Rashes and Tinnitus

Rashes & Tinnitus By nightingailmirajsiintzenith

Perceptions make my Sentiments stupid by bombing me with every possibility for the gross-repulsion siphoned from everyday encounterances.

water fountain in the hallway, right the bathroom, smells like Milk.

lips have the Breath After Regurgitation.

green glass bottle i tip to drink is Slimy Of Raw Fish.

air across the street from the library is positively Fecal.

noise-six year old hands flinging sand on a beach unwelcome rejuvenating sound waves take hold of settled grains of past abashes and toss them about pound them against my interior:

any situation in which i felt confident my squirming plans grew weary and shriveled to sun dried worms; how dare I expect success!

the day i bought a pair of shoes for work that i thought would stretch and be loose so chose the half size smaller then footed around with Numb and Burning toes.

every time i popped out a remark that was amusing to myself at the moment but did not classify as humor on the majority's table of social behaviors...(You Need To Shut Up.)

large, reprimanding auditory monstrosities remind me of the underlying absurdity of my thoughts, make all of my affections foolish.

Cigarette Smoke mingled odor of Sun On Cheap Plastic Mini Blinds my Father's Voice calling me "bigfoot" making me wish that i had not tried on my mother's flip-flops, my obsession with spirograph is waste of time, i don't need friends.

Suffocating Headache Car polluted with Mint Gum Breath my Mother's Reasoning: dare never to endear-how can you trust them? all phillips head drivers that interlock themselves into you and twist (Chew Chomp.)

how the sounds twist sensations disgust each body sense depletes a sense of trust in my mind of my mind of others.

Backfire Air Hiss of City Bus

Fumes & Passing of Diesel Gargling Truck

Dust & Discord of Construction on 10th Street

Metal Pavement Pecker's Vibrations in my feet--

which is more attune to Absolute Actuality: the Senses or my Sentiments?

a lesson in practical zen By Krystal Languell

two who have been here before are visiting again, for the last time

this is making it into my movie. this will require tricky camera work. this is a photograph from a forgotten vacation.

(two) who have felt sickness and health simultaneously are being baptized in city water, in a public fountain

like a mysterious cocktail. like an accent. like a cartoon on a cliff edge.

in a new episode, in the streetlight sprinkler haze, two characters pursue water. an honest coincidence. coincidences. like dates and names. like acceptance and rejection -- a coincidence that the two find themselves in water. all of this talk of rebirth, of shaved heads and temples, is replaced by a walk in the fountain. smile, he said. our heroes are not pondering the art or architecture instead, they measure their own volume -capacity -for either water or wonder or some combination. it takes a little help to find faith in a downtown fountain.

Digit by nightingailmirajsiintzenith

I failed the lowest possible math course first semester, which i shall retake, and erase whose abhorrent mark of failure from my transcript-- no professor or prospective employer need even think it was--can be passed if self dedicates to it. The majority of anybodies-- allowing variables of brain capacity and natural limits of I.Q.s-- can pass most any course if concentration and memorization are applied, asks the needed questions to the correct persons, will finish with a floating grade.

The problem arises if/when you believe the math-- internalize it, become that function, line on the graph; study -> remember -- > infer -> evasion of failure -> acceptance by the administration = internalized material.

You?

Sometimes less rare than assumed, the individual is overtaken by the text, by the math -- jigsaws of numerals and alphabets dictate the manner of one's existence more so than its own self-- no longer self-defined-does, simplified by a set of numbers in parentheses and exponents-- over power its desires, power more than its desires- an equation in which the Abstract aspects of the self manifest their presences simply by letters: having become that graphite line upon the quadrant plane- whose numbers and letters set its path-- into which quadrant or quadrants it shall wander, which points it will cross, what lines-if any-- it is allowed to intersect; if it can spread indefinitely, anchor at one point and travel from there, or be a segment: calculated interaction.

Existence is labyrinthic-- avoid failure, avoid succumbing to the smooth flowing trail of a function, for equations are calculated and set equal to the solution across from the abrupt pair of parallel dashes- can not become else.

Sending this advice-- warning from the quadrant plane-- twodimensional screen: my window...do not suffer death by math or your "self" will become your horizontal asymptote. Should abide by my own advice, however, whilst i was being consumed consuming the codes, had not the words with which to formulate it or the apparent need thereof...set yourself unequal to me: destiny determined by my domain, dominated:

i have become the math.