Letters To My Dead Self #1

Days of nothing. Days of regression. Days of living a half-life, barely there, barely aware of your own being. What a waste of life. And the longer life is lived like this, the more you forget of how it really is. The bliss of being in the moment, of living with will, presence and awareness. You know this, you know it all, but knowing means nothing here.

Days turn into months into years and we are all here, but are we? Are you here? Can you stay here? With no apologies, no expectations, no fear, no anxiety, just a witness….a witness to this holy playground. Can you? Can I? If yes…we made it. we are the godhead.

Noises, noises all around me, all within my head, begging to be heard, to be invested in. Noises from other people, other people telling me things i have no interest in, things i find no joy in. Leave me to the silence. I have nothing to say to you.

Let nothing be taken seriously, especially the things that beg to be taken seriously. These men and women with their stern faces and rigid eyes telling anyone who listens about the harshness of life and preaching the true way to live it. Fools. All you know is all you’ve chosen to see, all you are is all you’ve ever allowed yourself to be. I reject nothing. I believe in nothing and everything. I care not for your truth. I shall find my own. Now off with you.

You have desires? Acknowledge them – write them down, ask for them, work towards them. This is a part of the play. You do not acquire? Try harder or let it go. Do not complain! Never complain. You must suffer, but must you suffer loudly without dignity? Cursing and wailing you put a dent in your end of the universe. You do not know what you desire? Sit by yourself in silence for a while and watch your angst get washed away.

But above all…breathe. And you shall be just fine.

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Giving Up The Empire Of Dirt

Stimulation:

The high.
The pixels.
The change.
The skin.
The ideologies.
The music.
The activities.
Dreams.

Everything fades into nothing leaving me deprived.
Forced to chase new vices, that leave me depraved.

So now we zero the clock.
Now we starve the mind.
Drain the chemicals out.
Take the high road, suffer the emptiness.
Break the cycle to go down a new path.
Fail and hell is You.
Fail and the time loop starts.

Emptiness is hell. But on the other side of emptiness is true emotion.
They fed the infant chemicals till it choked. Then they fed it some more. Watch. Consume. Junkie motherfucker. Blind to the possibilities of redemption.

But a ray slipped through the smog and you shook your fists and wailed and stuck your filthy fingers so deep down your throat you puked your guts out. And now we chase the light. The promise has been made.

Alone.

Sober.

Watchful.

Patient.

Chasing sorrow

Her fingers quivered slightly as she used her other hand to run the shiny blade across her upper arm, she made a near perfect line right next to the older, half healed ones. Her breathing, which had been rugged and uneven when she had first entered the washroom now slowly found it’s original rhythm as the blood flowed down her pale hands. she sighed and leaned back against the toilet seat and closed her eyes. she had a few more minutes before her next class started, which meant she had half that time to cover up the wound with a fresh band-aid from her hand bag. But for now she just felt the numbness race across her hands, the pain was there but it was just a throbbing in the background…it would pass. Till she picked her wounds open again.

He couldn’t have been more then 18, definitely not more then 20. He stumbled across the dark street in the rain, occasionally missing his footing and reaching for the building to his right to help avoid a fall. To an outsider, he was just one more drunk guy trying to get where ever he was trying to get, there sure were a lot of those around. what no one noticed, thanks to the rain, was the tears running down his cheek. He had said nasty things to her and she had returned the favor, words cold as ice cutting through mind and soul was not something he was new to. He turned into a dark ally, started throwing up, lost his already damaged sense of balance came down on all fours in his own vomit, followed by another bout of throw up. Silent till now , it finally took over him as he shook bodily with waves of sorrow washing over him, rain, tears and vomit dripping down his face in the cold December night. No he wasn’t new to this, he had been down this road countless times, and he would probably be here again. And┬ádeep down inside, he didn’t really mind , this was after all, the only time he felt alive.

Common Goddamn Cold.

“Scholars teach in Universities
And claim that they’re smart and cunning,
Tell them find a cure when we sneeze
And that’s when their nose start running” -Damian Marley

If I had to pick between shooting myself in the head and getting the common cold I’d happily kill myself. Uncomfortable, leaking, and gross, I hate my nose right now. Thousands of years of evolution, deep space travel and large Hadron colliders, virtual reality, blah, blah, blah and yet every year, at least once, I have to seriously consider chopping my damn nose off with a kitchen knife, or jumping in front of a bus.

*sniffs*.