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WILDLY MISREAD's
"The Devil's Kennel"
Jumpstarter
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(Spilt Ink/Excerpt)
by Randall Johnston
From the first day I was in tune with reality. There was a larger-than-life sun above. It had control of the plant life and ripped the leaves off the top. Brandishing them to the ground. The only awe defying gravity physic, unimaginable grief for me as the effect was happening to me as well. Shaken and stirred, the leaves quickly tear apart and disintegrate as they rise from the roots of tree branches. The darkness below where your eyes met what's left beneath the surface of the forest canopy. The trees are screaming along with me, my psyche fracturing. Darkness enveloped that which should be seen but is and never will be for anyone worth knocking the fuck out. My mind was disoriented from the nauseous spinning of the environment around me, kicking up dirt without the forest to covet my eyes further. Ending with it joining the treetop and my sight of the sky. A minute amount of light sent rays down to encapsulate the hallucinogen that is already aforementioned, just this is not kindness, and the first wasn't a gift. I am now unkempt with my gait. The nauseous placement is begging me to drop as the black vertical vortex swallows me up with the rest. The emanation of its voice is thunderous and atrocious as waves in the ocean clash. Its similar spoken words ring out with the rest as an inaudible yet non-deceptive sound that I have never heard before or since. Its voice is damning, and it's fleeting in everyone's mind. Even as I describe it now for those lost on the concept, the music stopped for the asking and mental strain, I fall to three choice words understood. "I destroyed you." No one considered this when I hit the ground, but the vortex never stopped. Leading me through life as the embodiment of depression. Paranoia cooks like heroin, and I'd rather know my closest depiction by the only means I have of experiencing the only known thing I have been told about her, addiction. Good or bad, the mushrooms, the needles, the popped pills kept that thought within me. Stilled psychosis will retain me for the next six months, and then I'll be on to the next trip show of the purple and black clouds that block the sun for another six. I will lose breath, and no one will help me. They'll walk right by me as my lung collapses. The wheeze and incapability of standing or doing anything other than choking on my own throat. - The Account of Carson Kellings
I thought I'd have more to say than an apology. While the rest join the majority, I'll be locked in. And your presence is swallowed by my existence. Fuck it, I'll give another reason. Your reality is a falsehood, your memories are fake, your presence isn't existence, and it's slowly dissolving you into what you are so fond of, the stars. Fire only rises till it hits the atmosphere. Your soul does, too. I see so much of the floor lifting off the ground like I'm stuck walking on top of nothing with the glint of the ridge of fire rising above us. You've already made a mistake. You'll recycle till you are willing to leave. Your life is ending over and over again. Captured by photographs of the pupil's aperture, the burnt in image is a constant visual of life escaping us. Only for my fucking eyes, placed by satellites in the sky. AND I HATE EVERY LAST MINUTE I'M LOOKING AT A HELL. - Propaghandis
Destroying the ego trip one pace behind.