Psycho Pears and God of Mess

Oh god, I’m such a mess…

I said those words out loud in frustration…

to myself, to the empty walls, to the clutter of the room, to whoever is listening, the god of mess…

I’d just become aware that once again my brain had scrambled information, it had been doing it all day,  on into the night, into the early hours across the threshold of a new dawn…

This is normal for me, confusion is my home…

the dyslexic dialetic…

sometimes things are clear, sometimes I only think there is clarity, and sometimes I know that what I am seeing is not there, what I am thinking is the result of wires crisscrossing, signals getting mixed, synapses misfiring in the dark, fireworks inside creating an alternate reality where…

Poached Pears…

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poached pears - bettysliuimage via le jus d’orange

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…become Psycho Pears.

That’s what I read – Psycho Pears – when I saw the above image float by my eyes on the computer screen.

Poached pears, stolen fruit… the sign says don’t trespass, but what is forbidden tastes sweet.

Yet the sugar of the pilfered pear is not as delectable as the bitter zing-tang of a psycho pear…

Once you’ve tasted the psycho pear, the shape of flavour changes and you can never go back to the way things were.

I’m sorry, so sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…

the god of mess welcomes you.

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random link – The 13 Biggest Assholes in Greek Mythology