creep me out quiet soft pitch scratchy throat sore
Something about Skinny Puppy makes everything seem a little less real. Water sports, aim the game to get no-shot rich. Divine the only pissing game. I haven't been doing much lately. Carl and I last night were speaking of the daemonic. School, work, home. Neurotransmitter therapy. (Theraphy) Works well, I assume. I still feel fine. No swings, not since the other day.
And I met some doctors in Seattle and...
Hah, just kidding. I wish I wouldn't live in newspapers. I had this horrendous nightmare last night, though. I actually gave a bit of a cry, which woke me up.
I was walking through this hallway in an old, abandoned apartment building. Same checkerboard tile of my recurrent childreams, not sepia, but almost black and white in the contrasting difference of color with shadows and a bit of light streaming through cracks in the wood exposed from ripped-away particle board and insulate. My footsteps in the dark. And there's a thought: Once there was a woman who was split into two different personalities ala Carl Jung. Shadow and Psyche. Somehow, the Shadow got loose and was able to communicate directly with the psyche (which was the woman). Eventually, the Shadow began to hate the psyche, and came for her directly.
Oh, I knew it was that fucking little girl. But, she was shaped like an old woman in this one, tottering, teetering with her squeaking hips towards an apartment door. 5D. I walked past her and stopped when she stopped playing with the door handle. I turned and. Black hair. Blue eyes. And I was running; she ran after me. Our footsteps were crazy staccato along the floortiles, an explosive beat that rang out all around me. She was catching up to me because she always catches up to me. A window ahead of me. Shadow of a man outside of the window. Fuck. I turn and she's leaping for me. I scream.
And I wake up. Protect me from my dreams. As I work to kick my self-destruction, they're the last bit I fear will remain.
And I met some doctors in Seattle and...
Hah, just kidding. I wish I wouldn't live in newspapers. I had this horrendous nightmare last night, though. I actually gave a bit of a cry, which woke me up.
I was walking through this hallway in an old, abandoned apartment building. Same checkerboard tile of my recurrent childreams, not sepia, but almost black and white in the contrasting difference of color with shadows and a bit of light streaming through cracks in the wood exposed from ripped-away particle board and insulate. My footsteps in the dark. And there's a thought: Once there was a woman who was split into two different personalities ala Carl Jung. Shadow and Psyche. Somehow, the Shadow got loose and was able to communicate directly with the psyche (which was the woman). Eventually, the Shadow began to hate the psyche, and came for her directly.
Oh, I knew it was that fucking little girl. But, she was shaped like an old woman in this one, tottering, teetering with her squeaking hips towards an apartment door. 5D. I walked past her and stopped when she stopped playing with the door handle. I turned and. Black hair. Blue eyes. And I was running; she ran after me. Our footsteps were crazy staccato along the floortiles, an explosive beat that rang out all around me. She was catching up to me because she always catches up to me. A window ahead of me. Shadow of a man outside of the window. Fuck. I turn and she's leaping for me. I scream.
And I wake up. Protect me from my dreams. As I work to kick my self-destruction, they're the last bit I fear will remain.