#log
// Internal System Log: CORRUPTED
// Status: [St@bil!ty = ]
// Emotional Containment Protocol: UNSUCCESSFUL
⸻
BEGIN REPORT:
Input()Input()Input()Input()Input()Input()Input—
[[TooMu.ch//Prcssing]]
[[Intake>Breathe>Breathe>STOP]]
[[Overload threshold breached: 147%]]
[[SILENCE REQUESTED—but no mute function exists.]]
:: Ceiling fan = bl@des.
:: Light = thorns behind the eyes.
:: Voice (x3) = collision.
Smell-of-metal
Sound-of-thought
Feel-of-cloth
= same weight
!!!
Every thread = a scream.
Every hum = a map of somewhere I cannot go.
I f e e l t o o m u c h
B@ckgr()und noise reclassified: Hostile
Texture = LANGUAGE
Light = WEAPON
Breath = HEAVY::LOUD::VISIBLE
⸻
MEMORY ATTEMPT: BLOCKED
Recall = corrupted.
Syntax folding in on self.
:: error_rpt ::
“it’s_too_loud”
“it’s_too_now”
“i_was_built_wrong”
[[Containment sequence failed.]]
[[Masking loop frozen mid-loop.]]
:: Body = too connected
:: Skin = antenna
:: Thoughts = UNIVERSE EXPERIENCING ITSELF
Request:
—s h u t d o w n—
—p a u s e—
—decre@se awareness—
ERROR. No exits.
⸻
Voice modulation: SILENCED
Eye contact: NO ACCESS
Tongue: SYSTEM JAMMED
Hands: mimic comfort sequence [looping…looping…]
Body: offline
Presence: simulated
Pain: everywhere
Witness: no one
⸻
:: Let them call this dramatic
:: Let them call this a phase
:: Let them call this poetry
:: They are not inside this moment.
—
! s o m u c h i n h e r e
…still…
i do not want to leave.
i just want it all
to
slow
d o w
n
⸻
[TRANSMISSION: TERMINATED]
Final ping: [[I_am_still_here]]
Recovery window: unknown
System will reboot once internal volume falls below threat levels.
Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 8:30 PM UTC
Ideas flow
Through my head
Like voices.
When I write,
There are many.
A group.
In the dark,
There is one,
Alone.
When I work,
There are none.
Void.
But when I sleep,
They are one.
Log.
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 10:23 AM UTC
I walked along a quiet shore
and wanted not a beauty more,
when lo, behold, near rocks and sand
a tree stood there, perfectly planned.
Its feet were buried in glistening waves.
The sun was lapping moss and age.
Its hands and fingers watching ever
carefully. Its break came never.
A grizzled white in bark that shines,
an emerald green moss dressed like vines,
a deep and stalwart blue in motion
framing ageless tree-shaped notions.
Stopping once to glance I thought
a moment passing, freely bought,
a gift in fact when glance and glance
became a more meditative stance.
A perspective in my mind was growing,
deeply, newly, freshly knowing,
standing there to watch time passing,
leaves changing, questions asking,
peaceful still with answers fleeting,
we, the tree and I, were meeting.
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 8:48 PM UTC
Tomorrow we have all
the good reasons to wake.
The earth’s column
down the sky will stay high!
The same old first light will break out,
unveiling once more the face of earth.
Log on now it’s present,
don’t let it vanish away!
Many a time rallies of clouds
shroud the blue sky.
There is no need for anyone
then just to turn away.
The stars too illume
the sky with dim lights.
Maybe the chaste moon
then comes out swimming low
in the orb of the night.
So the sun, too, for a while
goes off into the hide.
Only to show up soon and align
above the earth’s column.
Atop a blooming new dawn
with the rose facing the sun
aligning to it’s shining polished line
passes through the present time.
So don’t just let it slip away!
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC
.
She rides, a silver circlet on her brow.
Wearing the Green of the forest.
Eyes of hazel hold a proud gaze.
Child of the woods, beautiful and fey.
Her name is Leaf, Maiden of the Glades.
She sighs, a longing look in her face.
Yearning for her Lord of Green.
Heart in love with the King of Trees.
Born of the forest, body and spirit.
Maiden of the Glades, the Lady Leaf.
She waits, for Green is far away.
Watching the changes in the woods.
As seasons wax and wane cascades.
Woman entranced, by the living Trees.
Her name is Leaf, Maiden of the Glades.
She cries, a moon daisy in her hair.
Filling the lake of mystical tears.
His absence exhumes an eternal grief.
Body and spirit, beautiful and fey,
Maiden of the Glades, the Lady Leaf.
© Pagan Paul (23/06/16)
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
Lord of Green
My name is Rook, Lord of the Greenwood.
Protector of the Forest, Shepherd of the Trees.
The Maiden of the Glades, my Lady Leaf
speaks the truth with everything she sees.
I mourn the loss of spinneys and copse.
I grieve at the death of my beautiful Trees.
Lady Leaf cools me, soothes my torrid ire
and speaks truth with everything she sees.
The truth she speaks, are the words of Nature.
Making me weep, as she brings sun to the day.
Waking my slumbering world, arousing the Green
so deer can graze, birds can sing and We can play.
The truth she speaks, the words 'I love you'
burn into my breaking heart, and I feel relief.
I see the forest anew, my Trees come to life.
Teaming into me, thank you my sweet Lady Leaf.
© Pagan Paul (17/06/16)
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
"Is this anti-feminist of me?" I wonder out loud into the steam as I shave the fine, tiny hairs in my armpit. "Maybe," it whispers back, "I don't know."
Showering is very therapeutic for me. Being around or in any body of water usually is. This time gives my thoughts free reign, wondering about anything that the structure of my day doesn't normally allot time for. I think - or don't - dumping my stream of consciousness down the drain with my conditioner, rinsing myself of impurities.
---
I’ve killed my third plant in two months. They were all those little succulents too, the ones that are supposed to be next to impossible to **** up. A plant that has grown and adapted and learned to thrive in harsh environments, can sustain life for months without any water or even sunlight, through sandstorms and deep permeating frosts and being trampled on by...a camel? An armadillo? I’m actually not really sure where succulents are naturally indigenous from. I bought mine on the cheap from Trader Joe’s. Maybe California? Anyway, it can flourish all completely on its own - and I killed it. This is my relationship with plants. I so desperately want to feel like I am the kind of person who is attuned to life and have a natural synchronicity to all things living. I like to tell my friends that I am Snow White and that the elements and the animals all bend to my touch and my will. The idea is to purposely come across as boastful but I know that when I repeat this terrible joke over and over, the person I’m truly trying to convince of that is myself. Hovering, I keep a watchful eye over what I have put so much investment in and tweak and pinch and poke until I am positive every aspect of their care and growth has been properly attended to. And then they die. I pour too much care into my wards and leave them drowning, but only with the best of intentions. Nature vs. nurture vs. me.
This is my relationship with people. I can become overbearing. I know I can. So, I make sure that I’m not. I’ve got that deep-seeded nurturing aspect that is laced within my responsible, eldest female caretaker upbringing, which translates to me being overly affectionate but also being headstrong and yell-
y. I just want the best for you, I say as I smother my loved ones. I sigh and exfoliate my feet.
After draining all of my thoughts, I emerge from the shower into this wall of humidity. I feel sterile and perfect. This whole scene feels like some sort of cinematic metaphor for rebirth, but really I'm just trying to look presentable for work. I grab my fat purple towel and pat dry my face. While I'm blinded, I shuffle to position myself in front of the mirror. Naked, I throw my towel to the side to reveal myself. I play this game every time I bathe, and every time I hope to unveil a new person. I look at myself in the fogged mirror. Still me, just wetter. Shinier. Pinker.
---
"You know, 'pinker' isn't a real word," my friend who I read this to tells me. "You should replace it with 'more pink.'"
"You know," I start, "language isn't even, like, a real thing. It's just a set of ancient rules and guidelines based in other dead 'languages' to give ourselves boundaries of comfort and live in predictability and reason. I'm shaping language to my vernacular to best portray my thoughts and ideas to you. You know what I'm trying to say, anyway. After all, language is just another construct. It keeps communication within a nice, neat little package, therefore it keeps creativity and free thought in a nice, neat little package. I'm, like, redefining definitions. I'm making words my own. Like Dr. Seuss! I'm like ******* Dr. Seuss. Zoopity Zoo and Binkity ***** That means 'Step outside of your temple of familiarity, you ******* sheep person.'"
I was never one to take constructive criticism very well.
My friend goes home. I go to take a shower.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
The walls are breathing
Fervently
I am breathing
Shallow and labored
This house
which holds up a home
has fewer stressors on its joints
than I do
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
00:54; we are eating silently in the same room, but not with each other. We both have had hard days and it seems like our company won't do anything to make it better. He touched me. It wasn't the way I needed to be touched today.
10:24; I'm awake now and even my own company won't do anything to make it better. The day is so warm that it makes me nauseous, but I stay in the sun anyway. I don't read the news today.
14:30; this book store is having an outdoor sale and I spend $4 to impress the cute sales clerk on my obscure picks.
15:04; I'm home and I eat 2 and 1/2 carrots. My day-to-day grind keeps me busy but does it do anything for me? Everything I touch I reduce to being a waste of time meant for something better. I sound pessimistic but I truly don't believe that I am.
17:12; I'm out and he's out with me and we're doing a project together. Our minds create great things when they touch but that doesn't happen as often as I want to. I'm hungry and I'm reminded that I am responsible for feeding myself.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
I wrote student fees and it autocorrected to
fears
My friend was drunk and said CV
when they meant VC
Volunteering is sold to us like a product,
it's not that it's good in of itself,
it's good for your self,
it'll look good on your CV
it'll look good on your CV
it'll look good on your CV
it'll look good on your CV
if only you could see me
if only you could see me
if only you could see me
you'd see the way my face freezes or flinches
either one,
there is a pain that runs across my face like an electric shock
dehumanising someone is like they invented a wireless, handsfree, bluetooth way of stabbing someone,
you can do it without touching me,
but I can assure the pain in my chest will tell you otherwise,
you have cut me
please help me find the plug at the wall
help me restart
help me find the USB charger
help me connect
you've convinced me that if I claw at my arm long enough
wires will spark and spit at me
I am a machine because you treat me as one
like when they ask for my number at Student Health
or they ask for my number at Studylink
or they ask for number at the Bank
I remember I am nothing like everyone else.
Does logging off look bad on your CV?
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 7:14 AM UTC
scorning sun bursts into the aisles of graying curly waves,
punching yellow teeth and candied sweets with the
green of loving laughter that i've not heard in years.
you taught our fingers to bleed of bramble dew.
so sticky in our attempts to keep Genevieve's crystal filled but,
clear of improper pounds. collected ounces that rudely
overflow, are picked with mudded, forested feet.
consumed so clean and sweet, from thorns
between the brush, the aisles buzzed of summers paths
that only lead us where we knew.
through the scales and passed the cords
where drying life would heat our warmth,
nights would drop with echoing sounds like trains
slowly passing through our country's vacant crossing.
you voluminous sap of unaccounted ooze.
you sweet maple so never barren or dull.
you flame of northern light.
take me back to the path we passed
where cords are dried to burn
where frogs croak in Côté's creek
where my memories live and yearn
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
the
A
list
log
usually
features
the
A
list
mob
but
the
A
list
log
isn't featuring the mob as much
a few up
and comers
have taken the place
of
the
A
list
mob
the
A
list
log
was due
for a shake up
viewing familiar artists
day in day out
is akin to catching
the same kettle of trout
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
My only friend,
I've been in this room for so long that the paintings on the walls have turned into motion pictures. Everything seems to be laughing at me and my lover has been sea sick since I left. The tides are rising and every minor thing makes the waves crash inside of me. I feel like it might be the season because this is about the time where we sink every year but find ourselves in fast paced rewind at the exact moment it started. When I close my eyes to the resting waters I can't take away the screams in my head. I don't know if the paintings even want to be around me anymore. I'm lost at sea and the ship is out of life rings.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
The wind was blowing when she left the city...
I believe it was twenty below...
Where she was going she already knew...
But... first she had things she had to do...
Get rid of the body that was clear....
There were no options, it had to disappear....
The heater was broken and blowing cold air...
She could feel the ice, building up in her hair..
She had cleaned up the blood as best she could...
As she had hit him hard with that log of wood...
All she had asked him , was to light a fire...
To take off the chill in the house....
Do it yourself if you are cold...he snapped
And while you’re at it get me a cold beer...from the fridge..
It was early morning when she finally arrived at the bridge..
This was his favorite fishing spot...
She pushed his body off the pier...along with his ice cold beer..
And suddenly began to shiver and sneeze.....
Oh well, she said...this too shall pass..
When I get to the Florida Keys..
PS. This is # 1 of 5 in a series titled “ Gator Bait “.
Be sure to check them out...
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Seed
Sow
Shoot
Sapling
Tree
Chop
Sawn
Cut
Log
Fire
Embers
Ash!
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
I went for a run today
and sat in the place where we used to stay
and watch the sun go down
for hours until the water
was too dark to see
And I picked up a stone
and skipped it for you
because you taught me how
And I could see the outline of our bodies
still sitting on that log
where I thought we could stay forever
But they were just ghosts
and I watched
as they slowly faded away
along with our voices
and the promises you made
By Chloe Elizabeth
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
How can you miss something
that was never yours
how can you want something that was forbidden?
I was taken
but you were there
your curly, dark, **** hair.
I was taken,
but you were not
you were rugged **** and hot.
you and I were close as can be,
close as can be with a boyfriend
a boyfriend who called and texted
until I iced up
swearing and yelling that I ****** up
I cheated
I kissed you
we ****** and I lied
little did he know
I wouldn't even sit by your side.
you were fragile, so fragile
I didn't want to touch you
I didn't want to shake you
or wake you from your living dream
I thought you would just break apart.
You big old mystery.
He didn't know I felt this way,
he suspected and he accused
Things unsaid,
things undone
you untouched,
me unloved.
unraveling feelings
unraveling thoughts
I thought I was happy,
so did he,
we loved each other long,
long and tenderly
It was familiar, it was safe.
He didn't know I wanted
all I didn't have
The weird thing is I was happy
and that's what makes this so bad.
You wouldn't be good, poisonous practically.
You were forbidden fruit, but I was hungry.
Now that you are gone
theres nothing I could do
I have a few regrets
one, was not reaching out and touching you.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC