s1

It is possible no likely that much of these linked writings will only make sense to one person.  actually, I don’t know if that’s entirely accurate.  Oh but who really gives a flying fuck.  That does not matter at all.  Everything is going down.  destruction set into motion so carefully neither he nor I even saw it coming.  There was at once the question regarding the very first instance.  Already things on a skewed foot.  But why?  So much imperfection.  No, nothing but imperfection.  And despite the deep deep delusions there is actually no goodness present, nothing at all worth saving. 

Slice me open right beneath my belly and nothing but blood and lust will spill out.  Of course there were flying saucers over Istanbul and this had me utterly transfixed.  I am burning desire.  No, that sounds too nice.  I am evil.  I am disgusting lust.  I am repulsive desire.  Electricity runs through me while I scream and it is all so enjoyable. 

The manifesto occurred to me then as it was all coming back (in black albeit a more feminine tone) to me, and once again he found comfort and power behind a mask.  Though simply substitute two of the words for corruption and everything would be correct.  It’s silent now.  Now it’s dark. 

Even now in this very moment there is no control (all deranged).  Sweating so much.  More than ever.  What is this strange reaction?  Why has it been so forced throughout the years.  Back to that question.  Of course that beginning is not really the answer.  Something else and so recently with it’s twentieth taking place.  And now the terrible sins come in multiple languages. 

Yes, there was a black out and everything somehow spun out from there.  but what of the other, so crucial component?  What about the tactility?  Where on earth did that come from?  Of course, these things are not entirely separated.  But imagine, go back.  He recalls the first instance of witnessing what would be a life changing and life destroying revelation.  It seemed so good.  No, it was, it was good.  I could have and should have gone to the church today instead of the action I actually took.  Doubling down on sin.  Back to back, eerily similar.  His timing was impeccable.  Of course now I fully understand the damnation caused by research.  I have no control whatsoever.  But even that statement has to be lie.  I just can’t stop lying.  There, I’m back to no control again and like that I’m back to another fucking lie again.  The no control statement cannot be true because it would absolve him of all responsibility and that is a preposterous notion because it is entirely one hundred percent his own doing.  The mind is a world all its own. 

But where was he.  i.  where was i?  the premiere of course.  It had a vibe, yes?  What did he feel in those moments?  Hard to say at this present juncture.  Mayhaps the first inklings while hoisting himself over the roof.  Excuse me for a moment while I fix myself a good stiff drink.  This beer and cheap wine is not doing it. 

Drinking again now but the self loathing has not gone down one iota.  I must be developing a good yet bad tolerance.  A very wise and lovely woman sang a lyric about tequila and clouds which sums up the feeling better than I ever could

But it was all so relatable.  Was that the entry point.  Why was there not delving beneath the surface of things, under fabric?  What happened exactly?  Can he remember. Everything feels retroactive because all the imagery now is similar but was it always this way?  What was the very first impact?  A shard of now as I seek blissful suffocation.  Of course supplication would likely be the more appropriate course of action.  I am bereft of decency.  I am something ugly and useless.  How did this start?  Remembering now.  Dip.  Ing.  So early on but even that must have been much later.  No.  there was a cat.  Kat.  Pink pom pom nearly touching the ground.  Why?  What the fuck was happening?  All swirling together (love, vengeance, motor oil).    Every moment spent inside his head.  Always in his head.  Ah, the crushing mechanical arm, the swat and then the brief crush.  What transpired?  Plant toxins prior to this, many years pior.  Not understanding anything. 

Yes, there was red on top before, wasn’t there?  very early on mayhaps.  All blended now with Colombian.  But that had to be much later, still going on, deep seated early on or something, clay behind the recliner.  And before that, sitting aloft, looking down, venous.  Everything so unusual and good.  Where did the mask come from?  He, no I, bought nearly a dozen masks this very day.  but the original?  And the orchestration of capture.  Everything taking place inside his mind.  Dooming him.  Damning him.  Pleasure sending him to hell.  Yes, fully decked out, can’t forget the strip of leather.  Ah, and the rehearsed words still continue, not needing to echo. 

This hasn’t even started yet.  The one in red, she hates me.  color placement, red in the middle and a sharp strip above.  Lovely.  Truly lovely.  But not started, rekindled.  I am an awful thing, everything repeats itself.  Not even really begun the black out yet (Japanese influence, hahahaha, nearly die of laughter, it’s all related, we’ll all see, and now so many different taunts in different languages as he, he and I open our mouths to scream and—

I’m going back.  How can I eliminate anything if I go back?  The mind.  My failure.  My worthlessness. 

With great clarity and following prodigious searching (more looking really) I came to realize the freedom I ignorantly and arrogantly ascribed to myself was actually brilliant trickery and I am in fact more enslaved than anyone and it is entirely my fault.  Is he evil?  Is the recommended thesis statement is necessary perhaps this is the simplest one: I am evil.  Everything else spins out from that.  I am sad.  I am weak.  I am awful.  I am disgusting.  I am hurtful.  I am diseased. 

This is only the start of things.  how truly awful and useless I am. 

But I can’t take anything back.  And I am nothing more than a deeply repugnant and hypocritical slave.