Sugar-frosted cereals and unsweetened milk, these are mere physiological needs that seem to fasten her self-caused vexation, momentarily. That dreaded, awkward silence is inevitably happening. Silence. Still, she can hear the agony of her weary computer, the shrill oscillation of her resilient electric fan, the murmur of her neighbor's radio, the decibels of her own mastication, and the beating of her own cardiac muscles. Silence. Awkward and deafening.
None of her senses is dysfunctional. Yet her neurons are impeded; she is finding for a familiar comfort.
A glassful of water, she chugs down. In less than five minutes, she will feel the urge to micturate, this is natural. I hope kidneys are capable of filtering good vibes from the bad just as it filters water from filthy, bodily wastes, she pointlessly ponders. She could just sleep the negativity off and then tomorrow shall be a dandier day. But she prefers staying awake - and subconsciously sleepwalking with her five functional senses.
Okay, stomach is on-the-go once again. She looks at the film-filled corner of her slumber-room. She hesitates, goes back to touch-typing, goes back to the reality she wrecked just hours ago. She knows exactly what she needed to do. She definitely knows how to cave in. But I am ultra-lame and I am scared that I might just make things more indescribably complicated, she mulls all over again to herself.
This tantrum, this syndrome - is tardily tying her guts into knots.
Author
Eяin Heяoin
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Half-Eve, Half-Morn
Sugar-frosted cereals and unsweetened milk, these are mere physiological needs that seem to fasten her self-caused vexation, momentarily. That dreaded, awkward silence is inevitably happening. Silence. Still, she can hear the agony of her weary computer, the shrill oscillation of her resilient electric fan, the murmur of her neighbor's radio, the decibels of her own mastication, and the beating of her own cardiac muscles. Silence. Awkward and deafening.
None of her senses is dysfunctional. Yet her neurons are impeded; she is finding for a familiar comfort.
A glassful of water, she chugs down. In less than five minutes, she will feel the urge to micturate, this is natural. I hope kidneys are capable of filtering good vibes from the bad just as it filters water from filthy, bodily wastes, she pointlessly ponders. She could just sleep the negativity off and then tomorrow shall be a dandier day. But she prefers staying awake - and subconsciously sleepwalking with her five functional senses.
Okay, stomach is on-the-go once again. She looks at the film-filled corner of her slumber-room. She hesitates, goes back to touch-typing, goes back to the reality she wrecked just hours ago. She knows exactly what she needed to do. She definitely knows how to cave in. But I am ultra-lame and I am scared that I might just make things more indescribably complicated, she mulls all over again to herself.
This tantrum, this syndrome - is tardily tying her guts into knots.
None of her senses is dysfunctional. Yet her neurons are impeded; she is finding for a familiar comfort.
A glassful of water, she chugs down. In less than five minutes, she will feel the urge to micturate, this is natural. I hope kidneys are capable of filtering good vibes from the bad just as it filters water from filthy, bodily wastes, she pointlessly ponders. She could just sleep the negativity off and then tomorrow shall be a dandier day. But she prefers staying awake - and subconsciously sleepwalking with her five functional senses.
Okay, stomach is on-the-go once again. She looks at the film-filled corner of her slumber-room. She hesitates, goes back to touch-typing, goes back to the reality she wrecked just hours ago. She knows exactly what she needed to do. She definitely knows how to cave in. But I am ultra-lame and I am scared that I might just make things more indescribably complicated, she mulls all over again to herself.
This tantrum, this syndrome - is tardily tying her guts into knots.
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Born in the mid-80s, Erin Herøin is a marveller of non-sequitur writing, cinematic films, & analogue photography.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
