Holy paradox, Batman

I was thinking about how uncomfortable it would be to be placed in another physical body. Trying to maneuver with arms too long and a jaw too wide. Sensations completely altered. Learning how to move again. To interact.

I am so wary of other people. Their intentions and their behaviors. I start to believe that people see me this way as well, but I don't want them to. Holy paradox, Batman. It's like Sartre's concept of bad faith.

Sun spots like bacteria under a microscope.

Droning electricity and jabbing trumpets. Waves of conversations. An echo from another mouth. Saliva, tongues, and teeth. Howls.

Sun smoothing my goosebumps until they are flesh. With my flesh.

Beardy men and torn clothes. Passing conversation.

Squinting.

Ich muss Katze giessen

Finally have the ability to sleep. Can't sleep. Sartre on the brain. Not really. Pushing myself to delirium.

Waiting, waiting.

Within days of snatching up some work ethic, it sneaks away. None lingers. It is not my friend.

Lately I've been pushing people away. Few exceptions. Very few. One.

Ich Angst bin.

Body angled on a couch too small. Obtuse. Greater than ninety degrees.

Heavy boots.

Cacophony. Coffee maker.

Gnawing bits of nail and skin. I wonder how much skin I've swallowed.