Quiet Machinery is the third story in the Industrial Anthology.This is a chapter sample and the second editing so you might encounter a typo or two.
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If I could a the place where the machines ran softly, I think I would pitch my tent and proclaim it my own. I’d spread my bed out over the ground and call it a home. In this place the sun would burn violet and the raindrops would run indigo. Pain wouldn’t live here. The clubs would never close. Anyone willing to say hello could be a friend. No one would ever know the hollow of lose. Or the stab of mistrust. In this place where the machines ran softly.
Violet stars and indigo rain, there is my daydreaming. I thought I was awake, but I must have let myself drift again. I thought I was alive, but I must have been playing pretend. A bi-polar has fewer mood swings than me it would seem. But who am I kidding? It doesn’t need a name, I still take the same drugs, same mood fillers. All in some feeble attempt to mask the pain, to overlook the shortcomings in my own brain. For some reason I can’t make myself see the world as those around me do. Why I should spend my time feeling the weight of invisible things overhead, feel it bear me down into the ground. Everyday I wake and hope for something new. Everyday I wake to the same old sensations. It’s all just the same. And sometimes just the same is crushing. Crushing me into the dirt of yet another unfulfilled month to the next wasted year.
Another moment is just another experience to tuck away deep inside my brain. To tuck away into my collection of mental fodder that offers me some resemblance of a personal history. Even if it seems like just a string of happy occasions weaving between all the mundane events and mediocrity. Is it so much to hope that one day I’d get it right? Is it so bloody wrong to think one day I’d feel alright? These are the questions I go to bed with every night as I wish for my ink like rain and warm orbs fallen to ultraviolet rays.
I woke this morning feeling somewhat alright. My body didn’t feel like lead for a change. Always a plus. I had another thought for a story I’d probably never write. Which is a shame, because it really sounds like a good story in my head. But the task of putting it to paper requires discipline I seem to be lacking more and more these days, so I’ll probably save myself the feeling of being defeated when I don’t finish it. I’ll simply not start it at all. Snub my nose at all my brains good creative intentions.
I took a shower soon after waking, and afterwards spent a good ten minutes staring at myself in the mirror. I was trying to decide what it is I could do to myself to alter my appearance in some way I might like it better. I thought about more piercings, but honestly I already have enough. My tongue one chipped my back tooth just last week. I considered removing it, but I didn’t have the heart to do it. I thought perhaps one through my hood, but the time and place to show off such a bar would be select. I thought perhaps my eyebrow, but those never really appealed to me. So I could only look towards my hair. It’s short as is, in the little cyber girl cut I keep it. I dyed it simple black to appease the rigid standards of my place of employment. But fuck them. Perhaps I could dye it back to the candy color grape it once was. Maybe it would remind me of myself five years ago… when I could still stand myself.