This week, JP Lime’s Space has recently returned to writing with his collumn InnerSpace, feature verses, poetry or whatever he fancies any particular week.  We include it below as part of the Twist of Lime menu at Oddball Magazine. 


SpaceHate and ire consumed me. I was bedridden, fatigued from hot blood and headaches. To the touch I would have melted steel. Puncher had to die. The recurring dream of vomiting up the key only to choke was causing me to actually wet the bed. Full body contractions, I was crushed between cliffs and hanging on for dear life. My lips cracked and I begged someone for water just as bad as I begged my body for saliva. As a child people always remarked how my eyes resembled green marbles, catlike, mercurial. Seeing me now, the Stigmata would be as welcomed as a clown and credence is a small thing I could give a fuck about. Yes, my eyes change colors chameleon like as my emotions change. There you have it. You think wearing your heart on your sleeve is bad. Gimme a break. One day through life with this shit and people think your central nervous system is operating on a pharmacy or better still I might not be suitable for the general population. Fuck me? Ok… Will my instrument of otsraciation be total annihilation or societal pariah? Social norms are mightily discarded when emotions come into play. I need to remove this key….

My thoughts are cobalt and dusty snowflakes, fractured strangely bright and independent. The device on my head seems to be some sort of thought cropper. I’m kicking like a spiked rhinoceros in heat, barely woken im depleted but I have to get free. I can taste the enamel of my teeth dissolving under my clench. My temples feel like forearms bulging and this fucking beeping won’t stop. I’m gonna disembowel his lineage and gorge myself on offal soup and wife blood wine. This thought brings a serenity to my soul only the afterlife knows. I have the truest hopes that killing can be quite delectable. I have resigned to being a detested and maligned figure. So much for being a Purist. Yeah that’s what my kind are actually called. The whole iris chrome-o- factor comes from us being so emotionally attuned to our environments. We were designed to be harmonious with each other and so we were designed for transparency. Look someone in the eye and their emotion should match their vocal output. We’re not robots I just wanted to fuck with you with the vocal output. I’m probably more human than you…
To be continued…


Spaceman is co-CEO, emcee, and cerebral astronaut of JP Lime Productions.


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