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Wretched before/after
[Editor's note: I wrote this peice this morning. Monday's suck. I was about to censor my thoughts, once again, but in the interest of Complete Honesty, I hearby also dedicate its fate. ]
I feel absolutely wretched.
Not in a physical sense. Not really. Not like, sick, anyways.
I am filled with self-loathing, and I hate it.
I don't want to dwell on it, as it only gets worse, and no one ever gained anything positive by hating themselves.
I think I owe a portion of this loathing to the orgy of drug-use this weekend. Nothing truly a-typical, although I've been a good boy for quite a few weekends in a row. Its easier to deal with the reprecussions when you never step out of the gutter, so you never think that the gutter is all bad.
So to speak, anyway. Its all weekend recreational type stuff. But I have to wonder about my delicate sensibilities. I am...sensitive to imbalance in my life.
Is that the key?
One thing is certain, I'll never find peace until I'm dead. Long dead.
My waking hours are filled with the pangs of unfulfilled dreams and aspirations, visions of how my life could be. visions of how life could be better for us all, only to experience the short-fall of reality.
Consumed at the inconsiquentiality of the span of one human life on the stage of the universe. The flyspeck that it is, from which nothing permanent or lasting will ever come.
Blind to the delights and array of joys that people find the fullfillment in their lives. The petty bread and circuses with which we amuse ourselves.
All transitory. Meaning nothing to me.
My nights are filled with the torture and torment of my night-time delerium. Wracking visions of pain and torture.
I never get a moments peace. Not anymore.
All the seeking and searching I do, everything I have ever done, is meant to find me a moment of quiet. Of peace. Of settled responsibility and a realease from agony.
I chase the good and the beautiful. I used to do this as i theorized it would improve my moral definition, but anymore I suspect because in the moment I find it, all else drops away while I quickly absorb the lesson. And then its gone.
But in that moment, I am free from these chains which bind my soul. In that moment, its all gone. The heavy weight drops away from me, and I am unshackled, unbound.
For that moment is excastsy. But it is, as most experiences of joy, transient. Almost instantaneous, it never lasts.
I suppose that's why I do drugs.
Just searching for that numbness. When the stoning grooves down real hard-like, and I can focus my attention like a laser beam on one thing, shut all the darkness out and just be, or play, or do.
Shut it down. Keep the demons at bay, sluggish and stoned.
I will never be free.
I will never be free, and this torments me.
Unceasing. Unquenchede thirst for realities that will never be mine or nor yours.
Unquenching thirst for the peace of the heart and soul and mind that will never be mine.
My suffering will be my only legacy, marks made upon the beach fo life, washed away by the Sea of Humanity.
I want to go sit by a lake. Sit in my car, by a true lake. Feel the breeze chill the air by ten degrees. Smoke some ciggarrettes and pot, and soak up the lesson of the place.
I don't want to sit here in this cube, these fake walls resonating with the waste of a life. When did this stuff ever matter to humankind?
I want to walk naked through the woods. I want to live simply.
I want to have sex on the beach again. I want...I want...I want...
Sometimes I wonder what the afterlife will be like. I kinda' think there are several possibilities, and some of those co-exist peacefully, bound within the same metaphysical construct.
One of them is returning to be a part of the Creator, that force that Life which I only have the barest glimmer of undrstanding. suffused with joy and bliss at being returned to be part of the Whole again.
But there are many times when I hope that its just sheer oblivion awaiting me, perhaps awaiting us all.
The ultimate numbness, I sometime suspect that as long as I have concious thought at my disposal, and my mind wandering hither and yon, I will never ever know peace, and even in the highest of heaven I would know sorrow.
I'm sorry, your dogma never conceptualized a bastard like me. Everybody is happy in Heaven? I bet you never really thought about it.
Why the fuck would I care to walk on jewelled streets and live in a mansion? think you fucker, its just a pacifier they're feeding you.
Praise God for eternity? What's wrong with His self-esteem? hasn't he heard enough? Omnipotence should cover it.
I'm willing to bet God really doesn't care about all that. I chose to believe in a deity with which I can go to the bar and grab a beer. I hate that other people try to press their thoughts and beliefs into my head, when its stone obvious to me that 99% of it has nothing to do with the true nature of God.
As much as it torments me, I refuse to lay down my right to think. Not until I'm dead, you bastards, now stop knocking on my door.
I will never be able to join your church, much like I will never be able to willingly go get a lobotomy.
Never to think or feel again? Now there is something to believe in, something to be wished.
Something for which to be hopeful.
I feel wretched, and I don't want to feel anything anymore.
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