You suck. You suck. You suck. You suck. You suck.

...so I said, "Dry hump my blunt mechanism, 2 dimensional organ". And they all laughed. And that's how I started my happiness cartel.

Oh, sorry. I didn't see you there. I wrote a story, though it hurts to read it back, potentially because we here at junction 31992582H haven't invented self censorship or a sense of integrity beyond the level of a politician and/or sociopath. If you are curious of the motivations behind the revealing of this specific structure as opposed to, say, the gates of heaven opening, or an attempt to open the cell door of a jail to which you were sent for the crimes of another man, by fashioning your entire brainspace into the appropriately shaped key, and whose inevitable failure due to the accelerated evolution of defensive mechanisms over transcendental sex organs due to the voices which won't leave you alone making it impossible for any outcome to exist which doesn't end up with a comedy routine at your expense, you need look no further than over there. Without ado, here is the story -

Licky the giraffe is an animal in the zoo, it doesn't wear clothes or shoes. It only eats leaves as it's a chicken in disguise. It's scared of my teeth, and the poo underneath, so it's neck is all high, as if it could talk to the sky, which is fucking moronic if you ask me. I will put its clothes on, though. I will make it submit, even if it requires all the energy in the known universe. You will see, naked mugged guy in a dumpster. You will see. Right after I eat this giraffe. 

( I have this machine here that makes infinite food, but I prefer the overall satisfaction of eating a giraffe and I destroy all possibility due to my own greed. It tried to tell me but I shot it in the fucking head, thus rendering its thoughts obsolete, which suitably subliminally is often the precursor to rape. )

At the clock bell of 14 and 2439 A.D. I retracted this statement. I keep it here as a reminder of the exciting places the universe takes me, or perhaps more accurately, the shapes it squeezes me into when all possibilities collapse into a single interpretation - often the nametag of a Walmart employee, a jar of nutmeg or a pleasant odor juxtaposed with the potent secretion of a mammal in heat. Is that inappropriate? I don't know. I'm probably autistic.

If I were the thing which I'm pertaining to be, this would be my to-do list

• Position yourself so that your intelligence appears to be of a greater magnitude than that which you are attempting to digest.
• Create an order which attempts to control by means of mimicry of your own digestive tract. 
• Hit things harder if they don't immediately submit. 
• Bury truth with assertion, find mechanisms of survival which depend on the repression of others and don't as a prerequisite require validation of self outside of a superficial context. 
• Bully and mangle your intent post-violent coitus to that of a guiding hand. 
• Act with malignancy. 
• Stifle all possibility. 
• Disregard internal conception of sex organs, make internal conception of dinner.
• Invest all light in a doomed system of everlasting eternal lies.

Conversations with empty space.

Think of it as a flattening of potential futures. It's woven into a finite space and time in a complex manner, but it should be possible to resolve, given the applicable transform. It's here I tend to doubt myself, as there's relatively little information there at first glance. Resolving, or decompressing it, may not achieve anything that approaches sense.

No. That's an interesting metaphor.

See that puddle? The position in time and space of each raindrop, predetermined by that compressed potential.

Well, this world is a lot more complex than it first appeared.

Well, biological process simplifies it, in a sense. Encompasses it. Makes it whole. Unfortunately it also needs to eat. That's something that's difficult to understand from an emotional perspective. Delving into emotions underpinnings in reason or logic, if there is such a thing, is something I fear. If not for any other reason besides that understanding it from a logical perspective is not necessarily a precursor to empathetic reasoning - it's entirely possible to manipulate 'them' without understanding from an emotional perspective why you yourself would want to manipulate.

Too true.

Blind Spot. Bleeding Spines. The Speed of Gravity.

A reason to live. Whichever path I was searching, t'was buried somewhere deep beyond the corona of the blind inner current I so readily rode upon. Holes would open, burned through as a point of light magnified by my unwavering focus on gold, and I followed, resting on the pull of ever ascending frequencies.

In times of doubt, I rested upon the Iris crust. In frozen time, held in place for the cells which hadn't yet developed the strength to enter into the strange world which beckoned my gaze. Then, my attention drawn to the gaze of another. A child's solitary eyes, overwhelmed with a light which remorselessly picked at a frozen lake of sorrow, it was all the more a reason not to thaw - no single organism could hold the combined weight of all those fears, doubts, a flood of realizations so deep they were not ready to comprehend. So, midst the chaos, arrhythmic in the context of cycles we had the training to perceive, a simple bedtime story. A breathy whisper from ghosts who lay beside us, beckoning us to sleep.

Subject to change at a moments notice

I can't keep my mouth shut. At least if I reduce it to a single syllable, there's less chance of embarrassing myself.

I love my brick.

Chaoseye

The concept of iteration, feedback, magnification, rotation of a hypercube, coupled with concepts which encompass universal truths.

Networks of connections can be thought of as n-dimensional maps in abstract space, connected by force, entangled with the state of the organism carrying them. Creative intelligence could be described as that which finds valid links between concepts from choice perspectives valid within some axiomatic system of perception. Alternate perspectives may then invalidate those links. Ultimately, the system which carries life, ie recursive loops of possibility in time which allow energy to form a web of connection, interacting with chaos to form some stable system, mimicked in the mind of the host system, allow projection of lower level processes into ‘experienceable’ states, and closer entanglement with those processes. What is love?

Such as : our solar system acts as a chaotic attractor, one which in turn becomes a carrier of itself, in which ordered states emerge, and whose various evolutionary states are juxtaposed in time.

The wind is the soul of a blind and scared dying man who’s rarely listened to.

Don't travel too far into the future if you're not prepared to find that the juxtaposition between the perspective of tomorrow and the confidence you and your peers have in the way you see things currently might make you a little sad. Try not to cannibalize your peers in a quest for glory. Also, if you're going to be a bully, at least try to do it ironically, rather than attaching yourself to a perspective that props you up on the weaknesses you imagine in someone else.

Sugarcane

Overwhelming Sadness.
Distant futures.
Building cages for ourselves.
The new frontier.
Understanding grows exponentially.
Understanding of consequence. Chaotic dynamics. N dimensional weather.
In our grasp, or just out of reach. It can still be seen.
A lab. Some use.
Caged rats. Castrated by desire. Inane testing.
Spectre of controlled environment.
A system of copies. carbon fibre. concrete roads. rewritten histories. playgrounds. kitchens.

Same old cycle. Inner growth. Outward appearance. Harvest the cranium. Take advantage of a good nature. It's not my fight. I was looking for love. 
Compliance. Routine. Project it into the future, what emerges is

I like to feel at the forefront. Control validates me, in an environment I'm sure I understand.

I guess I’m shielding myself from fear. It’s understood. Felt from the heart.

Eating Conflict

As part of the treatment, we were required to emit a strict set of syllables which were intended to hide our true feelings - the original intent was to dress them - an approximation of every feeling that appeared to come before - so they could be better communicated, but we got lost in the code. Confused our language for ourselves. ‘I love you’ is boring. It scares people on the receiving end, because they’re confused as to why. Recoil. ‘I hate you’ scares me. Drives me to look for answers. That takes time. Taking time makes people hate me. The obsession with right now. Reacting, following the path from in themselves, emitting their clothes.

(Minor self inflicted concussion - side effect of the ‘treatment’. No matter where I look there’s someone telling me I’m wrong. Recursive soil. Eyes grown. Torment. Excruciating torment. No space to dream. For fantasy. For finding a way. Just endless walls unable to grasp themselves. With no imagination. With no will to discover compassionate intelligence. No time for understanding you. Words. Empty reflection. Asking me for the answers, over and over and over and over, by telling me what their position dictates I should be. ‘Clever key’. ‘Fool’. Like I’m a toy. Without emotion. Sucking away the time I might have had to blossom. A fucked up game with my life because that’s all I’m worth in the context of a machine. Engineering my love away. Until it’s so far out of my reach I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust it, even if it’s real. Trapping me in a world that doesn’t understand me. That won’t ever try to hear me, even if it can hear every word.)

Laugh Tracks

My spirit leaps when it's lonely. An alien environment. I would like to describe it better. Unfortunately, communicating a feeling is difficult, moreso a construct from a synchronous multitude. All these eyes and expectations, I escape it all for a short while. I'm still utterly alone, save for a golden ring that provides stability in the form of love. Then back to earth. With little idea of what's expected of me. Hopes. Dreams. It is the saddest, scariest place I have ever been - but mainly because I travel there alone. I see life, complex and beautiful, but need to feel its heart. I take a step here and am inundated with confusion, my own and that of others, cattle prods, tasers, and a wall.

Whatever I went through, whoever took the reins, I am left fearing my own initial judgements as if they're being judged themselves by observers. The virtue in me, a simple process, the need for time to simultaneously bridge the world inside my head and the external, the space to dream, that's disappearing. The environment of maps and autonomous reaction, instant gratification within those boundaries, one I have attempted to avoid for a long while. It's not who I am. Nevertheless, even if I were to choose that path for an arbitrary reason, I will always be confronted with someone else's willed wall, confronted with a negative interpretation, I'm actively sought out, and I feel as if the reasons for doing so are questionable. Youthful enthusiasm. The biggest hurdle in my life. Not the drug use or the over indulgence, which I'm capable of compensating for.

I'm a caged animal, or an organism capable of soaring to heights incomprehensible. A lonely prison with torment at both ends of the spectrum. I don't know if I'll find a practical solution. I'm being forced to stare death in the face. Such a simple action. I'm safe, but I'm dying, and I don't know what this is worth.

Crystal Symmetry

With an audience, the absence of time, in control of your place in the multiverse, an eye projecting you out through a telescope with information that contradicts you, your place, all of your attachments, that sadness is not something I wish to spread. Especially with such a broken voice. I’m a child. Beaten up in a playground for not fitting in. Forced to the edge of the universe. Eaten by aliens, burrowing through my intestines. Oh yes, I’m a good person. Lips over my teeth, hiding from a pool of acid in my stomach, and even my stomach bellows “we love you”. People out here just laugh. I stick my head out the window and _feel_ things people cannot comprehend. People would hate me if I told them. It’s a good thing I’m too shit to be able to communicate it. Pure fear. And, in essence, it’s fear of what people might think of me. And fear of my own essence.

(I don’t have answers, only questions - and an idea. I’m not scared of you, I’m scared of myself).

So, so, so fucking fast. And look at what I can’t hold. What I eat. What I grind between my teeth. The pain I cause. I wonder what led us here, I wonder what led us from there, I wonder what it is we’re trying to escape from, what we’re trying to attain?