Catching the tussle of her brush, she took it for a strange and naive kind of granted, that this was here, and now – no place for it but the utter lapse in pro-creation The swarming of mismanaged colourings somehow distinguishing itself from the rest of them there wrought-iron flavourings mixed kaleidoscopically beneath. Sitting, vehemently enthused, entrusted, and a little big bit bothered by the whole untainted affair – the rotten little big begging dishes who need not apply, the problematic payments still need, finally, payment – she concentrated, cornered, the shape of her mind of many. Just the necessary way for an addled, perfection-seeking, misled individual to gather at doing so. To swimming-board-dive on in mightily electrified by the far-reaching, -reacting, might of a life… well, less than ordinary, disgustingly extraordinary. The tint, the extrapolating tilt, of call-to-arms mismanagement and somehow managing, managing anyway… To work their intricate way back in, to influx the case in pointed procedure and to miraculously cause a mighty kind of a kindly mess at that, just the exact same beneficially succinct way and manoeuvring mannerisms that she had always asked out for. Ordinary had done it’s damned damndest – cut her to the core – and fecksome failed for this particular sophomore, softly-spoken artist. Disgruntled, disdained and disfiguring itself whilst all the while failing at figuring itself out to be in anywhere so very worth many a pretty little precarious thing. Paternoster soul – some kind of a kindly substitute life, perhaps, that mildly suggested life of the vilified, hard-worked person filled to the bolstered brim till bountifully peppered with pushed levels of inordinately pragmatic enthusiasm.
That’ll be the call of the addicted caffeine – all of these amalgamated messages only none of the scope to match its swinging elephant for sincerity. That somehow, anyhow, God f**k only know how really, worked its way back to a believed belonging again. A quarter after one and she is all alone and she needs it now, in the earliness of the pockmarked a.m, for the bending of the paintings to mesmerisingly scatter, splatter, race itself inordinately against the tiny little triangular dot – because that is how she sees it that way – of the finishing line wherein the red bottle of crackling, fizzing Zachoney wine waits for no one anymore. Nobody but for the whistling horizon – all eyes singularly suspecting something otherworldly wherein an artist’s fighting imagination gets caught at half mast and stretched into opinionated oblivion. Go for the opiates, dear girl, if needs be a-bargaining with it, the dearest girl of the made-up world of nearly never hers. F-e-a-r. Invaluable it stands and desirously gleaming, she never needed to pay that particular rent in the first place anyway, at the perpetrated surface of singular strength, because minus a brushstroke of any kind of kindly kind, merely minus all of these forgiving, forgiven, playing utensils, she was left alone and solemnly with the tiniest violin in the universe carrying with it uttermost thirst to be tasted. Her fingers bleeding, her pierced soul of souls blissfully, blisteringly, kept at arm’s length and for contained, constrained, company. She is not normal, never was meant to be. Staring at the bottom of her slanting glass, did not matter, not a chance.
 
Of forever changing just how good, decidedly damn indifferent were she to have found herself, her artful dodgings to bewilderings become. Just… Not… Her… Bag… Of… Realigned… Coke… Anymore. No other way, pl-ease. Strolling horrendously against. The bare-naked breeze and arguing with the Arctic tissue, the tethered freeze of a chain-reactions universal significance. Her unasked for, unmasked bouts of individual insanity met with scornful territory take it as you see it. Which have been endlessly yelping, whispering, begging for it to finally, invitingly even, release… Something fair sizeable and one of a kindly kind of crazily created non-entitlement. Listening listelessly and with that brand new song of erstwhile hers. Which plays it out all upon the stereophone. She did indeed feel herself to be… Breathing quite, quietly, fine. Perfect imperfections infectiously tending affably towards. Upping hopscotch sticks and leave it all behind. And with it the soaking sweetness of the trained summer skyline placed upon a violin string which sings. That leaves itself all behind. To let that God awful pain rain as though the world were asking for it all along. And in an oystered cloister which swims toe-shell within. Begging for a double dose of rip-worn trouble, tremendously torn to shredded reality. For a piece of plagiarised existence, insistence, drugged and delicately, dedicatedly benevolent and tugging strenuously, welcomingly towards. A spectacularly special sort to simply gather itself against the tumultuous grain the strenuous shapes, the constant cat-calling manoeuvrings that would never eventually settle. Oh, but for these masterclass studios filling themselves with marvelled-at etched sketchings of imprisonment but for her turn of wrinkled phrase… Pull it all of the ways out the other end and bring it all back together again, trust me… To hopefully, sizeably sore – soar for certain, no two ways, three maybe – like she says to the bones of her dishevelled self, triangularly sufficient. And surely be to Christ on a backward standing blue horizon bicycle, just one such brand new enticing avenue will wrestle itself back in and bother with the bones, the bricks and mortar, of its mortified self. At beneficially bending, meandering and comfortably taking… The hard graft back, the latter part, last screaming, scheming, mouthwatering piece, peace, of its very own downright malfunctioning shape. Still instrumentally estranged, out of reachable range, she is killing herself when it should not be that easy to achieve such an ingenious thing. Of her screening brain and start at colouring all of the eye-sores in again – all of the yellow pathways and fashion-forward stitchings of pockets, sockets of her electrifying soul built behemothly between. These other less perturbed people – they shall stick with their socially inept internets, while she readies herself for the typically begotten typewritten portrayal. The Here and barely never There again, but for her bristling, tongue-tied, delirious and dutifully, fully tangled brushstroke pokes fun at the other watchings and witnessings. Of a blue-blooded person who usurps her perfectly, downright posthumously problematic dreams for extracted value. They can see that she has been working their imaginations out for themselves, in and of its diction. Like she had have walked right inside with no place else to stroll and go. Maniacal happenstance and she knows full well that she is sitting atop a closed vault goldmine. If they wanted her to write like a sloth, with the authenticated, misappropriate etchings of old-school absolute frozen-faced drivel and needless drive, then she would simply, essentially, not have pushed herself to break the bend of the interfering line, to promisingly, promiscuously, invite it on in to the back of her bedroom with her. The triangularly made-up mismatch of a forbidden, sleepless artist with time upon her violent side
Yes, these seas have been bleeding, as high as a kite, some might see
As low as the reimbursed cumbersome surface of the kindly coastline of her strolling soul. About to go, where nobody’s ever been before now, and that is, insistently, exactly what she was meant for, meaning for it to be, all along – when the less that she cared for it the more magnificent it became, all cyclically encyclopedic flames of inner-ward war and half-hearted struggling dancings, gargantuanly ignorant trinkets of installed pain. Which will burn her to the ashes of her singular being yet never, ever attempt to take the better lesser parts of her away. From themselves, for itself… needlessly, needing to be mentally entangled till utterly comatose on purpose. Soon as she let the Devil at her doorstep back in, he wears a pinstriped attire and swears that it will be all kind wine and handsome handmade sandwiches this time – “Remarkable. I’ve been begging, begging, bending and waiting with curled horns put upon, oh kind sir of the upside-down-world with sweet insistent venom sprinkled neatly atop. Now, let’s forget the food, the interfering red wine and proceed right to my room, wherein my swollen-faced words have been waiting, simply dying to be sensuously caressed til the end of time, til brought beautifully back together and unanimously to the end of the line. But, just so you do know, they say that they are a whole lot to take. A heavy-fisted reading, they do swear it and say. These insufficient, unaware people. Just that some people’s brains are pained to proceed. So problematically simple that they are. But you’ll get there… you always did, always will. Now, kindly undress me, pl=ease, because, as you can suggestively see, I am tired from the mere makings of my next great scripture. By the way, and sorry to allow myself to bellow on with these sweet nothings of mind, but I bet that they thought that this was it, the next great masterpiece, except of course for those, the kindly few, who bothered their brains and followed me this way to meet you this time. The break of their particular line, and never mine.”
 
“Only that is exactly where your difference stands. Bothered by brilliance only it offers no life. Remember though, the way that you have persisted and the way that you can, there is no candle held in high enough regard except of course for yourself, the lifetimes that you have dropped from your kneeling, needling hands, which, still, ironically enough, my friend, mean everything now. Words are your weapons only life is your exit sign brought to you by way of significant insignificance. Now, please, take each of these resurfacing words and use it anew. Built it afresh, like as though if only you knew. ‘Tis few who challenge it with such painstaking grace and applied gratitude.”
“I am building it, but can you not simply see that I cannot build back together what has already fallen?”