Taking some good advice.

"Someday I gunn go crazy, Jim. I gunn go crazy and you can't come 'cuz you the only thing that keepa me sane."

and

I remember lying

against your black and tan belly and thinking

I don't know how I lived without this

But here I am

steam filled organ sending rust to my knees,

costing my shoulders into

cheap

chop shop windmill blades

This is called living thoughtlessly [Iamtold]

In the present [itiscalled]

Because memory spurs desire

Wants for future

And in this form

I cannot afford

Tell yourself:

That memory's a dream

That picture's a lie

and you didn't die--

you're just sleeping

just sleeping.

I hate that my first inclination is to apologize for shortchanging out a bit on social interactions today. No, I don't hate the inclination--but if I were to actually apologize, I'd hate that. But I won't. I spread myself thin and if the fails went unseen then they didn't happen so there.

I remember precisely two things about today, and they happened within ten minutes of each other

A text and a touch

Everything else ran together like the weather

Today was entirely orange, I realized; and that is not an allusion or a metaphor, it is just a sense.

I am tired of thinking of waste and money and little toys screeching and going in circles when the lights go down the volume goes up my flesh curls right off my arms, I feel, and my ears do not know how to save themselves and I cannot bring myself to cover them and show that I hear sounds that are notsounds and

in the hospital a child with sooty eyes peers around the thin blue curtain that divides the beds. He looks at me. He looks at my legs. He looks at my brain. He looks at me.

"There is a way," he whispers, small sound, but it finds me and stings me and stays within me. I look at him. His fingers crunch up the curtain and twist at his side. I look at his hands. I look at him. I look at his hands.

"I can't hear," I say. "I hear everything." He nods quickly, looks away, at passing things, and back at me, my legs, my brain, back at me.

"That's alright. it's a secret anyway."

I watch his hands. Fingers curling.

These things should not be so tiring

Shiranaiyo--I don't understand

Even the things that are good decay into this

Fuck entropy

When I was really young I used to have a blinking tic. I didn't remember until my sister told me recently--I'd never thought of it as a tic, as something I did involuntarily, and I still don't quite. There were just always these...sets of things that I had to finish. There were others. In hindsight, it was pretty weird. I wonder if I was trying to swallow a clock. Just...doin' it wrong.

No crime has been committed And so Unforgivable unforgivable unforgivable and yet-

we shall yet call Kafka's servant a servant in the absence of his service; but should the master of the house appear and still-

unforgivable; he traitorizes his title and bastardizes his place in that house; his words become unbelievable and so he becomes unbelievable. He is not believed in.

I do not want to go back--I just..want to stop going in this direction, maybe. One-winged derp.

I am sick of kitsch I am sick of cruelty Stupid petty cruelty

If you're gonna do it, do it where it's deserved Where it'll mean right

Of repeated sounds and things that do not replicate with purpose

(EVEN THE REPLICATORS HAD A PURPOSE RAAAAAAAHHHH I miss me some stargate)

Sometimes I think my heart has grown two extra chambers

These, exclusively reserved for boiling

Connected to the main four by stiff ventricles

Sometimes I want to sigh like a steam engine

Sometimes I want to hiss from every cracked valve and vein

FUCK THE FUCK OFF

Virtual memory low--increase RAM

It don't remember most things

It don't remember headaches

It don't remember six-point pains splattering across its chest

Ain't got no ram just a buncha chew-necked sheep, Babe

Don't want nothin' if it won't be mine

Take what I get so don't go and give

Done

Out

Done.