I spent another 2 hours bleaching today...and I think all I've done is killed capillaries.
While I was down "distressing" the strobe light delivery was attempted.
I sometimes feel bad about manipulating people....for the art. Then I can take comfort in hiding behind semantics. "I'm not manipulating, I'm Leading towards a result."
We hide behind language. I feel like poly-syllabic-ness just adds sounds to add connotations to obfuscate the visceral truth.
I'm lying to my family. I'm lying to my friends. There is no hiding. I'm just lying. And they feel like the Know me, so they'll never read this, and I can take solace that a stranger who happens upon this will have a more crystal glimpse into my psyche than the people who've seen me evolve; let alone gave me my helixes.
I'm listening to Bus Driver and Cage and Sunset Rubdown. I find the more complicated the music, the beats, the polyrhythms, the easier it is for me to block them out and dwell on what the distr|actions are. I know what they distract from, but lets number the distractions. Lets number the actions. Lets take inventory on existence.