(no subject)
Nightmares
Where I overflowed a toilet full of my diseased excrements
A cut on my inner thigh that profusely bled a muddy brown, clay-like blood.
Until I fainted.
Yesterday was me visiting hell. Or escaping from it. The evilest PSM-gnome sitting on my shoulder, making me say awful things, making me eat gross fried junk, making me drink like a mean alcoholic, making me sleep with incessant nightmares.
Yesterday was non-sense and anger, frustration(s), incomprehension and unfulfillness.
Every syllable like a rusty nail through the skin. Spitting venom and still having a stomach-full of it.
What I want, what I need: I keep it quiet.
Or do I repeat it until the end of times?
I don’t know, I am not sure.
I am so convinced that I am crystal clear on my desires and needs.
So explicit, so damn explicit.
But it turns out I am encrypted.
Always
Only Annie can crack the code. And she is no longer there to teach the code.
I miss her.
I talked to her yesterday. Living a new life in another province. New job with new responsibilities, new boyfriend that is apparently the best of them all, spoiling her rotten with material/feelings/happiness/etc. I should rejoice. I only feel resentments and envy. I only am mad because I miss her. I feel abandoned.
PSM. It’s been a while since it hits me so hard. I’m Jack, your chemical imbalance.
It’s clear that the only remedy is to fuck it away, to fuck it out. To fuck it shut. To fuck it the hell out of me.
but: What I want, what I need: I keep it quiet.
++
I think I will foolishly spend 100$. I will sign up for Bollywood dance classes. I am not absolutely sure yet, as the community center is 2,8 kilometres away from my place, so it means a 30 minutes walk there and then back. Which, in the winter, may compromise my desire to go. Therefore, it’s a risky 100$ to spend as I am not sure I will find the discipline to make it each and every week for 10 weeks. But… hmmm, that could be fun. Oh, have I ever mentioned I danced for 9 years? International folkloric dancing. I sucked at it. Bad. I almost always was the worst of my class. I move like an awkward slug, with very little rhythm. I WILL suck at it greatly. But that isn’t the point.