Weaponization

I'm sorry. A lot of things are going on. There's been a partial weaponization of mechanisms that I'm in the process of undoing without damaging myself. It's hard. I've been trying to get it done at higher resolution and it's working and not working. Something was screaming at me for so many hours today I felt like an egg was going to hatch inside my ear canal and whatever came out was going to chew its way into my throat. I wanted to badly to smash my head against the lip of the concrete wall beside me on my walk home just to get it out of there. It's gone now. I don't know where. Do you ever get this feeling that something is waiting for you to go to sleep to pluck your spinal cord out of your back like an elastic cord out of a candy bracelet? There's something in my nose, but if I try to get at it I'll reopen my last attempt at it and then have bloody snot for another week. I should email my former therapist. Just say a quick hello. What up, Jeff? You wouldn't schedule me so I waited at your car for you to get off work. Nah, I'm not gonna do that. Who has time for that? I have time for that. But I'm not going to. They'd probably call the real police this time.

I adopted a new mother. She doesn't know it yet and I'm not going to tell her because that would ruin it for both of us. She tells me I do good jobs on things. I didn't realize how much I missed that. Encouragement is taken for granted. Not just a pat on the back. Those are worthless. I mean the encouragement that is this: I was there when you started. I saw how hard you worked. Now I am seeing the results and I'm liking what I see just as much as you are because not only do I know and understand what it took, but I appreciate the value inborn through the evolution of your process. That hole will never stop hurting. I hope their deaths are long and painful.

That last sentence hung for some time. I have no idea what to follow it up with. My mind is a complex with only so many rooms. Granted some rooms open onto worlds and other complexes. Some rooms have only one door. Some have no windows. They all contain things. Like walking through any home, you cannot access rooms at will. You have to go through a kitchen to reach the garage. A bedroom to reach the master bath. I don't always know or announce where I am and who is there with me and doing what, but sometimes I find myself cornered and facing the darkness dribbling from the light fixtures that compels me to move before I'm ready. Resistance to compulsion. The complex is half factory. The floor is littered with the tools of the tools of destruction. They must be dismantled.

///Unkle - "Bloodstain" Come back, two five tango.