It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
I often wonder how I let myself get this way. Then I remember that I don't care, and go back to enjoying my smutty magazine and candy bar sedative.
As I look down at that candy bar, I realise that it's shrinking in just the same way as my little life. Locked in my own head, I wonder what it is that the outside world could be doing.
The candy bar was now 'fun size.' It was now bite-size. It was, like, tiny. And the world was getting huge. It was, like, super-huge. It was huge and full of... things. I went outside. I was looking for Walt Whitman under my bootsoles. It looked like just a bunch of grass... and stuff.
I mean, who can count themselves among the hordes of football fans yelling, loud as a crumb with chocolate on your cheek? Either you're part of the wave or just another fold up seat, still quietly praying when the stadium lights go out and you're left in a lurch of negative space, who knows where; are you still listening?
Break-neck speed. The ride just started, and I am already going much too fast for comfort. The little voice inside my head settles for what should be an interesting adventure, the bull bucking harder than a monkey with a wasp up its ass. Eight seconds -- it's all I ask. Of course, time is unmeasureable where I am going. Eight seconds could have been a lifetime when and if I get to the other side. No matter what happens in the end, I had no choice in doing it: the rush might kill me, but without it, I am already dead.
Is there anything else I had wished for? Maybe for the urge to stop. Or, quite the opposite, maybe. Of the lights and smells rushing past me, I seldom feel a glitch; often I just ride past the enormous cornucopia of life as it is. They do not invite me in. I ignore them even more strongly. What a waste of strength!
Except there are days when I can't help it, days when I want to feel. It's like when you're at some nice store. Sure, you read the signs: DO NOT TOUCH and YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT. It doesn't mean anything to me. Temptation is just one of my many demons. I let my fingers slide along the things that catch my eye. I extend my arm, open palmed, out the window at 80 miles per hour. When it's convenient, I feel, even if it's only the hard cold air blaring by.
]]>A wrapper stuck to my cheek. I awoke to the smell of baby powder and perfume. Every morning I hate myself.
It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
I often wonder how I let myself get this way. Then I remember that I don't care, and go back to enjoying my smutty magazine and candy bar sedative.
As I look down at that candy bar, I realise that it's shrinking in just the same way as my little life. Locked in my own head, I wonder what it is that the outside world could be doing.
The candy bar was now 'fun size.' It was now bite-size. It was, like, tiny. And the world was getting huge. It was, like, super-huge. It was huge and full of... things. I went outside. I was looking for Walt Whitman under my bootsoles. It looked like just a bunch of grass... and stuff.
I mean, who can count themselves among the hordes of football fans yelling, loud as a crumb with chocolate on your cheek? Either you're part of the wave or just another fold up seat, still quietly praying when the stadium lights go out and you're left in a lurch of negative space, who knows where; are you still listening?
Break-neck speed. The ride just started, and I am already going much too fast for comfort. The little voice inside my head settles for what should be an interesting adventure, the bull bucking harder than a monkey with a wasp up its ass. Eight seconds -- it's all I ask. Of course, time is unmeasureable where I am going. Eight seconds could have been a lifetime when and if I get to the other side. No matter what happens in the end, I had no choice in doing it: the rush might kill me, but without it, I am already dead.
Is there anything else I had wished for? Maybe for the urge to stop. Or, quite the opposite, maybe. Of the lights and smells rushing past me, I seldom feel a glitch; often I just ride past the enormous cornucopia of life as it is. They do not invite me in. I ignore them even more strongly. What a waste of strength!
Except there are days when I can't help it, days when I want to feel. It's like when you're at some nice store. Sure, you read the signs: DO NOT TOUCH and YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT. It doesn't mean anything to me. Temptation is just one of my many demons. I let my fingers slide along the things that catch my eye. I extend my arm, open palmed, out the window at 80 miles per hour. When it's convenient, I feel, even if it's only the hard cold air blaring by.
Last updated 287 days ago by Bryan Falla
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It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind.
]]>It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind. Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
]]>It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind. Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
]]>It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind. Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
I often wonder how I let myself get this way. Then I remember that I don't care, and go back to enjoying my smutty magazine and candy bar sedative.
]]>It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
I often wonder how I let myself get this way. Then I remember that I don't care, and go back to enjoying my smutty magazine and candy bar sedative.
As I look down at that candy bar, I realise that it's shrinking in just the same way as my little life. Locked in my own head, I wonder what it is that the outside world could be doing.
The candy bar was now 'fun size.' It was now bite-size. It was, like, tiny. And the world was getting huge. It was, like, super-huge. It was huge and full of... things. I went outside. I was looking for Walt Whitman under my bootsoles. It looked like just a bunch of grass... and stuff.
I mean, who can count themselves among the hordes of football fans yelling, loud as a crumb with chocolate on your cheek? Either you're part of the wave or just another fold up seat, still quietly praying when the stadium lights go out and you're left in a lurch of negative space, who knows where; are you still listening?
Break-neck speed. The ride just started, and I am already going much too fast for comfort. The little voice inside my head settles for what should be an interesting adventure, the bull bucking harder than a monkey with a wasp up its ass. Eight seconds -- it's all I ask. Of course, time is unmeasureable where I am going. Eight seconds could have been a lifetime when and if I get to the other side. No matter what happens in the end, I had no choice in doing it: the rush might kill me, but without it, I am already dead.
Is there anything else I had wished for? Maybe for the urge to stop. Or, quite the opposite, maybe. Of the lights and smells rushing past me, I seldom feel a glitch; often I just ride past the enormous cornucopia of life as it is. They do not invite me in. I ignore them even more strongly. What a waste of strength!
Except there are days when I can't help it, days when I want to feel. It's like when you're at some nice store. Sure, you read the signs: DO NOT TOUCH and YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT. It doesn't mean anything to me. Temptation is just one of my many demons. I let my fingers slide along the things that catch my eye. I extend my arm, open palmed, out the window at 80 miles per hour. When it's convenient, I feel, even if it's only the hard cold air blaring by.
]]>A wrapper stuck to my cheek. I awoke to the smell of baby powder and perfume. Every morning I hate myself.
It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
I often wonder how I let myself get this way. Then I remember that I don't care, and go back to enjoying my smutty magazine and candy bar sedative.
As I look down at that candy bar, I realise that it's shrinking in just the same way as my little life. Locked in my own head, I wonder what it is that the outside world could be doing.
The candy bar was now 'fun size.' It was now bite-size. It was, like, tiny. And the world was getting huge. It was, like, super-huge. It was huge and full of... things. I went outside. I was looking for Walt Whitman under my bootsoles. It looked like just a bunch of grass... and stuff.
I mean, who can count themselves among the hordes of football fans yelling, loud as a crumb with chocolate on your cheek? Either you're part of the wave or just another fold up seat, still quietly praying when the stadium lights go out and you're left in a lurch of negative space, who knows where; are you still listening?
Break-neck speed. The ride just started, and I am already going much too fast for comfort. The little voice inside my head settles for what should be an interesting adventure, the bull bucking harder than a monkey with a wasp up its ass. Eight seconds -- it's all I ask. Of course, time is unmeasureable where I am going. Eight seconds could have been a lifetime when and if I get to the other side. No matter what happens in the end, I had no choice in doing it: the rush might kill me, but without it, I am already dead.
Is there anything else I had wished for? Maybe for the urge to stop. Or, quite the opposite, maybe. Of the lights and smells rushing past me, I seldom feel a glitch; often I just ride past the enormous cornucopia of life as it is. They do not invite me in. I ignore them even more strongly. What a waste of strength!
Except there are days when I can't help it, days when I want to feel. It's like when you're at some nice store. Sure, you read the signs: DO NOT TOUCH and YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT. It doesn't mean anything to me. Temptation is just one of my many demons. I let my fingers slide along the things that catch my eye. I extend my arm, open palmed, out the window at 80 miles per hour. When it's convenient, I feel, even if it's only the hard cold air blaring by.
Last updated 287 days ago by Bryan Falla
]]>
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It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind.
]]>It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind. Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
]]>It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind. Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
]]>It wasn't always this bad. The sickness used to come upon me like a wave of glory but quickly fade into the distance before I lost control. Now the moments of calm come only in infrequent, random bursts like a hiccup of the mind. Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one's mind is not difficult. Only during one of these rare, clear-headed spasms, do I even realize anything is gone.
I often wonder how I let myself get this way. Then I remember that I don't care, and go back to enjoying my smutty magazine and candy bar sedative.
]]>