art, madness and writings for no one.: January 2013

That truth thing

My teeth are not stained with lies. I have so rarely lied aloud. Only simple lies, to cops or miscellaneous authorities etc. nothing real, nothing effective. No one cared. But my mind, on the other hand, is filthy with lies. To myself, who I am, who everyone else is, what the fuck life is.
Lying is generally a hated characteristic, whenever one describes a horrible person and aspects making them so, carelessness with truth is often emphasized. Caught up in the pain and frustration makes one hated, even considered evil. But I, only lie to myself. The entire struggle and hatred is within. When lies and reality collide and explode upon me, I am left in confusion, pain, hatred, left to be considered wrong and evil when truly I was only ignorant and foolish and completely self-inflicted.

what the fretastical luminade prestonite?

i am sick

I am so confused. I know how to find happiness, I know what makes me whole, I know everything but it just isn't working. I hate myself again, i sicken myself with my existence and failures, dreams are a joke, I've known this for a long time now, all I crave is simplistic bursts of feeling good for as long as it can last. I want to quit it all, run away from my brain.
why am I hated?
why am I wrongly loved?
what am I worth to anyone or anything?
I feel nothing but a lack of everything, sadness and a dark future.
I cannot even hold down a blasted rut of repeating small opportunites of little pleasures. I have feelings inside me that I long for and make me sick.
Am I hated, or do I just hate myself?

no drugs?

I feel awful, fucked up in a natural, horrible way. I'd rather be asleep, unconscious in some way.

Whoosh

Hey

I found nine dollars on the sidewalk.

Dreams

There aren't enough drugs

O what is the point anyway? I really don't think anything matters at this juncture. Id like to just pay back a few debts complete and disappear, figuratively, then literally, from myself and the world.
I have an itch I cannot reach,

Friday

Wether weather

It's going to be really fucking cold.

that's kind of fucked up, dude...

Stuck in such uncomfortable places. Lonesome, horned conversations long leading to disappointment with a fist of reality of what is not. I eat, drink and wear my chemicals. They are enough but no where near what I need. Every attempt at satisfaction, even contentment, leaves me craving more, further, or for things I will never have. True and untruthed things, you knew it was like this.
The itch is always far too deep within my skull. I cannot run away from it. Sleep it off, work it off, wank it off.

Wrong, all wrong.

I have no idea. I have overdone it all. I went the wrong direction, let it slip too far. I do not know of any future, I do not know or feel of dreams. Goals are the simplest requirements of life and never look ahead or long term further than a week or so.
Now I'm lost.
Even more.
But I occasionally have "fun" and am generally free of darkness and bleak views of things that may or may not be there. Thinking less, zoned out, impulsive yet following a rut of progression lacking change.
Be stupid, laugh at everything, fuck everyone, mock the idea of frustration or anger or dare to try, depression.

It's fine, I got a nice couple of shirts today. True vintage. I think I'll sell them. Then I will buy tea with the vantage. Yes.

That is what it is now. Getting by/high. Literally and painfully so. But not so dismal a way as chemicals provide much suppression, as well as the "excitement" of spontaneity and change mixed with anticipation of the unknown, unlived, projects of existence.
It's ok.