biscuit's dreaming; clouds above her head

not knowing your place in the world is dangerous I've been living on the ground for years now i need to become how i was before  the natural colors of my roots grow in again tangled out grasping for air I'm living that mundane living dream I play pathfinder every monday with my friends and my friends love me and my colleagues think I have potential  I'm not doing much these days but reading through old essay papers from the lauded 20th century film and music artists and I got the feeling that this modest life is sweet she was loved by her friends and family but I've got that sick fetish for necrophilia cast upon myself I want people to read off all the drugs listed in my autopsy I want people to desecrate my grave I want people to deep fake my likeness oh my, that boy sacrificed so much sleepless nights look at the clusters of eczema'd skin dried up along his arm the calloused hands, my god, what a texture, what a shape the worst part is that I yearn for the light t

 i want to lick your wounds i want you to ask me to lick your wounds i can seal them with my bloody tongue draw circles like an exorcism and you can lick mine too we can suffer together but I'm not the one die then! die then! die then! i told myself I'd just be nice I find it hard to stay in one place In one set of arms everyone likes me but no one loves me everyone wants me but no one needs me everyone wants little rain heather-maria but little rain heather-maria needs everything  i don't like it anywhere necessarily home is anywhere I can sleep around all my stuff  stuck a shut-in where I only feel comfort around my items of cultural capital, plastic paraphernalia shiny metals and fabrics and fantastic illustrations of my fetishized eyes, my I hunger haah, I wish to burn and melt every piece of this cruel multimedia carnival and breathe in the intoxicating cocktail that is burning rare minerals of my circuitboards and plastics and papers - I want to take in the carcinogen

im smoking a cigarette i hear the clacking of my shoes against the concrete i experience the sensations of my body in the cold air tonight i must kill this feeling of obsession im gonna slowly snuff myself out im gonna burn out slowly and surely and feel every single second of it

i tap my foot vaguely in rhythm imperfect in quantization - i am human sometimes i don't really know what they're even singing, sometimes i just try to mimic the sound and pray that it sounds like what they're saying. i'm embarassed that i don't know. i'm even more embarassed of being scared of looking like that i don't know. i press my lovense domi 2 against my ribcage at an angle to hear it perform little paradiddles on my bones and i hug the doll that i mentally project you onto against my fat little stomach i already know you would tell me off for calling myself fat, i know but i have to listen to my body, i have to listen to my heart all this practice and training and dreaming to become something past human fuck, give it up! i am human - now what?

i wrap my arms around you  just because I can't think of any other way to try to hold you together this world isn't gonna hold me I'm gonna break free I have to let go eventually  and all things fade quietly into the day by day that's the bite mark from jaws that have kissed much flesh and the golden signature on my clothes but my love burns so hot and bright  it's incinerating itself from the inside and I'm gonna break free  they're gonna snuff me into white ashen stains into the concrete I wish I could sleep with you forever in this white and soundless place but you'd break free and escape without me I'm gonna miss you when you're gone  I'm gonna miss you when you go for a while For a day or so For a week or two  For a month or three  For close to four years For forever Or even for a moment I'm gonna miss you though I've never once seen you I'm gonna miss you the day this world can't hold you And you break free

aka:  i don't necessarily know how to communicate how much I mean it when I say "I love you" "I've been ruminating", as I say frequently when trying to explain something (I've been wishing to curb my habits of self-conscious self-reflexivity, but alas), the idea that love exists as one of the eternal orthodox virtues. This was spurred an attempt of mine to read, comprehend and discuss the content of Michel Foucault's article "What is Criticism?" for the 101-level communications course I tutor. It was through my struggle to do so that I conceptualized notions of love that I propose in this piece. Within a tutorial class I ran, (as a strategy to motivate oneself to study and understand academic material) I proposed a notion of "love" as a practice of understanding and comprehension, based on Jeff Rosenstock's claim that "Love is worry," and the Umineko meta-witchian perspective that "Without love, it can not be se