. // THE INSOMNIAC'S CALENDAR. )

[sinensys]

rubiginous streaks mar the unsteady floor, its once-gleaming finish revealing the crooked planks beneath. despite the heavy weight and amount of the rust-coloured impurity, the streaks only lightly grace the walls, a mechanical god's light breath as its head cants to either side; the golden red sinks to the floor and slinks away, seeking otherwise untainted corners.

i sink to my knees as well, and my anxieties recede to dark corners of my skull. where the russet mess lies definitely on the floor, the ubiety of my brainpan's contents is not restricted to the skull, and drifts freely. sometimes, this floating sensation brings with it a sense of clarity - and sometimes, this feeling reaches for my neck and any tool with which to restrain me. i cannot banish my thoughts, lest i cease to exist - or worse, my ability to think vanishes.

but, this instance does not leave me weaponless at the hands of my own terrible thoughts, for i may also reach out for a tool. sometimes, this comes in the form of a pen; sometimes, it is a keyboard. i cross my t's and dot my i's to mask the kindjals i've scrawled, or i draw eyes above them as though to indicate a separate life form's possession of such crooked teeth, and not my own.

i have seen crookery for a long time, and though i write this to the void in english, i have learned to speak their slanted tongue. to you who peer into this murky depth, i say this: learn to understand this crooked language, but refuse to answer in it. those who engage in a conversation in italics are bound to fall into that vat of acid which was left out for others, and this acid will char their flesh and rust their bones.

[sinensys]

loftily i glide
through the sky,
bringing nothing
but my mind,
an open window

[sinensys]

my, what awfully
dissonant chords you
play! surely
you were taught
how to play the piano
properly
back in your land?

the question prods at
my tongue
which has gone numb
from the niceties
it has been trained to
recite,
but i do not speak
this question aloud.

what do you mean,
her brows furrow
and her head cants to
her right

perhaps she heard
my thoughts elsewhere,
spoken in a
stranger's voice,
or perhaps
she has learned
that silent language that
speaking men ignore
in favour of bold words and empty promises

[sinensys]

among
greatly foretold riches
lies a
discreetly unmentioned curse,
just one letter awa
y from a
decidedly unspoken cure

but, i will reveal this secret
to you -
behold!
humanity's greatest tool:
lo[?]e

one allows for
unyielding
adoration, care, and passion
and
another allows for
unyielding
neglect, disinterest, and disappointment

it is a shame that
the letters
s and v
look eerily similiar
when scrawled at
absurd hours by
absurd men

[sinensys]

re: Informal Cry For Help

Âïòåå íô ûïl
öûïè ñãíöèâ åíééïêõ
ëõì üùêå îóåô
d o nnot br alarmedd


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[sinensys]

heaven will be mine!
i had snarled.
but how many have
i passed by on my
way to an android's
heaven: efficiency and
cold-heartedness?
how many have i
lain as bricks beneath my feet
while reaching for the
expensive chandelier's ornate
and shimmering hands?
how many more will it take for
me to find that thing which
others call
"enamouring passion"?

[sinensys]

you may not believe me,
but my past is bloody -
countless cotton
pads, swabs, and cloths
have been placed
onto my tongue to
soothe the
once-again disturbed
canyons!

(why do my teeth
slip into that worn
groove so
effortlessly?)

[sinensys]

the message reaches all corners of the domain, that crooked god's splaying hand stretching outwards. its apostles - thoughtless neurotransmitters - lunge out from the corrals and gallop away, baying and howling their message to the dog just up ahead. the nervous system does only what it is intented to do: relay orders, and agitate the rest of the body. muscles and other organs will hear the distant calls of the obedient hounds, and they still themselves.

ah! the palace has ordered a parade.

and so the body obeys - the stomach churns, and the muscles flit, and the heart trembles - all to appease the god in the bone castle at the peak of the body. that cruel or kind lord has decided that, irregularly, it is time to get up and perform actions which will agitate the rest. the rest of the body strains beneath the weight of the brain's indulgences, and when it reminds the skull of these indulgences, then it is blamed and guilted into these parades.

except - the body has no need for the repeating indulgences; the only reason it occurs so often is the mind's impulses. i have convinced the muscles and organs not to rebel against the king's recurring snacking, but i have not found a way to mediate the quarrel.

perhaps that bone-clad parasite has too much power over me.

perhaps i must dethrone the autonomous machine within it to rework the system.

[sinensys]

next time they look at you pleadingly yet without sorrow, round eyes and angled brows, and they tell you it is a hard pill to swallow, tell them no. tell them no. it isn't a hard pill to swallow, because no one is feeding them anything.

it is not they whose stomach churns at the very thought of mentioning that which is still veiled.

it is not they who feel that sickly splayed hand around their throat when that dangerous topic is hinted.

it is not they who choke on their own tongue to contain outbursts when the conversation slinks and dances around that unmentionable concept.

they do not have the right to complain about the pill being force-fed, not when they can leisure and speak freely about it. and so tell them this: should they dare victimise themselves, they must remember that all their crimes will be remembered, and, on one fateful day, revealed and used as knives with which to cut. and the hand wielding the knives will be their own in your name.

[sinensys]

change and constants are one and the same, i've said in the past; i truly believed that change is simply the cyclical rotation of constants at all times. one constant will give way to another constant, and this cycle perpetuates until it reaches the first, each step a consequence of the first step yet still independent from each other. change is a series of states and events that are inextricably intertwined, automated, and often predictable in groups to a certain degree.

but sometimes, change is a line crossed and then erased - a hard reset for a virus-ridden machine.

sometimes, change can realign the crooked, and reveal the shakily-scrawled lines which occasionally become unsteady walls as the old definition of change reinforced old beliefs about worth, relationships, and effort. only with these drastic events can we see ourselves in others and be disturbed by things we saw. this will plant a vine which in turn disrupts the hurriedly lain foundation for the walls we put up.

and thus, we are led to change once more.

the only difference is in our ability to recognise change in its many forms - and with recognition, a thought or action must occur to chip away at old thoughts and irrational beliefs. change is both the catalyst and the final result, mother and spawn. both must be seen and acknowledged to truly make something click in that crooked skull of mine.