What I would boast about.Gamer I knew all of it Stop Picking on me
People who knew the difference between Playstation controllers and Nintendo controllers. People with money. Punk The type of gaga io. person I'm attracted to. Nouvelle
periodically purposeful just send me your blessings now don't waste our time I need them I'm not doing so well. I was angriest that I had the opportunity more than once to go out with an guy that I thought was amazing. But I didn't understand all of what was happening to me at the time. I mean about me being poisoned and all; Eyeliner it was really hard to get an grip in the force of its unhygienic mental toxicity. Hair extensions And I was so angry { { I just want to relax in my apartment all day } why wasn't I— everyone else was—dyed hair why my stroke of luck had delivered me into this living with schizophrenia. In the depths I found more anger. The real depth of my anger had been unexplored.I just suck Unapologetically weird
I've begun to speak the art of the gamer and to interpret speaking art into the language. I'm concerned with gamer things: having an online identity. Meeting someone once { Once I started looking into it as an angry letter } Once an night-time under punk level supervision. And I put it all in an french machine and, reverso! La nouvelle. It is an complete aesthetic { when I started looking into it this way; seeing words for their beauty rather than their meaning but trying to see their meaning as their beauty also } for fashion that had begun to develop itself to me. All upon the psychic; unafraid of its punk force. Was it too much to share or was I over-sharing? TMI?
I wanted to be like an Genie; smoking some weed with an floral fragrance added to it out of an hookah
I wanted to walk away, cloak trailing behind me as I walked away from you.
You really are an disgusting animal aren't you?
Smoke you
Like the force of wind as it acted upon someone's hair. The hair. The cloak. All brushed to one side by the strap-force wind. (Brushed to the right side). I was essential for their way of things. And the shoes clicked on the dry pavement; heels in some form of fashion. I was walking away from you.
But you came back to me for some reason. I wasn't just an person walking away, I was an person you had taken time to pursue now. Just to say fuck you one more time before I finally have got my way. There was anger in this aesthetic. Trying to make myself better Of course there was angry in this aesthetic! For what you had always done to me; that would never change. It would always stay the same.
When I start looking at it like that; like it was an aesthetic which was some superior sort of art form. It was about the meaning of the words but also how I arranged them—which of them I highlighted. It wasn't just about writing prose in an novelesque style but in finding in words the beauty that our language has become today.
It was about taking something with apparent disorder and bringing it as an artistic subject into an type of order. The transformation of the Artist himself across the page. It started out beautiful, when I relaxed about reading the words. And instead of waiting for an apparent effect, I just let them happen to me. And instead of waiting for an apparent effect of reasoning, I just let my mind go wild. It appeared to be an developing theme in the Naenaeon of Glen.
Wildness was an attribute that someone could have. Especially when they grew up camping in the British Columbian lakes territory. I remember the grass, of all types. And the Indian Paintbrush. I guess some things in the English language are labeled badly. I didn't need to follow the rules of some strict bureaucrat. I was here for the health of the Earth, not necessarily solely those responsibilities for which we of human culture needed to provide for; all specimens of Life that exist on the Earthen plane. We need not assume humans are superior to every single one of them.
Yes, I played the Wildness card. My tongue was wild as hell; it didn't need to be domesticated or groomed in any philosophical manner. French was an wild language too. The presence of the French across the southern Canadian prairies. If my writing could transform (morph) into anything, what would it be? The initial conflict with the repressed ego was about finding one's own identity within the title hashtag. It held in anger an amount of power so revealing it was considered rude not to point it out: I had been hurt from all over and now I was angry about it.
Really just the first step toward healing emotionally from it.
The Aesthetic genre is really about the way your eyes happen upon the page. Things you naturally recognize first, second, third, etc. in the order of how it was written. Your eyes can jump from one paragraph or word to another. There is reason in that; it isn't just happenstance you noticed one thing at an time. Or in whatever order you noticed them; it was partly the Author's intention. The Aesthetic is about an animated page, then, in its summit form. Words and symbols that change and update themselves based on how you react to them. For the first time in human history this is possible on an digital screen (an monitor or tablet), where words can change and update themselves in real time. Art, Animation, and Prose meet one another in an virtual space which can change at any time.
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