I realized my life is redundant. It is boring. I do the same boring routines. Repetitions is having an orgy in my existence. I feel shelved away like packaged meat - clustered in old pantries - smelling, rotting becoming infested by the mere thought of consumption. Alas - no angel sings sweetly in my ear of rejuvenation rather a reincarnation experimentative (in short: Same shit different day) mess of rather narrow functions down by the body.
In these two weeks of a so-called semester break I had done nothing. I had hordes of books but their harem of exquisite white and black skin tickled my fancy for a few and then I dropped them into their own world of free wanderings. It is not that I don't love to read rather that my ming wishing other things - even a more devout bibliophile might feel her wrenches being screwed out of place without other things to touch feel and love than those lovers/bedfellows/spouses/siblings/foster parents - the world exists between other dimensions.
I feel suffocated by a mass of obsolete metaphors and music - of deranged cliches and organs sucked out of their juice to the core surpassing minuscule cells - it is quite disgusting - it is quite a torment - a quartering of soul parts - an iron maiden's best orgasm detailed. I must thank Allah Almighty though due to comfort and blessings and I do - it's just this human malady of a heart craves/ponders/delights/hungers/cherishes the horizon of more.
I wonder if it is alright. Oh Allah tell me...is it alright? It is alright - right?
