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[9/27/24 - musings of a blowfly]
the room is filled with the stench of my own bodily fluids. the thought fills me with mild revulsion, but this is nothing new. my stomach has been making these awful sounds, reminiscent of squeezing a ketchup bottle. i've always hated ketchup. my body creaks like old floorboards under the weight of my more unsightly vices. i fear that soon my intestines will rupture allowing the contents of my stomach to pour out and wash over everything. i nearly faint entertaining the possibility while in the middle of cleaning myself up. i notice in the mirror that my right pupil is considerably more dilated than the left. paranoia creeps in like the first frost on dead grass. you wake up a version of yourself that used to only exist circumstantially. this is nothing new.
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