23.June.2001

crash

--

crash.and.burn.

"The sense of a vital sex cut through my unhappy euphoria, my confused guilt over the man I had killed. The week after the accident had been a maze of pain and insane fantasies."

-jg ballard.

Crash. Burn. Twisted metal, other things. I miss having The Atrocity Exhibition here with me. For the next couple of days, I plan on locking myself in and writing until my fingers are chapped, or bloody, or curled over, or useless, as they were intended to be. Like nameless things, faceless things, change brought, consequence of action, or, unaction. I don't seriously remember when the world wasn't a selfish collective of dramatic bilge, from one existence to the next, and I don't seriously remember it ever amounting to more than intense meaninglessness.

Crash.

My brain is positively, gorgeously murdering me.

--

time & machine