i am tired
i am just so
tired
i dont want to see any more dead-eyed dead-dreamed bleakweary half-buried people around me. i dont want to work with them—no. please no more. it kills me each time more and more breaking and chipping away pieces of myself disguised as excuses that its okay you get a roof over your head and money to spend on side projects.
i dont deserve a roof with that kind of thinking. stuff on the side shouldnt be what keeps me alive. my work should be sufficient.
my work has value.
more importantly, it can create value.
the things i do and make have to have some kind of meaning outside of pure profit. i have seen too many sacrifice half their waking life working to justify their other half working to keep themselves afloat sinking in the meanwhile until they can no longer breathe until they are no longer human just corpses floating across a sea lacking any kind of virtue towards or from creation of something anything.
the dream i had the dream i carry still i must protect it for it is fragile. im the only one that can break it anyway so i must not give it up.
the dream dies in the end—entropy—its a simple universal law. like a trawler through a sea of filth my net will grow too heavy one day and it will drag me underneath into that abyss i know so well—oh—apathy. it calls to me every day rotten and sweet i tasted it too many times festering always ready to infect. one day ill have collected too much cynicism and tiredness and i will drown of that i am sure clear as day i am going to die likely hopefully of my own choice and of my own hand.
not yet though. i still have time. i still have that hope within me fluttering and it keeps me swimming.
i will not work with the dead anymore.
i refuse.
they died while young; they did not have to but they made their choice it is theirs and i cannot and will not agree with them. let them make their excuses let them shout their vindication i cannot hear them because they are dead.
i choose meaning.
i want to make something and spend my time my time lifetime on something that makes a statement that has a concept that wants less than it craves—consumed by a wish of changing and challenging—that does something.
i want to be surrounded by people that are driven by a goal and a scope and that work sweating leaving bloody footprints behind them whether by exhaustion or by the furyrage of those who want to be fucking alive. i seek them they are my brothersisters and i want them near me i want to build and make and do and create and if i am the only one left alive then so be it i will make my stand and i will die standing.
to hell with the bitter and the defeated and the miserable maggots justifying a life among filth i will not lower myself to their level for they are worms beneath my feet and i cannot willnot understand them.
there is beauty out there and i will either find it or i will create it myself. call me delusional but if this universe is lacking in one then i will become a god i will establish my pantheon my olympus and i will create—i will create—and i will enable creation by others welcome all prometheus. i will be hated or i will be loved—i doubt it will be the latter—but if through my struggles others shall find their own gods then olympus will grow stronger there will be more of us and there can be greater chances of finding making birthing beauty no matter which shape or form or nature she will take.
i want to enable ideas.
they are the foundations of movements and revolutions and in motion there is life——life. solipsist as you may be dear me you have grown tall and you have grown wide through the ideas of others ideas which have been supported in ages past by mecenas and mercenaries of a faith placed in the power of sharing what is inside one’s skull and soul and bodily physical connection to what is and that has value; gunfire salute.
imagine just how many more things how much more brilliance there could be created if other people other constructs minds would not be intimidated out of expression—beautiful—yes.
billions and trillions and too many to ever hear or see or know self-selecting themselves a darwinism of glorious glorious progress into unto understanding and wisdom my god so good—yes.
***
but
will you pay attention
to all of them?
of course not
hahahah.
ignorance and rejection are still within you you can say you’re curious and that you’re a listener but you do not try to understand and that is a critical fault and it slows you down dont you get it it slows you down and you dont have enough time not enough not enough you will break down by body or by mind long before you’re ready to grasp true grace and capacity to see and that is so tragic.
your body your vessel she is kinder and stranger than your mind deserves you torture it why why why of course you know why you are lazy and blissfully unaware what when the shell cracks what then?
to hell with kindness i have not been good to any part of me toes to cock to brain i have soaked them all in grey or have they done so together against me? who is the true dictator i do not know we are all of us damned i wouldnt worry so much.
no actually fuck that—do worry.
we always worry even if we think we’re subtle. we may not have cried in ten years now but there have been tears (ripped) in our fabric of being.
***
is it so bad to be dead?
—
—
—yes.
i will not die before i choose to die
i will not kill myself so i can live merely comfortably
i wlll not
i will not.
——but that means i subject myself to suffering
do i know i live because i suffer?
is that a trait of the living?
(i wonder if the buddhists were right just maybe)
***
x — where do other people come into all of this though?
are they only useful as creators and carriers of ideas?
o — i dont know.
x — you still enjoy that vague feeling of having somebody care for you.
knowing you go through their heads.
o — but it all lasts for a short while.
even our best friends come and go
and those who stay arent really there;
they just sit in a corner and mumble encouragement once in a while.
x — oh how we wished for someone true to stay to care.
o — would we be able to love them?
x — i dont know.
***
sit here in this shitty bar and write all this down and yet you still acknowledge that you’re just gonna go against your word if you could hear the dead even slightly just loud enough to hear the rasping moans.
do you read me, future me? do you understand? do you remember the dissapointment we felt?
hello, you.
we were here a while ago—heh.
pathetic.
we told ourselves not to worry and that everything will be okay but what if what if worrying and bashing our heads is the only thing that will make us okay in the end.
(which end?)
***
love thyself /
no one else will /
give in / NO / fuck giving in
we are eternal.
***
x — would we be friends with the others who kill themselves as we do?
o — we used to be once; ages ago. there were several.
x — what happened to them?
o — we left them or they left us either way they are gone.
x — and buried?
o — shallow graves.
***
x — are you truly truthfully seeking meaning
or just people of your own tribe?
o — arent they the living, though?
x — no; not always. you carry dead in your tribe too everybody does.
will you settle for the dead wearing the same cloth?
o — not for long.
x — no; i guess not. the search never ends.
o — yes.
***
you cant even get drunk properly. fuck beer its not for you. you degrade yourself trying to drown in it you are too large and too small at the same time; balanced against the drink: go hard. at least then you will have something proper to regret.
***
x — what will happen after tonight? will this mean decisions?
we wont take their filth and their corpses but what about others?
o — i guess we go about it case by case.
x — fair enough.
o — is it?
x — probably not. our rage has faded. what are we now?
o — only human.
x — ah.
***
x — she waits for you back at the hostel and she worries.
o — does she?
x — it helps to assume she is. at least then one person cares
and that helps.
o — why does it always have to be a she?
x — they are the life-givers and -takers; they matter more
than any many men ever could to us.
o — is it because of the softness of their skin?
x — and the kindness in their voice.
o — the sway of their hips?
x — their warm wet lips.
o — and that look in their eyes.
x — we are victims to their ways.
o — sweeter than our apathy?
x — they are the source.
o — life givers—life takers.
***
we should write more theatre than prose two voices keep talking more than just one; beckett would be proud. jealous? hahah no.
would it just be us the two characters? we could add more our own pozzo and lucky. or we could be the chairs instead. whatever.
okay.
***
id rather be homeless
than meaningless.
§