tweakin
Bluelighter
November 5th 2002… 3:16am
I’m free falling into a deep space mystery of depression, confusion and a façade of happiness that I just can’t shake. In the past I’ve been able to crawl slowly but surely out of the hole that I systematically dig myself into. Now I’m scared. I’m crawling, digging, clawing at the edge, but the sky seems so far away and its so dark down here that I can’t find my next foothole.. I try fresh air – the Fake People packed brooklyn bridge – I fall further. I just don’t know what it is that I need, I don’t know where to scream anymore. I look in the mirror.. I intently focus on every pore, every bump and color on my (my?) face. I talk to myself in a lingo that only I understand, and some days I can’t believe it’s me that’s spouting words of disdain and self-deprecating bullshit. I know its bullshit, I know it’s just me, society, fleeting time and wasted energy that forces me to feel despair for lost life.
Smudged eyeliner drooping at the corners of my scornful eyes, and I imagine the mirror is slowly cracking. Cracking until the distorted image that is me becomes something of Picasso’s praised art. Art that I don’t understand. Where is that fine line between bliss and melancholy? It is fine.. that line that has evaded me throughout adolescence, and continues to do so now at the tumultuous beginning of adulthood. How desperately do I want to see that beautiful creature that the homeless man across the way claims that I am. Where is she? Somedays she emerges and I feel Better… until the next morning comes and my swollen face and recessed eyes stare back at me from every reflective shop window that I pause to stare in. I never kick, I never scream, never ever cry in front of others. I become lifeless as the sun sets every evening in front of a many colored television screen… paralyzed with eyes fixated on a fake world of bright people whose problems are solved within a half-hour span. When will my half-hour come? When will I look like that when I awake from a night of sickly sleep? When will I be like those folks in front of the shiny camera lense, forever marking their perfect actions that entertain millions? I am bemused.
I too had ambitions. I too had true emotions. Yes, I have felt that I can make something of myself, but I can’t remember what that feels like anymore in this world of changing weather and fashion.
New York City.. the city that never sleeps.. but I do. I peer out the window above my bed towards the brick wall that is my view.. and there it is. The symbol of a lifetime.. window:brickwall:leadstonowhere. “don’t they know it’s the end of the world?”
I’m free falling into a deep space mystery of depression, confusion and a façade of happiness that I just can’t shake. In the past I’ve been able to crawl slowly but surely out of the hole that I systematically dig myself into. Now I’m scared. I’m crawling, digging, clawing at the edge, but the sky seems so far away and its so dark down here that I can’t find my next foothole.. I try fresh air – the Fake People packed brooklyn bridge – I fall further. I just don’t know what it is that I need, I don’t know where to scream anymore. I look in the mirror.. I intently focus on every pore, every bump and color on my (my?) face. I talk to myself in a lingo that only I understand, and some days I can’t believe it’s me that’s spouting words of disdain and self-deprecating bullshit. I know its bullshit, I know it’s just me, society, fleeting time and wasted energy that forces me to feel despair for lost life.
Smudged eyeliner drooping at the corners of my scornful eyes, and I imagine the mirror is slowly cracking. Cracking until the distorted image that is me becomes something of Picasso’s praised art. Art that I don’t understand. Where is that fine line between bliss and melancholy? It is fine.. that line that has evaded me throughout adolescence, and continues to do so now at the tumultuous beginning of adulthood. How desperately do I want to see that beautiful creature that the homeless man across the way claims that I am. Where is she? Somedays she emerges and I feel Better… until the next morning comes and my swollen face and recessed eyes stare back at me from every reflective shop window that I pause to stare in. I never kick, I never scream, never ever cry in front of others. I become lifeless as the sun sets every evening in front of a many colored television screen… paralyzed with eyes fixated on a fake world of bright people whose problems are solved within a half-hour span. When will my half-hour come? When will I look like that when I awake from a night of sickly sleep? When will I be like those folks in front of the shiny camera lense, forever marking their perfect actions that entertain millions? I am bemused.
I too had ambitions. I too had true emotions. Yes, I have felt that I can make something of myself, but I can’t remember what that feels like anymore in this world of changing weather and fashion.
New York City.. the city that never sleeps.. but I do. I peer out the window above my bed towards the brick wall that is my view.. and there it is. The symbol of a lifetime.. window:brickwall:leadstonowhere. “don’t they know it’s the end of the world?”
