Won't this be fun.
This one is called Downpour, it is the oldest of the bunch
The plump grey sky drags on overhead an urban plain. It is here that I plant my leisure. An opening to the West features burning waves. I am nearly numb to the dull sound of the action. Unconsiously repeating forever. A cool day like this is a real treat to be included in. On the opposite side of the water is a town built on the slanted side of a hill. Silence pervades the area. Some live in fear of it, desperate to avoid any sense of self. Hopelessly chained to white noise of which can be gained from many sources and is a mandatory part of modern life. I tend to hold those types in disdain. They will never realize the grain of the concrete, the chips of paint, or how the stain of rain grows during a downpour. These things are not special, but to not let myself indulge would be to miss out. I find the human experiance to be defined by the minor things. The sky is reaching a boiling point; it won't be long now. I steal another look at the sea. Water rises, water falls. I am here to take my place in the cycle. The sky shifts, the monotonous patter of water hitting the ground sounds out. The recognizable scent of fresh water to concrete pollutes the air. My time has come. Rather than taking cover from the storm,I rise and lift my arms diagonally to the sky; palms facing upward. The cool drops hit my face and I am hit with a feeling of something far higher than I am. The downpour smothers me and I am washed away. My purpose served, my duty done. All that remains are my trousers and my dirty coat. Now, I am elated. Now, I am left with meaning.
Now I really thought I was cool for this. Maybe theres some meaning to be pulled form the elation from being separated from my dirty masculine clothing. I thought it was funny the person melted. I think the main desire of this piece was just being suicidal without being suicidal. Maybe it'd be more fun to wash away with the rain? AFter all, all I do is lay in the sun and do fuck alll with my time cause I'm so depressed (speaking about the past here).
This one is called Something's off.
Something's off Something's misplaced. Something's gone. Something's up. Something's wrong. Pulverized beating hearts splayed on the tile floor, something's nasty. Will you see what can be done to this thing? Soundless lacking footsteps go up my walls, pitiful illusions tear into your skin. And I, am left, with ALL of the responsibility. Willfully, dazed and confused
Yeesh, pitiful illusions is right. This shit sucks. Something is nasty and it is your attitude towards all this. Vague as all hell. I was so afraid of actually writing about anything(Not like that's really changed..).
Okay this isn't fun for me anymore I give up.
Scribbles and scratches on rebirth.
An alien melts in the rain. Up to interpretation.
A boy climbs a mountain side in a desperate attempt for something. (Open for a sequel.)
A poetic ode to concrete everywhere.
Collection of scribbles dated 9/21/2022 to 5/27/2023.