Misty Page

Breathe

They will mock you. Laugh behind your back. Call you a “weirdo”, a “creep”, or simply “nuts”.

Nevermind them. Their lives are small—their imagination even smaller. They are the ones that are want for pity, for they are oblivious of their shadow, and they will forever be somnambulists in their understanding, condemned to walk aimlessly through the dark corridors of life.

Leave them be. They are hopeless.

Keep walking.

Keep dancing.

Keep breathing.

Breathe in the twisted hoax of life. Exhale your inhibitions, your losses, your hurt. Release them into the heaviness of the night, where you find yourself at this very moment—alone, but never lonely.

Remember, you are expansive in your breaths—breathe, never stop breathing.

Breathe deep. Let them ridicule. Their laughter will suffocate their potential, and suppress their spirit.

Better to be mocked, than to be spiritless.

Pustule

I itch. I scratch. I now bleed.

I look down, and feel the warm ooze of sanguine fluid as I rub my middle finger and thumb together, mixing inconspicuous amounts of pimple pus into the crimson stain drying before My curious eyes.

I look up–she's looking back at Me.

I'm devoid of shame, and she doesn't gag.

We've both had our fair share of pimple pus grace our blemished lives, and we're stronger for it when people stare.

Greys, Gloom, and Gas

Verily, I say unto you, you will know them by their feculent underwear, and stinking tastes–tastes that are sullied from their malcontent.

Their idiocy glistens in the midmorning sunshine as hurried pedestrians shield their somnambulant gaze with their unoccupied hand, phone in other–greys and gloom emanating from their glowing screens.

I watch, as the colors intermingle with the perverse stench of a Guatemalan woman's flatulence next to Me on the bus. I start to feel that familiar feeling of animosity toward them–I need a horse blanket to wrap Myself with, to mask the suffocating reek of stupidity, mediocrity, and silent stranger fart.

Fortunately, the world doesn't function to serve herd animals and their little joys, and occasionally, plagues eradicate the weak.

Cognizance by Osmosis

In the wake of dreamless sleep, you will cease to be estranged from yourself, and become reacquainted with your eternal past.

The sound of larval beetles chewing through stubborn tendon jerky becomes a distant echo.

You will transcend terrestrial restraints and concerns, and permeate space time into the next dimension, the next horizon of consciousness.

It is so.

Thus spoke, The DragnMastr.

An Admonition of a Bushwhacking

"My pussy bites!" she proclaimed.

"And so let it bite," I replied.

"I will bushwhack your aggressions, simultaneously as I clip My toenails cloaked in shadow. Do you dare seek retribution against Me? If so, bring reinforcements, for I am armed with obscene RAGE and unreasonable VIOLENCE. As you set afoot My lair, and the mournful scent of frangipani strokes your nostril cilia, it becomes apparent your phantom pussy has bitten off more than it can chew. It is so. Do you find My admonition incredulous? Go ask the previous girl. Her menstrual blood still saturates My bedsheets."

Thus spoke, The DragnMastr.