Week 4: Jesodist & Godcomplex vs. Adonis & Zee Dee (TIED

asylum · 03-28-2016, 01:07 AM

Buddha
Write about your body.

Celestial mutant, bending spoons with other metahumans.
No, the truth is I’m under duress from mental confusion
I guess I’m distressed from being so pensive and stupid.
Now, I suffer demented delusions because my heart is troubled.
Somatizing my psychological struggles with carpal tunnel
Just to be able to write I hack off muscle from these arms I’ve sculptured.
Carnage ruptures, abscesses, but at least, my hands don’t feel so tense.
Am I really flesh or am I something else. Is this just a silly test?
Physical therapists couldn’t heal my legs. Everyday walking a little less.
Being alive just to count the days toward a meaningless death. Sickly quest.
The windy city has left Cred, deadman, and I with chilly necks,
Cynical Illinois men due to not seeing sunshine for months on end.
I’m sun obsessed. I love watching my girlfriend dance around in her summer dress.
Writing about my perception of my body brings out dysmorphia.
But, the flaws are as imaginary as a perfect Utopia.
My body has a head, legs, and arms like Exodia.
It’s magical how I could wake up and do things.
Create the future, with movements based on fate or illusion.
Contemplating the blueprint, yet unlocking my DNA seems fruitless.
Insatiate by the rubric, I’m debating my ruin, deciding whether to begin embracing the crooked.
Meditating on the nature of hubris. Virtue isn’t a sacred absolution.
Look at me. An animal that never became tamed from evolution.
Being a homo sapien with this kind of brain as an inclusion
Does not make you or I better than any other species.
But, maybe we are, yet pain is an attribution of our genius.
The genesis of our genus began with our demons.
Is the hand that I feed them with evil?
The allusion from every feature of mine that is weakly and feeble
The reason I mention them is so I can see my own ego.
And decide whether it should be the life force that twiddles my fingers.
Frostbite compromised my circulation. Raynaud’s left me crippled and hindered.
Chicago winters are sinister and bitter. The remedy is ginger and liquor.
But, adapting has turned me to a drinker with a sclerotic liver.
In essence,
I’m trying to find equilibrium as an inherently chaotic creature.

03-28-2016, 01:07 AM	#3
asylum Senior Member Join Date: Sep 2014 Posts: 999 Battle Record: 7-5 Rep Power: 8214211	Buddha Write about your body. Celestial mutant, bending spoons with other metahumans. No, the truth is I’m under duress from mental confusion I guess I’m distressed from being so pensive and stupid. Now, I suffer demented delusions because my heart is troubled. Somatizing my psychological struggles with carpal tunnel Just to be able to write I hack off muscle from these arms I’ve sculptured. Carnage ruptures, abscesses, but at least, my hands don’t feel so tense. Am I really flesh or am I something else. Is this just a silly test? Physical therapists couldn’t heal my legs. Everyday walking a little less. Being alive just to count the days toward a meaningless death. Sickly quest. The windy city has left Cred, deadman, and I with chilly necks, Cynical Illinois men due to not seeing sunshine for months on end. I’m sun obsessed. I love watching my girlfriend dance around in her summer dress. Writing about my perception of my body brings out dysmorphia. But, the flaws are as imaginary as a perfect Utopia. My body has a head, legs, and arms like Exodia. It’s magical how I could wake up and do things. Create the future, with movements based on fate or illusion. Contemplating the blueprint, yet unlocking my DNA seems fruitless. Insatiate by the rubric, I’m debating my ruin, deciding whether to begin embracing the crooked. Meditating on the nature of hubris. Virtue isn’t a sacred absolution. Look at me. An animal that never became tamed from evolution. Being a homo sapien with this kind of brain as an inclusion Does not make you or I better than any other species. But, maybe we are, yet pain is an attribution of our genius. The genesis of our genus began with our demons. Is the hand that I feed them with evil? The allusion from every feature of mine that is weakly and feeble The reason I mention them is so I can see my own ego. And decide whether it should be the life force that twiddles my fingers. Frostbite compromised my circulation. Raynaud’s left me crippled and hindered. Chicago winters are sinister and bitter. The remedy is ginger and liquor. But, adapting has turned me to a drinker with a sclerotic liver. In essence, I’m trying to find equilibrium as an inherently chaotic creature.