I know what's happening. Its the miracle of life in reverse. Its the winding back of cells into blocks, I am returning automaton to empty human state. Graceless.
My fingerprints are vanishing and its not the mysteries of time travel its a divorce of self. I have no desire to read. There are piles of books everywhere but they are ugly brick shaped objects. I don't want them. I can't write. I don't want to write. Without the desire to read and write I am empty, thoughts float through in fog form and never properly reveal their pointed edges. My face is losing shape, I am shrinking and changing and growing my flesh becoming coming flesh and fleshlike and flesh coloured. A human frame on the road to nirvana in loose shoes.
My fingerprints are vanishing and its not the mysteries of time travel its a divorce of self. I have no desire to read. There are piles of books everywhere but they are ugly brick shaped objects. I don't want them. I can't write. I don't want to write. Without the desire to read and write I am empty, thoughts float through in fog form and never properly reveal their pointed edges. My face is losing shape, I am shrinking and changing and growing my flesh becoming coming flesh and fleshlike and flesh coloured. A human frame on the road to nirvana in loose shoes.
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Rups :)