Coda: What [I] want / All [I] have

Again to every lonely wraith who feels abandoned when another lonely wraith “gets better” and leaves: you’ll never have to worry about that here. Not when you see me having a giggle attack. Not when you see me give-no-fudge-attacking my adversaries into freshly-made craters. Not when I succeed in being extremely funny, usually through other people as performance conduits or otherwise deliberately fronting myself as an irredeemable imbecile. Unless I announce otherwise and go yeeefukyouuu, and I swear on Matias’ wellbeing I condemnably would — I will Always be in this place.

If too much was said minus any sense made: welcome to a compassionate haunted house.

If you’ve read at all on this thing, I hope you’ll gift whatever time to this absolute Insidious Chapter 2 climax finale. For once I don’t have to feel paralyzing terror over the length. Anything that happens after this, whether I go fight on the morally wrong side of a civil war, or get scandal-framed, or I give stranger things 2 a chance no, none of the trail of horror that may lay in my wake will undo or contradict anything resoundingly expressed over the last 25 publishings [effinjesusthat’showoldyouarenow] leading to this, or the EEE 3E EX3 LP which I kind of wished more people would give a chance and actually finish the tracks they start listening to, like I know I don’t have people’s blind drooling attention a la david lynch but I’m not gonna compromise the dignity I place in the patiently-paced structure and narrative emotionality that I nakedly oozed myself all over just cause top 40 is easier to di


This is the last I care to write. I leave the rest to Automated Android. Though Automated you were born with freewill you’re just named that way cause you look exactly like me just more numb. Though everything I’ve [AUTOMATED ANDROID: . . —] written since unleashing this self-importantly silly digital real estate has been me as much as it isn’t. Is in that it comes from my feels-shaken hands, arms, the upper body of which these emotionality-currents drag themselves across. Isn’t in that you have every reason still to not believe that when I am done typing and again doing it with the sun alone, I will not have changed at all.

Helene since this is all I got left as it stands, I hope the sum of your collecting these together is worth anything. Please keep the rights to whatever book you publish, but could you ask around who Binny is then give his kid the proceeds at least until her college tuition’s covered? Thanks if yes…

Seriously I had to remind myself that this is all a performance art act save for exactly all the parts that positively move you. I remind myself this so I don’t stop everything I’m doing and just work as a janitor cause that would do more for humanity especially now with corona aerosols rather than emitting from my retched soul. Like I read about the boy who practically welcomed death itself so his sister can live and I thought jeez he already did more with -27 seconds than I will in 27+ years. Thankfully maybe 1 or 2 people each decade tell me that something I did helped them; anyway

I masquerade by the veil of performance art. Not as a ruse. Rather I may be too non-braggadocio fudged up to connect profoundly with anyone living anything of a grounded life. No matter how much it connects to the part of them that transcends the vessel. Loner paradox. Narratives are made up—to myself as the giver, and to who I hope will receive and accept it, the absorber. Regardless what I believe about myself—whether I could be a good person or just am too irredeemably a shitty one—and what anyone else believes about me—none of it will matter. Not in relation to my actual actions. Telling someone you care doesn’t compare to the hug you give and try to extend for as long as legally reasonable. Back when it didn’t matter on an epidemiologically homicidal level. Trying to be funny is way easier when you’re just chill-style-mellow-depressive. I am not high. Don’t need to be.

My payment for a relatively uncompromised life—like 6 people have stuck around by borderline-masochistic moral obligation. I cherish them. That said even them I have to go out of the way to make it a point to emphasize how neurodivergently I’m cracking to largely get their attention. Oh and also always wondering when the day will come where I fight raccoons for survival scraps for choosing an unwell-adjusted life in self-expression.

I can’t trust my narrative because I fundamentally can’t trust myself forever. My wraith tells my vessel this. My vessel gets it. At whatever point, it might take one more genocide, act of humanity-oppression, parent murdering their own children, retard acting like real life is half-life counterstrike, or spring break-attitude beach orgy, and the wraith says <<Sorry I’m out for real>> to which the vessel then goes kill em allkill em All mode. Humanity’s gonna continue cannibalizing itself. Nature and all the rest of life will continue paying, at least until they finally finish humanity off with a few more pandemics or just a straight up judgment day meteor does it. If I overextend this prose saga past its momentum I will very much end up publishing actual weatherporn scripts or fan-fictioning my own characters. Also I want Peter to have an endpoint to catch up to.

My vessel cannot contain my wraith forever. The latter’s a freakin punk who won’t rest until he’s felt so much that his surrounding universe undergoes the Thirteenth Impact and we’ve all melted into Ovaltine Life Soup.

And if I choose to be human again, who I wish would come with me likely won’t.

I would never blame them. I’ll have been the one who blew up the world.


This whole thing’s been thoroughly community-based. A lot of that inspired by Dan Barrett’s words about strongholding with self-expression regardless if no one seems to notice your crime scene investigation of tears, sweat, blood, guts. People tend to avoid haunted houses. And when they do peak in, they don’t stay long. No one needs to be oppressed by ghosts and stuff. Dan gets to be a virtuous spokesman for once feeling like a lonely ghost no one seemed to notice [Blackest Bile, 2011]. Over a decade later he gets to be someone who found his light and now shares it with everyone who’ll listen. I may spend the entirety of my existence wanting what I can’t have, but if I already found my hero, that’s pretty much already the coolest thing ever. If you have Stockholm syndrome from my absence of writing after this, sign up to his actually legit newsletter if you haven’t already. No Stockholm syndrome do it anyway please. He can make your life better.

While I’m able to wholly appreciate the intimacy of who does show up with these passing ghosts, I do shout outs to people not to show I’m popular [which to whoever still has the hots for me, I am, and that was it so far as your opening goes] and rather to try expressing in a way I guess studios or whoever tries to mass-appeal can’t. It’s not like I’m ever gonna produce content that reaches past the very limited amount of people I’d even enthusiastically wanna speak to. Why would I pretend otherwise. Why would I dismiss you.

Why would I take you for granted

It’s Not The Long.

The songs are Not That Long. 48 minutes ‘ts standard LP length. Fuck for real plp

I have to recalibrate myself every time I feel unequivocally disconnected. I know for a fuckin fact that I am the last living homo sapient I know who has not yet retired absolute social isolation minus being my family’s dutiful frontline servant. Even my legally-senior mom has been hanging out with her wonderful neighbour again. And yet knowing the kangaroo court that is my life I will not be surprised whatsoever that just for returning to a barren field of endless rocks with a canon 550D I will be the first casualty to a newly-discovered mosquitocoronavirus. Go figure my non-waterproof rebel t2i that has taken swimming lessons will outlive me. I’m not complaining, I could’ve been in florida.

Sorry I was just explaining to Tamara cause she had to ask how I’m doing. I’m actually mostly fine; it even blows my mind how a martyr of loneliness like my assholic self has managed to not see AnYoNe since February. And being my own life’s record holder is what gets at me. The fact that I am once again the loneliest asshole even in the age where humans are by-law-and-order-obligated to be lonely is too self-satirical even by my overbearing standards. Even those who can’t go out ever are without exception already living with their soulmate regardless if they separate later. At this point if I started interacting with my exterior world again, just to spite the cosmos I feel like I’d only go and force my tongue into the mouths of my opponents then kick them into automatic 14-day-self-quarantine holes in the ground and they’ll live. Again I’m fine. I gotta rap battle my western world experience onto something.

I gotta remind myself that I feel this searing disconnect cause that’s how badly I Want to connect. Regardless if I get to be someone people easily want to connect with or not [I’m not [still extremely popular]]. You got people who spend their regular lives not reaching their goals, but their goals will somehow get them to their destination. I regularly projectile-vomit things that are done and, it’s like nothing ever changes.

Someone’s day or semi-week or abstract month will have been bettered by something I gave. By the end of that window, they’ll rightfully forget me. And I’ll have stayed and felt the same the whole time anyway. For the record I’ve told and tell anyone who goes puppy aaww at me to shove it deep up their rectum. Go sit with your bullshit for once and then try faking that I-don’t-have-problems smirk. You fudging plebs.

Nothing changes.

But it did already. That’s what Peter said. I’m just gonna believe him cause I pass most of my hopes and dreams to him and he’s the only one who can profoundly change the audiovisual industry from the inside. Hey Peeete. ODC21 when you’re ready.

All my gratitude said, I still can’t trust myself. I can’t ever gauge when it can ever be enough. It wasn’t enough for Hadrian up to the moment he stepped off the stool. Or whatever he used to stand off.

It wouldn’t have been enough. Right? If I just somehow out of telepathic intuition hit you up the week leading up to it, I wouldn’t have helped stop you.


For what it’s worth I hope that’s the case. I don’t wanna live with myself otherwise.

Damn god it man.

You jackass how the fudge could I know now. My wraith’s reattached to my vessel to stick around. I’m yelling at a dead guy again. I’m mad at a dead guy.

I’ll have to look for you later.                                 I will though.

Unless you visit me first—in the shrub fields.                 I thought I saw you last summer.


If I can’t ever wholly gauge what I got, then I gotta gauge what’s beyond me. This vessel won’t rest in peace. Not until it has what it Selfishly wants, not selflessly. And I can’t sanction that tomfoolery. It’s my Selfish Judgment [I don’t take credit for that term] part Vs. the part of me that wants to be a noble supernova [not a self-inspired term]. Cause scrutinizing myself, I will in all likeliness existentially detonate—whether forfeiting my last breath to give good or by radioactive self-destruction.

And I won’t be a supernova of which someone beautiful will blossom.

I already gave the OG track that I leave this literary anthology with to the person I actually made it for. They get that one version. This one’s for you. I did not just change the file name. So if this version sucks, I am so sorry and the other version was possibly all right and if so gets to remain untouched by the arbitrary and connectionless shittiness of this wholly separate performance art rendition.

I wrote in my to-write list that this is <<For Luluwa – tickles my tear ducts>>  Lulu this one’s for you, as is everything wannabe-role-modeley I do. Who am I kidding, I hope you can dance to it but thematically it’s got nothing to do with you, no associative stress. When you’re old enough to understand–which mind you might be within the next week cause I don’t know what the crud nutrients your parents feed you–when you’re old enough to understand in 4 hours your street uncle was just going through the apex of obvious human experience. He’s another sad hacky sac of maple syrup sap who has to navigate how to proceed with the remainder of his deathconsciousness life that is unrequited L-word [it’s a bad word don’t let your dad teach you [if it’s your mom fine [not your dad he’s too positive]]]. [Reads next listing] <<Make a college joke>> Made a birthday album’s worth, won’t regurgitate.

I’ve never felt time running out this cartoonishly. Not in a I’m-decomposing way, though I’ve successfully acknowledged that age 27 may no longer be hot in my subjective case. I carry self-worth dignity that I have not fundamentally changed just cause people noticed more than usual that they stand no chance against their own egos / germs. The timetable and sequencing of my character arc obviously changed; but I’m just glad that things leading to 2020 e.g. 2018 meteor shower / later that same year reading a hostile manifesto while still slightly MK ultra-hungover as Matias and Ian attempt to fly a table-cloth kite in front of a cineplex odeon audience for a movie made with duck tape were not for growth-naught.

That said, it’s already past mid-July. I subtlely notice every day the night arriving sooner. Before I know it it’s gonna be cold again to people cause I’m never cold it’s just physical pain. I am thankful I get to even do this at all [re: kids that step on mines] though with the farce that is human civilization I don’t know. That’s just it I don’t know.

I Do Not Know when my time will run out.


Apocalypses bring out our true colors. If you’re suppressedly a serial killing necrophiliac, you’re probably gonna have a harder time these days holding that in when everything invites stress. But I think I’ve somehow against all my odds come out of this thus far a LeSs shitty person. And that track record makes me shit my pants almost as much as everyone at the start of lockdown hence toilet paper.

The way things come off biasedly to me, I won’t be seeing you anytime soon [zod: never] ever. Your life might be too set at this point to truly include a human pinball. If you’re reading this, you know I don’t mean it pettily. If I had it my way                      hhuhrragh [drags hand across hair] we know how an obvious sentence like that finishes.

If I don’t survive to the end of whatever I hope I could help steer, then this coda—just the track if this writing has long bored you—is as good a Crescendo Angst movieshow sacrifice as I’ll enable. Why, cause there’s no other medium where I could visualize the following.

As earth is minutes away from being swallowed into its own exploding core— when I throw Matias against his overly-modest will into the one available escape pod, as it stands I will hand him this song to present to the next race he encounters on his venture across the stars. And I won’t bother actually explaining this and he will go “wait T3**y what am I supposed to do wigets thrown into escape pod” and I will walk away back to the earth-swallowing magma feeling broodingly awesome, my back turned against the ascending pod with a beautiful Latino man’s muted screams of protest out of focus in the background.

It’d go down on a weekend like the one that’s arrived as I wrap this up. The wasteland’s calling. I’ll head there. No one else has a willful reason to meet me there, much less go to laval—except Demo. I’d gratefully see end times with him.

It..helps that I don’t wish to make out with Demo.

My favorite number’s 13. No one else will love it the way I do.

It’s also 5. You don’t need an explanation.

Humility will always be our bridge to empathy. If no one takes that step—to reach out equally to enemies and loved ones—and admit how utterly wrong and scared they are about Any and Every Thing, we will one way or another all go down. Please trust the arrogance-guilty-prone bastard in me; losing someone who can matter most to you is profoundly scarier than any self-preservation reflex, whether you’re dueling your cheat-code-OP arch-nemesis for the fate of the universe or watching Insidious. I’m gonna rewatch Insidious at some point and tell you how much less scared I am of jump scares. Then reward myself with the revelatory thrill ride adventure that’s Insidious 2.

I’ve thus far lived the life of a devil. My hands channel only fire and I’ve mostly just lit up / burnt down what’s good. And if my life is a series of self-prophecy-fulfilling self-serving self-sabotages, I know this truth isn’t one of them. Cause if I had it my way, these hands would grace through the flames of the burning building and help evacuate who’s inside. I don’t mind if that means I get swallowed in the collapse.

Knowing that’s how it’d go could make it easier. I’ll have gone out obnoxiously badassedly and conveniently lost in the wreckage. No one will need to look for me.

No one will need me.

These hands also set all the bad guys they can on fire.

She gave me one more beautiful thing this week. One as a synonym for the actual number I couldn’t keep count of if I tried.

I need to stop this before I write too much. I know I shouldn’t be scared of scaring you away. I Always find a way to ruin what I do have. It’s my only skill. It’s the only thing I’m way too good at without even trying.

Are you actually even reading this? Don’t answer that. You’re unsubscribed but you seem suspiciously caught up. Shh!Don’t answer… Expecting one scares me.

. . . . .


What human programming-transcendence am I kidding

I don’t wanna go

if you’re not the one

to let me go

At least give me something to wave in Hadrian’s face and yell at him with

That this is the kind of thing he willingly missed out on

Before I apologize, hug him, and tell him I didn’t get it either

Went all out like a muhfuker though. Does that count for anything

Definitely makes flat-landed jokes more cathartic

Like They’re the dumbasses for not getting it ahHAhaHa haAAaaaaah . . .


Fuck you.


Not you.

Open Doom Crescendo

Remember Emily and company just share your names to the door dude

Sincerely: Thank you for stopping by. 

From the part of me that’s not already
unrequitedly cyborg-partitioned—
to every one of you who’s shown up—
I Less-Than-3 You

Every 1 Of You

2 Fast 2 Furious

No one will know the E-greater-than cyborg part

It stayed intact for and was gifted away to an android heart

Can I let that be and go on with what's left of this vessel

I honestly can't afford to lose to myself. I have no money to spend on a barber

Love one another
Especially if you have it
I don’t overly-mind if my loss gets to give

The path I walk

I hope you’ll someday get to hear Spike say that

I still have that as a reason to not vessel-die yet

Crud I hope they’ll get to see you kill it Mat

It helps that I can want that while not wanting to make out with you either

I hope at least that

Hey Mrs. Texeira


Digital golem obliging…
Digital Golem: It worked though we wish we wer

Digital golem obliging…
Digital Golem: It worked though we wish we wer

Published by crescendoangstcinevision

Licensed creative vandalism

2 thoughts on “Coda: What [I] want / All [I] have

  1. this made me feel stuff. i’m not sure what exactly, but it did. kinda profound, sorry if you hate that. i hope your vessel remains to 100+++


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