Linked up some of the social platforms back to my blog/website so wanted to test and say hi!
No destination
People often say what they expect, or do not expect when “Death comes for them”.
I like to view this in an entirely different way. We are heading towards death. It is the invisible barrier that we will one day encounter on our trip through spacetime. We are like the skydivers that have switched to the flying squirrel suits. We are plummeting at near-terminal velocity with the illusion of control.
We can modify our pathway along the course of gravity, but ultimately that great attraction still wins. There are no parachutes on this ride. You do not get to safely land and try it all again. (Unless reincarnation is true, I suppose…) You meet the filter at terminal velocity and the electricity that runs the sub 60-watt bulb in your skull flickers out. The signals to and from your amygdala and vagus nerve stop and your coprocessors wind down.
Then the mass of symbionts that have been travelling with you start the process of breaking down your meat suit for further processing.
But you – your energy has ether moved on to a dimension we are unable to perceive within this flesh, or reaches a resting ground state.
Death does not come for you. It quietly waits for you to arrive.
Will you be on fire when you hit, or just another cold breeze coming through the door?
Etching
The acid flow of ideas eating through the neural pathways
dendritic lightening tightening the bonds but will it esterase the base of the glitch
the itch
etching its way through the fractal road practical stowed in the crevices
psychic ceviche but there is no lime
ticking in the aftermath when there is no time
taste the acid etching through the crevasse under the corpus callosum, widening the divide between what we calculated and what was chosen
Sour thoughts and smooth brains talking about soft hands and black stains on lung scans but not enough miles on my airplane scans to smoke a camel in quicksands…
Where were we?
susurrations of scales over sands expands the bands of spectrums still unseen in the violence of the liquid scream
the only comfort in the taiga is the lack of scales and thermal vision, making the frisson of fear of the enlightening one
the glowing son
the burning sun
am I the only one?
But this fertile garden now frozen in fear, the fertilizer steaming in the fresh fallen ice
looking for the navigation device
or just the vice
that drove the motor
the engines
over the edge
the irony of freezing to death staring into the eldritch fusion reactor we call god.
Want
I want.
An empty, hollow with no ties to reality
setting its claws in me
want
It disguises as need
it knows when that has failed
it wants
the echo not decaying
just reverberating
I want
becoming obsession
lying to me that I need
I want
It
the hollow one needing me to consume in it’s name
forever empty
forever in me
it feeds on misery
If there is happiness it is not
if there is growth it is rot
it triggers on the absence of it
it needs it
it is the ever present drive
of want
it gets in your head
it drives false need
it leaves you hungry
when it makes you feed
consume for want
It wants to be bigger
It wants to be small
It wants the shiny things
It wants it all
it wants nothing
so it can be filled again
it is empty
so the want can begin
I want
It
to
be
silent
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.
