Emotion
I wonder if anyone ever realizes quite how unhappy we all are.
So many people show emotion every day, but I never see the full range of that raw and sharp stab of feeling.
People keep these things to themselves, as do I, but maybe it is a mistake. Keeping the deepest and truest recesses of your feeling to yourself can not be honest.
Why is it that I am compelled to shut myself out from everyone else, answering with military precision that ‘I am fine’ whenever I am asked. Raw, brutal, vicious and violent emotion remains closed and untouched.
I have a compelling feeling almost all through the day, to simply scream and rip my hair out from the roots, and run as far and as fast as I can.
Perhaps I should trust my instincts.
When I am at home, I listen to myself thinking and whispering the words ‘I want to go home’ over and over again. I do not feel at home.
Why hide emotion and expression when it is so obviously what I seek to possess more than anything I have ever wanted?
Expression and freedom within my own mind are what I strive for; not brilliant representation on the stage that can be worked at and practiced, it isn’t emotion if you need to think about it, but I want sporadic, violent outbursts. Cannibalistic force of the human spirit to come roaring out and strike me in the face for daring to shelter individual relief.
I want emotion to burst out of me with such force that I cannot control myself. I want to wrack my body with sobs and despair when I am in high spirits, and I want dangerously unpredictable spirit to encompass me when I am angry.
But these things are the figments of ideal. And society is what binds emotion to what we wish to show. ‘I am fine’ ‘okay’ ‘nice’. These words hold no meaning!
Over-used in an attempt to belittle us all to a sense of security and censorship, they lose their meaning, and can no longer be explained, even by those that study it. Even words so treasured in my mind such as ‘revolution’, mean nothing when spurted out in the mindless reviews of popular music and mind-numbing film.
Such things corner me into despair, and this despair turns to apathy. And apathy is the epidemic I fear.
Slaughter your sins as they come around again. The daily beat that makes you twist and squirm, writhing in a false ecstasy of being.
I feel as if I am sinking deeper into a life and style that cannot be explained, but ever more importantly, something that I cannot claw my way out of.
It lifts you up and parades you to the world like the parent of a new-born child. False senses and indescribable beings. How can you even comprehend your life and meaning? With cloaks of cold and faded anchors, why does the kiss make us feel? Perfected physical pleasure forces the self to retreat and remove itself from our minds. Instead reeling back individuality to be clouded and numbed by some kind of ideal that no-one is quite sure of. A lack of understanding is forgotten, in a world where questions are not asked, and lives worth living are for the freak.
Suffering builds character in even the most emotionally devoid. Suffering can make you live, can make you feel and burn and want to act. Act. Act as what? Act on passion? Act on fear? Act on suicide? Tedium makes itself known in a way that brings about nothing. Life is a mouth that drains me of patience, and paralyses my thoughts.
And yet I am still here, giving all I can, and keeping faith in the actions of others in their passion and fear. All the while waiting on my own, and letting it dissolve beneath me. Action is something that cannot be reached. A goal that all strive for on a level so distant that they show no hope of reaching it.
If I had no desire to be perfect, to be in a relatively normal state, and to be what all expect of me, then I would be numb.
Imagine a being that has no senses. No touch, no taste, no sound and no sight. Devoid of human contact and interaction. Not able to recognise the presence of a loved one, or even recognise love. Not able to distinguish between breath and sustainance. Would they still be human? I doubt it.
And this is what the population is slowly becoming. Living inside our own minds, and yet… it is better.
Something we can never have, but we dream of, is preferable to what we have in reality. A dream holds more reality than that itself.
So many people show emotion every day, but I never see the full range of that raw and sharp stab of feeling.
People keep these things to themselves, as do I, but maybe it is a mistake. Keeping the deepest and truest recesses of your feeling to yourself can not be honest.
Why is it that I am compelled to shut myself out from everyone else, answering with military precision that ‘I am fine’ whenever I am asked. Raw, brutal, vicious and violent emotion remains closed and untouched.
I have a compelling feeling almost all through the day, to simply scream and rip my hair out from the roots, and run as far and as fast as I can.
Perhaps I should trust my instincts.
When I am at home, I listen to myself thinking and whispering the words ‘I want to go home’ over and over again. I do not feel at home.
Why hide emotion and expression when it is so obviously what I seek to possess more than anything I have ever wanted?
Expression and freedom within my own mind are what I strive for; not brilliant representation on the stage that can be worked at and practiced, it isn’t emotion if you need to think about it, but I want sporadic, violent outbursts. Cannibalistic force of the human spirit to come roaring out and strike me in the face for daring to shelter individual relief.
I want emotion to burst out of me with such force that I cannot control myself. I want to wrack my body with sobs and despair when I am in high spirits, and I want dangerously unpredictable spirit to encompass me when I am angry.
But these things are the figments of ideal. And society is what binds emotion to what we wish to show. ‘I am fine’ ‘okay’ ‘nice’. These words hold no meaning!
Over-used in an attempt to belittle us all to a sense of security and censorship, they lose their meaning, and can no longer be explained, even by those that study it. Even words so treasured in my mind such as ‘revolution’, mean nothing when spurted out in the mindless reviews of popular music and mind-numbing film.
Such things corner me into despair, and this despair turns to apathy. And apathy is the epidemic I fear.
Slaughter your sins as they come around again. The daily beat that makes you twist and squirm, writhing in a false ecstasy of being.
I feel as if I am sinking deeper into a life and style that cannot be explained, but ever more importantly, something that I cannot claw my way out of.
It lifts you up and parades you to the world like the parent of a new-born child. False senses and indescribable beings. How can you even comprehend your life and meaning? With cloaks of cold and faded anchors, why does the kiss make us feel? Perfected physical pleasure forces the self to retreat and remove itself from our minds. Instead reeling back individuality to be clouded and numbed by some kind of ideal that no-one is quite sure of. A lack of understanding is forgotten, in a world where questions are not asked, and lives worth living are for the freak.
Suffering builds character in even the most emotionally devoid. Suffering can make you live, can make you feel and burn and want to act. Act. Act as what? Act on passion? Act on fear? Act on suicide? Tedium makes itself known in a way that brings about nothing. Life is a mouth that drains me of patience, and paralyses my thoughts.
And yet I am still here, giving all I can, and keeping faith in the actions of others in their passion and fear. All the while waiting on my own, and letting it dissolve beneath me. Action is something that cannot be reached. A goal that all strive for on a level so distant that they show no hope of reaching it.
If I had no desire to be perfect, to be in a relatively normal state, and to be what all expect of me, then I would be numb.
Imagine a being that has no senses. No touch, no taste, no sound and no sight. Devoid of human contact and interaction. Not able to recognise the presence of a loved one, or even recognise love. Not able to distinguish between breath and sustainance. Would they still be human? I doubt it.
And this is what the population is slowly becoming. Living inside our own minds, and yet… it is better.
Something we can never have, but we dream of, is preferable to what we have in reality. A dream holds more reality than that itself.