stream X

I feel encumbered by manic twisted sugarflies burning glistening retina help under the skin. sink in sink in sink into the skin. exploding every second and feeling like one moment at a time is impossible, it's no way to live, not really. the things that happened and are happening and will happen are too different. it's too linear. and it's not anything to write home about. not anything about which to write home. my strange obsession with prepositions persists. my strange alienation. the mystery of all that is. why does anything exist. how does it.

I was looking into my daughter's eyes and her pupils dilated. I marveled at this biological technology. what divine design made this possible? what drives evolution? what does it maximize? what does it want from us and our meager flesh? when will it end and when will it become clear?

a moment of clarity. a bus stop at midnight through the fog, streetlight shining on the sidewalk. a dead zone. a cold fluorescent concrete achnosphere. whats that thing called. arcology. I think it's something like that. that's all there could be. there aren't that many people here. and there is a reason for everything, a physical cause and physical effect. so why not live in a building with a post office and salon in the coldest state in the most isolated part in the middle of nothing at all. why not buy a candy bar from the kiosk. why not venture into the great wilderness of loneliness to find small comforts. why not go alone. why not find what you seek.

cold again. swiftly sweating sweet cold again. pastel primary, prolific papery. some deep shadow self jungian shadow self the depths of which are unknown to the conscious mind but somehow exist and seep and murk and lurk and work and influence and drive. dream cards in the only time when you know no one else is really there. in real life you don't know. in dreams you know. there's no one there. but you. me for me you for you.

baby cry gotta go