𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌

Amphetamine psychosis;

neurons are felt gliding in and out their electric impulses; little anthro things that buzz and glow and whisp around like clouds, electrifying the mind and this world into existence

fingers fucking frozen but the core is hot, hot, burning alive; fantasies and grandiosity run riot in a dream of rage and boredom – destruction looms like a lightening bolt cocked to fire

the world as a series of chaotic networks of this dream substance; one could crack the code of its meaning if you can just grasp a string of the web and pull it all out and dissect it

all of the body wants to feel but also not at all, just crawl away into the mind’s eye

people are at once desired and despised


nothing is ever enough as the dopamine pumps you forward to some ever looming horizon which is burning red against an acrid yellow against a

pale sickly blue against a black black sky and you’re just a pasty little skin bag with cooling organs sloshing in mucouses and juices towards that thing that will never fucking come

because it doesn’t exist and greater minds have tried to grasp it;

you think of peace in God and god is empty just like you; until you sleep forever you’re rushing forward yearning for the intensity to somehow rip open that doming sky

that entraps us all in this nitrogenous haze. Against a pillow or against a hard body, you’re always a step behind the Dream that tortures us all with its paradoxical promises.

You could cut open another person, dissect their layers of fats and fleshes and muscly happenings and keep their brain alive and discuss ancient ethics with them and play with their dilated aorta and

you’ll still be alone in this vat experiment that traps you in a permanent loneliness


they could do the same to you; you could feel them penetrate your guts with a hot needle and you would still never escape the return of the

lingering you’s and what’s and why’s once you return to the mainframe. we all worship death; find death, create death, eat death, death every night in sleep, in cum

in the love of pain and sadness; it is the return to the joy of first life, when you were but a vulgar fetus vibrating

in a suspended emulsion of motherly darkness. Then you were forced awake for the first time in contractions of your mother’s uterus, pushed through into the stark light and the probes and

strangers and devices measuring element of your blood and gases.

Then you grew up and you learned more limitations against death; to yearn for life, to yearn for food and for love and for growth in the various factors that at

once sustain and deter you from the real secret; you were meant to die, any second now, out of your control, succumb to an instantaneous cessation of the Dreaming.