8th Feb 2012
Sometimes I just wish everything really was an epic illusion. I dont need an identity, I dont need a name, or a face, arms, legs, mouth, eyes, soul, or torso. Just. Erh. Removal please. Wash away down the drain the disdain, distaste. Be fractal. Disperse. Leave. Rotate, compose a posture other then ‘self’ regulate nothing. Fall into something other then this, be it a cavity, I care not.
Why can’t I run and duck and weave every punch, or kiss or. Why can’t I omit sadness. Fucking forget the trivialities of the day, get on with the dreaming. Why do I manage to archive the extraordinary, dwell on the forgive me Knots. Gah. eh. Why am I so pig headed and stubborn and transparent and pathetic and inorganic. I swear when they say that we constitute 70 percent water they are wrong. Toxic mass, the Blob rising from the black lagoon perhaps, perhaps perhaps.
Why, can I be not be human. Why am I unable to adapt. How am I still breathing?
Why can’t I love, be loved, and be better. Isn’t it the purpose to accept and love people for who they are.
eh. So, who the fuck am I anyway.. Transient fuck. Without purpose. Without clarity. Even the name that the parental figures have given me at birth has little meaning. Who am I. Who are you, who are we all.. and what are we doing. I guess the fact that I’ve lost that person, means that I have no direction, means that I haven’t really survived at all.