my tongue ties knots as words escape vocal cords that have finally reached their expiration date.

as hours turn into days, i'm noticing how much i watch people. their quirks and mannerisms captivate me. society has chastised this very action due to insecurities they have within a culture so fearful of judgment. i adopt this hobby and carry on against the tide. so what is it that people have to hide? once they feel the most remote sense of sentiment, they quickly retreat into a deserted island where only moldy peaches soak into the soil. no core. no substance. there's no depth at this location. connections are lost. howling windstorms tumble through atoms and molecules.

everything seems to be disenchanting until a cracked crystal ball appears behind the fog. they ‘re rendered speechless because this will be the answer to all of their hesitations. what’s the point in fighting, when you can simply fall back to comfort? above all, it is safe. they disregard the deviation which is clearly obvious to any senseless human being and gyrate their joints. not so much in a sexual manner, but more in a desperate need to solidify their own desires. i believe this is where people end up once they decide that they rather not deal with an observer. it's a shame.

people are magnificent subjects. on a spin cycle of a second, they can change their demeanor in hopes that their voyeur will pivot the opinion in debate. some cater to this fantasy. they like games. most importantly, they love creating the game with their own rules and regulations. who wouldn’t want to be their own referee? i mean, i personally don’t care for the stripes and the whistles usually make me nauseous… but it works for some people. chirp,chirp. bing, bing. game on.

others challenge the insinuation. comedic it is when you actually wrap your mind around it all. circus clowns clap cymbals in circles. it just takes one joker to rally up the crowd, and notify the marching band my friends because the opening act has arrived. would you look at that?! they're ducking their heads staring at pavement etch-a-sketching a path doomed by temporal necessity. while this production ensues and nearly at its climax, i sit by myself and allow my eyes to absorb the movement. this, is a modern take of a soulless train. my eyes scan the room and in some occasions, peak to the moon. backing an army of clouds, she smiles. how does humanity look from up there? amusing, she says. i'm elated to know the moon and i are on the same page.

so onto the update of the research developed in the last post. now that this individual knows that they are being studied, it is truly phenomenal observing them throughout the oddest points of my day. i had no intention of uncovering this private ordeal, however it was in their eyes that i felt it was the correct time to unfold this mystery or at least get further in understanding it. again, the eyes. i think i'm missing something here. something about this eye shit. the more i attempt gather resources, the deeper my head sinks into my palms. there is a vacant spot in my brain pumping blood and clotting this process. here i am investing time and energy in watching the most random people, taking mental notes and having reservations in articulating the sight. then you have this individual with the penetrating eyes walk right in and crash onto your couch. what in the hell is going on here. i certainly wasn’t expecting company.

my mind already hoards even the smallest thoughts and you seem to be finding the coziest spot in between what i did yesterday at 7:49pm and how i have had this bizarre craving for funnel cake every morning since 2008. surely, you have to find this amusing and the ironic aspect is i know you do though i refuse to look at you. ::smiles::

is it a sign when after the last line you wrote reads “word count = 666”? could this very experience be something i shouldn’t try to understand? perhaps. i look at it as an interesting chapter of my life. i scribble notes in the margins and cross out the firmest details.

moths continue to fly around the candle and hover around the incense. i know the butterflies are not present and the nerves are settled. i am collected. it is not a reaction from a mindful game nor is it a crystal ball necessity. it simply is what it is and this is conceivably why it is difficult to understand for someone like me. what was once a grammatical nightmare is now a philosophical riddle.

p.l.h,

a

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