I’m prone to bouts of anger, short tempered, the overly sensitive type. Writing is a way to make sense of it all. While art is a way in which I can escape the thoughts that haunt me shutting off conscious thought and allowing my hands to guide me.
I have several sticks laid about the floor ready to measure the length ready to fill and overfill this little space grabbing out the paper measurer to determine the capacity and I know it’s there past what it can keep so I cut a hole within my head to let my skull open and my brain breathe filling the room already overpacked with all those thoughts emptied my brain will never be because each moment thinks another and each thought sprouts a thousand more reusing words because I live now and now we live within structure and the honor to choose the words to define an object is over because here and now we only speak for those that are gone left to lay their sticks within the rooms that have been built by those before filling their spaces as if we cannot create our very own in which I split the sticks breaking them releasing their dust and crumbling this place because this place can be ours.
The hardest part about creating today is that much has already been done we live in parameters of the past trying to fit within their outlines holding up to what we’ve been told are the greats taught in class as who to inspire to be we’ve forgotten that the power to create is within ourselves skill can be taught and trained that doesn’t mean we can’t break away and define ourselves art of today can break through the mold and create it’s own style why must we confine ourselves in and mirror what once was great?
I can hear it all in my ears read it all each word with my eyes processing noises and words filtering it though the boss that’s rarely satisfied.
This boss up here it’s strict it has demands I’ve said fuck off several times and it lets me know through the pain in my head making its way through down to the burning in my toes that it wont tolerate my back talk.
I’m reading I’m listening I’m scanning the stories all the faces in the news all the words gathered and my brain it screams reminding me that stupidity isn’t rewarding and being likeable although affordable will not be tolerable because my brain doesn’t agree.
Funny is morbidity it doesn’t like kittens and puppies doing tricks my brain doesn’t laugh at babbling babies dancing with a guitar and it becomes tense in social situations in which it’s forced to deny its atheist attitude because those words are everywhere in the mail left in piles of clothing plastered in threads blasted within socials and I must smile because I’ve been told that’s kindness and my brain wonders why do they get to speak and we must remain silent?
WE are unsolvable because humans are not facts. Our databases are stored of opinions cluttered of numbers we consider statistics. Compiled to skew perception because theCOLLECTor determines from whom what is collected. We are NOt FACTS. These minds of ours alter their data making it possible to stay on and not shut down. We are not TRUTH, we are not honest because humans live within their illusions. Behind screens sharing perfect collections of images in which tears are only shed when sympathy is to be gained. Humans are not truth they seek compassion and they give it to look human. I laugh at the irony because being human is a kind of animal cruelty that belongs to only us. To only that animal that is human and whichever choices we make we haven’t been able to bleed it out of us because that cruelty has been growing within us at the birth of intellectual thought.
We can repair stitch the skin use glue when needed staples that disintegrate as the wound heals but the blade it’ll reach different parts different places the skin pigmentation lighter or darker it doesn’t matter because living things bleed and humans die for their ideals because strength has been miscommunicated for centuries and no matter the process we always fail to live within restraint.
There is this place in which I can feel my body embracing the pavement and the smell of iron as my blood drips leaving a corpse for another to find this place it’s very real this place I’m speaking of in which we spend our limited time here preparing for a place we can’t see can’t feel can’t hear and in preparation of that mythical place we abandon our future kin leaving them a place that soon will be unlivable because we’re worried about an eternal afterlife rather than fixing rather than cleaning rather than saving no it’s not the soul that needs help it’s the very real bodies dying about us as we stand about saying “look up our protector up there is always right here with us.”
The deception in your words I may decipher in which what you meant is I have no time to help unless it’s noticed and broadcasted and it is me that is not at fault for I am only me and I am the victim in which I must speak and say the victim is all and is no one all at once because it’s impossible to decipher opinion and fact they don’t correlate and rather lets just say we all could try and admit and mend and help and solve together and when we cannot we say we’ll try and we’ll try and we’ll leave leaving behind our journals hoping the next generation can solve what we haven’t lets just hope there is another and I will say I will try I will and I will more and what I cannot I’ll apologize as I leave this place for that’s all any of us can give.
I’m not living for what may happen I live for what is happening this life right now here in this place in which I can think in which I can feel in which I can hear in which I can smell I can see I live here and even if I lost my senses I would know this place is and always has been real.
Rather than preparing for after I choose to make the healthier choices for this life to be longer lasting and I don’t allow myself burdened by an infinite dictator because if it is true there is life after this count me out if it’s ruled by a so called creator that created us in their image I say no thanks I’ll never be ready to commit to that for in death I rather believe there is no one left to answer to.
I’m going to die You’re going to die He’s going to die She’s going to die They’re going o die It’s going to die He/She/Them/They They’re all going to die… Till then can we just live?
No… We have opinions to give ideals to push thoughts to give thoughts to take.
Living without fight would be an impossibility when each and every is fighting the war of right.
My questions are these.. In death who is the victor? Does it matter then, when you can’t think, you can’t feel? Does it mater then, when we’re all dead? Because our ideals became our life and living became agony for all because none of us is right for all of us. Will it matter then, to be the most right, when all is dead?
The most painful thought that clutches my brain digging in and replacing hope is that the evil we evade is all of us.
There is no group we could confine within cells or burry within our soils to vanish the evil and live within purity because humans are animals.
It’s not the rich alone it’s not ethnicity it’s not privilege it’s not poor it’s not a country the evil it lives within all and you can’t separate it out because you might just be confining yourself within a hole.
It’s everyone it’s all of it all the time because our stress our wants to measure up obliterate our humility because we want the best to be the best to be the right not the wrong and we will fight to be it because destroying the opposing allows us to create a perception in which our right is every bodies because we’ve killed the rest and that is not a place I’d ever accept so bury me with any.
I’m real because I can be I have nothing to hide no appearances to keep up I’m just a nameless person because I am not known in a world of somebodies writing off words letting go of thoughts existing here the same as you the somebodies and all the others forgotten names trying to exist knowing they exist and wondering is that enough? YES and no depending on your own worth and what defines success because it’s not a definitive it’s a choice a thought that changes between me and to you because we get to decide what success is and what defines us as we are and no you do not have to listen to pop culture and the biggest hits on the radio to determine what happy is because sometimes it’s the same and other times it isn’t for being human means we get to think and we get to determine and we get to find us and that is different between person to person.