Pollutants
2025.06.20
I feel dirtier each time words pour from my tongue or fall through the fingers. More contaminated the longer I exist in this limbo between sterilisation and flayed dissociation.
This being is polluted, soiled, stained, tainted, sullied, befouled, marred, and repugnant– the ego, vessel, entire planar ‘IT’ facing reality. Through every cleansing ritual serving the spirit, we draw closer to exorcising and eradicating the I that plagues existence.
My shades of grey are loathsome. I am the sand slipping down an hourglass into a ‘whole.’ The face has melted to the canvas. It’s an act; and should love meet these unturned clods of Earth’s, the rotten underbelly pressed to the ground.
〜 The Impure
Vent
Seeping Tension
2025.06.02
After toiling away on this rudimentary site, I've finally accepted rest so that I may write here as intended. Why else would a journal be the most developed page?
It's been difficult, today in particular. When the seas seem appeased, hidden unrest makes an exaggerated reveal. Zeus rained with His mighty thunder and hurled stray bolts of lightning, threatening the end... assuming (She) is reliable. I was jostled from my preoccupations with a start, in time to hear Her dissolve into muffled sobs.
My personal state devolved as swiftly as I moved on from the other. That brandishes its whip and anything speaks provocatively, tempting the paranoia and consuming self-disgust. I feel useless, something of a parasite who drives all goodness away.
He has become Her ghost, a short fuse, a landmine set for repeated detonation. How did they reach the cliff's edge?
I am so very tired.
〜 Unwilling Observer
Vent