Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled
setsuled

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Dear Electric Purgatory

Twitter Sonnet #185

Apple blood's trapped in a bottle prison.
Opaque juice awaits gullet avenue.
A vertical stripe overkill fission.
Dark blueberries dominate the menu.
Inedible wax wills itself to fruit.
Tired tourists analyse fibreglass.
A fish child's born shaped like an old boot.
A dead man's spectacles are bad for grass.
Funeral heights chill a mountain bucket.
Leg string tangles into sloppy contours.
Bombing barrels of lard makes fat racket.
Nothing is an accident on Star Tours.
Hay Chex homogenise horse breakfasts.
Ceiling fans make manageable tempests.


I feel like I'm wearing a tight leather hood. Just on my jaw, though. That might be the way to describe it. It's really not painful, and it hurts less when I chew. I wonder if it's stress related. Maybe it's related to the workmen outside waking me up early two days in a row.

Maybe it's psychological. I was looking at myself in the mirror earlier and had this weird moment of total disassociation from myself. Like the person I was looking at wasn't me, like the person I was looking at didn't belong in the world, like it really wasn't even a person but a human shaped blotch against the white background. There's like this low haze of gloom I can't break out of. I want a smack in the face or something but I can't seem to crawl up to normal and I'm fucking tired of it already. I'm tired of listening to myself, and ping ponging between telling myself the jaw ache is nothing to worry about and imagining I got some kind of lethal infection. I'm fucking nuts. And then I bob up a moment and I'm okay when I laugh at something--a moment ago on Twitter I saw someone tell Seth MacFarlane he looked like Autopilot from Airplane!. I felt better a moment laughing at that.

But most of the time I feel like I'm stuck in a trunk I can't break out of. I keep reminding myself, "The dentist didn't see anything wrong last week. This is nothing, you fucking weirdo." I want to stick my head in a bucket of ice and fall asleep. Or get an ice cold sledge hammer to the face. I don't know what's wrong with me that I think something's wrong with me. I don't know what's wrong with me that I don't think something's wrong with me.

I need to colour most of the last four pages of the new comic chapter, I'm not sure when it'll be up.
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