I wake up and I am nothing but a
ball of hatred.
What an uncomfortable realization: that I do not understand anyone in the slightest. The lovely world has set fire to brain. Are we all fucked or is it just me? No one has time anymore but that’s pure bullshit. No one simply wants to make time anymore. I don’t think I can last very long. My will is simply not up to the task.
I have a recurrent fantasy wherein I murder myself. Please understand, I am not talking about suicide, not at all. In this glorious imagining I am somehow two versions of myself and one is able to murder the other. It is a holistically unique experience as I am able to feel the supreme satisfaction of my life ending and – perhaps more unique still- to feel the joy of being the instrument of my own well deserved extermination. It is a surely a fantasy of pure egoism but that’s just the kind of selfish bastard I am.
I keep wishing you would rot in hell and this grim desire is doing me no good at all. Tsk tsk, finger wag at me. Words are swords and shields and they can be both in a single sentence and they are the greatest liars and the best of friends. There are two of you and two of me and that piano solo is growing ever more desperate and makes me scream when all else disappears and I am left alone in cold darkness.
True beauty is an intensely frightening thing and I want to drown inside of it. The tears from your eyes that fell on the pillow, I want to swim in those. The skies will be purple and the moon made of ice. I don’t understand any of it.
Am I pro-life when it comes to dying? What an unusual question. Does anyone think anymore? I can’t help but detest the physicality of everything. Lasers keep shooting off inside my head and I feel there is something terribly wrong. Everything at our fingertips is so dirty. We are truly pathetic and disgusting things and I feel a great swell of pity for those who refuse to see this. I feel even worse for those who take pride in their depravity. My only solace comes from knowing that eventually they all end up miserable, hugging crumpled dollars and clinging to memories of old orgasms. I am a small yellow beast and I have not been fed in so long.
There is only one glimmer of purity and I must allow this illusion.
There is never a moment where we are not clinging to some type of illusion in order to survive. I found everything in the blue and black. Those piano keys cry out again and I see you so tender and loving and I kneel to this precious gift. You are the only one who has ever given back.
That star scares me so much. There’s a storm happening. I can see it right there on the surface. You can see it too. I wonder how deep it goes and how many thousands of miles it stretches on. And when did it begin? I sense it started at the beginning of time during that terrible and wonderful violent burst of creation. This is the center of everything and the horrible truth that resides on that star in the center of that storm would surely drive me insane in an instant. I wonder if I would die screaming. I wonder you.
I would love to drown inside of….
Your tears are strange and wonderful living metaphysical things. Joyous and desperate and uncontrollable, at turns elated and devastated pieces of your soul they create living lakes of emotion. When my naked body and face is inside of them I am overwhelmed by everything you have every felt and the otherworldly beauty inside of you.
Such utter indifference to my comings and goings. That is the best tonic to add to any drink. Coursing through my veins is the exact elixir necessary to reach those highest of plateaus. And all these flowers in front of my eyes don’t realize how good they have it. I suspect I shall be coming to a bitter end very soon. Oh God, every time it is night and I have to look at the sky and I see that star my body is assaulted by a wave of pure cataclysmic panic. The center of everything. Your smile is the great herald of my death.
Things are slowly collapsing all around and from your hands come the glow of a new creation. The Saints are lining the streets and incantations are in order. I see you at the head and your hallowed garb makes perfect sense; only fringes of your coal-black hair are visible now, beauty guarded by beauty. You prophesize and look inside of me and for a moment I am no longer ugly. I feel such peace when you touch me. People scream in the streets but I pay them no attention. Their blood is as meaningless as the lives they gave up. And I am no better. I never was. You tell me the world is going to be set on fire and you tell me by whom and the reason why. But you tell me not to be scared and embrace me. I don’t understand anything anymore except this comforting warmth.
At some other point I wake up alone in my bed - calmer, no longer screaming inside - and I take a drink from the bottle on the nightstand. I record myself saying some meaningless things and then stare at the river outside the window. I shower, shave and put on a nice suit and have another drink so I can face all those meaningless things out there and so they can face me.
I see you at the dance. Blue dress. Hair up. Red lipstick. The only beautiful person here or anywhere.
Me: “Let me ask you something, why’d you come here tonight?”
Her: “You first.”
“To see you.”
“That’s lovely. And I really wish I could say the same.”
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