A Practical Solution

He gave up looking for the pills and looked around the wrecked room.

He’d knocked most of the things around in his feverish frenzy. Trying to breath calmly, he focused on his heart pounding against his chest and ignored his thoughts and the rising anxiety. It was worth trying.

He gives in, and thinks of alternatives. One presents itself. Not very healthy. Not very practical. But there is the promise of effectiveness.

He steels himself, walks slowly to the wall and leans, resting his head against the cold plaster. Slowly lifting his clenched fist he begins knocking it against the wall.

Slowly at first, just a gentle knocking. And then faster, harder.

Before long he’s pounding with all his might. Over and over again, with tears starting to flowing down his face.

A muffled scream escapes even as he clenches his jaw tighter. The fist stops mid air and he lets it drop to his side. The blood slowly trickles down to the floor into a pool, next to a smaller puddle of tears from his face.

He listens for any thoughts that might pop up. But there’s no space for thought. The pain dominates everything else.

Pain kills pain. The irony is not lost on him as he chuckles through the tears. Pain, the painkiller.

And then it comes. A silhouette of a face. A scent. The essence of a memory. Vibrant, alive, breathing.

His body shakes as a torrent of energy takes over him. Anger. Self-loathing. Despair. Pain.

But mostly anger.

He clenches his fist again and raises it and throws it against the wall with everything he’s got.

A crack. Followed by his bellowing.

He collapses unto the floor, writhing in pain, and listens to his own repressed screams bouncing off the walls, clutching his broken, mangled fist.

 

LATER

He lights a cigarette and watches the city’s skyline through the rain, smoke rising up in disturbed patterns. Patched up hand still throbbing, he focuses on the twinkling city lights with moist eyes. They were seldom dry these days.

He leans out the balcony and stretches out his better hand to the rain, and the rain embraces it with cold droplets. He looks down, 15 stories down. A long way to go. He sighs and steps back, pulling long and hard at the cigarette.

Death was a solution he couldn’t afford yet.

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Of Old Friends Lost…

I’ve been loathing myself for too long,
in dark crevasses of my mind
shying away from light,
I’ve let these thoughts grow like a cancer

burning, consuming, eating away
at my fragile conscience,
an ever increasing void
that brims with your sickness

i feed on what you give me
and what you give me feeds on me,
your indifference makes my soul cringe
but longs for your warmth, now long gone.

Reflection

Your flaws irk me
Your imperfections magnified unbearably,
they outshine mine
i wish i could choke you.

i hate myself
but i hate you more.
i’d like to never see you again,
but i don’t have that comfort when it comes to me.

too fat, too loud, too crude
doesn’t matter who you are,
i’ll find your flaws and loath them.
there’s hate in me, but no blame
because in the end, it’s all the same

Because you and I, we’re the same.

The Pact.

It was just one lousy beer. One lousy fucking beer. Usually it took about four for the underlying stupidity to surface and make me do something…well, stupid. Or reckless. Or a lethal combination of both.

I was with a friend S. It was one of those super boring evenings where you really have nothing to do but you just don’t wanna binge watch some crap on the screen. So we just decided to grab a few beers and kill the night. College huh.

About an hour later I and S are half way down the first beer and maybe it was just the beer (maybe that particular batch had a little extra something) or maybe it was just us, but we were really fucking buzzed. We were on the rooftop and it was a full moon day and the soft breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean.

So we start talking about life (surprise surprise) and S tells me how he is anxious to stop leeching off his parents and get a job and go out on his own. The dilemma being that he doesn’t want to work at a job. (who does?).

“Man, fuck a job. Fuck all that slave shit, go do something on your own.”
*sigh*
“yeah but…where the fuck do I start? What the fuck do I do? I have no idea. And all I get from people is this vague bullshit like “Follow your passion” or “chase your dreams“. Chase this (grabs reproductive organ) bitch. Gimme something helpful. Fucking clowns.”
“Hahaha yeah. Get a job. get a wife. Have a dozen kids. Retire when you’re too tired to do anything else”
I laugh. He laughs. The moon just watched.

I finish my beer and sit up. “You know what dude? I am never getting a job. I promise. Not to you. but to m- *burp* me. I am never getting a job. I am never settling down. Fuck the staus quo. I am going my own way, Fuck all this manufactured reality. Fuck the guy who got a job. I promise. I will not bend.”

I guess that fired S up. “You know what?……. Yeah. Fuck all that.”
He drained the bottle and smashed it against the other side of the wall. “Fuck a job”.

I grabbed mine and mimicked him. “Fuck marriage!”

He grabbed one of the many empty bottles lying around (it is a popular drinking spot) “Fuck adults!”. SMASH.

I fished out a whisky bottle. “Fuck social conventions!”

I let out a howl and S joins me.

SMASH.

SMASH.

SMASH.

S bends down and looks at me with a goofy grin. “Down to the last two bottles dude. Lets make a pact.” (I know…corny. But we meant it and we were drunk so fuck you.)

He hands me one, and clears his throat “We fucking swear on our balls that we will never bow down to society, social conventions or ever give a lovely flying fuck about what people think or say about us!” (I know. pretty colorful huh?) With a war cry he smashes the last bottle against the wall.

Me still laughing, I follow suit. Except instead of throwing it against the wall, I smash it against the wall while still holding it. Still laughing I hi5 S.

There is a wet splash. I guess there was still some booze left in the bottle. But as I held my hand up I saw the bone of my forefinger in the pale moonlight.

“Yo come check this out”. Still laughing.

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FAST FORWARD MODE:

S sees the blood and completely loses his shit. Drives me to the university health center on his motorbike. They don’t have an X-ray so they call an ambulance.

Never been in an ambulance before. Am still buzzed and pretty calm but S is shaken up by the blood and he doesn’t want to look at the bone.

At the hospital. Doc smells the booze and makes us confess before stitching it up after the X-ray.

3.A.M in the morning when we finally step out.

NORMAL MODE:

S lights 2 cigarettes and passes me one. (My hand is bandaged too heavily).
I pull hard and release a cloud of smoke and watch it float away. Dreamy. Never gets old. “My lungs are so happy”.
S laughs. “You’re fucking loco man. Crazy motherfucker. The only thing I want right now is my bed.”
We puff away, the same moon above us.
I chuckle. “Hell of a pact though right?”
S glances at his watch. “Yeah man sure. I wish these fucking ambulances did return journeys or something”.
“Hmm. Let’s just get an auto”

As we ride back I glance at my hand. The whole thing probably meant nothing. And S and I never mention the pact whenever we told the story over the next few weeks. I am pretty sure he forgot actually.

But not me.

The 9 stitches will scar and be a reminder for the rest of my life.

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The (ir)Rationale Asshole

“Can you please not do that?”
“Do what?”
She pointed at my restless leg. “It jerks the desk and I can’t write.”
So I sped up. The desk shook more visibly and the noisily.
She looked at me in disbelief. She was used to nice people, I could tell. Some people almost never run into assholes. Not even the occasional one. At least not at 10 in the morning in the library. Well, bummer.

The look turned dirty as I now started moving the other leg. The desk shook pretty nosily now and I started getting similar looks from the other nerds around me. I held her eyes the whole time. She still had a look of confusion underneath the annoyed, exasperation. I finally stopped. Smiled at her. Winked. And then I got up, put my H.P Lovecraft book in my pack, and walked away.

I didn’t have to do that. I could have just stopped my restless foot jerking. I usually do when people point out. But rationale people expect rationality form others, and when they don’t get it, they either lose their shit and in the process sacrifice their own rationality. Or. They don’t know what the fuck to do, which is the case here with ms.Chemistry PinkEarphones.

I didn’t have to do that. But I could. So I did. And It does not matter in the grand scheme of things. But I did it.

*shrugs*

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Where Is My Mind?

the clock is ticking on the wall,
the sun goes down, leaving shadows behind
betraying light slowly fading away,
and now darkness is, and still the clock ticks.

time is running out and leaves my soul crying,
trapped between what should be and what is,
abandoned by everything except your dreams,
the clock is not your enemy, you are.

is someone else how you want to be?
stumble and fall and get up crying,
walking through this senseless maze,
your essence trailing behind you, fading.

scattered and disconnected and lost in the cosmos,
beautifully dense mind, pitifully empty heart
nothing sets you on fire anymore
nothing calls you out anymore.

endless rancid pits of negativity and disgust
visions of elevation wake you up from restless sleep
only to despair at it’s falsity
and you hear the clock ticking in the darkness.

mindless

The Unbroken

the clouds moan above as if in sympathy,
for the silent one below
and then the tears roll,
hurtling down on the lone one

head raised to the skies,
only thing colder then him is his heart
an empty smile to the heavens,
he hears the silences between the thunder

timeless, sacred child,
no one can break his heart
this unholy defiance of love,
might scare some, but not him,
wild one below

blessed aloneness amongst a pit of writhing souls,
incredibly vulnerable and yet unbreakable
blessed one, dreaming of ascension,
amid the tears and cries of the skies.

SoulKill Theory

Do you know the difference between being alone and being lonely?
Everybody wants to be alone from time to time, but nobody ever wants to be lonely.

He’d switched his phone off an hour ago. Rum and coke, cigarettes, a spliff and himself. Two hours later, head in the toilet, vomiting his soul out, he did not notice the watch go by 12:00. Happy birthday.

I saw a man cry in the rain at 2 in the morning on an empty street. I was on the balcony of a friend’s apartment and just staring out into the splatter when i saw him, he walked steady. The last guy i saw was drunk and that was 20 minutes ago, he was pretty fucked up. But this guy was sober. He stopped and held the lamppost, and then i saw him clutch at his chest like it hurt. Heart attack? Then he was shaking, and then he turned his face my way and i saw it. The sorrow, the sadness, the pain. He must have been there for 2-3 minutes. I did not take my eyes off him. His shaking eventually ceased and he was just standing there, drenched, face down. And he lifted his face up to the sky, the rain beating down on and he sighed. I remember thinking that must have felt good, the sigh. And he looked around as if to see if someone was watching. He never saw me and he probably thinks no one saw him. But i did. I saw him that night.

“Please”.
Something very depressing about begging nothing in particular to stop doing or being nothing in particular to ease your pain. Please what? Who are you talking to? What do you want? But nothing. Just “please”.

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.

Random realizations that may or may not mean anything.

“Self help is masturbation, now self destruction…”

Life is simple. you’re here, then you die. what you do in the mean time means nothing to the universe and yet means everything to you. So if you’re the universe…

People look up to other people. Their parents, teachers, the guy who seems to have everything figured out, celebrities, self-help writers…shit, politicians even. I know nothing. but I doubt I mean that how Socrates meant it.

19 is old enough for you to stop making the same mistakes. “Don’t expect different results if you keep doing the same thing.” My excuse is that am young, but everything, even excuses get old.

The dream is real. so is the self-doubt and the vulnerability. I shouldn’t have to suffer the same old trials, but actions lead to consequences and sometimes it’s easy to forget to be grateful.

The things that helped you get away are slowly betraying you and you’re relief is no longer at the bottom of a bottle. You’re friends are real and that means you’re just as alone as they are. My greatest fear is mediocrity…OK second greatest. the first being that am already there.

If your trying too hard, it’s not going to work out. I’ll sell my soul my soul for natural flow. I know the theory by heart, the do’s the don’ts.

This will probably pass. Tomorrow i might be in a a place where am actually looking back at this and look up to to say thank you for being in a better place. But it’s easier to regret things then be grateful for what you have.

“This tedious path I’ve chosen…I must keep reminding myself of this”                                        If this is how am going to be for the rest of my life, my heart will break, mu soul will wither. Maybe it’s a good thing i don’t really matter.

“all you touch and all you see is all you’ll ever be”                                                                                 Everything counts. every thought, every action adds up. Be better then you were yesterday and you’re good.

Don’t talk around me. I don’t want to listen. But tell me something and i’m game. Influence or be influenced. Be indifferent and nirvana is you.  It’s high time. But that only means intoxication.

“What are you but my reflection? Who am i to judge or strike you down?”                                    I both crave and fear isolation.