~ CALAMUS TASTES LIKE DEATH ~
"the comradery shared between men"
2025
this is a work in progress...
my existence has decayed. I don't know how to feel anymore
The time shows on the PID of a C class tram, running route 109. We are at st Vincents Junction. I am filled with dread. Waste. Such waste. I feel sick. I feel hollow. My muscles do not release- my breathing is wrong. In what way is it wrong? I don't know. I mourn my lack of productivity. I mourn the waste of my life. I take steps but never forward, why am I never moving forward? I am still suffocating. Still salivating. The moment passes.
i am letting myself become me once more
your feelings don't mean anything, tear them apart, rip them down and eat them up, meld them into something new then do it again, constant and neverending. Don't let it fester. Give it a potentiality that's un fucking heard of. your feelings mean the world. they are everywhere. they are nowhere. who the fuck cares just keep it fucking going.
sliced meat
He drags his body across the floor, chest thumping and focus waining. His body gives a shudder before falling to the ground, leaving him in a puddle of his own blood. The iron of his soul. "What have you done to me?" his shattered voice begs, only to be met with mocking echoes. "You did this to yourself, you will rot here, a mangled mess. The world will feed on your carcass." With that, the final remnants of his stomach are mixed with his blood as his body tries to rid itself of poisons. It is no use. Nothing will save him now
deliverance
How does it feel to have a blissed out puppy curled up at your feet? In your arms? On your chest? Weaving its way into you and around you. It is yours now. It doesn't say that because it belongs to many people...it doesn't say that because it doesn't know if that is something that you would want. All it knows is that your hand is in its hair, on its leg, around its back. It knows that YOU leaned in to meet it in the back seat of that car. It is yours and yours to keep. But maybe that is cruel. It is just a puppy, how could it understand these things?
emotional-slave-labour-voluntary-nightmare-hell
where is the line between effective communication and forcing emotional labour unto someone? What am I allowed to tell you? What is too much? What is wastefull and unwarranted? At what point does my apologies and my affirmations that the labor be not yours a form of manipulation? Is telling you not to worry a form of guilt? Perhaps if I turn every aspect of my langauge unto myself it would seem more genuine? Or maybe that just sounds self centred. Fuck, who knows anymore.
BOOT.LOG
>i get it
> i understand
> i get it
> i understand
> i understandi get it
> i understand it
> i get it i understand i understand i understan
> i am you
> you are me
> i get it and i am you and i am in you and you are me and i get it
> i am wrapped up in it and i inderstand it
> i understand you i am with you
> i love you
DOYOUDOUBTMETRAITOR
filler
more...
