When I attempt to force myself to rest, I merely lay there for hours on end. Quite often I can only find I’m sleepy during the day.
Interesting that our society is built to function during the day and be dormant at night, rather than consider there might be people who function best at night.
When the clock is ticking, but my eyes wont shut I find myself writing, thinking, processing the infinite possible paths life can take and has already taken. I’m a curious person, always excited to…
Once every few hundred years two remarkable things happen.
One is always good. This time? The discovery of gravitational waves has revolutionized the world of science and answered a plethora of questions allowing science to move forward to knew questions based on the discoveries made and new hypothesis for previously unanswered questions based on the same discovery.
The second… I always bad. Usually catastrophic in some manner, shape or form. And more often than not is comes in the shape of a pandemic. In the previous hundred year we faced the H1N1 Flu outbreak. 1918. This was tragic and we were well under prepared for what came for us. This is usually the case. Now we encounter the Corona-virus, causing Covid19 the disease. And like before, we are well under prepared. It’s human nature to forget our past and repeat our mistakes. It’s miraculous that we can both obey the logic of science so precisely and detect gravitational waves and then completely ignore science so precisely we miss something that the numbers tell us is a statistic probability.
Human nature is quite fascinating. We seem to always loop back to where…
Insecurities that still peak
A coward who's fears don't speak
Half drowned in tears, but not weak
And although they're sheer shrieks
Its clear, life stands bleak
A mere steer from the grand "seek"
A deer smeared across paved…
Sloped the struggle
Hope means trouble
Tropes get doubled
Please don't fumble
The weight crushes
The grip…
Truth is, I've been plotting on going
Do shit, get ahead of the running
And I'll leave nothing, all knowing
The messiah is growing
Trees on fire exploring…
Different kind of creature
Shadow hidden under bleachers
Shallow, slithering dark creeper
Nightmare seeped to dreaming sleepers
Creaking floorboards, whisper speaker
Silhouetted shapeless shrieker…
Granulated excitement
Moving forward is frightening
Yet, new things are enticing
Knight Ls towards striking
Right turns remain fighting
Lightning's slightest crimes seem
Faded by hope of time being=…
We're different versions of ourselves all the time
With each interaction we learn and change
Every second we grow and age
Who we think we are is just a stage to host new plays from day to day
Leaving us to wonder where our newest thunder reigns best
With identity being no more than a strange confusing mess
A test we go through in exchange for refusing death
To see what else is left during life's strive and struggle stepping towards our final breath
Although we are not orange juice, we are all orange juice.
In fact, we are all both individual cups of orange juice and the same cup of orange juice.
The global orange juice, if I may.
A perfect stream of orange juice.
We feel as though we are also the glass surrounding the orange juice.
As though the delicious nutritious nature of the…
Tragic hopelessness
Habits smoked to chest
Rabid ropes strung necks
Maddened corpse rung best
Havoc strokes digress
Methodical plan by the deranged
Prodigal hand of the…
Light sleight of hand
Time bombs hide behind palms
Dark tones behind iron heights
Wrong rights from twisted lines of sight
Fearful the tie makes cheerful and high
Chains tearful to die
Grains leak paper crimes
Quite bleak bills stacked high Empires rise
Why? They cry and stand by
Built entire towers to ride shy
Setting ants on fire to stop the hill
Who the fuck are we to let it happen?
Who the fuck are they to try?
I’m here in front of Saint Micheals Medical Center where police are currently investigating what has been referred to by authorities as rabid cannibalism. Yes, you heard right.
Early this morning, at 4:15am, a patient suffering from an unknown terminal illness left their intensive care room and attacked nurse on duty, Samantha Rice. Reports say the patient, male, name not yet revealed, tackled the nurse to the ground and repeatedly bit at the nurse, tearing through flesh and meat and ripping off entire chunks only to chew them and swallow them as though…
Dry ink hangs over the page dangling frozen at the tip of a pen. The paper yellows with age. Blank with doubt and uninspired hopelessness. Waiting. Just waiting for the idle hand to sway with originality and scribble with aimless joy, but it all remains static and still.
Although, the air feels desperate the clock is patient as its afternoon smile shifts to a late night frown.
Floorboards creak and thump at pacing boots like a secret killer quietly stalking prey in a cabin. This cabin is nowhere near as eventful.
Endlessly searching for direction, the haunting apparition hovers over the imaginary world with tragic sorrow filled eyes. Hollow and tearfully fixed on the emptiness.
Bloodless pale, regretful and depressive, hatred consume the spirit and ignites strong sentiment. Like an ever growing void of inescapable speed and magnitude. The fear of being incomplete and fragmented crippled and killed the host, but nature demands invention..
Last year on this very day I wrote a short piece about my intentions for when I’m 30 years of age. This is an update on my mental state and where I stand relative to it.
I’ll begin by explaining that my intentions…
Stuck fightin’ in rough lightin’
Fuck tryin’, I’m done hidin’
All that’s left is thinkin’ quick, no subsidin’
Move like lightnin’ while strikin’
I’m above but grounded
Be frightened
My roll and rumble are well rounded
Crumble the walls surroundin’
I make the black clouds mad loud and highlight the background brightly
Cold cause I don’t stop the rain’s gain and pace reigns
Gotta be sick when I spit quick phlegm talkin’ shit bricks at glass houses…
The Raged Cattle
It Casts a Hate Shadow
Inside the Cage, Rattled
Awaits a Great Battle
Piercing eyes forced
Through blackened hearts torn
Twisting steel Born
With angered horns
Real, their shiny sharpened tips
Slicing, poking, making rips
Blind by red the blood lust drips
Freed, this slave just waits and sits
The stench of rotted flesh and sweat strong enough to be used as elephant tranquilizer wake me. The eye opening knockout gas.
It’s nearly pitch black less for the horizontal slit of orange flickering light across from me. Shadows walk through the flickering light and faint voices whisper about. Laughter from children and women off in the distance. My eyes adjust to the room I’m in. I get up. My feet slap bare on the cold floor and I head for the source of the light to be met by a door. My ear against it I hear the the other side with more clarity.
“That’s check mate, mate. Guess that means I’m the better man after all!”
“That was luck. I got distracted. Best two out of three.”
“Don’t be a sore loser, mate. Take your loss like a champ and give the next person a chance to lose to the master.”
They sound like normal people.
I feel around for the doorknob and twist. Through to the other side it opens to the hallway of an abandoned hospital. Candle lit far down the sight line until it’s swallowed again by the black void somewhere off in the distance. More people packed into this one hall than I’ve seen in months. The place turned its attention to me and sank into complete silence.
“Guess he’s not dead,” one of the men at the chess table says.
A woman walks over with a tray of food. Cooked canned…