< ./35_celsius_in_the_mist.sh >

they say paranoid. as to not willing to. compromise. accept.

they say paranoid as to not giving consent. to the monstrous being the world. considering all options had given birth to. 

h u m a n

you see, neither perfect mostly flowed. i am that in many arguments and possible calculations. from 2D to 3D to 4D. I insert myself into you as you. penetrated my cels and ideas. in all hours. woken as to never sleep. they make it all funny and nice. you know the thing. the girl thing. the boy thing. the modern thing. the THING. 

but one is not. a thing. or a modern thing. just is. something. in-between. a non-thing. 

they presume it's about ego, which became overly popular word, when privilege took over ancient practices. could see the light bearings in the darkest woods. inside mind and chest you see. you. see.

i  k n o w 

within the opium of mind pathogens and slow breathing, obstructed by unknown illness. i am 35 degrees. with burning feet and face. body constantly ignited. this is not a sexual reference to a hotness of the body. the passion of the touch or the craving of a loved one. this is about sickness. that lives inside of me and i do not know how it's called. 

they gave diagnosis and waved hands. 

i died in my bed and on the floor barely awake and never asleep. seeing patterns in the ceiling, seeing your face. i whispered "I THINK I AM DYING". 

but what if i am? the cliche is to say we all are, just a matter of time. my friend, a good man. complex man was scared to tell me he is dying. he tried and i refused to listen. i was too scared to loose him. to acknowledge the fact. he would laugh and then, sometimes, suddenly go quite. he. would whisper "I am not well Sonia....", "i don’t think i can make it.", "i don’t think i can do this anymore".... 

and i, refused to listen. just listen. Just hold his hand in our virtual world of trust and love. friendship beyond words and fear. fear of each-other as to, he will die. And he did. 

he died slowly in-front off me, a few times. then the died silently, one time. kinda fast but, still, yet. Fast. but. Slow. 

i have to remind myself to keep breathing. you see, i forget lately. i wake up sometimes choking and gasping for air. i fear breathing and falling asleep not sure if i can make it out of it. the feeling. they say it's depression. i say "i think i am dying".... or i say nothing at all. 

in stiff body surrounded by clean and purely fucking zen i am slowly dying. 

i am scared to talk to doctors. not willing to see if they will trust, understand, or.... stop this med or take that med. i cannot feel anything. as in, feeling are non existent. the spectrum of feelings was erased by barely breathing and looking at your face in the ceiling and being afraid to even think. how much... i miss you. you where there when i lost my friend, you gave me a chance to grief and yell and not move for days in bed and ... you waited. for me. for when i am ready. my love.

h o w  i  m i s s  y o u 

you see, if i have to grieve again... i am not sure i can make it. too close. too much. too pure. too real. and there is no one to tell. no one to listen. as no one really understands.... dot. stop. listen. personally lacking that skill myself perhaps i am not the one to talk. and i enjoy the silence. i do. honestly. deeply. but still, when i wish to share. no one understands. it is the saddest thing. 

anxiety strikes chest like rod of fiery ice. i am yours. forever my love. 

i  t h i n k ,  i  a m  d y i n g .

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