i’m staying in a little spot tucked away in a yellow-hued suburbia. here i float round the hours of a clock doing this and that and that and this. they’re all things i’m supposed to do anyway. the exciting days are the ones where i have to run a new errand. i love running errands. it’s like they cough up a template of me, and i just pick the words I want to fill in the blanks. people like me go to the grocery store, the… uh… well before i go to the other errands i must go to. nutrition is key. and my other errands, they remind me of who i am as an individual and summarizes how much more different i am from you. my day is divided into shifts for the different parts of myself and the maintenance of all my parts keeps in line. i am all twelve hours, yet it bothers me when they only see a single hour of me at a time. bothered me for some time. “i’m just like you!” i shout with everything i do.
but just like the ticks of each second, there i sit and sit not.
fuck this. you can be a lonesome little shit and loathe company at the same time. trying either of those only propels you into the other. that’s the way it is and you know it. then you spend time learning proper social etiquette so as to not seem as shitty as you feel because we’re so goddamn humble. we’re on the front lines of the status quo like toy soldiers and we sacrifice our lives before anyone else. how many times have you died in your lifetime? the cards are stacked and thinking about it makes you feel guilty.
i hate admit when i’m wrong but my actions contradict then admit i’m wrong all the time. it’s measured in guilt that i somehow got tricked into placing on myself. what?! i spent so much learning how to be the good guy that i forgot it’s the assholes that are always cumming on top. the good guy sits there and takes the load and say stupid tropes like, “well, it was in the heat of the moment.” those are things they sissy trained you into responding with so you’d feel nearly ashamed if you even thought about change. they beat inadequacies into the dough to bake your cake. just when you’re about to cum on your own terms that little voice they stapled to the back of your subconscious says, and just once, “it’s nobody’s fault but my own,” and forfeit your revolution. at this point we gotta realize they took your sense of self away a long time ago.
it’s like i spent ten fucking years learning how to keep cool and brushing off things that piss ME off so shit don’t piss EVERYONE ELSE off. letting part of yourself seep into some cavity in the back of your mind, festering silently.
don’t wake up.
he stared at the wall of cigarettes at the store wondering whether or not he’d ever try quitting smoking honestly. the past few dozen times he decided to quit smoking was done with a cigarette between his lips and two puffs sent off. come to think of it, i don’t think he ever intended to quit – he may well invite cancer out for a beer. that’s saying much because he wasn’t really a drinker, but he drank much alone and less with company around. he was a fellow that devoured envy from the timid, like cookies, but he always asked if you wanted to go halfsies. he was your close friend even if you’d just met him 5 minutes earlier. he played the fool so that others could join in on the good vibes but always remembered your name and astrological sign. he’d look you in the eye and tell you how he’d be the wrong person to fall in love with and even friendzone himself so that everybody else could climb out of that awkward moment of dud romance, and then share a cigarette with you to shoo it away.
the guy wasn’t an ordinary fool as he was extraordinary at reading people. you could even get away with calling the guy the fakest guy you’d ever met and he’d try to prove you right. he was selfless in that tragic way that he focused on the tiny personal details of another, the ones overlooked, and made then shine and spark while he took an honest smile as payment. he was glad to. I’ve never truly met him but i’ve heard stories. he was that guy that knew all of your friends but you. making friends was easy to him. I envy that. saying hello was my achilles heel. he rounded up companions as well as i can alienate myself. it’s like we’re polar opposites but i feel i understand him more than he does himself. i think he understands me too which is why he was the way he was. the guy is a beast you could couldn’t help but like.
somewhere along the line of time, it slowly went away. with so many people smiling around him he grew more into himself and away from the numbers. even lighting up the next cigarette squeezed a zit of hesitation outta him. he began to worry about opinions. he worried. he became an adult in the cutthroat world of cool, with the word “adult” itself feels like a sentencing. or like a registered sex offender’s list. not being able to do what you’ve comfortably done for so long without worrying about the consequences until it was too late. “Untill it was too late,” is the most dreadful phrase to rise in our pursuit of happiness. once he became an adult he realized it wasn’t about having fun anymore.
it was more about pretending to o.k. and tired from all the working and the exercise and the cutting down on something or other. the thought of having to follow someone else’s footsteps for once shanked his spirit. but being him, he didn’t go down. he never would. but that shanking (or shivving) was only the first in a series that knew no mercy. the hurricane progression of being an independent man or woman, to hold your own… his was a spirit become unrecognizable it had been brutalized on a pattern. this was a fellow that spent his formidable years on the smiles that stapled everyone else’s face while he smoked a cigarette pretending he wasn’t compensating his immeasurable emptiness, until it was too late.
he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror when he brushes his yellowing teeth. he wondered if he wasted his good years not making himself happy. he wonders how much further his receding hairline will recede. he wonders if he was to blame. he wonders if he’s too late. he wonders about all the shitty selfish things he wonders he should’ve been worried about, the shit he never cared to wonder about when he only had to make you laugh smile. a timid beastly frail creature he becometh. he becomes that crazy random on the train or city bus or supermarket that’s strangely outgoing and unreasonably upbeat. he even bags on himself as though he’s begging you to laugh at him. to consider him. he limbos between the pros and cons of life and/or death, don’t matter, because they look the same to him.
here’s to those that gave their best to you when you were young and lost, free of charge so that you could tow the world.
you know that feeling you get when nothing seems to go your way and no matter what you try to do to turn things around, it only seems to make things worse? geeze, i think i read too much into that whole, ‘the universe is subject to our perspective’ kinda thing. it’s like i outsmarted myself into psyching myself out of something before something ever happened. for some odd reason, it’s difficult for me to accept that i can’t please everybody. i wonder if that’s selfish or selfless now and then. i haven’t been able to write anything let alone speak aloud without worrying about something i say backfire. then there’s that spiraling mindset that has me considering the consequences of my actions, which in turn, prompts me to see consequences for every choice i consider. and the tough part is when i decide on something for my own sake. i don’t want to let anyone down. maybe i’m afraid to.
i wonder sometimes, well i wonder a lot, and the thought that i’m being punished for something i did or will do keeps creeping up on me. it’s like a chess game and i’m playing with a version of me that’s come and gone, or even yet to come. y’know that whole ‘you’re your own worst enemy’ bit. but it’s different. it feels like everything i’ve ever witnessed or experienced in life, songs, movies, conversations with strangers, graffiti, stickers at bus stops, the way someone’s desk is arranged, the all of it feels like it’s catching up, and something big is gonna happen. or little. to feel big and small simultaneously, hurts. which sorta explains why i’m so afraid to let anyone down. at my own expense even. sometimes it feels like i’m not so alone, that i’m being helped, but they can’t just come out and say it straightforward. well that or i’m just too slow to take the hint.
why? why am i? so afraid of wishful thinking? why was I? broken hearts at a young age cuts like glass all around. the most tragic romantic is the one that believes a broken heart is akin to the end of everything. scientific theorems, even the expanse of time and space can’t explain why grief is so alluring. magnetic even. maybe it’s in the water. maybe the air. maybe grief imprints something in us like when you look at a bright light real quick with our pupils and close your eyes.
i’m not sure if i still have a broken heart. i know i’m alone but not really.
“endless pain to prove I lived? to prove meaningless, not mindless.” -somebody
i don’t know how the deal works, as i’m sure many before me had no idea how the deal worked. we were given enough to believe, but not enough to say no thank you. That’s the thing about us puny humans isn’t it? that we’re so gullible, so easily lead along. it isn’t the faith that the baddies wanted to rupture, the faith was always there, it was a matter of which way to tilt the faith. that’s where the money was. kinda like knowing a horse was gonna run bad before the rider knew it was gonna. it’s just business, we’ve been doing this a long time, they surmise. and they have.
atheists, you have it easy. i like ya, but you’re that friend that’s gonna come back asking for notes of that lecture that don’t mean anything. and vice versa. i get it. everyone gets it.
science is not the top tier of knowledge. it’s like saying seeing is believing.
name one example where what you saw was NOT what was actually happening. just one. there’s a demographic here e’erbody been ignorin’.
hello! meet the new boss, same as the old boss. you and i, we’re the same, hopes, dreams and the ambition of which to achieve them! hang in there!
but if you don’t feel that way. that’s okay too. because we’re only the same in name only. we’re really just glorified cybernetic androids so advanced that we’re more like bionetic androids. where did he come up with this crap?! well, i didn’t. it’s in this pool of consciousness we happen to share, that’s why all our ideas seem the same, seem regurgitated, baby birds, and somehow right on time. think of the human body as a PnP device for souls to come in and out of. we have our base programs to let us run as nps’s but every now and then we get a stroke of genius.
so feel bad if you want for what your life is amounted to, or feel proud for the things you’ve done. i just wanted to solve the case.
“…that it’s no sacrifice because the price is paid
and there’s nothing to grieve.
there’s always something more and something new, so i’ll keep writing. there’s always some shit going down in the pool. ironic because my favourite story’s always been about the one where i almost died at 8 when i first learned how to swim. my pops just threw me into the pool. patterns indeed become our prison bars, but they’re also clues. The price i paid to learn this… i don’t recommend it, unless you’re like me. i came, saw, and concurred… welcome to the hughmanfarm.
i miss you. i really do. the only way to win, is to rebel. i don’t mean viva la revolucion! i mean we must always remember to rebel against those many things society tells us is normal. i have never once met a normal person in my life so why is it we’re okay for them to scrutinize our kooky ways. it ain’t bad to be normal, of course not, but not at the cost of alienating our friends. rebel, and have kookies, it’s modern guerilla warfare.
i want to apologize these days for being so flippy floppy. but it’s like my mind isn’t my own anymore. sublet-ed by out-dated ideas and the current social need for survival in all its grandiose illusions. honestly, i’ve tried really hard, (but not hard enough you f*ckin’ pussy) to end it all. i think i’m just more curious than suicidal, and if that won’t cause the end of your world by accident, then you don’t know me. i’m the king of heartbreak. but only in the, oooooh that’s funny after a stretch, but the rest of us are grinning because, of course!
i like the end of the world scenarios. however it happens. the ekpyrotic one, the simulation one, the universal engine one- and i’m not saying it in a way that i’m just ready for everyone including women and children to just cease, but in the way that’s more like, I get it. Everyone wants to live. imagination is as close to reality as you can dream. but there’s a trick. of course i don’t have proof. if i had proof, do you really think this conversation would be happening?
you can read this all in the book i’m probably not going to write, becoming a god, for dummees. what day is it today? 3/28/17. 10:28 as i look. my current plan is to do the absolute worst things i can imagine for myself and pay little to no regard to humanity and even close friends. the trick is, that i’ve already started doing that, and you’ll notice if you skip backwards a few pay-periods of everything i’ve ever done… that you’d notice. teehee.
but to all you tricksters and magicians still kicking around out there… you can’t top this one. this isn’t a trick that took years. it’s a trick that took lives, and ya know it. don’t. sstop reading. matter-o-fact speaking is manipulation to what your most comfortable with. ease it in. sex joke. you listen to that with no reserve, they have you already. ready. no way to win. i can’t win. loser. sabotage. both sides now. all these things ya seen heard and learned. was it a trick? why is the timing so on point, ya cocksuckas!?
the trick is, i’m really working for them. and for free.