A dream in which I drown recurs at night. There is no time for dreams in my drab town. So, when each morning comes I seize the day, because ‘tempus fugit’ is what they say. I make myself get up to brew some joe to start my day I first get out of bed and walk into my closet for some clothes. The outfits black and uniform they blend together, so i pick one all the same. I lay the outfit down upon the bed, which (trust me) neatly is already made. some types of things can never be contained. I do not think these ideas aren’t even from my brain at least before i’ve had my morning brew: a cocktail of vitamins i down

⁂

I live alone in an apartment I share.

My bedroom exists opposite another bedroom where my roommate lives.

Each of us keeps to ourselves;

but occasionally we talk a little bit––

share a few things about our life.

Catharsis.

Sometimes I tell them about my dream.

The dream recurs most every night

A formless ko, my spryte embodies,

falling thru a mist of red and black tiles

spinning and spinning and spinning

around

wrapping tighter around my––

but there’s no aspect differentiable––

constricting into shapes: circles, triangles, and squares

make boundaries around me as I watch

the borders increase in thickness.

When finally I cannot see

the redness

I slam into the ceiling and become the number 2.

Then I wake up.

What feedback could my friend even give to something like this,

I wonder sometimes.

Usually, the apartment becomes a friend too.

She listens most intently.

Her walls aren’t like the tiles of the dream,

they instead give me a space

they are the container in which my fetid stench

is hidden from the rest of the world.

I breathe that air each night, and tho I know it to know it to know

the light of my spyrite does makes known the laws.

so today’s morning

drawn out of bed at the prospect of coffee

I begin to seize the day.

The coffee drunk by me is black.

The clothes worn by me are black.

The hair growing out, dyed black.

My nails, black

Eyeshadow, black

My soul, for some people possess the ability to see auras,

supposedly is black too.

Tho, imagination imagines images,

I cannot personally see,

for my eyes are black

and my mind is blank.

I’m sick to my stomach every time one of my morning vitamins oozes a slime on my tongue

before I swallow

Nastiness, it’s good for me, I guess

I suppose.

My roommate and I open our bedroom doors simultaneously.

Eyes oppose.

Behind them both, I see my reflection.

Their room seems to be identical to mine.

He possesses:

the same bed, same lamp, same portrait of the artist on the wall.

In asynchronous unison we walk down the hall.

Me ahead of thee, but not by all

too much.

That uncanny feeling lingers inside.

His stride is my stride, but shifted one slide.

Electrical kettle in the kitchen emits

the wistful whistle is full of bliss.

When I take that first all encompassing sip,

Part, I call it, a wave, shifts into existence.

The light of the caffeine shall by its persistence

give energy to me to thee, for getting work done.

‘Hey,’ I say, but say nothing.

‘Hi’ they sigh.

The same no-thing.

The coffee fills the room and our hearts and our minds.

A tool of the system, of perpetual productivity, plainly served.

I’m cool. Eff the system. Unproductive perpetuity. Pain I serve.

I’m not really ready for the rest of the day.

Clothes already donned

when the dawn Son comes up

to greet the Moon.

Her light pierces thru the curtains.

But it always seemed to me that these days

the Moon was brighter than the Sun.

Not just by virtue of the extreme pollution:

I just mean that the Moon now gave me this sense of wonder and awe that the Sun never has.

The warmth I feel in my body when I see it projecting into my eyes

might as well be the same I feel when my roommates eye’s and my I eyes meet.

enuf silly games.

It’s time to head off to work.

So after my goodbye,

a wave, we’re off.

⁂

We embark on a journey.

this is the work:––

oops, I

don't want to work on

anything today.

When I walk past the dozens of blooming

corpses on the ground

theire're fruiting bodies

and it smells.

My own vision sometimes seems a little bit

short

and I cannot tell who is in front of me because

I keep looking down at the little black rectangle

in my hand.

The one that's printed on the corner

of the news paper that I picked up.

BREAKING

Unicorn-Back...

It's drivel.

I've been seeing headlines like these for weeks now.

Maybe even months but

I just keep pressing ahead.

Sometimes it seems like nothing ever changes.

In fact my only purpose in this story, it seems

is to try to convey

the idea of

a supercharged

____

between myself

and whoever else.

This is not a new idea.

Just as clearly as my path down

this dull, grey road;

in fact, that's my problem.

The idea that what I make is actually

helping,

helping the world...

It's nonsense.

⁂

Each day, when I arrive––

as I am doing right now

I get off one machine

and become another.

It doesn't matter what I make.

It could be boxes,

or game controllers,

or mechanical pencils,

or lamps,

or pharmaceuticals,

or tires,

or electronics,

or candy,

else or

I am completely removed from the

purpose

and my teeth sharpen themselves

each time my jaw locks up

from the clenching.

Pay attention now, this is interesting:

So my coworker comes up to me, right ?

and we're talking about

the weather, our morning, the day

how much we want to die inside

but that part probably isn't said

but it's implied

and we say it explicitly too

so it's funny haha––

but it's also real

‘I'm actually fine’

'No, yeah, no. Me too'

We laff.

Mort de rire.

So it goes.

Then to myself, 'My ego ought be more'

more I

and then I would say

all the academic things

about how so and so predicted this

and some other guy put into words

the very things i am feeling

but cannot say.

this is not new either, he would point out.

I tkk Kaz.

This is the first commandment.

The second is like unto it,

do unto Al(l) others as to the self.

But this isn't the story of you-know-who.

This is the part where they

Exeunt.

Yelling out into the void,

which happens to be my supervisor's face at the time,

that in fact, yes, there is a takeaway here: money.

That which is earned, that it may fill my pockets and immediately be wasted:

on foods,

on water,

on bills,

on taxes,

on drugs––

off drugs.

Supposedly.

Apparently.

⁂

But so then I'm staring at a black screen upon which

emerald green alphanumeric characters flitz.

like this for weeks now.

People riding into town on the back of unicorns,

apocalyptic situations portrayed as dire.

But I can't shake the feeling that there's something deeper going on.

Why are these reports popping up all over the place?

Is it all just sensationalist news, or is there something more sinister at play?

I can't help but wonder into work,

lost in ideas and the chaos of the city around me.

I sit down to coffee at my favo(u)rite café.

How lucky to be beautiful and young

I look at the faces of

older men they look tired and overwrought

I can feel their ideass on my skin

Men

They buy their coffees

Working at little tables

Fuel for the fire

Is this where I find

my friends

my coffee

my work

my life.

I unlock the answer:

each man might just be

a blank slate––

their apartments and their houses

strikingly bare

minimalism, at white walls I stare

and each of them waits

for color

the splatter all over their walls

for boxes to stack up in their closets,

for creatures to stalk their hallways.

I witness it again and I gain insight into the game,

Who would desire the stain of paint

spattered upon their heart ?

It’s as tho they can hardly help it.

Cleanliness is its own sort of mess.

When you throw paint at the walls together, you can see the issues in the light

The official-art lights do an injustice

We open a window

together

and embrace

our struggles.

I crunch down on my toasted sandwich.

It’s actually pretty good,

but that my break is almost over is frustrating.

'So,' I think to myself,

'you’re really hopeless then, huh'

and it feels true

even when I know it’s not

I’m addicted to the walls.

Because while I know they keep me contained,

they also set me free.

I imagine a scene

where a butterfly lands in a spiders web

an unfortunate day for the butterfly.

Am I the butterfly, or am I the spider ?

And why do I feel like I can’t do anything right.

There a number of boxes that must be ticked today

a laundry list of things to-do,

I know I have to do them and yet it feels like I don’t sometimes.

If I was a real character, I would be more interesting, I think

I’m pretty sure at least.

I would have convictions that actually spur me on,

rather than being this canvas of despair.

I don’t think I’m depressed,

In fact I’ve actually been quite happy recently.

When one of my coworkers comes up to me,

(I’m just getting back from my break)

I notice a slightly disheveled look about her hair

it seems more unkempt that it usually is

the bangs in the front frizz in this way i hadn’t noticed it do before

and i wonder if she was just in a rush this morning

or if something else is going on.

How strange it is to witness the people around us age.

In this office,

I am surrounded by ghosts.

We are all here––

and all we are is here.

⁂

After lunch I become the arbiter of facts.

In simple terms I sort objects.

This one is broken it goes in this box.

This one is not broken, don’t throw it away.

This one is dangerous, and sharp

Thru no fault of it’s own.

This really isn’t anything personal.

I just

see

thru

their

lies.

And occasionally, there are disagreements.

I contend that my object goes in one box.

The others contend it does not.

We look at the instructions

written on the respective boxes

to try to figure out which goes where

it becomes clear, this box is not for this type of object.

But because I’m invested I do

not want to admit that I am

wrong. I know that I am.

So, I do my due diligence and search for all the types of objects that have been similar to mine.

The research to find similar objects takes up the bulk of my time.

Each object is numbered and each one has a history

these histories are important because they influence the future

or at least that’s what is said.

I don’t just put objects in box tho. It’s so much more than that.

Real birth and death, real tragedy and life.

So much of life hinging on one critical point.

The before and after.

I feel as tho there are several of these types of filters.

The defining point of lives

I do not know mine; not the big one anyway.

There are so many things that I might as well say are essentially a before and after breaking point.

But anything can be that if you call it such

I don’t want to call anything in my life that.

I truly believe that I can put all things in my life in the proper objective perspective.

I think that there is no such thing as an event that one is not entirely merely at the behest of their own will and strength, which is to say that I think that my ability to succeed and and and do well is not because of luck or circumstance, i believe hard work and hard work alone is what gets everyone everywhere. i don’t want to discount some people’s hardships. I think there’s something to be said for people who come from difficult backgrounds and have to struggle a bit more to get to where they want to go, i just think that sort of thing is not like the end all be all, the thing that needs focusing on in the entire effing politisphere, like i just think that the whole thing is kinda a minefield anyway, but i dunno what i’m saying, i guess...

I am saying that the position I have is the result of my hard work.

I feel like there are right and wrong ways to do things

I believe that there are good and bad people

I believe I am doing good.

I think that there is a god out there.

I like the smell of strawberries.

I hate the stench on the way to work.

I miss the times before all this.

I am convinced that life gets increasingly complicated each day.

I might even be convinced that some sort of metaphysics has made simple tasks more time consuming.

I don’t think cooking meals used to take this long.

I think the population has, in general, become stupider

I am not a luddite

I embrace the future

I am an aesthete.

I am an athlete.

I hate the smell of feet.

I have to sort this object even tho I really don’t want to.

I am ready for bed.

⁂

i gaze upon a drawing drawn in lead.

it's not in front of me, it's in my head.

the rhythm of the colo(u)rs dances 'round,

the beauty in all things--invisible

to those w/ eyes to see and ears to hear

the sounds and sights and screams of life

can't come fast enough and give us life

our lives are wrapped all up in grey

the pristine river water fades in May

the hand should fall upon a button board

magenta moon whose key is green to touch

the transparent cliff on the incoherent shore

touch me my heart, touch me, touch more

no words no spells no craft or brew or sign

could ever make it the object only mine

riddles of meaning, unfolded together

watchful review in the meticulous carafe

of telling me when and where and adding more

ands to reveal. more than a life more than

a poem. drivel to you, drivel to thee, drivel to

me. yet go on.

and find it waiting on the skyward spire

⁂

object number one is put in the box labelled 'j'

the object itself does not have a well defined edge

it seems to slowly fade from itself into everything else,

so it's hard to tell where it ends and everything else begins.

it has no definite shape.

and as i examine it, i become keenly aware

of the duration of a minute

the preciousness of this moment

and i take a moment to really breathe in the fullness of

the moment.

each day is like this; i saw it coming forever

tho its arrival is still surprising

the second object has a flaw in its side and gets crushed into a new shape

this time it has definite edges

they are pointy and jagged

and i don't blame the object for its flaws

after all it didn't make itself

it merely came into existence

spontaneously.

the first recording of them comes from before a time when

people would also crush themselves

into definite shape.

the third object is infinitely detailed

at first, i just hold it in the palm of my hand

its fuzz brushes against me

like the soft touch plastic they coat everything in

like a freshly shaved face

like the underside of a dogs belly

like the outside of a jet puffed marshmallow

like a smooth stone on a beach of fine sand

like an infinitely detailed object

and i look at the colors

it bears a fractal pattern on its surface

and my face and the object come closer together

and the fractal seems to zoom in more quickly

relative to the distance the object actually is from my eyes

as in for every one unit it got closer to me

it seemed that its surface zoomed in twice as much

this effect tripped something in my brain

some kind of alert

and a cage deployed immediately

to sequester the

emotion

who had already escaped past the boundary

and was reflected in the objects pattern

and when i saw it coming out at me

i knew its home

was in the box labelled 'hi-lo'

and as i put it in, i said 'hell-o'.

the fourth object reminded me of something i had forgotten to say earlier

to my idol

the message i had had had had information that would

teach me how to live again

but instead he seems to have disappeared for the time being.

for a long time, i figured it was because i just had gotten busy

adult lives often get this way.

like i said before.

i would just have to wait until i got off work:

which was an infinite amount of time away,

and no time away at all.

until then i would just exist alone.

i try to stay away from this sort of melancholic melodrama.

if i had to just come out and say my problems

i would yell them.

my work came first, whatever that meant.

i knew that i would always prioritize it,

what was interesting tho was that

its maybe the one place where i could actually

give of myself wholly and unfiltered

yet this put the place in which

well.

⁂

Inside the Mind Prism

ruminations take shape

i can feel the light pass thru my skull

thru my eyes there is a function of the same lightness

and in that, i project

projected thru me

the project comes into focus.

i can see it, literally on the wall in front of me.

when i was young i could see the patterns behind my eyes,

i could see the bees at the end of the swirling patterns

whenever i reached the bees i would start to get scared that something bad would happen

i ideated even that i might go blind.

other senses became sharpened in the absence of that one

my blindness made me keenly aware of the idiot-o-matic phraseology

which doctors called {redacted}.

and in this vision, the form, which is pure essence, or at least

it feels such

just a rendering at this rate

but seeing it in front of me gives me that

inadequate queasiness

in the face of what should be vs what i imagine it to be

here i see my vision of the project, fully realized––

only i haven't had to put in the work

w/o any effort beyond

the effort of entering the Mind Prism

I am able to see the completed project.

this is thru what is essentially a quirk of {technology}

which i have played a significant role in developing

curious.

In my youth i dreamed of creating a project like this,

imagine the young spyrite i was then:

the desire i had to create what was esentialyl life's grandest shortcut

a way to acheive my dreams w/o having to put in the work.

Inside it i stood. An empty black pyrmid

no noise, no sensation, no smells, no feeling of my own body.

(I shall explain, for it is pertinent,

this was not a sensory deprivation tank,

it was not a pure annihilation of all stimuli,

many, upon first hearing its description fall into this false belief)

there was a great amount of innovative processes that created this experience

the Mind Prism had four walls

each wall was 2.95 meters in length at the bottom

height of the pyramid at its apex was 6.1 meters high

only this one room had been made to these exact specifications

the walls

which fell inward and met above my head

this created the pyramid.

beyond these walls however,

another apparatus existed, invisible to the user inside

this structure which surrounded the Mind Prism was another pyramidal structure

it functioned thusly (here not fully described)

in its spinning around the user-Dark-Room pyramid

it created a sort of mirage projection thru an emission

of thousands of entangled particles

and these would piere the user, in this case me,

and as they pass thru my brain

would become unstuck in time and allow my brain to perceive on the walls of the Mind Prism

the potential of the elementary particles

insothir the realization of years of dreaming

manifested on a refractory mirror which folded into itself.

at this point the Mind Prism was highly restricted

few had stepped foot in it,

I had been brought on for my seminal work in the field of Quantome Consciousness. (Phantome)

so in my naïveté,

i believed that this would be the solution

to all those who struggled in the same way i did

for i felt that if

i could onyl craft my true dreams in line w/ what my mind TOLD me my dreams were i would finally have that thing that i had been chasing

it was the Mind Prism which would allow me to see that for myself

for i was ceratint aht upon having that true glimpse

merely a glimpse

of what the final finish line might be

if i could cross over into the realm of the checkered tiles and

watch that banner dance above my head

if i could catch a glimpse of what it was to have the thigns i so wanted in my life

behind MY I's

my eyes couldn't decieve me anymore

and this glimpse would crystalize the present moment

and i would not longer have Doubt

but this is not what happened upon my first entry into the Mind Prism.

and after that experience i doubt i'll ever go back.

I am, in sooth, only in here now to perform a maintenacnce check

these i did many time after my first trek inside;

i was convicned that some sort of mistake had been made, i couldn't understand exactly how the vision i saw (theau this isn't the right word, it was more than a vision, it really WAS)

perhaps by viewing it at all something (tho, i could not say what, had inexplicably been altered)

The experience oriented solidity of life made it impossible for me to conceive of the fluidity which now,

in the fullness of light and its unbearable explosivity shattered my Notion

I fell at the foot of Ur and asked for understanding that I was certain he would possess.

⁂

The first tremor of the earthquake

was the buzz of my rectangle on my bedside table

its vibration awoke me in the middle of the night

and thru the grogginess i looked at the words bubbling up

from the black foam inside it

little white specs

coagulating in the same way i would see ferrofluid

or iron shavings come to a magnet

and each little letter came w/ its own little vibration

each unique and friendly

and suddenly i became aware of the limited perspective of my mind

how little attention i payed to my surroundings,

i was sure

i still am

that the room i was in wasn't breathing

but it sure felt like something of which i was merely

peripherally aware

going on

going up

and now something going down

the room on the opposite side of me probably had something going on which was similar,

tho i couldn't be certain,

and who should walk in

at the moment the full message appeared ?

i couldn't be sure of that either.

as i ascertained this message

i was certain as to its meaning

and the words i saw

'get over here'

'now'

'-ty'

at this i

i resisted

the urge

to faint

to fall

to gasp

to question

once these words had left their

impact on my brain

i was helpless to respond in any other way

that was, as i had discovered, the nature of things

i had read the words, insodoing, i was bound

to respond to them in this way

and my heart palpitations

and my hastened breathing

and the sweat which now beaded up on my forehead

was all an autonomic response

one beyond my control

one i couldn't control

so, (it seems), to surrender to it would be the best option

right ?

but even that surrendering––

I'd discovered:

Even that surrendering would only come about if the right conditions were met

conditions like

one's upbringing

one's current relationships

one's current living arrangements

the feng shui of said living arrangements

one's breakfast they had that morning

indeed, from this unmistakably fatalist perspective,

it seemed that it was useless to resist

because resistance itself was a thing borne of the other things

and back and back and back

forever

would i go ?

did i have a choice ?

could i even know if i did ?

would i know if i did if i did ?

one time i was {having a conversation}

(i say this because it wasn't exactly that)

and the topic of genre emerged

are there genres of people like there are of music, fiction, and art ?

we agreed on the genres of the people in our lives

but one thing we didn't

we're still figuring it out

and thankfully he emerged to help me figure out

(or pushed my stalled mind into operation again)

what to do to do right by this message

and so off we went

to the place where some sort of change had manifested.

⁂

pipes thru which coolants flow

stripes to show where the lemmings ought to go

treading feet and stomping heel

i want to know

what secrets lay inside these halls

and who will code the coda

that bright tune by which i dial in

the precise combination

the imperfect per-mutation

showing the way that things will change

and down the

road we may find

that it was not the things we most feared

that deserved it

and when i look back at the things

which i was certain made me unique

i'll discover it was those things

that made me the same as everyone else

but when I look at Ty

I can see his unequivocal commitment

to authenticity

there is not one moment by which he is bound

follow the steps

and i know when he looks at me

he can see the reality beneath

he can see me for who i really am

he can see the scared child

just made aware of their own nakedness

first shame

second ashamed

third expression

and panicking for a cover

and reaching for the answer

and grasping its shape

finding the presence

finding the present

in the prison

in the prism

and falling back into the cave

and recognizing the futility

he really wants me to do this

he actually believes in me to do

this.

And I'll do it because I know he believes in me

so when i look up

and up

and around

at the pulsing lights

and the beeping sounds

and the blinking cursor

awaiting my input

who can only be saved from demise if i continue to work on the project at a rapid pace because stopping for any reason will result in the disappearance,

tho i cannot be sure the appearance means anything

can i be sure

when im pressing buttons back and forth and watching

the cursor

curse me

and it blinks out of existence for a moment

and Ty does too

and I'm lost in a void where I cannot be sure that he still

cares about me

please still care

and i continue to press

something begins to emerge

its the something we've worked towards

Ty's eyes burn

but not into me

but not into my hands

but not into my work

instead they themselves are ablaze

I cannot be sure that he is the same as before the blink

there have been blinks before

but this one felt different

and I wonder if

if its my fault

for not keeping up w/

how the self

was supposed to be inserted.

there are a series of questions.

the first question flashed before my eyes,

‘What color is the sky ?’

Blue, I say

but speaking it wasn’t

enuf

because the words I had spoken left my mouth and went out into the world

I had lost control over them

But in this place

my words could not do

so to proceed, Ty explained,

i would have to go about the final steps of alignment differently

‘Begin,’ he said, ‘Again’

‘For that which you’ve come to know as familiar and understandable,

the world you’ve constructed in words––

the words you’ve constructed in your world––

they are disallowing your freedom.

Forget description,

forget quality,

forget the narrative on all account,

For, to get

you must beget

that which we only know as ____’

I watched his lips move, mouthing each sound

each consonant crisply aspirated

imbued (me) w/ a new sense

not of the traditional five

not of self

not of the few others

a sense

i sense

could sense

my scents

could send

incense

to make more cents

a world incensed

i tried to hide behind my fence

i tried to build up more walls

and running down the halls

i watched each attempt as it would fall

failing to be ahead of any sort of curve

subject to the last step

Ty wondered where I was

when pure definition left no room for––

This time, instead of saying ‘Blue’

Blue

simply was––

This was the first question in the Alignment.

⁂

Like this we proceeded,

Aligning each trait.

And altho it was inscrutable to me

I felt something changing w/ each completed task,

it seemed as theau the ____

were drawing nearer.

amazed, since, tho, because

my feelings on the matter often eluded me, but

for the first time––at least, for the first time i was now able to consciously appreciate, since, of course, because

one’s feelings on the matter often are solely available

w/in the confines of that which is

currently available

and which

to me at that time was

unavailable––

I pensais that changes were occurring

deep w/in me

and deep w/in Ty.

When I looked at him again, as the last few alignments finally occurred––for their occurrence was immutable: no amount of work that I did, seemed to actually make a difference for their reality to manifest.

I could focus really hard

I could do the math I had been trained to do

I could sort and sort and sort

I could do nothing

I could twiddle my thumbs

because and in spite of,

by its touch and lack thereof,

w/ and w/o

my inter/intra-(in)actions

the alignments occurred.

Ty

all

at

once

turned

to

me

and

spake

‘Kaz, my dear,

a terrible, dreadful, awful, horrible, horrendous, nightmarish, terrifying, soul-crushing, dream-shattering, reality-destroying mistake has been made;

and it was made by me.

I messed up.’

‘Ty, what do you mean,

it seems like everything

is going

okay?’

‘There are many paths which can be taken

this is one path of many

this is the path of the few

these projections have occurred,

and witness has been borne

w/in the consciousness called my,

and since then and because of this

the momentum

is so momentous

that any memento’s

or totem’s

tether will be torn.

this knowledge had likely been present for a long time,

but it was merely

out of

reach,

or too uncomfortable

to be seriously considered.

no apology will suffice.

nothing can stop this.

hopes once high, have fallen,

gone negative.

what’s the opposite of hope?

not merely despair.

anti-hope.

that’s what this is.

or rather,

what it is not.

Behold!

the work is almost complete!’

When I turned I could see something like I have never before seen. A large mass suspended in air, off of which spikes or needles, like that of a porcupine, jetted, each spike would glitch around, between other spikes merging w/ other spikes, it had a double aura-halo surrounding it, green on one side, magenta on the other, the auras rotated and shifted back and forth, my eyes wobbled as they tried to perceive this dizzying display, the colors of the mass were in greater number than i had ever seen, each one so brilliant yet distinguished from every other color; the mass grew and shrank and opened and closed, and whether it had eyes, I cannot be sure, but the I’s or I mean eye’s seemingly opened and closed, or something similar to opening and closing, they anti-opened and anti-closed and each time they revealed new images, new pictures were emitted from the eyes-of-not-seeing-but-made-seen, and i saw these images of art work––making nude bodies contort themselves, in which planets and stars and heavenly bodies crossed the night sky, were charted on ancient maps, complex diagrams of physical phenomena, sepia colored paper of men in boxes and circles, digital rainbows exploding across black backgrounds, The unYielding anomaly absorbed into an endless void, a young boy picking up a rock on a beach, a young fool staring out a window in an unfamiliar city perched on the brink of the unknown, unsure, pleading 'Unclé' against the disaster that awaited him, a bunny rabbit, a butterfly, a pink moon, a ewe, a eye.

Goodbye.

⁂

At that the the whirling wonderfall of my eye’s mind minds

mind’s guide

and Sephiroth (should it be called such)

in engulfish fury

Kaz resonates on high

No longer this person

no more that guy

Unfiltered?

Not quite that, for the filter is the object of study

And Kaz presents this for everyone

Walk through their doors

Your presence here is an assault

Ty presents here is a battery

powering up the mechanical spider

weaving the criss-crossy

interconnected isolation doom that awaits

us all. Dissolution, dispelled, disaffected, discursive, dissuasive, and a wretched young man, ruthlessly bending the will of the world.

Painful to watch

Yet painful tho

to say something’s opposite meaning

would make it (and it always makes)

inoffensive.

Wish you were––

Wish I was––

Indecisive, yet I am the fullest expression of