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i guess the webring im apart of actually works or something (yippie!) because a random surge of people stumbled across this place yesterday, mildly embarrassed as its so bare.. so i decided to bite the bullet and finally add this 'blog' page to my site. Hi again.
I dont know if anything im writing is making any sense you know i think im getting a point across yet everytime i come back here i realise i sound crazy. My problem is that i write like im spam textingBubblesBubbles It would be better if All of this was formatted in single lines, but that is pretentious, and i am not a poet… and it takes up far too much space i dont think i deserve. I keep putting off formatting this place properly.. Lazy.. naps every day… 3 hours.. Stay up to 3am to cancel the nap out.. Wake at 6am.. repeat.. And now im putting off saying why i started writing. I dont know why anyone would read this shit THIS is just for me yes yes yes who cares yes emancipate yourself from restrictions of The Gaze, impossible but i can pretend. Thats my problem with my old therapist i kept feeling like she was trying to control my brain. Which she was. I dont knjow i dont xare about therapy anymore, she’d make me try and rationalise everything, turn it into Absolutes of fact- no absolute exists. ohhhhhhits a Fact that these people in the store arent looking at you consciously they really dont care. But they did because i was acting like a retard because im RETARDED i tried to explain this to her that there are very good reasons for people to dislike and judge me outside and its just a projected outer Gaze and reassurance of the same reasons i hate myself oh its so embarrassing. I cant control it. I dont like this annoying bitch either. But shes me. Im seperating myself from her again. Her. fucking her. jesus/ HER? Why arent i neutral i just want to be a conscious. Well im fine with being unconscious too. Let me be free. Anyway she realised im useless and gave up. Well i had some fuckjing argument as to why my view is perfectly justified and its more delusional to pretend like im not such a potent pest just to try encourage that thing to puff out its chest and hold its head high for the sake of one less suicide stat, not really worth it honestly id rather that thing be exterminated. Thats my fucking problem. I have no value on my life. Time is so loosely connected to me i couldnt care if i die now. She didnt actually give up im just not stupid enough to fork over the hourly rate every week. Funding dries up and my free trial is over. She was concered of how id be, go back go backk, it doesnt need to be with her it would be bad if it was because well we dont fit but more importantly she’d know how sick i am she’ll see my rotten soul god im so scared. I dont want anyone to see that. Im such a bad person its unreal i want to killmyself killmyselffuck fuck fuck no i do have value on life. But not on mine. Well yes on mine but thats what makes it so important to eviscerate, its everything to me and thats why it should be destroyed. Nothing nothing i deserve nothing i deserve total darkness. That would be good. I keep ruining it. Every opportunity passes me by except one and its so important and gives me stability and im still unable to fuckjing stand. So unprolific. So embarrassingly unprolific. Why cant i just fucjkin Smoke Dope And Geek Out to Spacemen 3 while i paint some stupid fucking ‘trippy art’… that stupid pop hipster culture bullshit, make some Beats.. pointless shit its because its fucking p[ointless id rather pluck out every hair on my body than do that. But fuck. I have things i should do i really should be. I have nothing to hold me back. But i c i cant fucjking get out i cant fucking get out its suffocating. Any spare time i have is thrown away because im so tired.. Im so tired.. Not even just sleepy just dying.. Im slowly dying but at a much more rapid rate than most. I dont do anything anymore. I cant. Fuck. well i do. But its not enough. Its just getting by. I have to make some art to live but its so fucking soulless because i have nothing in there. Art is the most important thing in the world its the only thing that matters. My brain shut down at work the other day, again not even out of tiredness i think ive managed to make myself half die. Head on the desk and i was awake and able to see everyone, i could move if i wanted to but i disconnected myself deep within the shell it would take a while to come back, nothing on my mind at all but a low dull buzz. People kept trying to talk to me but id just stare straight ahead with glossed over eyes, they all think im on drugs. Now i just reeeaaadddd and consuume artttt fuck i wish i could channel myself properly, hone, funnel, focus my energy into something useful but im somehow still so unprolific, i do art every day but it disappears into void. im still so depressed. id like to think ive gotten better but ive just eliminated the time id take out of every day to methodically or sporadically slicing myself apart.. Hnnggrrr i sound really crazy.
I hate those fake weak boys who fucking stutter those philosophy major ones like fuck i mean im a hypocrite i keep talking about Him but He’s different you know. Actually genuine. What those fucks want to be fuck fuck fuck its so disheartening how hard is it to be yourself? really hard i guess i mean i understand it but it cant be worse than putting on that stupid baggy sweater and button up underneath wearing those perfectly ironed pants styling your hair to look like you dont care about styling your hair everything so intentional so fucking intentional the fucking aesthetics the image your image youve broken out of the box and jumped directly into another one you huge retard how havent you figured that out? It cant be more embarrassing to be yourself if youre presenting yourself as a caricature and clown every day, im so bad at articulating myself i always comeoff as an idiot when im writing. I cant be bothered correcting it because then i never get anyyything done i just have to make myself do things yes yes yes im doing thingggssss yesssss ok i was thinking this because i was recently confronted with the most embarrassing display by someone i know i never thought possible. Well, i mean it felt possible in the sense that it was so unbelievably archetypal and cookie cutter.. Like i didnt know the mean of all taht bullshit could be possible it was so genuinely revolting and put me off my lunch.. Which made me feel worse because i was so hungry.. And when i got home hours later i cooked up 10 sausages and ate them all before going into a food coma for three hours.. It hit me like a truck that i really cant stand people who ‘break out of the norm’ just to follow another norm what is the point of beinjhg fuckjin alternative at that point thats why i dont give a fuckk about how someone identifies with subcultures it never gives you an idea of them as a person, you think a punk is gonna have a better sense of right and wrong compared to your average politician but then they fuck the 16 year old in the scene and get them into meth you know.. At least he had the decency to hang himself in the end.. Politicians usually let themselves die on the inside before they even get into the job and let their shell be puppeted around.. Which is way worse.. But if they end up doing something bad enough to mirror punk scene sex crimes its so sterilised its a horror. Mockery of human degeneracy. Hippies god god god tota;;y ruined . gentrified cause uergh .. just so full of those evil whiteboys with long flowing hair and faces of trust funds and wealth.. They act just feminist enough to get pussy and only care about birth control because it negates the possibility of having to grow up and have some responsibility for once. I dont know.. You quickly realise the peaceboys and the friends you made through identity and progressed identity politics mean nothing, people dont care about you as much as they pretend to, youre a nice skin for a rug. rejection, neglect, moralism to violence. Blinded ‘emancipated’ youth that never got the chance to think- jumping from one box to another
is my dad's motto, before i gave up i used to cry a lot in the middle of the night with the goal to wake him up to try and get at least a couple of minutes of attention even if it was for a made up reason to avoid telling him i hated myself and wanted to die. Hold me tight and breathe heavy with me. When he got a new girlfriend the house would rock at night and keep me up, i didnt know what sex was at the time but one night when i cried loud enough to interrupt them doing it- a night i wanted to die so bad it hurt like i was really truly dying and i couldnt think about anything but how much i wanted to slam my head into the mirror in my room that i kept seeing the shadow of myself from the corner of my eye convulse in cries in until my skull shattered against hers- he stormed out sweaty and red 5 minutes after the shaking stopped to yell at me then never gave me special attention like the old times again because he had a girlfriend now. He was busy. When she left him she yelled back at him good luck with your suicidal daughter. He asked me if i was suicidal and i said yes with hot tears running down my face shaking shaking so pathetic, he told me i wasnt and to quit being negative so i sucked it up and never cried to anyone ever again.
The first experience of real death i had was this skeleton of a cat we owned for years- always on its deathbed finally passed. We were away, it was an easter weekend, his lifes trajectory oppositely mirroring jesus’. I was eating a jam croissant with multiple chocolate egg sides id found that morning when my dad came up to me to inform me he just got a call from the sitter & our cat died. Oh. okay.
When we arrived back home, dead cat frozen in black plastic bin bag held up unsurely through indifference we were greeted by a burgled house, my piggy bank was gutted of its worth and its hide tossed to the floor, feet pathetically reaching forward, lying stagnant by rigor mortis porcelain. Sanctity displaced. A pathetic 2 dollars 50 taken from within, which turned out to be the only taken piece of me i ruminate about losing.
From that front window- there wouldve been big greedy desperate hands clambering, groping, pushing, tugging and pulling- breaking the chastity open, bruising and ripping wounds to enter- slamming into the defence of the tap and sink- cracking the plumbing within, liquid erupts and the cheap lino floor of the kitchen swells as a pregnant belly- sanctity raped, violated and displaced. Eventually its understood mutually that it is time to bury the now defrosting cat in bag, my mother on a manic episode shows up to our house at some point during this movement and she follows narrating my every step into the wet swamp of mud that is our backyard while taking flash pictures of the process with her film school quality camera she bought to make a good first impression on angelina jolie and george cloony- two actors she had decided were lucky enough to star in her movie that will change the world, shes just been waiting on the best time to contact them and every other crew member to work for free for the sake of the cause, Its going to be a real blockbuster. My dad reaches into the 6 ft circle hole to place our curled up cat, i see one of the backyard swamp mosquitos land on his exposed plumbers crack framed by his riding up holiday shirt and riding down holey calvin kleins in a delight of opportunity- only to quickly fly off then hover near once dad starts moving to his sobs, a shell to represent my cats love of seafood is placed on his contrasting white belly then wet dirt chunks are showered and packed on top of him, the dirt on top of his grave now creating a small hill due to the introduction of more mass in the form of a dead cats corpse is jumped on top of til flat. I feel my legs burning with exactly 82 mosquito bites counted after the fact on the couch as a result of getting bored staring at the place on the wall where the tv used to be.
When i got back to school I looked forward to telling people about the death of my cat, the robbery, and the mosquitos after being asked about my easter weekend just to see their faces fall, im sorry oh im sorry that happened, finally a reason to be sad yet no emotion arrived to transcend me. I only cried two weeks later from the fear of my inability to feel anything about this at all. My selfishness made me cry and my selfishness summoned my dad who tried to comfort me about how sad i must have been about the cat.
Despite how i probably come off, you know, bitter, etc. i truly believe in the Good of the People- but jfc im never going to get used to being shocked into temporary nihilism and despair after confrontation with the bloodthirst of common evil. You know, ever so often i find it important to stray from where people have obviously common ground with me/ where said theory holds up undeniably, and instead try communicate with people outside of the realm i usually find myself- they are still my neighbour, my brothers and sisters, but just like as a family gathering goes- you find the hope for bond gets quickly shattered. The playful comradery digs at the state turn into spitting daggers at caricatures of their fellow people- the warm up glass of water that turned to chatting with wine now turns to endless shots of whiskey, tension, snides, fistfights, and resentment.
Hello? Why wont you talk to Me? To ME? I mean really me. Really truly me. Talk to me like im a fucking person, talk to me like im your family, listen to what i have to say. Fuck fuck youre not listening youre not listening at all. youre talking to an idea of me. A terrifying mutation of me, youre talking to a puppet, youre talking to a boogeyman- youre talking to a proxy of me, a tulpa, i cant get through to you its like we are separated by dimensions. Fuck. i care for you i WANT to be able to love you and i WANT to be human with you but i cant because youre not even here. Youre completely unreachable- i shout into one end of a paper cup phone just not too far from you physically and it ricochets through various sabotaged devices to deliver a completely different message to you- so why cant you just come over here and hear it from me directly? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing this to you? To us? come on im really begging you here. you just need to talk to me with an open mind- hell, an open heart if you could.
Perhaps ignorantly (i fully admit this) I believe conflict comes from misunderstanding and being ‘deceived by the devil’ to chase a selfish cause down a dark path masquerading as a noble one. I have sympathy towards the children of god, the light in desire of love, understanding, & emancipation - i assume this as the shared GOAL (for lack of a non linear phrase of language). Yet you know, as alluded by the ‘paths’ i stand by critique of conduction/ willingful laziness of the mind that manifests due to festering hate and deception of evil, allure of the easy faux revolutionary bloodshed of scapegoating. In other words i dont let myself become a pushover from it and will never cower in the light of divine truth- which justifies my thought to myself. compassion, understanding, penetrable jargon against collective misery in the ghost of potential. Yet despite our mortal form of limited flesh we float ungrounded, reaching for the stars in a desperate plea. The feeling of The dirt under your nails becomes nothing but a metaphor to you, you forget about The worms in that dirt- their slimy pink pencil dick thin forms burrowing intricate systems of sporadic art under your numb feet, you forget how The rain REALLY feels and what it means, meeaaans, you can see the worms jump from the dirt when this happens, look at them dance, do you feel the playful pricks of needles of water on your skin turning to strokes and prods of intrigue, conscious attempts to connect, the renewal it brings around you- a smell of expression of gratitude from your environment. When it weighs you down like a grandmothers barrage of affection i want you to know youre real and loved. sink down to your knees and further more again- to where your vulnerable heart beats to your mothers rhythms in a warm embrace with the physical ground. She envelops you with The tall grass in an automatic love for her baby- when she weeps with joy and the dew soaks your clothes i want you to FEEL and LOVE the wet that drenches them and i want it to be unfathomable to think about any material concern about how you may have to wash them later. In this moment you are a child. All will be taken care of. You can be now. When your truth is revealed in the ascension after your experience of the endless choice in life you approach the divine in the form of this child, you move in communal unison with your fellow family as a herd of deer, the innocent, the nurtured, the loved, the wonderous, the unrestrained. Your truest self beyond reason and linear thought. I want you to be happy again.
i had some shit i wanted to add from the past. need to find it..