(no subject)
My eyes burn. My insomnia is addicting. Maybe more overpriced bottles of mildew would cure the apathy. Can I waste more time filling this three pounds of mystery with conflicting images of violence, greed, prayers, flying, fucking, and Oprah style nausea?
Oh no. My self esteem beyond repair. I need a kleenex. Or a noose.
The superhero waiting for the right moment to slip more into the same dichotomous life we all learn to cope with. The dirty cop who we grow to respect despite cheating, stealing, homicide. The cheesy pot infested family sitcom, which has become the only moments of feeling really real, together, one.
All for the price of a loan which I'll return to the dust owing, and a high speed connection which isn't high speed enough. Debt. Irresponsibility. Impatience. American virtues.
I wonder what should have been. I don't wonder where everything else went wrong. Pity is futile. My inconsistency, my stupidity, my selfishness is enough to bend the spine. I don't need to contemplate who has done me harm. As if I have the right to consider others less than myself. The mirror cracks as it mocks me. Who is that guy?
In the game of karma I come in last. I return as the mouse which cannot be explained. The mouse that hides, and is smarter than the trap. The mouse that makes real men squeal like junior high cheerleaders. I become that which deep down I already am. Crooked. Bent. Depraved. Rotting.
"When they really get to know you, they will run."
My pleasure is the lie. Discovery is escape. Autonomy is my right. Fuckin civil liberties.
The shelves are packed. The outsiders are deceived. The victims are trapped. The cycle begins. Again.
Reality is no journey. It's a trainwreck. It's New Orleans. 9-11. Murrah building. Genocide. If really given the choice, we'd all pull the trigger. Jump. Slice. Swallow. Escape.
Freedom is a fairy tale.