? - 0

 This isn’t a story, atleast not in the traditional sense of an introduction, growth, climax, twist and then ending. Its a subtle but desperate attempt to actually exit for a brief moment in a shape that perhaps, maybe, with uncertainty I can be seen, being seen is always a fun phrase I think we all say “to be seen” but I think maybe by expecting strictly coherent words from one another we’ve shackled eachother into mundanity I atleast don’t think that when we get to the soft...ichor/nectar/blood that flows like syrup of our persona and personalities [I think these are different things that due to the nature of our world be develop in tandem, personality is the actual us, the actual me and you the ones that are selfish not in a malicious way but that constantly yearn even if its illogical/destructive and then the persona is the slit-filled mask we put on top that lets whatever we deem "safe"/Productive/Comfortable/non-hazardous enough to pour through into the outer-reality] that the typical structered words that function as a superstructure of logic and require cause/effect, coherence and imperial gramatical rule can capture this essence/fluid/viscera. This is meant to be a story with a character and a plot, it doesnt seem that way because I don't need this to be digestable, the endless marketing of ones self to be enjoyed/marketable/profitable/tolerable I fear may have killed a small part of us along the way, we've become too apologetic for the cost of being ourselves penetrating the sleeve of normality when our strange ridges interupt the gentle curve of societies touch, tearing into it, the blood driving everyone as they'd been taught to lash out, we're all wild children and we've all been broken/tamed/domesticated/sheltered into these conformed shape though saying all of us preffered our teeth is unfair and unrealistic I have enough werewithall to recognize that for some this is its blessing/saving/preferred way to live to ask them to break through the flesh/container of social norms so that in a hypocritical way that our fangs can simply be the new normalized is selfish, I do hope they can try it though..it has a thick vulgar taste, sometimes overwhleming when you try to tear at the flesh/[the need to live, not want to exist] of lifebut its freedom/purpose/[enough to be content]. I think more than anything this is an experiemnt on candid thought, this will be posted on my blog and updated but even on this blog/digital wayspace/liminal touchstone between me and you I do wear my persona still even if its looser/less opaque/riddled and torn. I guess join/[feel with]/[sunder yourself with] me, in a non-sensical, non-linear shell/corpse/fetus of a story/cry for recogniztion/candid splaying of organs/schizo-post.     Stay with me now, close your eyes and take a deep breath, now feel the nueroelectrictity/energy/sensation in your fingertips and follow/trace/stalk it as it travels inwards towards your center, are you terrified of beginnings? So Am I. Do you think if you were given a fair choice you woudl've chosen to begin life? Now follow the energy as it reaches your chest, feel it enter/penetrate/invade your lungs and as you breathe out it flows down your legs to your toes, repeat as often as required. Good? Its okay if you aren't it doesnt wick all the edge/anxiety/depression away, I/he/they/she just wanted you present as you joined, don't be scared to take it as an actual tool either.      Static fills the eyes as the shore laps hungrily at the shore, asymetrical burts of lights from a distant human-purposed hive known as Mallowstone park shone behind her, hands gently flicking a coin between her fingers with failed attempts, everytime the 2030 minted quarter dropped she scoffed, ruining her own brooding moment because of a simple lack of dexterity before annnoyed she threw it into the ocean. Not even a "plop" which just further componded her annoyance as she gripped the sand and tossed it into an arc before huddling her her knees and pulling herself close. Closing her eyes she recalled. >Answering machine "One message for" covering her ears with her pillow, she forgot to update her name it was still his "This is Rodney your supervisor calling,the dead grandma thing doesn't excuse six days and everyone here was already getting tired of your shit...look" a sigh from the other end, tossing her body to face away "we gotta let you go, I'm sorry my friend's work has an opening its only two mile-" the static was already behind her eyes, she stopped listening...her grandma's had already died half a decade earlier she just couldn't stand the taste that place put in her mouth,     With now open eyes stares at the corpse of an ocean, cyclic different trash arriving on the shore as the next pull dragged it back in, atleast someone was sorting her trash..amusing herself letting go of the sand.     "Just me and you again..yeah it was my fault but not all of us get the job of just lookin' pretty ya know?" looking up at the silvery disk, through tears it looked dancing and shimmer. "You ever get sad about it, I mean you watching us fall apart, war, dumb shit like racism. I guess" half a foot away from her, the phone was buzzing ever since she broke her old one the new one didn't feel like hers, she chose a cute case but the forced updates and new UI made it feel invasively corporate, though the fact she was narrating herself in third person in her head in a desperate [yet failed] attempt to dissassocaite was annoying her much more. Rising and picking her sand coated phone, slipping it into her pocket muttering "Can we change the scene already?" letting the static overflow until her breathe stopped filling her lung with presence but mechanical action, the sensation in her hands slowly numbing, coursing through her body subtly until her sense of self droned out into the low roar.     When was the first time you were embarassed, can you recall..im sure you remember the feeling so red hot in the ears, chest tightening, mind trying to escape your skull race out be anywhere but inside of you, was it something small or innocent like a crush or forgot a pencil? Was it something crushing like you wet yourself, maybe squeezed the gerbil a little too hard, broke something of moms? Or was it just for you alone, something irrational but you couldn't just stand being known for it maybe for you it was a great discovery the uncontrolable flush across your system maybe awoken something for you, filthy dog.     "Fuck...!" Under her breathe as the cheap coffee burning her lip woke her from the trance she's slipped into, she pulls over into a parking lot and leaves the vehicle, leaning aginst its decaying frame as she sips. What does it mean when you feel most at home in liminal spaces, the transient inpermancence in synchronous vibration with yourself..or are we all full of ourselves and just desperate to somehow make ourselves important in any way possible.