My kingdom for a cigarette.

The blind reason by which my actions are guided frighten me. Consistently, I want so much more out of a world I hate so much.

I have become so use to pain that I become jealous when she takes another lover. Breathing in to remind myself what ash tastes like, respite finds me in numb sufficiency.

Life... all life in its spiraling edges... has become shiny, vinyl and smooth. I peer into myself against it and see only peculiar geometry in familiar colors. Nothing about existing feels relative, and yet here I stand as Atlas stood, and this world feels purposeful and weightless. Should I drop it to see what happens?

Well, I would rather be Dionysis. Alas, there are no needles in my arm (or groin) so I assume I am sober.

Why attempt to find reason in a comfortable sphere when the reasonable world was dull and painful?

Being Obscure and unreasonable isn't so bad. Phantoms find their place in the Obtuse, so why shouldn't I? Let's all commit suicide and manufacture something new.

Sunken in sparks, I am aflame and am burned in the water.

Destroy Once Done