Something about being framed.

Warmth. A pair of eyes in the shadows, followed by a third.

Dreaming sea. Not sure of its depths, but deep enough to hold me. Burned awake. It feels how I feel most likely, when woken up mid-morning by screaming rumbling engines hammering away at my ears. No slow burn.

Decay. Recursive. Something inside of us is flattered by this.

Tonight, a bunch of conversations in my head, arrivals, like people have hollowed out my head to build a cinema in torchlight. They watch my dreams. A quick flash before my eyes,somebody asking “is that light to you?”. They’re not clear what they want from me, however, I’m learning to stay completely still in my head as a consequence of their presence. Think of an embarrassing moment, your pin number, your secrets, as you traverse teh contents of your decimated brain. Everything needs to be socially acceptable. Shut up, they say. Everything besides my mistreatment. I am not sure if they are surprised by my defensive posture but I was never asked, and my mind was extremely valuable to me.

They make you feel old. It's the reality they assert. Though they're blinded by their control. And it blinds those that accept it. I’m held still and made irrelevant with ignorance. This worries me. The reliance upon preset order as opposed to the creation of it. Here hold this baby wait what? It's not self aware.

All of my writings seem to turn into letters of complaint. How reflective. We learned a great deal. Because we cared. But some things are hidden. Like the access codes to Zion.

Somebody stole my dream again. The good parts, anyway. The disney promiscuous waters breaking wedding parts. And left me with the sense that my dreams of love are just meat for those with the tech to harvest them. And if you accept my death that’s fine, although I’m still alive with the bad parts. Zero One. It should really be left right and a mirror. With time and cells. From which up and down emerge.

Given the confusing environment, I get the feeling people are denying certain aspects of causality as it suits them. Something about being framed. Something about being framed. i THINK i HEARD SOMEONE SAY THAT SEX IS PUNISHMENT HERE. CUT TO SCENE WHERE SUBJECT IS HELD DOWN, HIS FACE BURNED WHILE HE LISTENS TO PEOPLE HAVING SEX IN THE NEXT ROOM AND THEN THEY FORCE HIM TO DREAM UP HEAVEN WHICH THEY THEN STEAL. HAHAHAHAHA.

(and their reaction - we will delete you. let’s pretend that imagination exists and that deletion is akin to the concept of terrorism, collateral damage, etc - essentially a labyrinthian veil for murder that those who trust, or don’t have time, won’t be able to see beyond)