Decaying - Tumblr Posts
It is not DOOMED FOR COMPOST compost is a BEAUTIFUL PART OF THE CIRCLE OF LIFE. Quite frankly I would be honoured to be put on the compost heap. Doomed my ass. I WANNA BECOME PLANTS, MY MAN. LET ME BE A TREE.
Baked with love, doomed for compost :’(
The finest men of a dying generation, what are they to do when faced with the follies borne of their own prejudice?
Too much rest for the wicked.
For more that ten days at this point I have been struggling to awaken from slumber and this has become increasingly bothersome and intrusive upon my usual schedule of disgusting disappointments. Worse still, while trapped within the unadministered faculties of my own vapid neural lipid blob space I have been thrown into a number of disturbing mental scenarios and decidedly undesirable “dreams” (nightmares) for the sake of no carcass in particular.
I am not, yet once I indubitably am a guest at some sort of well-to-do yet undoubtedly second-rate hotel establishment with walls of cheap taught paper and unoriginal prints claiming to decorate the vacant halls. My place in this languid location rather than my own sullen abode is soon readily made known to me once I “recall” the presence of the worms. The worms made their first appearance within a traditional wall-mounted telephone, wherein worms seemed to wave to and fro in all of its many holes and cracks. The wires connecting electric appliances also appears to be significantly thicker, suggesting a constant system of worms. From this I concluded either that worms had been found out for their unknown richness in electric conductivity and had thus been put in place rather than metal wiring or that worms had become attracted to technology and electrically charged regions. The latter would seem more viable in light of later information as I saw lighting fixtures and wall-mounted television screens being inhabited by swarms of teaming worms.
While the dialectic usage of “worm” may depict a very particular vision in one’s mind, that being a limbless invertebrate like an earthworm, in the sense that “worm” was utilized here suggests that it was being used to describe many creatures from maggots to millipedes, their true commonality being shown in their shared unusual behavior. The whole of our modern digital world seemed to be infested with the essence of the worm, wherein the more elevated symbols of our contemporary advancements were being used instead as barracks for an oncoming wormpocalypse. Or, the wormpocalypse as it was to already be seen.
Down the sickly pale hall and two lefts to the right, what lay before me appeared to be the remains of (my mind meat’s vague approximation of) an American folk musician. All about his grotesque form writhed a myriad of worms doing away with his flesh, his body posed in such a way to suggest that he had merely been lazing away calmly rather than being violently overwhelmed by the incursion of worms hungry to feast. In this sight I now recognized the reality of the worm of the worlds, how the many vessels of man were being rendered disassembled by endless tides of the worm who had taken up residence in all of their technology. And still I considered if it had been man who had installed the worms, knowing not of the eventual folly of this choice.
Contrary to unpopular disbelief, I still inhabit the waking hours when the gaze of the burning sky is brought unto the crust and the green warmth of the world is felt dearly. I look into the pots of my many nurtured plants, I look into the dank plastic pit suitable for refuse, I look into the sweetest and most tender of all good seasons’ fruits. Worms. Worms have made themselves into all of these things I say, this I have observed. I often regard dreams and nightmares as reflections of our own surface level contemporary anxieties contacting and concocting among our bathic sensibilities which rest deep within our psyche. I think these things verily, so then what of the worms? Have I been rendered a scion of the worm of the worlds?