They are trying to convince a generation built on speed, built on now to go slower on the streets. They might as well convince a dog to shit in the toilet. All of the skills are there but the instinct? Not so much. No one wants to go slower. If anything they want to go faster. Walk faster, talk faster, and be done faster. No one wants to do anything that takes time. This generation or the last. We are not designed to live in the now only the future. Even if that means a chance at death. Life itself is a chance at death.
He had so much anger growing up. I saw it right away. I knew I was going to have to do something so I told him, “You don’t hit anyone ever. You never hit a woman, a man, a child I don’t care who it is you never hit anyone” “But I want to dad,” he would say. “I know you do son but you don’t that’s life. You get in this ring though and you knock them the fuck out.” That’s what I would tell my son. That’s the strength I put in him. They say rich kids don’t fight and they’re wrong. Some people are born with this rage, this passion, this anger and money don’t have a fucking thing to do about it. If they don’t channel it. If they don’t get it out it consumes them. Destroys them and I wasn’t about to let that happen to my boy or anyone else.
Day in, day out, 9 to 5, 9 to whenever, however you want to put getting fucked. I am lost within myself. Lost in the dark. The theme is something I carry with me every second of every day. The lights all burned out. No longer even a flicker of a flame. Absolute dark. If only I could get beyond this. Step into the figurative illusion of this so-called light I’m missing in my life. Maybe then. Maybe somehow I could be who it is I always dreamed I could be. Then again maybe it will all one day come together for us all. I doubt it, but that could very well be who I am. In the end we all have something to say. In the end we all have our place in obscurity. We all have our own personal hell to wander through.
Faith is a question we ask ourselves. An idea we question every thought and every action with. We do this based on faith that we are doing the right thing, that we are justified in our faith. But where does this faith come from? Does it come from religion or are we in fact born with this idea of faith. The question feeds itself over and over. The idea burns itself into our brains until it no longer matters which came first, but that we have faith at all. Over and over again we battle with ourselves and with each other. Over and over again. A constant battle of who is right and who is wrong. No one on earth is right and no one on earth is wrong, but in fact they are both.
Society states this and society states that, but who is this society? Where did this all start or where did all of this come from? A question as dense as the question of faith. The written word passes down information from generation to generation. Therefore passing the idea of society down with it. A giant game of telephone that eventually found its way to stone, to paper. Even words written in stone are really nothing more than an interpretation of an idea that began long ago. Nothing is permanent. Nothing can last. Our words will change and evolve. Our world will change and evolve. Thoughts and ideas of today will not be the same a hundred years from now. Or will they? Will we or can we reach a point that the words we write, speak, or believe actually have a definitive meaning?
Unlikely giving the history of man or the will of man to manipulate words to their own will. It falls again on society. We have no real way of knowing where our society comes from. We can trace the pages of course, scour the library looking for such information, but in the end all this trail leads us to nothing more than theories. No one knows how this great society truly started. We can see the snowball effect of it all, but the very begin, the first spark? No one knows. Yet, somehow some way it is in there.
It is in our brains. Maybe even in our DNA. Quite possibly society and faith are etched into our very souls. Over lapping one another in the double helix that is us. Coming together to form the basis of our ideas or our way of life. However it may be or may not be in the end no amount of faith in society can provide a sustainable future. Corruption, greed, humanity will find a way to destroy everything. Proving once again that these two things have no answer, have no meaning. It is only a matter of time before everything falls apart. Nothing is forever. Nothing is permanent. Have faith in that.
Everything has always been one big problem. One after another in an endless cycle. Everyone and everything about them has been a problem since the dawn of time. The words can’t escape my head fast enough. No one expects shit from me any ways. They all assume they can ride my ass to the promise land.
Loaded gun resting in my mouth I’m so done with that shit. I’m so sick of everything and everyone pushing me to do it. My misery means more to everyone else than it does for me. Push as hard as they like won’t do them any good. If I haven’t done it yet then I’m never going to do it.
Too fucking bitter, too fucking beat down to even bother. The world revolves around no one and it sure as fuck won’t stop because you do. I want so much more from this world than it could ever give to me. Living more lives inside my head than I can put ink to the page. I guess that’s how you know the safety is on. Don’t want to die just enjoy the threat of it all.
Doesn’t make up for the bleeding asshole the world likes to provide. The nightly penetration gets old, but it also becomes familiar. Constantly on edge. Who the fuck knows what retarded ass shit they will come up with in the morning. What new bull shit policy they make up on the spot? Seems I enjoy the abuse. Really I’m only tired of starting over. Wasting away years of my life only to be like fuck it. Compliance with old age is the real killer.
The gun slips from my lips. What am I doing here? Must be how the mad man feels after pulling the trigger if they feel anything at all. Not feeling anything must feel nice. No one gets off that easy. Everyone has to suffer. Some more than other I guess.
I look at the world, seven minutes cold, flashes of life, and passed out drunk. I awake with burning, stinging, sleepless eyes. I awake with a sense of belonging and at the same time a longing. Awaken but yet I must still be dreaming. Dreaming for something better or something worse. I awake with my dick still standing. Standing at full attention looking for any attention. Ready to release one more load or another gallon of piss. The decision is not on the brain, but in a gateway smaller than I can imagine. Made of flesh and blood as is the rest of me. This is every morning. This s a constant. These are the things I think about and I do not know why.
The bad taste that has slipped into my mouth overnight doesn’t go away even after I try to brush it out or smoke in a replacement taste. My teeth hurt like they have been grinding away layer by layer all night. It’s the little stresses that kill you not the big stuff. It is the little stuff that slowly eats you alive. Taking this and taking that but in the end they take everything anyways. If you are one of the lucky ones you won’t even notice the discomfort. I notice every little instants and yet I let it happen. Hell I join in on the pleasure every now and then. Daily. I smoke another with the taste still very much intact. I didn’t need another one, but at this point what is one more? One more nail, one more stake in the heart. Tiny needles pressing against my chest cavity heading for my soul. It wasn’t the taste or even my dick that woke me up today earlier than death. No it was a dream, a light version of a nightmare that is my life.
My dream, nightmare, inner vision was about my grandmother. A devil of a woman whom without I wouldn’t be standing here today. Allegedly there is no scientific facts to back up these claims. I hate my grandmother she was a bitch. Therapy could help me describe my true inner feelings better, but she’d still be a bitch. In the dream she pretends to be a sleep as my grandfather rattles off a list of shit she wants for dinner. He was exact instructions on what she wants and how she wants it to be. Treated like a slave in life and in my dreams I feel bad for my grandfather. It was no wonder he went a little crazy. It was no wonder they found him in possession of a trunk full of dead cats and a collection of women underwear. Luckily it didn’t go any further than that or you might have heard of him. He lives in a cozy little place far removed from society now. Better put he is basically dead.
“This but not that. Make sure you get it right or else,” he says in my mind and my dream. Or what the fat bitch is going to get her lazy ass out of bed and kick our asses? She hasn’t left that bed by choice in maybe a year. Conversations with myself always seem one-sided. I can see her while she fakes being asleep. Patiently listening to make sure he plays his part as always. He says one more thing before I awoke, “We know all about your past experience with food, but we also know you always crew up.” What do you think that the dream meant? I hope it means that she is or will be dying, but she is already dead. Not a loss or a gain just more of the nothing that fills this world. Shouldn’t waste my time on people who don’t matter, didn’t matter, or don’t care. The brain doesn’t work like that though.
They still find their way through though don’t they? Slip through the cracks no one knew were even there. Tear the wall down and leave you with nothing but rubble. Drinking could be the reason, life could be the other, and living without a purpose could be the answer I’m looking for. How am I to live with so many distractions? A gun fight erupts outside, a flood down the street drowns hundreds, and yet I sit staring at a screen looking for answers. Her little eyes scream for attention and the sound to follow. The present is only for a moment but the past is a life time.