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03.10.03 . 6:06 a.m.
116:browsing my possible wreckages

(sorry for the temporary lockdown)

i fear never being able to reveal my intimate settings and self through anything but convenient mediums such as discourse over cheap food

i fear inability to be brilliant at any given moment in time

i fear inadequacy when compared to my own disgustingly elite standards (it occurs frequently)

i fear being perceived as an ordinary specimen of humanity

i fear not disrupting what is essentially an archaic system of contrived experience

i fear not being enough

i fear the human condition of self-degredation and social oppression; and of inflicting that upon myself

i fear my own and seemingly sudden lack of direction

i fear my own tendencies for hating myself severely for no apparent reason that is not indistinct or invalid

i fear my country weakening under the imperialistic persuasion of a dominant economy and our own government’s evident corruption in an attempt to acquire a fallacious representation of power

i fear being perpetually afraid to attempt in case i fail or cannot exceed my own expectation each and every time

i fear because i am a cautious& bitter lover, and i am a cautious& bitter lover because i fear terribly

fear affects my space and time with profound extensions and concentrations of instances and achievements according to its presence.

it inhibits me to the point where i either die or palpitate then soar; these are my options

x; and i am attentive towards the provocative detail of things and short-lived occurrences of sheer beauty

that never let go though we get old or die early

and driving sleek black cars along dusty roads to melancholy machines warbling lost love

and listening to my ghosts

and is life DISAPPOINTING

or the LANGUISHING of those filmic moments one never FORGETS

beauty to salvage from our degeneration

do we ever recover or do we become legible?

back . forth