Position vs. Momentum

Mathematically valueless. It's a fat number.
Its worth is debatable and conceptual.
It can't be understood unless you're part of the race to that figure. It's laborious trying to crack this code but rewarding nevertheless.

Pieces begin to materialise. But I still can't see the shape you're trying to convey to me.

Shout. It remains indiscernible.
Wail. Still latent.
Try switching your lights on.
Leave them to burn.
Then blaze the dormant mask away.

Ash, soot and flesh cover the tiled floor and walls.
Your superfluous exterior coating: gone.

Spot on.

The best source

Satisfied and brimful with alacrity, I am no longer hungry.
My appetite is concealed within my teeth: clenched in a grin.

There's a storm but it moved East. I felt the clouds leave.
Breathless but zealous, I held on tight. The gale can't take me back to the eye.
Current resistance.
I blundered into your disturbance and misplaced my vision.
I've walked asleep into brick walls and minefields. It's so easy to sleep through the alarms.
But I emerged enlightened.

When you mislay one sense, another intensifies.
After the tempest passed, everything was amplified
and I could hear exactly what I wanted to be.

Bad signal

No wonder your mind can't get reception.
We've left numerous messages that won't get through. The smoke has caused a break in the line.
You're cracking up.

I'm not.

The marks on the floor aren't emergency contacts.
They're spillages of sanity.
Each drop collected the drop before it and united as a flood.
A social gathering of deceptive globules.

The murky puddle didn't cause a trip. It just absorbed you and drowned most of your mentality.


No one can get through to you.
That can't be a good sign.

Opaque eyes

Once encouraged and motivated, I am now frozen.
Halted, I am drawn by a human current to the deepest part of the circle.
Somehow, I still float in this whirlpool and my eyes are focused on various cryptic grimaces and frowns.
Facial features sinking inward and downward haunt my lights.
Blue lights are a blur; the sirens are a piercing din.
Worn away faces bearing black holes for eyes where the emotion flowed out, stare.
Evasive expressions can't judge; can't console; cannot see.

Modifying my size to fit the different frames of mind.

I can't fight my way out and I can't let anyone in.
My mind and my body can't agree on a pulse. No longer stirred, I am shaken.

The backbone group

So:
I am aware that you're able to supply my to-do list.
And that your talents lie in communicating with those who share your mental age but your IQ has left you incapable of calculating a figure which exceeds your intelligence:height ratio.

Your sum was wrong. You reached an invalid conclusion.

In your terracotta tangle, you forgot to show your working out. I can see where you started but the method by which you reached your solution is indiscernible.

Too oblivious to amend it yet too anal to leave the arithmetic to someone else.
You're stumped.
Delegation doesn't work if you're confident you're the only one who can do it right.

'It's not just you', there's always a prick like you. I'm not sure if they quite match your superfluous boasting and delusion of power, though.
You definitely don't ginger up my day.

Don't badger me. Haste makes waste and you are all 63 inches of the leftovers.

Raining rats and blogs

A precipitate eviction is on the cards of infeasibility.

Co-operation is valuable but responsibility for communication seems unimaginable.
Unsanitary conditions and unhealthy connections.
One big sickening mistake.

The rain hits hard up here. The tempestuous whistles remind me of the red sky in the morning.
These elements have caused a soggy discomfort over this side. But the forecast for your side is a foggy disregard. What a miserable and aggravating whirlwind!

Life Building has signalled the Death of my perceptive mental-Building and yet, some kind of awakening.

Grandiose man

You imbibe my animation.
Spiritually drained and characteristically humiliated, I'm blank.

Blank, for you to paint your legacy on my face, my bones and my creativity.
Imbue me with your knowledge as I am clearly aimless within this bubble submerged in your pride.

Pride. Delight and honour of another? Or self-love?
A manic self-obsession and exaggerated belief in your importance and capability.

But you already knew that.

You inhabit a house of mirrors where phantasms cross every wall.
I've got your diagnosis.

Strings to my hands,
ropes to my feet,
eyes sealed by a haze:
kidnapped asleep.
Led to a mirror
upon a montage of themes;
the answers I cry for
won't emerge in my dreams.
Your face in this slumber
is not one that endears
while I spend my time battling against
the hands of these puppeteers.

The irascible old man

A diseased collection of fears.
I could conquer them but I'm holding on to them.
Best to be prepared.
Better sane than sorry.
A rehearsed response to the surprise.

SURPRISE doesn't always trigger the most pleasant physiological reactions: the taste of anxiety; the stomach churn of the most grim possibilities; the stench of the verbal diarrhoea as the most inappropriate annotations spew out.

Restricted by worry and sinister anticipations.

You can't run anymore:
You're too old.
Propped up against the cane of the harsh reality.
You're regressing into a pathetic state where everyone else is to blame.
A condition in which you've fooled yourself.

But the wool isn't over my eyes.
You're the only person left playing this game of blind man's bluff.
Your eyes have been extracted.
As you ground them up and rolled them into every spliff, you convinced yourself you were invincible.
Perhaps your supplies are wearing thin now.
Does that mean you're getting your sight back?

Hi. This is what it's like to face consequences.

At sixes and sevens o'clocks

Confined and adrift in a dream world that doesn't allow innocence.
Having no force to be in control of my dimensions; rebellious fate that stretches and crushes me in different directions. Always the wrong size for the situation.
Stretched entirely out of shape. Worn in so that it's no longer painful.

Disorientated in a meaningless maze.
Encounters with puzzles without obvious solutions.
Constantly presented with unsolvable riddles and while I am occupied by them, a grinning charmer materialises and lures me away to a sense of immunity. Convinced he is guiding the harmless path, my naive and mindless body follows into a haze of deception and turbulence.

Suspicious of the din; skeptical of the buzz.
Seeking the volume and the clarity of the disruptive noise.
A ringing mind or a persistent warning?

Glaring as it all oscillates before me: hypnotised.

Hidden under over sized hats or behind prodigious watches are the people we question.
Invited by their intriguing nature to chase them.
Misled along a dimly lit path.

Curiosity is a healthy quality with hidden dangers.
It probably killed the white rabbit too.

Hunting the invisible

There is a new skyscraper on the horizon. Or at least a tower which was previously inconspicuous.

It's asking to be climbed.
I will seek its apex.

The horizons are broadened from this height. Coming down is infeasible.

Panoramic views that intoxicate the spirit and a clear perspective of what's ahead.
No blurred vision besides the pixelated images of what's behind. They remain a still image captured only by memory.

But on this new journey, I will shoot down the prey, indulge in its sting and taste its narcotic qualities.

Invaluable elixir.

A hard pill to swallow

The realisation that you're asking for too much is painful to digest.

We have been lead to understand that there is a utopia in which lives a man bearing qualities of a charismatic gentleman.
Actually, that is rarely on the menu.

We are brainwashed by a 2D world that leaves our hearts polluted as we face the three-dimensional reality where, when our table is laid, it doesn't look as appetising as we once imagined.

It is crucial that we uphold our values and maintain our high expectations rather than trivialising them and settling for the next best thing - or the biggest tosser on the planet.
Failing this would mean neglecting ourselves.
We need to keep our nails strong. Who knows when we'll next have to fight our way out?

Excessive time spent concerned with others and their motives.

Knowing enough is unachievable. Understanding enough is incomprehensible.

In a storm, we're living in the flicker of a lightning bolt. When the storm passes, that split second is the only light we can shine on the situation and we're left blinded by it.

So we're caught in the next storm, back where we started: behind a grey cloud of fog.

Preparation for hallucination

Perfection is an artificial concept. The notion of flawlessness misinforms the mind and deludes perception.

In music, perfection denotes a harmonious distance between pitches; in language, it is a tense describing something passed. But in reality, the pursuit of precision is a futile tension.

If practice yields perfection then after all this rehearsal, why is everything still exposed as defective?

Camouflage a failing and become convinced it's non-existent or even that it's an asset. A pretence that all is ideal leads to a mask to conceal delusion.

A sham, after all.

Joy ride.

It's going off track.

The driver's seat would be preferable.
I'm awful at navigating when I'm your passenger and I've completely lost my sense of direction.

Travelling alone would be another viable option.
I could take my car, you can take yours and we'll find our own way there. There or anywhere.

As it stands, I can see the wall we're headed towards growing. And for some reason, I'm trying to grab the wheel from your grip and steer us away from it. Fuck that. I will stare straight ahead and watch the wall continue to expand and acknowledge and appreciate its detail as it becomes more clear.


We've hit the wall.
We're not going to keep running until our energy is momentarily restored.
Now you can finally make your immediate escape from the wreckage
and I'll keep my guard up.

I've learned how to take this route before.