Lost Stories

Reality’s walls are trembling, shaking as my own body shakes to the touch, trembles to the sounds, and I have no balance now, not rock, or anchor, in this sea of hallucination I swing, I dive and I come back up for air! I breathe hardly ever air, smoke most of the times.

Drunk on carbon dioxide, my skull contracts to my brain, and I see… I see me, but I have never known myself like that one vison, that depraved twisted image of my own flesh. That I have never know but it is me… is it? IT is, it has never been anything else, always me, my own reflective ego, me!

Blood driven ghoul, a remnant of the ripples of my insanity, creation of my own design of uncertainty, block of agony, pain and rage, those are the bones, the bones I see covered in a semi lucid, semi-transparent flesh dispose of any skin. Skinny of ragged bones built. Clairvoyant muscles and tendons, mechanical force of the monster I see, that monster I feel spreading through me medulla, going into my real muscular mass, scratching at my almost dry skin! It will rip it soon… come out like a released wild animal once encaged to be a slave. That wildness that never dies on the eyes that, that savage instinct that creates on the monster some yellowish globe like eyes that come out of the darkness like lights. Piercing lights which attract the eye the like a gruesome thing that pain to look at but makes not desire to let you look away…

Never so clear it was seen, never have I glance my iris into him so obvious, no myopia distortion! Clear as dark diamonds dropped in tick reddish blood…

Never seen in dream, he is seen just right before you fall asleep, when your own corpse has as gone to immobilized slumber and you mind yet resists awaken looking into dimension that can never be glance upon in any other way… places of mental construction, of memories of amnesia, forgotten future events or past never happening memories. Untangle of vines, wires and cords that are assemble in sleep, in dreams or awakening times. Stuck in a sleeping awaken live, looking into reality with eyes close, darkness seeing reality on eyelids close upon the whiten globes of eyes body where times rewinds and advances at the same time, there time passes with no connection to any clock invented, the time that is measure in intensity of dementia, that circles nothing else but you thoughts timeless passing in time, that yet never last an eternity but makes you think you are never out of it… out     of   it. . . .

Shakes, everything is shaking, like some silent sound that resonates on me, on my mass it makes me breathe like air is running out. Veil of illusion is set upon me as I mutate my plasticized body into what is normal to be, to my absolute controlled and A-OK self, leaving only minor irritation while my insides acidify melt into some corrosive substance, maybe, it simply may be that this substance is what made the gruesome monster I saw… that horrendous thing that I suspect it as lashed on me, crawled into a small ball that now, grabs onto my back, like a backpack, his slender finger crave the nails into my side ribs, at the bottom of my ribcage, an in that cage he pierces flesh so he goes everyplace I go. The slender finger, it crave even deeper into the rib bone as they will entangle themselves on the cylindrical ribs…

Melts, it melts to mend, it melts to rubber, to plastic rubble and as that does not stop it becomes liquid grey water, grey goo from liquidification out of no heat, no conduction of fire or fervour and in all of those I ear the song, the eulogy and anthem tune:

Will death let me drown in the river of living today
Will I be swing in my own blood by this time yesterday
Be a canoe or a boat, water will fill the hull and the bay
worms will be crawling on my empty skull every day


Empty bones, naked from flesh
Dressed to be dust and perish
Me and myself meeting death
Me cursed and loved by Macbeth
Wordless, boneless, and soulless
Less and less, for a more dead
and the skin I shed

The flesh it rot, rigormortis
Drove me to stone and bone
and blood sets, Livormortis
All pale and white is my armor
Rusty outside and dead inside
Decay of undying corpse mortis

Water will not wash the decay
For me soul is not made of clay
Will never be anything but something
Unsure what can be, doubts of what was
Is no material than uncertainty
To meet death is in its dreams
Knives are its weapon of choice for jaws
Jaws of a giant whale, hungry hungry
Starving for me succulent flesh
Eager to leave me just in bones
Or rotting putrid meat…

I will not breath today, I will dive
Go deep into the drowning river
No boat this time, just a drive
to stop chemistry in my liver
Deep, deep dive, no oxygen tank
Just a rock into the deep ocean tank!


Take to the depths of the blue the liquid indigo tainted ocean, where i can swim with whales and sharks dive deep into the darkest fluid of dreams, dreamt to be in oblivion where bioluminescence cast no shadow on my eyes, yet they do not blind the retina from imagining or mental creation.

Liquid blue, where shapes became real, where forms are created from the fluid and dreams take space in that molten space, the fluid that is that tool to create space, stars, galaxies and universes, of forgotten memories and unsought ideas. Drowning in it is to sleep, drowning on the quantum of possible, the everything existence on nothing, the matter of antimatter where dark matter becomes see to humanity! Let me dive in that ocean, where sails drive me into worlds a trip too creation in a palace of imagination.

Time is hectic, the clock mutated from a circle to a random shape of hexagons and rectangles, no 12, no cycle but cyclic in all its passing, future is nothing as the past is everything, they are both the same on the same space, time was lost in me, any attachment to the circling of hours, the mechanica of time over for this mass, not release or free just disowned from father time… no touch from him or contact of any sort, I see no father, I see no time. Numbers do count it pass, and things pass me, and move at the same speed as before, stars still are born and die but time is not in me… mind is timeless, soul is fleshless and space is bound to time, as I am unbound from my flesh I lose time… I go over … to intimeness, atimeness aphatic and chaotic…

Where I now can see your insanity, not with eyes but with skin, I feel it, as a rough surface complex in texture, with intense and smooth pattern, small, micro in grain but fill with content… as a small candy to be eaten providing the gusto of a sophisticated bittersweet lime taste… a surface that cuts your tongue swallowed on the wrong way but smooth and divine tasteful when past the lips the down side up!! Freedom from time I would say, evil and of bad taste my words became since no time means no anchor to mass, no attachment to life no meaning of self or surroundings, time, it is time to time and tame this full on aggression of mind that has been going in this marionette I call a body from season to season, from summer to summer, passing hardships on winter, where the night is dark and is terror, where the day is bright and incinerates. Neither one is time for me…

The darkest of souls are sinful, lust and lewd of flesh and pure of emotions, the darkest of souls are monsters cursed to be kind, enormous beings of destructive powers bound to be mending, encapsulate in cocoons of meat and bones, skin and hair doomed to be kind to the some rebellious little humanoids, some self-centred beings of gigantic egocentrism!  Unclean filth of humans powered by altruism, imagine the horror of an existence of a monstrous being condemned to an existence of gentle actions… how horrified, how tainted and ripped to pieces that soul would transform itself… darkest of souls without sin are caged wild animals, energy and no space to bound them, time making erosion on a spirit without matter… would you pity such a being? Would you ever love such an essence, evil and gruesome in its core but everything and all it can do is good? Darkest of souls… sinful of knowledge filled with evil urges unable to perform any of that, and the big pun of all those dark souls, the immense irony of such dark is the simples fact that, those souls manage to do evil when bound to a forced and propelled existence of making good as their pleasure of evil making is gone at this point and replaced with more anger, rage and self-loathing!


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