westid

right through the night, whichever night this was now because i lost count; the spider makes another strand and dangles down from its spinneret, lit up by the night light it slowly lowers itself down into the misty darness below. every time it starts to come lower and deeper, it begins to climb up into the frame again and starts all over again

for the spider it exercises its spinneret over and over again like the repetitive motions that would probably cause it great pleasure from the deliciousness of the descent. just because i don’t do the same motions of the eight legged with its delightful derriere; each time it goes down the strand of silk that it spins twists and turns the feelings in my belly and reminds me – the descent … in every conceivable sense or species of the word … silken, sublime

i have gone into some kind of trance. fooling myself but i’m starting to get so pulled twisting and writhing into the role, this wasn’t just playing anymore. i am the fool. everyone knows it. they’re all in an indifferent nonchalance – how could i ever appreciate the spinneret? if i had one, that is. when i look at all the spectral shades forming into the beautiful bath houses of rome, i lower myself into their darkness. i still don’t get it. i never will, because that’s me playing the fool, playing into my role. all my face can do is go hot and red and bothered; oh fuck their eyes roll instantly whenever they cast eye on me. bending and twirling this messy strand of silk, like i was putting rope together with one strand of something much more shit than silk

rewriting the million times i’ve re-discovered that i could never be more wrong than the docile mentality i’m hypnotised into now … i haven’t been rewriting the story from the beginning all this time, bombing in all these different ways, and for so many countless days. it’s the story that rewrites me every time something occurs. but i find no answers no matter how persistently i call out into the sky in emasculated desperation … it just makes that impact again when i splash against the surface of the throes in a stupid stupor. i hate myself. for some reason i love that feeling. it’s humiliating. i could belong if only there could come a time when i would actually be desired for something…… and down we go, i start to lower again

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there comes a time lately that has been building and diversifying since i last upgraded my extra sensory equipment – let’s just say that there is a place that lays naked, but can only be seen with the mind’s eye, or a blind eye. one or two i have recognised once or twice on a rare occasion long long ago. they are the shadow people. i can’t really name them because i can’t communicate with them since i guess that i can’t exist in their spectral … almost ethereal … plane. nb: the only nb that i could write about them in all actuality is that they might take control of a mortal mind during the stone cold light of day; i doubt that any ordinary human could take such shape as they lay beside one another, twisting around one another’s limbs to feel the warmth of their natural shape against their skin. as i watch them, even though they are just something that i start to imagine when i’m feeling a certain way for a certain length of time and they’re not actually real …. i will get the occasional, sporadic little shocks that flutter in my belly … zapping me and taking me by surprise as little moments occur where they look away from the peaceful gaze of mother earth [into one another’s eyes] and sees straight through the structured type definition that stands between me and their shadowness …. all walls and other things completely unable to block their glance and the very moment they desire it in their mind, they see me and it’s completely and utterly impossible to obscure myself in any way

i do hope that i don’t give them the chance to interact with me when everyone is all human during the stone cold light of day. i already feel like a bumbling idiot simply from the hot light amplification stimulated flash of energy they zap me with ambivalently through those kind earthly eyes

while they wrap around one another and lay all nonchalant and relaxen, i do have these little pangs of self preservation instincts as though one of them had the telepathy to look at me in such a way and make me suddenly feel that same directed energy from them all in a feminine energy working between them to act as and when their superior emotional intellect reaches for the apparatus of the hive mind

having already tested a number of base clauses that would cause a much more limited, different chemical neurostimulus response already, that would be characteristic of the mechanical mental reflexes of the masculine intent …. since i head the voice that whispers in the hearts of all men ….. this definitely held up a superiority in presence that i could feel from all of them at once whenever one of them glanced at me through all obstacles / veneers / barriers of parallel worlds – every now and then. the only presence that could be a man was on the ground and very uniform in the shape of what it wants

there were too much detail around their bodies for me to discern them from one another, especially as they existed in a form less visible to my eyes – and only through my equipment that needed to use a lower frequency range on the electromagnetic spectrum to see their substance in nature

instead all i could see was what i wanted to see. oh yeah, i remember my impulses as i look at them are influenced by the violet corruption – the stimulant effect made seeing what i wanted to see delightfully more feminine even if it could barely be any more womanly to begin with. looking again with all of this going on in my blood, i see their toeziest of legs and the flowing nature of their hair. for some reason drawn to the shape of their ankles [one of the details / aesthetics that takes me by surprise and gets stuck in my mind when i’m amplified to more stimulated impulses and thoughts the way that i was when this was happening]

i hope if any of them do remember something about me i kept having little moments of hope that they may give me a chance to redeem myself by demonstrably being able to appreciate their toeziness to much more of an enlightened nirvana than the bloke brain bumbling away inside my head could usually come to claim a lot of credit for

while i find myself writing this in a moment of considered observation, i stop to wonder if they would ever let me exist beneath them so they would lay down amid nature so majestically rather than racking me up another eye roll for being the man that i am, saying the things that i say. someone who has popped into my idle thoughts like how their toezy curves up to their ankles, could be my sworn enemy and have the power to completely dismantle my whole world around me. a subservient system of sentience kicks in when i get the impulse to perform the function that i only needed to evolve much less than their omnipotence. even when i have normal impulses too that aren’t positively charged. positively though i gaze, as though if i tried really hard i would not lose sight of them altogether when the stone cold light of day reaches that point where i would need superior eyes but with enough focus i still see their shape in the mind’s eye … the mind is a wonderful thing, even with shadows one couldn’t hope to invoke many an appreciative attitude like this all the time

_{[any shadow people who want to see trippy spectrographic infra-red imaging of themselves as “shadow people” can get clips off me]}