yawn

sometimes when you sit in your mind, doing nothing in particular, just staring, you might notice a shift in the light...it gets brighter...shadows flicker across faces, racing to find new resting spots and you find something new...perhaps an underlined feature that had hitherto escaped your notice...and you feel something strange, like a bed bug under your nail, happily sucking away at your blood, smug in it's cozy corner, comfortable in the knowledge that it would never be found...but you have felt it...it will take a lot of beating before it gives in and dies...hateful little creature. i have seen many bedbugs...and i have killed most of them. i don't know if that means i won or not...but the point of it all has so far eluded me. i won't change my bed...you won't change your eating habits...let's dance.
candle light is the best...it won't let you get accustomed and keeps you on your toes...electricity has turned everything soft...i don't look for what she should anymore...at least not the five of us...you seem a bit lost...perhaps you need a hand...? you seem a bit confused...i think i'll take your hand...i can see the fear in your eyes and now i just want to rip your throat out...but nicely. i've come across people who lose their cool when they're supposed to be happy, they have their own way of going about carrying parcels for the lord of misery...complete nonsense...just bloody frustration and anger...betrayed by liars and whores...there we go...we're back...it always comes down to the same bullshit...stuck in a vicious cycle of hateful voices and misdirected anger and i swear if this miserable wretch doesn't get lost soon...i will lose my mind...but tell me one thing...when there's something wrong...does pressing harder ever help? punching away madly..is it the remote control's fault that the batteries are low? smacking the crap out of it won't help. of course it will...and then the old lady walks in with her fruity voice whispering all about the seven wonders of deceit...all she wants is money and nomatter how you dance, she will take it.
i need xanax...lots of it...
ever felt sick of touch? ever felt a cold shiver pass through you like a wave of electricity at the slightest unprovoked and unintentional contact...ever figure out why you can't figure it out? why do you smell treachery in their breath? two sounds we hate the most...the sound of water filling up a bucket...at high speed...falling a distance before ending up at the bottom with a bang that makes your insides squirm...and the other one...the sound of everything else...hahahaha...i have heard my heart beat faster than it should...lying face down...kill everyone...the death of a loved one is an excuse to not work...big wheels keep on turning when you know lesser mortals have committed fancier sins than you, us, we, them, they, shit...panic. complete loss of balance and you hear them banging at the door...shouting your name over and over again...what do they want? ugly children of ugly people...dirt...
there are types of dirt...the nice homely unavoidable filth you can get used to...you might not even notice it and even come to love it like a second skin...there's no difference until the lights turn brighter and those shadows race across to show you where they were and what they did and how they're moving on, leaving you just the same but filthier than before...and there's old dust...it covets old books...abandoned houses...hateful graves.
in the beginning, strings were made of metal, grime and bits of decaying skin that you left behind...but the sound changed, the strings changed...strictly business. shadows race across your pretty features and i stick a fork in your eyes...or at least i want to. the smell of incense in graveyards makes absolutely no sense to me...it's not a particularly nice smell...maybe it was before...but now it comes with images and sounds...maybe they should replace the standard "graveyard smell" every few years...so that a new smell can be put through the same torturous process and hooked up to your brain, so you know you smell the dead when you smell...why should the dead be subjected to this crap anyway? if you knew what i knew you'd never wear your shoes in the graveyard again. the other day we spent a good fifteen minutes staring at a bird knock a hole in a tree...the tree...one of the two...the guardians of a psychotic palace of novelty items that should've been sold or in the case of some...shot in the head. the funniest thing will eventually turn out to be a secret so nobody will laugh...at least not openly. i hate children right now. i have my moments though. every now and then a boy smarter than me asks me if i enjoy toying with people...if i am enjoying myself at the moment, but i really can't seem to answer because i have no words to explain this prevailing sensation of insane anger. i used to be worse but i mellowed out and remained mellow for many many years and then my brain got raped and everything came back...living in shame keeps you in check...you don't dare question and challenge the things you despise...shamelessness has brought me back where i started from...isn't that nice...no wonder there was peace for so long. since i'm going to leave anyway...i might as well take those goddamn pills and feel like the mellowness has returned...at the moment i feel reckless. i don't care if this leads to more trouble...if everyone should decide to leave...i think i'll wave.
once you've discovered a bedbug chewing on your flesh...the slightest sensation will make you turn your head... a cold shiver passes through your body and you frantically search everywhere for that phantom you are so sure exists...you won't find it...it's not there...that's what everyone says...so you just wave...go somewhere else to catch up on some much needed unparanoid sleep. i'm not sure who wins here...you or the bedbugs...but really...nobody cares...and it's best to get that sleep while you can because you're going to be up for a very long time smelling incense.

martin pale...back in jail.