Verwirrung, Ode to Friday


No expectations or regret in my shoulders. Every chaos is routine, every routine is inevitable, every complaint petty in nature. It was a blast from the realisation of the fact that the overbearing magnitude of pomposities are kept well-maintained and warm in the loving caress of fuckheads that know nothing of dedication.

My weight was heavy as I traversed on the rocky edges of the street on to a narrow pathway on the side of a bridge. The unsightly appearance of arrogance already filled the vibrant air, the stench of the dangers ahead aroused, the ignorance of the clueless abound. This world was not built for positive enthusiasm.

The weight made it more difficult to balance, my perseverance lacking inspiration searching for ways of excuse itself. I whispered to myself to calm down the sensitive nerves. All those trapped within began circulating around the circumference. There was no way out now. The spherical globe revolved around something deep and profound, in a way kind of magical but sincerely naturalistic. There was no doubt of its involvement by the way it stretches itself out into the wide, open area. I picked my feet up and arranged to speak with myself after the light dissipated, when darkness began looming in, tiptoeing from one point to another within a given set of range. Little did I know that the light was in fact darkness in sheep's clothing. A metaphorical fluke of a never-ending cycle of self-penetrating torture. I stabbed myself because of myself, because my self is no longer my self but of its' self. More discouraging I found when I realised how much the yellow colours began losing its vibrancy. Then it all began fading out and fading into black, fading into an abyss of loathing.

The caricaturisation of the human images began slipping in and then everything blurred as if there was a vortex that spoke in my behalf.  Even so my control over it remained absent. The faces were as pompous as they were without the caricatures. The humour injected on it was weak, there lies the fault of the sinner, the beginner, the winner. In fear of rejection I was rejected. They moved on and moved slow, the progress, no matter how shallow, was nevertheless part of his bearing. I demanded it back, his involvement with it will be his curse if not found the counterpart. I, in the form of another element, swam into my own thoughts giving life to what was missing, the imagination. Not a single drop of liquid remained, sucked dry, I was. My efforts were hardly given much attention. It was then that I reiterated the fact that I have held on for quite some time. The selfishness will always find steps into this vile excuse.

Striking with a force stronger than my own will the ground bear mark of my labour. Debris of disrespect fell from what they called the Verwirrung. Everyone was doing their own thing except me. It's always me that is the exception. None of them bear the mark of secrecy. Theirs was of a different recall, and then there was nothing, and then punting.

It didn't budge at all as I discovered for myself firsthand. It was over before it even began. The edifice locked itself from the outside world despite not having respected the decision made by the heroes. To them they were holier than thy, and thy was I, and I was belittled.

There was no provocation whatsoever but what followed ahead was their desire to inflict pressure into my gut. The self-harbouring angst began sucking away the bravura like an empty carapace without any amphibious lifeform that remained. I became a test subject for all their humorous purposes, and followed suit as normally do. There was no say in it, a visitor, I only was. Therefore, when I accidentally tore my appendage there was not a single fuck given that moment. My steady building desire brought forth inequality amongst the faceless voids. This was not an exercise, not an option to redo the faults, not an excuse to remain pedalled by the jester in mask. This belittlement caused me great harm internally, and I would have them burned for blasphemy in return, or fucked in the ass by an ox tenfold. These nuggets are the same faulty-wired numbnuts devoid of talent, a fault only unmasked through the absence of gab and presence of turmoil. The first opportunity of retribution was a soft bite that did not even hurt, although tiny damage has been proven at the very least. Potential was irreversible. Yesteryear was blank compared to this. There was a world of learning in full speed. The hardest way possible could be the only redeeming point in this whole charade. To learn and to suffer at the same time proved fatal, my normal balance became light in the process.

Pulled a wooden apparatus to my corner and diverted all my senses back to my mind once again. For hours on end began thinking of ways to enrich my salvation. Solace was on the form of architectural diagrams derived from aerodynamic solid matter. So then working on it more than I began working with the soul tracks of locomotion. The left leg began cracking up and mobility became more limited than ever. Notwithstanding the pain and suffering I punched through wood and paper, carefully assessing through meticulous details the centimetres and inches.

That was not my cup of sex. No more of this folly demanded from my chest down to the knee. It was time for some good old-fashioned masochistic whipping. With undergarments and shame on the line, there was no point in looking back at things now. Everything seemed dark and pink, like daze and sadness engaging in communion. It took a while to merge, and when it did it broke away into small pieces. My time was short and ended abruptly just like that. All the reasons flowing through my thick skull bounced back and forth like niggers and corncobs, unicorns and peach-mango trees.

I had to escape from this asylum. Refuge and gather enough strength to fight another day. Halted midway through the bridge, returned to whence I came. Gave rise to camaraderie for a short while. Plastic faces overlapped the previous. Every nuggets, mules, fuckheads, druggies, sluts and saints, including the faux intellectual, attended the ceremonious spectacle of nothingness.

I was there, but never there, and then wasn't there.

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