+ V o r t e X ||| MazE ||| W h o A m I +

Cream leaves the orifice. Time stops. Keep your balance. Peel layers of face. Searching for answers in delirium state. Anesthetic. Hypersensitive allegations. Crawling on the floor in beat related acceleration. Lift-off. No need to think. Push back. Push in. Trying. Be better. At it. It is the I T that has all the answers. Organize. Stop talking to self. We have a vast selection. What are you into? Put a pillow under the knees. Consider options. 3.14 variations of possible outcomes. Evaluate your life girrrl.

Observe the outCUM. Do not hate men. Some make too many presumptions. Do not believe in the light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe its time to leave the city one loves so much. Bad ideas with good tendencies. Considering plans that involve selling off antique furniture. Too many crosses and Mary statues. Hair in doctors bags. A perfect candidate for professional burials. Should have picked another carrier. All make mistakes. 150 per hour is a good proposition. Withhold information. Breaking points. Pints. Bottles. Grams. Kilos. Penetrative. Excessive. Anne Sexton would be proud. Lost touch with 93%. You are too idealistic. What are you on? I see pages turn. Blow smoke in circles. How often do they test hair follicles? Loosing artistic potential. What a joke. Carrier changes. Pick your poison. Whats next? You reaching crisis mode. Err0r reports. Should consult a therapist. 11 month waiting lines. Long nails painted in poisonous red. Arsenic! You carry too many pills on you. Hazed in the body language. This will work for you with proper lubrication. Gag reflex training. Should have stuck with 1st chooses. Emergency backups and hidden stash. High out of yesterday into a week from now. I know where it is hidden.
 

On the floor in the corridor with glass of gin next to me. Interesting fact: if you look at the
ceiling and measure distance from wall to wall it feels like a coffin. Or a white and illuminated grave. I keep looking at the ceiling. Catching light from the outside. This is a perfect picture of an ironic burial. All in white light between white walls on wooden floor dressed in black. Always in black. Irony. White grave has a mounted on telephone. Let’s think about that for a second. Always just a phone call away. Hush now. Pelvic bones are coming back, so does the rib cage. Something in this world is right. The epitome of self involvement ladies and gentleman.

In the darkness that swallows each tangent in the body. Air leaves the pipelines - I sing from inside out. One more step, push further. In pain the pleasure of being. Connected to body. Me I am not. Don’t know names and proportion of frames ones puts one in. You have no idea. Who stands in front of you. Presumptions. Push pause. Keep moving. Never stop. More. Never enough. Connect to body through strikes and lashes. Not one to have and posses. Chaos. Trouble. Do not fall in line. Keep moving. Time and faces are just ideas of today’s twisted in yesterday timeline. Charge by the minute. Take bitcoin - insert your address and we will get back to you. Encryption keys and psychotic tendencies. Do not research names. Will not bring you joy. Keep smiling. Empty eyed while yelling “Hail Satan". No games, come clean. 

They want to wash the sinner. What a joke. You need help. Alarm clocks and distortion. Visions. Words of gratitude. Rounded corners. Is it really necessary? Do not hide what lives inside, seen it all. All ends in flower patterns. Compose self. Envision light. Nausea. Do not wish to know. Forever is an impossibility. Encoded errors. Time loops. Bad memory. Upgrade. I see nothing. Charts and recognition thought patterns. Making bad decisions. Push. One more word. Do not stop. I need to feel life coming back into the body. Sacred. The fruit one feeds self. Know too well. Hallways built out of concrete, coffins filled with vibrations of the past. You are a hologram in my system. Growing into walls. No matter how many times one changed shell. Will keep running. There are no enemies here, as here is just an idea. That one scrapes with a layer of skin. While. 

Vanishing into another version. A 2.0. 

Connecting local host

Please Stand by. . .  

Relax. 
 

 
 
Oh thank you for advice, never thought about that. Is it in same category as “be well” and “have you tried meditation”? Flames in eyelids. All good. I know how this works. Vortex. Dance the dance. Drums. Broken sheets and tables and pdfs. Words spilling from inside of the binary. Decide your mind flow. It will work. Pause. Full Speed ahead. No need to compromise. Pass the adrenaline. Claw eyes out of sockets. Have we met? See cosmos breaking into particles of self. Have you tried our secure contact number? All encrypted.

As world fades under the wreckage of emotional turmoil and sounds of the tube tracks, a realization comes. I am a vessel for the for all things my desires conquer. Body melts into bed frames and mattresses. Forget my own name and your shadow. Do not show the crisis. It’s all playfully wishfully fathomable. Talking to yellow wallpaper. Many identities, embed your url. Upper case and lower case letters. It will all make sense in the morning. Hyperbolic. Self-destructive. As one floats in sea off hallucinogenic ideas and dreams while empty minded yet filled with anxiety and dread. Envisioning the outcomes of every possible mathematical combination. In full make-up yet still as if attached to bed-frames and cotton threat count. No idea of what today stands for. Nothing makes mind come at peace with body and body is a tormented idea of cells and tangents. Wrapping body in tight knots and distorted veins. Burning gold in reflections. Make me feel. Something. Pressure. Prayer. Tare skin of layer by layer. Inner rage. Haven’t met this version yet. No escape. 

Leaving lipstick stains over every fingerprint. Inside. 

MoVe. DetaCh. EscPe. 

Visual representation of breaking walls. Blood on the knuckles. You have anger issues. Have you tried meditation? Clean eating? Have you tried support groups? Networking? Fires? Turn off the computer get out more. Such a pretty face. When i was your age. Order of the eye glitch. See things. This is not real. I envy machines. Reboot seems like a perfect idea. Zip and never unRar. Compress, bin. Check self. Nickserv identify. who am i. 

Smile, do not breathe. Hold on. Synchronize your breathing. It Is going to be ok. Push the limit line. Leather over rubber. Thrill seeking is the base line of human nature. Directory. Non engagement of ideas of today to tomorrow. How does the button pushing works in the world of digitalised human interface? Push self. Do not breathe. Tour plans and unopened emails. Erasing self from personal calendar history. You should perform more often. Have you tried yoga and meditation? 
 

Occupy your mind, occupy your time, occupy your body. Have consistent routine, practise safe day to day activities. Have you tried yoga and meditation. Poetics and track names with keys attached. If any fucker says try and relax, yoga and meditation i will put a sharpened toothpick under each nail they have while watching them piss blood. How about that for idea?

You have anger management issues. Have you….. tried…… 
YOGA…. A n D ___ MEDITATION?

/////\\\\\\

We Care. 

Have.

 you .

tried .

yoga.

and .

meditation. 

?

Good Night and god Bless, 
Queen of Disorder 
Sonia Dietrich

Between 8 Rows of Hate or Algorithm of Existence

Sitting away from tables where one keeps fists bottled up in tainted glass bottles with strange markings. Your desire is to wear me like an oversized coat that fits too tightly. With a wet mouth you spew out words that penetrate hair follicles to blood. Sadistic games. No winners. Rotting flesh medals. Wish to carry my fist on a string underneath your neck.

See faces piled up on shelf of past reckonings. I remember each birth mark and each hair. Twist of a back, a break of bone, taste of cum. Wearing many faces at once. Spread of the lip, watching. I am always watching. Take no blame. Never hid behind a mask of someone elses promises. I have all my sins lined up, labelled and named. What you seek they ask one. To meet them all. Reflections and projections, squirt and cum. All of them. Pile them up in the basket and put some lotion on top. Never one, never one. I am a stitched in the middle firecracker. Pulled together by string, muscle, venom and bone. Corked in the arsenic vile. Do you touch the ground? 

Walking on the grass made of ash and acid. Not here. Pleading the 5th. Always pleading the 5th. I am an immortal consequence of your projection. 

Two fuckable syllables in the quote line. Making sense of nonsense is an art form. Crush the knuckles backwards into finger phalanges. I can go 360. Emergency rooms and paper slips. Receipt and 20 pound transfers. Not a convertible placed on shit stained amazon list. A perfect enemy. Fingers on the neck. Scar tissue. I heal well. Pushing every pressure point at once. I pay for everything in one go. Sue me. Let’s dance. Shattering floors, flaking wall paint. Dig deeper. Variate of hammer shapes never let me down.  

Best line of work in this business is money up front. Chairs later. By chairs I mean arts and crafts for skin colouring set. White to Red. Accept bitcoin transfers. Push me, I want to taste the floor that you hover over. Majestic. Non penetrable deity. In the world I lock self in there are no faces. I don't calculate gold possessions. Just make it count. Intentions. Body types. Stereotypes. Vibrations. I calculate the steps. Mess. Me and my SS/S. Secret Sacrifice of Sin converted to 101 on Recovery Mode. 

*  *  *

Staring at the blank page that as a sign of betrayal has a pulsating dash. Penetrating hope. Dose self up in idea of loss that did not happen as one stares at self reflection in distorted screen. Talking back and keeping hair parted in the wrong side of reason. Touch is not the touch needed but provided by a randomised option of rotation process.

Looking back at words typed that do not make sense. Non of it does. I wander when does time starts to make skin crawl into little swirls. All I can think of is pressing delete, but you cant delete the algorithm of existence. As long as the plug lasts.

Walls vibrating. Words half empty. What is the notion of ultimate separation. In ghost towns of smoke and dread. Dreams unfinished with expiry dates activated. Empting bank accounts and hoping for eternity in deLIGHT. Stacks of books. Wanting. See the lie inside out. Woven in paranoia. All see what they choose. Master of disguise, never opening the door. No one knows.

What happened when you see a movie. People change roles in front of you. Weapons and speeches. Nothing new to show. I love you. The one who does not exist. They say my soul is rendered with dreams, insanity and impossibility. 

Not afraid. Not afraid. Not afraid.

Keep your spine in place. Reconstruction surgery. Mind blowing. Pay-cheques. I care about your future. Your insides, spinal fluid leaks. Keep it casual. Sex. 3 letters of distraction and empowerment. Keep it simple. Keep easy. Keep it raw. Pacifism, sadly.

Knowing who one is has something to do with dissolving fingerprints. A tool. Mind should be a exchangeable location. Started by deleting files at random. Existential cooking for the gifted. 

Good night and god Bless, 

Queen of Disorder

Sonia Dietrich