on delusions and damnation

-


 

"I am hope" - Dream the eternal.

 

In the dark, I sit trying to stop thinking my mind has gone as far as it can in this direction, and I am doing my best.

 

For whoever cares enough to read this, my mind is snapping, repeating, obsessing, and I am doing my best.

 

My heart is broken because I have to continue changing. Yet, I can't see the light at the end of this tunnel that has been so long. I am tired, but I have to keep going, even if it is just a compulsion. I don't deserve good things in my life. I don't deserve anything. Luckily it does not matter.

 

Yet, I was still fighting off the compulsion to dwell in apathy when I saw hope in my reflection. I couldn't recognize my face: my balding head, the grey beard. I just saw a tired old man looking back at me. There is not much left, and what there is will be forgotten—the devils hiding off in the windows down the corridors of my mind. I know what they want, and I do my best to deny them. The compulsions have reduced me to an algorithm, a process of cyphering information without much of an identity. I find that my prose works suffer from repetition and dryness, and I think it is my lack of education clinging to rules that are clogging the process.

 

I want to move away from third-person omniscient. But am afraid to indulge in a pure stream of consciousness. If only because I am insane.

 

I am confused and know it. I am frustrated because I am tired. I am doing my best.

 

There is always something sinister underneath.

 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Wayward Bound Or: a warped piano accompanying an epic f@%king poem. (Cluster one, of five.)

-
Image
        an Opera in D-Minor (Call me little horn!)   I wish I was a poet... Looking up at the Spun Sugar (The shade of clouds of the near dark) Whistling some bluegrass tune, as my sweetheart cooks our supper (Some slow cooker chili with jalapenos and banana peppers shore would hit the spot).   I wish I was a catfish swimming through the outer dark of space eating the light and swimming in the abyss. While space pirates dance in their shuttle craft with the naked women they have "liberated" as the carrier they attacked is set ablaze from the inside.   ...The maidens are never to be seen again...   I wish my bones to be picked clean by some prehistoric critter... that I may be devoured... that the loss of my life (through one hell of a struggle) would leave me content despite the meaninglessness of the pain. Because I know in my heart that things worked out.   I'm too tired to be optimistic But lived enough to know It's a thin line between b
Read more

On the potential distance of other worlds. (revision)

-
“My mission in life is to make everybody as uneasy as possible. I think we should all be as uneasy as possible, because that's what the world is like.”                                 - Edrward Gorey                             1          (A prelude and epilogue) "the ravens fly with quickening lines, dreams of mine but gets goodbyes." where shadows move, confused as signs and our lessons fall as loose as rhymes. Where the plague crow follows the storm yet, we are all so busy with our dream. The sign broken still stands alone, maggots also are fond of quivering my nightmare youth or sanity cries "Dreams of mine, remember" he sighs. of "give it your best please you must try." but in spite of the poetry still we die.                               2 Whenever the words escape or are said, "you deserve to get what you get." I feel as if I paraphrase the dead, "are we to believe miseries gift?" A gnostic with zen
Read more