A selection of my old-ass shit poetry and rants
Untitled, 8/?/00
Bright dawn, garish sun
All-seeing spherical one
Smiles upon me this morn
From infinite darkness I am born
And yet I long for it to go
To sink to the west and dim to a glow
And for that glow to fade away
Give rise to night and end to day
Smothering, blinding, darkness brings fears
Gives rest to eyes and awakens ears
But rather than run I embrace it
Winter zephyr, I can taste it
Fuck the light, damn it to hell
I don't want the heat and smell
I want the humid twilight scent
And waiting for it is my intent
8/?/00
There should be one
But there are two
What you are
And what think you
Selfish, Jealous, Arrogant, Naive
Of these traits you strive to relieve
But no matter how hard you try
They stick with you by and by
Old rant, (Prozac era)
If only death could solve it all
As permanent and final as it is, what lies beyond, if anything, will most likely never be known. Death will never be a true solution, because in order for it to be a solution things would have to go back to the way they were before the trouble started.
And whatever the trouble is, it isn't something that has any cause, but rather something you discover has always been there, that vital something that you never thought as part of the puzzle because you never needed it to carry out day to day life. It drives you made because no amount of thinking will ever get rid of it. And while ignoring it helps, it only makes you realize that you are ignoring the one thing that really truly matters, the reason you are what you are.
There has to be more than atoms and molecules and all those more esoteric regions of science that do a good but not quite perfect job of it. And yet you can't help but feel ridiculous sitting in a church pew next to people who base their entire lives on something that nobody is sure even exists. If such a god exists I am sure he is quite amused by all these confused little people scurrying about not knowing what to do with their ridiculously brief and pointless "lives. I feel guilty to be like them, I feel like I am failing myself when I play their games, when I take amusement and waste precious time on the distractions that keep me sane. And while it really is a wonderful instrument, in the end even my own body drags me down. The weak mind, incapable of comprehending infinity, and those other concepts so vital to perfect understanding. Functional, and yet dull sensory tools that will never allow me to completely hear, feel, see, taste, or touch something. Fleshy organic substances that are quick to be damaged and age slowly towards an unavoidable end. I am just one more drop in the faceless mass that is humanity and it is really stupid to think, even for a minute, that I am in any way better than them. So why think that something that is ultimately just a pointless accident, is anything more? What good, what difference does it really make if I love for die? and in the end my fleshy prison wins, it's instincts steer me from the knife, from the crazy thoughts that threaten to end it. They quiet my weary mind, and force me to lie down and sleep and live another day, and hold these thoughts until another time when the mind can be freed, if only to piss off the hours in the exercise yard before heading back to the cell. My body is both my prison and my lifeline, when will I be freed from the selfish desires and petty actions it forces upon me? Only death will quiet them , but in the end it will still win because in order to flee the prison, you must die yourself. Perhaps in those moments, you finally know what it was all about, and then the punch line, now that you know it doesn’t matter because its all over just the same.
How many pills till it all goes away? How many pills to quiet the questions and not kill me? Should I feel like I am stupid for making such a big deal out of this and letting it control my life? I dare you to tell me there is something that matters more. And if I am to piss off my years, and eventually my life asking the question and never getting an answer, at least I would know that I had tried to do something that really mattered, instead of doing something that doesn't. How many words will it take? Can this piece of shit language ever truly do its job when it comes to this? Am I crazy? Have I lost my fucking mind and should I not have these thoughts? Are normal people supposed to have these thoughts? Am I the only one?!?! IN the end everyone is alone, a vessel unto themselves who make thin rope bridges of conversation but break the bonds and continue their aimless sailing in the ocean that is existence.
Be content to eat, drink, sleep, breathe, fuck, drink, smoke, and do all the other things that make up the faulty being that is you. For denying the body accomplishes very little if anything at all I guess. I feel like I am in the center of a vast, flat, nothingness. There are no features but the flat, featureless, and endless floor beneath my feet. To walk in any direction would be pointless but standing still in the center is no better. A hopeless, falling kind of feeling, and then rest, is all that lies in store for me this night.
In an instant, all that you know is gone
Replaced by nothing, and yet you still live
Smothering, unending chasm of darkness
No scent, no sound, nothing to feel or taste
Taken away from everything you know and understand
And put into a place that obeys no logic
And still you do not die, or are you already dead?
Is this the hell that is romanticized about so much?
Or is it heaven for no definable pain or suffering is there?
In time you come to love your prison
The only thing you’ve come to know
Would you not feel the same?
Were you cast just as quickly into the so-called reality again?
Does this place not drain away the petty and pointless thoughts of your former life?
Is this absence not the purest form of bliss?
But as your pathetic human mind is not conditioned
For this lack of sensory information,
it will eventually drive you mad.
You have neither a knife nor a hand to hold it.
Would death really be an escape?
The monotony that does not end is the most horrible hell in your mind,
A hell from which there is no escape,
No ends of any kind.
You’d beg for the most intense pain possible,
If it would come,
For you would at least feel something.
And taken away from the mindset impressed upon you by modern society,
Could you really tell the difference between pleasure and pain anyway?
Is your normal life any less hellish?
I suppose it is if you are content with what you know to be life.
But I see each world equally maddening in the end,
Because without it’s precious logic and laws and rules
It is nothing.
It is just as full and rich as the chasm.
There is no artistry in nothing, so I am sorry for not making any effort to pass it off as such
Aside from some letters to my then-girlfriend, this was all that is written there. And to think the only reason I had it was so that someday I could look back on it. There’s value in having a journal, and I am glad I continue to log such things in an online form ;0)
Oh and if you want to flame me because of how shitty all this stuff is, save it, nobody knows it better than I. Seeing something like this really helps, when I’m feeling low. It reminds me of the end result of too much of this sort of thought, that I’ve already done my best to find what I needed to in that direction and that I have a different, slightly more clear purpose now.