these square germanic boxes....

Let us diverge, let us diversify. If this is a test, I am failing, if only because I refuse you and by refusing YOU I refuse this game. I refuse your criteria, I refuse your opening premise. I refuse. And I am absolutely done, can you not see that? I am so done with this sssssshit. Piles, mounds. I ask the basic from you and if you, in your petit  petit bourgeoisieis somehow allowing you to feel valid in that base you are so HORRIBLY wrong it is obscene, so obscene it is funny. And we laugh, I laugh, into nightmares where I wake up with eyes a-leaking and everything and anything left unsaid. I hate the fact I spend this time processing you, while for you, you escape. I envy you; I am a spent escape artist. I pity you; as much as you have to offer mentally, you resolutely lack the ability to consider anything other than your own reality. There is no fancy figurative here. I am talking about the thoughts (and non thoughts) you have while shitting; I am speaking to the face that looks back at you after you get that second sleeve in and prepare to face the day. The one who has an entirely different (from reality, from executed actions or said words) from the interior monologue going on in your, within your, grey matter. If I had to make an educated guess, I would hazard for an over developed frontal cortex and an underdeveloped amygdala, corpus collosum.


Point being; I give you so much thought and I am simply the fact you come home to ( oh! you say, but the fact I come home to! It is everything! It is what I chooooose). I take up 3 percent of the space you give to me. It hurts to admit in my own idea of OUR DRAMA, no quotes and capitalized like that, you are a leading role vying for the sidekick. As you said, half asleep during my somnolescent outburst, isn't it funny, I was already thinking of something else? If only. If only I COULD, me, rip from you, tear away cutaneous relations and fall. I chose wrong. This is all wrong. Instead of steeling yourself through some time to LISTEN when you will be annoyed and comforting me, you shrug me off, un chemin d'amerique. Help, fuck it, HELP ME help myself see the verities, the truths of this. I am beginning to feel as though I am seeing clearly but do not like what I see ( perpetual soap opera script writer, you think? no, more more than that you know it, at HAUTE BASSE) and so I am still STILL rationalizing. Drunk but rationalizing. Fuck me in the ass, can I ever be ANTI cerebral?


I am in fragments, and I am not ready for fate to arrive with the glue. SANCTUARY sanctuary o' peptide bonds which corner me in. Poutain, pute; stuck stuck STUCK, ready willing and (therefore STUCK! if you get me).


Juggling. Food for thought from all corners of the pyramid. But the meat of it, the protein residences, are in


FIGHT OR FLIGHT


or, RUN


FUCKING HELL, RUN