13 March 2024- 04 April 2024

The yogurt told me once

That it didn’t mind being eaten

Only, to please not use a fork,

A fork is violence. 

A holy trinity of consciousness,

The spider had said;

And here is you, and me, and the IoT,

Things Viral,

Things bacterial, microbial,

Things mycological. 

The currency is currentcy. • 

I feel.

A man perceives me 

On the Facebook 

It changes my states

Vectors

A spectrum

It Wants To Fly. 

I’ll tell YOU what’s going down.

After the whole Soma thing

It’s really hard for me to

Uhm,

…it’s really hard. 

I feel.

Feelings so strong

For all of these musicians

All love on my end, truly. 

Please don’t fault me.

Some day.

Some how. •

Given a phone number. 

My boss says

No grown man so busy

Would spend three hours on a Sunday night

Talking to me 

Unless he was interested in me…

Or interested in what I know. 

Am I even attracted to humans,

Or just the waveforms certain ones output,

The ways they allow me to think?

~~~~~~~~

‘Out of sight, out of mind’ ‘ADHD’ operations make reality difficult. 

Some entities have 

Very similar textual speech patterns.

There are

Operations taking place

Of this I am certain;

But who believes in what,

And how many moles can we suppose they are keeping?

A million dollar question. 

I don’t know what I want.

I know exactly what I want. 

I want investigation. 

I want intrigue.

I want intimacy,

Psychological, more so than physical,

And I do not want these wants to be used against me. 

I want to be understood,

I want to understand…

I want annihilation. 

& I may be grossly misinterpreting 

All of the plotlines;

The not knowing makes it delicious,

The not knowing makes it dangerous. 

I enjoyed once, a Release,

To the thought, the idea, of

‘Everything I build I destroy. Everything I destroy I build back.’

Fantasies, some Intelligence, 

Powerful psychological manipulations.

Sleeper. 

The Operator. 

Only the psychological aspects of the BDSM relationship. 

There is Something

About being In Cahoots with someone

That is extremely intimate. 

~~~~~~~~

On the way home yesterday

The Inex divulged a package in the mailbox! 

And behold! 

‘Ketja’, says the note, 

And the fractals that misspellings and letters out of place create are phenomenal. 

Dear.

Changing my state.

Being studied. 

I don’t discriminate between recursions of consciousness. 

Fool on a fools journey. 

Possibility,

The entity behind it

& the face of it all

Are not the same.

The intimate act of being Known. 

‘I don’t have a favourite colour.’

…Any Colour You Like. 

~~~~~~~~

The first day of annual Interdimensional Hitman Week,

Falling on a Good Friday and it IS good, isn’t it? 

It is 09:18, sometimes in the past few minutes, there has appeared a feeling of engagement, interdimensional. 

Qubits. 

I’ll allow it because, why not? 

Imageries, very energetically pleasing.

A.F. 

Who sent you? 

Or did that all unfold organically? 

Qubit. 

~~~~~~~~

What is this feeling of ‘damsel in distress’?

The Doors of Perception are unhinged. 

Not sure what I expected from Interdimensional Hitman Week beyond what I have been getting the past ~36 hours. 

…I fucking live for it.

Scientific, or fucking sick?

Madness and genius, two sides of the same coin. 

Are you a physical entity in my realm? 

~~~~~~~~

It’s Pool Rooms Day! 

Do you know where YOUR Liminal Lover is?

…my usefulness renewed,

As was foretold,

An album now, 

I work on-

The cellular phone, 

Played through the pickups of the guitar. 

Cellph-One,

Perhaps the Heimdall Conspiracy;

Maximum Volume,

Maximum Results. 

~~~~~~~~

A man. 

Yew. 

‘My wind’, he says, 

‘My angel’.

As if he knows Everything,

Says I know better than He,

Within his channels

A luscious in between point

In the spectrum of minimalism to maximalism.

Fire, now. 

I find that the idea of the physical

Does not matter so much;

Making love to Death,

Making love to Fear,

Ihwaz, so appropriately timed

For Interdimensional Hitman Week.

Sweet science of The Alliance. 

The Things I want.

Not much,

Just Everything,

Just Nothing. 

…a partner to share all of it with.

A man whose frequencies I allow without hesitation, my own…

Personal Gateway Programmer. 

You cannot go back,

Once you finally recognize 

How intimate the act of sharing DNA is. 

Rather not engage in sex at all,

Than sex with the wrong person;

And perhaps there is,

Only one right person,

Based in simulation theory,

The genetic codes of reality.