#imagettin round, waiting to launch pure work in progress that streams in that untouchable quicksilver circulation. aint that life?. Sure i wanna edit perfect madness, yes im covering my asset, but this is a fiction; any resembles to actual folks in this is merely coincidence. Awright.
Nothing is sacred anymore. So, to truly redefine the ever-present reason i started writing..as we flying across pavement, typing while striving.. staring, starving, cuz i want to break through the dead souls, outside, rising,…. The green veil and the smoke stacks exude in live squinted presence of being that shines as if upon the murky brown lake and fishtails of boats at all times, a trees spiderweb window panes bent in abysmal #itsaaallllgreentome
Dream dream Stream finally bringing Mercurio into here ‘wuddup rude”-“gentleman…” was to get everyone into this. Rudy, Bowen, Garrison, Dulante…Murray Webster. And to capture the truth before it completely vanishes into that veil and the electronic phases converted from physical to mental illnesses believing and waiting for the Easter Bunny or some new miracle drug to kick in…Before my veins turn to foam. Its just a guy sitting here dreaming writing erupting the 4th wall before its… wussup. My names Elliott but they call me Link… In a story in mighty as ever has been, feels blinking forever through to you my dear reader, thinking god i hope you are…. what did they do to me? Flash! Back to the moment i typed that and they beginning to come find me finding them. we still here though…..? Did the world save me? Did it my dear reader? Nah, I’m bout to save it. ….Now that’s some golden coin worth of a switch whatasweetrevenge ._. On inverted guesses, that I didn’t read the labels until I had to… And no one notices..right. I can’t stand by and see u destroyed (world.). before my circulation eats itself away and can’t see straight to my thinking; let alone yours behind the unevenly mirrored refractions; lets say – no lets blast! -these fucking disorders. -%%USomataform- fascinations. Let us open the alien museums. The bad thoughts of course sleepless weeks, all ack yuck gagging on candida and negatively brain clot squeeze down the neck when rising and lifting off and out of the way to the _ yea _ tip toeing ley lines to not disturb any or anyone…and to get my point across the imaginary bridges..That physical happening out there. oh blood pressing forward. oh images tubed in thick blots dissipating ways, flush face. burn. sunk into the neck. m’oh boy. Now this switch moons over the break through the sensation in all the silence here…with a great imagining of things while it happening. Saying, if it not on the other side happening/irritating r u trying to figure out why its happening?….It’s all not going to happen like well…._ that’s riht. ok. The longer I go the longer delve thru various mm x Rays/scopes/needling of blood drawn lines bigger in formation than….wait. why hav I had to…if “there’s nothing there.” ——- cuz sometimes ..I swear this drip-rot burn, gurgles upon on the inextricable knot, or hardening sides keep swallowing inside and as days go by….ugh – tired of explaining. Fighting the possibilities. Cuz I said “sometimes”.. and know the fact they are going to say, “well your endoscopy” anxiously choking on ..”.shows me..nothing.”…??. NO. damnit. no. ok guess let’s fucking start from the beginning again today. damn. in time well I assume/know that it was the colored lady, Elsie Maxwell, just so tired she says. “Unable to finish college,” shes 23 and we can see the lethargy emaciated on her face. And instantly i believe shes my soul mate. Shes the first person we meeting face to face, “its such bullshit folks like so sick sad wasted and feeling every day we are dying or overwhelmed with this drag and hollow shouts no one hears and every day is an eternity walking no trudging through the ocean floor.” Oh Radio. “So i had to quit school and forget dreams and finally admit the destiny of my undying undiagnosing god knows what destroting my lives before I ever realized I had one… Turning to D and the ever present black market for relief and something to lift us through our days, “whats truly sad is this generation rage is just emerging and ready to be sculpted into beings more magnificent than roman or greek paintings and stone staues. But whats most sad is how we are viewed to be whiny and like little agonies, kids… we seem to cry about everything; pains, cramps, aches..” and as she washes her hands in the sink i can see for the first ever what it looks like to watch someone exactly like me and realize i cannot tell the ripping screams of perfect water washing over skin. It sweeps over her palms like screams. She looks fine to me. Holy shit what awful rage in her veins in this fiery moment she had either tamed and or it truly cannot be seen on the outside. “Why do we have to suffer? This America.” The levels of little stuffing, slight studders I hear, her craggly voice I swear she sounds 8o! So u might wonder how i am writing this if I am so damn weak. A heart that had any other mind… Because Radio. Speakers hit the Fan, wicked substances coursing my veins. Mercurio Murray Webster, more the stereotypical mexican Dulante, and me, he sways in, “went right back to Elsie. Glad you guys came back around.”