Pulling out of symmetry and finding axis points for re-stabilization, the out-of-balance radiocarbons punch one more hole through my blotchedskin. In some new version of time, days will be measured in centimeters. The beta experiments are being maliciously conducted on my own fingerprints at this very kilometer. Trying to evade the hammeringnails of thoughtless impulse is as useless as a garbage bag. I discovered twenty-six new ways to hurt.

Extending the temperature at which boiling vapors coalesce is only possible in extreme altitudes. I am in the process of a phase change. I don’t know if I am freezing or dissipating. I was once a happy liquid. I can’t decide if I’m being pulled apart by the heat or internally compacted by the cold. I’m not happy anymore.

There used to be a lot of pretending vocabulary and large-scale carpeted absurdity inside my participating blood. The transfusion was the most painful moment that ever happened since I’ve been alive. I used to know someone who rolled around the planet on his belly and could move his legs and arch his back . This is why I want to bite the forceps of my arm with someone else’s cavities. I don’t know where to be silly anymore.

Without concrete, I think the Earth, where we currently live, would become much easier. Overwhelming softness is surely where the heavenlight takes its victims. We must really hate our instincts and intuitions to have built such a hard surface over this one planet where we live. I just want to be soft all the time. I don’t want any puncture-vehicles or plane-crunchers to ever look at me today.

Now I touch things differently. People used to be points of opposition in a twice-daily commute through the centimeters that culminate in the visceral afternoonpark. I cannot say for certain if my touchsensors have evolved a new layer of sensitivity or if every surface on the planet, in a simultaneous decision, changed the way it feels to me. Either way, people are now very soft in my arms. I aggressively appreciate tactful contact with my fellow humanwaves. This is an altogether new sensation for me, a person who once feared the penetrating insouciance of fingertips.

I found a soft-receptor inside gorgeous skin. But, while the virtues of the soft are many, the drawback is the confusion that comes with it. With proud steel you get a large manifestation of certainty. With soft, victimized human flesh you find the most erotic congregation of confusion and uncertainty in the universe. Yes, I’m turned on by confusion, and maybe that makes me offbeat, but I still find confusion irreconcilably difficult to digest in our bi-pedal world. It hurts to be confused. In fractal patterns of pain, confusion eats the core of every vibrant constitution in its way.

Irresistible looks and skins and kisses beat the coughing pain in my acidround stomach any and every day. I found new confusions. And I found new softness. It hurts and spins the cells under my eyes, but I don’t know how else to be awake.