Marmalade

This was going to be a plurk.
But then..it wasn't.
So now it's a blog.
Except still largely in plurk format.



Nautiloons is a collector.
Nautiloons is a bit of a hedonist.
Nautiloons is doing penance for all nine crimes.

You can't kill what you can't catch; you can't catch what won't run. Smooth move, Odradek.
Nautiloons wishes she wasn't so hung up on that star-shaped twit.
Nautiloons knows that twit will fuck her up in the end; she'll be cauterized to it and roll to the end with it.
Nautiloons has bread and marmalade on her tongue; mostly marmalade. Too sweet. There's bits of rind in it, though. I like those.

Nautiloons is nursing a jar of marmalade to get another taste out of her mouth.

Nautiloons is a collector; Kane was trying to collect himself. He gave everything; he gave nothing. The collector does not give his collection away--what use is all that collecting, then?

Nautiloons is speaking in neurotic shapes.
Nautiloons just got marmalade on her keyboard.
Nautiloons has a little rind stuck in her throat.
Nautiloons is washing it down with more marmalade.

Nautiloons is trying to make a terrible idea work. But so far, it keeps ending like this:

"...and six men died in Omelas that day."

It's like the end to a bad dream. You can't get away from it, and there's no way to make it right. I can get just lucid enough during some dreams to go back in time. But it never changes anything; it all goes wrong again, and again, and right before I wake up, I get stuck, pressed up against the wall of my brain. No room to get away.

Walking does not clear my head; it fills it.

Nautiloons hates not being able to run, to or from things. But this is, at least partly, a self-perpetuated state.

Nautiloons hates when places evaporate; when contexts kill themselves and doors close and sandsandsand I'm so tired I'm so tired of sand.

Is it too much to as for..no more sand? Yes. The answer is yes. I know it is. I know this one I know this song I know it I know it I've written it I've drawn it I've learned it I've done everything but live it and fuck if I'm going to live it.

Syntheticism is not the answer. But...but I want it to be.

This is terrible.