Stream of Consciousness #2

Last time I made a post like this it was because I was terribly ill and had nothing else to post.  Well this time I’m doing a post like this simply because I didn’t have anything else ready for this week.  Whoops.  Regardless, I do hope this will be at least somewhat interesting or entertaining.  Here’s a look into my strange mind, jumping from one thought to the next without a moment’s warning.

With this post I decided to turn on one of my playlists and have it on shuffle and just write based on that.  Each paragraph is what I was writing during one song, and the next paragraph is a new song.  Just to make things interesting.

Floating through a dark void– no, not a void, just an empty world with little in it.  It feels empty and lifeless, and despite the solitude, there’s something peaceful about it.  Through the darkness are small little lights.  Butterflies with a soft cyan glow flying above my head.  Pools of glowing liquid illuminate the otherwise dark path around me.  It’s quiet, it’s damp, but I feel at peace, my mind at ease from the horrible chaos of the normal world.  This is the world of sleep I long for.  Quiet, dark beauty.  — Insomnia, she

Solitude.  Loneliness.  Cold.  Fear.  Looking for an escape, scraping my nails against the walls, tearing at the wallpaper.  No doors, no windows, no way out of this small little room.  No way out of the darkness of my mind.  Trapped. —  Ordinary Vanity, Silent Hill 2 OST

There he is.  That monster that’s always been haunting me, ever since I was a child.  He’s still lurking at the edges of my mind, just out of the corner of my eye, but disappearing whenever I turn to look.  He knows everything about me, and I know everything about him.  His taste for blood and thirst for fear; my fear.  He wants to hear me scream, and he wants me to struggle against him, to fight back, even to go so far as to hurt him as well.  He wants to push me as far as I’ll go.  I’ll keep fighting him until one of us is dead, and it will probably be me. — Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), Marylin Manson

No more words now, my cat is lying on my arm and it’s getting difficult to type.  But perhaps there shall be more at a later time.  Until then.

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