This guy is experiencing some issues, and now we have to do a bit of cleanup. Might as well get some entertainment out of it. Gonna turn this into a hard-beat industrial techno video.
Let me know if you want the source for your own entertainment.
Junk Drawer
Junk Drawer
Digging through the junk drawer
finding shit I knew was lost
A bic lighter
random keys
to locks that have lost their relevance.
The noise on the peripheral persists
so I dig through another container
a t-shirt I do not recall
a sock with a skull
a 3D printed polygonal cat
But there are no spoons
Each container full but empty
and the clatter at the periphery persists
a dull roar from outside
reminding me that reality still exists
Earplug container, only one side
mints of a dubious flavor
keep digging
the hell of it all is I need to go out there
Where are the fucking spoons?
I find sufficient noise in the rectangle
no wires, just cacophony
the silverware will have to wait for later
reality awaits
two shoes
two socks
underwear and pants
torso covered by something hanging
at least I have a knife.
slip on the shades.
Moth
Flame seeker
last flight to fuck off and die
head toward the light
Burning self internally
No input
just setting out
Fly
Fuck
Die
Immolation
Fly
Fuck
Die
Immolation
perpetuating the cycle
the worm never knows
dissolving the old self
crawl out to dry
crawl out to fuck off and die
Fly
Fuck
Die
Immolation
Dammit I’m Mad
Umm
Dammit I’m Mad
forward and back
pacing back and forth reading it
feels like a personal attack
pace a trench into the floor
it’s a battleground
trench warfare
another whore there
another squeak to end the sound
dammit I’m mad
dammitimmad
palindrome pale in comparison
to the bastards in my garrison
the algorithm shifts
from the shit that is spoken
the system is anti social
the media is broken
drone on about it
about the outrage
fried spam and LSD
why’s everybody always looking for me?
I am hiding in pain sight
it hurts to see the shadows
it burns to see the light
stare until I’m blind
and you can hide tonight
dammit I’m mad
pacing the line again
I got my fucking juice
but I can’t stand gin
Got my vodka
got my scotch
got my kilt on so a ventilated crotch
nothing you can do about it
woke up on the wrong side of reality
angry again
I just wish I could make you see
that I walk the line
I break my spine
I drink my wine
it’s for the heart
as I drain the bottle and fall apart
bottle still intact
not broken like the pump
sitting dead in the cavity
just a rotting little lump
Can I feel something?
can you feel this?
no air guitar
I air hump because I can’t twerk
dammit I’m mad
and I am not the jerk
Brew
Coffee to the left
prescription bottle to the right.
water close at hand
the chemicals keeping me going
my own witches brew
cauldron optional
Vitamins so I heal
uppers to help me feel
cortisol cleaner so I can think
a spray so I don’t stink
herbs to lay me down
fungus for the sound
liquid fire for a laugh
nootropical epitaph
water wash it all down
water wash it away
let me flow down the drain
to a field where there is no pain
a release for just a moment
where living rebellion can foment
muted sound through liquid blanket
holding me in the temporal flow
flying past at relative speed
but leaving me moving slow
Pop the top to relax
steam fed beans refill the cup
back to reality, just the facts
another day to fuck shit up