What are you doing...

I asked myself without really asking.  I wrote out these words, not in this order in my brain, but on the page.


insecure
attention
truth=disrespect
blame
crying
guilt
lunacy


I know these words.  I've lived that.  I thought I required so very little.  Why must I be the one confused?  Disoriented...stunned...and severely stupid?  Every song speaks to me from you.  Ridiculous.  Thought this was going to be a bit of a sad one...it looks up.  Well, sullen anyhow...for I am a lunatic.  It's been said before, don't act so surprised.  Feeling stuff is hard.  It doesn't necessarily need to be, but by golly when I set my mind to something...

You know what's worse than having feelings?  Talking about them.  Talking about feelings of all variations...je ne sais quoi.  Ugh, especially the *gulp* happy ones.  Why do my communication skills fail me when I require them most?  It's scary out there...worse when you're alone.  I make fun of myself you know.  When I've done or said something perpetually useless, I'll heckle.  It sounds simple, and at first it could go either way.  Then the repetition begins.  Its slight annoyance in the beginning quickly manifests itself as a raging pestilence that insists on permeating every iota of humanity.  I am all emotion at this point.  Why bottle?  Why maintain as though everything be fine, when everything is just that and through gritted teeth no less.  Fear of looking weak.    Stupid.  Needy.  I don't know why yet, but we must need these for some purpose, no?  Some evolutionary throwback to a simpler time?  Being fucked around by every retarded fuckface douchebag that came within radius?  You know, bunch a things.  Wow.  Am I still that bitter?  That caught up in my, not so past.  It felt great to say, so maybe?  Why does admittance of negative things about ourselves hurt so goddamn much?  Who told us these things were held in such revolt but more importantly, why?  Were they told these things as children?  Did they make it up so future generations would remain repressed and loveless?

I want to be real with you, ya know.  It's never gone down that way.  I won't let it.  I doubt one could handle how real I can be.  I request a team of young supplicants to take on what I have to give until i can give no more and every last one of them has fallen at my feet in exhaustive uncertainty.  Though they've failed in breaking me, I would be free at last.  Purged of it all, I would step over their mangled and emaciated carcasses only to greet you and be held within your arms and in your heart.  Without my knaves to sacrifice so graciously their time to me, how will I ever get to a place of tranquility?  I long for silence like people long for drink.  For food.  Equality.  Love.  I'm in love.  It's colder here than anticipated, but sweeter than imaginable.  Why must my evolution be so laborious and inefficient?  I want results now, so I can move on to the next hurdle without demolishing everyone in my path along the way.  It seems no matter how many times nor how often I pose the above question that shall forever go unanswered, will I get an answer that is actionable.  How do I actively change my ways if I understand them?  Where does the action begin and with what?  Perhaps my effort is lacking.  Perhaps I'm just an asshole.  Perhaps I have too much time to sit and dote on nothing while others truly suffer.  Yup...total asshole.