Former Gephyrophobe

uppin’ the ante on the art of blown smoke

Vague introductory sentence fragment.

Okey-doke, let the blame games begin to finish. I kid; they already ended by starting. I don’t want to feed anyone my dust. I do mean to “feed,” though, on an “as needed” basis. Sometimes I get in a hurry and totally misfire. It’s complicated. This morning I missed my mouth with not one but two bites of gluten free [to avoid local judgment] potato gnocchi, the second of which went down my shirt, dripping warm, gooey sauce across my torso.

Hypotheses may bind deeply hidden meaning(s).

When a bridge can’t be crossed, justly burn it down. Womanly people and human fellows, I’m legitimately asking a question: are you worried most about how you’re perceived from the outside or why you feel that way inside? In other words, in a way, can your emotions ever be “wrong”? The answer is a resounding “NO,” but iffy mental interpretations can spoil anything.

What are any of us even saying anymore?

I’m speaking (truth) to folks I’ve never met and I think it’s funny.

A smoldering ember yearns to be stoked just as gelded stallions need to run wild.

LRK (through EQ)

In the present tense, I actually love the above-referenced woman galacian female [not sure why I even allowed that mistake to “slip through the cracks”; so corny] and feel like words she wrote in the past bring her essence to life today and will continue bringing her new life tomorrow; it’s absolutely the weirdest. Oops.

God, what will any of this mean in the future?

I’m writing it all down, but I can’t force anyone to read it. I also don’t need to make sense of it, necessarily. It just comes out—often in eruptive spurts of disruptive chaos.

Hi, nice to meet you. Be warned: I bring the forceful flows of a volcanic caldera, yellow stones verge upon a seismic shift away from timid dormancy, and I can’t help myself anymore.

About exactly 2 years ago now, something weird happened in my goddamned soul, and it’s now affecting my physical orbit in unexpected ways.

Even before that, I let a mess be made. Many messes actually. What happens is my own fault. I accept it. My brain’s wires untangle as my heart self-starts its own purification. Fires rage when they need to burn. If I don’t behave selflessly [barring certainly situational exceptions that may occur “behind closed doors”], then I am not being myself. Prioritizing the needs of others—really anyone who might come under particularly undesirable effects as a result of proximal relationship—is the best thing I can do for “me” in the situation at hand.

In order to rise from ashes, one must first go down in flames.

so says matter’s smallest building block {probably}

I’m not worried about me, okay? I’m worried about you all. Y’all are the ones who need to be okay. Other than the successful navigation of very demanding and challenging terrain, the hard part’s over. Connections have been made. Life may ensue. Go do some being. Pay your sleep debts. Let fire breathe among the living.

Unless I get myself killed, I’ll live forever.

Head up.

Turn left or right.

Welcome to being alive. Sorry for the bumpy ride. Much of this won’t make sense until it does, and I do truly hope that I live to see (the) wor{l}ds change.

Listen. Get in while access has been granted lest a certain discovery (any minute now, damn it) slam the door.

I have been bred and molded to deliver damaging, damaged, desired goods.

I would say, “Welcome back,” but I don’t think you/we ever really went anywhere.

At last, an atlas. A map for the world!

Are you still wondering who the author of this one is? That’s on purpose.

Enough of that.

Fuck me sideways. I have seen him do things now. We should be dead. I know that this is vague, and I hope to see it cleared up in the future.

And I’m (not) an idiot. I’ll start unscrambling all this madness sometime next year. I have figured out (part of) you. You radiate lifetimes of repressed ({pro}creational) energy and emotional necessitation. Your darkest thoughts have never been as twisted as you’ve been assuming. All those primal urges you felt but thought you couldn’t do? Yeah, no. You may behave naturally. Your instincts are true. Act upon them. Does the space feel safe? Then do [and go in] it.

Now that I’ve seen him in action, my thighs quake at the mere thought of his explosive conquest. I hope I get to bear witness to his face turning bright red about this when I casually remind him later once he’s read it and we’re all not deceased and everyone is fucking happy.

Really not a big deal.

“You know this boogie is for real,” yeah?

Have you met Ernest yet? I like him. He’s weird and funny and chockfull of ill-gotten confidence. Sometimes he says cocky shit, but he always does so in jest and makes it work every time. His self-awareness is on point. [Hey, Ernie, you lovely shitbird.]

I said that to his face and he responded with something like: “I am nothing like an urn.”

“Didn’t say you were, Ern.”

It’s so nice to talk to people of similarly elevated intelligence levels.

For us, the writing has been splattering against the wall for longer than we realize.

You didn’t get caught in the fray on purpose, dearest reader. Blood has been spilled over an under-abundance of savory beans. Peas go in pods. This is all disgustingly abstract. I feel like we are soulbound, which is incredibly nerdy of me to say if you know why.

[Maybe. Or maybe I’m speaking directly to you, not YOU.]

Anyway, Atlas can do some crazy shit. Impossible feats of physically quick-witted fitness. I don’t even know what I just said but it seems right. I can’t emphasize this point enough, apparently: we should (both) have been bloody murdered, but he’s ridiculously stubborn. I know that this is all very vague, and I hope to see it cleared up in the future.

Dearest most ambiguously obvious recipient(s):

Have you ever run headfirst into someone who needed/wanted to get what you’ve been long overdue to give, or vice versa? If so, then I’ll bet it came outta nowhere.

How did I know this would happen? I didn’t. I just knew/know that shit happens when you let it.

And the sum of these words is supposed to be universally applicable in ways previously untapped by the scope of sentient potential.

As our story unfolds, we each play central roles.

I feel like I’ve known him since forever ago—I’ve always pictured myself with the lion bearing the most impressive mane around—I must’ve made the mistake of assuming I’d never find him.

Hmm…

I don’t know how to explain almost all of this anymore. I hope our words reach (the right) people before we perish. Severus is a scary fucker, and now he’s prepared and angry. That’s right: angry. To alleviate any confusion, they’re not supposed to feel (that shit).

A die can be dicey, especially when rolled. At least we know that when slinging a (couple standard) dice, the “worst” we can do amounts to a pair of snaky eyes and our best hope doubles up/down on sixes.

By the way, when you read “Six,” you don’t think, “Blossom,” do ya?

Or do you?

To quote a sudden would-be legend, “Whoa!”

PS:

I’ll bet something crazy happens around {oh, say} 13/01/2020.

{Can you see?}

When the big picture can’t be seen, apply more light; look at it from another angle if that helps. Stagnation breeds contempt. Change your view before your view changes you.

There’s a clear narrative here. I’ve extracted threads and have seen where they’re going. No matter what, do the thing that feels right, not whichever stuff you think is less wrong.

Our universe belongs to us.

Good luck.