in an effort to spare you my troubles, and the recesses of my mind...
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
*clusterfuck*
my social life has moved largely to the internet(which makes me feel really fucking lame), for a number of reasons, some of which are probably good, some probably not so much.
i split with most of the people i grew up with when we were in our late teens, maybe due to all of the acid everyone was eating at the time. kind of like lennon and leary, only harder, and more insane, as half the kids i loved took to tying up families, and chopping people up, for money, or power, or pleasure, or some combination of all of the above. the ones that didn't started moving bigger packs of dope of all kinds, and either fell victim to their own supply, overdosed and died(both on purpose, and accident, depending[or shooting/hanging/drowning themselves, for much the same reason]), or got set up by someone close to them. fucking snitches, and pussies. i realized that i wanted to care about something, and watching the degradation of both women and men, to get a rock, or a fix, stopped being worth a fast buck. that and the pressure of a 24hour a day j. o. b. with more stress than a CEO, i needed out. stat.
so i bounced, much to the chagrin of my people. i was the counselor, big brother, lover, triage nurse, etc. for most of us. i left my family, trying to find a way to give a shit about something, anything, it happened, but it's been a while now, and i'm realizing more and more everyday, that i don't give two shits about much of anything again. it's become a daily struggle, to unfurl my hands, physically and mentally, from the empty gang signs of my youth. to not punch people in the face, for breathing towards me. to not fucking stab people, for shit so small it's laughable. to not take pot shots, at cop cars, or groups of people, like we used to do, for no other reason, than blowing off steam. i hate humans. i. fucking. hate. humans.(including myself).
i don't want to, but i do, and it's starting to feel like there's no escaping it, ever again, even for a moment. i've given too much of myself, and asked too little in return. even given all of the horrible shit that i've done over the course of my life(and we're talking, bad), i still feel like, the majority of it, again, up until now, has been really-really beautiful. what do i get in return? not a fucking thing. for'eal. it's been nothing but hard luck, and sad stories that you don't want to tell the grandkids you will never have, because you don't want to pass on the incestuous-child-raping-bi-polar-schizophrenic-suicidal-overweight-drug-addicted shitty, ass, genes you got, for fear that the same fates of life would befall your own precious little creature, that have befallen you. or worse, that they would do it all, to someone else.
i hate it here, and i want out, but i've tried to kill myself so many fucking times, it's ridiculous. it's like whatever entity is running the show, has got it in for me. i used to say that "there's no such thing, as trying to kill yourself." until i failed at that too(jokes on me, ha. ha.). intentional overdoses, car crashes, taunting the people with guns in my face, slitting my wrists(the right way), even pulling the trigger of my own gun, pointed straight at my temple - it didn't discharge, i still have the dented bullet in my bathroom as a reminder, of the fact that no matter what i do, i have to be here, that to try-try again, is to waste whatever emotional stability i have left. shaky as it is. there's no worse feeling, than waking up, after you thought you killed yourself. no argument.
"trust no one, and no one can let you down." it's been my motto for years now. even still, i'm let down every day. my further-failing-hopes, that things can change, that things can get better, are disappearing faster than i can watch them go. the few things that i actually still looked forward to, are losing their appeal. the few people i feel like i can safely hang out with, without cops busting through the doors, or worse, are well into the middle of destroying themselves in other ways, and i can't stomach to watch it, save for the times i have to do a little self destruction, to make it to tomorrow, to live to fight another day, when you've seen too much that you can't unsee(so much so, that i want to cut my fucking eyes out, but i fear, that it would only make the screams in my head that much louder), it takes dying a little inside, to live just a little, sometimes.
there are even a few things, one thing really, that i've just recently found myself getting into, that for some stupid fucking reason, i started counting on, to be there, to make my day. even if it couldn't entirely cut the bad(which it did, some days), it made my eyes sparkle a little, a lot even. i smiled more, my heart felt warm again. even though the possibility of really being touched, was slim-to-none, it didn't matter. i was touched.
and like that, it was gone. like it never been there to begin with, save the ringing space that found it's way tearing through my insides, when it left. searing. leaving like all of the beautiful things in my life, fleeting like the blooms in spring. all destroyed at the first sign of rain, magnolia tree.
i need to remember, that nothing i need to be there for me, will ever be there, when i need it most.
i need to count on that again. to go cold. like ice a mile deep. by the time you can thaw it, i'm gone.
i need to remember, that doing good things for people, will get you absolutely nowhere. no matter what. if you ever want to get something out of what you do, besides the faint feeling that you've added something, that you've done a good deed, been boyscout of the day, employee of the month, in whatever your real job is here, then it needs to be for self. no more pretend philanthropy. ever.
if i act like i care, it's because i want to, not because i do(i'm lying[am i?]).
there's sooo much more going on right now in my life, that i don't even want to mention, because i can barely bear the weight of my own mind, as of, too long ago to try and recall, and it would take even more space, and more time to write, than i care to spend, or that anyone would care to read.
this^, is the reason, i have been posting art, and other shit that's only meaningful, to few-and-far-between. because, what's the use, of spewing poison like that, when it seems to mean nothing, when no matter where you say it, or who you tell, it's always the same shitty, stupid fucking blank-look responses, that mean even less than nothing to someone who has exactly that.
i probably hate you, as much as i love you. and vicis-versum.
*kisses*
-me
*clusterfuck*
my social life has moved largely to the internet(which makes me feel really fucking lame), for a number of reasons, some of which are probably good, some probably not so much.
i split with most of the people i grew up with when we were in our late teens, maybe due to all of the acid everyone was eating at the time. kind of like lennon and leary, only harder, and more insane, as half the kids i loved took to tying up families, and chopping people up, for money, or power, or pleasure, or some combination of all of the above. the ones that didn't started moving bigger packs of dope of all kinds, and either fell victim to their own supply, overdosed and died(both on purpose, and accident, depending[or shooting/hanging/drowning themselves, for much the same reason]), or got set up by someone close to them. fucking snitches, and pussies. i realized that i wanted to care about something, and watching the degradation of both women and men, to get a rock, or a fix, stopped being worth a fast buck. that and the pressure of a 24hour a day j. o. b. with more stress than a CEO, i needed out. stat.
so i bounced, much to the chagrin of my people. i was the counselor, big brother, lover, triage nurse, etc. for most of us. i left my family, trying to find a way to give a shit about something, anything, it happened, but it's been a while now, and i'm realizing more and more everyday, that i don't give two shits about much of anything again. it's become a daily struggle, to unfurl my hands, physically and mentally, from the empty gang signs of my youth. to not punch people in the face, for breathing towards me. to not fucking stab people, for shit so small it's laughable. to not take pot shots, at cop cars, or groups of people, like we used to do, for no other reason, than blowing off steam. i hate humans. i. fucking. hate. humans.(including myself).
i don't want to, but i do, and it's starting to feel like there's no escaping it, ever again, even for a moment. i've given too much of myself, and asked too little in return. even given all of the horrible shit that i've done over the course of my life(and we're talking, bad), i still feel like, the majority of it, again, up until now, has been really-really beautiful. what do i get in return? not a fucking thing. for'eal. it's been nothing but hard luck, and sad stories that you don't want to tell the grandkids you will never have, because you don't want to pass on the incestuous-child-raping-bi-polar-schizophrenic-suicidal-overweight-drug-addicted shitty, ass, genes you got, for fear that the same fates of life would befall your own precious little creature, that have befallen you. or worse, that they would do it all, to someone else.
i hate it here, and i want out, but i've tried to kill myself so many fucking times, it's ridiculous. it's like whatever entity is running the show, has got it in for me. i used to say that "there's no such thing, as trying to kill yourself." until i failed at that too(jokes on me, ha. ha.). intentional overdoses, car crashes, taunting the people with guns in my face, slitting my wrists(the right way), even pulling the trigger of my own gun, pointed straight at my temple - it didn't discharge, i still have the dented bullet in my bathroom as a reminder, of the fact that no matter what i do, i have to be here, that to try-try again, is to waste whatever emotional stability i have left. shaky as it is. there's no worse feeling, than waking up, after you thought you killed yourself. no argument.
"trust no one, and no one can let you down." it's been my motto for years now. even still, i'm let down every day. my further-failing-hopes, that things can change, that things can get better, are disappearing faster than i can watch them go. the few things that i actually still looked forward to, are losing their appeal. the few people i feel like i can safely hang out with, without cops busting through the doors, or worse, are well into the middle of destroying themselves in other ways, and i can't stomach to watch it, save for the times i have to do a little self destruction, to make it to tomorrow, to live to fight another day, when you've seen too much that you can't unsee(so much so, that i want to cut my fucking eyes out, but i fear, that it would only make the screams in my head that much louder), it takes dying a little inside, to live just a little, sometimes.
there are even a few things, one thing really, that i've just recently found myself getting into, that for some stupid fucking reason, i started counting on, to be there, to make my day. even if it couldn't entirely cut the bad(which it did, some days), it made my eyes sparkle a little, a lot even. i smiled more, my heart felt warm again. even though the possibility of really being touched, was slim-to-none, it didn't matter. i was touched.
and like that, it was gone. like it never been there to begin with, save the ringing space that found it's way tearing through my insides, when it left. searing. leaving like all of the beautiful things in my life, fleeting like the blooms in spring. all destroyed at the first sign of rain, magnolia tree.
i need to remember, that nothing i need to be there for me, will ever be there, when i need it most.
i need to count on that again. to go cold. like ice a mile deep. by the time you can thaw it, i'm gone.
i need to remember, that doing good things for people, will get you absolutely nowhere. no matter what. if you ever want to get something out of what you do, besides the faint feeling that you've added something, that you've done a good deed, been boyscout of the day, employee of the month, in whatever your real job is here, then it needs to be for self. no more pretend philanthropy. ever.
if i act like i care, it's because i want to, not because i do(i'm lying[am i?]).
there's sooo much more going on right now in my life, that i don't even want to mention, because i can barely bear the weight of my own mind, as of, too long ago to try and recall, and it would take even more space, and more time to write, than i care to spend, or that anyone would care to read.
this^, is the reason, i have been posting art, and other shit that's only meaningful, to few-and-far-between. because, what's the use, of spewing poison like that, when it seems to mean nothing, when no matter where you say it, or who you tell, it's always the same shitty, stupid fucking blank-look responses, that mean even less than nothing to someone who has exactly that.
i probably hate you, as much as i love you. and vicis-versum.
*kisses*
-me
you've had your chance to walk away.
But mostly I stopped giving a fuck. Well I do give a fuck- about me being happy and my kids being happy. I'm lucky I have my kids or I would have offed myself long ago.
But the ones that you think have your back, end up shitting one you a lot. But the weird thing is, I've been picked up and backed up by the ones I very least expected- even sometimes didn't know existed.
As fucked up as this sounds, the ones with shit in their closets always have the best stories. But they usually have to transcend all the bullshit to get those stories out. I'm thinking/hoping you are one of those.
I like that you blog/express with pictures, even if they aren't your own. I dig those mixes that I hear.
So yeah.
Fuckin' hang in there dude.