Unknown title.

I don't want to exist any more; I want to drive this fork -that I'm holding- into my eye, twisting it around and around, gathering more flesh and blood around its tongs. Pain and fear will begin to pulse rapidly through my nerves and veins. Welcome home! I will say to myself. Into the dark! -Let's rejoice! Weep wounds weep! Rid yourself of this putrid body! Go, be free!

I can't let him stay. He's going to leave me, only because he has something better to offer this world. I have nothing. Nothing but sad little words, a fake smile, and a weakening ambition to experience life, the universe and everything.

I think I need help. Although, I don't know what anyone can do for me. I'm the only one that can help myself and I seem to be lost in the woods. It's approaching dusk and darkness is about to open its sleep-encrusted eyes. In my idleness, during Darkness' nighttime games, my feet grew roots that dug deep into the ground. I struggle with sanity in this reality of mine. I need my saner half but she's nowhere to be seen. I hear her crying out to me.. Softly.. And she's gone until I lay myself down to slumber. -That's when the voices come. I dream of trees; of dirt and the open sky. I need to find her. I'm preparing myself for what is to happen next.

If I die in the woods, keep me there. Do not bring me back to this meaningless jungle, with all these haggard faces and repulsive noises.

This is why I hate shrimp.

Condolences, my putrid prince.

Expired manifestations of what once was --treasured, life --long lost and forgotten, placed before you is a single wilting rose. Its' petals yearning for something gold. Something bold. Something to make its' young veins feel anew. Shriveling, as of now, beyond repair. --Look at what you've done! Its thorns gasp stiff and protruding and remains the only life this flower will ever know.

Please.. I plead with blurred eyes to the moonlight, to the stars, to the towering figure above me. I cannot go on, this reality is to much for me, not enough for me. I dream of something bigger. A heaviness grows in my veins as two droplets slide down my cheeks with a purpose. The looming figure shudders a sympathetic bow. He leans in to me and places his lifeless lips upon my quivering brow. I sigh, a thankful sigh, a pleasured sigh, as a tinge of ice shoots through my nerves. Thank you, I gasp into the stirring wind, as my body goes limp and falls to the ground to move no more.

Thoughts: collective.

The gentle slope of a growth in progress. The fragility of newly acquired hair, bound by an elastic band; dark drapes for lashes, open and close, revealing a set of curious, golden eyes that are fixed on me. I have a moment, here, sitting across from this fragile, little girl as the train rocks my body, gently, side to side. Your innocence frightens me, I think to myself. A frown becomes my main expression, as if the world has been placed upon my lap.

Sleep deprived to feel something, anything, that takes you away from reality, the norm. The normal. What is normal.. Stuck inside this crypt-like skin. Let me out, please! Let me out!

Colors and shades. It's safer on the bottom.

I feel evil, angry. Something awful must have spilled; dripping itself onto me as I walked unguarded through the streets. Seeping into my skin and toiling through my bloodstreams, making my smile fade and my eyes squint like two slits; eyes of a maddened bull.

Balloons dance elegantly with the wind; a tango that we're not meant to understand. One, two, three.. One, two, three..--look! They're dancing!

"It's wide, open and free like you want to be. Up in the clouds, nothing is loud."

Once Upon A Time

Footage from Sender Films. First Ascent, Dean Potter.
"Dying to flying"

..

What did my lover say, Mister mail man? Mister hot-shot know-it-all! Saunter over to me with that heavy gift bag. Tip toe over those feathered lone spires of green, to me! -Alas, alas. My blood boils with anticipation, reverberating spasms of ecstasy from cell to spine, from shingle to concrete, shaking the confines of my body -this silly, elastic skin. Nothing today, Ma'am, he says as he tips his awkward hat atop his dapper, sun-kissed face. Galloping past me, neighing almost in mockery, as he spindles his web throughout the neighborhood.

Excerpt from Lolita.

This daily headache in the opaque air of this tombal jail is disturbing, but I must persevere. Have written more than a hundred pages and not got anywhere yet. My calender is getting confused. That must have been around August 15, 1947. Don't think I can't go on. Heart, head-everything. Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita, Lolita. Repeat until the page is full, printer..

Dying, dying, Lolita Haze, of hate and remorse, I'm dying. And again my hairy fist I raise, and again I hear you crying.