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.