Some people know nothing. In fact, make that most of them. They know little of love that’s for sure. As for pain, they think they know it, yet what they feel is only the tip of the iceberg. They’ve only scratched the surface, and it’s a long way down to the bottom. It’s at the bottom where I prefer it, though. On the depths of the ocean floor, solitude makes me whole. Wandering the wrecks of long forgotten ships, the ghosts tell me their secrets, and in the darkness, the light is much easier to see, so I do my best to keep well hidden. Avoiding others is my pastime. I’ll go out of my way to keep my own company, for it’s the only company I can trust. No ulterior motives. No melodrama waiting to jump up and bite me on the balls. Others have their charms, yet they always insist on making you just like them. They’ll shape you as they see fit, and anything they don’t understand, they’ll erase good and proper. Whatever they fear, will be crushed and kicked to the gutter. They’re a virus, and it’s their job to consume and multiply. The individual is not allowed, for all must follow the repellent crowd. Everyone is no one, and all must worship banality, for banality breeds confidence. Dumb and self-assured, and more than likely successful in a pointless field. This is not my idea of a good time. No, it is not.

Dead celebrities. Chinese bus drivers vomiting blood at an alarming rate. Some fall down escalators. Others butcher girls and leave them in baths of sand. Such strange eyes, now immortalized in poisoned minds. I sit upright in bed being bombarded by images of cheapened flesh as if it were supposed to excite me. Fake tits. Fake lips. Fake everything. A culture dedicated to pussy and cock. It’s not that I think it’s immoral, it’s just that it has no meaning. It elicits only the sensation of cheapness. Ain’t no mystery in Botox blowjobs, and there ain’t no mystery in hollow bodies being passed around like dog-eared porno’s. This culture of debasers. This generation of putrid thrills. Sleazy souls on sale for whatever you’re willing to pay. If your soul hasn’t yet been eroded, there’s every opportunity for you to lose it whichever way suits you best. Spouting quotes with designer tattoos. Nice haircuts and whatever. IS beheadings and missing Mexican hands. Stillbirth. Rimjobs. Rembrandt. Collapsing from the heavy air of electricity mixed with atrocity, I swim deeper, as deep as I can go. The symmetry of spineless darlings who’ll do anything for you to take them to bed. Their sweet oblivion is all they care for. It’s all they have.

13 replies »

  1. You have reached into my mind, plucked out so many of my thoughts and feelings and expressed them far better than I ever could. You, for the sentiments in this post, the way it was written as if by a raving yet lucid poet…for all of this, you ROCK!

    • I personally feel you have a way of expressing things far better than I, but I guess we both have our qualities. As long as we continue to search for those mysteries that elude us, and as long as we keep writing down our discoveries, that’s all that matters. I do thank you though for your kindness and warmth. And I’m chuffed that you said I rock! That made my day ๐Ÿ™‚ x

      • Ah, the elusive mysteries! I do feel that’s what my life has always been about but I don’t think I could live without looking into things deeply, analysing, searching…anyway, better wrap this up before I start rambling.
        You do rock – Your writing makes me *feel*, all kinds of different things but mainly it makes me feel, very simply, alive. So, thanks for that ๐Ÿ™‚ x

      • Same here. Without those mysteries, there would be nothing left to find. Just the thought of searching for them whenever I put pen to paper makes me shiver.
        I’m touched that my writing does that to you. It makes me feel proud, yet more importantly, it makes me feel happy that it has a positive impact on you. I think that’s what we all want really, to leave a mark on people that, no matter how fleetingly, will always be cherished x

      • It’s very clear to me your writing is an authentic means of self expression. I appreciate that sense of clarity even through your lush veil of provocative imagery, metaphor and intelligent word play. Glad I stumbled upon a blog worth following. Good stuff!

      • I’m glad my writing comes off as authentic, and I’m touched that you enjoy my writing, I really am. Self-expression is my passion. There’s nothing else that really interests me. Thank you for following my blog, and for taking the time to share your words ๐Ÿ™‚

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