Pusherofpencils
Bluelighter
Mathematics. Screaming. A brutality. Form where there is no form. An attempt at comprehension. A grasp. Who screams for it. Who wants the pain it brings. Torpedos rushing toward the sky. I have this remote and I'll turn you off.
The train was packed. They looked right and left but the eyes were still gazing at them. Escape crossed their minds. But a plan of action was never formulated. The costs were to high. Dwindling, weakness, or strength. They'll show you. They have the answer. It's in the back of their mind. Dormant. A concept yet to become reality. Their nails scrape the doors and the fingernails pull off. Proudly they stare from inside. The glass is strong but thier force can break it. They collectively breathe a sigh of relief. They know that if they had to they could beat this thing. It laughs at their confidence. It has many arms. Poly. An octopus looks like an invalid in comparison. The controlling body grows a mind and smothers thought with a cloud of information. Art masquerading as advertisement. Something to put you to sleep. This will help with that problem. You won't ever be sick again. Gloria! A returned hope cheapened by the loss of the feeling. Take this finger and shove it in your ear. Scrape it around. Remove the plaque. Feel it stain your neck. Keep your boundaries up. They felt a collective sigh. He sat. He opened. She looked. She laughed. He loved himself. She opened. He closed. He stood. She was tired. He lusted. She formed. He held. She debated her chances.
They all grabbed onto the perception. It was before them. How could they except it to be different than what had come before. The rocking continued unabated. Scraping ground and screeching wheels. Brakes were applied. Turn that switch. Keep the thing going. The journey my friends. Exit. Concrete, a fleeting worry that the trap is still there. The sky returns and the thought is banished. No realization. They keep up the pace. Find the rhythm. Keep up. Keep it going. Can you bite down on that? Is it food? Does anyone know? Can they see? They do. They see and it pulls at them tugs and makes them harder. And Pharoah hardened his heart against the Israelites. Going somewhere. Escaping the trap to build a better one. One that hides it's barbs and offers sedation and not sting. Are three things being said at once. The others think to themselves that maybe it's not getting through. They need to realize the blocks to it. The hope building things are wrecking balls. Anything that we percieve is probably wrong. They know the answer but to do it takes energy. Fun can be lost. They walk. There are smells. Her perfume wafts over the others. They think of past loves, trees sat under, time taken, a forrest, a spark, tortillas baking in an oven. A flashing smile brings on grabbing, clutching, slipping. No need. Yet the need is great and she expresses her disgust with a flick of her head and an inner monologue of tired phrases. Destroyed. Knows better. Someone crys out. They are alone. All alone. Surrounded by a stream of humanity. All the smells of a barnyard. Keep crying my friend. Show it. Show it. show. Give me a damn show. The fucking prick grabs his balls urgently he scrapes at them. His face contorted. He hopes and it dies slowly enough for him to feel it's ebb. The river engulfs him and he isn't heard. They take it away. A hole. A breach. He can see the other side and then recognizes it as a mirror. He wished he never knew. If he hadn't known. Its all so obvious. You see. I know you do. I keep drowning. Slipping under. That feeling of helplessness takes over. He needed it to be that way. Needed the abstraction. Needed the distance. No one gave. They didn't want to see. They pried and pulled and asked and he thought he gave them the answer. Do you really want it?! More screaming. So uneccesary. Cause everyone understands the state. It isn't that they can't be next to you rubbing shoulders and feeling the grit of the fabric scraping your bare skin. They can do that. The same thing is happening over and over. Different time and the same place. You sir are not special. So keep it to yourself. My ears hurt and they don't want to know. Identify for a moment but not truly. Spectators. Participants are in a position of change. It hurts.
The train was packed. They looked right and left but the eyes were still gazing at them. Escape crossed their minds. But a plan of action was never formulated. The costs were to high. Dwindling, weakness, or strength. They'll show you. They have the answer. It's in the back of their mind. Dormant. A concept yet to become reality. Their nails scrape the doors and the fingernails pull off. Proudly they stare from inside. The glass is strong but thier force can break it. They collectively breathe a sigh of relief. They know that if they had to they could beat this thing. It laughs at their confidence. It has many arms. Poly. An octopus looks like an invalid in comparison. The controlling body grows a mind and smothers thought with a cloud of information. Art masquerading as advertisement. Something to put you to sleep. This will help with that problem. You won't ever be sick again. Gloria! A returned hope cheapened by the loss of the feeling. Take this finger and shove it in your ear. Scrape it around. Remove the plaque. Feel it stain your neck. Keep your boundaries up. They felt a collective sigh. He sat. He opened. She looked. She laughed. He loved himself. She opened. He closed. He stood. She was tired. He lusted. She formed. He held. She debated her chances.
They all grabbed onto the perception. It was before them. How could they except it to be different than what had come before. The rocking continued unabated. Scraping ground and screeching wheels. Brakes were applied. Turn that switch. Keep the thing going. The journey my friends. Exit. Concrete, a fleeting worry that the trap is still there. The sky returns and the thought is banished. No realization. They keep up the pace. Find the rhythm. Keep up. Keep it going. Can you bite down on that? Is it food? Does anyone know? Can they see? They do. They see and it pulls at them tugs and makes them harder. And Pharoah hardened his heart against the Israelites. Going somewhere. Escaping the trap to build a better one. One that hides it's barbs and offers sedation and not sting. Are three things being said at once. The others think to themselves that maybe it's not getting through. They need to realize the blocks to it. The hope building things are wrecking balls. Anything that we percieve is probably wrong. They know the answer but to do it takes energy. Fun can be lost. They walk. There are smells. Her perfume wafts over the others. They think of past loves, trees sat under, time taken, a forrest, a spark, tortillas baking in an oven. A flashing smile brings on grabbing, clutching, slipping. No need. Yet the need is great and she expresses her disgust with a flick of her head and an inner monologue of tired phrases. Destroyed. Knows better. Someone crys out. They are alone. All alone. Surrounded by a stream of humanity. All the smells of a barnyard. Keep crying my friend. Show it. Show it. show. Give me a damn show. The fucking prick grabs his balls urgently he scrapes at them. His face contorted. He hopes and it dies slowly enough for him to feel it's ebb. The river engulfs him and he isn't heard. They take it away. A hole. A breach. He can see the other side and then recognizes it as a mirror. He wished he never knew. If he hadn't known. Its all so obvious. You see. I know you do. I keep drowning. Slipping under. That feeling of helplessness takes over. He needed it to be that way. Needed the abstraction. Needed the distance. No one gave. They didn't want to see. They pried and pulled and asked and he thought he gave them the answer. Do you really want it?! More screaming. So uneccesary. Cause everyone understands the state. It isn't that they can't be next to you rubbing shoulders and feeling the grit of the fabric scraping your bare skin. They can do that. The same thing is happening over and over. Different time and the same place. You sir are not special. So keep it to yourself. My ears hurt and they don't want to know. Identify for a moment but not truly. Spectators. Participants are in a position of change. It hurts.
