Read. Don’t read! [Hell, I don’t want nothing preceding anything. All overlap. Time and space responsible. Damn. What’s the use of compensation if your compensation comes after your death. Work while you work, play while you play.]
Why the hell am I doing this? jfldsjaoreuiwoe7394739 n403278%^%$$#*( bla bla bla bla blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
I need some smileys here. Really weird ones.
Crazy? I’m that already. One of my comic colleagues in one of my previous offices applied his eyes like a pair of laser pointers along the unruly grooves on one of my palms without my solicitation, and announced, “You’ve crossed the limit!” I did not know what that limit was? Have I survived my death, with me passing through the moment, unbeknownst to me? I had dreams, at least twice, in which I died—were they real? I died in dream for real? Quite like me often finding my pillow wet with tears I had shed why crying in a sleep? I don’t draw the line—I’m in shades of grey. Zombie. Living dead, or dead living!
Time. Life. Death. Insanity. Crime. Child. Summer. Winter. Beautiful.
Some. Many. Cut. Grammar. Song. Music. Culture. Brush. No color. Middle path. Global warming. Acid rains.
Jack Nicholson Dam Vinmci. black hole. Beginning. End.
Well, I’m tired. I’ve a dictionary for my brains. Why do I write? From whom? It’s like breathing. It just happens. I’m going. I don’t know if I’ll come back. But why I speak? It’s all the same. Silence. It’s all the same. No something moves. And the dead Ozymandias’ head is there half sunk in the desert sand. Immobile. Why is this woman asking questions? This man is vomiting questions. Nobody understands nobody. My head is spinning. It’s a planet now. I’ve not no orbit. No axis! Eccentric.
I hear a lot of things. The wind blows, the AC machine hums. Down there some cars are honking—no their drivers. They are kind—they don’t want to run over people, smash into other people’s cars. So kind. No for the ears!
You know—me knows—I’m talking to none but… but whom? I’m talking, and I don’t listen to me. I’m wearing a headphone, and nothing is on in it. No sound.
Tower. Central park. Flag pole. Expensive. Symbols—when things themselves are there, I don’t replace the things by symbols. You love the flag, you hate what’s represented by symbol. Then, you are a symbolist. I’m nostalgic. What I love is not here. So I love symbols.
No!!!!!!!! Gollum, Gollum! Forget about it. Let’s talk about us! We are precious!
I really need a language. This inarticulate language sucks. Or I need some smileys.
Like this..uhm…what? Like this…what?
Where’s my eyes! Me doesn’t see nothing!