Well, I’ve tired of being like this. One long moment spent with thoughts drifting turns to months of things naught, of ideas retooled, broken, recombobulated, shattered and reformed like hand kick batter turns to months of despairing hope for the future of my life. My life? Such a joke it is, many laugh when I tell it, even without a good punchline. And a punchline, for me? Even bigger laughs, maybe a few haws, then ravenous vulture eyes peering from the crowd. They’re hungry, and after me. Why? What did I do to them?
Nothing, of course. Such is the nature of the beast, now starved into death, licking me with its hot cold sour breath. This demon isn’t real, it only lives in our heads, and occasionly kicks out, ravenous, stuck in the monotone of a average human’s mind. Nothing to feed it, you see. All the minds are rot, and that’s the riot. Teenage rot, teenage riot, old man riot, old man rot, it’s all the same when you’re all the same. The same, trapped in the coursing game of life. Why? Who knows. How long? Too long. Much too long.
In this life I’ve lived too long and produced too little important, released too many negative emotions, released too many noxious gasses, released too many wild hounds that I call my friends onto innocents. I am error, I am fate unto the common man, I am you, and who are you? You’re nothing, like me. Shadows. Shadows acting as beings. That’s who we are, what will be, and what we’ll die into and de-evolve to, eventually, in our subjective view. We bulid the light and the cities, and we still remain shadows. What memory will remain but shadows when space travelers come to this spinning globe?
My brain, this function, is rewired and hotblocked, dysfunctioned. My sentiments come out as obfuscated, garbled silent beacons of madness. Clarity lies in my feet, thanks to my mind. I cannot write with such mongrels of the human function, such commoners and laborers, they are below us. They may be the infrastructure, but they still shame us. I need help. Won’‘t you give it to me, give it to me? No, don’t help me. I’ll stumble to it, I’ll mumble doin’ it, but I’ll find a way to a will to do it. Not much choice any other way, my friends and shadows.
Myself can be turned and dissected, but good will that do? Dissection is not a solution, nor is it a problem, thankfully. It might be a middle ground, if such a thing exists. Middle ground is for surely rare indeed, when even the nice/good people are extremists towards their system of ideals. Ideals. Such silly concepts, to try to live up to extemist’s extremes, for that is what they are. Nothing but false hopes and ridicoulous demands to place on anybody. It’s a wonder people stillexist with ideals shoved down our throats daily. I’m still standing, barely.
I cannot do anything to change the course. Try as I might, argue as much as I will myself to do, I can’t do nothing but wait for the change to erode itself into the things needing changed. Things… They leave my mind like a train speeding past, naught but a blur, but hit me like one when I let my guard down. What to do? What to do? Nothing, I guess. Naught. I’m crying now, and it’s for all of our sakes. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of this nightmare life has become, with everything skewed and shifte to top and bottom, right and left, in a circular motion and a locomotion. Oh, in this life… Nothing.
So far at least. Maybe next time… Some place nicer. Where I can live for real, not be a shadow of a person.
Why not?
Someday.
