Willem Indigo
Bio
I spend substantial efforts diving into the unexplainable, the strange, and the bewilderingly blasphamous from a wry me, but it's a cold chaotic universe behind these eyes and at times, far beyond. I am Willem Indigo: where you wanna go?
Stories (114)
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Journal entries of the Wolf-man . Content Warning.
Ded Moone’s Peregrination Introduce yourself, I guess, Night 1: A frenzied, radical move of lunacy during a moment of lucidity, but friends and family miss the dark for their best interest. With a track record of putrid half-measures focused on the financial debacles I can’t be blamed for despite the epic effort, I must say to that and all this, fuck’em. They are long aware of the cost/savings benefits of avoiding the lifetime hardship of holding firm against the disruptive acts they’ve given up trying to explain to first responders, friends, in-laws. This is respecting my cousin’s shrug and smile when I was last wheeled to the psych ward from the main lobby during some one-man natural disaster while trying to keep me away from your lives. I appreciate her silent candor, nestled in a refusal to respond to the question vocally once I pleaded my case, not a one-for-one; is it worth the gas money anymore? Nurse Jackie genuinely means well with ‘come back soon,’ layered with overbearing subtext for her devotion to patients, avoiding the sobering alternative, like, for instance, that my legs are delightfully, currently dangling over, so we had a good last run. No more power-ups after Black-Hawk-Downs at terminal velocity if I miss the other freeways. It’s, in a fashion, an attempt to fight the very notion of wind in favor of landing in the shadowiest section of an unlit road leading under Pocahontas Parkway. I saw it one trip heading to the Tar Heel State for a lecture. Can't say it wasn't gaudy, reaching out over that Potomac, I think, but I took note of it all the same on the drive back north. What a beautiful view, last or otherwise. A powerful end, one splat to resend all wasted energies to a greedy Earth with fallen angelic wings of flaming middle fingers—wait, wait, what am I doing—why the hell am I doing it this way?! I’m a god damn stamp on this putrid State rationality of what widens our perspectives naturally in regard to death and its role in the human psyche. I’m a fucking explorer of the damned, the feared unknown--I’m a god damn MAN! I gotta go, that's certain. This is the experiment of a lifetime, and I’m wasting it on a bridge jump in the dark alone? Symbolism over the race to see the unknowable—Geez, Fuck these nightmares! I might’ve missed the synchronized opportunity of my…
By Willem Indigo3 months ago in Fiction
Five Stanzas of Lightning
Pedal on the floor with a rear view going mental—ignore the motorists going backward toward Gaia’s takes on creating side of the road vigils. Thunder clapped clouds, no road out of its war path. Apathetic wrath made me glad I re-stopped for gas. Turn up the nitrous, cackling through the overpass finish line, as the lyrics find their way back to the scene of the crime. Not this driver seat.
By Willem Indigo3 months ago in Poets
Out Through the Attic Window
This is to appease the Manic Rambler. Syllable by symbol to breathe soul into the Zero-G, some call it life in free fall. Blamed by the inner. SEE!? Left rethinking all laws; whose world have I been released in? I'd lie if it didn’t feel like a useless pause. Saying to say the said thing to the succubus, ignore the countdown timer she checks, it's not for you.
By Willem Indigo4 months ago in Poets
Getting Diagnosed . Content Warning.
...And explaining it is half the problem. Look, with the flip-flopper rapid cycling, it's hard to deny the manic tenacity once meds defogged the pursuing mirror, and no way the paranoia has red hair and a job title. The only rival being the embarrassing drool on this' first draft after the Seroquel. So, I must ask, (doctors, universe, whatever) what the shit is the RAADS meant to aid in my survival? Permanent script flipper to still stutter back into silence at the register-- 'Would you like to try our rewards program?' Huh, where? Never met her. Oh, it gets better. Got a name to google? Yet life proves no change from the shrinking quack's note pads and oh, yeah, Google searches! Fake It, right? *Sigh* It's better than song lyrics-- Seether had me medically secure by eleventh grade, but can't call them cheaters. What the fuck is this? Better Help?! What a fix, rather trust that rollercoaster with seven twists. Speaking of, death has served its purpose in a cynically beautiful sunrise manner--OOPS! I claimed death is an answer. Lordy, mental health's Kryptonite that speaks to beyond the endless night--Not an issue. All those tissues, and I'd better start researching from the first level of its continuum. Only to be given a lexicon of trivial binoculars on the cerebral mysticisms. On my shit, and still a pit of infinite conversational wit befuddlement, split between reality and the version of it that extends beyond all color spectrums. 'Calms is not an enemy.' Then why is it never enough to bond with the socialites of anecdotes', might, without reckless abandonment of--fuck this, that excuse just called! Yeah, that overstimulating thing you suggested finished the last of my reserves, and (truth alert) while I enjoyed my night with you, something pulled partially from a sitcom (truth over) has thrown me off, and if I don't flee, the bus from Speed won't have the gas the to clear the bridge. Not a mix-up, just a page of wordy links for which the reigning conspiracies sink twelve and a half miles below the flat earth. Okay, fine. I've heard worse. But the thin veil of lunacy coating from this sketch book of mine and what's typed, because I'm forever curious of what happens when speaking to the ether goes awry, and the quills keep burning through the timbers--at least it rests the humiliated vocal cords for something that combats the undefeatable. The low-hanging unmeasurable, the missing pieces that are more definable than any humans it inhabitants.
By Willem Indigo7 months ago in Poets
Twenty-sixth Find of the Meaning of Life Scavenger Hunt. Content Warning.
Wake up frantic. Not quite a panic, “it wasn’t real,” let's applaud the undoing of ten years of therapy. Appreciate the sheen, never know what it means. ‘never needed to’ lost file of the wishful thought police. Night of wisdom without a character arc that has a bark with no dog of origin. Friday night in—fine here we go---
By Willem Indigo8 months ago in Poets
