nobody should ever
realize how sick
i really am. because
you
can't
help
me.
so move
right
on
along.
"The salvation of the world is in man's suffering."
-William Faulkner
28 December, 2008
24 December, 2008
14 December, 2008
Nails, Teeth, Anthony, Depression, and Disassociation
“Oh, Anthony!” she wailed, throwing a perfectly manicured hand around his neck. “It is so lovely to see you. It really is just so lovely.” I cringed; it was people like this who made the use of italic letters so incredibly necessary. It was a Friday night, and Willoughby’s Brewing Company was brimming over with teenaged pals, business partners, young couples in love or lust and many, many drunks with some cash to spend and dignity to do away with. The Holiday season was truly upon us; obnoxious Christmas music, obnoxious acquaintances, obnoxious lights and decorations, the works. I leaned against a large glass display case that featured distasteful shirts, sweaters, mugs, and the like for sale. Printed on these nauseating novelties were images such as eerie looking pumpkins that grinned at the words “Pumpkin Ale” which were printed on the objects in tacky, gooey looking fonts. My friend Kaity and I were waiting for our seat number to buzz and glow red, and gazed jealously at the two or threesomes that would pass us by happily as their seat numbers blinked flamboyantly against the relatively dark atmosphere of the restaurant.
“Seriously? Why do they get seated before us? That woman is wearing pink pants with rhinestones on them. Rhinestones, Christine. Rhinestones.” She repeated it as if she couldn’t believe someone would have the audacity to wear such an atrocious ensemble.
“Yeah” I agreed. They really were hideous pants. I directed my attention back to the lady with the perfect manicure and her new-found Anthony to distract myself from how hungry I was. She flashed her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth at her Anthony as she clutched her designer purse with one hand and held her expensive fur coat tightly to her neatly, glitteringly accessorized bosom.
“So, you must tell me” she paused here for the slightest moment to take a small breath. Perhaps for dramatic effect; perhaps because it probably gets pretty tiring when your life is one long, predictable script. “How is Karen doing? And the girls?” she spoke as if Anthony, Karen, and “the girls” were the epicenter of her entire being. Her eyes darted eagerly around the bar stools and underneath the tables as if Anthony’s Karen and Anthony’s girls were hiding.
“Well,” Anthony began jovially, “Karen is freshening up in the bathroom and the girls are being taken care of by the baby sitter right now. But they are angels. Daddy’s little girls!” I couldn’t tell whether I began choking out of stifled laughter or suppressed gagging- probably a rough mixture of the two.
“We really should all get together sometime! Does Karen still have my number?” I gave a short prayer of thanks when Kaity and I were suddenly and finally ushered to our table. After we were led away from the woman with the perfect nails and teeth, her Anthony and his Karen I almost instantly forgot about the lot of them. This depressed me a little bit for some reason until I realized that they would forget about each other as well. They would forget about each other all over again the moment they took a step in opposite directions and if their paths ever happened to cross again they would unfurl the same script for the particular scenario, and it would go on like that forever. I sighed and shrugged the sad truth of the matter off my shoulders, and opened my menu.
“I think I’d like an appetizer.”
“Seriously? Why do they get seated before us? That woman is wearing pink pants with rhinestones on them. Rhinestones, Christine. Rhinestones.” She repeated it as if she couldn’t believe someone would have the audacity to wear such an atrocious ensemble.
“Yeah” I agreed. They really were hideous pants. I directed my attention back to the lady with the perfect manicure and her new-found Anthony to distract myself from how hungry I was. She flashed her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth at her Anthony as she clutched her designer purse with one hand and held her expensive fur coat tightly to her neatly, glitteringly accessorized bosom.
“So, you must tell me” she paused here for the slightest moment to take a small breath. Perhaps for dramatic effect; perhaps because it probably gets pretty tiring when your life is one long, predictable script. “How is Karen doing? And the girls?” she spoke as if Anthony, Karen, and “the girls” were the epicenter of her entire being. Her eyes darted eagerly around the bar stools and underneath the tables as if Anthony’s Karen and Anthony’s girls were hiding.
“Well,” Anthony began jovially, “Karen is freshening up in the bathroom and the girls are being taken care of by the baby sitter right now. But they are angels. Daddy’s little girls!” I couldn’t tell whether I began choking out of stifled laughter or suppressed gagging- probably a rough mixture of the two.
“We really should all get together sometime! Does Karen still have my number?” I gave a short prayer of thanks when Kaity and I were suddenly and finally ushered to our table. After we were led away from the woman with the perfect nails and teeth, her Anthony and his Karen I almost instantly forgot about the lot of them. This depressed me a little bit for some reason until I realized that they would forget about each other as well. They would forget about each other all over again the moment they took a step in opposite directions and if their paths ever happened to cross again they would unfurl the same script for the particular scenario, and it would go on like that forever. I sighed and shrugged the sad truth of the matter off my shoulders, and opened my menu.
“I think I’d like an appetizer.”
13 December, 2008
(simulacrum.)
i am common.
less than common.
there is nothing that i have said
that has not been said before.
there is nothing that i have thought
that has not been thought before.
there is nothing i have felt that
somebody else is not feeling
right now.
nothing is worth nothing is worth
nothing is worth nothing, and
the only something that there
ever was disappeared a long,
long time ago.
the world has never been more full,
but it has never been so empty
and is it grows, we shrink.
i am not noteworthy.
i am not an individual.
i am a carbon copy of a carbon copy
and still i fail to meet the 'status quo.'
in that way i am alienated
but by no means am i a 'unique snowflake.'
i am simply a narcissist.
my reflection is humanity
and i am disgusted with it.
with myself.
glass descends upon me - (surrounded.)
i breathe myself out. it breathes me in.
snowflakes cling to my cage like
small, precious diamonds.
i try to touch.
it melts underneath the tip of my finger
and runs down the glass like a tear.
i cry.
i cry with a million other people
and i am deaf to their sadness.
if anything was real anymore,
then maybe, maybe, maybe
i would have something - (salvation?)
what is real.
breathe me in.
breathe me out.
throw me away.
rinse.
repeat.
rinse. repeat. rinse. repeat.
rinserepeatrinserepeat.
less than common.
there is nothing that i have said
that has not been said before.
there is nothing that i have thought
that has not been thought before.
there is nothing i have felt that
somebody else is not feeling
right now.
nothing is worth nothing is worth
nothing is worth nothing, and
the only something that there
ever was disappeared a long,
long time ago.
the world has never been more full,
but it has never been so empty
and is it grows, we shrink.
i am not noteworthy.
i am not an individual.
i am a carbon copy of a carbon copy
and still i fail to meet the 'status quo.'
in that way i am alienated
but by no means am i a 'unique snowflake.'
i am simply a narcissist.
my reflection is humanity
and i am disgusted with it.
with myself.
glass descends upon me - (surrounded.)
i breathe myself out. it breathes me in.
snowflakes cling to my cage like
small, precious diamonds.
i try to touch.
it melts underneath the tip of my finger
and runs down the glass like a tear.
i cry.
i cry with a million other people
and i am deaf to their sadness.
if anything was real anymore,
then maybe, maybe, maybe
i would have something - (salvation?)
what is real.
breathe me in.
breathe me out.
throw me away.
rinse.
repeat.
rinse. repeat. rinse. repeat.
rinserepeatrinserepeat.
freud(i)an
i held on as tightly as i could,
letting every touch you gave me
sink deep within my bones,
pressing my fingertips against
your back only to make sure you
were as tangible as my mind
allowed me to (believe).
i held on as tightly as i could,
and still your body wilted away
to leave me lying like a corpse.
your name parted softly from my lips,
and got lost somewhere in the dark, empty
spaces above me
as the smile on my cold face melted
away with the rueful tears i drowed (in).
i held on as tightly as i could,
leaving chains fettering me to
a nonexistant reality; a distopia
in consciousness.
virulent snakes coiled around my
ankles; (hell).
letting every touch you gave me
sink deep within my bones,
pressing my fingertips against
your back only to make sure you
were as tangible as my mind
allowed me to (believe).
i held on as tightly as i could,
and still your body wilted away
to leave me lying like a corpse.
your name parted softly from my lips,
and got lost somewhere in the dark, empty
spaces above me
as the smile on my cold face melted
away with the rueful tears i drowed (in).
i held on as tightly as i could,
leaving chains fettering me to
a nonexistant reality; a distopia
in consciousness.
virulent snakes coiled around my
ankles; (hell).
more writing material for sick bastards
“There’s more to life than love” he said, folding one long leg over the other. He had a cigarette pinched between two fingers attached to a hand resting lazily on top of an old, rickety little typewriter.
“Like what? Forcing yourself to be miserable just so you have something to write about? You’re nothing without your self-inflicted problems. Nothing. Matter of fact, you aren’t much with them either.” He just stared at me. Just stared. He took another long drag on his cigarette before scratching his chin with his thumb thoughtfully.
“I suppose so.” There was no anger in his voice. No hurt. No denial, sarcasm. Nothing. For some reason, this infuriated me.
“What the hell d’you mean ‘I suppose so’? You stupid bastard. You stupid, worthless bastard.” Another thick drag, but this time he responded with the cigarette still trapped in the corners of his mouth. Little wisps of smoke curled off of his lips as he spoke. Those lips.
“I’m not much of anything. What really is ‘anything’ and how much of it makes someone something? I mean, hell; I don’t deny that I’m nothing, but now I’m free to do anything, aren’t I? So I guess that’s something. I’m nothing without nothing. Simply put.”
“Does that even make sense?” a rhetorical question, obviously, but…
“No. I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
He sat in relaxed silence.
I sat in furious silence.
We sat in silence.
“Listen.” He said, finally pressing the tip of his cigarette roughly against a grey ashtray- little Egyptian looking symbols painted in silver around the sides. He blew his last gasp of smoke out in a jet that traveled in a straight line, right into my face. My hair. My clothes. I coughed. I glared at him but still I sat, waiting for whatever ridiculous stream of words would roll off his lips and onto my lap next. Those lips. I wished those dirty, antagonizing lips would rot and shrivel in hell.
I waited.
He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him and just stared at me for a few moments longer. He stared at me as if I were a subject. A specimen. Something to be analyzed. Dissected. I wanted to hit him, and on instinct I clenched my right hand into a tight fist.
“I think I’m in love with you.” He said, matter-of-factly. So matter-of-factly that the words traveled right through me, before hitting me square in the back. Like a boomerang.
I was winded.
“You writers are never any good. Men that write are usually either depressed, sick, or clinically insane. You’re a breed of drunks, insomniacs, dead-beats, filth.” He made no sign of discomfort at these words. His face remained completely placid.
“The world would be better off without the lot of you.”
He laughed softly.
“I think that’s the point of our existence.”
“I hate you.” But
I
never left.
Shit.
“Like what? Forcing yourself to be miserable just so you have something to write about? You’re nothing without your self-inflicted problems. Nothing. Matter of fact, you aren’t much with them either.” He just stared at me. Just stared. He took another long drag on his cigarette before scratching his chin with his thumb thoughtfully.
“I suppose so.” There was no anger in his voice. No hurt. No denial, sarcasm. Nothing. For some reason, this infuriated me.
“What the hell d’you mean ‘I suppose so’? You stupid bastard. You stupid, worthless bastard.” Another thick drag, but this time he responded with the cigarette still trapped in the corners of his mouth. Little wisps of smoke curled off of his lips as he spoke. Those lips.
“I’m not much of anything. What really is ‘anything’ and how much of it makes someone something? I mean, hell; I don’t deny that I’m nothing, but now I’m free to do anything, aren’t I? So I guess that’s something. I’m nothing without nothing. Simply put.”
“Does that even make sense?” a rhetorical question, obviously, but…
“No. I’m afraid it doesn’t.”
He sat in relaxed silence.
I sat in furious silence.
We sat in silence.
“Listen.” He said, finally pressing the tip of his cigarette roughly against a grey ashtray- little Egyptian looking symbols painted in silver around the sides. He blew his last gasp of smoke out in a jet that traveled in a straight line, right into my face. My hair. My clothes. I coughed. I glared at him but still I sat, waiting for whatever ridiculous stream of words would roll off his lips and onto my lap next. Those lips. I wished those dirty, antagonizing lips would rot and shrivel in hell.
I waited.
He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him and just stared at me for a few moments longer. He stared at me as if I were a subject. A specimen. Something to be analyzed. Dissected. I wanted to hit him, and on instinct I clenched my right hand into a tight fist.
“I think I’m in love with you.” He said, matter-of-factly. So matter-of-factly that the words traveled right through me, before hitting me square in the back. Like a boomerang.
I was winded.
“You writers are never any good. Men that write are usually either depressed, sick, or clinically insane. You’re a breed of drunks, insomniacs, dead-beats, filth.” He made no sign of discomfort at these words. His face remained completely placid.
“The world would be better off without the lot of you.”
He laughed softly.
“I think that’s the point of our existence.”
“I hate you.” But
I
never left.
Shit.
12 December, 2008
11 December, 2008
three words
"you're fucking beautiful." three words and my dignity flew out of the goddamned window. i meant nothing to you then, and i mean even less to you now. i am nothing, nothing, nothing. i still can't wipe your face away from underneath my eyelids. nothing, and i still can't brush your lips away from underneath my skin. i tried to put the way you touched me into words and there's a small heap of crumpled, loose leaf paper sitting in the corner of my room. that's the best i could do. that's the best i will ever, ever be able to do. and of course, i realized long ago that you're not worth the time of day, but you always did have a way of getting what you wanted from me. just like you have a way of getting what you want from everyone else. i'm a part of "everyone else," and that kills me. it really fucking kills me, you know that? but you couldn't care less. you couldn't possibly care less, could you? i have a photograph imprinted in my mind of you sitting in front of a mirror, practicing and perfecting those carefully chosen phrases- those witty one-liners that are always so effectively delivered and even more ravenously devoured by her. and her. and her. and her. three words and my jeans are dangling on the end of one foot and my dignity is out of sight. you're not worth the time of day, but all the ink i've used in so many fruitless attempts to put you into words swallows the light and spits out blackened rivers back onto my weary hands. you're not worth the time of day but i never really found myself to be a morning person and strangely enough, even in my dreams i find myself crawling back to you on my broken, battered knees. wish fulfillment is a bitch. three words. three simple words and i belong to you, and i'll always belong to you but you will never be mine.
"drag my fingertips up to your lips. to touch those beautiful lies. the taste of deceit has never been so sweet."
weary.
"the corners and edges of every room shrinks in your presence, and i pray to suffocate before air slides down my lungs without you."
weary.
"i am constantly, constantly wondering..."
weary.
it's never enough.
"i can't stop thinking about that night."
weary.
it's never enough.
(i'm never enough.)
if only those three words had been "i love you." would things be different now?
"drag my fingertips up to your lips. to touch those beautiful lies. the taste of deceit has never been so sweet."
weary.
"the corners and edges of every room shrinks in your presence, and i pray to suffocate before air slides down my lungs without you."
weary.
"i am constantly, constantly wondering..."
weary.
it's never enough.
"i can't stop thinking about that night."
weary.
it's never enough.
(i'm never enough.)
if only those three words had been "i love you." would things be different now?
10 December, 2008
02 December, 2008
You told me you had a dream of me burning, and that you woke up with laughter dancing hot on your tongue; your version of a sonnet. Proof, you said, of how much you love me- how you can't breathe without me. But you're still breathing. You're still breathing, and i'm still writing. Don't talk to me about liars. Don't you ever talk to me about liars, you fucking snake because I'm still writing. And where are you? Whose death are you imagining now?
"Your name is nothing but a forgotten note in his memory." An ugly, broken chord. I'm rising up all around you, but you're not sinking into me. You're not sinking into me, because you've disappeared. Left me empty all over again. But I still answer when you call and I couldn't, couldn't ever hit the ground running harder
because I still pray that I'm burning in your dreams.
Burning to ashes, and ashes, and ashes.
"Your name is nothing but a forgotten note in his memory." An ugly, broken chord. I'm rising up all around you, but you're not sinking into me. You're not sinking into me, because you've disappeared. Left me empty all over again. But I still answer when you call and I couldn't, couldn't ever hit the ground running harder
because I still pray that I'm burning in your dreams.
Burning to ashes, and ashes, and ashes.
01 December, 2008
the existence of god(?)
don't read the following if:
1.) you are very easily offended, because this will probably offend you in some way or another.
2.) you are a close-minded christian, because you'll probably think i'm possessed by the devil.
3.) you are a close-minded atheist, because despite all i am a christian and there's a difference between debating and bitching.
4.) you're just stupid, in general because you'll give me a migraine and it's monday so give me a fucking break.
is it really possible to be rational and religious at the same time? i can't even explain in just a few words how much i disdain people whose morals and basic way of living their lives (keyword: their) revolve around strict rules, written scripture, commandments or what else have you because that is exactly what the problem with the world is. it's what the problem with the world always has been. feeble-minded people who are completely and devastatingly susceptible to manipulation.
but then again, is it merely brain-wash or does the majority of the world truly believe that failing to accept a certain religious leader as one's savior will then result in being condemned to eternal damnation? perhaps it's not that they believe it, but they are afraid of the possibility of what may come after the slumber of death *allusion to shakespeare's hamlet.
even while considering a christian's perspective (my own) on the matter of "sin", could you honestly say that it's more sinful to have your own thoughts, beliefs, and ethics outside of whatever book guides you and is a large factor in what shapes you throughout your life as an "individual", and to sometimes disagree with said book, because of the fact that you have somewhat of a mind of your own? or is it really more sinful to be blindly obedient to scripture, solely because you are afraid of death? the life after death? the chance that what lies after death may simply be just that--- death? would god be smiling down upon the thoughtless, yet cowardly machines that make up the greater portion of humanity? i think not.
in a psychological stand point on the matters of religion, heaven, eternal damnation and all that other good stuff, don't environmental factors largely affect one's choices and way of living? *allusion to vygotsky's sociocultural theory. if someone were born into a muslim family, in a dominantly muslim country, we can safely assume that said "someone" will also be muslim, or at least claim to be--- particularly in the earlier years of their life. (for those of you who might be reading this who are completely ignorant, no. i am not being racist. it's called reality).
and what if this "someone" converted their religion to, i don't know, let's say... catholicism? or maybe this someone decided to become a devout athiest, who knows. do you think it would've happened out of nowhere? if you really think that when someone decides to make those types of changes in their life, it has nothing to do with their personal life experiences and/or their surroundings (what they hear everyday, the people they have interacted with throughout their lives, etc.) and if you think that you, your beliefs, and your morals have had or has nothing to do with the environment you grew up in and/or are surrounded in, then you're just tragically inane and i really don't know what to tell you.
my point is that a merciful god would take all of the shit i wrote above into consideration, and i really hope that is the case, because no matter how hard i could try (which i won't) it would be impossible for me to believe that gandhi is presently being tortured with fiery pokers in the underworld while somebody like hitler (who may or may not have been a christian) is up there kicking it with gabriel and the other "homiez". sorry, but that's bullshit and when considering the concrete truth of such a sentiment, it is in no way ethical in the general beliefs of ANY religion (except for maybe laveyan satanism).
no, this isn't me denouncing my religion. it may not seem like it, but i do indeed believe in god. hate me for it, love me for it, but i would rather you not even take that into consideration while you silently judge me as a person. judge me for something viable, like the fact that i can be a psychotic bitch sometimes. forgive me for having thoughts of my own, and for not wanting to glue the pages of the bible underneath my fucking eyelids. forgive me for not being an unhygienic, psuedo-philosophical atheist with a love for anything that is "independent" and "underground", but don't. because i refuse to apologize for my thoughts and my beliefs.
whether you are a christian, muslim, buddhist, satanic, or whatever else, if you seriously are so dependent on your religion that it consumes your entire life than you need to open your eyes and stop getting mindfucked. the question then isn't whether god exists, but if you exist as an intelligent human being. if you're an atheist, and being godfree/godless along with the idea of there being no god affects the way you treat religious people, or makes you think you can be free of basic morals, you need to just quit being a moron and grow the fuck up.
just sayin'.
1.) you are very easily offended, because this will probably offend you in some way or another.
2.) you are a close-minded christian, because you'll probably think i'm possessed by the devil.
3.) you are a close-minded atheist, because despite all i am a christian and there's a difference between debating and bitching.
4.) you're just stupid, in general because you'll give me a migraine and it's monday so give me a fucking break.
is it really possible to be rational and religious at the same time? i can't even explain in just a few words how much i disdain people whose morals and basic way of living their lives (keyword: their) revolve around strict rules, written scripture, commandments or what else have you because that is exactly what the problem with the world is. it's what the problem with the world always has been. feeble-minded people who are completely and devastatingly susceptible to manipulation.
but then again, is it merely brain-wash or does the majority of the world truly believe that failing to accept a certain religious leader as one's savior will then result in being condemned to eternal damnation? perhaps it's not that they believe it, but they are afraid of the possibility of what may come after the slumber of death *allusion to shakespeare's hamlet.
even while considering a christian's perspective (my own) on the matter of "sin", could you honestly say that it's more sinful to have your own thoughts, beliefs, and ethics outside of whatever book guides you and is a large factor in what shapes you throughout your life as an "individual", and to sometimes disagree with said book, because of the fact that you have somewhat of a mind of your own? or is it really more sinful to be blindly obedient to scripture, solely because you are afraid of death? the life after death? the chance that what lies after death may simply be just that--- death? would god be smiling down upon the thoughtless, yet cowardly machines that make up the greater portion of humanity? i think not.
in a psychological stand point on the matters of religion, heaven, eternal damnation and all that other good stuff, don't environmental factors largely affect one's choices and way of living? *allusion to vygotsky's sociocultural theory. if someone were born into a muslim family, in a dominantly muslim country, we can safely assume that said "someone" will also be muslim, or at least claim to be--- particularly in the earlier years of their life. (for those of you who might be reading this who are completely ignorant, no. i am not being racist. it's called reality).
and what if this "someone" converted their religion to, i don't know, let's say... catholicism? or maybe this someone decided to become a devout athiest, who knows. do you think it would've happened out of nowhere? if you really think that when someone decides to make those types of changes in their life, it has nothing to do with their personal life experiences and/or their surroundings (what they hear everyday, the people they have interacted with throughout their lives, etc.) and if you think that you, your beliefs, and your morals have had or has nothing to do with the environment you grew up in and/or are surrounded in, then you're just tragically inane and i really don't know what to tell you.
my point is that a merciful god would take all of the shit i wrote above into consideration, and i really hope that is the case, because no matter how hard i could try (which i won't) it would be impossible for me to believe that gandhi is presently being tortured with fiery pokers in the underworld while somebody like hitler (who may or may not have been a christian) is up there kicking it with gabriel and the other "homiez". sorry, but that's bullshit and when considering the concrete truth of such a sentiment, it is in no way ethical in the general beliefs of ANY religion (except for maybe laveyan satanism).
no, this isn't me denouncing my religion. it may not seem like it, but i do indeed believe in god. hate me for it, love me for it, but i would rather you not even take that into consideration while you silently judge me as a person. judge me for something viable, like the fact that i can be a psychotic bitch sometimes. forgive me for having thoughts of my own, and for not wanting to glue the pages of the bible underneath my fucking eyelids. forgive me for not being an unhygienic, psuedo-philosophical atheist with a love for anything that is "independent" and "underground", but don't. because i refuse to apologize for my thoughts and my beliefs.
whether you are a christian, muslim, buddhist, satanic, or whatever else, if you seriously are so dependent on your religion that it consumes your entire life than you need to open your eyes and stop getting mindfucked. the question then isn't whether god exists, but if you exist as an intelligent human being. if you're an atheist, and being godfree/godless along with the idea of there being no god affects the way you treat religious people, or makes you think you can be free of basic morals, you need to just quit being a moron and grow the fuck up.
just sayin'.
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