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 (nobody)...and 124 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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Members 8025Messages 2613408 Today 0 Topics 127499 |
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sorry im playing yemenite music and have an affair with a woman (dont ask) |
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things are better now. |
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Insomniac The night is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole . . . A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions. Over and over the old, granular movie Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams, Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful, A garden of buggy rose that made him cry. His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks. Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars. He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue . . . How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening! Those sugary planets whose influence won for him A life baptized in no-life for a while, And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby. Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods. Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good. His head is a little interior of grey mirrors. Each gesture flees immediately down an alley Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance Drains like water out the hole at the far end. He lives without privacy in a lidless room, The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations. Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments. Already he can feel daylight, his white disease, Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions. The city is a map of cheerful twitters now, And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank, Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed. - Sylvia Plath |
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that's great, i only know winter trees really well... i went through some Teen Painsâ„¢ and copied her style badly and shamelessly |
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superb |
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she certainly had a way with words |
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perhaps the worst thing about insomnia apart from how physically dreadful it makes you, is the tedium you experience, that poem describes the state of mind quite well, like a grey mirror, in the dark your world shrinks, you just experience the noisy signal of photons hitting the back of your retina and that's it/otherwise total blackness |
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thinking about having a celebration wank for what ive said her today but i have fresh underpants. would like to tell umbro how much ive sounded suave ;) but shes the one who started |
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nothing but crude truth, in public and over everyone's head. priceless. princess. |
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A life baptized in no-life for a while, lovely |
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A life baptized in no-life for a while, i think one way to describe this might be banging the wall of sound with a jet |
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who did you meet Mo, or are you keeping it a secret for the time being? |
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Ill just tell you higher level i ever met, both in terms of personality and courage and social extraction too. Id probably have to sell a kidney to take her out for dinner |
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sounds like a high class dame |
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Yes she is. Apparently never took public transport in her life |
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skip the boring stuff. how big was her penis |
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could you fit it inside your mouth |
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Not sure she owns one although i wouldnt mind |
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now that is rare! |
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you know that already, i have a natural advantage as a slave |
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rhythm slave |
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cool name for a 90s dance act |
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yeah i thought that too lol |
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ritmo schiavo |
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ritmogocce |
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ha ha! |
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im waiting for the flatmate to finish the shower so i can drink some water, feel like in the desert |
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i quenched my thirst √ |
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Having strange humorous dream/sleeping thought that woke me up laughing Bruce Forsyth's corpse with a post rigor erection painted blue, with a bandolier of lit firecrackers strapped to a shaved ostrich let loose in the middle of war torn Lebanon, I don't know why my brain contrives to make me laugh when im trying to get a decent nights sleep |
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perhaps the worst thing about insomnia apart from how physically dreadful it makes you, is the tedium you experience, that poem describes the state of mind quite well, like a grey mirror, in the dark your world shrinks, you just experience the noisy signal of photons hitting the back of your retina and that's it/otherwise total blackness this is not my experience at all. i'll lie down and a perfectly reasonable hour, and my brain will be scrubbing around like a janitor on meth: i need to do laundry tomorrow! i should talk to cow-orker x about work issue y tomorrow! remember that flash cartoon we saw in high school in the computer lab? start with relevant to-do; degenerate into irrelevant trivia. tell myself to shut up; go to sleep. lasts for 30 seconds |
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then sJSDFFJKSDG remember that OTHER flash cartoon we saw in high school? then i'm digging through my brain's debug logs: why that, why now? it's so random. what triggered that particular memory? i have to figure it out |
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quite frankly, i'll pour myself a glass of gin as i go to bed. most days, i wake up, and most of it is still there. it's just for when my brain won't fucking. shut. up |
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lol that's quite the image |
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You remind me of my friend Cedric. He’s a total nightmare but I still love him. |
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occasionally my mind is occupied like that, its usually when im awake. When I try to sleep its like the most inane boring limbo you can imagine, its quite torturous to be honest |
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yeah it was funnier than the description, have you ever woken yourself up laughing? and then your gf goes what you laughing about? and you say you cant really explain or just say dunno |
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Cedric worries about stuff a lot? |
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