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07.25.05
SeDaTiVe-X I'm so alone. Thinking back tonight I now realize how much of an outcast I am in this world. I fit in absolutely nowhere. That makes me crazy. My ideas are sadistic and misunderstood. My humor is morbid and rarely laughed at, and I now realize the only people that laugh at the things that I say view me as entertainment instead of someone they understand. I doubt it really matters anyway. I'm just a member of my own class. The king, the queen, the god and the anti-christ on a self-destructive path to freedom. Ruling my world with an iron fist of sarcasm, filling my womb and fattening it with the hatred and ignorance of others, creating wonderful things that no one will ever be able to comprehend, and beating myself down over and over again by secluding myself, ever more, from reality- someone with power to toy with the hearts and minds of mortals, ending only with my own suffering. All of the aforementioned things are self-destructive in nature. The king losing touch with his people and being overthrown from his own greed and gluttony, the queen just a nipple for those to suckle on to further their own goals, the god creating something greater than himself, but being obliterated in the process, and the anti-christ seeing all that is power, only to be destroyed by it. I guess that makes me the real Mr. Self Destruct, because in the end, all the extroverted hate and pain ends up screaming back to me like a magnet of depression and death. Too deep into this to look back, I know wonder how far I can go. If I'm already dead to myself, how much farther do I have to crawl in my own shit and piss to be reborn. Or is that all that enlightenment has to bring? Is that really the truth? Is the light at the end of the tunnel a vertical drop into an ever darkening oblivion? With my new eyes all I see is death. I see it every day in the empty smiles and recorded conversations between people without souls. There is no heaven or hell, there is no limbo, there is no sin or retribution, there is no death. With my eyes, I now see I am already dead, or rather, I was never alive. I am no more than the instrument used to weave this sentence. However, it doesn't stop there. The entire world is dead. The stars are all dead. There is no such thing as life as we know it. We are all just chess pieces in a game long forgotten. Coming and going like new polished pawns eager for a purpose, but too stupid to know otherwise. "The simplest solutions are usually the correct ones." Why is that? Because there is no greater purpose in life, you are all just pawns in a game your god became bored of long ago. What does that make me? I am the Anti-Christ. I am the power. I am the will. I am the chosen... I am unheard. I am cast out. I am irregular. I am a cancer. I am death. I am what you see in the mirror everyday. I am what makes you stare at the stars at night. I am the sun looking down on you every day. I am the Mona Lisa's gaze. I am your ultimate government. I am fear. I mirror your greatest ignorance. I am the answer. I am everything you should be. I am perfect, and you hate me for it, but at least I know what and who I am. Now, you tell me what I ought to be. You can't can you? A Christian maybe? Well what does that really mean? Contact: wEbMaStEr-. 07.20.05 SeDaTiVe-X Today I realized just how distant I am from the rest of the world. Being left here alone in this one bedroom shithole apartment to my own devices is sometimes scary for even me. "Am I going insane?" sneaks into my mind along with all sorts of politics and bloody scenes careening through my head as I sit on the couch staring at my black-screened television for hours, which only displays the Line In feature in lime green. Slightly terrified, but mostly intrigued, of what a lonely, aggravated, and unencumbered mind can do in silence I sit dodging one strange thought to be replaced by another. After what seemed like minutes, or days at some points, even I couldn't understand the morbid picture book my mind was creating. As I grow more and more distant, I start of a voyage that many require psychadellics to attain. Eyes open, but oblivious to my darkened surroundings, I take pictures of my body lying on some concrete floor with what looks like multiple gunshot wounds to the head. Brain matter is not far from my skull, seeping onto the floor like a cracked egg. I take time to analyze that simile and come to the conclusion that all of us have egg-heads, full of knowledge waiting to be spilled out, however useless, biased, ignorant, false or true that it may be. All of these snapshots were in beautiful black and white, more like a crime scene than anything else. Furthermore, that night I called a coworker out of boredom who promptly invited me over to share in what turned out to be collaborative boredom and a dinner my stomach wasn't desiring. For some reason food was my enemy for the past few days, and I later threw up the white rice I had finally opted to eat. They were engaging in what appeared to be a ritualistic smoke weed and watch television night which only brought out my ill understood sarcasm of cinema as I, Robot played featuring Will Smith. One girl was smitten with his character who apparently to her had no flaws, so to test the boundaries set in the apartment, I said his only flaw was that he was black. Sometimes I wish I could just end my life, but I feel there is more in store for my future, as most hopelessly do. Maybe I'm different. Maybe I'm naiive. Maybe I need to save up some money to buy a gun. Who knows? Contact: wEbMaStEr-.
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