Askewed Dementia
I have a problem. What the fuck is my problem. I have these demons. How do i purge them. Oh fucking hell, it kills me. What is wrong with me. Born with my umbilical cord around my neck was i supposed to die? Oh hell.
I am not me, i am vacance, i am not who u think i am. I am my alter-ego. Everyone reads my friggin blog... for fuck's sake how do i be honest if everyone knows who i am. I am not me. I am just vacance. Vacant as a vacuum. The empty space inside. The empty inner space just like the empty dark outer space except with no stars. Everyone reads my friggin blog. Even my brother. Hi bro. This is an outlet for expression. This is my dementia. Askewed to the point of loss. Insobriety.
This is not a joke. This is not true. This may be true. And this may not be true. Things may be metaphors for others. Nothing is at it seems. But some things are what it seems. What it don't seem. What is numbers. The alphabets. Alpha-bits. Cereal with marshmallows. Where are they? Swiss Miss. Hot chocolate and marshmallows.
I am blind to the reader. The reader is blind to my identity. I am writing for myself not the reader. At times i am writing for the reader. Mostly i am conscious of the reader and hence i am not writing for myself.
These demons are spinning a web of confusion. What am i doing. What are you doing? The night is dark. Dark like black. Black like dark. Darkwing Duck. Uncle Scrooge.
Now i have learnt to rant to that extreme where i do not make sense and i bore you. And you will not be bothered to read what i write. And so you will just pass on. And you will stop reading what i am writing. I want to be anonymous and i want readership. I am who i am. And yet i am becoming who i am not. How do i reconcile the changes i would have to undertake. I and becoming the person i hate. I am weak as usual. Weak as shit. Shit can be squashed just be squishing it in your palms. Yes, i can be disgusting. But i don't care. You shouldn't be bothered to read this far anyway already.
Writing is therapy. Therapy is crap. Change is crap. Back to the origin is what we crave. the original soul. Pure and untainted. Levi's original 501 jeans. No. I am sidetracking. I am talking about sanctity and purity in its most lucid form.
How do i be honest and admit my freudian subconscious tendencies when i know you know me and you know me and you know me and with this you know me. Pretentious garbage. Value for shit or for nothing. Shit you squish in your hands and rub over your face and poke into your nostrils. And then you start to vomit because the smell. The smell is just unbearable. Smells like shit. Smells like teen spirit. Smile like you mean it. Am i grousing you out. I hope i am. Then you shan't read further.
Otherwise i would disgust you further by talking about slicing off a nipple. And splitting it into 16 equal slices. You've only got two tries because you've only got 2 nipples. OK now have i manifested how a sicked psychopath i really am? Life is good. Shock is good. Good is fun.
Damn it. I don't believe this. I just can't seem to wanna bathe and turn in. look at the time its 4am. What the heck is wrong with me. Can't i be normal just for some times. Like normal people. "Do you wanna live like common people? Do you wanna do whatever common people do? Do you wanna sleep with common people? Do you wanna sleep with common people like me?" -- Pulp
Everynight is the same. I just can't settle down and start a day afresh and be new and good and NORMAL. I am a restless wanderer of the infinite dimensions of time and space. I need a serious reality check. "I don't wanna grow up, I'm a toys 'r' us kid"
Can you even breathe reading this? Why are you reading this? Don't you have better shit to do like throw darts at my picture or something. You can do many things with my picture too. Why do people suppress their inner thoughts and feelings and deem it evil and black. Bring it out into the open and it will not be shocking. No . Better suppress it. It is evil. It is the voice of the devil. The devil speaks in me. BLah. THe devil is shit. I need to shit and bathe and sleep i reckon. I am a disaster. A failure. Life is my nemesis. Death is my salvation.
Death. Is it nothingness? Or is it a neverending cycle. Whatever. Fuck.
Always take what you see with a pinch of salt. Once again. Nothing is as it seems. Face value is face value. It tells you nothing but face value. So you should only take something's face value by its face value and not anything else by its face value.
Everytime i see a conclusion, i start all over again. "this is the song that doesn't end, yes it goes on and on my friend, some idiot started singing without knowing what it meant, and they'll continue singing it forever just because he was an idiot"
I am idiot. Cheers to the idiots. The idiot's guide to understanding the idiot's guide to being idiots.
I am not me, i am vacance, i am not who u think i am. I am my alter-ego. Everyone reads my friggin blog... for fuck's sake how do i be honest if everyone knows who i am. I am not me. I am just vacance. Vacant as a vacuum. The empty space inside. The empty inner space just like the empty dark outer space except with no stars. Everyone reads my friggin blog. Even my brother. Hi bro. This is an outlet for expression. This is my dementia. Askewed to the point of loss. Insobriety.
This is not a joke. This is not true. This may be true. And this may not be true. Things may be metaphors for others. Nothing is at it seems. But some things are what it seems. What it don't seem. What is numbers. The alphabets. Alpha-bits. Cereal with marshmallows. Where are they? Swiss Miss. Hot chocolate and marshmallows.
I am blind to the reader. The reader is blind to my identity. I am writing for myself not the reader. At times i am writing for the reader. Mostly i am conscious of the reader and hence i am not writing for myself.
These demons are spinning a web of confusion. What am i doing. What are you doing? The night is dark. Dark like black. Black like dark. Darkwing Duck. Uncle Scrooge.
Now i have learnt to rant to that extreme where i do not make sense and i bore you. And you will not be bothered to read what i write. And so you will just pass on. And you will stop reading what i am writing. I want to be anonymous and i want readership. I am who i am. And yet i am becoming who i am not. How do i reconcile the changes i would have to undertake. I and becoming the person i hate. I am weak as usual. Weak as shit. Shit can be squashed just be squishing it in your palms. Yes, i can be disgusting. But i don't care. You shouldn't be bothered to read this far anyway already.
Writing is therapy. Therapy is crap. Change is crap. Back to the origin is what we crave. the original soul. Pure and untainted. Levi's original 501 jeans. No. I am sidetracking. I am talking about sanctity and purity in its most lucid form.
How do i be honest and admit my freudian subconscious tendencies when i know you know me and you know me and you know me and with this you know me. Pretentious garbage. Value for shit or for nothing. Shit you squish in your hands and rub over your face and poke into your nostrils. And then you start to vomit because the smell. The smell is just unbearable. Smells like shit. Smells like teen spirit. Smile like you mean it. Am i grousing you out. I hope i am. Then you shan't read further.
Otherwise i would disgust you further by talking about slicing off a nipple. And splitting it into 16 equal slices. You've only got two tries because you've only got 2 nipples. OK now have i manifested how a sicked psychopath i really am? Life is good. Shock is good. Good is fun.
Damn it. I don't believe this. I just can't seem to wanna bathe and turn in. look at the time its 4am. What the heck is wrong with me. Can't i be normal just for some times. Like normal people. "Do you wanna live like common people? Do you wanna do whatever common people do? Do you wanna sleep with common people? Do you wanna sleep with common people like me?" -- Pulp
Everynight is the same. I just can't settle down and start a day afresh and be new and good and NORMAL. I am a restless wanderer of the infinite dimensions of time and space. I need a serious reality check. "I don't wanna grow up, I'm a toys 'r' us kid"
Can you even breathe reading this? Why are you reading this? Don't you have better shit to do like throw darts at my picture or something. You can do many things with my picture too. Why do people suppress their inner thoughts and feelings and deem it evil and black. Bring it out into the open and it will not be shocking. No . Better suppress it. It is evil. It is the voice of the devil. The devil speaks in me. BLah. THe devil is shit. I need to shit and bathe and sleep i reckon. I am a disaster. A failure. Life is my nemesis. Death is my salvation.
Death. Is it nothingness? Or is it a neverending cycle. Whatever. Fuck.
Always take what you see with a pinch of salt. Once again. Nothing is as it seems. Face value is face value. It tells you nothing but face value. So you should only take something's face value by its face value and not anything else by its face value.
Everytime i see a conclusion, i start all over again. "this is the song that doesn't end, yes it goes on and on my friend, some idiot started singing without knowing what it meant, and they'll continue singing it forever just because he was an idiot"
I am idiot. Cheers to the idiots. The idiot's guide to understanding the idiot's guide to being idiots.
posted by vacance at 04:09
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