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Rushedest, pooest, longest, lastest of the three. Enjoy anyway peeps.
---------------------------------------
I was adrift with your mesmeric fairy dust in the beginning. The violated vision of seeds of semen budding in your hair. Hair of the temptress with the opal halo. I was genuinely convinced of your twin love for me. From neighboring continents bound by the ocean of our love we've become diluted with hate and now just about reach the surface as fractured archipelago antipodes. My axis doesn’t meet yours; the world is undone.
Thank God the beginning had an end.
Neurotic-Erotic behaviour.
The memory of your sin will remain inside me forever, traumatizing and often causing panic attacks. Those with big holes like having lots of different things buried in there. But you did it with him - the ghostly figure which eats my dreams. Oh, how he fills me with terror. A week after amputating yourself from my throne of leeches you decided to taunt me.
I was asleep in bed. The safest place a man’s mind can dwell in sheer bliss, away from everything in the world until the recharge plugs cool. Or so I thought. You somehow bugged my dreams with a telepathic bug…it crawled out the next day. The ensuing snap of black and red light took me from unconscious slumber to a place were I was awake in my own head:
Urgh…I can remember the time of conception like no other moment in my life. He came to me in a vortex opening. I stepped through into a world were time and space no longer mattered and the only thing visible was white. It was a white room which lazily stretched forever. Sound and picture quality was sharp and Digital; polygons going a million second radiated static and swift, high quality resonant distortion. Channeled into my concentration station. The “no reception” button wouldn’t work, I had to just watch and be tortured.
Firstly you appear. Or is it me? I don’t know. It’s both of us together as one person. We’re standing there speechless, me in a dazed shock and you in a scheming, wordless passion.
Then he appears.
A black hole bursts open behind us. It regurgitates him out. He is so ugly. The Ecto-Spectre, the monster. Everytime I think of the instance he appears, the image of him takes a more and more gruesome form as I try to reminisce. He obviously drank mutated potion juice made by Japanese scientists in a past life. He’s pink with stained blood and pulling an unholy grimace caused by the elephantitis in his jaw. Multi-forming and often mutating in my dreams.
He staggers over in a drunken state. This is his metaphysical domain. He can control all around me. I was stuck in the notepad of a psychopath his thoughts dictating events - telekinetic, surreal and ominous.
He’s behind us, me and you the one person. The squelching of his inflated muscular pink body echoes ultrasound vibes. His glands open and close; releasing a strong scent in the air, reminding me that in dreams I am in his territory, the guy asleep on his bed is powerless until the alarm rings at 6am. His scent is a toxin to keep us anointed.
He swings his big axe back with sinister aplomb and pierces through the back of our neck. Bones scrape with blade and a million nails hit the chalkboard. We scream ferociously high pitched but nothing leaves the mouth. The spontaneous, longitudinal screech-scream is so loud and cutting it actually hurts us, the one doing it. Doing it with an axe head gauging through our teeth.
His blade cut through our vocal chords and instead of a gradual higher scream, the impact of the blow was so nerve chomping, the pitch went from high to ultra-high; digitally. On and off. No gradual movement in sound waves but a giant step to ear drum shattering screech knives. Like jumping on a broken bag pipe. A burst of overflow, overload tempo prowess.
“ Staccato! Staccato! Staccato! Staccato!”
“Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia!”
My nerve network was abruptly overloaded. Ping ping. Like snapping guitar strings and making that horrible “ping”. The nerve wound up and snapped leaving me cringing forever. The nerve which connected me to you. The monster screams too but he makes noise this time in some ultra-sound duet. I leave our body and see a close-up of our face. Veins popping out. redness in the eyes with tears. Blood and saliva being spat out. The blade is sticking out of the mouth and that body is now a medal. The vocal cords were pierced in such a way that we scream forever until the hatchet is taken out like some percussion instrument inside our cords.
That was when I woke up. I knew while I was asleep he impregnated you. A septic sexual wound remains as proof. That was also the night I awoke from a dream feeling rather different.
Not only was I left broken forever, but experienced. A disrupting thrombosis pattern emerged from your reproductive canyon that eats what it wants, feeds on cheese. During the off-period of your cycle, you somehow sent me your ovaries that very night. A transformed bug built with your poison. It wasn’t a normal bug but a parasite incubator for the real surprise. Your genetic codes constructed and noticeably referenced - releasing a toxin into my stream, a permanent souvenir you would probably call it. It hatched the next morning and out came the pet cyst for me to remember you by. Inside my neck; filled with puss. Every time I swallow, it shivers. The amoebas neutralize it <> It’s voice paralyses me. It lays in the same part of my neck as the initial axe blow was.
The cyst has multiplied into many. A nest of puss eggs in my throat. So it wasn’t a souvenir you sent me, but your womb. You sent me the kids you and the monster made. The ultimate love memento powered by hate and shrugging off responsibility. You transformed me into a romantic sanctuary cemetery for you and yours.
The hatchlings have burst out with fluid and brought with them amphibian dominance. Scaly tongues that lick and slobber which sends hot-blooded nerve messages. Changing colors in their pores. Dilating kaleidoscopes, which make the cold sweats surface and hairs on the back of my neck erect. I bet you’re erect listening to this.
Bacteria combatant aloe vera.
Even in their infancy, these cyst babies are so superior it’s suicidal. For me. The Ecto-Spectre must have some real strange DNA. Spindle products of Mitosis have septicaemia; meaning that although near perfect, these dazzling cynosures are prematurely not meant for this world. Their father lives in his own digital world and so should they. The only problem being, that I’ve grown with them. They share a chemical symbol with me. Their small bodies and weak posture suggest a small lifespan. They must go into the digital anomaly hole if they’re to survive forever.
It leaves me in an outburst of maniacal paroxysm. I take laxatives just to feel human again, to be apart of a more exclusive cycle.
In the day, they solve equations and eat. Spit Hepatitis CBA pimples at each other. Dehumanize bishops and priests. Go to antenatal classes and transform the women’s amniotic fluid into astatine immune deficiency salts. Aha. The poor foetus. Getting AIDs from the mother instead of the mother’s aid.
At night they rest in my soul. This customization ability of physical limitations must come from the monster father. Some cameo from that white backround world. They take up a higher state of existance, beyond sub-atomic levels and use my white blanket soul as a place for a inter-reality gathering, to hibernate as time in the night goes real slow. I don’t mind really, having a dozen or so hell spawn looking into my moist humane spirit, my dreams. It’s like so delirium. Fevered dreams of alien abductions and waking up with blood gushing out of my underwear. Maybe I’m being paranoid. My essence is their resting place. It kinda comes full circle.
It’s funny. I woke up the other day and there were scales on the bottom of my foot. How queer. I doubt it is some amphibian genetic reactant from the kids. Just fungus from stress. Yeah, that’s it. Oh and I’ve started opening dimensions and experimenting with alternate realities. Well it was after an overdose of painkillers. I’m a tiro at the junkie business.
I’m jaded on my own. In my heart I’ve forgiven you, I want you back and your repulsive stench. You’ve traumatised me a so much why not a little bit more.
This message must of stimulated both poles because the next day It was then that you came back, At my door with the sun smiling down. You looked so clean, your well ventilated shaft. I could see you had a mastectomy. Did the monster suck your t!t? Unlucky. Also a probe android in your bile duct. Is this a way of winning sympathy?
I see you’ve also had an embryo transplant into your brain. Your uterus was a radioactive toxic waste disposal facility. The monster’s transuranic super semen blew your zygote isotopes into cancerous deposits. No wonder the babies were born deformed. Cute little critters. After the civil war in your v****a, the only way to impregnate you from now on is through the hole in the back of your throat…..the same hole the ecto-spectre pierced. The one between your legs declares a truce to the world of nemesis cheese.
Ahhh……who cares if your half the women you used to be.
Natural pallative endorphin cycle resuming. I’m in control again. Just a glitch in the cycle. And now we’ve got kids which will bring out those dormant responsibility modes in us both. Together we will start a seminal seminar, teaching our lizard kids about life and maybe go to different places.
I’m now living the dream. Actually, no, dreams our in my sleep. This time I’m awake. A dream once changed my life. But life now is beyond that dream.
---------------------------------------
I was adrift with your mesmeric fairy dust in the beginning. The violated vision of seeds of semen budding in your hair. Hair of the temptress with the opal halo. I was genuinely convinced of your twin love for me. From neighboring continents bound by the ocean of our love we've become diluted with hate and now just about reach the surface as fractured archipelago antipodes. My axis doesn’t meet yours; the world is undone.
Thank God the beginning had an end.
Neurotic-Erotic behaviour.
The memory of your sin will remain inside me forever, traumatizing and often causing panic attacks. Those with big holes like having lots of different things buried in there. But you did it with him - the ghostly figure which eats my dreams. Oh, how he fills me with terror. A week after amputating yourself from my throne of leeches you decided to taunt me.
I was asleep in bed. The safest place a man’s mind can dwell in sheer bliss, away from everything in the world until the recharge plugs cool. Or so I thought. You somehow bugged my dreams with a telepathic bug…it crawled out the next day. The ensuing snap of black and red light took me from unconscious slumber to a place were I was awake in my own head:
Urgh…I can remember the time of conception like no other moment in my life. He came to me in a vortex opening. I stepped through into a world were time and space no longer mattered and the only thing visible was white. It was a white room which lazily stretched forever. Sound and picture quality was sharp and Digital; polygons going a million second radiated static and swift, high quality resonant distortion. Channeled into my concentration station. The “no reception” button wouldn’t work, I had to just watch and be tortured.
Firstly you appear. Or is it me? I don’t know. It’s both of us together as one person. We’re standing there speechless, me in a dazed shock and you in a scheming, wordless passion.
Then he appears.
A black hole bursts open behind us. It regurgitates him out. He is so ugly. The Ecto-Spectre, the monster. Everytime I think of the instance he appears, the image of him takes a more and more gruesome form as I try to reminisce. He obviously drank mutated potion juice made by Japanese scientists in a past life. He’s pink with stained blood and pulling an unholy grimace caused by the elephantitis in his jaw. Multi-forming and often mutating in my dreams.
He staggers over in a drunken state. This is his metaphysical domain. He can control all around me. I was stuck in the notepad of a psychopath his thoughts dictating events - telekinetic, surreal and ominous.
He’s behind us, me and you the one person. The squelching of his inflated muscular pink body echoes ultrasound vibes. His glands open and close; releasing a strong scent in the air, reminding me that in dreams I am in his territory, the guy asleep on his bed is powerless until the alarm rings at 6am. His scent is a toxin to keep us anointed.
He swings his big axe back with sinister aplomb and pierces through the back of our neck. Bones scrape with blade and a million nails hit the chalkboard. We scream ferociously high pitched but nothing leaves the mouth. The spontaneous, longitudinal screech-scream is so loud and cutting it actually hurts us, the one doing it. Doing it with an axe head gauging through our teeth.
His blade cut through our vocal chords and instead of a gradual higher scream, the impact of the blow was so nerve chomping, the pitch went from high to ultra-high; digitally. On and off. No gradual movement in sound waves but a giant step to ear drum shattering screech knives. Like jumping on a broken bag pipe. A burst of overflow, overload tempo prowess.
“ Staccato! Staccato! Staccato! Staccato!”
“Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia!”
My nerve network was abruptly overloaded. Ping ping. Like snapping guitar strings and making that horrible “ping”. The nerve wound up and snapped leaving me cringing forever. The nerve which connected me to you. The monster screams too but he makes noise this time in some ultra-sound duet. I leave our body and see a close-up of our face. Veins popping out. redness in the eyes with tears. Blood and saliva being spat out. The blade is sticking out of the mouth and that body is now a medal. The vocal cords were pierced in such a way that we scream forever until the hatchet is taken out like some percussion instrument inside our cords.
That was when I woke up. I knew while I was asleep he impregnated you. A septic sexual wound remains as proof. That was also the night I awoke from a dream feeling rather different.
Not only was I left broken forever, but experienced. A disrupting thrombosis pattern emerged from your reproductive canyon that eats what it wants, feeds on cheese. During the off-period of your cycle, you somehow sent me your ovaries that very night. A transformed bug built with your poison. It wasn’t a normal bug but a parasite incubator for the real surprise. Your genetic codes constructed and noticeably referenced - releasing a toxin into my stream, a permanent souvenir you would probably call it. It hatched the next morning and out came the pet cyst for me to remember you by. Inside my neck; filled with puss. Every time I swallow, it shivers. The amoebas neutralize it <> It’s voice paralyses me. It lays in the same part of my neck as the initial axe blow was.
The cyst has multiplied into many. A nest of puss eggs in my throat. So it wasn’t a souvenir you sent me, but your womb. You sent me the kids you and the monster made. The ultimate love memento powered by hate and shrugging off responsibility. You transformed me into a romantic sanctuary cemetery for you and yours.
The hatchlings have burst out with fluid and brought with them amphibian dominance. Scaly tongues that lick and slobber which sends hot-blooded nerve messages. Changing colors in their pores. Dilating kaleidoscopes, which make the cold sweats surface and hairs on the back of my neck erect. I bet you’re erect listening to this.
Bacteria combatant aloe vera.
Even in their infancy, these cyst babies are so superior it’s suicidal. For me. The Ecto-Spectre must have some real strange DNA. Spindle products of Mitosis have septicaemia; meaning that although near perfect, these dazzling cynosures are prematurely not meant for this world. Their father lives in his own digital world and so should they. The only problem being, that I’ve grown with them. They share a chemical symbol with me. Their small bodies and weak posture suggest a small lifespan. They must go into the digital anomaly hole if they’re to survive forever.
It leaves me in an outburst of maniacal paroxysm. I take laxatives just to feel human again, to be apart of a more exclusive cycle.
In the day, they solve equations and eat. Spit Hepatitis CBA pimples at each other. Dehumanize bishops and priests. Go to antenatal classes and transform the women’s amniotic fluid into astatine immune deficiency salts. Aha. The poor foetus. Getting AIDs from the mother instead of the mother’s aid.
At night they rest in my soul. This customization ability of physical limitations must come from the monster father. Some cameo from that white backround world. They take up a higher state of existance, beyond sub-atomic levels and use my white blanket soul as a place for a inter-reality gathering, to hibernate as time in the night goes real slow. I don’t mind really, having a dozen or so hell spawn looking into my moist humane spirit, my dreams. It’s like so delirium. Fevered dreams of alien abductions and waking up with blood gushing out of my underwear. Maybe I’m being paranoid. My essence is their resting place. It kinda comes full circle.
It’s funny. I woke up the other day and there were scales on the bottom of my foot. How queer. I doubt it is some amphibian genetic reactant from the kids. Just fungus from stress. Yeah, that’s it. Oh and I’ve started opening dimensions and experimenting with alternate realities. Well it was after an overdose of painkillers. I’m a tiro at the junkie business.
I’m jaded on my own. In my heart I’ve forgiven you, I want you back and your repulsive stench. You’ve traumatised me a so much why not a little bit more.
This message must of stimulated both poles because the next day It was then that you came back, At my door with the sun smiling down. You looked so clean, your well ventilated shaft. I could see you had a mastectomy. Did the monster suck your t!t? Unlucky. Also a probe android in your bile duct. Is this a way of winning sympathy?
I see you’ve also had an embryo transplant into your brain. Your uterus was a radioactive toxic waste disposal facility. The monster’s transuranic super semen blew your zygote isotopes into cancerous deposits. No wonder the babies were born deformed. Cute little critters. After the civil war in your v****a, the only way to impregnate you from now on is through the hole in the back of your throat…..the same hole the ecto-spectre pierced. The one between your legs declares a truce to the world of nemesis cheese.
Ahhh……who cares if your half the women you used to be.
Natural pallative endorphin cycle resuming. I’m in control again. Just a glitch in the cycle. And now we’ve got kids which will bring out those dormant responsibility modes in us both. Together we will start a seminal seminar, teaching our lizard kids about life and maybe go to different places.
I’m now living the dream. Actually, no, dreams our in my sleep. This time I’m awake. A dream once changed my life. But life now is beyond that dream.
yey.
Now I'll read your thing.
Now I'll read your thing.
Eeee.
And stop changing your name. I always know it's you.
You've read all three I think.
And erm stop accurately portraying me please. People can see mmy weakness.
And erm stop accurately portraying me please. People can see mmy weakness.
O-o-o-o, now that's what I call a curiosity.
Bloody hell, Tink. You're a master.
A trio of co-dependancy? How honoured, how humbled am I.
And yet, in my own little crushed-up way, I'm glad this public piece will remain almost entirely private. Just you and me, and you genius.
Even though it'll probably crush whatever ego you built up during those missing months.
Note to wanted self: 2 pieces now gone without your attention.
And when I say your attention, I mean attention for me. I'm just that kinda guy.
I'd probably kill you, just to touch your writey bits.
Bliss.
A trio of co-dependancy? How honoured, how humbled am I.
And yet, in my own little crushed-up way, I'm glad this public piece will remain almost entirely private. Just you and me, and you genius.
Even though it'll probably crush whatever ego you built up during those missing months.
Note to wanted self: 2 pieces now gone without your attention.
And when I say your attention, I mean attention for me. I'm just that kinda guy.
I'd probably kill you, just to touch your writey bits.
Bliss.
Rushedest, pooest, longest, lastest of the three. Enjoy anyway peeps.
---------------------------------------
I was adrift with your mesmeric fairy dust in the beginning. The violated vision of seeds of semen budding in your hair. Hair of the temptress with the opal halo. I was genuinely convinced of your twin love for me. From neighboring continents bound by the ocean of our love we've become diluted with hate and now just about reach the surface as fractured archipelago antipodes. My axis doesn’t meet yours; the world is undone.
Thank God the beginning had an end.
Neurotic-Erotic behaviour.
The memory of your sin will remain inside me forever, traumatizing and often causing panic attacks. Those with big holes like having lots of different things buried in there. But you did it with him - the ghostly figure which eats my dreams. Oh, how he fills me with terror. A week after amputating yourself from my throne of leeches you decided to taunt me.
I was asleep in bed. The safest place a man’s mind can dwell in sheer bliss, away from everything in the world until the recharge plugs cool. Or so I thought. You somehow bugged my dreams with a telepathic bug…it crawled out the next day. The ensuing snap of black and red light took me from unconscious slumber to a place were I was awake in my own head:
Urgh…I can remember the time of conception like no other moment in my life. He came to me in a vortex opening. I stepped through into a world were time and space no longer mattered and the only thing visible was white. It was a white room which lazily stretched forever. Sound and picture quality was sharp and Digital; polygons going a million second radiated static and swift, high quality resonant distortion. Channeled into my concentration station. The “no reception” button wouldn’t work, I had to just watch and be tortured.
Firstly you appear. Or is it me? I don’t know. It’s both of us together as one person. We’re standing there speechless, me in a dazed shock and you in a scheming, wordless passion.
Then he appears.
A black hole bursts open behind us. It regurgitates him out. He is so ugly. The Ecto-Spectre, the monster. Everytime I think of the instance he appears, the image of him takes a more and more gruesome form as I try to reminisce. He obviously drank mutated potion juice made by Japanese scientists in a past life. He’s pink with stained blood and pulling an unholy grimace caused by the elephantitis in his jaw. Multi-forming and often mutating in my dreams.
He staggers over in a drunken state. This is his metaphysical domain. He can control all around me. I was stuck in the notepad of a psychopath his thoughts dictating events - telekinetic, surreal and ominous.
He’s behind us, me and you the one person. The squelching of his inflated muscular pink body echoes ultrasound vibes. His glands open and close; releasing a strong scent in the air, reminding me that in dreams I am in his territory, the guy asleep on his bed is powerless until the alarm rings at 6am. His scent is a toxin to keep us anointed.
He swings his big axe back with sinister aplomb and pierces through the back of our neck. Bones scrape with blade and a million nails hit the chalkboard. We scream ferociously high pitched but nothing leaves the mouth. The spontaneous, longitudinal screech-scream is so loud and cutting it actually hurts us, the one doing it. Doing it with an axe head gauging through our teeth.
His blade cut through our vocal chords and instead of a gradual higher scream, the impact of the blow was so nerve chomping, the pitch went from high to ultra-high; digitally. On and off. No gradual movement in sound waves but a giant step to ear drum shattering screech knives. Like jumping on a broken bag pipe. A burst of overflow, overload tempo prowess.
“ Staccato! Staccato! Staccato! Staccato!”
“Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia!”
My nerve network was abruptly overloaded. Ping ping. Like snapping guitar strings and making that horrible “ping”. The nerve wound up and snapped leaving me cringing forever. The nerve which connected me to you. The monster screams too but he makes noise this time in some ultra-sound duet. I leave our body and see a close-up of our face. Veins popping out. redness in the eyes with tears. Blood and saliva being spat out. The blade is sticking out of the mouth and that body is now a medal. The vocal cords were pierced in such a way that we scream forever until the hatchet is taken out like some percussion instrument inside our cords.
That was when I woke up. I knew while I was asleep he impregnated you. A septic sexual wound remains as proof. That was also the night I awoke from a dream feeling rather different.
Not only was I left broken forever, but experienced. A disrupting thrombosis pattern emerged from your reproductive canyon that eats what it wants, feeds on cheese. During the off-period of your cycle, you somehow sent me your ovaries that very night. A transformed bug built with your poison. It wasn’t a normal bug but a parasite incubator for the real surprise. Your genetic codes constructed and noticeably referenced - releasing a toxin into my stream, a permanent souvenir you would probably call it. It hatched the next morning and out came the pet cyst for me to remember you by. Inside my neck; filled with puss. Every time I swallow, it shivers. The amoebas neutralize it <> It’s voice paralyses me. It lays in the same part of my neck as the initial axe blow was.
The cyst has multiplied into many. A nest of puss eggs in my throat. So it wasn’t a souvenir you sent me, but your womb. You sent me the kids you and the monster made. The ultimate love memento powered by hate and shrugging off responsibility. You transformed me into a romantic sanctuary cemetery for you and yours.
The hatchlings have burst out with fluid and brought with them amphibian dominance. Scaly tongues that lick and slobber which sends hot-blooded nerve messages. Changing colors in their pores. Dilating kaleidoscopes, which make the cold sweats surface and hairs on the back of my neck erect. I bet you’re erect listening to this.
Bacteria combatant aloe vera.
Even in their infancy, these cyst babies are so superior it’s suicidal. For me. The Ecto-Spectre must have some real strange DNA. Spindle products of Mitosis have septicaemia; meaning that although near perfect, these dazzling cynosures are prematurely not meant for this world. Their father lives in his own digital world and so should they. The only problem being, that I’ve grown with them. They share a chemical symbol with me. Their small bodies and weak posture suggest a small lifespan. They must go into the digital anomaly hole if they’re to survive forever.
It leaves me in an outburst of maniacal paroxysm. I take laxatives just to feel human again, to be apart of a more exclusive cycle.
In the day, they solve equations and eat. Spit Hepatitis CBA pimples at each other. Dehumanize bishops and priests. Go to antenatal classes and transform the women’s amniotic fluid into astatine immune deficiency salts. Aha. The poor foetus. Getting AIDs from the mother instead of the mother’s aid.
At night they rest in my soul. This customization ability of physical limitations must come from the monster father. Some cameo from that white backround world. They take up a higher state of existance, beyond sub-atomic levels and use my white blanket soul as a place for a inter-reality gathering, to hibernate as time in the night goes real slow. I don’t mind really, having a dozen or so hell spawn looking into my moist humane spirit, my dreams. It’s like so delirium. Fevered dreams of alien abductions and waking up with blood gushing out of my underwear. Maybe I’m being paranoid. My essence is their resting place. It kinda comes full circle.
It’s funny. I woke up the other day and there were scales on the bottom of my foot. How queer. I doubt it is some amphibian genetic reactant from the kids. Just fungus from stress. Yeah, that’s it. Oh and I’ve started opening dimensions and experimenting with alternate realities. Well it was after an overdose of painkillers. I’m a tiro at the junkie business.
I’m jaded on my own. In my heart I’ve forgiven you, I want you back and your repulsive stench. You’ve traumatised me a so much why not a little bit more.
This message must of stimulated both poles because the next day It was then that you came back, At my door with the sun smiling down. You looked so clean, your well ventilated shaft. I could see you had a mastectomy. Did the monster suck your t!t? Unlucky. Also a probe android in your bile duct. Is this a way of winning sympathy?
I see you’ve also had an embryo transplant into your brain. Your uterus was a radioactive toxic waste disposal facility. The monster’s transuranic super semen blew your zygote isotopes into cancerous deposits. No wonder the babies were born deformed. Cute little critters. After the civil war in your v****a, the only way to impregnate you from now on is through the hole in the back of your throat…..the same hole the ecto-spectre pierced. The one between your legs declares a truce to the world of nemesis cheese.
Ahhh……who cares if your half the women you used to be.
Natural pallative endorphin cycle resuming. I’m in control again. Just a glitch in the cycle. And now we’ve got kids which will bring out those dormant responsibility modes in us both. Together we will start a seminal seminar, teaching our lizard kids about life and maybe go to different places.
I’m now living the dream. Actually, no, dreams our in my sleep. This time I’m awake. A dream once changed my life. But life now is beyond that dream.
---------------------------------------
I was adrift with your mesmeric fairy dust in the beginning. The violated vision of seeds of semen budding in your hair. Hair of the temptress with the opal halo. I was genuinely convinced of your twin love for me. From neighboring continents bound by the ocean of our love we've become diluted with hate and now just about reach the surface as fractured archipelago antipodes. My axis doesn’t meet yours; the world is undone.
Thank God the beginning had an end.
Neurotic-Erotic behaviour.
The memory of your sin will remain inside me forever, traumatizing and often causing panic attacks. Those with big holes like having lots of different things buried in there. But you did it with him - the ghostly figure which eats my dreams. Oh, how he fills me with terror. A week after amputating yourself from my throne of leeches you decided to taunt me.
I was asleep in bed. The safest place a man’s mind can dwell in sheer bliss, away from everything in the world until the recharge plugs cool. Or so I thought. You somehow bugged my dreams with a telepathic bug…it crawled out the next day. The ensuing snap of black and red light took me from unconscious slumber to a place were I was awake in my own head:
Urgh…I can remember the time of conception like no other moment in my life. He came to me in a vortex opening. I stepped through into a world were time and space no longer mattered and the only thing visible was white. It was a white room which lazily stretched forever. Sound and picture quality was sharp and Digital; polygons going a million second radiated static and swift, high quality resonant distortion. Channeled into my concentration station. The “no reception” button wouldn’t work, I had to just watch and be tortured.
Firstly you appear. Or is it me? I don’t know. It’s both of us together as one person. We’re standing there speechless, me in a dazed shock and you in a scheming, wordless passion.
Then he appears.
A black hole bursts open behind us. It regurgitates him out. He is so ugly. The Ecto-Spectre, the monster. Everytime I think of the instance he appears, the image of him takes a more and more gruesome form as I try to reminisce. He obviously drank mutated potion juice made by Japanese scientists in a past life. He’s pink with stained blood and pulling an unholy grimace caused by the elephantitis in his jaw. Multi-forming and often mutating in my dreams.
He staggers over in a drunken state. This is his metaphysical domain. He can control all around me. I was stuck in the notepad of a psychopath his thoughts dictating events - telekinetic, surreal and ominous.
He’s behind us, me and you the one person. The squelching of his inflated muscular pink body echoes ultrasound vibes. His glands open and close; releasing a strong scent in the air, reminding me that in dreams I am in his territory, the guy asleep on his bed is powerless until the alarm rings at 6am. His scent is a toxin to keep us anointed.
He swings his big axe back with sinister aplomb and pierces through the back of our neck. Bones scrape with blade and a million nails hit the chalkboard. We scream ferociously high pitched but nothing leaves the mouth. The spontaneous, longitudinal screech-scream is so loud and cutting it actually hurts us, the one doing it. Doing it with an axe head gauging through our teeth.
His blade cut through our vocal chords and instead of a gradual higher scream, the impact of the blow was so nerve chomping, the pitch went from high to ultra-high; digitally. On and off. No gradual movement in sound waves but a giant step to ear drum shattering screech knives. Like jumping on a broken bag pipe. A burst of overflow, overload tempo prowess.
“ Staccato! Staccato! Staccato! Staccato!”
“Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia! Neuralgia!”
My nerve network was abruptly overloaded. Ping ping. Like snapping guitar strings and making that horrible “ping”. The nerve wound up and snapped leaving me cringing forever. The nerve which connected me to you. The monster screams too but he makes noise this time in some ultra-sound duet. I leave our body and see a close-up of our face. Veins popping out. redness in the eyes with tears. Blood and saliva being spat out. The blade is sticking out of the mouth and that body is now a medal. The vocal cords were pierced in such a way that we scream forever until the hatchet is taken out like some percussion instrument inside our cords.
That was when I woke up. I knew while I was asleep he impregnated you. A septic sexual wound remains as proof. That was also the night I awoke from a dream feeling rather different.
Not only was I left broken forever, but experienced. A disrupting thrombosis pattern emerged from your reproductive canyon that eats what it wants, feeds on cheese. During the off-period of your cycle, you somehow sent me your ovaries that very night. A transformed bug built with your poison. It wasn’t a normal bug but a parasite incubator for the real surprise. Your genetic codes constructed and noticeably referenced - releasing a toxin into my stream, a permanent souvenir you would probably call it. It hatched the next morning and out came the pet cyst for me to remember you by. Inside my neck; filled with puss. Every time I swallow, it shivers. The amoebas neutralize it <> It’s voice paralyses me. It lays in the same part of my neck as the initial axe blow was.
The cyst has multiplied into many. A nest of puss eggs in my throat. So it wasn’t a souvenir you sent me, but your womb. You sent me the kids you and the monster made. The ultimate love memento powered by hate and shrugging off responsibility. You transformed me into a romantic sanctuary cemetery for you and yours.
The hatchlings have burst out with fluid and brought with them amphibian dominance. Scaly tongues that lick and slobber which sends hot-blooded nerve messages. Changing colors in their pores. Dilating kaleidoscopes, which make the cold sweats surface and hairs on the back of my neck erect. I bet you’re erect listening to this.
Bacteria combatant aloe vera.
Even in their infancy, these cyst babies are so superior it’s suicidal. For me. The Ecto-Spectre must have some real strange DNA. Spindle products of Mitosis have septicaemia; meaning that although near perfect, these dazzling cynosures are prematurely not meant for this world. Their father lives in his own digital world and so should they. The only problem being, that I’ve grown with them. They share a chemical symbol with me. Their small bodies and weak posture suggest a small lifespan. They must go into the digital anomaly hole if they’re to survive forever.
It leaves me in an outburst of maniacal paroxysm. I take laxatives just to feel human again, to be apart of a more exclusive cycle.
In the day, they solve equations and eat. Spit Hepatitis CBA pimples at each other. Dehumanize bishops and priests. Go to antenatal classes and transform the women’s amniotic fluid into astatine immune deficiency salts. Aha. The poor foetus. Getting AIDs from the mother instead of the mother’s aid.
At night they rest in my soul. This customization ability of physical limitations must come from the monster father. Some cameo from that white backround world. They take up a higher state of existance, beyond sub-atomic levels and use my white blanket soul as a place for a inter-reality gathering, to hibernate as time in the night goes real slow. I don’t mind really, having a dozen or so hell spawn looking into my moist humane spirit, my dreams. It’s like so delirium. Fevered dreams of alien abductions and waking up with blood gushing out of my underwear. Maybe I’m being paranoid. My essence is their resting place. It kinda comes full circle.
It’s funny. I woke up the other day and there were scales on the bottom of my foot. How queer. I doubt it is some amphibian genetic reactant from the kids. Just fungus from stress. Yeah, that’s it. Oh and I’ve started opening dimensions and experimenting with alternate realities. Well it was after an overdose of painkillers. I’m a tiro at the junkie business.
I’m jaded on my own. In my heart I’ve forgiven you, I want you back and your repulsive stench. You’ve traumatised me a so much why not a little bit more.
This message must of stimulated both poles because the next day It was then that you came back, At my door with the sun smiling down. You looked so clean, your well ventilated shaft. I could see you had a mastectomy. Did the monster suck your t!t? Unlucky. Also a probe android in your bile duct. Is this a way of winning sympathy?
I see you’ve also had an embryo transplant into your brain. Your uterus was a radioactive toxic waste disposal facility. The monster’s transuranic super semen blew your zygote isotopes into cancerous deposits. No wonder the babies were born deformed. Cute little critters. After the civil war in your v****a, the only way to impregnate you from now on is through the hole in the back of your throat…..the same hole the ecto-spectre pierced. The one between your legs declares a truce to the world of nemesis cheese.
Ahhh……who cares if your half the women you used to be.
Natural pallative endorphin cycle resuming. I’m in control again. Just a glitch in the cycle. And now we’ve got kids which will bring out those dormant responsibility modes in us both. Together we will start a seminal seminar, teaching our lizard kids about life and maybe go to different places.
I’m now living the dream. Actually, no, dreams our in my sleep. This time I’m awake. A dream once changed my life. But life now is beyond that dream.