Tuesday, March 8, 2016

preservations.

01.
i wanna show you how alone i don't want to be; i need to feel your aloneness more than i had my own before, mr. cold; i know nothing about myself without my constant snow i make to keep you alive- you stay when it snows- i don't know what you do without it.
if all my secrets became stars, i'd make them die- they're not bright or intimidating- do you know how many demons they are possessed by? they are nothing special, as they say. give me a cupcake and i'll eat all the cupcakes i'll become all the chemicals of the rivers, i cry after doing something to get something but not getting something right away. give me somethin' special, i want. make sure it's a propaganda, i love nodding out. give me a fucking teddy bear with a recorder in it. you know i'll sleep with this fucker for the rest of my life.
it will never replace me. it will never think.

02.
mr. cold; i want you to know i am the eater of the zillions of cupcakes and shit do i feel shame about it- and no of course i don't fucking like the way any of it tastes; give me something better, idiot. at the times that i've did it, i mean, that i've did eaten those cupcakes and did eat those shits it was a rebellion against reason- the acts were thoughtless and i felt bad and like the world was shrinking around me so i ate more shit and cupcakes to focus on something else, something other than my claustrophobia.
and besides- i was apathetic about the repercussions of what i did, seemingly perpetually on the fence concerning my willful behavior. i consider that i know sometimes i am tired from being a big baby and at times i don't give a fuck about things/anything.
i ate cupcakes i ate shit and i did everything i could to throw up and i couldn't do it 'kuz toilets disgust me so i can't gag the vomit- this constitutes....failure.

it's a "value" of mine to be a cold uncaring dick when people are sick as a result of never taking care of shit and always complaining, 'kuz i don't sympathize with those that don't take care of themselves- they are in my way they make the world seem unpleasant. it also offends me 'kuz of all the care i took of myself and it wasn't going anywhere no matter what i did- i taught myself how to do headstands for crying fucking out loud. instead- when i wasn't doing my handstands?- instead, i was subjected to watching people who were everything i wanted to be- anyone except myself. i got to see them treat themselves like shit and get away with it and just love the hell out of life.

i continue to clean up after all of you and your beliefs in what represented fulfillments to you. congratulations- trying is important. finding a representation for "fulfillment" constitutes an "e" for effort.

the one repercussion that does matter- always matters- is shame. shame, o- that's when i feel badly about myself for my participations in life, my actions. for ninety-six years i've been fucking up but i take my medications so i'm a wise man; a recluse on a mountain petrified in a petrified ant hill. i've got nothing to be ashamed about so what the hell, why do i suffer shame? why? why the fuck?
this repercussion, though, and all the other ones- all of them, combined, are something less frightening than the unknown that is action not taken- that to which i would ask myself, "who am i now?"
better eat a fucking cupcake to pacify the ideology of identity i don't give enough of a shit about. repercussions it is because "who am i now?" without them fueling my every next move. (who am i now?)

i don't wanna be responsible for my actions, but i want to manipulate how they will go- what they will give me because all that matters is that i have. it is beyond important, let me tell you, that my actions dictate a life of poetry and it better be my life we're talking about here. my life of poetry remembered in my life and in my death- little do i know it's the death that's the real poetry 'kuz i don't believe in endings! life and death, difference unknown. nobody is watching, worst case scenario. nobody cares? it's 'kuz everyone is stupid and paying attention to bullshit. this is when i get all existential which is the schizophrenia in us all so i'm supposed to feel sad!- i feel sad! (i don't want to feel sad. i'm crying. pacifier, please.) where does wanting come from and does sadness come from it?

some friends of mine hold deeper reservoirs of shame than i ever will the sky is filled with their secrets/stars i fear their fires. these people drag the gravity of their physicalities across the surface of the planet whose flesh grinds against the ground on which they walk, falling apart throughout their sex, in their incidental asceticisms- fuck. them. nobody is allowed to be "more" of anything than me/ i'm tired of everyone being better people than i am- my stars...

...are dull. look at them- look, where i point. pretend you see my stars. i tell you the constellations; i tell you when they died yet how they still exist somehow. i tell you how you better love me because i am a fury- latin for...for...for fuck you. one day you'll be lost and meaningless and unhappy in your meaninglessness and unsure over the polarization of happiness and unhappiness anyway why do we need this made-up bullshit- why can't i just be how i am without being injected with toxic sludge and shit that makes me have to mask my emotions- why do i choose to be afraid?

you know, it's clear to me everyone except me does what they can to convince themselves that they are in charge of creating dimensionality and for way too many years they've been trying-and unconsciously knowing it's not working out- to create a dimension a complete wall out of avoidance.  these alchemists and their boredom, their love for regulating, their love for ignoring all the beautiful things that already are there whether we "have" them or not. these alchemists these people and their possessiveness now it's genetic!- shut the fuck up and die i'm tired of observing your boring behavior but especially die. (as if i'm not one of you). you're not doing anyone any favors.
the alchemists have been trying to make fear really impossible to escape in order for me to not escape, in order for me to compromise everything that i believe in no matter what it says about me...why-am i-dragging-along-too-as-somebody-who-knows-better in a parade that stinks and is overstimulating with the noise and the amount of shit going on around me? is that because i'm "too [fucking] smart" too?