I don’t know what to say, but my brain doesn’t let that be that and call it a day. I don’t know what to say; let me go blank for a while more. I don’t need to think when I don’t know what to say. This is clearly a chanting of remorse. I want to create. But my best friend is crying. What I do is important. It’s important, meaningful, and full of purpose and drives that it works itself sometimes. It is a guiding north light; when the light is on, you go, and you never look back. But someone I care about is left in the dark, unable to follow me and stand. I don’t know what to do or say to this north star, I’m overcomplicating things I know, but under the surface, a lot more is going on to think straight. I don’t really want to interrupt them, to bare a punishment. If I thought I was losing it, I must be okay. I am okay. But the thought that brings me back to the Confucius state is this. The what now face. Right now, at this moment, I am in my own head trying to figure something out, trying to make right with my thoughts and the emotions that subsequently follow; there is too much going on underneath that I fail to see the relevance. But then I figure it out, I come to a conclusion, and I am faced with reality. There is a door in front of me and the stairs leading downstairs to a door for me to leave to the left of me. When everything in my head is sorted out, I am faced with a decision that I have to make, which spirals me into the dark corners of my head where I can write on the walls whilst my body stands still out there in a reality where things are. I am there, there is a doot in front of me, and straight stairs to my left. There is nothing going on, there is no one downstairs, there are no noises from the tv, and I am scared. What now am I part of a horror tale where I finally put things together and die standing up from the shock. But if so, I have played my part, and the camera is still rolling. Can I move? Or will I mess up the shot? But I am no actor, nor do I care for the story; I will ruin the art of the director because I am hungry, am I hungry? Don’t I have to go to the toilet soon? More of my brother is how I am acting. Or an over-exaggerated cliche- I can’t speak. I wish not to speak. I wish to act. But I made a decision, a choice that I have backed up on multiple occasions. If I knew the right answer, I wouldntn’t. Two phrases thought at the same time. Tick tock. Not a lot of time has passed. I can carry this on for a while longer whilst I get a grip on reality. I can break down a vase shot. I am following the steps of a television professional. I am professional. I have truly given up, haven’t I? Be yourself. Be open with how you act, and then acting becomes easier. Why is it night? Why is there a window at the end of the hallway for monsters to peak through? It is right in my peripheral, and maybe my mind has gone blank from the fear of acting because I have convinced myself that I am afraid. A deer in the headlights is easy to understand, but I am no deer, and there are no headlights coming towards me, so of course monsters, creepy, eerie dudes staring through a window screaming bloody murder. I don’t believe in ghosts. I wish I did. I wish I could see them; now I’m talking like someone who believes in ghosts, now I am feeling relaxed with how out of the initial situation I was in, all forgetting, now to move on to rants after rants after rants. Umm, where was I again? I expected life for myself, I wanted a huge award for it at the end, but I was in the middle, and my life was not my own again; how long has it been since I said that, how long has it been that I have wanted to give myself up for someone else then realised that was stupid. I can’t act for someone else. I am not happy that way. I know this. I do, but I fail to see the relevance. Life has gone non-liveable. I fail to see the point. Cant anything else happen to get me away from this point. I will give a lot. And a one and a two and a, of course, this wasn’t a good idea. I fail to see the relevance. Oh. got it. The further layers down are stuck on a point, consciousness look further down to the workers below, as your queen I have come to solve this problem, now where were you, when you called? I think I listen to the sound of the music for longer than I should. I fail to see the relevance of that, my queen? Deep breaths. A shot? How would the inside of my head be filmed?

A candy floss flair with flames? An epic dungeon with dragons and flying gorilla pets? Or.. or this is something that is really serious and trying to project this on a layer of fictional background? That’s what I am doing. Clockworky fashionable mechanistically big weapons of mass destruction, with the age of stone and flinch, shown with overgrown jungle life, with one or two aliens in each section sprinkled in there for effect. If I imagine I will no longer be here, if I imagine time will move forward for me, probably end my night with a quip safely in my bed, is that what I want, is that what you want. There is a difference in my head for the two; I can’t figure it out; why does the way I present myself to myself matter. Okay, I have no ideas on these points, but it starts. Do I give in, wasn’t the whole point of figuring it out in my head, talking to myself, pep-talking, isn’t the ultimate goal in that to, well fix the situation I have been stuck in, put in through self pain and anxiety. I can’t believe it. Was it unsolvable from the beginning? Did I stand no chance? This system is flawed. Is it that I am weak and have fallen to my minds emotional pull, the want to iron these out with the thought that makes sense of outside. Led to my recognition of the design and the path I now follow to this, be blown into outright fantasy before my very eyes, and let the magic take care of the rest. I know I already lost because I can put together words that make sense. I can fight, can’t I. Don’t I have the choice for that. This is rigged. I am.

I am the beautiful fairy queen. The one with the white and green poofy dress, with silks of fantastical animals flowing to my wrists, small angry bombs with timers that no longer tick the mechanics key on their backs eagerly chased by palm-sized dragons with mascara followed by green and blue, bloated trolls on top of toads, blowing the creatures that keep falling from my body to atop of my cake shaped hair. The white lights of god no longer tinted with gold but pink. The crowd of working lookup to find their home town slowly turning to a stage, with the houses atop mountains turn to seats with ring-shaped white chocolate railings that sprout and seal the queens’ entrance. Elf number one goals to the king and fights the thief for the silver coin, who he then is found stabbed. But it wasn’t him. He is dragged off to jail but remains the same person and tries to find a way out of it; the guards wielding candy spears stand sleeping as they work overtime for the queens’ arrival, the king finds the responsible for the death and sends to free the elf, but he is gone, and some guards along with him. The elf seems to have escaped and started a revolution. The dragon dogs are let off the loose to case the footprints of those that car whilst the snake hotdogs come out through the gates of the once houses and crawl into the bodies in the audience through the seats below. The elf, the king the queens now stand with power. The queen, not having it and raises her staff, dropping all the magical creatures on her body to fall; the toad riders blow their final breath as they get everyone back on the queen’s body. The queen unearths a body of lemon soda wave after wave, but it is stopped by the crowds’ unification and chanting; all this clashing is held above the elves, and the kings meet which they gain power and join forces to end a feud of a thousand years and have a shot at rewriting history. The elf, life filled with tricks and betrayal, always working for the winning, side advances in mind and sees himself as the winning side, but trust in himself that he made the right choice, not noticing the king’s hand in marriage come up and reveal where they are so the queen is now in the knowledge of the masterminds, the floating veil vanishing alongside its magic.

I am, for better or worse, still here. So Beka was upset at breakfast; she was talking really fast and at a divers breath length. She wasn’t making sense. I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t. I wish I did, but I am here now. I will be there for her and hear her out, and then tomorrow we have that expensive shoot; I don’t know if we need all those people, but production is being productive.

I enter without knocking because I am not going to show my weakness in front of her weakness; that would be double weakness spread. But she isn’t in the room, or my focused vision from the darkness outside needs some time adjusting. Does that explanation not work from dark to light? It would be logical for light to dark. I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t see her. Did I actually take that long? Did time pass to a days head? I don’t think that needs any explanation. Do I always need to find ways to explain myself? The cat is in a potato bag with an elf hat. If I was scared already, the images of, never mind, here she is.

“ I wished you’d come sooner; that way, I wouldn’t have had to experience saying a certain thing to myself, how to drool. What happened? Watch an extra episode whilst eating, or did you play a game of two. Yes, you don’t need to ask; I am mad. Not unreasonably, I had a thought yesterday in Gary’s groceries. It became something hostile when I saw the cars and trucks I was thinking up in my head. There is a certain number of them, the same ones that change with each other constantly. But that’s not the paranoia I wanted to talk about; I wanted to talk about the paranoia of the extra life. Soo, I went to work the other day, and I wanted to spend my allowance on the miscellaneous section of the store, the toy section I went to first. I was going to get books, but the toys were shinier with bright colours; how can I not fly into its aisle. And I see there is a number of mystery eggs on the shelf. I go to grab at it, but a kid asks me to get something from her on the shelf behind me, the one he can’t reach. So I ask, where are your parents? Do they really want you to get this, or are you using me to get something behind your parents back? Meaning you have no intention of showing your parents that you have something that they might have raised the no flag on. And the only way I can see you get what you shouldn’t have and no one finding out about it is if you steal. And I will not be part of any stealing ring. Do you hear? -

A rock-climbing master draped in all green, one foot to the side then up, hand and feet working in out of sync to gain the most speed. Hands in places of the mountains imperfections leave something else to be desired as well. The creatures that inhabit the land have learned that once a year, this side of the mountain is grabbed and rocked by the hands of humans, so spiders have learnt to stay away. But this one baby spider with a grandpa spider had stayed the night in that side, and after the death of the grandpa, knowing that the final moments were held dear to its heart, she knew this would be the best place to leave the body, to be taken into this side of the mountain that faced the water. The community atop the mountain in their little home had come to the conclusion that the risk to save these spiders would be too high; they had to cut their losses and go, wise old spiders had started to theorise why they hadn’t come back yet, some assumed the death of the grandpa, and said there was no way that they would go back if it were just for the kid. There were the people that cared for everyone’s safe being, and they assumed that the village would not feel safe with leaders leaving behind their fallen. Still, not even that, leaving behind a spider kind that forgot and veered off track just a bit, wasn’t it the leader’s job to keep everyone in a straight line, the community above the rest? They thought long and hard about how they came to power, the reason that they were chosen above everyone else, their promise for spider kind not to be separated anymore and that they would let the experienced govern. And if grandpop wasn’t dead, and they hadn’t come back yet because of an experience, well then, it was their mission, the duty of the spider house to retrieve grandpop alive and allow him to share his wisdom gained risking his life. So they bring up the elite of the elite, they are taking a risk with sending so many spiders out, but if they don’t, they will die anyway. There is some budding romance between the elites and some hatred from past lives. They gather up their equipment, say goodbye and kiss their loved ones, and off they go. They look over the horizon down into the great outer edge of the mountain; the weather today is sweet, so they will stick more than normal and will experience so flying off the mountain. But the winds up in the mountains laugh at a spider weather report. They avenge the fallen grandpop. And fight off the humans climbing their mountain—the mountain of the creepy crawlies. The casualties are 2 for the humans and a thousand for the spider kind. They had not thought about who would be climbing the mountains at this time; it is the most elite of humans as well, some were afraid, but the fear tightened their senses and sharpened their claws. They were bitten but nothing life-threatening. With the medical capabilities that we’re able to travel with them, the spiderlings stood no chance. The only positive out of this was that the kid spider with grandpop had survived. Gone missing, not with the spiderlings, and no human killed them either. The rootey pootey clan that had served as the head remained. But what they have been up to now has been no joke—nothing else to report.

I am starting to hurt really bad. I need medical help for my soul.

“- I felt it in here again. My heart pumping so hard my eyes must have been glowing. I stood up behind the glasses aisle with this kid. He told me his name was the rabbit bandit. Not specifically anything to do with rabbits but the aspect of having the athletic ability and flexibility in its speed. Which is funny. When I saw the kid, and he said the rabbit, I was like easy, because you are small and slippery. But a funny thing to call yourself. But he didn’t fail me; as I stood up and made a mess with knocking over the rack of glasses, he sprinted, staying crouched and got out of views way. I was scared. Looking at all the faces awaiting an explanation. I never had the feeling of being caught. I had it once as a kid. I was caught fixing a jax in the box my parents threw away because it wasn’t working. I threw it against the fireplace. It broke, I said I could fix it and still use it and that I was sorry, but in the parent fashion of teaching me a lesson, they threw it in the trash. The lights coming on, my dads face as he just stood there. This is what I was feeling. Maybe I was the rabbit. Head to head with my predators. But I’m an adult. So I explained everything that was going on. It turns out he lied about his parents too. That is what got me out of trouble. I made a story up. Well, actually, I just told the truth. And they were on my side. He told me if he came back to me for something to give them a goal and find out where he is staying if possible. But told me it was very unlikely as he never returned to the same store twice. I went back to the toy aisle, never finishing my shopping. The anxiety, the rush of fear from the chase, was over. Everyone was the enemy for a minute, and then everything was back to normal. I had done nothing wrong. Therefore nothing to be afraid of. But anyway, on my way back to get my mystery egg, I saw him again. I was upset. I was thinking of buying a bar of chocolate all to myself. Has been so long. It probably won’t taste as good as it did before. But I deserved it. And what happened next, I didn’t. He asked for my help again. He was under a clothes rack next to the toys section. When he was talking to me, I felt a second pair of eyes on me; he kept looking side then up. He wasn’t stealing on his own, and now his pimp asked him to go for seconds, the reward is high, and the risk is cutting off an already vulnerable limb. So I won’t count this act as anything like being gracious. I helped a criminal. Meaning my actions had neutered out. Anyway, anyway, he did talk about how he had been abandoned; food was trouble to find, so was shelter. I started crying, I mean, sure, those skills could’ve been used in other circumstances, and it would’ve worked great, but here, right after our close encounter. You find me again, I don’t know, it didn’t make sense where I stood, and I was getting pretty upset because if I did help this kid, my options to how I am able to help is limited, so should I even try. But I did anyway. Big sis Beks is on the case. Maybe I should be a detective; now that I think about it, though, I don’t know how comfortable I would have been. The kid told me to please, please weight by the fire exit, right next to the big green bins outback. I mean, this is a trap, right? What could he possible steal in Gary’s groceries? But yes, I was surprised when he came out with a bloody bag filled with money, I assume and a gun. And Penny, did I feel stupid. This one action spiralled into something inevitable because of my new condition. Maybe the rabbit bandit hoped I would come back to the toy section, and it was him sincerely asking for help; I must have been weird talking to a clothes rack. I did this so they would tell on me, I was the centre of attention after all, but they did not. No one came for me. The kid was skittish. I was not wrong for being suspicious. Right. He did just escape, and I may be looking to betray him after learning the truth from security. Why do you think I acted this way, Penny. Because I don’t know-”

The house was on fire. The curtains were on fire. The gingerbread men and all the appliances had no way of escape. The easy way had been cut off. They had to work together without waking up the master of the house. This was the plan. To start from the furthest part of the house and they would all simultaneously start a fire from the farthest reaches, and as soon as the master noticed, it would be too late he would be surrounded. And the young wizard would need his staff to cast any spells which would be too hot to touch. This was the epilogue of the puppet show that was going on now. If you talked, it would ruin the atmosphere of the show, and you would have to pay them to double for messing up their craft. They made you sign something in the front, so I guess they can do that. All they needed was a piece of paper. These puppets are not that far off from pieces of paper as well. I don’t think I will be coming back here anytime soon. Paper cut-outs, they spent more time on the background of the house, showing the multiple floors at the same time. Still, the movements of up and down are not enough; not even effort was made in the hand movements, I can understand face movements are for the extreme, but hand movements are basic. Plus, why can’t they get through the window? They get burned, sure the puppets will but the gingerbread man and the bloody pan? They can make it fine. Maybe a little crispy and singed but did that matter for them. So what are they doing now? They are sneaking past rooms as they have been spotted by another burn down the house crew, and they barely came to an understanding that they had been burnt by the exit, and they needed help; they let them past without a fight but didn’t help them just in case? And I am supposed to think that the wizard is bad, yeah okay, I’m fine with that if there is anything magical with dolls or appliances coming to life. The wizard that created them is always enslaved, so it plays to a stereotype. Why can’t I just enjoy this in its own universe, where this is how people or magical gingerbread men talk to each other. Don’t comment on that. On the way to the second room, nearly to the exit.

“- I haven’t been as afraid as I was then, Penny.”

Rockets fly sideways if it wasn’t for gravity. The vase falls to the ground. A creaking window in the empty night. A shadow in the dark. A football on a beach. A game of quidditch over chess. I have been growing up for too long now; how do I go back. If coconuts could cluck, which way would they go?

Penguin acrobatics. Baseball in the sun. We are about to try and get the hottest chip in the world championship title from ourselves; yes, that is right, it has been two years, and no one has beaten our record, so we decided to come back and do it again. Here we go, crunch. Okay, not that bad; the taste is falling behind; I can feel my lips burning up; make sure to not scratch your eyes or your face at all with this sauce because it will burn. Okay, yes, I can definitely feel it. You are going to have to swallow and wait for five minutes before we can give you any milk or ice cream to save the pain. How is it? Well, I know why we waited two years to do this again and why no one else has challenged this, but it isn’t that bad, right? Just the feeling of absolute pain and death. Snot Slavia, tears, well guys, you have deserved your medal well. Now in this video, we are going to explore the highest heights a human has ever gone to. This time we are talking about Gerald the hawkstalker. Got his nickname from going to places where hawks go, took pictures with them a couple of times and the nickname was born. Pretty simple. Today he climbed.

My favourite element is the dark.