whisperings of the subconscious

we are much too tired to care anymore… there’s no joy in it anymore. spare me the (pathetic)
romance. yours to keep and keep it well. live on on the other side oftheworld. die anywhere but
atmyfeet. just f()king spare me.

faded and gullible. a thing of the past never to be heard from ever aghain. high upon the shoulders
of misfortune we can only see halfway across the oceans from here. on a clear night like no other
there is one star for me, right next to where your star used to be.

confessions of a mislead loser perpetually bitching about personal inconveniences seeing red
without recess what have we done what have we done to deserve this shit?wipe it out wipe
yourself out, bug. purge and decay and try again, bug. just shuttup what have we done to deserve
you?

one must act subtley when one is attempting to conceal _____________
a) expectoration
b) infatuation
c) drugs
d) faith
e) expression

recycling bin: friday mornings. garbage: tuesdays and fridays. demon relaying: thursdays. haircuts:
wednesdays. reacquaintance and reassimilation: mondays. repentence: sundays. forgiveness: ?.
instruction and drilling: mondays through fridays. fun and relaxation: saturdays. drugs and alcohol:
fridays and saturdays. water and rice cakes: mondays through thursdays. fasting: sundays through
saturdays during predefined sections of the year. football: sundays. prophecy: ?.

in the later hours of the evening, when the whole world is at ease in reclining chairs watching
sitcoms on the television, and the drones of doom have searched you out and found you,
everything you know is done for, for not much of a reason at all. comfortable in the
hopelessnessofitall. one day i am going to grow wings cast aside your foolish knowledge all paths
lead this way, step up and hurry on!hurryon! do not slow the progress of those unlucky enough to
follow you. free to roam outside any walls you encounter, but don’t be too surprised when there is
nothing beyond like there is no twilight without the black nothing behind the stars. sucks you back
at light’s speed. the wisemen are all dead and long gone. the sun appears only for a source of
reliability, and an object to fancy. another faceless and stupid american white boy closing his eyes
too hard for sleep and getting through the business day much too easily and thinking too far
outside the walls of existence before sleeping so soundly during a much too quiet night. rocked to
sleep by voices from heaven or hell they both sound the same.

write it one-hundred times: eye contact is no cause for excitement

he walks steadily up to you with a lit cigarette in his mouth. establishing eye contact, he removes
the cigarette and pitches it into the ground, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot. by now his
cold stare is apparent. you start to perspire.

sense practice (without stimulation):
1. carbon forming from a mild combustion
2. red stratus clouds at sundown
3. pin-prick
4. a creamy fudgesicle
5. a highway in the distance, overpowered by lightly chirping crickets

you jump to conclusions too rashly. think it over, my friend.

toooo cold&calculating .be morre spontaneo?us

healthy practice remains clear. living for the present, and one’s immediate surroundings, and
nothing more. any more can cause a considerable deal of distress for the subject, as he begins to
fear the ruination or distortion of those things which he had wrought, but which are completely out
of his control.

he flips on the switch that ignites the room’s light. in 2 minutes sharp, he will begin his internal
genocide, disposing of all the old memories, the old faiths, the oblique truths. remnants will include
no more than fire-scars and some floating ash. there shall be no proof of it. kindergarten in a cloud
of smoke. used-up faces left above or below and forgotten. the cleansing is the only certainty to
be relied upon. he must burn his past to move forward again.