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13.1.08
lord love a duck.
god fucking damn i was so sick last night.
i can't even believe i got home i couldn't see or hear and everything felt like i was under a thick see-through blanket and the world was streetlight coloured and i concentrated on: limp pathetic horrible little rolly in my hand, big black hard shoes, the ground.
and fuck i was so sick i stumbled around my house naked and with no glasses and i couldn't see a fucking thing and, o, it is like rolling down a hill only in your head or like someone else has control of your eye functions and head functions your head is a boat someone else is the sea but your body is the house for this microcosm.
my sick was clear with flecks of black like a vile version of that vodka that has little gold bits in it to cut your throat and get you fucking drunk quicker. sick and sick again, on my knees praying to the toilet. kissing the seat. hurting my knees on the floor, i was probably being prayed on by spiders and their sticky webs and nets. isn't it funny that those tests the did on spiders came out like, the same as the patterns you see. like the one on acid did those amazing symmetrical patterns like the liquidy gooey ones you see on acid, and the one on ecstasy made a squarey web like the jewelled scarily geometric patterns you see on ecstasy. like, that actually scares me that my own self can produce patterns i could never draw, never even imagine how to draw. boy-oy it's you, and the the things you do, to me, that makes me love yooou, now i'm livin in ecstasy.
that is why the mayans the golden mayans made those inconceivable patterns, they take shamanic hallucinogens and which induce these patterns occuring in our brain naturally unlocking our little squidgy grey brains.
i saw a pickled brain once.
and i'm just so ugly and dirty and dry and wet and flaky and greasy that the only part that makes me feel beautiful is the feel of my eyelashes pressing against the curve of my fingertip, feeling large three, five times their width and yet not. really. they feel as if they could go on forever and i visualise, i see their blackness at the roots to the blondeness at the tips. they feel like feathers ready to fly away.
whispered by killa b at 3:42 PM |
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