Everything you want

Les Champs Elysees

I'll do it in a couple days...

Wednesday. That's when everything will happen. Yes, I can feel it. how many things have been pushed back until Wednesday? It may just be the start of overwhelming lists of never did's, and really need to's. I must release though, it has been far too long. Something must happen, be created, be finished, anything uplifting in any way is starved for. I cannot let myself break any longer. This story is going nowhere and shows no signs of change if it is simply allowed. I am allowing it.
I will find myself. I will be.
No escapes or fantastic, ridiculous dreams to follow. But not a thoughtless machine of environment either. There is no where to run to anyhow. All paths lead to the same place at this chapter.
Wait for it.
I will survive, break free and breathe.
I will experience and live. Fuck and laugh. Stomp and climb. Separate and lead. Claim power and respect. Mend my soul (or find it).

Truths and truths

I realize I cannot count on you anymore.

You weren't there for me.

When I was at the bottom, the most intense pain, loss and need. you didn't feel it, didn't respond. Did not help. Did not care.
I had never needed you more, I was so alone, I am so alone. I asked, pried and tried, begged and cried.
It was an accident that I survived.
A shame.
You were my only solid.
What are you now? What am I now? Who are these fucking people? I don't know either of them or what they are.
A shame, as well.
Perhaps it was meant to be, or not to be. It was all just a dream.
A shame.
Hell.

I am still here.

I am gone.

What to do...

I cannot and refuse to be taken away and locked up; I do not need a room of soft walls and no corners, locked inside without option. Treatment is a joke. I've no options. No horizon or burst.

My writing it shit, it suffers in its focus of pain, death, and perpetual darkness. No growth. Nothing of creation, excitement, wild unfiltered needs, adventure or spirit, experience. With no novel work in at the least, half a year; not that it was good work anyways, but it was something. Art? Sculpture? hell, there is nothing there, projects are at a quality level matching that of emotionless assigned pieces from an art student in high school. I feel nothing, I'm not even an artist? Who am I? Am I really nothing?

I think I will just go with the previously thought out option of entering the junkie lifestyle, destined to die alone in an alley.

Maybe then I will just be a poem.

why?

I want my fucking life back.
It will not happen.
I am not ready to go, but I am ready to explode out of existence.

grassy fields of pain and relief

regular

The torturous ups and downs of life continue. But with the regular pains of life come uncontrollable emotion and that emotion that must be released. Heartbreaking trauma, uncontrollable downward spirals, how can it be stopped? You can’t change what’s happening or the world around you, it must be dealt with.

…or at least released.

Life isn’t that torturous really, I mean emotional pain comes and goes, we all have it, we all feel it, often very differently however, but sitting there with a broken heart in some dingy one bedroom apartment with no future, no hope of success,  nothing but a bottle for love may be rock bottom and near death for someone.

But come on..have you no concept of the real world around you? I mean the world, man. Not your world, but the world. There is unbelievable suffrage and pain out there, and you’re going to die over some bullshit?

So, anyways, I suppose my point is really that most of our pain is easily dealt with, and it can be used as a fuel of expression as I often write and sculpt emotionally. The more emotion that gets through, the better my piece is in the end. Though others may not read or even see the emotion conveyed, it is clearly there to me and that is why it was created in the first place.

With pain, anger and sadness being the most dramatic and overwhelming of the emotions, it is often the best fuel. Though happiness is the greatest emotion on many levels, not to mention the most desired, it’s not always easy to achieve, particularly for some individuals on this earth. The other feelings just kind of happen.

So maybe we should just get them out, release them, express them. Possibly others with similar feelings will experience this expression and share it, understand it and maybe even find comfort in it. This validates your released emotion and expression; you are doing something with it. Let’s hope maybe even something good will come out of all this bad.

If nothing else, the release is for me, or I should say, the one who is expressing it in whatever form they have chosen.

I am certainly not defining art and/or expressionism, not even on a personal level, I am just ranting.

stop, just stop

It is one thing to feel there is no reason to live, no one to care if you exist or not, there is a whole other aspect added to the growing darkness when you are directly told this fact.

state.

My soul is drained as I rest my ached head upon pillows of rusted steel, blurred visions of internal emotion become simplistic external releases. Sleep is welcomed.

review

I can't even say for sure what went on in those early times together, the mutually crucial points of possible life and death. But I did get a feeling I "saved" you, I'm not sure how significant the level, but you were truly on the edge. Maybe that is all it was meant to be. If all I ever contributed to you and this world was keeping you in it, than that's fine.

go

I have to get out of here. I don't know where here or there is, but there sounds much better, regardless. Things are growing where they should not, things are fading and dying where crucial.

An estate sale of all things tagged by my DNA must go, at any level of funding, anything to provide the fuel of never looking back would be greatly appreciated by this misfiring blob riding in my skull.

A solitary, hobo life is even enticing, there cannot be failure with no achievements or goals set within.
Interpret it how one must, an exit is an exit.

Emotions and interactions are useless, only those which boost myself to the next moment of validity are necessary.

Rely on nothing and no one. No things once thought to be sure will be considered. Will the sun rise tomorrow? It is unclear, a theory at best, but one not to be considered.

working on it

With this mentality of life one may consider just ending the pain and frustration, or more wisely, just give up on everything known and start living like this is your last day alive. But that mindset is greatly flawed. If you truly knew it was your last day, it wouldn't be a focus on "living life to the fullest" and you sure as hell would not get anything of importance done, it would just be a mad orgy of self-indulgence in every way. I wouldn't even stop to eat between the hard drugs, constant sex and stealing of things I could never dream to own. So what other simplistic version of this mentality can be applied? life is generally wasted, there is so much to be done and feel. It all can be experienced. Maybe one just needs a few weeks, maybe one needs to find something within that drives without all the impurities of man made and found distractions of reality.
That may certainly be the case, but I don't feel that I am that deep. If there is nothing within to find, then overwhelm yourself with the chemicals and damp pleasures created and lost among the concrete corners and grassy curbs of the world.

Tutgjklnggbkb

Sickening self, break off more fragments of existence.
You, yourself, are just a pebble.
There is no hope of you to be carved into something else. A structure, a previous core, at minimum, is required. From outward the basis of existence would show. But there is no hope of that when there is no mass to begin with.
Stand tall and small, fade out like a fizzled spark, starting no flame, initializing no blaze.
All creation and time to create a boulder of existence mocked and wasted on emotion.
There is no product of the process.

Time

Must I accept reality?
It may be time to follow that straight line to a dark explosion.
Even a roller-coaster of life starts over, cycles again, it's all in a closed loop, but I've run out of track.
That's a whole other issue.
I hate you, all of you out there, you fraudulent proprietors of peace and enlightenment. Gainers of trust and whole, only taking without production.
A drain with no existing spigot, no supply, no offerings of even contentment. You fucks and twigs only looking for self-preservation and power, no thought, depth, or soul in your opinions.
I hate those wretched speakers of bright clouded peaks obtainable to the weakest minded, protected few.
Hated forced action and reaction to subjects never asked of.
I hate this fucking world, it's meager organisms and the short bursts of light encircling it.
Time for change, dismissal, abandonment and climax.
Realize the hatred within, the emptiness will fill.
This is a time for sickness, hate and dirt.
I hate life
I hate love
I hate you all

Quote

Besides which, she would never understand me because I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

-Kerouac

Nonsense

Peacaquility in a formulatory righteous and potent depressciousness conditionary force resulted in a reactival destructionalated state now glowing.

pass through. part one

Winding twisting corners, beats driven through a warm breeze of outdoor intrusive reality. Focus is on the blurred. Blind to only the right and behind. Lights and solids scroll. Every other being is background, as important as a random pole. No world but the simple immediate surroundings.

Proceed with no caution. Proceed with force.  Proceed with triumphant, glorious laughter in an atmosphere of idiocy and simplistic pleasures easily gained.

Push on into nowhere with a destination of nothing. The most well thought out, detailed plans are destined for failure. Preceding thoughts are just as useless as reminiscing the regrets of yesterdays.

Onward to the non-existent goals and acquirements. Reasoning and realization is of no concern and avoided in all instances.

There is no yesterday, no tomorrow, no somedays or remember whens. There is a now, then another now. Once it becomes a then, it is nothing.

Nothing may be the only goal, if such a word could be used. Or maybe the goal is everything.  Either point is unimportant as this is only now, as it will always be.

This is only a beginning; it will always be the beginning. Progress is not recorded, or reasoned.

What kind of wild adventure of mundane convenience stores on the edges of eternal light and dark? Backgrounds may present themselves as characters other than posts. Interaction between organisms may create sparks leading to unexpected pleasures.  Logos, icons and soft bedding under an orange light merge into a haze of momentary pleasure. Peaks are challenged, reached and climaxed. Then  float softly into the hot air of the polyester valley.

Possibilities, curiosities and scenarios flash, contact and repeat. Duration unknown, thoughts will not be wasted.

This mad adventure is unending and unstoppable, with no motivation.

Stare at length

faker

I cannot write of anything but despair. I've become so lost. Every form of expression is dark, weather intended or not, the results are always the same.

The only new revelations are more devastation and regret, realizations of mistakes ongoing and growing. Everything draining and slipping away.

I need to find life, break it open, defeat it.

Move forward to something that is not there. Cling to the most unsure things buried deep in the memorial sparks of the mind.

Avoid all that is pointless, not in a worldly way, but a selfish exploration way. Concerns focused only on lifting what was once hollow until it fills with a heavy core of energy and becomes too hard to carry anymore.

Focus on what speck of life may be left.

Then there was...

There are only so many films, images and memories I can replay internally and externally.
There is such futile resistance in suppressing the cravings, needs and urges of sensuous want.
You are wanted and wanted badly, creating a clouded mind, scarce of any other focus but the desire to experience you.