I believe I am now feeling every single human emotion at varying levels of intensity, all at the same time, all grouped together into a single entity. Seeming to bubble and churn, fighting with one another, struggling to be the dominant drive.
It's not too bad, considering...
Beneath it all, I have a grand yearning to break free, explode out, I just have no idea if it will be in a positive or negative way, if it will enlighten me or destroy me.
I really don't seem to know a damn thing right now.
I will continue on. Do as I do, excel when I must, fail when it doesn't matter and be as I am.
I am nothing more than me now.
Oh the cold, dark rain of the night. Snaps, ticks and crackles from sill to infinity. Try harder to hear the furthest most and the heaviest. Identify the tone and pitch of the materials and textures they collide with at the end of their journeys.Thousands upon thousands of drops, each making contact with the earth in its own specific place and with its own distinct sound. Pick each one out, label it, tag it, name it. Determine the landscape surrounding in your mind by theses learnings. This will create a more useful and pleasing view of the world around you at this moment.
Rest in indifference.
Writer; master of poetry and expression
Strong man of valor and value
Intellectual
Focus and perseverance
Master of form, a powerful sculptor
Grip on reality
Pure of heart
Filled of brilliant conversation and thought
Endless triumphant successes
Pioneer of his field
Great academic achievement
Timely
Reliable
Body of a mythological god
Loved by all
Radiated a seductive sexual aura ...irresistible to women
Never missed an opportunity to express ...romance and love
Grand, bright soul
Always, deeply happy
Today II
Oh, but I am still here. I've been fighting it so long, I do not want to give up. I have no choice, no control. My future and fate have been determined by others. I am powerless. Such a shameful thing to admit. I've only ever encountered short periods of power and control. I deserve more. However at this point, there is none to be had. No hope to be found in any glimmer of slips from speech. No accidental embrace of fuzzy memories, bringing smiles and a pop in my soul. No sit down proposal of upcoming chapters and the plot intended. No more scent of warm skin. No more depth. No more feeling.
Today
I am done with this. All of this. Done with thought, hope, ideas, dreams, curiosities, experiences, work, play, fuck, seeing, hearing, feeling, this whole fucking world. I am done.
current
My confusion only grows. Of who I am am, what I am worth. I get swarmed by little hotties begging to know me, offering to pose nude for me and my art, actually wanting me purely based on so little. Yet the one I long for, desire and obsess over, thinks of me repulsive, unnattractive and useless. Am I truly unlovable? Am I wanted, or not? It seems I am worthy on some level, yet all I experience is blatent rejection. I sit here now with no friends, no love, no replenishment of the daily drains of existence. I am not a part of anything. My relationships are only within my mind and I hate that guy.
Lose
I'm too rational a thinker in some ways. To plan a future from this point is bleak, bland and greatly disheartening. Rationally, I must know who I am, how easily I fail and accept odds. I see nothing but the pleasures I bring myself, which are far from enough and, of course, lack any intensity.
This gives me vision of dark places in which my clouded, chemically operated mind brings me my reality. Alone, filth, empty. Barely existing.
This gives me vision of dark places in which my clouded, chemically operated mind brings me my reality. Alone, filth, empty. Barely existing.
Fuck it
I have no idea what it feels like to be loved and/or respected. A long, empty, unrewarded, unfulfilled life of nothingness is all I have experienced. I offer nothing, deserve nothing, and only feel pain and destitution. I don't know why I am here or ever was. I no longer want anything, I have no dreams, no goals, no future.
I don't want to overcome, figure anything out or even fucking live.
I don't want to overcome, figure anything out or even fucking live.
Done
I fucking hate this life with all that is left of me. I feel nothing in this world, no attachment or reason of any kind. Fuck this, fuck you, fuck off all of you.
14 a.m.
This unfulfilled feeling is becoming too much. There seems no reason for anything, effort, thought, even existing once again has no reasoning.
Drive continues, it seems to come natural. I think I'm just trying to stay busy enough not to think, dwell or dream. I'd rather just be working than sinking into the dark crevasses of reality.
Still, drive must lead to something.
All I ever do is drive. I can't even get an occasional rest stop or welcome center in which to break the rut and release some energy. I've nothing.
Running out of fuel as well.
A short trip is inevitable with no fuel. My simple drive comes of nothing. No motivational emotional outside forces pushing or pulling things my way. No bright, beautiful goal just ahead, calling to me with want and need of my grandeur. No visions, no soul. Nothing.
For now, the trip continues. Ignore the gauges and alertive chimes warning of dismal failures sure to come.
Just drive...
Drive continues, it seems to come natural. I think I'm just trying to stay busy enough not to think, dwell or dream. I'd rather just be working than sinking into the dark crevasses of reality.
Still, drive must lead to something.
All I ever do is drive. I can't even get an occasional rest stop or welcome center in which to break the rut and release some energy. I've nothing.
Running out of fuel as well.
A short trip is inevitable with no fuel. My simple drive comes of nothing. No motivational emotional outside forces pushing or pulling things my way. No bright, beautiful goal just ahead, calling to me with want and need of my grandeur. No visions, no soul. Nothing.
For now, the trip continues. Ignore the gauges and alertive chimes warning of dismal failures sure to come.
Just drive...
Status
I'm not suicidal, however, If the opportunity to die poetically, or with purpose, shows itself, I will not pass it up.
inside
The only reason I could believe there is such a thing as a soul, is, I cannot describe the thing that is now missing within me.
I feel a void to my core. Hollow, functioning from the outside, sometimes even quite well, but a strange darkness where reason of some sort once resided.
It's not depression, depression cripples, it won't allow such operation or confusion. Expression is still possible in cases of depression but this void never fills with such things that seemed to originate there in the past.
So now that this thing is gone, whatever it may be, am I soon to go as well? Significant in its purpose, meaning, drive, want and need, have I droned?
Am I nothing now?
I am my job and where I live? That's fucking it?
I sure the fuck lost something...
I feel a void to my core. Hollow, functioning from the outside, sometimes even quite well, but a strange darkness where reason of some sort once resided.
It's not depression, depression cripples, it won't allow such operation or confusion. Expression is still possible in cases of depression but this void never fills with such things that seemed to originate there in the past.
So now that this thing is gone, whatever it may be, am I soon to go as well? Significant in its purpose, meaning, drive, want and need, have I droned?
Am I nothing now?
I am my job and where I live? That's fucking it?
I sure the fuck lost something...
putrid motion
My existence grows in its pointless efforts. I continue to struggle, fight, grow, be. Nothing is anything. Goals and changes cycle through fed on disappointment and failure. Here I am again, just the same, just as broken and degraded into minuscule contributions to a never ending dream of ultimate endings. Why? Why am I even still alive, let alone giving any effort of any kind to anyone or anything? This entire collection of thought is complete shit, complete useless, false expression. It feels like nothing, but that is what to expect of life, nothing. I cannot feel anything but void. Voids of emotion, pleasure, meaning, voids of who I am, who I was and who I will never be.
Here. Take it. Take whats left of me and please destroy it beyond recondition. Hide the pieces, never speak of any of this.
Here. Take it. Take whats left of me and please destroy it beyond recondition. Hide the pieces, never speak of any of this.
In line at the drive thru
A bird lands gently on my rear view mirror just outside my open window. Less than a foot apart, our eyes meet. "hello, little bird. Is every little thing gunna be alright?". Bird promptly shits and flys away.
Friday 13th
Drifted out while driving, clipped a mailbox.
A minimum of 8 hours of sleep is needed after eating clonopin. The strung out buzz is an intense phenomenon only experienced when trying to wake up. Especially if its only been about 5. It is as though one is peacefully dying, the body is forcing shutdown and all desire becomes focused on sleep.
A loud snap, I knew what I did. To my right a collage of silver flaps in the breeze at the end of a wire. I went back, knocked on the door of the hillbilly shanty home. A rotten '83 ford conversion sat on flat tires, a forest growing beneath it. I knocked on the door knowing damn well no one has lived here in a while. A neighbor walks out of his garage and says "ain't nobody livin there" I told him I clipped the box with my mirror. It was a rusty memory of a mailbox, missing numbers and a door, now twisted and torn. He said don't worry about it. I did not. Drove home, popped the shattered mirror back in its housing and took a nap.
A minimum of 8 hours of sleep is needed after eating clonopin. The strung out buzz is an intense phenomenon only experienced when trying to wake up. Especially if its only been about 5. It is as though one is peacefully dying, the body is forcing shutdown and all desire becomes focused on sleep.
A loud snap, I knew what I did. To my right a collage of silver flaps in the breeze at the end of a wire. I went back, knocked on the door of the hillbilly shanty home. A rotten '83 ford conversion sat on flat tires, a forest growing beneath it. I knocked on the door knowing damn well no one has lived here in a while. A neighbor walks out of his garage and says "ain't nobody livin there" I told him I clipped the box with my mirror. It was a rusty memory of a mailbox, missing numbers and a door, now twisted and torn. He said don't worry about it. I did not. Drove home, popped the shattered mirror back in its housing and took a nap.
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