Finally writing and not letting myself stop

A note from a day of internal and some external conflict

I hate being human. Writhing on the ground. Avoiding all attempt at functioning. I don’t function. I don’t know how. I eat and sleep and now I’m running. Running. From everything. Except for my love. Age old. Can’t get you out of my head. Still. I don’t believe in crazy. We are all animals. I believe in energy. In spirit. I believe in connection. I believe I am desperate to be paid attention to. Please oh please why do I do this to me, to my poor self. I don’t know, and I can’t help but feel it’s right, even though there’s no way to know. am I wrong? There’s no such thing, but then why do we pretend as though there’s a line between

I fucking hate working. I hate being forced to accomplish anything out of any reason other than desire. My desire is what holds me. Holds me and moves me. So don’t tell me to do anything other than what I want. What I want is to spill my guts. On my knees. Scrapping my hands along the concrete. Make a painting out of me. Out of my bareness and blood that spreads like butter. Melting

The world is falling apart and I am doing the best that I can. I am nothing new. I am nothing but skin and bones and chemicals blending into nothing. I’m everything. Everything to me and to my grave and I can see it now. I had a dream last night and you were in it. You and my cinema professor and so many other faces I can’t remember. He saved my life and I embraced him while he sat at the table I excused myself from. I am afraid of heights and so the building was a mountain we had to climb up, rotating, spinning. My stomach dropped.

Waking up to the smell of dog breath. Then I’m here again: Nowhere. Looking through old photos and Forcing myself into oblivion. I’m exactly the same. I’m exactly the same. I’m watching the plane as it disappears and appears through the sky and it’s so white and pure, like a star shooting and all those tiny people are gliding through time. We are constantly leaving ourselves behind. Each second the hand. The skin dies, the receptors in our brain rewire, the DNA strains reorder the instructions for our life. I wonder what mine say. If my unknown father will give me cancer one day. If my mothers abuse of drugs really caused all my pain.

I’ve told her to take a deep breath three times today. She refuses and I take one for the both us. Releasing the tension, standing on the tip of my toes and reaching up to the ceiling. dancing. Now I’ve zipped all the pockets and avoided taking a hit, opting for a different carcinogen instead. A bright pink liquid that goes straight to my head. Bazing! I forgot to take my meds.

Five pills today. I feel nothing. Except for this ever lasting rumbling. Rumbling. Rumbling. God she hates me. She thinks she loves me. But all i am is a reminder of suffering.

I can’t do a fucking thing. I am broken. And she’ll yell at me for trying to take care of my body. imagining the glass falling. And I have to pretend I care about money. Selling all my physical belongings. All I want is your body. not even sexually. just your mind to be next to me again. it’s your season. i’m fighting.

No I’m not stoned. I’m sober. And she stares and she’s angry. Always. I’m here. Yeah, physically. Sorry, I say.

The sun is out today. I’m sweating as I untangle the chords. Maybe i’ll write a book. i have nothing to say. Not worthwhile anyway. I’m tired of pretending it isn’t all about me, when it is. All those cards I pulled were only projections on everybody. Me thinking I was helping. I line everything up nicely. I have got to get out of here. To bad there isn’t anywhere to go. No one wants a loser and I’m not a loser but I’m surely not a winner. Or can I be whatever I say? or is it all about the eyes dictating

Now it’s the next day and I’m feeling better.

Now it’s been a week and I did what I needed. I accomplished a thing or two. Good for me. The universe sent me a beer from Tokyo. Wasn’t very good, but I appreciated the sentiment.

I can almost see why each moment is so difficult and different and never ending. Almost

I force myself to feel these things. These horrible thoughts and stabbing pains which enlighten me. Life is knowing the truth, the deep, while experiencing the ups and downs of reactions, of desire, of kindness and fighting. I am the universe and the universe is me, but at the same time we are empty. A vast hole, filled with nothing and yet We are everything