insomnia or war of attrition

          6 A.M
          - 8 degrees Celsius.

          " it's not schizophrenia,
             it is just consciousness"

short lived relief.

politics or a semantic fuckup of civilisational proportions

if there is wisdom
in accepting defeat,
i can't find it.

like most other criteria
it seams largely circumstantial
& arbitrary.

          his supremely sculpted hair
          & manicured fingernails
          curse in language
          neither of us understands;
        he'll use it anyway.

...& i could reply in elegant,
mathematical formulas
of internal, external & terminal ballistics;
          if i wasn't caught in mid step
          between everything until now
          &  tomorrow.
always arriving at the same solution.

the inevitability
necessity
of evolution.

saint of cyanosis, pupile constriction & respiratory depression

prison routine
2+ hours of sleep

no dreams.

     I've named my apnea 
            Vasili,
and I'm waiting for it
to live up to the name.

one novel a day.
500 pages of distraction.

cataract or i piss on your reason

gods in progress
&
marginally aware.

mankind is pathologically scared.

walls, batons, hounds,
judgement, currency & corruption.

everyone doing their job.

midlife crisis or a shitty hand

got lost
against the background
of utter
squalor&depravity;
    like flu.

if you know what I'm talking about, fine
if not, well, fuck.

in my line of killing
one can never be sure
&
who cares
anyway.

smoke fills my home,
I reek of primordial life,
of destitution.
   voices vibrate the glass,
young, scented& desirable;
    hormonal sounds.
a failed psychopath, i ignore the stimuli.

thursday will come.
eventually.
&
I'll add some more muck to the mural
of the real..

can't fucking wait.

mutation or i am a fucking alien & it's far less fun than you might think

bonded in filth
&
coagulated blood.
there's no rapture left
to elevate
&
no time.
it's either hatred
or we're stuck together.
i hear through steel,
in tongue of dark
venous blood.
 umbilical has stretched far
 beyond a romance
 a noose;
swings a caricature
falling long but so slow,
the neck hasn't cracked.

a gasp
a hartbeat
a year
explosion
supernova with every impulse
this can go on for quite a while.
a caricature.
it's either hatred or nothing.

see, this is what happens when insanity holds back for fucking years, seamingly out of spite

easy enough to recognize this pattern.
it's dying.
it's "time" dissipating into
uselessness
a slow motion K.O.

futility of staring into futility

no point in pointing out
it ain't going anywhere.
entropy has had enough.

small pockets of affection,
not nearly enough for a life.

trigger or how internal ballistics make an excellent metaphor for what i'd rather not say outloud

   irregular intervals

memory span too short,
or I'm just too dumb to figure out
a pattern.

the fucking thing won't die.

emotional soup as useless
as appendix
&
subject to annoying inflammations.
annoying.

@irregular intervals.
too dumb;
&
you might add:
too frail
or broken
or cowardly
or stuck
or whatfuckingever,
to cut the bullshit to proper measure.
&
i might add:
....
well
useless to argue
&
disturbing.
loss.
it's got to be simple pathology.
@irregular intervals.

i really rather wouldn't

a guilt to deal with
&
quite well i do.
with
or without
a proper
full,
non selective agonist.

it's this void "inside"
where,
supposedly
self is residing,
that's sucking in the rest.

hole like a fucking unattended grave.

a hermit,
i am used to
&
abused by
(non)human condition.
&
a hermits reward
is a more literal hole.
revelations
&
burning bushes.
not nearly good enough.
not nearly.

"... the boys called me el hombre invisible..."

enjoying summer or snow,
enjoying whatever
for the sake of it;

rain...
conversation.

enjoying my body,
or someone elses,

walk
for the sake of it.
enjoying warmth, music
&
a good meal.
a hot bath.

enjoying all those things i loved
&
might have been good at.

stars.

high,
& a good book.

enjoying
my
life
strenght
family

enjoying a birthday.
being human.

i kind of miss that.

bowel movement? ! ? a glorious day, indeed!

        the little things in life.....

well...

depends...

how little are 

we talking?

exactly?

that mirror is surelly warped or the right of ownership does not extend to self

your attempts are feeble

             &

insignificant.

that's what i hear

as i drive the fist

through the glass.

affections aside,

i can't help

but agree.

this accumulated time

weighs 

tons.

up&down/ all ways sidewind or mood swings & their health significance from a septic pool

  mouse shit
&  
  rat shit
&
  cockroach chatter
across my personal space.
slippery.

m.o.r. in my gut attest

to that.

  mouse shit
&  
  rat shit
&
cockroach sludge
smeared across
my personal space.

fuck you, abraham
or whoever ghostwrited your
scam.

my god is going to die alone
with no electricity
landline
or pension.
to be found by chance a few days 

into decomposing.

deteriorate? nothing to it; like riding a bike.

 more&more&
         all
on its own
getting increasingly
relaxed
with the notion of dying
&
with dying itself.
interesting as it is
it is not helping
at all.

will is a stupid
      stupid thing.
stupid&stubborn&unseeing.
never survives the contact
with reality;

even when it holds up,
the laughter i hear is the sound
of something else breaking.
most likely
another portion of my

sanity.

laughter i hear
&
the tearing i feel.

absorb  klonazepam
collapse into sleep
dream of fucking
&
shooting;
what little love
i
got
&
gave;
respectively.
all the strain my resistance ever
secretly yearned.
laughter rises in pitch;
what has snapped this time,
i do not bother to inspect.

i can picture it more clearly than you can stomach

steel hurts
more than it should

blunt all ready
fucking standards or
more precisely the lack of,

assured tear on exit
but
,
push against the pain
a bit more
&
pop,

we're in.

negative pressure
vacuum gives to red

8 seconds of
countdown
5 of
timelesness.
a single rewarding experience left
no rewarding experiences left.

i told you so or format all drives & keep your fingers & feelings to yourself

how to mend
this flesh and bone,
i don't know.

you take things apart
to see what's inside,
end up missing
parts.

you cry your face through
the loose mask,
the leakage reminds
of gauze;
of hospice.
trembling mimetics,
trembling all 22.

deep crack down the middle
up swept brow
unsettling loss of
control
shit,
a genuine
 human falling apart.
terminal.

neurotransmiter reset in 31536000- 1 and counting

mime on neuroleptics,
i can't relax my face.

migraine.

the supposed rapture
turned out to be
a centripetal acceleration,

shit circling the drain.
circling the drain.

hands in the air
&
make some noise;
shit circling the drain.

sewer sweet sewer.

there is something hopelessly romantic about social revolution pt.3

it is not quite daydreaming

if you smell the smoke.
,
& my peripheral vision is on fire
all 360 degrees of it.

a lack of effective options
for bomb
delivery;
as all & everyone
has become
the enemy.

these days,
true revolution exhausts itself
in suicide.

animal trap

hormones drive the meaT
superimposed
nearly impossible to beat.

give in

the only way out
is the way in.
way out
way in.

out.
in.

hypnotizing.
relentless.
give in.

superstructure sets,

sets like lead.
like lead

no,
like neutrons.

hardwired.
wet
control
humiliating
hardcoded
give in.

cognitive dissonance or surprising persistence of happy memories & other unwanted junk

miss her in every & all ways.
      the sheer injustice of
      not being able
      to afford the treatment,
stales the air.

a fine,
fine sadness suspended in space
beauty clean of cliche.

nostalgic grin
&
dry lips.

    injustice
no abstract concept,
just a stupidly inflicted
self injury.
yes.

in every & all ways.

pulling batteries out of clocks,
silence anchors all bullshit
in just the right spot.
just the right spot.
     block out the visual
                          image
                          memory
her beauty in sleep.