Second hand anomalies
anonmous with all of you
I write this stuff too raw to proof
I drop it right
No bother to it

This shit for me is easy
My curse is breezy

These words hurt me in Twenty Twenty, heard?

I see the truth in patterns. I see what scatters matter. Humanity is not the top fish.

We're just another guest at the wild and mostly jungle of hungry and violent creatures.

We defile our own beings.

Our brains are not the tool we think.

But there are patterns to see.

Awareness. Not easy answers. Grasp it. Fasten in here we, folks we are leaving orbit...

Space X to Snorbit.

I lack the function.

To enactful communication.

I'm typing and tacking. Brain is going literally Light years.

Faster.

You think this bad?

You should hear my mental track.

It's outer world.

Not in a good way.

In a vacuum.

A shooting gallery. Space shit.

Comet balls.

Hurling gassy giants.

Colliding black novas

Jehovah witnesses

Getting fitted with black togas.

Black holes

Penetrated dwarf stars with something sending radio waves to my frontal.

Not my lobe.

My fuckin genitals are beeping constant.

Cosmological.

I'm bravely going into new worlds...

In a used ship.

And doomed purpose.

Space is cold.

Embracing a new world.

Nothing but nothing.

Toes are a new pearl of my infirmity.

I stare at em for hours blank out and declare an end to now.

Now is over...

This a new day.

This no time.

This a new wave.

This a void of thought breathing and groomed behaviour.


This is impossible.

But it's the looming calamity of ramshackle living room assumed vacancy.

No decency. No view.

Blackness and...

Good day!

Oh.

I was in fuge state.
© JacobAlive