Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Story | Consumption

I consumed myself. Started somewhere, yet gradually decaying to nothing. Work is the same every day. No hours logged. It has been 2 months already. I should serious consider stealing an envelope from the receptionist's cabinet and use it to mail in my forms. Yellow shower curtains with clear filleted rectangular hooks and white metal rod helped for a period. Yet the feeling was temporal. Warhol bananas and Manroes lost their magic. Colour faded and things died. Some weirdo must have shot them. Once wonderful candle scent was absorbed by the long lasting moldiness of the tiny kitchen. I believe there's a invisible monster living there. Burning candles is no use. The toilet was clogged too. Damn. Chocolate made me love for a while, but they give you love along with weight gain. Not a good idea for 6 months. Can someone actually live like a wired puppet, or movable corpse? All day is spent on wondering and processing. Hmmm. Possibly a machine, with a touch of human consciousness.

I really want to decorate my house for you, you, and you. In multiple fruity rooms. I know I should not have a bunch of you, but I cannot help myself. I'm afraid of being alone. Being abandoned by you is scary. I knew this before I was born. So I have multiples of you through out the travel. It is that simple. Of course, over time a new you would come and drop by the axis and causing the creation of graphs in various forms or even parabolas. Cartesian planes are nice to draw on. Geometry is hard, despite the fact that they give you rigidity. In high school I don't self consume - math does it for me. Or chemistry. No, actually physics. Those crazy kinetics and statics and particles bouncing around. Whatever. They eat up everything anyway, other than those super smart geeks.

How many things have once, or repeatedly, gulp me? Hmmm.


02/23/09

2 comments:

  1. man..you've been revingtonized!!

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  2. Hahahahahaha. This is like the infinity time you've said that?

    Actually I don't know how the words came together. At night I just feel like writing and writing, without processing the logic and everything behind the stories. And I do feel better afterwards.

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