Originally Posted: 10/10/08
Because the other blog I wrote today was so dreadfully dark, and because it's after 3 in the morning and I can't sleep, I thought I'd try my hand at writing another one. This will probably be less dreary but no less cryptic, as I'm in the mood to be a little...off-key. Give me a break though, its been kind of a rough week. Traffic was hell, classes are long and tedious at the moment, and my alleged break was less than relaxing. The food I ate alone should qualify for some kind of medal. But anyway, we soldier on.
Skin peeled back by peals of thunder, reveal the festering flesh beneath. Stolen dreams, like a stolen breath, are pulled away by Time and fade into the background noise until you can hardly remember them. What was it I promised? What was it I wanted? And we ask more questions than we could ever seek the answer to. All along distracting ourselves from the real goal, the self-realization, with mindless sex and assholes. The constant flow of pitiful creatures that slough through our lives like maggots in the mud, choking our bowels with oozing sores and infection, filling our minds with voices that echo and shatter even the deepest of reveries with lurid thoughts of self-deception, of throwing out the good things and wallowing in the bad, the sheer number of them is staggering.
Our livelihood is cast away, shrugged off like dead skin for something malevolent, something malicious that hides behind a pleasant veneer, always waiting to drop the charade, shrug off its mask and worm its way into your guts. Call it bitterness or anger, call it a vague notion of self-realization (I've nearly acheived our goal, in that case) that nice guys do finish last, and sometimes its better to be the lowest form of scum than attempt to be supportive of something you honestly don't beleive in. Then again, you need to pick your battles, and some of them just aren't worth fighting. The cost is all too human, the body count is too high.
Grow some wings and soar. Leave behind your mortal coil. Lose yourself, become a star, become something that even the most absurd poets can't define with pretty words and lies. You'll be beautiful and glorious, but you'll always be alone. Too bad you couldn't see that you were always beautiful and glorious. Too bad that wasn't enough.
I'm understanding. I get it. The world ain't what it used to be. The exchange rate has changed pace and we're on the low end of the spectrum. At the same time, sometimes its best to see the good in even the worst of things, the worst of times. Sometimes its good to be satisfied with patching holes and stopping leaks than burning it to the ground and starting anew. And sometimes I hold on because habits are hard to break, and stubborness is hereditary. The choices are endless, the list goes on and on. But the gray persists and I lose my train of thought, stop caring about the concrete things and start wondering about hearts, stars and horseshoes, clovers and blue moons. Pots of gold and rainbows, and the red balloons. Tangents, you see? Little jingles that remind us that none of it is really above grade-school silliness and the sooner we accept that, the sooner we realize we're better off not taking the bullshit seriously. Just laugh at it. Laugh bitterly if you must. But laugh.
Fuck, blind ignorance is worse than blind faith. At least the god-fearing jackals have something vaguely tangible to beleive in. The blindly ignorant have shadows and shapes lurking on the edge of their perception, things not readily identifiable. Nothing real, nothing true, no place to call home. Its not sorrow, not really, but it isn't something better either. Just the notion that there is something better, something more. They forget who they are, and who cares about them. They forget their human, they forget what human is, what the world is, what I am. They forget and forget and forget until the blame is shat in every direction, splayed out like blood spatter layed thick all around.The gore goes on until its out of sight, and then they realize they're bleeding from the chest.
It's all my fault, ladies and gentlemen. But I'll be damned if its not yours too.
Plaster yourself across the street and hope that nothing kills you. Blindfold yourself and step up to door number one. Pray and beg and wish all you like. The furnace is heated and you just can't help yourself. Human curiosity is a terrible thing, but the only thing worse is not satisfying it.
Not ok? You're damn right. But who is? Are you ok, reader? Is your life going according to plan? No, of course not. But its the little disappointments, the shit you lose and then forget that make you who you are. The people you leave behind because, for one reason or another, its just not worth it anymore. Damn. This is just as dark as the last one. I have to wonder what's plaguing me. Maybe its contagious. Maybe you'll catch the dark, cryptic bug too and we'll all be wasting words on senseless bullshit when we could be better spending time with our kids. Or, at the very least, out trying to tag a piece of ass. Or dick or pussy or llama cunt. Whatever your fancy. I'm not going to judge you on the weird shit you do on your own time. Just don't put that shit on You Tube. Tangents, tangents. Lost my train of thought again.
What a mindfuck. That sounds like you've got sex on the brain. Or, rather, I've got sex on the brain. I am, after all, just talking to myself. Blogging this way seems a little schizophrenic. Oddly, that's a little comforting. My shoulder is killing me, but at least I can tell myself about it in a public forum! I'd like a blowjob. No, actually, I take that back. I'd like to smash mailboxes with a nine iron. That's not right either. What the hell do I want? I want you. *Wink wink nudge nudge* Good God, I'm out on a limb again.
I think I'd like to pray, but it reminds me too much of giving head. Being on my knees and all, and I feel far too much like lashing out to prostrate myself before anyone or anything. Sorry Big Guy, but the repenting will have to wait for another time. Besides, a prayer in which every other word is "fuck" or some similarly monosyllabic word probably won't go over well with the Almighty. I suppose I should tone down the poor potty-mouth kind of language. Then again, fuck it. I'm a rebel, a loose cannon, a pointy-eared, frantically masterbating little shit-ling from the forest of Elfmoore. I'm not a nerd, fuckhead. I'm a level three warlock.
Fuck you. And the horse you rode in on. You shit-for-brains, disease-ridden, worthless sack of human waste. There has never been a more wretched creature, a more single-minded, utterly pathetic organism. I've met plankton with more class and intelligence. I could wring your fucking neck, rip your spineless body in two, force you to watch a baboon ass-rape your parents and your sister and your cat and still never be satisfied that I'd inflicted the kind of pain you deserve. The only thing I hate more than a liar, is a liar that makes someone close to them cry for no good fucking reason. You self-centered waste of air. Maybe I will pray. Take the old Holy Bone and suck the sticky white goo right out of it, in hopes that someone Upstairs will strike you with some kind of horrible flesh-eating virus, hepatitis, and a bolt of fucking lightning. Die. Please, just die and spare us the horror of having to wake up each morning and realize that somewhere, somehow, you're still using up space that could be better occupied by a chihuahua with explosive diahrrea.
Now that that's off my chest...I'll put down ten dollars that says not a fucking one of you will ever guess who made me that....wrathful.
For the record, I'm still very much in love. Off the record, I need to sleep. The world has become far too heavy a burden on my eyes. Shut down mode activated.
...the crack inside your fuckin' heart is me.
"I am loathe to know that a man without a soul, is nothing but a splite canopic jar."
Blas-famously Yours,
-S.R.
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