And delusion is my reality. I mean, if delusion does not feel right to you, then you can call it me restructuring what is around me in my head. And what is inside may seem weird.
But be not worried. I do not intend to have you understand this, nor would I care to know what you feel.
this is only a reflection of what I feel. And if I can still move about in this world with out harming anyone, why would not I do what I please in my head?
And now what is in my head is a resounding booming nothingness, like
that of a milk spreading through a glass of water and eventually turning everything white.
Like that of a distant thunder cloud that you can't quite grasp the size of but knows that it is a giant ballooning mushroom, pregnant in its belly with thunder and wind that can rip the toga off of Zeus.
In that booming nothingness I feel like I am standing not knowing where I am, just kinda looking around hoping that in this murky whiteness with coarse paint grain there maybe something I can fish out. A little detail maybe, a faint odor perhaps.
But for now I can only stand in the cranium of it, standing in the whiteness with a pressure.
The sound around me is like that of a battle that ended with everyone participated in it died. All the cannons have fired, all the guns were shot, all the blades went into the opponent, all the enemies fell on top of each other. And I stand around feeling the still vibrating air, Smelling the gunpowder, and feeling the tide of spilled blood on the back of my feet.
And the pressure that welled up in my head was something close to an iron balloon inflating itself in a box, slowly taking up the space where you can breathe and exit, coming to the inevitable end of life.
When added all up, what is going on in my head is a storm that passed. Everything is broken to pieces, torn to shreds, and nothing looks like it's in order, nor will it ever be.
What then? What am I supposed to do then? The most tempting thought is to let everything be like that. To let all the broken pieces connect themselves into one freak of a conscience.
Let one memory join into another complete irrelevant memory. Let me think that the day after I turned 4 I hit my puberty and had my first nocturnal emission. Let me think that the first time I smoked a cig was when I turned old enough for kindergarten.
But what's more, it feels as though everything looks and feels like they've been wrangled out of life.
All around me is a pulp of what once was brimmed with life. Now they are just what they are,a processed product that can only exist when you take one life away from a thing and use up
the remainder body to create something that humiliates what it once was.
What the fuck did I just say.
Sweet jesus, I am as simple as a walnut and just terribly incoherent.
Maybe if I was one of those people whose mouths don't match their words, this may not have
been such an issue. But as far as I can tell, I know for sure that what I say and the shape of the mouth that secretes that word match.
The simplest way to put it is that I know now that I have a constant stream of thoughts in my head, but whenever I stoop down to see what it is, its tone and flow do not mix.
Take for example, right now by my right I can feel a rapid thought, but when I look into it I see something akin to a city made out of something slow, like maybe crystals or semen splattered on the wall.
Now I see a man who is trying to "open up" his body.
First his chest opens up, then his stomach.
His face opens up in the following sections:
his cheeks split open along the jawline
his lower jaw opens from the front,
and his cranium splits open at the top.
His pupils dilate so much that one would think they can walk into them.
His limbs opens up like they are coils being unwound.
With his body opened up, he seems take in what is around him.
He takes in the moisture both in the air and ground.
His opened mouth take in the sound and sight far and near,
his opened eyes sees what lies right next to him and what lies beyond what he can see.
His opened cranium takes in knowledge that he can take right now and stores away what he can't understand for now
but will come to terms with later.
his opened arms grab everything that he can hold, both in reality and in the unseeable.
I wish my brother would gouge out what he hates the most about himself with the sharpest knife and die
so he may come back free of loathing to himself.
And in a state not much awake, but fully asleep.
In fact I think I was half awake in my dream.
Conscienceless was limited to its most basic function, ie opening eyes and moving around.
All is quiet and greyed out, the air is thick as soup.
There I was wrapped up in a blanket like a child in a womb.
I felt myself growing fainter and the blanket warmer.
I was falling slowly into what I felt like a white silk liquid which I somehow felt would put me to sleep.
Then I felt a kiss on my lips and thousand hands running all over my body.
The lips and fingers ran all over my body, biting sucking twinging licking every part of my body.
As the touches became softer and the strokes slower, I felt my head swim into the ever familiar sea of milk
that I always dreamt when I was a child.
I tasted in my mouth the color pink, which had the texture of luke warm meat, with wet surface and wriggles about
in my mouth cavity.
I held my mouth out and spread my body open.
But be not worried. I do not intend to have you understand this, nor would I care to know what you feel.
this is only a reflection of what I feel. And if I can still move about in this world with out harming anyone, why would not I do what I please in my head?
And now what is in my head is a resounding booming nothingness, like
that of a milk spreading through a glass of water and eventually turning everything white.
Like that of a distant thunder cloud that you can't quite grasp the size of but knows that it is a giant ballooning mushroom, pregnant in its belly with thunder and wind that can rip the toga off of Zeus.
In that booming nothingness I feel like I am standing not knowing where I am, just kinda looking around hoping that in this murky whiteness with coarse paint grain there maybe something I can fish out. A little detail maybe, a faint odor perhaps.
But for now I can only stand in the cranium of it, standing in the whiteness with a pressure.
The sound around me is like that of a battle that ended with everyone participated in it died. All the cannons have fired, all the guns were shot, all the blades went into the opponent, all the enemies fell on top of each other. And I stand around feeling the still vibrating air, Smelling the gunpowder, and feeling the tide of spilled blood on the back of my feet.
And the pressure that welled up in my head was something close to an iron balloon inflating itself in a box, slowly taking up the space where you can breathe and exit, coming to the inevitable end of life.
When added all up, what is going on in my head is a storm that passed. Everything is broken to pieces, torn to shreds, and nothing looks like it's in order, nor will it ever be.
What then? What am I supposed to do then? The most tempting thought is to let everything be like that. To let all the broken pieces connect themselves into one freak of a conscience.
Let one memory join into another complete irrelevant memory. Let me think that the day after I turned 4 I hit my puberty and had my first nocturnal emission. Let me think that the first time I smoked a cig was when I turned old enough for kindergarten.
But what's more, it feels as though everything looks and feels like they've been wrangled out of life.
All around me is a pulp of what once was brimmed with life. Now they are just what they are,a processed product that can only exist when you take one life away from a thing and use up
the remainder body to create something that humiliates what it once was.
What the fuck did I just say.
Sweet jesus, I am as simple as a walnut and just terribly incoherent.
Maybe if I was one of those people whose mouths don't match their words, this may not have
been such an issue. But as far as I can tell, I know for sure that what I say and the shape of the mouth that secretes that word match.
The simplest way to put it is that I know now that I have a constant stream of thoughts in my head, but whenever I stoop down to see what it is, its tone and flow do not mix.
Take for example, right now by my right I can feel a rapid thought, but when I look into it I see something akin to a city made out of something slow, like maybe crystals or semen splattered on the wall.
Now I see a man who is trying to "open up" his body.
First his chest opens up, then his stomach.
His face opens up in the following sections:
his cheeks split open along the jawline
his lower jaw opens from the front,
and his cranium splits open at the top.
His pupils dilate so much that one would think they can walk into them.
His limbs opens up like they are coils being unwound.
With his body opened up, he seems take in what is around him.
He takes in the moisture both in the air and ground.
His opened mouth take in the sound and sight far and near,
his opened eyes sees what lies right next to him and what lies beyond what he can see.
His opened cranium takes in knowledge that he can take right now and stores away what he can't understand for now
but will come to terms with later.
his opened arms grab everything that he can hold, both in reality and in the unseeable.
I wish my brother would gouge out what he hates the most about himself with the sharpest knife and die
so he may come back free of loathing to himself.
And in a state not much awake, but fully asleep.
In fact I think I was half awake in my dream.
Conscienceless was limited to its most basic function, ie opening eyes and moving around.
All is quiet and greyed out, the air is thick as soup.
There I was wrapped up in a blanket like a child in a womb.
I felt myself growing fainter and the blanket warmer.
I was falling slowly into what I felt like a white silk liquid which I somehow felt would put me to sleep.
Then I felt a kiss on my lips and thousand hands running all over my body.
The lips and fingers ran all over my body, biting sucking twinging licking every part of my body.
As the touches became softer and the strokes slower, I felt my head swim into the ever familiar sea of milk
that I always dreamt when I was a child.
I tasted in my mouth the color pink, which had the texture of luke warm meat, with wet surface and wriggles about
in my mouth cavity.
I held my mouth out and spread my body open.
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