the experience

so who are they these harassers anything but soapbubbles in a vast ocean; in all that is  one who puts the bugs out, one with earphones on,  one who runs before me to put the malicious rumours out, one to act as lover, one to analyze and collect info and pass it on and to talk and gossip and.........  all out of themselves
you name them
picking up threads from past conversation  things said or done: "and then she said, and then she said..........."
you know who you are
drift past me you mindless heartless destructive wasters of life

pirates of a float of immense pain hanging over us  what do they hide that never comes out?  the sweetness they crave  as agents of a bloodship in the ether or the stratosphere  pirates that call me scavenger when they are parasiting me 
impossible to find decent work; to move forward when they made their presence known in all sorts of places  infiltrators in all corners of life  seeping in everywhere  thin invisible threads that made them seem human    setting out malicious rumours to hide themselves behind  someone would get so damn angry for no apparent reason  I found out  there would be this aggression over something I had said  I'm quiet

they populate some sort of a sadness-realm in existence  guardians of some sort of entrances  to a huge machinery of tristesse  hallways  I can now see that I sensed this as a child  like a drabness  a feeling of emptiness  a grey domain to be bogged down in  that lockes you in in the absence of god

I wrote this text without capitalization or punktuation.  Leaving only open space between the sentences.  A poem or a picture in words.  It is not clever.  It is not intellectual.  There are no references to anything but what is actually experienced.  It just is.  Perhaps it is how I see and don't see.  Perhaps it is how we begin to see. 

H