Code

It's 4:21am. There must be something wrong in my coding. Something unfamiliar, something foreign. I keep believing that one of these days I will change, but I keep being let down. Let down in  a sense, that one would be so intensely normal, to be so different that normal life would seem like a dream. This time, I think, as my day begins. This time, I will be different. I look along the lines of difference, and my eyes begin to shade to grey. The dullness of everyday life, it's almost like the weight of it is so immense, that I crumble every time I try. I like to pinch myself, yes with gore and violence, to feel that little shock to breathe life into my soul. It's not enough. It's never enough, moreover, this empty hole that I would like to fill stems from a hole that is ingrained in our very nature as humans. We, who like to protest against such an overbearing and cruel universe, yelling at the cosmos. It cares not, because it is unpredictable and chaotic. Sometimes, it is so hard to continue living. To continue yelling, at this being, sometimes I feel my legs begin to buckle, and my throat begins to feel sore. Those are the times, people like to find some sort of connection, and bring it to light, to make them feel less alone, friendships, family, loved ones. For us, who have lost such feelings, it can only be gained through the sheer will of survival, to speak. To speak, and realize our anger, our hatred, to focus on the legacy we wish to leave humanity. To leave them with not a whimper, or a gasping for life, but a solid and loud," fuck you".

Slumber

It's 10:43pm. Tonight I am lucid, aware of the things around me. Most days, I tend to be careless like a whore dragged around the corner for a quick fuck. Most of the time I am unfeeling, so I simply go wherever the wind takes me. These moments though, I feel like I can see, and the fog dissipates. Whenever it fades, I see the truly sad and desperate life people lead, it hurts me so much. I feel like a mountain weighs on my shoulders, like I cannot breathe anymore. So I guide my eyes to the floor, and embrace the emotion of it. Too much of it, I think would kill me. Too much emotion, too much of the sadness or tragedy. It's strange to think of this tiredness, because I think that I would love the sweet release of sleep, but I know it does not fill me completely. Tomorrow morning, I will wake and find myself longing for more sleep, knowing there will never be enough of it, because the darkness of sleep is as close to death as I would like to be. Almost like I am brushing it, kissing it softly.

Mind is a prison

It's 5:03am. I was listening to Alec Benjamin's new song "mind is a prison". The lyrics say how afraid he is of his own thoughts, how he can never escape, yet he won't give up hope. The very grim thought of something inescapable is almost like drowning, or as if in a cell. The looming nature of the inescapable. What I was mostly interested in was the lyrics when he said he was afraid of his own thoughts. Is it true, what people say then? The are afraid of themselves? How can one be afraid of their own thoughts? Is it true horror they keep replaying, like traumatic instances? Is it the questions they pose to their own reality? The questions that keep being said, but answers never found. Should we be afraid of these thoughts? I say no, I say embrace the inner turmoil, experience the profound feelings of dread and sadness. Because these feelings give others a reason to live. Maybe to delve into our suffering, and succumb to the voices means to live. If it means to live, why should we not? Are we to die? No, we must live.

Painful memories

It's 6:22am. Tonight, I find myself buried in a sea of dirt. Drowning in the grime and rock. As I gasp for air, I see the light of the sun, it burns my skin and every passing second the pebbles fill my lungs. I reach out my fingers for help, and it is with this idea, this memory, that I think everyone does. This reach for someone, a desperate attempt at connection. I see this, and it saddens me that one such as I does not feel it. As if I am inhumane, something like an abomination. I keep holding out hope there's more like me, but it's a fruitless endeavor, for should they exist, it would disappoint me all the more. I think the more I idolize something, the more the disappointment. Yet I still do, because it's important to suffer. Suffering, in itself is part of living, and to suffer means to live. So call me an animal, an abomination, feed me the scraps of illness and disease. Eat me alive, let my skin peel from my bone, and singe me alive. Because loneliness is my brother, and solitude is my lover.

Sections

It's 5:46am. I talk to you with a withered tongue. My lungs no longer inhale the righteous oxygen. My eyes no longer glow, but they are beginning to fog and grey. I look into the distance, for a semblance of something, of meaning. I listen to these mounds of flesh, how they laugh and joke with each other, comfortable in a setting full of jest and pleasurable inflating of ego. Oh how I whimper for me to feel as they do! Knowing well that I am not of them. Cut me open, cut me open and take out my insides, throw them to the wolves. Throw me into the sea of dogs, and pour me out onto the concrete. I just want to feel as they do! It must be the cancer in my being, the muck and filth that festers within my heart, that makes me so inhumane. As the mounds look upon me, they see not of their own, for my eyes hide a hunger that would only be satisfied with gore and the obscene. They see a poor man, a broken soul, a helpless animal, suffering. Little do they know, I feed on the suffering, for it defines me as family does and socialization does for them. Leave me alone, let me die among the bodies of my ancestors, let me suffer in a silence that drowns my very soul. Watch me as I burn at the stake with fire of my own making. Just let me suffer.

Foggy night, decided to take a picture, it looked beautiful. 

Control

It's 5:05am. My head hurts. Yet I still fathom the feeling of writing. As if it is a cancer I cannot ever rid of. I don't even know what I plan on writing most of the time. I wonder if I am lonely, at times in the day I do not understand others, as if I am not one of them. I guess that we all feel we are truly alone in the world, after all no one could ever peer completely into our imagination. I think if one would, I fear they would find more of a mess than originally seen from the outside, like a morbid and deplorable flesh fest. I think we are less alike, because I choose to be, yet no matter how far I choose to perceive myself, I am one in the same with humanity. At times I wish I wasn't, like some alien from a distant planet chosen to pretend to be human. Maybe it is the hole that lumbers within my soul, oh how I cry with agony and misery for it to be quelled! But alas, it can never be, not for someone like me. I want to love it, I want to love the agony, the pain, the loneliness. It is a strange statement, to want to love something that hurts. Until I learn to live within the confines of sadness, and pain I am afraid I won't be able to fully live. Everything may turn bland, and grey but my soul, let it hold the warm glow of infinity.

To love the fear, to love the absurd.

It's 4:16am. What feels like a slumbering cold winter night, seeps into tomorrow's glow. I am afraid of myself. I am afraid of all of the things I will do, and say. I am afraid of who I will become if I give into the things inside of my veins, the person that hides behind my mask. If I do someday succumb to it, I think the horror will be too much for my life to bare. It might just break my mind, and all of the things that I hold dear. I think it will be so immense, that my heart may struggle to beat, my eyes will begin to fog, and the blood that rushes through my veins will blacken to a char so unnoticeable and thick that will flow no longer. It will begin to shut my lungs down, as I struggle for life to escape my being. I know that one day, this fear will consume me, but it may be the day I accept the coldness of death. Alas, I have fallen in love with such a disastrous being, to love apathy and the absurd, to love the feeling of not caring. To love without care, it makes me feel free. To be truly free, no longer burdened by society, or fear. I am free, I say to myself and I care not of the outcomes, because I am here, I am free.

Illness

It's 3:57pm. I could not quell my lust for writing today, so I must breathe into the words that expel from my being. Yesterday was a difficult day, I had forgotten the feeling of agony. The tight grip on the boring average never left my side, until yesterday. If I was to die, I thought it would be a service, for the intense feeling of gloom and death lingered on my tongue. Yet as soon as I felt better, I was again in the state of unconscious longing for agony once again. To say the truth would be, that we human beings are always in a state of wondering, and lusting for anything but the average. Is it sane to say that I miss the trial of pain and displeasure that I had to go through? Am I not one many who is relieved at the sign of health? Must we continue on this path of self-destruction, to glimpse into the truly raw and real details of life? I say we must, to gain what others may forget or toss to the side with ease, for one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Singledom

It's 4:24am. I keep thinking about this hole in my chest. It's like a ball and chain, that I carry around my entire life. I feel everyone has this hole, but they never speak of it. If they would, I think they would find that nothing really fills it in completely. It's like an embodiment of hunger. To want is to die, unfulfilled. So then how does one function? How does anyone continue to live with such a chunk from themselves gaping to the world? I find that it might just always be there, so I want to comfort it, embrace it. I feel many people tend to fill it with connections, the connections of love, and security. To one such as I, I find it incredibly hard to even fathom such a feeling. It is like I am wrong, like I have been blinded to the feeling of loving others. I do not act coldly, if anyone wants help, I always wish to help in any way I could, but I simply do not feel anything when their words hit me. I imagine that others do, they whimper and whine, about their lover's small imperfections, but find love with them nonetheless. They decide to push on, maybe to continue on the adventure of their connection. What's to gain? In this life, we decide we are cursed with absolute freedom. So personally, I decide not to love, and while the hole in my soul, may grow to completely eradicate my love for others, maybe I will learn the true meaning of the cold and bleak universe. Till then, I will let my emotions, and rambles of insecure gestures flow throughout my fingertips.

Shaken

It's 4:53am. I kind of feel like a sham tonight. Like a person who wears a mask, and the mask has become stuck. To the people around me, I feel so alien and wrong. It's like the skin on my bones are not real, like the eyes that see aren't mine. The face I look at in the mirror isn't me, but a facade, who am I? I keep on asking that question. It repeats in my mind like the beating of a fucking drum. Who am I? Am I this person who loves being around others, who melts into their forgotten words of love? Or am I this monstrous being who indulges in flesh being ripped apart? Oh how am I still alive? How I keep asking, how am I really living as a corpse? Who here gleams above others, who here has not feigned emotion to a degree? Show me a proper hero to my villain. Show me the man who is without sin, show me the pure angel of light, so that we may tear into their veins of impurity! Fuck society, and fuck you.

A quiet day

It's 11:38pm. It's earlier than I usually begin writing. I think it's because I have an itch that I need to scratch. Most days I try and think up something I want to write about, I never really let myself go. Now, today it feels like a time that I can, really let go. I think it's because of how I am, that I do things. Things feel so strange to me, like I have a buffer between me and reality. That is why, my numbness feels almost alienating when I am doing my daily duties, at work, and at home. Maybe it is depression, I say. Other times, I think it's simply who I was born to be, completely numb, like a mummified corpse. A corpse that talks to people, as if it had nothing to say. I think that is why people enjoy my company, I have no real personality, they can just plaster whatever they wish I was onto my face and call me that. Sometimes I wish I did not have anything to say, or be, to simply exist and watch as things around me happen. Like a leaf floating in the wind, like the waves crashing upon shore, like a quiet lake. One day, without others, without the feeling of connection that binds me, I will be happy I think. I hope.

Watching

It's currently 4:08am. Tonight, I greet the warm arms of solitude. Tonight, I find myself not slipping, but coldly watching the void. The core of our human meaning, the void. Tonight, I sense the cool breeze of emptiness. The more one looks into the eye of death, of the endless void, one realizes the tragedy of human existence. It's like seeing the entrails of a person come seeping out of their stomachs, the blood plopping on the ground, along with pieces of bone and flesh. It's quite horrifying, but the more you see, the more you understand. The more you understand, the more twisted one feels. It's quite simply, feeling like you've been sheltered from the coldness of winter. There's power in knowledge, but there's a price you must pay for something so intensely important. Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes. Along those lines, can one person quantify their experiences of the void? One would scoff at the notion that someone could possibly make sense of such a beautifully terrifying image. I say it is so, because one must try to see, with their voice, with their paint, or their writing. So create it so, beings of selfishness, create.

Halloween hunger

It's 4:04am. Today is Halloween. It's a nice time, the trees begin to shed, the wind outside begins to blow cold, there's pumpkins and warm lattes that begin to emerge as if slumbering from an eternal winter. Now, it's also time to wear someone's skin, to become someone else for a night. To be completely different. To flail around as someone else, to embrace the warmness of someone's flesh and bone. It's a mask you see, from all around us we can be infinitely different, from who we are, and I think it's quite a nice tactic for people to finally be something they've always wanted to be, whether it be someone beautiful, or something sinister. Maybe that is the reason we so much enjoy this holiday, because for a night we can become something different, than who we are. This time, Halloween, it always puts me in a mood. To see movies, but it gives me something of a thirst for gore, the gore you see in movies. It's unquenchable, this thirst but nonetheless I always get it in Halloween, I will try to delve into the predictable cliches of modern cinema, but it's always there and it's never enough. Someday maybe, maybe one Halloween...

Distancing

It's 5:05am. Today I could not get this thought out of my mind. The thought that things happen around me, and I do no feel them, thus I end up with an empty hole in my being. I see things, and experience them, but I have a lack of anything, and things just happen. I kept repeating the line from the show "End of the fucking world". I relate to the male protagonist, a lot. He said this line, "sometimes I just let things happen". It's that disassociation from reality, that cold ebb from the real, the eye that sees from a distance. I feel literally, physically, as if the eye is me. The eye who's cold gaze lingers on the world of material. So sometimes, I just let things fall down, I let them break, and allow the cold waves of the ocean bury me until the water fills my lungs. I think part of me, would like to see the chaos it brings, maybe because I want to feel a moment of control, as if I could manage the chaos of this meaningless existence. I cannot get this feeling out of my head, the distance, the feeling of being gone. It's oddly alluring, and comforting, but I know that it brings malice, and will be my downfall if I choose to embrace it. I do not know, but maybe one day I will choose to accept it, and let the waves fall upon me for the last time, to swallow my sanity.

Secretly, maybe, crazy

It's 1:04am. I awoke today, believing I was insane. I thought I was institutionalized. What's strange is, I felt comfortable there. It was white, filled to the brim with obvious cliches from the movies and shows that we always see. I was saddened deeply, to awake. I felt more at home there, than I did when I was alive. Then again, I felt like the doors that are chained up in my brain were broken, finally open. No longer, I had this thing inside me that made me so strange, like I was finally able to breathe again. Like I was normal, and then began to think that is how normal people feel every single day. I hope that one day, I feel complete like that, it's painful to know I will never have that emotion again, because I know that things in this world aren't enough. Maybe it is my inner cynic, to know such pain and embrace the sadness for the rest of my life.

To love

It's 5:26am. To love is to be willing to die with a broken heart. Loving someone is a mistake, you know the right person may be in your eyesight. Yet your eyes deceive you, love can be a plague. A plague, that gnaws on your flesh from the inside. Soon enough, your muscles begin to spasm, your motions begin to slow, and you begin to feel less. It's blinding, isn't it? The love that blinds you to reality. The holes in your life, that seem to be filled with unimaginable heart, and soul. Fuck love, it should not be for us, it is for the others, the mounds of flesh that permeate our society. Fuck love because what it does for them, will never be done for us. Love isn't for people like you and me, we are the outliers, the ones who observe the cancer, and long for the outcry of help. Fuck love.

Fantasy

It's 4:33am. Today, I find myself lost. Lost to be in a world of much more vibrancy, and thrill. I fear that one day, I may meld too much into this world, and with it will no longer have ties into reality. I feel it, my mind deteriorating with every passing day. Each day, more and more I have less and less life. Life that used to pour from my goddamn soul, because it was in excess. I used to never fantasize about things, because I believed that reality was much more fun. To have that thrill, extinguished with the horror that is so prevalent in society. At times, I fantasize about vivid gore. The meat on my bones being flayed alive, cut up and torn apart. My brain, and skull being smashed, blood gushing out of the hole in my face. Maybe, I think, that it is my true self I see so often. This vivid imagination of violence, it might be the real me. The real me that hides itself so much from society. It's quite frightening, to think that such a violent person may harbor within my being. Maybe I'll be different, when I grow older, but I hope that I am not evil, or cruel, because I don't want to be that.. ever.

The aliens and the robots

It's currently 6am. I am drunk, but feel as if it's the right time to write. Sometimes, I believe myself to be an alien, in a world of robots. Inherently different. The organs that writhe, and move within my system, they scare me. Compared to the cogs in the machines that run wild among this world. I want to feel. I am not afraid of saying so, of saying that I want to experience emotions, so powerful they shake my very bones, the emotions that fuel the fire in my brain. Every time I look into the eyes of another person, I see nothing. The cold grey lifeless ebb that flows within their iris. As if I cannot ever feel the way they do, something inside my soul could never touch their emotions, or realness that they, themselves, experience. That, my friends, is what scares me the most. I like to bare my emotions in my writings, but sometimes writing is not enough to encapsulate the immense pressure one has in their core. So live like nothing matters, because time is a limited sentence for us. Nothing ever matters, anymore.

A black sheep

It's 4:02am. I keep wondering, in a way I would say I'm never satisfied. Satisfied that the world is a chaotic mound, a lawless town, full of monstrous humans. It's these times that I try and figure out where I fit in. People with sensibilities and empathetic emotions, seem so little compared to ourselves. As if, I could hold more than others, but in a strange and peculiar way, I feel as if all the others around me, do not have the capacity to feel so profoundly. It's as if they are not there, completely. Every time I notice people, they look so lonely, they squabble around constantly stretching their arms in search of some sort of feeling, to fill their holes that puncture their souls. I want to see them for what they really are, and if they are not who I think they are, then those are the beings I wish to study. To study such marvelous differences in humanity. I think maybe, we all struggle with the hole that is ingrained in our souls, although, I think some of us struggle less because we have knowledge of it. The knowledge that no amount of words, or touch of flesh, or any emotion that could be conjured up by our ridiculous brain could ever fill this empty void. I think that is why so many of us struggle with the concept of survival, of living, of existing. To some of us, this void, is eternally, completely, unavoidably, a part of our human condition. It's weight is so heavy, as if we were holding the human race on our shoulders. It does not deserve us, our human race, we are too special for it, so we lose ourselves in our minds and drink ourselves to death, because it's not what we can do for humanity, but what they DESERVE to get from us. Nothing

Numbness to end numbness

It's 4:12am. I am writing this in a daze. I feel emotionless now, cold, numb. Numb to the emotional troubles of life. These are usually the times I tend to delve into gore, and try to assemble some shock to overcome this emotionless feeling. I have discovered alcohol, and with it, a new different feeling. The obnoxious feeling of rambunctiousness. I am invincible, I am relaxed and uncaring. Apathetic, and yet I am still numb. Maybe with another dose, another sip, another chug, I can succumb to this feeling of retardation. Something, to numb the numbness, or something to make me care about anything. Every night, I hope to find a sort of person that is similar to me, but so far, I have found one. One and the one that I so hoped was like me, ended up dead. Maybe it is my fate as well, to die. As it is to everyone else, to die. Unlike others, I think for us it might be to choose death, unlike the horde who like to please themselves, in some unorthodox ways. Eternally holding out their hands like beggars in the streets. Not I, I whisper not I. Nay, we choose the end, our own way. We are not cowards, we are in fact, martyrs of a new age of self realization.   

Figures

It's 2:56am. There's no real ideal for me, everything and everyone is very bland. I remember thinking, one day I may change, but I don't think it is possible. My personal euphoric emotion is not enough for me. It's like the hunger for something that is unattainable. It's like an unquenchable thirst, a longing for touch. Sometimes one may seem so enamored by others in society, it's every single product, like pigs waiting for their slob. To me, I find no discernible difference in the things that are made, it's the smallest little things that are interesting. It's watching a small bug, fly around looking for food, or the cracks that have been formed in the sidewalk. Rigged are we, such monsters and abominations of society, grasping at straws that hold small drops of hope. Oh but we must be set right, like a fucking picture on a wall, slightly off. It's not the picture that's wrong, maybe it's our society's eyes. The eyes that see no person, but figures, faceless and droll walking around this empty home, built of sticks and mud.

A cold day

It's 3:39 am. It was a cold day, a few days ago. As I stepped out into the world beyond my sheltered home, I could smell the September winds. When I was told he was no longer with us, I felt horror. Not the horror you see in the movies, no that one is too mild. It's like a horror you see in the violence, and gore. That horror which I feel is integral in our lives, to feel. I felt horror the entire day, because I knew what had happened. I began to piece together his last moments, the reason he was so inclined to leave us. Unfortunately, it's not something you really want to think about, when you think of someone you care about. It's like seeing an adorable puppy be smashed under a car, or a child being disemboweled on razor wire. Thinking about all the times he made us smile, thinking about how many lives he touched, only for his spirit to go out in a matter of hours. I am sad, but not a pleasurable sadness that I can cope with. His is one life, I wish I could have changed, for the better. Now, I am left with nothing but memories of a boy too tortured from his past, who was unable to bear the weight of his demons. I see all his friends, everyone forgets who he was, what he wanted. I wish I could've done more, I say, but I know that even if I had, the pain would be too great. Just to see a man, who's life meant so much to be lost so quickly, it's really painful. Pain that I hope will stay with me forever, until I breathe my last breath, until my eyes can see no longer, pain that I hope will always remind me that he was there, that he was someone, and never to be forgotten. Thank you Josh.

Violence

It's 5:10am. Ever since my sister told me "your mind always goes to gore". I have been thinking about it. It's a strange way that my mind procures such images. It's like I cannot figure out why I am alive. Every day I see animals that lie dead in the streets, without a care in the world, cars pass by. As if these things are simply small meaningless objects. I reject such a notion, I see the guts and blood that has been spilled by someone that didn't care enough to look both ways or stop. I see the evil in their eyes, I see the life that was taken by such a being. I think, I see children being mauled and see people being torn apart by cars. I want to see such things. It is not because I have some sick and depraved sexual fantasy about it. It is because gore, is truly horrific. The horror I experience is sickening, vile, grotesque, vivid, and real. For all of the years of my life, I feel as if I am being sheltered by society. A society that is uncomfortable with the horrors of reality, the evil and damned that is truly our human race. Such forces, that like to shelter us with dopamine dumps, and  advertised lies. It wants us to be blissful and happy. To our surprise, we aren't really happy until we see the dark side of the moon. The dark side that is filled with sadness, and the stench of rotting corpse I know people might want to say that I am demented, a true fucked up human being. I don't agree, we as children of earth should know the evil that hides, it's traumatic, and truly sad. If we do not know such feelings, then what are we but pigs on  a farm, eating garbage. If we open our eyes, we will be greeted by gore, but it is necessary, to live truly, and completely. So embrace evil, and the sadness that accompanies it.

Comfortable

It's 4:36am. Finding out one's sexuality is kind of scary. Realizing what you are, it points you in a direction. This direction may be one you aren't completely comfortable exploring. When I found out what it was I was fulfilled. The fear didn't set in until a few minutes. I had to grasp that one day I would not be able to find out what true love is. Unlike other asexuals, who do want  a romantic relationship, I always veered away from it. I knew, that no matter how much I may find interest in it, I would never really enjoy my life completely if I found romance. I knew that it would hinder my life. I look around to see these people, so happy and joyous in their positions, so I strive for the same. They all have something I don't, and for that I feel jealous, and sad. Sad that I cannot be like they are. I found comfort today, another. A living breathing person who is indeed real. It's almost as if I can see colors. There is comfort in knowing another has the same personality. While it is strange, it is comfortable, simply, holey, comfortable.

Entity

It's 5:35am. I am drunk, and I am listening to Korean ballads. It got me thinking, why I do things, and why I am like how I am. It is purely me. I am being the real me, when I write it is as if I am finally saying the things in my brain that I want to say. Every single word purely handcrafted from my brain, from the entity inside my head. You know the one, that whispers everyday about something new, something evil. The whispers that linger on every minute of every second of everyday. I think that this entity, is the real me, the one who hopes, and dreams the one who harbors such feelings and emotions. I think I am the shell, that it hides behind, the shell that one day will break, and maybe as the shell I will finally be free of the incessant screaming of the entity that I hold back. I one day will break, and when I do the entity will finally express himself, for who he really is. A thing who cares not for others, who is selfish in his endeavors, and cold distance will envelop his entire being. It's not something that others will like, and I am afraid of him. I fear who he will become and I fear that once I am gone I will never be able to stop him. Sleep well entity, and wake nevermore.

Maybe

It's 4:48am. Maybe. Maybe, for the time being, I am one thing. Maybe tomorrow I will emerge a new person, who can create who can dream. Maybe tomorrow I will have the courage, the courage, to feel. Maybe tomorrow I will finally sense the taste of sweetness. Maybe tomorrow I will break through the flesh and bone of my being and emerge a titan among humans. Maybe on a single day I will shed myself from the mound of flesh and become divine. Maybe I will yell from the rooftops that I am and I be. Maybe just maybe one day I will see into the eyes of another person and I will feel a connection. Maybe just maybe I will finally feel things as others do. Maybe just maybe.

Soul

It's 4:28am. There's a disconnect. Let me rephrase. I am disconnected from others. This misinterpretation seems to permeate throughout my entire life. Existence is difficult, the misinterpretation is strange, because it makes me not feel human. It's as if my human side is dying, or maybe I'm coming to the realization that it never even existed. Each day, I see these mounds of flesh communicate, and they feel joy with others. It's as if I am watching through a window, to the outside world. Culture, the ideal home, the togetherness. I am immune. I am immune to the disease of love, and intimacy. It is disheartening to feel the weight be lifted from my soul. The limitless experience of elation that one feels when then are in love, to me is very limiting. So, the horde will say "you will find that special someone some day, and you will feel amazing." I reject such a notion that one should limit themselves with love. Love will fade, and discomfort will set in, I need something else, something more than a simple emotion can give. It's as if I am not complete without this other thing, not love, not the emotions, but something that I cannot describe, something so infinite that our bones will hollow and shiver from the sheer mention. That our veins begin to feel cold with our blood. That our minds almost break from the realization of the completeness. Spirituality? Nay, something bound by logic is not infinite, but something that we humans cannot fathom, like looking at the spectrum of color, the grey that we cannot see. It is the grey that I seek, the unknown the light of such unimaginable power. Love is but a simplistic emotion, compared to the grey's infinite power. The grey, it's what should power my life, so why should I cling to battered torn emotions? I am conflicted.

Stage

It's 5:25am. I like to listen to conversations with people, eavesdrop on what they say. A lot of the time they things that show their mask, that they've so carefully carved. Sometimes though, when the mask begins to crack, and the finely tuned paint begins to wear off, I can see them for who they are. Feeble, and fragile, as if made of glass. I constantly search for these things, but  at the same time when I see them they are like turtles, constantly going back to the mask. It's strange, because for me I like to use the mask fully, only at times when I find convenient I show who I am. I fear that if I show the real me, they will not like it. It is not an issue of likableness, but an issue of the fear that I will have towards these mounds of flesh. Like I cannot actually root myself in the forest of trees. I am but a robot in a world of bark. A truly steam made machine, imbued with oil and the hand of man, in a world of green vibrancy, that froths at the mouth with moss and ticks. Kicking around the battered horse, I know I am different, but not in a way that is acceptable, like the serial killer or the rapist. It is quite discomforting, but I must adjust, for one does not fight the genetics in our blood. I have been trying to see the world from a glass window, but it is crooked. A pane that is colored in ruby red, while I take a look around and see others looking at it from a shade of ocean blue. If I do not see what they do, do the things that I see truly matter? Are the things in my brain, the things in my hands, really there? If they are not, then they do not matter, and the reality of realness is under another sheet of glass. True, should I look for this pane, steal it from a person next to me, or accept my own pane? A pane that I have looked through for years, and that has gotten more deformed and complex throughout the years? I do not know, and feel as if I will never know. The knowledge though, is what is more important, because I get to know about the other glass windows, instead of simply seeing it through mine. Seeking, curiosity the fear, the life. It is what we must always acknowledge, and I am thankful for that. Until we meet again, in the next window...

Raw

It's 5:05am. My fingers feel stiff, and hurt. I have been thinking about words, carnal and cannibal. Those two words speak to me, in a way that no other words do. They are words that hold more emotion, more feeling than any other word I have seen. It's raw, it's emotionally big, and almost too much to stomach. Maybe, one day, I will be normal. I keep having thoughts run through my mind, and the voice is just so loud, it's hard to listen to other people. It's like a booming stereo in my head that does not stop. What I would give to suppress the unceasing torment. I like to think that's how everyone feels, as if their minds cannot hold in this voice, so they use other people's ears, as objects to feed. Every idea, every mutter, every belief. In a way, we are all mad, in a way those things we hold in our heads, every traumatic moment that we try and hold in, comes out. It's bloody and violent echo always shattering through our thin glass. The glass that we hold up to our society, as a frame that they can see us through. So that their eyes may glance upon a person that is appropriate, unaware that the glass is frail, and could break with a slight breeze. And as the glass would shatter, the pieces would fall onto the ground, and pouring out would be the ooze of our true selves, our demons, our flesh. Today, I really saw the horde, the people. They would laugh and look at each other with such love, and joy. As I turned around, I saw the emptiness of reality, the void if you will of nothingness, and I felt comfort. Comfort not in the people around me, not in the horde, but in full enthrallment of the emptiness that encompassed my life. Every moment that I had all to myself, it was as if I had seen beauty for the very first time, and in seeing so I find purpose.

Pictures

It's 3:57am. I was scrolling through instagram, as I usually do about 50 times a day, and I came across a person in a picture that radiated beauty and glamour. I was in love. Then I saw the likes, or notes or whatever the fuck it's called. It was over 4 thousand. I always think these people are somehow inhuman when they reach stardom, the days that made them ascend from normal human status is forever gone, and now they always have a prevalent superiority to others. It's ridiculous to believe that these humans, are something other than arbitrary mounds of flesh walking around in heat, sweating, burping, eating. Yet it is all true, they too shall know the sting of death. Light will fade from their eyes. In that regard, should we feel like we should appeal to these mounds of flesh, and bow before them, as they flaunt their whims and money around themselves to show people like us that they are in fact, superhuman. Reject this notion of superiority, because for how much money, power, influence they have, they will always have to eat, sleep, shit and live. I also see them have these donation boxes, for them to be paid by their slaves. Slaves that will orgasm at the sound of their words being spoken or acknowledged by the mound of flesh. Truly, we are a simplistic and idiotic society. Suckling at the tit of the mound for a moment of freedom from the loneliness. Where do we go when they are no longer near us? Forget the people, forget the mound, and fuck society.

Touch

It's 4:16am. I see how others end up in each other's arms. It's strange to me, that time brings people closer and closer so much that they want to end up holding each other. I would not like that, I mean I would like that. Let me rephrase, I constantly struggle with what I want, and what I know I can get. To me, finding a significant other sounds nice, and comforting. But I know that I cannot fully cope with a significant relationship, it would be much too hard to maintain. I know, because even with all the love that this person may have for me, I know that it too may fade, and should have never been initiated in the first place. It's painful, to me to feel things, because I know the end. In the end, I will die alone, alone in a sense that I am fulfilled. Alone for every single moment that I spent around family, friends, and all the in between. When I do find that solace, when I truly find out where I am and who the person I look at the mirror really is, is when I can finally rest because the person I will ever truly love wholeheartedly and completely will be myself.

Avoiding

It's 5:33am. I am hopeless. I am curious as a cat, yet emotionless as a rock. More and more I see things that I do not agree with, social queues that I do not comprehend. It it those things and more that I find myself questioning. More and more I am awake to. Perhaps it is the design of my brain that differs from these other faceless people. I feel more at a distance than I have felt from others before. I think that it's given me more of a perspective. Although, I begin to believe it is a perspective that is damaging me. At times I wish and hope that by some miracle, by some godsend that all my issues get resolved, and I become a person of society that is accepted, and deemed normal. Like one day, out of the blue, my neurons get ripped out of my brain, and replaced by ideas that all others have. Each day I hope they do, but I know that the day will never come. I must learn to accept my troubles, my pain, and issues. So that one day, I can say regardless of every single soul around me that I am ok with myself. I am fine, and fuck everyone else that thinks I should change a damn thing about myself. So screw society, making me avoid all these delicate subjects, and forcing me to walk on broken glass. I will avoid no longer, to be the true freak I am. Because I am a freak, and a freak I will always be.

Void

It's 5:00 am on the dot, and I am sitting here full of regret. Regret that I have lived so long and not wrote, as it is the most satisfying feeling of all. I am sorry, but not to you, the audience but to myself. It's as if I kept throwing myself into a deeper pit of guilt, my emotions had no outlet. I felt it, pain, sadness and the ever call of the void. You know, the void that calls our name from the depths of the unknown, every day taunting us with it's sweet release. I am not ready, nor will I ever be, I imagine that many of the people who slept with the void weren't really ready, they simply found no other option. I curse the day that brings me to it's arms. Enough about that, as the subject can find no release in my entombed figure. No, inside I am more at ease with my circumstances, as time allows me to ease myself into it. No longer will I cry about the problems that I have, but I should as that is the fire that will cease to quell me. I hope to never doubt myself in that regard. Recently, I tend to see these eyes, eyes that have no light. Maybe it is me that doubts the reality of these eyes, it's as if their lights have flickered into oblivion. People get complacent, they get bored and give up. They give up, why they would do that is beyond me, because their dreams can be achieved, and to see them simply give in is quite sad, but not a sadness that is for that person, but a sadness for humanity as a whole. The entirety of human existence will not know that single person's contribution. It's something like an entire forest being burned by a cigarette butt that could have been prevented. I hope that one day these people may find their dreams, and that they fight tooth and nail for them. Until then, it is to the void we go.

Time

It's 3:35am. I'm awake but it feels like I am not alive. My brain is constantly stuck in a part of my former life. I believe it's because I have difficulties moving on. I remember, as a child I had a particular hard time letting toys go. Throwing them away, I remember giving them a kiss before I threw them in the garbage, a final goodbye to inanimate objects. I think it's because I felt more in tune with them, than I did my family, or my friends. My time, my days of a past life. I remember, those two words, they hold such tremors that could topple the roman Colosseum. It is because I remember the things of my childhood that shape who I am, who I will be. Is that not what we all share? Sharing of the nostalgia, the memories that aren't as great as you remember. I sometimes fear that in the future, I will change into someone I don't ever want to be. Someone who's will is so dead, and brain so lifeless that a corpse would breathe more life than that of myself. Surely, I say to myself I control my destiny, the way I see, the way I choose to speak. Yet I see too much of the opposite in other's lives. If everyone is a tortured soul, is there really a such thing as a normal one? Time, a love and a curse, whatever will we make of thee?

Today I saw the world.

It's 5:23pm. Today I saw the world, not in the rose colored lenses I tend to imagine it, but the raw and fleshy being that it hides. The rawness of life, it's very hollow core. Sure the gore, and violence that I've watched many a time before prepared me somewhat for what I saw, but it does not speak to the volume of being there. The time that slowed down, the perception of invincibility that one has is shaken and left a blubbering child. Many times I had imagined death, the human being is very fragile, and mind so frail. I should be saying how important and valuable life is to us, and how we should treasure it so, but  I won't. No, life is given to the unimportant and meaningless, a simple whim of the cosmos allows us to exist. It does not mean our lives hold no value, nay it simply means we must hold it in perspective even for a second. Sure, one would delve into spirituality when speaking upon how close encounter to death we might've had, yet I feel no closer to God, or Satan. In fact, I feel more farther away than anything. It's no miracle I survived, and in saying it is, is a spit in the face to all the real danger that hides away in shadows every day in our lives, we just willfully ignore the sleeping animal. Chaos, is true order, and with chaos we define our very being. So chaos we shall bow to, and chaos shall dine on our corpses until our very last day on earth.

Loving

It's 3:29am. It's a well known fact that our society is enamored by the feeling of love. We love each other. Infinite, and unbreakable. Love specifically for another person. It's a love that people share so immensely that it is almost unbearable for one person to bear. For someone such as I, I feel so much less. I watched a movie, "the notebook". In it, these two found themselves so in love with one another it was incredibly amazing to see such an emotion take control of their lives to that extent. It's quite interesting to see it from afar. I do feel alien to it, almost immune I feel. Not jealous at all though. It's definitely strange, to believe one so distant, to be so foreign. I'm curious, as to what these people feel so invested into it. Maybe it is a movie among the many that make it seem as if love is a much bigger thing than it really is. If that is the case, then I disagree that they should discontinue making movies about it, because it's such a wondrous and imaginative take on a much blander emotion. More I say, to take us to a place in which it blooms our dreams into fantasies of grand sunshine! Take the me, such fake love! Move our hearts with the mask that we have stitched so well together!

Looking inside

It's 2:00am. I was watching a movie called "Everybody rides the carousel". It shows the ins and outs of a normal human life. It's quite astonishing how quickly someone's life can fade into literally nothing from potential. I found it so sad, at the same time it's quite beautiful. Looking at life at such a distance, it's quite scary. So many paths one could take, so many mistakes to be had, so many souls you could taint. For me, I think choosing to abstain is a direction, not unlike choosing to go into law, or love. Many people would call this stagnation a true art of procrastination, to willfully believe they are moving when they are not. It's a lie, they know not what doing nothing entails, because they have done. I think the more you see, the more you figure out, and the more you grow in knowledge. Useless? Maybe, but to me, it is true knowledge, being aware of others. Such simple beliefs and lowly thoughts about what others may think or want to believe, I want to choose to go beyond. It is that my feeble brain does not comprehend in a manner others may, idiotic they may call me, retarded, or cringy. Sure, to an extent it may be so but to me it isn't that simple. Everything is complex, and I'm enthralled in thinking such thoughts. To truly be in awe of life, it's my gift to myself for the rest of my life. Wicked are we the people of night, feared and fearful are we the weirdos. Forevermore

Special

Its 10:33pm. Whenever I look around I tend to see everyone else a bit differently. Sure, their lives hold little meaning to me, so little thoughts may pass through my mind about them. At the same time an overwhelming jealousy engulfs me. It is the fact they are so much better than I am, so much superior. They have so little difficulty with matters of society. They can live in a capsule man made by their brethren, and with so little opposition that they give. Where in this world are we, the ones with so much difficulties that break their very soul existing in this molded fleshy block. This passed down societal norms, this pressured bag of junk fed to us by the elders. Should we succumb to this titan that flattens us puny ants with every step? No, not us the ones who break free from it, yes caste out by the horde, but to death we shall not march! To life we finally live! Huzzah the children of night we feast upon life's heart! The horde knows not of life! They know not of living, but we aye we the children filled with vigor and enthusiasm we know it is not living, but a sham, a fake, a lie. So go forth and we will feast upon truth!

Beauty

It's 11:54 pm I see it all around, how the models pose their seductive poses, how they wait for the right lighting to gleam into their direction. A perfect moment captured by the shutter of a frame. Their skin so pale and soft, as if it could be anything less than perfect. The eyes hungry for fame, and success. The makeup blended so majestically, it's as if they were born with it already on. It makes me jealous. Jealous that such beauty could be squandered on people who's only real goal is to drink themselves into a stupor at 2 am in the morning, and waste their time partying for a moment of amusement. Oh how drool, I say as I type the words of a jealous mongrel, shirts stained by last night's meatloaf. Do not presume I forget my place, judgement upon the many, I would presume to look upon myself with such disdain as I do the horde. Blessed they be to have comfort in their meaninglessness. Minds not filled with doubt, and selfishness be the only focus of their lives. Yes I am jealous, and I am evil but I will not pretend I can hold myself up in such a demeanor. I am evil, yes and I am jealous.

The hole

It is 11:18pm. I'm tired, but not of my body. It's more of a mind tired. Like a hole that seeps through me. It's almost like I feel nothing for anything. Like nothing has value, like my fear and sadness aren't big enough for me to carry. Like I'm buckling under the weight of it all. So the voices yell at me, and I play deaf, but for today I cry. This hole I speak to, this hole I carry, I feel like everyone carries one. Knowing I am not alone brings me little comfort. Sometimes I know not what I say or do, and it's ok. It's ok not because I say it, but because I am mortal, I know that its normal to feel as we all do. Sometimes I believe that truly in myself that I am not. Maybe the rejection I've surrounded myself all these years is due to the fact that I know so well we are not. Creating a facade for others to admire, and believe is beneath me, because we know they should not accept us, for who and what we are. It might be time to slink away from the shadows and be brought into the light. To tomorrow, and forever after, we shall see.

First of a past time

Right now it's 9:41 pm. I'm sitting here, thinking about all the opportunities that I have lost. The times when I could've done something. Times where I could have made something happen for myself, or when if I had pushed myself a little harder I would've made a difference in my life. To think, that life can deal us so many paths, it's a bit hard to fathom. Someone who could've made me a better or worse person. A choice that I could've made that might have made me different. I turn to you, people of night, people of day how does one make these moves so frivolously? To make one's life decisions on a whim of a breeze? Such courage do they have, such vigor and unseen fright they display! Reminds me of how much I hold dear my fear. To not say in a sense that I am superior or better than those who do, to condemn such a different being, would be like a crocodile defiling the status of an alligator, different yes, but ultimately similar. Make what you will, these people may not be the same as we, for they know things and see with their minds not hearts, but even if they did we know they beat to a different rhythm as we do. So clasp your own hands together and observe these animals from afar, for you know you are not one of them. I think a time will come when we can say we aren't going to tell anyone anything and simply fade, that is when we know we will have made it.