s14

It lay bare.  It lay buried.  Ah, my special talent for fucking everything up is alive and well (and living in Paris?).  I wonder if this is a new record for me.  the expediency.  The speed was truly something else.  How did it happen?  Easy enough to trace the ways.  Hahaha, I must laugh to myself again, the epitaph.  She spelled out the epitaph and it could not be more true.  Well polished.  But there was something else there too…hahaha, research again, my God but how that keeps coming back to haunt me.  I do it all to myself though.  I deserve it.  I desire the pain and destruction so I’ve no real right to be surprised when it shows up in force, ready to dance and sing and take everything away.  Ah, my heart is foul whorish thing.  My spirit is a distortion.  I spent a great deal of the afternoon and evening in tears.  I kept turning pages though.  But tears kept coming down.  all my fault.  Did this all to myself.  At least there’s a purity there.  can’t blame anyone else.  Don’t avert, what were you saying?

Oh yes, started out very simply, verifications.  It’s so hard to trust anyone these days, isn’t it?  With good reason. Just look at me!  then a bit of time travel.  This must have been…not quite before.  No, was this all planned out.

Even now, right this very moment, I am constructing an elaborate fantasy to make all this better.  And I will repeat this fantasy to myself a million times a second until it becomes my reality.  No, but underneath will always be waiting.  But it will be so close, it will so so close and it will dry my tears.  Oh, what lovely work harkens to that fantasy, this shared human experience, united we all are in our ugliness and helpless slave nature to sin. 

Take away the….

I don’t know if I can ask for this.  I see how it all has to happen.  I know exactly how it has to happen.  Bright lights, blue everywhere, hahaha, there it is again, electric blue.  Too appropriate.  I’ve got problems.  At least there’s some solace somewhere.  Fucking up is my only talent. 

But no,  I walk in.  then I’m shaking.  All written out and still shaking.  I understand this is the last time.  I need to ask for forgiveness.  That is the only thing.  We’re all so careless.  It’s all out there in the air somewhere.  And this presence of the other.  Was it somehow planned?  Knowledge of this danger had to be present.  Was this orchestrated?  Of course it was.  But I’m just too fucking stupid to figure out who’s pulling the strings here.  oh well, it doesn’t really make a difference.  My sins remain the same.  But see, there it is, in the face of what is necessary my elaborate fantasy is already providing a defense.  How disgusting. How fucking repulsive.  No, I need to say, I know this is the last time, all by my own doing.  I’m so fucking awful.  Please forgive me.  this was all so fast.  At some other time, there is some other dimension where this all makes sense and I am not such a vile piece of shit.  But I only have this world and it is a world entirely of my own creation and the only world I deserve. 

I would not be myself the next time around.

Crying again.  I am I am a terrible thing.  And everything around is me. 

Yes, started there and little things were dropped here and there.  and then a list and the image and all at once everything connected and why wasn’t someone told to stay away.  How could this have happened?  I have no right to anything good.  Betrayals all around.  I always betray. I can’t fucking get to the heart of it.  I can’t lay it bare.  I obfuscate.  This is my escape.  Even in the realm of confession I am spinning a fantasy. 

Just want to die in your arms. Please just let me die in your arms.  My desires are corruption.  I can’t even wish for my own death in a proper way. 

And of course…so lovely and idealized the response…this could never be real life.  There can only be fear afterward.  Trust is lost forever.  Why is it that even though things are clearer he feels more lost than ever?  This is the central….this is the…because it was all working, so much better than expected.  And yet he still found a way to fuck it all up.

Ah, and now he wishes this knowledge could be taken way, just whisked away, flip back the pages, it never happened.  If only.  But you go looking, and open things up…things you had no right to.  And you can’t undo anything.  Your sin is all splayed out.  Exposed and grotesque and these things will never be forgotten.  and they are only just beginning to explore the limits of their destructive power. 

Such a short amount of time.  and so much good being done, none of it from me.  from me there was only sin. Corruption.  A poisoned soul that poisons everything in it’s proximity. 

I did something very bad.  do you know what it is?  That’s how it starts.  There’s a lovely imaginary version of how it all turns out.  But this cannot be.  And I just want to say I’m sorry.  He just wants your forgiveness.  Things are far more gone than he realized.  Very little makes sense anymore.  But there are no excuses.  And no one else to blame.  Would there be fear present during this recollecting?  Almost certainly. how did this happen?  Because you willed it to happen. You wanted it to happen.  You’re only happy when it’s all going to hell.

No matter what I do everything is tainted.  This is what I have done.  In truth or lies everything is tainted and awful and the reason is because I am awful. 

s13

I spent the better part of the last couple hours jumping around my posh flat and spouting gibberish, spit flying, guzzling gas station wine.  I truly hate myself and I’ve reiterated this point to myself hundreds of time over the past couple days.  Don’t get ahead here.  now that I’m at the station but there was an eclipse before.  My dark eyes.  Part of me believes I’m actually a bit important and it is very necessary to extinguish that part.  Future days of nothing await per recent announcements.  Tomorrow will be another wasted day. 

But going back.  Where was I?  feverishly and drunkenly listening in the night before and filling out so much on a super official yellow legal pad.  I occasionally chuckle over how meaningless everything I do is.  I analyzed photos for 3 hours the other day – dreaming of happy hour.  I was something of an anti-personality in the moment, completely detached though later on misery took its toll but then thankfully the chuckles set it again and I was able to laugh over how useless it all was.  That was something I forgot to mention.  Not that it matters.  Nothing I think, feel or say actually matters. But here it is, out there in the ether somewhere.  Who really gives a fuck, right? 

Anyway, on the way over, thinking about my favorite things.  one minute passed, woman in elevator with baby smelled like smoke.  Should have let me go.  I’m not me anymore.  No, that’s just a dream. Always clinging to a dream to survive.  I lie about my lies.  Tomorrow I’ll wake up early to do something useless.  To be clear, it’s not useless because of anyone else, only because of me.  you are you are a useless thing you are you are an awful ugly thing and everything is you.  You are this universe.  You get the world you deserve.  This entire world is your own creation and it is exactly you have earned, exactly what you deserve. 

And now suddenly I’m tired.  Why bother?  It doesn’t add up to anything.  Two major things I suppose. And there was laughter at one.  which means I was just whining.  Should never have mentioned. Just fucking whining cause I’m just a fucking worthless whiner.  Oh well, can’t win em all I suppose, open your hands.  My experience is so trivial.  Does not matter, everything is schematically laid out, this template is useless because it is mine.  even with deeper understanding…nothing really comes of it.  This all means nothing.  I just wandered my apartment and went for another drink and briefly reflected on the dream I’m constructing of myself.  I feel tired.  The other day in the parking lot, wishing for…I don’t think these thoughts are real.  They don’t seem to be acknowledged so I reckon they are not real.  Some interior distortions are taking place.  I overreact sometimes. 

A new mythology presented itself and grafted right onto my existence.  Of course there is a siren, there is a mermaid (yellow tigers occasionally pop up).  I know were I to reintroduce myself to the sand there would be a mermaid present (sailor brave) and this would be a great big important symbol and I am so deeply dull and obvious.  It all adds up though, this new construction and somewhere I am driving furiously to reach the sunset and I am shaking, more than shaking, these are crazy fucking spasms and I am screaming as I become someone else and enter another life and oh this reminds me of how I almost passed out the other day while driving and boy that sure was scary.  I don’t know anything I don’t know anything.  Was there fear in someone’s eyes recently?  He would never hurt that person.  he would die before he would hurt that person.  ah, but see the great symbolism?  Fuck, I don’t even know what the hell it means.  Beckoning, no that’s not quite right, signaling, guiding to a deeper understanding but with that comes an entirely new construction.  I just punched myself four times in a row but I know how to do it properly so it doesn’t really hurt.  Or wait, this time it hurt but it wasn’t bad.  yes, to a deeper understanding but so lovely and gentle at first.  oh, I am so selfish and awful, why am I so terrible? What the hell is wrong with me?  you’re not brave, you’re a fucking piece of shit.  Everyone sees it. These aren’t even lies.  Don’t thank me ever.  I hate receiving thanks.  Wants me dead.  I was screaming over and over again yesterday and what happened after was great punishment of the body and then…blanking, ah yes, turning to the bottle, always a wise decision, I cannot function without poison, it can be external or internal but I fucking need poison to deserve.  I take extra special care to nurse all the ugliest parts of myself.   As time goes on the ugly things grow and grow, exert their dominance and I am a foul fucking piece of shit and I wondered about my brains exploding and making a giddy mess everywhere and how little it would matter. 

There was reprieve where I could lose myself entirely.  That is always the relief, when I’m not me anymore.  And then only richly deserved self loathing in all other moments. And I started to write a message and then I stopped and I was desperate for a repeat performance but I cannot.  And time is up with vibration and he knows she doesn’t care and that is how it should be.  But that probably isn’t true and nothing makes any motherfucking sense because my brain is so fucking twisted and I can’t get a goddamn thing right.  but what good does it really do?  Just a waste of time, incessant whining.  Just accept that you’re a piece of shit and move on.  I am a piece of shit. I just need to move on. 

No, before all that or after or whatever the fuck ever I went somewhere bright and couldn’t pick up a basket and I cursed my ass for being so fucking dumb – what the hell is wrong with me?!  and then everything was celebratory and no one deserves the awfulness of my company.  Then I woke up and everything was warm and grotesque and I knew at once that I am a form of evil – temporarily benign but the categorization remains.  I am putrid and disgusting.  No judgement cannot be true.  But that’s okay. That’s how it should be.