Don't hate you,
but you're beginning to bug me
like a hangnail snagging a jeans pocket or a wind-chime in a gale.

Don't hate you,
but you're grating my nerves
like a headcold when I'm out of tissues or having to break a fifty cause I'm eight pence short on change.

Don't hate you,
but you're wearing me down
like a hole in the sole of my only boots when it rains or an intrusive question asked again and again.

Don't hate you,
but I'm getting there.
Don't want to get there,
please leave me alone

obsessive
compulsive
thoughts that don't belong
intrusive
elusive
intrinsically wrong

ocd

unstable
unable
harm your bone and skin
fearful
tearful
tattoos of your sins

ocd
ocd

aggressive
possessive
words not meant but said
irritated
isolated
dreams not gone but dead

ocd
ocd
ocd

The world feels strange, cold, and distant
a million miles away with no intent to stay
Th world feels cloudy, fuzzy, and intrusive
Aggravated and agitated
Tired and restless
moving too quick yet frustratingly slow
The heart beat of the earth comes and goes
Waves splash and retract
Building back together after falling apart
I stare vacantly at the ocean a piece of art
Emitting vibrations like ancient wind chimes
Reconstruction as my mind rewinds
It’s strange how your view of the world will shift and change
Molded to fit a standard that’s been prearranged
Strange how your values twist and contort
No longer a decision but a last resort

"Did they get you to trade

your heroes for ghosts

hot ash for trees

hot air for a cool breeze?"

-Pink Floyd







Walk down the narrow strait,

walk and eat the organic greens drooping off of the intrusive branches,

the intrusive branches of flailing trees that seem to leap like angry giants,

angry giants that block the path before you.



Absorb the sun as you swallow your pride.

Swallow your pride and soon you'll kiss your cares good-bye

or, a few reasons I left Facebook*

Sick of: conflict, bigotry,
inanity, politics
(of all persuasions);
cat memes, dog memes,
memes in general;
kids and grandkids
I don’t even know;
people who prefer
animals to people;
delight in ignorance,
people who won’t,
or can’t, read anything
longer than five lines;
having to consider
everyone’s feelings
all the time, which
is just another form
of self-censorship;
losing friends in
the real world over
mere comments
in the virtual world;
increasingly intrusive ads,
and the fact that I hate
punk, puke billionaires
like Mark Zuckerberg.
I could go on but
everyone has their
own, personal lists
so why bother?

Woeful trepidations cling to me,
                  like morning cobwebs.
                                  The dew of hostility
          filtering into my subconscious.


And the spider feeds on the woven
                       chrysalis of my despairs.
I'm in a closet of silk and the fangs are
                                        gentle but intrusive..

Every dewdrop falling evaporates
                                            on my forehead.
Falling into the morning haze of despondency .
           Fear is a word that I awaken to,
                                 beyond the sunrise.


Forever in a web of dewdrops collecting
                       evermore on my thoughts.
Are the weakness of self a demise or
rather a strength,  to weave my own web on.

Anxious all the time that this world isn't for me
Fearing failure with every opportunity
Racing heart, trying to breathe, to think, searching for air,
Agony, so many emotions, too aware
Intrusive thoughts, nothing makes sense, loud, amplified
Dying before death arrives, I'm a coward inside.

I find it a bit intrusive how you talk to me in my sleep
simply to hear the secrets I keep.

!!!!!!Trigger Warning: ****, domestic violence, abuse, suicide!!!!!!!!



When I moved to your hometown, I saw your true colors.
I saw that power meant more, your dominance meant more, your ego and your assertiveness meant more to you than I did.
I tried.
I tried to leave you alone, but like a moth drawn to a flame, time and again I allowed myself to draw nearer to you, shocked when you burned me every time.
Isn’t that the definition of insanity?
Days later, I cut you off. I blocked you. And it felt good. Like I regained some of the control you took away from me. I was starting to feel like myself again until I got home that night.
You busted through the deadbolt lock on my door.
My backpack was missing.
I called your mom in a panic, having not connected the dots until moments after I hung up the phone with her and I heard your voice, calling me from outside my window.
I asked you.
I asked you once.
I asked you twice.
Did you do that to my door?
Your calm, unchanging face didn’t even blink when you answered,
No.
It wasn’t until I put two and two together, you being there, having my backpack, the holes in your story, your unchanging, unsurprised, unsympathetic face, that I realized what you had done.
And when I called you on it, you admitted it.
Why lie to me? Why lie to my face?
So I blocked you, again.
Leave me alone until I give you the word, I said.
Just leave me alone.
Two days later, I was breaking down crying over my inability to be alone, over my inability to love my broke pieces enough to pick myself up and put myself back together
Two days later, I called you.
You told me you were sorry.
And that you sent me roses in the mail, set to arrive sometime before I left, two weeks from then.
And I melted
I caved
I gave up being strong and decided to instead be naïve, oblivious, or simply in denial.
We can make it work at least until I leave, right?
What’s the worst that can happen?
But then the worst started to happen.
Your flashbacks took away your memories of me and replaced them with menacing, intrusive thoughts
Replaced me with other girls
Nameless, faceless, meaningless bodies for you to use as you please
Or a roadblock in the way of you achieving peace at last, kissing death’s sweet lips
The bad guy you worked so hard to bury deep within your subconscious became very, very conscious
Very real
I first noticed it the day we were walking to the park, I said you were less mature than I, a harmless quip meaning no personal injury
You walked on the opposite side of the street as me, refusing to look at me, refusing to acknowledge me, refusing to come back to my side.
But when that car full of guys rolled by me, whistling, yelling various unsolicited, uncomfortable things resembling compliments, you laughed.
You laughed at my fear.
And still wouldn’t walk with me.
It was that day, you got in my face and dared me to put my hands on you so you could lay me on the ground
It was that day, I asked you, why are you talking to me like this?
It was that day, you answered, if I don’t hurt you verbally, it will be physically.
It was moments later, through tears, I begged, why do you treat me like this?
It was moments later, with cold eyes, you answered, to feel powerful
Is it a switch?
Can you flip it on and off?
How can the one who caresses my face so very gently,
The one who calls himself my protector at all costs,
The one who rushes to my side at every beck and call,
The one who opens doors for me
Walks two hours in the rain for me
Spends all his money to send me roses,
Be so cruel?
Three days before I’m supposed to leave, you come spend the night with me
We’re laying down, whispering sweet nothings to each other in the darkness
When I suddenly admit, I’ll miss you.
Don’t go, you say.
But I have to. I have to, my love.
It was then that you grabbed me by the neck, and told me I was not going to leave you.
Baby, please, I can’t breathe.
You’re not leaving. I don’t care if I have to take you away
Then you jolt out of it, looking at me with confusion. Your head hurts.
Just lay on me chest baby, it’s okay
I stroke your hair slowly, softly, calmly
Why is your heart beating so fast?
It’s not baby, close your eyes.
I hear it. What’s wrong?
Nothing, love, I’m fine. Just anxious about the move.
You know, you could stay here with me.
Baby, I already got my plane ticket, I’m leaving in a couple days.
No.
No?
No.
You grab my wrist with one hand.
Baby, let me go.
No.
Babe, you have to let me go. It’s okay.
No. Stop saying that.
Baby, I-
It’s too late. You’re already on top of me, grabbing my other wrist and pinning me down, your dark eyes beating into mind.
Baby, please let go of me, you’re squeezing too tight, you’re hurting me.
Your grip grows even stronger, and I feel the panic rising in my chest again.
Then you jolt out of it. Your head hurts. You need to lay down.
This time, I don’t let you lay on me. This time, I simply watch you lay there.
You reach out for me
I flinch
Concern flickers in your eyes, babygirl what’s wrong? You haven’t flinched around me in months.
It’s nothing.
It’s something, talk to me. What did I do?
You… um.. you pinned me down. You h-held my wrists. You wouldn’t let me go…
You laugh.
I wouldn’t do that, unless you were trying to leave me
Baby, I’m leaving the state in two days.
Your eyes turn cold. You yank my hair, pulling my head back.
You what?
I don’t answer.
You WHAT?
I-I’m leaving in two-
You yank my hair again, harder this time, before letting me go.
Your head hurts.
Really bad, really, really, bad.
Lay down baby, it’s okay.
I kiss your forehead tenderly
You’re okay.
My last day there was the worst.
By far, the worst.
Laying down, we’re past the stage of denial over me leaving.
I’m leaving tomorrow. And I’m so horribly sad to leave you behind.
You’re depressed. You don’t want to be here anymore. You don’t see yourself living without me.
You’re the only thing ******* keeping me here anymore, you say bitterly.
You’re gonna have to be strong for me when I leave, my love. I know you can.
Just die with me, you plead, it’ll be quick. I can choke you to death and **** myself. We’ll never have to be apart again.
We don’t even know what’s on the other side. What if it’s nothing? What if we don’t find each other?
You insist. You beg. You plead. You cry. Until you finally give up convincing me, your hand creeping up towards my neck.
Let me go.
Baby, let me go
Your hand is around my neck. Tightening. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. There are black spots clouding my vision, like when you stand up too fast after sitting for too long, except they’re everywhere
Please, babe, please just…
Shhhhh babygirl it’s okay, close your eyes, go to sleep
So I do. I close my eyes and you slowly remove your hand from my neck, kissing me tenderly on the forehead, before getting up and going to my window. You open the window and as you’re looking down at the two story drop, my eyelids flutter open.
I reach out for you as you go to climb out the window.
Baby, stop, I whisper weakly.
You’re supposed to be dead.
But I’m not. Just, come here, it’s okay, you don’t have to do this.
I stand slowly and come to you, grabbing your arm to pull you away from the window.
Now it’s your turn to demand that I let you go.
Just let me do this. I need to do this. Leave me alone.
No, you don’t, just come here.
Before I can even blink both of your hands are around my neck and squeezing, lifting me off the ground.
Leave me alone before I make you leave me alone.
Unable to breathe, I nod, and you drop me.
Gasping for breath, I see you going towards the window once again.
Please! Just use the front door. Just walk out the front door, if you go out the front door I swear to god I’ll leave you alone.
You turn towards me, reaching once again for my neck, and I grab your wrists.
You back me up, twisting out of my grip and grabbing onto my wrists.
You keep backing me up, until we’re almost to my closet. I stop and rest against the open door, and you ask coldly,
Why’d you stop backing up? Keep going. Since you don’t know how to leave me the **** alone.
I don’t have much of a choice. You push me into the closet, and turn me around so I’m no longer facing you, placing your arm around my neck in a choke hold and tightening your grip.
I hit your arm once, twice, three, four, five times, and you finally drop me.
Your head hurts.
I turn to face you, with fear in my eyes, cowering under you.
You look at me with confusion.
Why are we in a closet? What’s wrong? Why are you-
You reach out to touch me and I cower and flinch, shaking my head
Please don’t, please, please don’t touch me. Please. I’m sorry. Please.
I break down crying.
You realize what you’ve done.
And you sit in the closet. In your little corner, to punish yourself, as I cower in the corner.
Seconds blend into minutes as they pass by, until you rise from the closet, going to the door. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know who I am. You keep calling me another girl’s name. I don’t know who it is.
Now it’s your turn to cower in the corner.
I can only imagine what’s going on in your head, as you’re crying out with fear and panic over the voices screaming in your head. I let you cry, clinging onto my legs.
It’s okay my love, you’re safe now, you’re not there anymore. Let it out. It’s okay.
My jeans are soaked now. I gently remove you from my legs and go to change my pants. Your face immediately switches to panic.
No, please, I don’t want to have ***. Please. I don’t want to.
Baby, relax. I’m not going to make you. I’m just changing out of these wet pants.
As I change out of my pants and into your oversized basketball shorts, your face changes.
Come here.
I look at you, confused.
Now.
I slowly walk over to the corner where you’re no longer cowering in. I crouch down next to you.
Closer.
You pull me onto your lap.
I gotta tell you something.
I lean over, your lips grazing my ear as you whisper,
I want you
You begin kissing my neck.
Kissing, touching, gently.
I almost didn’t notice anything was wrong. It wasn’t until you looked at me and asked,
What’s your name, girl?
That I realized you weren’t really here. I looked at you, dumbfounded, and you shrugged,
Okay, I guess that doesn’t matter. You’re **** as hell.
I pushed off of you, shaking my head.
I’m your girlfriend. Remember?
You shake your head.
I don’t date girls like you. Why don’t you just take that off?
You stand, walking towards me.
Just relax.
No!
I push you off me, and you laugh coldly.
Babygirl, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But I love it when they fight back.
You grab me by the neck, kissing me roughly, as your free hand pulls my shorts off.
I’m pushing you. I’m pushing you off of me but you’re too strong.
You grip my ******* tightly and begin pulling them down, but I grip them tighter and keep holding them up.
Stop. Please. Stop.
I use my most authoritative voice and you chuckle with amusement.
Guess we’re doing this the hard way then, hm?
You pick me up and set me on my back on the ground. I go to get up. You pin me back down by my throat, prying yourself between my legs.
You begin to touch me.
I flinch under your touch and keep pushing, keep pushing you off of me.
You pin my hands with both of yours.
You bring my hands together and hold them both with one of your hands.
Stop. Fighting.
You resume touching me.
My body betrays me as I squirm and leak.
You know you like that. Don’t you?
You enter me, and I cry out in pain as you use me for your pleasure.
Call me daddy
You demand, and I shake my head.
You grab me by the throat and begin going harder. Faster. Harder. Faster.
Again, you demand,
Say it.
The word escapes my lips and you grin with satisfaction.
I close my eyes.
I stop fighting.
I do anything I can to take a mental vacation somewhere far, far, away.
I’m not here. This isn’t happening. It’s not. It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s almost over.
You pull out suddenly, and look at me with horror.
No… no… no, no, no, no, no, no
You let go of my neck. Then my hands. You back up and stare at me as if I’m on fire.
Please tell me I didn’t just do what I think I just did.
I wish I could. I wish I could tell you that you didn’t just do what you think you just did, but you did.
Your head hurts.
So ******* bad.
You retreat to your corner in the closet, and I retreat to the corner opposite in the room. Now it’s my turn to cower in the corner.
The next morning, you’re helping me move my stuff out of my room, into your mom’s car. She’s taking me to the airport.
The ride to the airport is silent.
When we arrive, you open the door for me, and scoop me up bridal-style so I don’t get my shoes wet in the puddle you’re standing in.
I hug you tightly, holding back tears.
I kiss you gently, holding back words.
I love you.
I love you, too.
As I walk into the airport, leaving you standing in the rain, I realize:
The roses never came.

who benefits from keeping
our lakes and oceans polluted
who is to be blamed for this intrusive nightmare
i am clean and ready to swim in your water
yet many are drowning in the fish bowls they live in
where are our minds and hearts these days
why do we run away instead of sit and pray
who is responsible for these atrocities
why must we pay for others to take care of us

please shut the fence and take a hike
and do not return without a bicycle
i wish to ride off into the sunset
literally on a water buffalo or a dragon
these lions are friendly and sun-light is handy
for most of our energy needs
i pride myself on being ready for anything
so shut the front door and leave through the back
and we better get ready cause they are bound to attack
you say you're not paranoid, that you're intelligent
though sometimes i'm unclear of the difference
we remove our folded souls from the clothesline
and dream about the crossroads that takes us back home
jokes are pointless here and tools are worthless too
for only fools hang from ropes in such high altitude

When I was eighteen I worked for a company called GLENCOM. You probably haven't heard of them, you're not supposed to.
They're the invisible middleman.
What happens is, when a company wants to set up a call centre but doesn't have the space or the manpower to do it themselves, they call Glencom.
Glencom then puts together a team of people in Swindon,
teaches them the bare minimum about the product they need to sell and sticks them around a table with headphones on,
completely cut off from the people around them being force-fed phone numbers for eight straight hours a day.

They do this for dozens of companies. And there are dozens of companies just like it.
Producing nothing, just doing other peoples ***** work.
The jobs they don't want to do themselves.
Like Telemarketing. Cold-Calling.
You know when you've just got into the bath,
or you're sitting down to dinner and the phone rings and you think
'I don't want to answer that but it might be important'
and when you answer it it's someone you've never met desperately trying to sell you something you don't want?
And no matter what you say they don't seem to listen, or care,
they just keep reading standard procedure from a script until you can't take it any more and you just hang up?
Chances are, that person is a Glencom specialist telephone agent.

I loved that job, I really did.
You probably think I'm crazy for it, it's the kind of job that middle class kids do for a little extra cash while they're at university,
until they get sick of the soul-crushing routine of getting yelled at and hung up on, yelled at and hung up on and they stop showing up after six weeks.
Year after year, cold-calling is rated in the top ten things people hate about the modern world.
I was part of the problem.
And I loved it.

You see, when you get one of these phone calls, you don't realise that it's a real person on the other end of the phone.
Of course, you do know that it must be a person, that's common sense.
It's just not in your nature to think of that disembodied voice as having a face and a mind
and a favourite food .
and a family
and a history
and a home that they go to every night at seven thirty.
They're a spirit.
One-dimensional.
So you don't treat them like a real person,
and that's OK, really it is, we're used to it.
As far as you're concerned, whoever you're talking to is just a faceless corporation,
so you yell, and you swear,
way more than you would if you were face to face with someone, say, at your bank or in a shop.
Every little thing that has ****** you off that day gets unloaded onto that person because,
for those five minutes,
with your bath getting cold,
or your dinner getting overcooked and blackened,
they are everything that's wrong with society.

So by the time you finally slam the receiver down, and return to whatever it was you were doing,
you're face red, out of breath, can't remember the last time you were that angry
they've ruined your evening.
You swear you're going to complain,
but you know that if you do that you'll just get caught up in their red tape and rhetoric all over again.
There's nothing to do but let it go.
So you do, and with it, something strange happens.
All that anger and tension that you've been carrying around all day just leaves your body slowly.

The traffic that morning;
your workload at the office;
that cold you just cant shake;
the barista who got your coffee order wrong, but your were running late so didn't have time to complain and get a new one;

All those little things that you can't control,
it doesn't seem worth worrying about them now.
You think of how angry you were at that little voice coming out of the telephone speaker and you feel sort of proud,
like it makes up for bending over and taking **** from your Boss all those years.
from your bank all those years
from the gas and electric companies
and your phone company and internet service provider all those years
from your politicians all those years
all that doesn't sting so much any more.

Because you just stuck it to the man.
You stood up to the big corporations and you got the upper hand.
You start to see the funny side,
you'll tell everyone at work about this.

That's the thing about telemarketers: They're one of those little annoyances that people love so much,
like the weather or queue-jumpers.
Something we all hate, but can all relate to,
a lynch-pin of small-talk,
that inoffensive comedian you like so much was talking about it on tv the other night.

But this time you get a chance to stri ke back.
It's not like getting a parking ticket,
or stubbing your toe,
you get to yell at this inconvenience, tell it exactly how you feel without any fear of repercussions.

Without you realising it, that telemarketer has just done you a valuable service.
You've just saved yourself an hour in front of a punch-bag,
or a session with your therapist or *****.
Without knowing it you are in a better mood than you've been all week,
so you don't smack your kids when they spill paint on the carpet.
And you don't yell at your wife when she forgot to pay the electric bill.
You float on a cloud of air until bed time, and probably make love to your partner for the first time in weeks.
You sleep a healthy eight hours and wake up to breakfast  and coffee and drive to work feeling like you did when you first started there,
when you could still see a bright future ahead of you.
All thanks to that soulless,
faceless,
nameless
disembodied voice on the other end of the phone.
All thanks to me.

I worked out that in any given day,
I got yelled at or told to ******* or otherwise unnecessarily lashed out at maybe thirty out of every hundred calls.
That was thirty families who were going to have a nice dinner,
without the usual arguments for once.
Maybe a few times a week I could prevent an abusive husband from having that one whiskey too many and bashing his wife from room to room.
If you believe in a butterfly flapping it's wings in Tokyo, and all that,
then maybe I, without ever leaving my desk, could stop a ****** from happening, perhaps once a year.
I was making a difference and all I had to do was let my computer dial a random phone number and to introduce myself as
'whoever calling from wherever to let you know about a valuable promotion...'

When I realised all this I decided I would work harder to up my productivity.
A hundred and fifty calls a day,
two hundred.

And I had to provoke more anger.
Subtly of course, I would try to be more obnoxious and inept.
I got peoples names wrong;
I talked over people.
Soon I was getting fifty hang-ups a day.
So I, like a good employee, constantly tried to better myself.
I sniggered at peoples names;
I requested needlessly extensive and intrusive personal information;
asked to speak to 'the man of the house'.
I was getting balled out with every other call.
Seventy, eighty, ninety times a day.
Every time I was called a nuisance I gave myself a pat on the back.
Every time someone said they wanted to speak with my supervisor, I just said they weren't in and then rewarded myself with a cookie at break time.
I got more competitive with myself.
I considered it a personal gift when I got someone with an Indian name,
or a speech impediment.
Gay couples were a Godsend.
I corrected peoples grammar;
I cursed;
I slurred;
I made thinly veiled ****** references.

I was thorn in the side of everyone just trying to enjoy a quiet Sunday afternoon.
I was the itch that no-one could reach.
I invited venom, longed for hatred.
Because if it was aimed at me, it may as well have been aimed at the moon.
I was a necessary evil.
I was the common enemy of the whole country.  
I can't say how many relationships I must have saved,
how many lives I touched.
Suicides prevented? You never know.
I was making the world a better place, one botched customer service attempt at a time.
I was saving people without them even knowing my name.
The anonymous benefactor,
the masked hero.
I was Zorro, I was Batman.
And I loved it.
I thrived on it.
I had found something I was good at.
I could have stayed there, soaking up insults, absorbing peoples troubles, lightening their burdens, forever.

Until three months ago when my manager saw my sales reports.
He, of course, didn't understand why we were really there.
He thought it was about money, about generating figures for whatever company we were hired by that month.
He threw buzz-words and management speak at me.
Improving Revenue.
Optimising Productivity.
Promoting Synergy.
Utilising Opportunity.
Sentence fragments that wouldn't make sense if he meant them.
Nonsensical ramblings littered with capital letters.
By Glencom's standards, rather than my own, I was the worst specialist telephone agent that he had ever seen.
I didn't bother trying to explain.
He wouldn't have understood,
I wanted something real.
Glencom could have been the first call centre to truly,
what's the phrase he would have used? Attain it's Potential.
We could have been pioneers in the business world, providing a service that the public really needs.
But there was no point, he had listened to recordings of my calls and had no choice but to fire me on the spot.

That job was the only thing I had loved for a long, long time. T
he only thing that gave me purpose,
my reason for getting out of bed,
for putting on trousers and shoes.
It was all I had and I lost it,
blacklisted by the employment agency that placed me there.
For a while I tried calling people at random from the phone book but it didn't work out.
You have no idea how much it costs to make a hundred phone calls a day on a pay as you go mobile.
Ten pence a minute
times by sixty minutes an hour
times by eight hours a day  
minus a half hour for lunch equals more than jobseeker's allowance is willing to provide.
I switched to contract but these days everyone has phone number recognition,
so everyone can see that you're calling from a personal phone rather than a business one.

Eventually I started getting phone calls from the phone company explaining that I'd be cut off
and fined if I was using a personal phone for random telemarketing without a license.

The operator was clear, polite and ultimately very helpful.

******' Amateur.

They come out of nowhere
And can be as simple as a word
Intrusive, flashing voices
Who refuse not to be heard

These opinions with biased force
Keep ringing in my ears
Burning through my retinas
And searing their mark upon my fears

Like a thousand prickling itches
That cannot be soothed by a scratch
Stifling does not contain them
They constantly find new ways of attack

The mind is a delicate balance
Of inner and outer cues
A slight shift can cause a deafening
Where clear thoughts spiral to confused

I Flow Sinical,
Huggin A Coat,
Holding This Black Rose,
Oh , I'm So Cold,
All Alone,
Should've,
Known,
Home Don't Feel Like Home,
It's All Because Of Me,
See I Can't Feel A Bone,
Twisted Like Some Dreads,
Mirror Image Snakes On Head,
All Black,
Red Sand,
Ahead Of My Thoughts And,
Checmical Imbalance,
Challenge My Talents,
They Lookin At Me Like They ******* Lost,
I Don't Fight, I Will Protect My Life,
A ******* Boss,
It's On Don,
Time To Box,
Super Smooth Right,
Romance Type,
Rhymes Shine Like,
Middnight Moon Sight,
Lady We Can Hold Hands Tight,
I'ma Vamp,
Jam The Mic,
Out The Amp,
Camper Night,
Crowd Gone Want An Oncore,
Cos They Feel Me When I'm Spillin Beans,
I'm Cold They Want Me On More,
I'm On Tour,
Took A Plane Just To Sit,
What The **** Is This,
Bonjour,
Rituals Closed Doors,
Won't Expose The Ugly Oaths,
If I Hear You Crack An Ugly Joke ,Auidos,
You Got To Go,
Running From My Self This Long,
Blood On Theese Blisterd Toes,
Owl I See You Gold,
I'm Missing You,
How Will I See You Go,
Black Wings On My Back,
Bats Sing,
Ghost Show,
Enities,
Scary Things,
Woah,
Right Now,
I'm Bout,
To Get It In My Whip And Go,
I Hate To Be Alone,
Length Hurts More,
I Feel Like An Earth Warm,
Soul Burns, I'm Sore,
I'm Sore
Perpare For THe Grand Fanaliy,
Sacred Notes Spoken By The Adams Family,
I Tried To Breath,
I Tried To Leave And Succusseed,
Exceed In Cali,
Before I Leave
Cemertary Scene,
Sit On A Grand Paino,
And Begin To Angel Sing,
Wrapped Up ,
In Black Dust,
Intriging Things,
Such Vivid Dreams,
Speak Nice,
I Reancarnated A Fly,
Should Of Been There It Was Hype,
Intrusive Thoughts,
3rd Eye Sharp As Hell,
Some Just Lie,
And Tell
My Ryimng Giant,
Roar Like Sirens,
Silence A Lion Tail,
And If I'm Silenced For Braking Silience,
Violent Tale,
Everythings A Story,
Glimpse Of An Experience,
Illumatied With A Sphere In Him,
Are You Hearing Em,
New Dimensions Put Fear In Em,
I'm Not FearLess,
See And Hear Ghost,
Immense Spirtual,
Deacreses Pieces Beneath Intesity Of Physical,
Pain Reaps Pleasre,
This Might Alarm Some,
Umm, Karma Is Risidual,
Percautious Actions,
Propper Packin,
Excotic Chick,
Cool As This,
Sits With A Napkin,
Poeitc Romantic Majestic,
Captin,
Thanks For Letting My Cats In,
Manners Like I'm Well Be Haved,
Nailed To The Grave,
Verbatim When I Say Demons Know The Game,
I Have Tourettes I Twitch My Neck,
Sensations Anxious Pain,
Channel There's No Train,
Why Do We Some Times Wait,
There's Is No Hopping On A Train,
Right This Way ,
There's No Such Thing,
Every Year Fear Cutting My Wings,
Despriptive Dreams,
Doungion Screams,
Destructive Thoughts Manifest Bad Things,
What If I'm Not Dead,
Just My Head Glimpsing Into An Expeirence That Rings,
Some Times I Picture
Daisy Filled Trees,
Gold Light Right Beside A Swing,
Empty Seat Beautiful Scene,
Poetry Deep,
Tears Scream What Does It Mean,
I Don't Mean To Be Mean,
Inflicted With The Wicked,
Demons Screamin At Me, ,
Alot Is Not What It Seems,
My Thoughts Build The ***,
Sensations Bloomin Seeds,
Frequency From My Belief,
Is Primarily The Feed,
Change Your Thoughts Around 2 Weeks,
Or Reality Becomes The Leaves,
Were Equal With Speech,
Diffrent Ways To Relay Communicate,
Willing To Teach,
You Can Stay When It Rains,
Please Take A Seat,
Are You Thirsty , Are You Hungry,
We Can Eat,
Need An Ear, Help Fighting Fear,
Come Here,
Just Tell Me What You Need,
A Never Ending Hug ,
Or The Deepest Spoken Piece,
I'm Hurting Coping With The Beast Inside Of Me,
Purgotry True Story Burns Like A Priest,
Vampire , Wearwolf,
Hybrid ,
Teeth,
Peter Pan Spirit ,
Spy Like Speech,
Smooth When I Move,
Staright Forward Like Sheets,
Don't Sweat My Technique , Lie Or Be Thief,
Chosen One,Under A Golden Sun,
Master Key,
Craftin Rappin Abbraccaddabra , Master Piece,
I'm Coming At Ya With I Understand,
And Peace,
Dreams Come True,
See,
I Telport To A Cave On Side Of Seas,
Black Sand,
Red Beach,
Gazin At The Waves I'm Amazed,
Today The Rain Didn't Take Me,
I'm Dying I'm Eyeing Save The,
Iron Silence,
Rippin SKin Reachin For Saftey,
White Noise,
It Is Pericing Loud,
Letting Go,
Can Turn It Down,
Don't Walk Away Come On Turn Around,
Out Burst Anger Burns The Ground,
So Confused , Emotinal Bruse,
Right, Wrong ,
Who's To Choose,
Perceptions Immbeded With A Nouse,
Code Infected With Negletic Hectic,
That Was Hard I Said It,
Past All Scars, Regret It,
All Alone Driving Down A Dark Rode,
Oh No, Yo A ****** Nose,
Passion Rose
Magik Nose,
Eyes Know,
Aroua white Snow,
Violet Glow,
Sharp Tone,
Mom You Home,

For some,
strength comes in the
shape of butterflies.
We grip the blade in
search of redeement, but then,
drop them, and replace scars,
with pen marks.
For scribbles on the skin,
are much less intrusive,
than the lines we make to last,
to try and remind ourselves,
that mistakes aren't permanent,
but the punishments are.
Just like a ****** scene.
The blood stains are gone,
but so are the people,
even though they never really walked away.

Life is a contradiction.
You roam the earth,
just to watch yourself and others,
slowly fade away,
you're left with what you started.
But memories will never fade.
you'll walk through life on tiptoes,
never fully able to let go.
Using your skin as your canvas,
and sharp objects as a paint brush
to create jagged lines in seas of red and white,
where you know you need no other color,
because red speaks the truth.
The truth in which cigarette smoke just couldn't bring,
because the smoke filters in the very same thing
which may very
well be killing him,
as we speak.
As lines are drawn and crossed,
you swear to a god that,
you hope will save him,
promising that you'll never touch the poison again,
if he could just spare the only good thing,
you have left,

And that's him.

this is something I do - any time someone I have some kind of respect for asks for one of my books, I have to re digest it through their eyes. Immediately I go home and read it as if I am them instead of me and now I like my words differently depending on who it is I’m reading as. It shows me- I am not afraid of touching things filled with memories. You can be. I am, however, too terrified of freezing in this place if I stay unable to figure out how to move. 
this is something I do - when I was a child, every night as I would try to fall asleep my mind would come up with the most terrible things. Intrusive thoughts that I would call bees in my brain, I couldn’t help it nor did I understand it, I’d try for hours to distract myself but still each night I’d dream of burning alive, and I believed I had myself to blame. I’m telling you this now because in adulthood I have gotten very good at ignoring the bees, too good, I’ve decided. I can barely hear myself think so how can I possibly create?
this is something I do- crave, in all regards. Food and love are the same and I am only asking for a bite. A relic from my eating disorder, I’m used to surviving on little bits and I know there is a part of me that prefers it. Restrict now, binge later, the problem is there is no longer anything left that isn’t filled with memories and sometimes it is too much for my body to understand. I will ask for permission before I am affectionate. I will still eat in a calorie deficit today.

A monster appears
like one from your childhood
An inner battle commences
Between the bad and the good

At first, you'd find them in movies
or under the bed
Now as you grow, you fear
The monsters live in your head

Disguised as shadows in night,
New monsters now appear
These monsters are sneakier,
They know what you fear

Struggling to breathe,
your eyes filled with fear
Trapped, alone, no where to hide
Can't escape, it's far and it's near

This monster is tricky,
It plays tricks on your mind,
You plead for it to stop,
But there's no where to hide

This monster knows you
It makes you question your past
With a bleak outlook,
You wonder how long this might last

The one place you felt safe
Before this monster invaded
Now your mind is no solace
Every good memory faded

How do you run from something
That plays tricks on your mind?
How do you know who you are
When it's yourself you can't find?

How do you feel joy from
things that now trigger pain?
How do you move forward with life
when only fear remains?

We all grow up
It's a natural part of life
No one ever warns us though
That life comes with great strife

No one ever tells us
To be afraid of our thoughts
Feeling lost and alone
With many battles still to be fought

Once this monster invades,
It's hard to get back
To a life once lived,
Before this monster attacked

Our parents warned us of
the bad guys outside
They never told us
of the ones in our minds

And now this monster has control
You no longer recognize the mirror
You pray for this to end,
For prayers fall upon deaf ears

You question your sanity,
You question your morals
This monster knows how to torture
To envelop you in its toil

You know you have a battle ahead
This monster can't defeat
Crippled by the past
You must overcome and beat

This is an illness
This is internal torture
But you mustn't forget
You've got a bright future

You must fight on,
Between this inner war
Good versus evil,
What do you fight for?

Fight for love,
Fight to win back your mind
Fight for family and joy
Fight for what you still must find

Monsters can attack
Anyone, anytime
Lest not judge
For you never know when a monster might prey upon YOUR mind





Author note: end the stigma of mental illness. Talk about it.

You don’t hate me
But of course you don’t
I didn’t blame you for your intrusive thoughts
I didn’t rip your innocence out of your hands
I didn’t claim your issues were personal attacks on me
I didn’t invalidate your experience
You have no reason to hate me

I am the one left with hate when all I wanted was to love
The pain, distress, confusion all rolled into one
No other way to express my emotions
I’ve become a shell of who I used to be
I’ve become a fraction of a human being
It’s the hate that fuels me
To be better than us, better than you

Monsters in my head, monsters in my mind, monsters in the night, monsters all the time.

They're lurking in the shadows, lurking in the light, preying on innocent victims, they have you in their sight!

They're someone meant to protect you, love and respect you, yet they manipulate, take advantage, violate and subject you.

Parents hide your children, watch for warning signs, I'm speaking from experience, it's happened many times.

These predators seek specific children then take advantage of their vulnerabilities, they feed on trusting victims then violate them sexually.

You're screaming on the inside, yet no one else can see, it happens over and over again, please someone help me!

Feelings of confusion, guilt, isolation and shame, it's hard to comprehend, you'll never be the same.

You're unable to speak a word about this, you can't look anyone in the eye, you're screaming on the inside, won't someone ask me why?!

Finally, someone might see what’s happening and they ask if you're okay? But you're speechless, powerless and afraid, please just go away.

You feel you're going crazy, life is too painful to bear, emotionally numb internally, feelings of despair.
Seasons pass so slowly, feels like eternity, broken inside, painful agony.

Mentally and physically depleted, yet you somehow make it through another day, you continue to block it out, in hopes it will all go away.

You're disgusted by what you've become, ***** and ashamed, empty on the inside, worthless, hateful and angry, consumed by self-blame.

The years pass by painfully slowly, it happens time and time again, until your prayers are finally answered and the healing journey begins.

You've come so far and begin making progress, then here come the intrusive memories, flashbacks and nightmares, nothing seems to make sense.

Each minute is a new struggle, you take things day by day, you go to bed each evening praying these memories fade away.

Eventually, seasons appear a little brighter and you begin to see some light, but cant help to think of other victims still going through this fight.

The things that have happened impacted deep within your soul, what's been taken from you, no one will never know.

They were people that you trusted, you've been so betrayed, how can you ever trust again when you'll never be the same.

How many predators are out there, warning signs may never show, millions of innocent victims, most we'll never know.

You will no longer be silenced, broken or ashamed, it's time to speak up and no longer take the blame!

Now you begin to open up, as hard as it might be, in hopes to restore your faith in this world and in humanity.

So many monsters lurking in the shadows, they are evil, they are cruel, seeking innocent victims, it can easily be you!

Parents ask your children, watch
for warning signs, start asking questions and listen for their cries.

Let's start making a change, one victim at a time, these pedophiles must be held accountable and punished for their crime.

They haunt me in my dreams, they haunt my mind, monsters all around me, monsters all the time.

You feel like
A ghastly mist, crawling up my toes
Touching frozen ground as you wrap
The soles of my feet in pasty white.

You feel like
Wet hair seeping through every thread
Of a pillowcase where you rest your head
Cold, warm, cold, warm—uncomfortable.

You feel like
Sore eyes from screens too bright
As you type in bold, black thoughts
A manifesto of the conflicts within.

You feel like
A room with no light, air, and sounds
Stagnancy echoing—the streaks, the blowing, the ringing
Were all dampened, washed out, unheard of.

You feel like
The sudden flash of blindness in the sky
Overlapping the deepest violets with such crisp tear
And they, too, tear as well.

You feel like
An intrusive intrusion of an intruder
An interlude to all the things you've done
An intermission to the tango that has just begun.

You feel like
A stale yet warm yet ugly yet comforting embrace
I wrap around you just to seep in every inch
Of what only you could offer.

You feel like
The last beginning of the endgame
The enshrouding entrance of what is to come
The naked piece of the puzzle
I have yet to grasp fully

You feel like
Bitter goodbyes
Unfiltered eyes
And crimson skies.

I m finding it hard to hang from the moon

and the sun is far away from the dawn

Roses are smiling bathing in the moonlight

inspiring thorns of hope in the fragrance of night

I fail to find whether i m sleeping or I m awake

either way the world is relative

manipulative suffocative and intrusive

Steel hearts with metallic beat

breeze of jealous air nowhere to retreat

The demons of night or the angels of dawn

Take me to the beauty of another world

To the carnival of holy ghosts in merry- go- around

where life s created and celebrated

Far away from eclipsed minds yeah far way from the eclipsed minds......

Praise be to the pain of the pew!
Hard wooden bench, you are forever burned into my memory.
The way your unforgiving surface cuts into the arch of my back
during the seemingly endless lectures,
that drone on about the “Light of my life”
and how I was created to appease him.
That hour dedicated to making me feel like cattle
as opposed to the lamb my shepherd is supposedly protecting

That endless hour of watching the iridescent light
shine through the stained glass
and thinking about how I much preferred the shining of the sun
As opposed to a “light”
that didn’t even warm my face when I looked his way


Your beauty is appreciated greatly.
Though the glossy finish is deceiving,
for when I sit upon it I feel the chill on my bare legs
as I am reminded that I was forced into wearing my sunday best

Oh mighty Pew, I must give you thanks.
You were the only thing that held me up
when the weight of the harsh judgement,
the intense trailing eyes that raked over your image mercilessly
and intrusive mouths full of only the nosiest questions
made me want to drop to the kneeler
even when we weren’t told to bow our heads in prayer.




I am forever grateful
for the amusement
of peeling flaking paint off of your corners
to battle the brain mutilating boredom
that came along with the monotone voice of the pastor.

You truly are beautiful,
You and your clones all lined up one behind the other.
All facing towards the front
where the cross stood above all,
the lord’s painted eyes watching us.

All of us!
A bunch of sinners.
How fearless of you, great pew
to harbor such sinning souls.
To help them convert
to something worth saving.

So even if your hard surface cuts into the arch of my back,
And your glossy finish deceives me with it’s cold exterior.
I must thank you
for helping me sit up straight in church.
because I wasn’t sure,
between the judgemental stare
and the hissing threats from my mother,
if I could even slouch in my seat
Without the need to beg for the forgiveness.

"You don't want to look back at your life and realize that you wasted it in front of a screen, do you?"

That's what they say.

And to them, I'd say
There are times that I feel everything around me is crumbling.
That I'm crumbling,
That my mind is turning against me.

As much as I try to fight it
I can't help the crippling depression and anxiety
that comes from seeing
a raincloud in the distance
Or sometimes, for no reason at all.

I can't control how the depression festers,
the intrusive thoughts that tell me
everyone would be be better off
if I wasn't around,
that there's a way to assure
that I'll never be caught in the rain again

I cannot count how many times I've turned to substance abuse to stop the thoughts.
I cannot count how many times the substance has worsened my condition,
Made me paranoid, Afraid of myself,
afraid of what will become of me
if i allow myself to stay

I cannot count how many moments I've had where I shoveled mountains of food into my mouth during a binge because I wasn't sure what to do with my hands.
I cannot count how many times I've punched a wall or slung everything off my desk because I needed to act impulsively in a way that would harm only myself.
I cannot count how many times I have thought of ending my own life.
I think about it every day.
More than once a day.

Sometimes I get so bad off that I can't do anything at all.
I know I can't die
my desk is already empty, i don't have the strength to throw a punch
The thought of food makes me want to *****

Those really bad times are when I turn to
my favorite TV shows for comfort

Watching a good series is like
getting ****** into a different world,
escaping from reality, all while
Being gently reminded that
there is good in this world.
that there are reasons to stay
Even if the only thing keeping me there in that moment
is the cliff hanger that was left for me at the end of the episode

If the distraction of the plot alone wasn't enough already,
the characters teach me

Katara teaches how to stand up for what you believe in and to never lose hope
Zuko teaches that you can shape your own destiny, and do what is right.
Toph teaches that you should never let another person define your abilities

Jim and Pam taught me that love doesn't always have to die as you grow older
Dwight and Angela gave me hope that things can work out in the end, even if the road is rough

Amethyst teaches that you should be comfortable with your body and its abilities
Garnet taught me to never be sorry for being who I am
Pearl taught me that it is possible to move on from losing someone you were in love with
Steven taught me that you should always stand up for what is good

Leela showed me that women can kick some SERIOUS ***, and that we should be proud of it.
Fry showed me that home is defined by being surrounded by people you love

Rick taught me that in the grand scheme of things, a lot of the things i blow up in my head are very very trivial, and that i should focus on more important things... like science!

Lastly, Morty taught me
"Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, everyone's gonna die, come watch TV"

By: David W. Clare

As she stood there combing her long Thai-dolly hair, I went berserk!

Her allure made me demure...

Her intrusive big green comb made me fawn. I was so glad she wasn't a blond...

...oh how I hated to sleep alone that Phuket, Thailand night.

I dearly needed a young girl to love on until the early morning light...

Mystical island trees, made my incense clouded nose sneeze...

The open window filled our hideaway with a lightly salted Andaman Sea breeze...

She gave me her dark surprise most guys might never realize...

Feminine chocolate kisses for my attack... became my desire and late night snack!

(C) in perpetuity
(P) FilmNoirWorks

So many years ago, I packed away my childhood, each year was placed neatly in a box, labeled and sealed shut with packing tape. And I took those boxes full of memories; memories full of pain, fear, sadness, abuse…and I placed them in the far back corner of the attic of my mind. I made the boxes diminutive and negligible, they were nothing special and I tried to forget they were there. I did this so I could get through each day without the painful reminder of who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me. I did this so I could live.

I knew the boxes were there, and I would go into the attic and check on the boxes…just to make sure the packing tape that held all the contents, all the filth and the same, was still secure, that nothing I was unable to face could escape. At times the tape would peal back, allowing the contents of the boxes to peak through the cracks, and I could see things so horrible I would be physically sick. The contents in the boxes would taunt me, beg me to look inside, to admit that they existed, and I would have to hurry and close the door to resist them. I resisted the temptation so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me.

I knew that eventually I would have to unpack those boxes, and put them away, where they belonged. And at times I tried to do it – but the contents were so rotten, so ***** and shameful, I couldn’t put them out for anyone to see. And I denied that they belonged to me. I denied them so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me.

Panic grew inside of me as the pain leaked out of the aged boxes, pain that was always there, but like the sound of my own heart beating, I no longer noticed it. It just was. And then the pain became overwhelming, loud and intrusive, I could hear screaming and crying, and noises that did not sound human , an animal in pain, I thought. I closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears but the screaming didn’t stop. It would not stop. I could no longer deny them. I could no longer protect myself. I could no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me.

Now, today, all these years later…these boxes that represent ME. And as I look around me, at the pain, and the shame, and the sadness, I not only see what these boxes held, I feel it…I hear it…I taste it…I breathe it. My vision is blurred from my tears…spilling over, some streaming down cheeks; others poised on the edges of my eyelashes, awaiting their turn to fall...right into the content of those boxes filled with my pain. Her pain. The pain of a little girl, abused and broken, unloved and unheard…

I can hear her screaming and crying. I can feel her pain…it is real. And I can feel it, and I can hear it, and I can taste it…I breathe it.

And I can no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what he did to me.

Boulevard royalty mingling with animals in open cages
Instances become signposts for alleged tolerance
But it’s time to go back to the gates of where we’re from
To tell of speculative social forays to an adoring audience

Seamless air pockets provoking thought, constructing
miniature crosses piercing walls where painful paintings were hung
But you decided being a crow was better than being a rooster
There is no difference but black is the color of the song being sung

Passionately significant but intellectually deficient
Sensitive jealousies masquerading polemic tendencies
Dreads worn for life not for the fears of who would notice
An intrusive memory loss was all that could save their enemies

As ludicrous as foot stools for wheels or sleep when morning breaks
Social dynamics treated reservedly by contemporaneous mocking birds
Philistine rounder’s no more or less competent than square faced priests
Believe me, the time we forget is only because we cannot say the words

The story ended before the introduction did because they never met
The pre-text may be questioned but the post mortem changes nothing
The only evil that is selected are outrages that inoculate us from shock
Warm friendliness does not sink the rocky rapids that are no longer asking

Confounding lines of judgment and reckless carriages await their turn
Canon or pulp; equally intriguing depending on which way towards the sun
Systematic folding chairs gaze at danger but in the manner a priest would
He swallows before telling the congregation he is not a man or the one

The reconstruction of peace begins with a soft breeze and earth tones
Necessary or essential, it is all the same for the time it takes to be sane
Within the sacrament principle we beg pain to restrict our movements
Linguistically inexperienced emotionally spent will we ever be the same

Dreams of flying with leaves under wires calmly watching man fall short
Incantation pastoral discovery of what aspect we could never know
Until you feel nothing between lovers except what is written on the heart
The one who walked away will never know the one who told them so

I don't think the world would comprehend what I mean when I say I have intuitive thoughts.
When I say I think about grabbing a knife from the cupboard and
I'm not gonna finish that one
The thoughts bleed from my head.
I look like carrie
Obscene words cover me from top to bottom
Next time you get in the shower you should water board yourself
Put a fork in the microwave and watch it explode in your face
Get ready in the morning with a nice ice bath for your face, just use boiling water
Clip your nails, clean off. Keep cutting.
You should shave until there's nothing left
Bleed
Cut
Bleed
But those intrinsive thoughts aren't silly and funny
So i'm gonna stick to
You should eat that whole jar of nutella

A shadow crossed the room
in the corner of my awareness

A cloud outside somewhere, probably,
but for an instant, I thought that motion was you.

Thoughts of you are casually intrusive.

Maybe you’d crawled into my luggage - and hidden.
There’s a complex birthday-candle wish.

Desire owes no deference to logic

When I think of you, my tummy becomes warm satin and I know,
that in your hands, I could be boneless and lusciously obedient.

For a while, anyway.

I remember us at the beach, lounging in deep parasol shade,
how your tanned skin glistened with tiny beads of sweat
and your endless legs stretched out like a centerfold’s.

Or you pulling me up out of the pool, one-handed, effortlessly,
with enough force that I briefly flew, and how you’d gently guide me down.

“What are you doing?” I’m virtually slapped out of my ****** fantasy, by Lisa, who’s standing, exasperated, sandaled toes tapping, purse in hand.

“Daydreaming,” I answered weakly, as I jumped up to get myself ready.

Has it only been four days since I left you?
I already feel tragically underheld.
.
.
A song for this:
Ain't it a shame by The B-52s
Locked Inside by Janelle Monáe

I feel as if I have a tainted mind, I reminisce about a false narrative to make me feel in constant pain and disgust from myself. Self loathing has became an art to me, and I can’t prevent the ruminating thoughts. Redundant for years to months to minutes of my mind putting horns on my head and saying I’m pure sin. My skin painted red. My eyes are black. I demonize and reflect then demonize again because I have blamed everything that has happened in my life on myself. My heart cries for me to stop but my mind has drawn to the conclusion that it must be this way, it is this way. It feels selfish of me to be around others because they can smell the self loathing lingering around my body. I don’t know if I try not to hate myself or if I ignore myself so I don’t have to come face to face of who I’ve become and what I’m not.

The librarian walks around.
I look to my right and see a classmate watching videos on youtube about boards of canada, if she looks to her right there's a girl looking at her cellphone, the video has bicycles.
The people in the main hall can be heard all the way on the other side of the library.
I took no pictures today even though I brought my analog photocameras, there is no visual recording of this day.
I look to my left and see a large flatbed scanner, it says EPSON in big capitals and in smaller capitals it says "GT-20000".
The artworks behind the window looking into the hallway look partly improvised and partly thought out.
The reflection of a grey sky can be seen when looking up.
I think it should rain but the clouds seem reluctant to do so.
I will try to write a song today.
The brown artwork is a tree with roots.
I think that is a bit much.
The clicking subsides.
The librarian remains silent, with a sporadic amount of mouse-clicks to break up the quiet atmosphere.
I don't know what the song should be about, in fact I would like it to be about nothing which is something not easily done.
The silvery-blue artwork is made of old plastic bottles.
I liked it, it was great though I am not a fan of the cgi blood used in some scenes.
I can forgive them for it.
I am anton, I am a man in my late twenties.
The large television in the library is turned off.
The noise in the background is noticable.
The door of the toilet is opened and a girl with heavy dark make up steps trough and makes her way back to her work.
The scarf is plaid, red.
I rode my bicycle to my university, the road was broken up and I had to be creative in my driving.
I remember that my classmate records the traces of people trough frottage, it's interesting.
The fingers of students on keyboards seem to tickle my eardrums, they are a bit intrusive.
I will stay in school for dinner.
The white artwork is skeletal and weblike at the same time.
The words are on the wall and on the glass window.
I visited my personal coach who helps me in school, we discussed my plans for the weeks.
The amount of sentences should equal 26.
The noise of typing shortly intensifies.
The words released onto youtube spell titles of songs. 14
I am wondering what to do next.
I am wearing Adidas shoes, they were considered cool when my ex's uncle gave them to me as a present; I felt reluctant to take them.
I visit a university where I study arts.
The head of the author is filled with chaotic thoughts.
I think my classmate has a funny way of typing, she seems to be talking to a friend on facebook and I am not creepy at all.
The internet seems slow.
I think about the amount of documents that must have been scanned on the machine, there are scratches on it.
The voices can be recognized.
I saw monkey heads.
The cables of the computer hang against my feet and are slightly irritating.
The girl next to me changed between videos.
I signed up for a few courses, my academy requires it's students to do so.
I eat and drink at breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The library is lukewarm.
I notice that my fingers already hurt from typing, or maybe from sending text messages from my phone.
The radiator makes a low rumbling noise.
I record stories and poems on casette tapes, they find their way into simple installations.
The garbage bin is empty.
I watched the first episode of Ash VS Evil this morning.
I am warm, I am wearing a leather jacket and a fleece vest over a brown t-shirt.