CODEX III (Drunk Butterflies)

 III. Drunk butterflies

Something isn't working

Something isn't working

Something isn't working

Something isn't working

Something isn't working

Something isn't working

Something isn't working

And what is this feeling suposed to mean? Why are there butterflies in my stomach if I was told they had died?

Something isn't working

Something isn't working

They were gone. Why have they come back?

Worst part is I have never known how to manage them.

No, even worse is that I've always known they weren't gone at all, I had just rejected them. 

Pointless, now I see. 

But why isn't it working right if my butterflies are flying around? Why can't anything work properly for once? I reject to return under a summer tree for three hours only to realise the machinery of beliefs can't syntonise as suposed with the butterflies.

I'm fucked up. The machine's buggered up and it's my fault: I shouldn't have messed around as if I could make myself a deity.

After all, even if I've spent years trying not to care about the butterflies, even if I've attempted a genocide towards my winged feelings, I do care: if I did not care, I wouldn't be writting this down. 

Something isn't working

Something isn't working, but maybe I can fix it.

I can fix it! 

I can poison the butterflies in my stomach! NO, NO, NO, NO,

Even if I attemp to accept my butterfles, the machinery in my head is still wrecked.

I can poison the butterflies in my stomach! Poison them with booze...

    ...that used to work...

        ...maybe Drunk Butterflies result more...charming. 

   Hi haurà part IV...