I wake up and eat some eggs, a yogurt, and a few slices of melon
in an attempt to change my life
after all it is that or death
I won't hold my breath

It's a beautiful day to head to the mall
with a friend
I really know where this is going

Hmm
I like that shirt
Oops, this store doesn't offer plus size
On to the next..
I really like these jeans..
Forty five dollars for sizes sixteen and up
What a mess!

Since I refuse to let Lane Bryant **** my wallet in the ***
I decide to head to Barnes and Noble instead
I accidentally bumped into a lady and her baby stroller as I walked past and she mumbled
"Fat *****" under her breath
Yes that's what she said
I didn't even turn my head
Because that's what the lady said
and that's what society says
and instead of trying to explain it's just
easier to walk away
it's the self hatred after I dread

So I buy a whole pizza and eat the entire ******* thing
and it is beyond delicious
though the guilt I feel afterwards wasn't worth it
and vomitting that **** up was viscous

Even when I was a little girl I dreamed of being thin
I dreamed of being a model
I dreamed of having a flat tummy
Just to fit in
I didn't like the belly I had
or the fat in my cheeks
I was the only kid in gym that could never climb the rope
and that began a string of anxiety attacks
that would last for weeks

The doctor calls it insulin resistance
which leaves me with the inability to lose weight
but I shouldn't have to explain to anyone my condition
I just shouldn't have to explain
not to mention the ovarian disease that cripples me to my knees
which so happens to be genetic
and mimics the blood of a diabetic
leaving me incurable
a medical mystery
not to mention infertility
so for me
children are just a dream

Although I tell myself
that I am beautiful
and that I am intelligent
and that I am funny
and that I am a hard worker
and that I am successful
and that I am caring
and that I am loving
and that I am daring
and that I am the best **** friend a person could ever have
To a stranger I'm just a "fat *****"
and you know what?
That makes me really ******* sad

And after that I am still a hollow where the
fairies hide from darkness and poisons. I
am still growing flowers out of my womb
and that is why they stink like *******.

And after that your disbelief kills all my
sparky pixies and after that I cannot be
anything more than a hollow hollow. But
yeah I am still growing flowers out of my
wound and that is why I scream and cry
when you touch them.

And after that the stillness of the air inside
me and the remnant echo of morning songs
attract the darkness to come. And after that
I think she may feel lonely so I invite
poisons to also come along.

And after that I am still growing flowers
out of the wound on my womb. They still
stink like ******* and after that
vomitting feels like womanhood thing. And
after that my flowers are still immortal and
that is why sometimes you see blood clot
floating around the moon.

I'm currenty somewhere between
Emotionally void
And too emotional.
It's not just OCD, or depression, or anxiety.
Or what everyone else thinks I have.
Just, you know,
ASPD.
Ha.
It makes me laugh.
**** yourself.
I need therapy again,
And I'm so jealous of those who can afford it.
I need meds,
And I'm so angry at those who can get it.
I know I need help.
But when you act out or ask for help
And all you get is silenced
Because it means your parenting is week
Because you care how it affects someone else instead
Because it is too much for you too handle
Because you'd rather I fix you,
Then I'm not going to get better.
Do you know how I solve it alone?
Razors and safety pins to make it dull,
Nyquil and Tylenol PM to get some rest.
***** and **** to medicate the main problems,
And binging and vomitting to get the physique back.
Maybe I don't need help.
This seems to be working pretty.
Well, only if pretty well means not at all.

i've had a fear of asking for what i want, or being ashamed to want things. it's a strange fear in hindsight, and i still struggle w/ it
2. it's amazing i've gotten anything done with how little confidence/assertiveness i exude. i'd say mostly luck tbh.
3. i've also had an urge to be a little more social lately which also clashes with how i identify myself as introverted or shy
4. and that surprised some people because in certain contexts i can be energetic or funny but i cant control that. i dont know
5. i often blank when comin up with jokes or funny material and it feels like im not myself when that happens. its not triggered by sadness
6. its just a blank, as if you're taking a test in school that you werent prepared for.
7. this is annoying to some people so sorry but being introspective on twitter helps me when the words come easily as they so rarely do..
8. gaming has always given me a reason to travel or be socialize without having to seek company, it's just always there.
9. but i know gaming wont last forever and maybe i just seek novelty, who knows.
10. i enjoy learning but i also get bored quickly so i usually pick up small useless bits of alot of topics, ppl see me as smarter than i am
11. and i am certainly envious of people who have accomplished more than me but otoh i am surrounded by them and its kind of inspiring
12. so the ego blow of not being the smartest in the room hurt for a while but it also pays off because i see what my peers are capable of
13. and thus can see what im capable of
14. sorry again for spamming/ranting, but i hope someone can maybe learn something useful from my own bsing lol
15. the amount of ways people can express themselves is incredible and ive always been bad at it, i think cuz i fear/avoid confrontation?
16. taking up space feels like guilt alot
17. emotional attachment to outcomes have held me back, but it's hard to let ago of that. its what i feel strongest towards, accomplishment.
18. going to TBH5 and my name being known by people i never met from a place ive never been was a crazy feeling as long as ive been in the game
19. although im not sure if it was from accomplishment as much as its been that ive been around for so long
20. and i also often feel guilty when people overestimate my expertise in tech, gaming etc and i cant help them
21. because it feels like a facade i put on of being super smart when im not, even though its not something i try to fool people with
22. and when i was younger i used to resent really sociable/popular people for having what i could have. being friendlier has helped that
23. but its also weird because i still hold onto that hurt and becoming something part of what you used to hate is a odd conflict to have
24. expressing empathy beyond "i'm sorry" or similar things is something else that's difficult, i never understood it and i cant fake it
25. narcissism is a trait i've despised in people and seen in those that dont have it but i see myself getting closer to it everyday sadly
26. i can get jealous of peoples success until i realize the work they put in, they i get jealous of how they can have such strong work ethic...
27. it took me ayear after losing weight/learning how to dress to realize girls weren't mocking me when they found me attractive lol
28. i feel like i've learned alot but im also so behind on everything
29. i wonder if i'll ever truly feel like an adult or if i'm meant to feel like a fraud forever lol
30. i dont know if i force myself to be social "just because" or if its what i actually want, i also take pride in my "shy" identity
31. i've apologized for being myself alot, i've even apologized for beating people in "janky" ways in game. its a bad habit
32. people make excuses for me when i play bad too which helps the ego but hurts in the long run, again its the expectations of others...
33. i know its impossible to be the best in every pursuit i follow but it still ***** feeling like i cant even come close, idk perfectionism
34. i've been friends with all my exes afterwards even the ones who cheated on me (minus the most recent) and im not sure if i was apathetic
35. or didnt value myself enough to see their behavior as a big deal
36. i've long since accepted im the common denominator in my failed relationships/friendships but i still have no idea what causes them to
37. it'd be too easy to blame all my problems on my weird but not necessarily awful childhood though
38. i thought getting a full time stable job would solve almost all my issues and it helped alot but not in the ways i thought
39. so it makes me wonder if anything i want really matters or would help
40. i also think im coming to terms with the fact that i may be a romantic person which conflicts with how i identify as a shy or cold person
41. my laziness gets so real sometimes im too lazy to even do fun stuff, like staring at the ceiling is so much more entertaining or something
42. ranting on an open platform is probably healthier than emotionally vomitting on another person and making them deal with it?
43. ive certainly thought about if i have anxiety or things like that but i dont want to give myself an excuse even if it is valid
44. alot of mental illnessses have become a buzzword these days which is such a shame and i feel for those who really struggle with them
45. and id end up becoming part of that problem, what i deal with is super trivial compared to what most ppl deal with
46. i wish i could always be aware of myself/talk stream of consciousness like this man
47. recently i was told a group of ppl who i thought didnt think of me at all didnt actually like me, which actually made me feel good?
48. being acknowledged even if its bad is good i guess, "no such thing as bad publicity" etc
49. idk maybe i need new distractions or maybe i need to stop distracting myself? who knows
50. feel like i've co-opted my friends accomplishments in lieu of my own while simultaneously hating to talk about myself
51. ex "my friend in X field or people who do Y for a living"
52. being associated with greatness while not doing so is a convenient excuse to not do ****
53. "shoot your shot" but i'd feel guilty about it too because finding someone attractive also makes me feel bad?
54. alot of things make me feel bad but not sad. i guess guilt is the best word to describe it
55. is this how m2k lives everyday *******
56. never liked the "ironic sadness" meme on tumblr etc but the writing that comes from it such as mira gonzalez/gabby bess is ******* amazing
57. i have no idea why i randomly gets bouts of being super nervous or paranoid either, over nothing
58. went to a bar yesterday and flinched/got surprised almost everytime the bartender asked me if i wanted a drink which made her nervous too
59. or at least i think so
60. i've gotten mad at people for not having confidence in themselves but ive somehow been ok with that trait in myself for so long
61. im sure ill be embarrassed about all these feels tweets later but **** it gotta strike while the iron is hot
62. it ***** when a friend of yours is dealing with stuff that you yourself aren't equipped for and you can't help them
63. it's so hard to express that you aren't abandoning them but that you are just useless in that situation
64. sometimes just being there isn't enough, but letting yourself get dragged into their problems isn't helpful either
65. the one big step ive made in the past year is learning to not feel guilty for doing things i enjoy though so thats a start
66. also what's the difference between persistence and being annoying/stubborn? it's arbitrary?
67. ive been reading alot but i barely remember what i read recently or what it was about, and im not 100% sure of my favorite color
68. none of those are good signs >_>
69. pride isn't a useless emotion but it certainly seems to hurt more than it helps
70. maybe i'll print out and frame my tweets from the past hour or so so i can remember how to feel again!
71. i have very few SI friends compared to brooklyn manhattan or elsewhere and i wanna change that but i also wanna leave SI #feelsBadMan
72. being contextually creative (such as jokes/stories) is alot different from being creative in general or on a whim

Life is but a series of redundancies strung together. Sitched with tragedy by ****** hands, I only hope not to stain the thread.

Every event in this existence is nothing more than a domino in an endless time loop
, constantly falling/ constantly falling / i am falling.

fact: the name of the spots on domino tiles are called pips and i’ve tried killing myself two times.

The night I snuck 3 orange bottles from the kitchen cupboard and melted into pillows/into bed sheets/ into wooden ikea frame
waking up to not shiny gates but my mother holding a skeleton in the shower
head in a galaxy so far way i almost missed my alarm clock.  
i wanted to hit the snooze but got a glass full of charcoal instead.
mm was just how i like my coffee, black and ***** inducing.

fact: charcoal is among the purest forms of carbon as are diamonds

I am not a diamond, but a piece of pyrite. fool’s gold.

The second time two years later involved a bulk bottle of excedrin
one part aspirin, one part tylenol, one part caffeine.
if you ever try to off yourself i don’t recommend this recipe,
dog ear it in your terminal cook book as do not try this at home
you will lie on your bedroom vomitting your intestines until your parents are tired of hearing it

They will make you go to school the next day.

You wont.

fact: The most common causes of death are heart disease and cancer. Suicide is number 11

My world spilled over like a bag of glass marbles hitting the floor

Sunset orange spilling onto
the grass-splattered grotto;
where silicon body lay, wading,
and the ******* float up,
hovering bone-white ****,
emerald eyes towards the
galactic-gutter ceiling.

I.

Their knuckles drag the dust,
kissing broken boulder.
She wraps ***** arms around,
as she rests on his shoulder.

Birds swing and spin like
fleshy, fluid tops.
If you study them
with your tired eyes,
their dancing never stops.

II.

The cactus juice helps them
see each-other, and they
sing of spontaneous Gods
that torment the desert floor
they swim upon, waiting for
her, whom wades amongst stone.

Movies and shows, albums and
singles splinter their psyches;
what could you remind
that sneaks from behind,
and nibbles their Nikes.

III.

I remember the ways
she lied, his face cracked,
but I forgive her. I forgive
the other men she loved
instead of me, I forgive
her for accepting me,
I forgive myself for
believing that the
greater I hurt,
the deeper I loved.

Little girl scratched at the sand,
looking at him, her hair as dry
as the plants scampering by.
I have always loved you,
she croaked, I have always
been more than a child
in the dreams I share
with you. I feel as coarse
as this wasteland, existing
only to us, her, and a thread
hanging suspended from time.

IV.

Their bodies plopped onto
the moist, coffee soil.
They drank the ground,
their blood pushing faster,
racing the rushing tide.
And in the distance, a shine
before the eternity, a hope
beyond the shore.

A skeletal fist wrapped his wrist,
at the end, she asked him to forget.
But he dove and swam towards
the rock cave tomb, breaking
through the electric waves.

Little girl fell, knees swallowed
by the baptismal sand,
she wept and asked him
to come back, please
come back.


V.

His face brushed the stone wall,
he kissed and called until
wine-red smeared his face,
until he tasted copper
swarm his mouth.

A brief moment, he felt himself,
he felt the world photographed.
Rays spit out between the cracks,
rocks explode, vomitting over.

Shard of slate speared his stomach,
and he remembered October:
Santa Fe, where they fought,
she shoved, he begged,
battered lips brushing past,
leaving photo albums and a
note, in blue ballpoint,
stating that it would
never last.

VI.

Dying moments consisted
of anxious pulls at the shard,
cutting his hands open,
adrift towards her lifeless
pearl, pure exposed rib body,
begging, kissing, shoving,
proclamations of forgiveness.

Bleeding out, he shook her,
asking to be loved as the wall
closed, capturing their bodies,
preserving the desperation
of his broken nature.

it's, well, it's a bit boring to be part of this sometimes... what with insomnia new york, london, whatever.... i feel not allegiance to give my ***** a sprout of waiting to be, a fully functioning human: nurtured into a fathomable presence, to be later ******-about like a ping-pong... if huamnity had a deserter, a Judas, i'd be him, i feel absolutely no allegiance to this: man = animal, i feel no existential threat, nor bias... i feel no basis to keep an argument, to be honest, the current argument just makes me express sentiments of acquiring the darwinism of dodo... i can't, just stage, a necessary continuum... it's not that i feel lost and want to continue... it's that i am lost, and don't want to! who the hell am i to suggest for implanting me with this ghost of apathy? me?! so i mastu-***** myself into feeling it? colonialism, right? i didn't cut off my *******, right?! i can't be bothered, i am vomitting on darwinistic arguments, because, well, i can't sorta feel them... and given the numbers, i don't really care that i see them... seeing a tapeworm would gratify me more than seeing some loon John Smith take out a load of garbage... as you do. no, not really... what's being described is hardly a prescription, i don't feel it, and i hardly want to live in it and be aged 70... what you said isn't, and never will be: a postcard... i will never want to live in this anglophone ****-pile of faked-hope... it's actually a shame that i live in this language-sphere, i'd be better off in Mongolia scribbling quasi-Mandarin... i literally have no impetus to compete... i must be a half-baked monkey... but you know... you watch enough Renaissance painters, and you watch enough ****... being given the beginning with a monkey's hairy ***... you sorta need to lose the plot, had there ever been one to begin with.*

i mean when the gensis of the senses being dimmed,
and the origin of thought...
   for the senses to reveal a moral cursor,
a moral dimension...
   before the big bang, what came into our world
most debilitating... thinking...
   a case for making choices, and a reality
of moral agency...
           it's beyond the big bang and darwinism
replicating boo boo skeletons equipped with
a middle-class wives...
            it's when our senses became so *******
blunt and ineffective that a "sixth sense"
had to be established, that we countered running
away from a tiger to playing football...
         and running from a tiger
  was nothing... nothing! compared to jogging...
   what's the date of that beginning?
oh right... no date...
the genesis of thought, and the moral agent,
begins with us experiencing less and less
sensually invigorating anti-ego tsunamis...
     given that we were, literally pulverised by
sensual stimuli for such a long time,
   that for such a long time our medium was
sensually based, biased,
  that we heard so much than we wanted to heart,
sore so much more than we wanted to see...
    and had no need for narrative,
or an internalised moral code,
or thought...
                  we are experiencing the exhausting
end, or the banality of thought,
personally: i think the existence of thought
is banal, it gave us god...
         thankfully we are exhausting thought,
thereby succumbing to populace atheism...
thereby returning to sensual gravity...
            pulverised by the 5, rather than a single,
establishing plateau sixth...
         i rather prefer thinking about
the theory concerning: first thought
rather than the big bang...
   ever hear a bang in vacuum?
so what the ****?!
   when we first started thinking, and went against
the brutality of nature...
           and became more brutal than nature...
    i don't believe in heaven, or in hell,
but as an emotionally biased being
i like to think of both...
before i translate either case as a thought
before encouraging: die groß schlaf.
    
origin:              

they make the grave
a fastinating place,
the crowd really does,
the crowd really  makes so much
of an insistence or d'uh or applause.,
      i mean, it really antagonises
the people...
like the time i thought i was: sprechen deutsche...
but wasn't, and it was cool,
because i was kinda Sax and anti Schwab...
and a bit like bot: hope you don't rememeber
the Holocaust..
so i became transgender,
and, also, trans-phobic,
                so said: pronoun neutral!
and yes:
       the grave,
it's a necrophilia i wish i had,
the cold of Februay,
you allow me misery, i allow
yours, you deny mine:
    i'm sorta alive against my wish,
       and i sorta wish i wasn't,
bound to spend 5 - 7 in a restaurant
with you...
  cos you're just cutting up
my blues...
          no, you're cool,
if i was in need of an ice-cube...
      so yeah, you're cool...
  a ******* iceberg of wanting clues....
  chat chat and the crush,
if i make it to the medium of crazy-speak
with you, and i don't **** you,
you're lucky...
            i mean: i wasn't as ****** up
as you wanted me to be...
                 i guess listening
to metallica leaves you ****** up
after a while...
so is there a need to compare?
   i don't think so.
        it just happens after a while,
you sorta hear the whale's groan
and strart to mimick the groan...
   cave and ocean...
           an echo in an ocean...
      vibrations in water,
vibrations signatured into metal...
     apparently it's only as fascinating
as it is, that we dare to ****
  beyond encouraging politics
   and a gravity leading toward social
stratas and concepts of class...
   my... find me a masturbator content
with his hand being a ****...
and i'll find you an oyster! quicker!

i was going to fold the sunday newspaper many times...
just to get a postcard sized output...
or whatever you'd like to call it...
   i was taught that creasing pages of books
or folding edges of pages in book
was very much a blasphemy...
     call that weird, i call living to reach
atheism and vomitting scientific facts
   a bit like creating a Frankenstein monster...
  to be honest, i feel like a frankenstein monster...
    i have absolutely no care for allegiance...
i'm in free-fall mode...
     i feel nor care to feed some patriotic
adventure into a war...
  i was folding a sunday newspaper
remembering that fetish i had for
three newspapers being opulent and about
men imitating women by folding them
akin to knitting... the guardian,
the daily telegraph and the times...
   only one of the three remained true to its roots...
i loved watching people fiddle with these
titans... folding them like taking a scrap
of a toilet-paper bite and folding it several
times before taking another fold...
and wiping for the **** that could just as well
be a mouth...
        we also call it playing cards...
that game where your *** speaks more reason
than your mouth, and how
     the three top layers of cards, king queen
and jack are doubled to have a mouth
either side of the mouth-**** copernicus...
    so you can't tell the two apart...
**** or talk? dunno... it sounds very much alike.
  but these co-op people are bothering me....
they're asking me about my age
every time i buy a beer...
   is that some sort of pick-up line?
          ok ok, i get the acne and it's not comfortable
for me either, i guess my *** could make it
into a fashion magazine quicker than my face...
   what's this?
             i get the acne, i have a beard...
do babies have beards?
       it's a beer... it's not a bomb...
    this has to be some sort of fetish...
                       it's a bit like finding your second
loss of virginity... apparently it's called 25...
  it's not even murky waters of 16 / 18...
do i look over 25?
    ha ha... yeah mate... 30...
     i feel like chewing on some chicken bones,
or biting into a human cheek, to bite past the cheek
and eat the tongue in cheek...
     why do people become so annoying that
you retaliate thinking about cannibalism?
   what's with them being so primmed into
the role of supermarket cashiers?
     they're gagging for violence, aren't they?
they are... they must be...
           oh right... oscar night...
  this sunday times magazine... kept folding it
and folding it... until it was comfortable to read,
hardly a reason to do the same with a hardback book....
oh wait... the heresy, and the need to respect the book
as if every book was a koran,
bookmarks... but no no to folding
the edges of pages having arrived at...
you want to know a secret?
  Poles have a tendency to mummify flowers
  by putting them in books... true story...
Poles mummify flowers by storing them in books...
if you really want to understand the true
bibliophiles... as the Poles what they do with them...
   i mean, it would be hard to mummify a cactus in a book,
or that glutton that's the autumn thistle...
      they really do mummify flowers in books,
the Poles... which is why they come up with
the need to use bookmarks, and the religion
of never folding edges of books to replace bookmarks,
or what a suit has, and the cravat suddenly missing...
     now i kinda get why there has been no
islamic attack in poland, this etiquette of
respecting books, translated into how i
might treat a newspaper... folding it...
     jaw for jaw... manidble, cheap, cheap and
everyday... about to be deemed fake...
      i get that, like i know you take off the sleeve
of a hardback edition and then put it back
on once you handled the didlo fabric...
                and some women might
call charming the limp phallus like man might
charm a white rabbit from a top-hat...
    or what the madonna-***** complex explains...
had it been better approved for the care to
explain today... or vhy whittle kaiser wilhelm
was the  original oedipus prototype / the freudian muse...
what was my original concern to fill
the void of defeat that's: making war using a blank canvas?
oh right... la la land... the actress...
    emma stone... it's like i almost recognised her face...
i was thinking ethan hawke...
but i was thinking of a different red-head...
i was thinking the film predestination...
and... she almost looks like both a shadow and a face
thief at the same time, to define the case of
doppelganger...
   but it really wasn't her... it was sarah snook...
another redhead...
or maybe it was this private conversation that
had me started... or how: predestination
can be replaced by a concept that's even more
shock-awe... coincidence?
    i make history happen in the private
sphere of counter ego-tripping
by making newspapers into origami,
        folding them to make digesting them more
realistic, and also opportunist...
                 sometimes i do make the odd punctuation error,
but then again... look at all this space









                                                  ­                 .
just one of the reasons people write poetry,
or at least what later becomes non-orthodox
avoiding of rhyme...
  rhyme used to be the original punctuation
in poetry, people used to
   eat and
                 sleep...
   but then writing poetry became an uncertainity
concerning the paragraph,
it was eaiser to punctuate a paragraph
knowing if; or: and esp., to say something more...
   which is one of the reasons for the "improvement"
of punctuation, the dot dot dot of poets
and the ditto enclosure of existentialist philosophers.
poetry to me is a deviation from punctuation,
it requires the cascade mechanism to allow it
expression with bravado, and the zenith of
arrogance...
                         to me poets are
punctuation-phobes....
                                  here me... imitating the two
figures in the Salmaan Rushdie novel, d i.e.,
  what was it? two people falling off a plane...
one drops like a tombstone stiff...
                the other is all panicky pretending to
invoke the capacity of being a pigeon...
what was that book?
              still.... i was just buying a beer and i get
asked for my age...
                i sometimes love when people
can be as annoying as that...
                        if i were a woman i'd be saying
that it was a compliment;
so i am... writing this "poem".

nevertheless
can't help but remember
what happend that day-
not so fun, huh?
not a proud moment in any of those 24 hours,
just nostalgic
destruction
wanting to go anywhere
to not think about there
here
and now and again
I return to those moments
not to reflect per se
but to induce vomitting-
not so fun
being compared to undesirables,
and yet
so fitting
in a way
or five hundred,
it's you.

She looks at herself in the mirror
She groans, displeased with her figure
Cuts down food, skips her meals
No one knows how fat she feels.

Exercising day and night
Trying to fit in clothes too tight
5 pounds, 10 pounds, 20 pounds lost
She's got it controlled: she's her own boss.

A gut-wrenching feeling, it's all so new
Taking in food, but very very few
Feels like vomitting all of her time
To get back on her feet is a very long climb

Every bite was such a torture
Every swallow was even worse
She doesn't know, doesn't understand
Turning down every lending hand

She gets mad and she gets cranky
She's growing thin, her stomach's empty
She says she's fine, but in truth she lies
And day by day she slowly dies

Losing her friends, but only one stayed
But even that was a price she paid
Her friend told her to continue what she's doing
To stop eating her meals, to stop chewing

Her friend said she was fat, saying she's ugly
"Lose more weight, so that you'll be pretty"
Annie was her name, Annie was a liar
Annie's name is short for Anorexia

please
invite me
to the nearest
public bathroom
where it smells like
when you put your hand
on my right cheek
and we
kissed
and kissed
and kissed
with our mcdonald's
tongues

boy you were
literally
everything i
needed

i could go on
forever
until you made
vomitting sound
which i
didn't

it was dawn
we were warm
you left me
but you were the one
who cried

In the literally opinion of my own conscience,
I followed and dropped into the pool of swirling hopeless life,
Rotating as I shout my prayers, drowning.
I yelled and panic take over,
Water surges into my lungs, suffocating, coughing and vomitting water..
Slowly and painfully dying,
I died in vain,
In the lie of my own hopeless conscience.

Talking about trash and vomitting i am staring at the ceiling with my dry mouth open
I slept at three and woke up at eleven
It was a sunny morning my roommate left at seven she left the curtain open and why did not she let the window break sometimes i think of jumping but standing on height makes me want to fall to bed and hide under the blanket
I don't want to bathe and eat breakfast but i kept snacking and i wish i were that sweet tooth i haven't washed the dishes and ****** and i am thinking of
Being in a plane
Heat struck and breaking the window the wind the clouds the pressure
I don't know if i am still afraid of heights
I have never been that high enough anyway like i am on the second floor it's never high enough i think of the high buildings in the capital city but i just love her too much
I will not
I will not
I will not let them read me in newspapers
I still think about methods to die but it does not make sense anymore like i want to have bullets on my head like jesus' crown but i don't want the cold thing in my mouth i don't want my head to be a blood fountain out of the blue
I am too drained even to think of running and jumping off a cliff like it's actually dumb and not pretty and i hear that we have so much to live
We have so much to live
I didn't have my breakfast
I am too okay to think this laziness as depression i cannot blame my brain it is too okay it is too okay i am too okay i shouldn't complain
Too much
Too much i complain too much

You grow flowers out of your corpse but all i want to be is to decay into plastic and harm the earth and it's true that such a sad world we live in
I am getting you back here
Sonja i am getting you back here

You are still me
You are still me
You are still me

Welcome home

My blood is sacred for it waters
the burning drought that surges
the barren outskirt of my skin
It ignites the grave of every dead muscle
killed for shooting a wide toothy smile
across my unquivering lips
It tells long forgotten tales
of all the women I used to be
but failed to see,with eyes shut
vomitting tears of self disdain
and a widespread rash over my skin
My blood is a red flag of relief
from a heap of decapitated veins
and the sardonic cold inside each *****
Every drop, a stifled scream for help
a pitiful plea to be noticed
And a scar-let seductress
waltzing across each arm
In the fading light of room
and the dying music of my heart
but my sacred blood still shines
it spills like barrels of wine
down the outskirts of my barren skin
and from each tiny particle
rises a woman that says "sacred"

.monotheism suspected men, to be ontologically docile, autistic, solipsistic in terms of their relation to women... hence they provided an catalyst-esque solution... to shame, their ****** drive derived for an ultra-private expedience, and exploit it, toward a ****** drive... derived within the confines of a non-reciprocated ultimatum... monotheism, ergo... is... very much a religion for women... islam is, of course, part of it... the three strands of monotheism... are... m'eh... religions derived by women, for women, at the expense of male genital mutilation... thank **** that i was not circumcised... i'm over 'ere, with the ***** and the 'indu.

i'll sooner appreciate pushing out a ****,
than watching a sunrise,
custard mind all over again..

    and what's up with this,
background noise...
of either a train chuggling
into the "distance"...
it's already in the "distance"...

almost a thank god moment:
hercules went mad...

  counter the "train"...
i hear forses galloping,
like an entourage precursor...
i definitely "hear"
horses, galloping,
those are certainly hooves..

and the **** is up
with men, in western culture,
being orientated around
having to make priority
over ***....
       eh?
         you ****,
or...
     you don't...
and if you don't...
you find counter outlets...
t'ah d'ah...
  stay up all night
for a channel 5 movie
screening of neon demon...
just because:
you gorged over the sountrack...

a little bit of wiggly-here,
and a bit of wiggly-woo...
mike myers doing
the fat ******* "quiz"....
hey presto! some sort of sushi!

i always ask a sane person,
do you, do you,
do you hear that, that train?
the usual answer, no.
so i ask again,
do you, do you hear those horses?
the usual answer is, no.

should have sniffed lines of *******
and "elaborated"
on an eric clapton classic...
****, turn over,
next chapter...
   that sad sad story of
always and everywhere but
always and everywhere
provided, it happens in Yankee-town...
burp...
     as long as pweety gurl is
all gurl for girl groove...
and.. it's h'america...
   coolio.

****-hole town h'america,
where everyone minds their own business...
nope...
   hey pretty...
that's not on the cards...
     ******* giggles into the night...
which is the worthwhile
template...
a thumb's length of whiskey
in the afternoon,
english politics,
           fish & chips...
a bottle of wine,
a beer for the walk:
****! where's the dog?!
  and back onto the whiskey...

basics: you find me drinking in
the daylight hours,
you find me giggling...
ergo you find me in a good mood...

      i once mate an inmate,
a fellow, nutritionist,
of ethnicity, inmate,
by the name of Paul...
a dub-step d.j. pusher...
who taught me:
amphetamines give you
insomnia...
so i drank and i drank:
and kept on drinking...
and snorted very little,
and...
   "bias"...

                what?!
i don't have an idea relating
to tinder or
game of thrones...

zero, zilch,                 wh'ah?!

i hate to break it for you,
it's still a ******* train charging
in the background,
or three horsemen
looking out for the fourth...

   in terms of a train?
romford train station is...
5 miles away from my house...
visual hallucinations are clarity
prone...
   auditory hallucinations?
eh, come again?

           how advanced can
the faculty of imagination be,
when there's no walt disney,
and it's purely solipsistic
projection?
    how can my imagination
be so advanced,
so insular,
        and at the same time...
have a negative affect on me?

  trains, horses...

   point of a somewhat base
for "closure",
   when i told them:
i heard a choir, in a church,
heading up to camden town...
they presumed
the choir i heard
was singing latin...

      who the hell said
"they" were singing in latin?!
they, the psychiatric team,
simply presumed,
it was latin...
      **** on me...
what if it was greek?
    
            or hebrew?

or... occult zunge?
         when will it become necessary,
for people, to realise,
that... a projection of the imagination,
as a reply to genuine
symptoms of schizophrenia...

              does, not, exist...
if imagination was as potent,
as it, already is,
in the positive extracts of
the already stated examples...
you'd get a movie,
or a painting...
        but... in the majority of the cases...
projection of the imagination,
a free reign of the imagination
in reply, governed by a complexity
of thought, within
the symptom of auditory hallucinations...

you're serious... right?
you want me to be serious with this,
"theory"?
          
    perhaps dostoyevsky said the following:
    
   'to angels - vision of god's throne,
         to insects - sensual lust'

i can compensate,
      the thrill, a brothel, a period of
vomitting,
  nerves shattered, asking for a cup
of water,
   while sitting before Nazgûl "harem"
of ******...
and then back into the western
narrative of feminism,
and... forever unable to relate to it...
once every 3 years will do just fine,
for an hour's worth of *******...

      but this constant: yap-yap-yapping
about ****** *******,
or lack, thereof, this constant bragging,
compare little richards all you want...
you circumcised?
i said, are, you m.g.m.?
   male genital mutilation example?
yes, no? no? yes?
       you have a hoodie,
the jerking-off allowance "jacket"?
yes, no? no? yes?
      audioslave: miami vice sountrack?
bells, bells, ring any?
      oh, right,
so you're telling me she can play the *****-dodo
game over a web-cam,
with you, attired to, "express yourself"
with scented candles,
    a credit card,
               and a comfy chair?
    **** on me,
and i thought that baptism was bad,
i just "forgot" in being confirmed...
   too bad...
   given you can't exactly regrow your
*******...
        and it's not like you're going
to suddenly don a kippah,
     or... a tonsure...
                                        oops?!

well, yeah...
   why wouldn't it boil down to the genitals...
if there's such a concept as
f.g.m., then there's m.g.m.,
   why rob men of the requisite of
the ability of jerking off
without shaming via the act per se...
oh i'm pretty sure
  Onan was shamed...
once he performed the act,
after, he was circumcised...
hey, i'm competing with fweedom!
a gurly girl,
                  a *****, and a webcam!

bull: china shop...
   and by god i think...
this will morph, spawn...
       and become the awaited
form of abomination.

vomitting words
that don't really matter

I remember thinking.
How strange it was.
That I felt peace.

Imagining.

Vomitting.

In their plates.

The birds whistle away
Tweeting favourite lullabies.
The sun has transformed
Oranging,
From her brilliant yellow hue.
She vanished,
Hiding in her room.

The day
Which once posed
In bright neon shades
Of noon,
Has tasted the shadows
Of the moon.

A slice of the moon
Flaunts herself
In the naked, neutral dark skies.
The earth rages queerly.
Vomitting  a warning sign.


My mind dabbles
In its ignorant guessing
As I gaze upon
The uncertain skies.

I feel like a meteor
Might fall to the earth
Tonight.

a Francis Bacon exhibition is currently happening at the National Portrait Gallery... i'm planning to go tomorrow... tickets on sale around £25... i'll also buy the ******* gallery bound to a book... just discovered the resurrection ofg Eminem... Lucifer... imagine all the advertisement propaganda of the saviour in black man... but then comes Puff Daddy worse than ****** in Hell: ****** in Heaven i ***** the birth of the rebirth of Israel and the Jews with a nation and a diaspora like all the rest of us except for the U.S.A. and maybe Russia but i don't think me me me... language block... my black savior is a ******* pervert my **** my pi two square e... rap my little *** along and forget Newton's great ****...

bluff bluff: an **** plug and the baby
and her waters of the tub...
maybe i'm reading Frank Herbert's Dune...
maybe the serpents and gardens
have been replaced by
worms and deserts and mountains...
and then i see a **** in every fish
i see in the sea...
like black glue of vomitting
hallucinating of the peer of the void
of the pupil no sclera
and no iris of fish...
maybe there's magic in the eye
of both dog and cat
but i see the same sane black fish
in squirrel and rat
and wait... of the fox? i swear:
gangland **** i'm working
an open air asylum...

             breed the idea...
mommy daddy
oh my son
oh O
O oh daughter...
oculus per oculus...
eye for an eye
my utmost desperate utmost last and first
the aesthetic as primo
and ethics as levi
Matthew: my passion...
away bouncing thinner from
Ethopia...
if Christ is to return my namescape...
Rupnzil...
no...

  7 deadly sins and come the 7 phobias:
two chimeras mated you
selling me:
two ******* giraffes?
you want this Colisseum to run
on **** and *****?
i need blood... i need blood!

fear of spiders
fear of open spaces
fear of the night...
Islamophobia does not collide
with this beast of the new 7 heads
i have rational to fear Islam
ask the Polacks and ask the Romanians
and the revision of Europe via
the Ottomans:
even the Arabs rebelled
and Lawrence and Sire: Sinaz...
the river parition of the Red Sea:
the Runes and that fluctuation of the seas
into alter
the old the serpent isn't here:
no garden...
just the barren land of desert
and the mountain ranges
and the arm
my seeing unseeing eye
of the worm...
as god evolved: so did the devil...
you think concepts and absstracts
don't evolve: that intellect is man's own
possession?
debris...
              my history my own light...
better father better mother mother
better Reyla can i ask for....
i have a clue into a rational fear of Islam
like i have a double edged sword
the old Pagan armed with Judaism
i also have a fear of Christianity:
you late learners my **** my lord
i better tell them...
i'm playing a game of...

like the effect... forget the name...
they call me Matthew:
Matteo... Matti... Matt...
but my true name has already
been given and brided with ink
on paper...
i am Conrad... like i add an M
in volutpous... like i add an extra D
to conDrad...

**** Germany + the High Fashion +
KISCH...