heart of darkness
i've spent eight months in the heart of darkness...darkness that binds and destroys the human soul. community college, yo.
this shit is rough. ask the girl down your hall for a stapler and you end up staying awake 3 days in a row on a meth binge. cozy up to the nice farmboy from nebraska and end up deep in the sex slave trade, both as a broker and a product to be sold. yes, i've done a lot of soul-searching this year. i've searched into my soul, and the souls of my fellow men. and i've realized, "damn we pretty f'd up, YAKNOW?"
shit, we do some fucked up thangs. i didn't have to kill jean-paul, or spit on his corpse, or fuck it until we both bled and our blood mingled and we became a real family with real children, beautiful little flames flickering in the dark soul of man. but i did. and that's because i'm only human and i gotta deal with some limitations.
or at least that's what my therapist, dr. clayton j. tinsworth told me. i met him on the street once, i don't know how. he might've been trying to score some smack or maybe just spend an hour with lady primavera, my name on the streets. but anyway, we gots to talkin' one night and he revealed (unintentionally) that he was a psycholotrist. i started callin and emailin him threatenin him with blackmail till he finally agreed to meet w/ me, after office hours in a truckstop hundreds of miles from his home.
i really got to start to understand myself thru these sessions. he told me the reason i do the thangs i do is cause i'm missin part of my brain. i thought he was bein metaphorical till he said, "i'm serious christiana, go see a fuckin neurologist." still, i think it IS a metaphor. we all missin part our brains, part of our hearts. the human drive is to become whole, so it fits that we lose and gain some materials along the way. i'm just tryin to reach providence on that blessed day.
fuck off,
christiana primavera
this shit is rough. ask the girl down your hall for a stapler and you end up staying awake 3 days in a row on a meth binge. cozy up to the nice farmboy from nebraska and end up deep in the sex slave trade, both as a broker and a product to be sold. yes, i've done a lot of soul-searching this year. i've searched into my soul, and the souls of my fellow men. and i've realized, "damn we pretty f'd up, YAKNOW?"
shit, we do some fucked up thangs. i didn't have to kill jean-paul, or spit on his corpse, or fuck it until we both bled and our blood mingled and we became a real family with real children, beautiful little flames flickering in the dark soul of man. but i did. and that's because i'm only human and i gotta deal with some limitations.
or at least that's what my therapist, dr. clayton j. tinsworth told me. i met him on the street once, i don't know how. he might've been trying to score some smack or maybe just spend an hour with lady primavera, my name on the streets. but anyway, we gots to talkin' one night and he revealed (unintentionally) that he was a psycholotrist. i started callin and emailin him threatenin him with blackmail till he finally agreed to meet w/ me, after office hours in a truckstop hundreds of miles from his home.
i really got to start to understand myself thru these sessions. he told me the reason i do the thangs i do is cause i'm missin part of my brain. i thought he was bein metaphorical till he said, "i'm serious christiana, go see a fuckin neurologist." still, i think it IS a metaphor. we all missin part our brains, part of our hearts. the human drive is to become whole, so it fits that we lose and gain some materials along the way. i'm just tryin to reach providence on that blessed day.
fuck off,
christiana primavera