FUCK!
Here it comes.
There you go.
Another project left undone.
Another job gone.
I blame society.
I blame you.
You're a fucking bitch.
I'm fucking perfect.
I lie.
You burden me with truth.
23 October 2008
Some sorta post-post-modern-ancient-future tale of changing and things.
I lie awake at night and think about the spore that created me.
How did it come to pass this transformation into otherness?
Why am I under this Voodoo?
Who will know the things I have seen, feel, smell, when all is done?
What is the nature of consciousness; will mine become lost?
When it is done, will the pain end?
One day I awoke a bit stuffy and pale. It was approximately noon, a bit early for me to rise. Jumping out of bed, I noticed the tile floor under my feet was a bit squishier than usual. Having gone drinking the night before, I at first chalked it up to yet another hangover. I climbed the stairs to the bathroom across from the basement door. Every step was curiously, softer.
I relieved myself, and started the descent towards the solace of my bed. Then something clicked in my brain. I rushed back to the bathroom mirror I had passed. I looked. I stared. I tried to slap myself in the face. It didn't have the same impact as usual. I went back to gazing.
I was a mushroom.
Well, an anthropomorphic mushroom. I still had features of a human: legs, eyes, arm, mouth, all in the right places. Everything seemed intact. Yet, I now had gills growing in my neck and was puffy.
My thoughts instantly raced back to the night before. Did someone slip Acid in a drink? Am I still drunk? What the fuck?
I decided to return to sleep, as this had to be a hallucination.
I returned to the basement in which I dwell, to the room below the parental units.
I fall asleep.
I have slept so much recently.
Nobody will wake me. The parents are gone on vacation. No one's home, except me. If someone does come by, I ignore them.
Eventually, everyone goes away.
My roots are growing deep into the mattress, on which I lay.
The puddle of piss and shit grows. It hurts too much now to uproot myself. Fortunately, I no longer eat or drink, get hungry or thirsty. But the smell is terrible. That's the worst part.
My sight is almost gone and hearing is dampened. Though I still feel, it has changed. Unfortunately, scent will not abandon me. I smell perfectly the sewer which, what I hope, is my deathbed.
Let me slip away.
How did it come to pass this transformation into otherness?
Why am I under this Voodoo?
Who will know the things I have seen, feel, smell, when all is done?
What is the nature of consciousness; will mine become lost?
When it is done, will the pain end?
One day I awoke a bit stuffy and pale. It was approximately noon, a bit early for me to rise. Jumping out of bed, I noticed the tile floor under my feet was a bit squishier than usual. Having gone drinking the night before, I at first chalked it up to yet another hangover. I climbed the stairs to the bathroom across from the basement door. Every step was curiously, softer.
I relieved myself, and started the descent towards the solace of my bed. Then something clicked in my brain. I rushed back to the bathroom mirror I had passed. I looked. I stared. I tried to slap myself in the face. It didn't have the same impact as usual. I went back to gazing.
I was a mushroom.
Well, an anthropomorphic mushroom. I still had features of a human: legs, eyes, arm, mouth, all in the right places. Everything seemed intact. Yet, I now had gills growing in my neck and was puffy.
My thoughts instantly raced back to the night before. Did someone slip Acid in a drink? Am I still drunk? What the fuck?
I decided to return to sleep, as this had to be a hallucination.
I returned to the basement in which I dwell, to the room below the parental units.
I fall asleep.
I have slept so much recently.
Nobody will wake me. The parents are gone on vacation. No one's home, except me. If someone does come by, I ignore them.
Eventually, everyone goes away.
My roots are growing deep into the mattress, on which I lay.
The puddle of piss and shit grows. It hurts too much now to uproot myself. Fortunately, I no longer eat or drink, get hungry or thirsty. But the smell is terrible. That's the worst part.
My sight is almost gone and hearing is dampened. Though I still feel, it has changed. Unfortunately, scent will not abandon me. I smell perfectly the sewer which, what I hope, is my deathbed.
Let me slip away.
08 October 2008
dream of: dreaming the dreamer
So... there I stood at the precipice of dawn, wondering where the sleep had gone.
No dreams in the night will wake me from slumber during the day, of course. Already I am the bleeding heart of my nightmares, a succulent cross between an orange and doom.
When it comes, it comes down like a freight train on an all-night haul, and diffracts into many dimensions, not just light.
Then, when it 'tis over, a shivering mass of flesh rejects itself and finds the stargate home.
No dreams in the night will wake me from slumber during the day, of course. Already I am the bleeding heart of my nightmares, a succulent cross between an orange and doom.
When it comes, it comes down like a freight train on an all-night haul, and diffracts into many dimensions, not just light.
Then, when it 'tis over, a shivering mass of flesh rejects itself and finds the stargate home.
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