as i've remarked hours ago, probably more than half a yesterday ago, how art thou, attention span? can't even finish watching a film in one sitting. if this isn't anxiety, don't know what the fvck this is. in the process of struggling with anxiety, i think i've heard sam lowry and I ask, you're dead, i've killed you--? to which jill layton and you answered in unison, care for some necrophilia? and after the journey into the mindfvck of a labyrinthine brazil, after a couple of sittings, their story concluded, and i find myself
a bookshelf, filled it with books that re-filled me memories in return. c-- left months ago, going into another plane, and now, d-- is about to leave, returning into a field. farewells, however fvcked up, feel like frustrated murder sometimes. months ago, inanimate casualties were once matters that matter as they have animated me in a lot of ways possible, though such animation may not have manifested. of the survivors, about 30% remain in a coma, and i intend to restore them, no matter how willing (and anxious) they are to die and to rest in peace, i would not let them, as that is how love can be selfish. as for the ones who have moved, here are some of them, and
here they are in their new rooms, while
others remain away, they stay in here and
i hope they remain in good health as the stuff i am torrenting, as my academics while 50% of the courses i took last semester remains to be seen, as the, say, set-up in the place, that place, the set-up that shall be well until the day of the dead begins the dead end that shall begin the challenge/s of whatever the fvck the days shall bring. are we clear? of course we are.
p.s. my poor camera phone begs for your forgiveness.
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