i died, without dying

November 14, 2007

I wonder where this man exists right now. He used to be within me, but I can no longer find him. The man who had the ability and the inspiration to lash out at the world through words alone, who was fueled by the books and articles he read. Pushed beyond the limits of the norms of the social sphere to write and not care who read the words, who paid no attention to the criticism of others and lived a life for himself.

“I feel that I didn’t choose to become this person. There were a lot of
circumstances and my personal history that attributed to me becoming
someone who’s seen as anti-social. It really bugs me, and I internalize
a lot of those angry feelings towards people who target me as such. I
try hard (sometimes) to escape being this lone wolf individual, but
it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to be someone else, to be
someone normal. I don’t think I will ever escape this mental and social
prison that has been created for me, but I can always hope for
something better.”

The man that relived past experiences in his mind that kept driving him towards a madness, a quiet insanity that was not revealed in the public sphere. The man who thrived on the poetic.

A punch in the gut from a woman
Fucking hurts. The pain is more
Than losing an arm or leg
And is just as permanent.
The shield that protects me
Fails constantly with these women
Allowing them to enter my soul
Chew it up, and spit it out on me.
My heart is too accommodating
Always accepting these bitches
And loving them even after they’re gone.
Forever cursed, I long for a real woman.
A beautiful woman, nondestructive for my heart.
An impossible dream.

The man who had dreams, had beliefs, had criticisms he wished to share amongst people. The outspoken man in the written world who was out there and available, to give opinions and to listen to the others. The man who both reviled and loved the world he was apart of. The man who wanted to live, but couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to, in fear and protection of what may have had happened to him. A man who dared to say things that went against everything he was working towards.

“As an artist, I find it hard to admit this, but I think art as we know it is dead

Or make wild claims about how, “disease is good for the world.”

I wonder.

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