I remember booting up Burnout
Paradise for the first time, hearing
Gun's & Roses glorious opening track, the
Beachside city of Paradise calling for
speed as I exited the scrapyard
in a junky muscle car.
I remember the other day when I
was cooking a tart, we made the recipe
so that it could have berries instead of
lemons. the berries were a mixture of
rasberry and something else, but their tartness
brought out the juices and quite honestly
it looked like blood.
The woman dressed like an onion,
she is old and blemished, yet appears
sturdy and elegant. Although the
clothes she wears are tattered,
her choice of color is immaculate.
She wears no makeup, and yet
for her age, she glistens beneath
the veil. She wears two long
necklaces, not of equal length
but of similar style, matching her
high-heels. I watch as a piece
of the tattered dress falls
to the ground and my vision of
her is lost when i look up.
Deep in the jungles of Canada,
a brave explorer is on a mission.
"The trees here are bigger than I remember",
They were wetter too.
Massive trees, leaking what appeared to
be blood, oly slower and lighter. Unknowingly,
Sweeter. As the brave wanderer treaded
between endless leaves, their steps began to
slow. The trees, everbleeding, were filling
this large basin of forest with syrup.
It soaked through the adventurers thick
pants, and filled their shoes. Their toes
stuck together and as they waded deeper
through the slowing sugary syrup seeping
from the trees, the hairs on their
lower half became pasted to their
body. As no adventurer would come
unprepared, the traveller equipped a
rebreather, preparing for a tough
swim trhough the thick sludge.
Somehow buoyand in the condiment,
the explorer lifted their legs from
the ground, over the course of 6 minutes.
Pattering clear rain falls above
a city center.
I have not slept for hours. Since 2pm
Yesterday. I woke up late, made a
sachet coffee that smelt like chocolate but
tasted like hazlenut and then realized
tonight would be a long haul. I ignored
my parents, I ignored my alarms, and I
ignored myself. It was a murky summer morning
and I smelt awful. I will ignore
myself again. Hours passed, Dinner passed,
Midnight passed. The o-so-ever lovely
aroma of overheating computer parts
alert me that I will be in silence for
some time.
Do you hear that? when there is no sound,
when allconstant. like a cicada has found it's way
into your head. the radio static that
weasels its way into your eardrum. The
tinnitus you as a child. it's loud. yet
so quiet, that it bothers nobody around you.
It can be drowned out, just by imagining
the 3 seconds of what was your favorite
song, soon not to be
however, youll notice the squeal
when it returns, or youll start
thinking. Endlessly. Thinking of
Thinking about
Thinking when
Thinking of thoughts.
What will I see until sunrise?
my black room, thecieling, or
maybe the by-minute flashing lights,
or will you press your palms into
your eyelids and see a variety
of imaginary blooming grey flowers?
After you've relaxed, maybe just mayber,
your eyes will get tired of black
and start simulating purple
and orange, overtaking each other
for a spot in your vision until
the true orange of sunrise sets in.
You've seen it before, how the
rays of light crawl down your
bedroom wall. You've felt the uncomfortable
morning restlessly flipping positions, youve
felt the incredible weight of you
upper body as you waltz around the
kitchen. The strain on your balance
from the kettle, and the burning of your
tongue that will remain as long as you stay
awake.
"A free trip to your own personal
moon" said the advisor with bright,
emerald eyes. "All expenses paid."
The flight agency was cramped, and gray.
Ominous in it's design with only a single
desk and barely and posters along the walls,
unlike what I'd expect.
"What's the catch?" I asked, instinctively.
You only win this type of trip in a room
with a dozen billionaires.
"No catch, however you do get express
travel. If you'd just sign here please."
They shuffled a dense page.
I began to write my signature as the
air got colder around me. As I blinked finally,
I saw the catch.
I had won a free trip to the moon.
A reef broken
shattered coral
Eight ones resequenced
This fake world falls to pieces
falling apart does not exist
Drawn squares
never assembled
by forgotten machines
She twists nostalgia
first forwards no behind us
sea scenes seen, captured alas lost.
an empty park bench at least
half. I cant see the other side.
The lamppost next to it is
so bright. It radiates.
Iven't seen this
notation of twisted
notes
a happy song
those performing agree
a joyous melody sung in double time
this body mortifies me
twisted and bent it reaches
formerly having a grasp
on an item out of frame
cut and chisled of black stone
fingers lock soft or, the tips
print less, no identity
Carriage 425.
The train is still going. The carriages
keep on going. Its been hours. Days.
Carriage 426.
Another wrapped sandwich on the ground in
this car.
Carriage 42█?
Number is rubbed out, all the seats have
something wrong.
Carriage 430
carriage seems longer than others
Carriage 431.
The rare times i can see out
the window, I see what we move past.
another view of this endless, black, dark
city. Some of the buildings have light
but i like to think its just fire.
? 432
a long connecting ramp the length
of a regular carriage.
Carriage 433
tattered sleeping bag. I'll make my
camp here.
anomolocaris insipid
last edited 12:35 ADST 2024-01Jan-07 probably
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