I keep waiting to go crazy.
I feel it as one feels the onset of illness. My mind is dark though I'm actually in good spirits right now. It's there, though. Waiting. It's in there waiting to pounce on my good sense when it's back it metaphorically turned. I won't say what thought went through my head yesterday (for it would surely not be the meanderings of a sane individual) but I felt how easy it would be to let force of will, to let control, go and let that instinct take over. I can't say it was a bad feeling. The fear of repercussion is all that keeps me in check; thinking beyond the immediate cause and speculating the effect, personally. It is a sobering thought every time I realize I was not meant to be in this world. It's not being crazy, it's being displaced, either by time or by world. I mean, one knows they don't belong and yet there's nothing to be done to change it. You can tell by relations and interactions... the smell on the air, the dimness of the light. That pain in the brain that keeps one from sleeping or wanting to wake is like the depressurizing you feel when your in the wrong atmosphere.
The damnable misery is when fate tempts me by placing a similarly displaced individual upon my path I remain too sane to find comfort in their full grasp of their true self. Giving in to the so called insanity is not the answer either: one can only cover up this reality with their own so long before the sharp edges pierce through and it resituates itself as the dominant world. Being a recluse works but I've yet to find a way to support myself to wipe everyone out of my life besides the characters inside my head. So yeah, I draw and paint and write to shape worlds, not where I rule, but worlds that make more sense. As Twain once said, the difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to be believable. My world is believable to the point that I feel I exist in two places; this reality during the day and by night within my own head where things are not perfect but the stabs in the back are apparent, I don't have to fear being falsely accused, I don't have to fear muscle nor power.
I know why relations pop pills and swallow swill. Except they belong in this world. They're not trying to escape, they're just coping. I need to find that proverbial drug to push me beyond the limits and gravitational pull of this world to the one where I won't be necessarily happy but I will not fear life...
...where I'll be surrounded by similar little bees.
I feel it as one feels the onset of illness. My mind is dark though I'm actually in good spirits right now. It's there, though. Waiting. It's in there waiting to pounce on my good sense when it's back it metaphorically turned. I won't say what thought went through my head yesterday (for it would surely not be the meanderings of a sane individual) but I felt how easy it would be to let force of will, to let control, go and let that instinct take over. I can't say it was a bad feeling. The fear of repercussion is all that keeps me in check; thinking beyond the immediate cause and speculating the effect, personally. It is a sobering thought every time I realize I was not meant to be in this world. It's not being crazy, it's being displaced, either by time or by world. I mean, one knows they don't belong and yet there's nothing to be done to change it. You can tell by relations and interactions... the smell on the air, the dimness of the light. That pain in the brain that keeps one from sleeping or wanting to wake is like the depressurizing you feel when your in the wrong atmosphere.
The damnable misery is when fate tempts me by placing a similarly displaced individual upon my path I remain too sane to find comfort in their full grasp of their true self. Giving in to the so called insanity is not the answer either: one can only cover up this reality with their own so long before the sharp edges pierce through and it resituates itself as the dominant world. Being a recluse works but I've yet to find a way to support myself to wipe everyone out of my life besides the characters inside my head. So yeah, I draw and paint and write to shape worlds, not where I rule, but worlds that make more sense. As Twain once said, the difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to be believable. My world is believable to the point that I feel I exist in two places; this reality during the day and by night within my own head where things are not perfect but the stabs in the back are apparent, I don't have to fear being falsely accused, I don't have to fear muscle nor power.
I know why relations pop pills and swallow swill. Except they belong in this world. They're not trying to escape, they're just coping. I need to find that proverbial drug to push me beyond the limits and gravitational pull of this world to the one where I won't be necessarily happy but I will not fear life...
...where I'll be surrounded by similar little bees.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
raen:
By here, I meant Earth in the present day... anyway your plans sounds alright. What kinda camera are you shootin' these days? I'll have to check out that Craig Ferguson guy.
raen:
That Fergurson guy is pretty funny... he looks exactly what Pete Rose would look like I think were he not a fat, bloated, drunkard (no offense to Pete).