The End
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Foul Stench of Victory
What am I trying to say to you all of the time? What is that I have to say? I love you, dammit.
crimson and clover, over and over
I can be a child sometimes. I can be aggressively selfish. I raise my voice without provocation; Not frequently, but it has been known to happen. If I can admit this to someone, perhaps the voices will stop. I may be insane. It came to me that I attempted to decipher the shit that happens in my brain, fell completely ill to it and everything stalled out. Interesting. I can get so lost in my head sometimes that I can't see out. I cry sometimes...ha, sometimes. Negative or positive I can be heavily influenced. I have a tendency towards competition. That's all for now...exhausted.
K, I'm back. What is this 'I' business, anyhow? What is an insecurity and how does it connect to, seemingly, every aspect of your motherfucking being? Why aren't we aware of our deficiencies when they are instilled for eternity? Does Everyone drown from time to time? Do we consume ourselves at such a furious rate that it comes spewing out in a great mass whilst continuing it's quest for complete suffocation...I know I've been hankering for a little self destruction. I think that's what happens sometimes. What else could it be? Everything else sounds such a fallacious evasion.
I am a sheet of paper, fiber bare, and streaked with eraser marks. Broken lead marks scuff my tired surface. Being paper is very tiring. Uninspired even.
'What use,' I demand. I am strong most days. I maintain better than anyone around...just ask...
What happens to a person when they're afraid of everything, forever? What would that result look like? Could not imagine what kind of infesting smell that would evoke. I was thinking of smells today and how they are so very indicative of a persons health. Mental or other I believe...all that shit be symbiotic anyway. I saw a man sitting under a tree. He was attached to oxygen and was the oddest kind of grey. I whizzed by him on the old beastie, thought about how grateful I was to be me in that moment and imagined he smelt just a fright. I'm not sure I want to experience that.
I want to breath like I'm in reverse. I think this could be really helpful. Being is difficult to maintain some days. Not all days, not even most days...but it's enough. Too much really. My sanity seems to follow the vicissitudes of the lot. I could be really great, you hear me! Stupendous even. I don't require a fucking hand holding-weepy cry fest-babbling emotional strife filled-moon madness-meltdown to get through every hurdle that attempts to impale me with its slivers...creosote tipped slivers of death! (I was funny once.) It looks dark down there though...and there could be spiders. Also, it seems a bit chilly...just give me a finger.
crimson and clover, over and over
I can be a child sometimes. I can be aggressively selfish. I raise my voice without provocation; Not frequently, but it has been known to happen. If I can admit this to someone, perhaps the voices will stop. I may be insane. It came to me that I attempted to decipher the shit that happens in my brain, fell completely ill to it and everything stalled out. Interesting. I can get so lost in my head sometimes that I can't see out. I cry sometimes...ha, sometimes. Negative or positive I can be heavily influenced. I have a tendency towards competition. That's all for now...exhausted.
K, I'm back. What is this 'I' business, anyhow? What is an insecurity and how does it connect to, seemingly, every aspect of your motherfucking being? Why aren't we aware of our deficiencies when they are instilled for eternity? Does Everyone drown from time to time? Do we consume ourselves at such a furious rate that it comes spewing out in a great mass whilst continuing it's quest for complete suffocation...I know I've been hankering for a little self destruction. I think that's what happens sometimes. What else could it be? Everything else sounds such a fallacious evasion.
I am a sheet of paper, fiber bare, and streaked with eraser marks. Broken lead marks scuff my tired surface. Being paper is very tiring. Uninspired even.
'What use,' I demand. I am strong most days. I maintain better than anyone around...just ask...
What happens to a person when they're afraid of everything, forever? What would that result look like? Could not imagine what kind of infesting smell that would evoke. I was thinking of smells today and how they are so very indicative of a persons health. Mental or other I believe...all that shit be symbiotic anyway. I saw a man sitting under a tree. He was attached to oxygen and was the oddest kind of grey. I whizzed by him on the old beastie, thought about how grateful I was to be me in that moment and imagined he smelt just a fright. I'm not sure I want to experience that.
I want to breath like I'm in reverse. I think this could be really helpful. Being is difficult to maintain some days. Not all days, not even most days...but it's enough. Too much really. My sanity seems to follow the vicissitudes of the lot. I could be really great, you hear me! Stupendous even. I don't require a fucking hand holding-weepy cry fest-babbling emotional strife filled-moon madness-meltdown to get through every hurdle that attempts to impale me with its slivers...creosote tipped slivers of death! (I was funny once.) It looks dark down there though...and there could be spiders. Also, it seems a bit chilly...just give me a finger.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
