supersonic
Bluelighter
This is along one, but I think maybe one of the few worth a shit I've written lately.
So, here we are again.
I remember when declarations didn't have to be made, when minds ran rampant with passion, fighting against the deadened material, burning with the flames of rebellion.
Of what?
Of everything.
Listen now, bring your ears close, I'm ending this whole nonsense soon.
Its about release not rebellion, the clawing and the tearing out of my cell.
To tell you the truth I don't know if I should even compose such words anymore, so tense, so pushed, so many times writing the wrong thing.
I'm so tired now, this time from all this clawing, all I can do now is hold a pen in my hand and let the ink do the talking.
Is this even me here?
Should I stop and take the time to think about it, or will that ruin it?
Then I stop.
And now I'm thinking.
I'm thinking this isn't going to be clever and its ok, it's not going to be even all to "deep" not that I know how that is, its just going to be how I feel.
And I feel dirty, soiled, worn out, and beaten, and I've felt like this for so long, long as I can remember, laying in bath tubs putting my head under hoping I had the perserverence to finish what I couldn't do with the knife.
I remember grey days spent with myself, countless days.
I remember fragments of faces passing by my eyes in wide dissary.
Paying so much attention to everyone around me yet not paying attention to how they felt, how I felt, how things felt.
I didn't feel, I didn't want to, I'd been feeling for so long and it had descended into pain.
Into hurtful acusations, pointless mockery's of people who didn't even know me.
That was the whole problem with life when you see it at 13, you don't know who the hell you are, or what the hell your suppossed to be.
And everyone thinks they know how everyone else is suppossed to be, and how they're suppossed to act, and what they're suppossed to like.
And its tiring watching the world shove its feelings of what you should like out upon you.
And what other choice is there to find yourself besides killing it all and killing the screaming blinding sounds being thrown at you.
And you can't kill it, you can only kill your reception of it.
So I killed myself.
And what I found was that I didn't want that either.
Because turning off is just another aspect of what people tell you you should be, and it gets so much more ambigous when you get beyond the blantancies of modern media and peer perceptions.
Then you have to look at how you shape yourself as a direct reaction to those perceptions, and if you're doing that you still aren't shaping yourself.
And it's getting harder everytime I realize the fallacy of my ideals.
Then what do I have?
Choices all leading to discontent.
I have nothing, and nothing is the only pure thing sometimes.
So many people think that nothing is horrible and lonely.
That lonliness is so bad, no one should ever be with another person unless they can fully appreciate the purity and quiet that goes along with being alone, with nothing.
So what does this all mean, what is happening here.
What is it that I want?
Emotionally, contentness, happines, understanding.
How do I get it?
I need to confront myself, be true to myself, understand what it is that is good. How I should be in relation to everyone else.
What I should believe in, because goddamnit I HAVE SUCH A FUCKNG HEADACHE WITH ALL THESE CHOICES THAT I'M FACED WITH! WITH SO MANY COLD BLIND CLOSED PEOPLE SCREAMING WHAT IS RIGHT!
and what is right?
Is it this deep seeded human intuition?
I don't know, it doesn't seem deep seeded, everyone is so contradicting, so oppossed to each other.
So where do I go?
A virtable innocent in this land of insanity. And yes, I am an innocent.
The corrupt are those who are set in their ways, they are the ones how are happy with the way things are, they are the people who tell me I am diseased, I am the weird, and its insane, because they're all so scary to me.
So how do I attain this happiness when all my attempts have failed?
How can I stop punishing everyone around me that I care about?
Oh, I just don't know.
All this intelligence, all these revelations I've had and yet I can't do the simplest thing to make myself happy.
And things make me happy, but their limited just like my happiness.
So where do I go?
Forward I guess.
Oh were going, but where?
------------------
If anything I do drugs to appreciate reality.
So, here we are again.
I remember when declarations didn't have to be made, when minds ran rampant with passion, fighting against the deadened material, burning with the flames of rebellion.
Of what?
Of everything.
Listen now, bring your ears close, I'm ending this whole nonsense soon.
Its about release not rebellion, the clawing and the tearing out of my cell.
To tell you the truth I don't know if I should even compose such words anymore, so tense, so pushed, so many times writing the wrong thing.
I'm so tired now, this time from all this clawing, all I can do now is hold a pen in my hand and let the ink do the talking.
Is this even me here?
Should I stop and take the time to think about it, or will that ruin it?
Then I stop.
And now I'm thinking.
I'm thinking this isn't going to be clever and its ok, it's not going to be even all to "deep" not that I know how that is, its just going to be how I feel.
And I feel dirty, soiled, worn out, and beaten, and I've felt like this for so long, long as I can remember, laying in bath tubs putting my head under hoping I had the perserverence to finish what I couldn't do with the knife.
I remember grey days spent with myself, countless days.
I remember fragments of faces passing by my eyes in wide dissary.
Paying so much attention to everyone around me yet not paying attention to how they felt, how I felt, how things felt.
I didn't feel, I didn't want to, I'd been feeling for so long and it had descended into pain.
Into hurtful acusations, pointless mockery's of people who didn't even know me.
That was the whole problem with life when you see it at 13, you don't know who the hell you are, or what the hell your suppossed to be.
And everyone thinks they know how everyone else is suppossed to be, and how they're suppossed to act, and what they're suppossed to like.
And its tiring watching the world shove its feelings of what you should like out upon you.
And what other choice is there to find yourself besides killing it all and killing the screaming blinding sounds being thrown at you.
And you can't kill it, you can only kill your reception of it.
So I killed myself.
And what I found was that I didn't want that either.
Because turning off is just another aspect of what people tell you you should be, and it gets so much more ambigous when you get beyond the blantancies of modern media and peer perceptions.
Then you have to look at how you shape yourself as a direct reaction to those perceptions, and if you're doing that you still aren't shaping yourself.
And it's getting harder everytime I realize the fallacy of my ideals.
Then what do I have?
Choices all leading to discontent.
I have nothing, and nothing is the only pure thing sometimes.
So many people think that nothing is horrible and lonely.
That lonliness is so bad, no one should ever be with another person unless they can fully appreciate the purity and quiet that goes along with being alone, with nothing.
So what does this all mean, what is happening here.
What is it that I want?
Emotionally, contentness, happines, understanding.
How do I get it?
I need to confront myself, be true to myself, understand what it is that is good. How I should be in relation to everyone else.
What I should believe in, because goddamnit I HAVE SUCH A FUCKNG HEADACHE WITH ALL THESE CHOICES THAT I'M FACED WITH! WITH SO MANY COLD BLIND CLOSED PEOPLE SCREAMING WHAT IS RIGHT!
and what is right?
Is it this deep seeded human intuition?
I don't know, it doesn't seem deep seeded, everyone is so contradicting, so oppossed to each other.
So where do I go?
A virtable innocent in this land of insanity. And yes, I am an innocent.
The corrupt are those who are set in their ways, they are the ones how are happy with the way things are, they are the people who tell me I am diseased, I am the weird, and its insane, because they're all so scary to me.
So how do I attain this happiness when all my attempts have failed?
How can I stop punishing everyone around me that I care about?
Oh, I just don't know.
All this intelligence, all these revelations I've had and yet I can't do the simplest thing to make myself happy.
And things make me happy, but their limited just like my happiness.
So where do I go?
Forward I guess.
Oh were going, but where?
------------------
If anything I do drugs to appreciate reality.
