Appearances, are utterly exhausting. Let's paint a picture of who we wish we were, so we can spend our entire lives lying to ourselves, and everyone else in the process. Reshape the truth until we can sleep at night, and justify our primal misdeeds with some counter-productive excuse. We are consumers, first and foremost, we will feed some craving every few minutes(I'm being sparing here). Even if it's an act to deny another craving, we are still at the root, proving how weak we really are. Fragile little pockets of meat, fumbling through what we call life... In search of sex, money and sex. We clutter our lives with objects, that either fulfill some hole inside us, or(in our mind) make us more appealing to others. I'm no exception, that's why I say we. I simply accept, and try to minimize the damage. I'll drag myself to the bottom, and not think twice, but if I realize gravity on my way down, it makes the ground a little softer. Although, there is a certain sickness that comes with the knowledge of ruin.
I'll make my art, music, photography, film, anything I can get my hands on. I'll tell myself that there's some point to it, a reason, some justification other than the reality. I'm wasting time... I'm wasting time on purpose. There's this pull in us all, but it's never finished. Tomorrow doesn't come, because today won't fucking end. The accomplishments, love, respect... It lives in tomorrow, just one more day. I'm sure everything I've built around me will suddenly make sense, everyone will congratulate me, and life will be amazing... Tomorrow.
It's 8:30 in the a.m. My legs won't stop convulsing, my jaw is set and sore. My head hurts and all I can do to ignore it all is type on this tiny screen. This just reminds me my eyes are sore and I can't sleep. Sleeping medication has failed me again, already my body has adjusted and defied this months up-dosage... Double the milligrams, it worked for ten days. Now the hours melt together, as I waste away. When you peel away all the pretty wrapping, what's left is raw. Take a look at what your day consists of... Now even if it's busy and full of responsibility... What are you thinking about the whole time? Not the medial tasks themselves. It's sex, food, sleep, drugs... Certainly not the nine to five, or the minivan full of groceries. All we want is to eat, sleep and fuck, and feel good while we do it. Somehow it's less pathetic if the skin surrounding your genitals belongs to someone else, instead of your own fist. It doesn't really matter though, we tolerate others so we experience those fleeting embraces, even the tantric can't justify all the mundane chatter and showmanship it takes to keep someone "happy". It's exhausting, the only brain that can keep up the pace is the one in your own skull, it's the only one that matters, everything else doesn't exist. Yes, when I die the world will stop spinning, you will all vanish. Why? Because my existence is the only one I've ever known, it's the only proof I have of reality. Sad as that may be, the only laws, morals or behavior are weighed on my own hefty, yet completely pointless ideals. Who cares what I think? I don't even like me, why should I sell myself on you? There's nothing special, and I'm the first in line to tune me out.... But damn, I can't. Even with sleep, or television, no matter how much I tune out, I'm still there. A day without me would be a great vacation. I am my only company, and I've grown all too sick of myself.
It's almost sad that these words, will last longer than I do, the Internet with it's unfathomable data, and my stain will always be stuck in some recess of it. Just because we wiped it off under the table, doesn't mean it ceases to exist.
Is your life neat and clean? Are you shaven and showered? Ready for the day? Are your clothes neatly washed and folded? Step back for a minute, look... There's a dead fly on the window seal. Maybe, a big maybe, you keep up appearances, but something is rotten. Something sits and festers. If not, welcome to the most bland and unintelligible life possible. Chaos... We are spinning on a rock, and can't even properly define how, or why we are. I'm not wearing pants right now, I haven't slept, so I'm just realizing I need to shave... Again. Life is dirty, we are comprised of completely different molecules than we were as children... That skin has died and fallen off. We aren't even what we were, so why are we so busy defining what we aren't? Yes, this is spinning in circles, wasting time. My brain is chasing it's tail. I've made a point just to defeat it, checkmate. Appearances, are utterly exhausting.