Tine Twine Uno.

STUNT or EXPERIMENT

sunt sounds like gunt which is a frass.

Connect these dots without a finger

otherwise you will linger

in the accusation

that I am a pervert.

Which I am.

When I’m alone and stripped, I peer around to meet the permanent gaze of the faces on my walls. I find myself in a pretty awkward predicament, despite my current state of loneliness, but I can’t help but surrender to the accusation… that they’re really watching

Every song is compromised by the inevitable anime music video

        ….and everyone knows it’s true

The element of the song
Slide your fingers along its cratered skin,
fantasize your precious illusion
Appeal
Dig your fingers just below the surface,
Just enough to get a slight grip:
Give your nerves a feel for its hide
Slowly peel back the first layer to see a hole in the exterior
The coarse web clinging like hell onto its remains-
unscathed by the separation-
hopeful that they might stay in tact
But at the same time begging to be picked apart
To give you just a taste
A taste of something new, something familiar.
Make it yours.
And you do.
You put it in your mouth,
the melodics bleeding onto your eager tongue
Leaving you with an overall sense of..

Bitter towards a world who can’t drown in the confusion of silence

I see your lips move, but what are you saying?

We continue to dust the food toward the edges of our plates,

Just as we always do,

Excusing the lack of communication

Because there’s everything to talk about

                                And nothing to say

We are on two opposite sides of the spectrum

And trust me, I would do anything if only to bridge the gap

But live with the knowledge that I can’t.

I’m only human too.

 
I like that sound.
The sound of moving forward,
the sound of the space bar.
I’m getting somewhere.
Even if it’s nowhere.

For the past thirty seconds, my mind bore witness to a frightening sight, proposing a landslide of epiphanies. This is a new concept to me. A bunch of grown men and women, waltzing around in tribute to Johnny Mercer. So joyous is their crusade to honor and remember this individual. A plastic wrapped transvestite plagues my mind. I am subject to his tush wiggling.

Omnipresent distractions: seemingly pressing enough to ignore what my conscience once thought defined a meaningful life. Useless attempts to stop what I’ve started, to return to my mindless self indulgence. Opposite force working together to trigger a reaction–Impending relief.
Launching myself down a road of incredible velocity, zig-zags and uncontrollable vibrations. The sugar coated path is tempting. Taking advantage of my weakness– my drifting fading willpowe.  Indifferent to my further purpose. Intentions are worthless. More tainted conversations with yesterday’s reflection. A full force, high speed train with no breaks. worn from the cycle. Forcing the wear and tear of never-ending days. Slaves losing a sense of redemption.

Hoping to satisfy the new tomorrow and yet sick of being compelled to be perfect.

So this is what I’ve been waiting for all along.  It’s surprising how grateful I am for this nothing.

Strange blur of emotion
but somehow void.
My restless mind exploring the opportunities of life
unnecessary anticipation
recalling the past with peace
the only difference is percetion.
The reoccuring confusion.