Bebop Cowboy

Lonliness is a black hole

Black Tape

I saw her in my favorite film, locked away in locks of black tape, tied and spun unspun, she comes undone and back again.

She is a VHS tape, or the film on that tape, or perhaps the reel on the wheel, perhaps her heart the mysterious motor as equally unknown to me as the human heart.

Maybe she's her eye on the screen, magnetic gaze on a magnetic image, the magnitute of all those pixels buzzes like an earthquake far away...

I seek her in my memory but my memorys go by too fast, im rewinding the tape. I wear her memory as she wears me with her look, undressing whatever it is that makes me me so that she can be me.

I must see her in my dreams but i forget. I wake up on a pile of black tape, sometimes wishing she could tie me up in it. Tie me in knots and spin her web till im but a mummy, ready to sleep forever and never forget my dreams again...

Being too self aware isnt great

I overthink everything. Sometimes it makes me sound smarter, most of the time im miserable from it.

I prefer when things just come to me

When I can just exist

But im addicted to this

My face reflects

My phone screen

Flat

Fading

Ive never really lived at all

A ghost of god on the awnsering machine

Dialed in, wired

Enter a network

Of words, wallowing and weeping

For all

Literate nonsense

A light on a cave

A theater

A soundstage

Im acting out my life and im a C lister

But im trying at least

Nobodies watching

Im alone, depressed, loneley.

The feeling isnt darkness though

The screen is on now

Blues, purples, particles of pink waves...

Im laying down

Lulling out words

Slurring out nerves

My lips curl, caressing

Confessions undressing

From myself

I take off my clothes, im not in them

Somethings buzzing

The screen goes black

Skyrim glitches for the 1000th time

Its gone.

Imagine your about to get into a serious fight

You: "Cry about it!" (Condecending):

Them: "This is serious. You arent listening!"

Or

You "Cry about it." (Sincere):

Them "Oh okay. I...i dont know how to respond to this. Should I cry about this? Maybe id feel better.

Im just saying id be so disarmed if someone commanded me to cry in a sincere way, compared to if they were just snarky. Like id be so disarmed if a stranger said that. I mean like actual sincere care though. I dunno what that means, maybe just whatever makes people go like "holy shit" when you say something to them.

It seems espeically difficult with a stranger. But really charasmatic characters can do that a lot. Maybe I misread it.

FEE6DA

Psycho drug

Synced up

Linked rush

Pink flush

Bought to fade away

Seasons go away

As i start to fade away

Words repeat and lose meaning

Bought to fade away

Seasons of Lain

Desaturate

Pink Peach Puff

In my memory decay

Like a shade, a screen

Buzzes

Ratatouille 2099

The sink is dripping. Blood splatter reminds me of taking the hit. The sink is dripping, dragging like a cigarette. A delicacy, my final delicacy in a world I call dreary. What was once dreamy...

I have too much time to get lost in my thoughts so my therapist thought it worthwhile to write them out instead, write them out while the rat sleeps. Unfortunatley I just dont get much time to do that. With the neural link my concious mind is a dream state, and in my agitated restless state I may give the rat nightmares.

I was rereading the history of Ratatoiulle, of Remy controlling Linguini to create one of the most successtul restuarants in Paris. Back then it wasnt accepted to have the rats at all of course. I guess I got kinda stuck on the idea of how despicable rats were. How despicable they lived. Now were all despicable, and its just so damn normal.

Truth be told i never thought the rats were wierd until I started getting really high on weed. I felt like I, on my own, was something seperate from this rat. This congealed flesh that had grown with me to be a part of me. I feel...crazy.

I had to stare at my rat sleeping to understand things. Or maybe just to feel closer to who i was again. I watch it work in my dreams, watch it waltz the Ratway when I go out clubbing, high out of my mind. How can I or anyone be anything other then a rat? How could I remove a part of my face and still scream?

Rats were known to once inhabit the sewers in droves, living in darkness. Now we all live in darkness, in holy smelly darkness at the hands of rats.

-Burt Esener, Rat Philosopher

Ratatoiulle 2099: Part Two

I can't even taste it. Its just texture. The eggs are slimy. The peppers are rubbery. My teeth feel just as malleable in my brain, like im biting into my own skull. I should be grateful really. I'm actually fairly lucky to have a rat that compliments my lifestyle. God knows id be a shit cook without one (and lord knows I can't afford a rat cooked meal in a resturant). I guess thats the other thing that pisses me the fuck off. The media praises Remy of old, the first rat to pilot a human. Everyone knows how amazing and wonderful Remy is. It's all lies. Remy became like any other privleged elitist, his meals were never affordable for the common man. I used to love his recipes as a kid, when I turned 10 and I finally got my rat implanted. I was so excited my rat knew how to cook too. But I grow tired of this same bougee omelette. Maybe I wanna march on down to Pops Pancakes and gorge myself on the syrup soaked slappers. Maybe I just fucking will do that...

"Nobody actually remembers the ripenning of course. Its a day lost to history, presumably because the rats had nested into our brains. Personally i prescrive to the theory of the HO1 Waves creating a psychic disturbance across all rats. That they craved intellect as we once did as early humans...but nobody really knows for sure."

-Burt Essner in his book "The Rat Race: How Rats Became One."

Vhsige

Waves, like eye worms float in my field of view, fixed on a point. The point is the image of a woman, every strand of hair its own entity of woman. Brushed perfectly, my feelings brushed perfectly, as I lie in bed I watch her hair fall over me, I feel it in my sleep when I dream and a million fingers grace my cheeks. Her gentle curve is an image, like an image on a curved screen so smooth it isnt real. Im depressed again. I do not love the woman but the lines, the static, the electricity between us. If i touched her she would shock me, make my heart stop beating. I don't know who she is and I'm afraid to find out. I want her image, to be her image, and let the humanity left slip away. Perhaps you may feel it one day on our tape, when you play the tape. When you hold a finger over the TV screen and feel that familiar fuzz you had forgotton. A memory you can't quite reach? That is my hand reaching out to touch yours, but never reaching.

Yas

my underrated autistic rep queen🙏🙏

Are those waves of wind?

Tricks of light

Crying whispers inside my head

Where i see this moving image...

Is that water black

So black so I may see myself clearly