A rebalancing act or decidedly taking part in participatory group activities, like a healthy little child, like a good sport, like one of the crew, good girl pat pat pat on the head et cetera.
I bit my own hand first, then compared till i had no more comparisons to draw. i morphed into the opposite of what i had hid under. i morphed into my anti-protector. a sophisticated enemy masterful of all guns and trades. capable of tearing you apart completely just with one swift vibration of the tongue. one strong muscle that looks and feels like a slug. sheltering from anything dry and poignant. slipping around in the aimless wet concrete mess, risking imprinting your sole onto its face to show it's oh so tough and macho. macho my ass.
So anyway furthermore moreover, is this an instruction for any marauder around, to loot savagely any trace of stability or seriousness or fatness in my bones? because it does feel that way goddammit and afterwards i'll be left with no nothing or no key or wings or antennae or anything whatsoever. so what's this deal then? win win what? loose self and heart? is he worth it? is he worth it? is he worth it?
A flexible multifaceted approach in admitting defeat and throwing the towel in that was required, inevitably could not be offered. not because of resistance but because of inability to be one-dimensional.
love and hate. both the same.
After the initial (or more appropriately the previous stable state) was revisited she clasped a tiny edge of Hope at the end of the visit and dutifully believed there was a way to prop the doors open to go freely between states as she wishes. She applied for it. Signed both the copies. Initials of the initial. reciprocal oscillation. Such an acrid flavour on the back of the tongue. Gagging again. tears without eyes. hands flopping empty and useless and without purpose left and right of the hips, not holding on to anything as nothing is there for them to hold on to and they hate each other and they would never agree on whose thumb is to be on top anyway. childish and facetious and totally non-serious. this meant that Hope had failed to ignite any passions or other in her. Her defeated existence reminding of a concrete structure- it allows the movements of winds but their effect is only for others to see or feel. her concrete heart hasn't even got a clue anything is different. shrivelling up every second. looking after itself with nurture and care and pity.
resigning was not the next logical step. it was the first never taken. the one undoing the mistake. she undid the error and signed off and repetitively checked it was all in the right order. but the something in her head had spoken. and she knew nothing could ever be saved. she was meant to question. she was meant to question. she was meant to question. and the answer to find impossible to bear.
nobody is. nobody for her. only her own is comparable.
she finally processed the calculations. with very little joy, announcing this to a few other heads she spots around her in the infinity of a surrounding. 'nothing is the same. everything is the same. nothing and everything are different empty cases of the same hologram.' she mumbles noticing her feet could do with a wash.
I bit my own hand first, then compared till i had no more comparisons to draw. i morphed into the opposite of what i had hid under. i morphed into my anti-protector. a sophisticated enemy masterful of all guns and trades. capable of tearing you apart completely just with one swift vibration of the tongue. one strong muscle that looks and feels like a slug. sheltering from anything dry and poignant. slipping around in the aimless wet concrete mess, risking imprinting your sole onto its face to show it's oh so tough and macho. macho my ass.
So anyway furthermore moreover, is this an instruction for any marauder around, to loot savagely any trace of stability or seriousness or fatness in my bones? because it does feel that way goddammit and afterwards i'll be left with no nothing or no key or wings or antennae or anything whatsoever. so what's this deal then? win win what? loose self and heart? is he worth it? is he worth it? is he worth it?
A flexible multifaceted approach in admitting defeat and throwing the towel in that was required, inevitably could not be offered. not because of resistance but because of inability to be one-dimensional.
love and hate. both the same.
After the initial (or more appropriately the previous stable state) was revisited she clasped a tiny edge of Hope at the end of the visit and dutifully believed there was a way to prop the doors open to go freely between states as she wishes. She applied for it. Signed both the copies. Initials of the initial. reciprocal oscillation. Such an acrid flavour on the back of the tongue. Gagging again. tears without eyes. hands flopping empty and useless and without purpose left and right of the hips, not holding on to anything as nothing is there for them to hold on to and they hate each other and they would never agree on whose thumb is to be on top anyway. childish and facetious and totally non-serious. this meant that Hope had failed to ignite any passions or other in her. Her defeated existence reminding of a concrete structure- it allows the movements of winds but their effect is only for others to see or feel. her concrete heart hasn't even got a clue anything is different. shrivelling up every second. looking after itself with nurture and care and pity.
resigning was not the next logical step. it was the first never taken. the one undoing the mistake. she undid the error and signed off and repetitively checked it was all in the right order. but the something in her head had spoken. and she knew nothing could ever be saved. she was meant to question. she was meant to question. she was meant to question. and the answer to find impossible to bear.
nobody is. nobody for her. only her own is comparable.
she finally processed the calculations. with very little joy, announcing this to a few other heads she spots around her in the infinity of a surrounding. 'nothing is the same. everything is the same. nothing and everything are different empty cases of the same hologram.' she mumbles noticing her feet could do with a wash.
