pooper scoopers : man's greatest invention
"Have you ever gotten to the point where all the parts you play get mixed together? When you can't figure out which part was played for which person? You might think it's good initially, you might think that they must have melted together, and the combination is the "real" you. But, really, it's not the case at all, and you know it. In all actuality, you realize that everything has just fallen apart. And as desperately as possible you try to decipher between your infinite roles, knowing all the while that not only are all these aspects of your "life" complete lies, but even if they weren't, and you could put them together to reform yourself, it wouldn't matter, no one would care. This isn't the teen angst 'I hate my parents and no one cares about me' version of no one caring, but the real one. Even the people who are supposed to care are too wrapped up in their own lives, too self-involved to give a shit about you. And when you're all alone, all you have to keep you company is the emptiness in your heart, the silence that rings in your ears. It's gotten past pretending to be happy because no one really cares whether you are or not. As long as you put on the act of happy, as long as people are comfortable, everything is ok, and the anguish inside of you is irrelevant. So there you are, wanting nothing but love, and at the same time, you convince yourself that solitude is the only answer. The walls are built, and all you want is for someone to care enough to break them down. But no one does. No one will. They just want the act; the surface, the lies, the deceit, and they decide that through those, they'll be the one who really knows you, not for you, but for everyone else. So they can be the real friend, not just one of the bunch, because everyone wants to be special. It's not you that makes them special, it's that they have the oh-so-brilliant idea of friendship, it's that they are the good friend, the kind of friend everyone wants. The truth is, they know just as much about you as the kid with the glasses that sits next to you in physics. They become a fucking vacuum cleaner, draining you of all your "interesting information" just to be spat out to the people listening in the next room. You know, just in case they missed anything. "Can ya speak up a bit?" The truth is, you can't trust the person in the spotlight, because once they're there, most people will do anything to stay there, no matter who they leave out to dry. So there you are, naked and exposed, and all the while you told yourself that this time was different, that this person was different. In the back of your mind you knew you were kidding yourself, because you can never really trust a person, it doesn't matter how much you want to. This isn't just cynicism, this is a fact. Until you can read minds, see into the future, basically until you're Miss Cleo, you're stuck with faith. So where does this leave you? Where do you go from this point? Is death the answer, an end to your misery? Isn't it just too easy? No matter how tempting it is, it can't be an answer. You want impact. You want to see your hands slowly turn the steering wheel towards the brick wall, because they're in pain too. It's not about death, though. It's about impact. It's about flying through your windshield into the wall, the simultaneous crunch of your bones and the car. It's about being severed in two, just so you can see your legs walk away, reminding you that everything will leave you. It's about being mutilated and in the hospital where everyone who ever said they "love" you doesn't want the confrontation of looking at you. Why? Because it makes them uncomfortable. Doesn't matter how much pain you're in. It's about them It's about them It's about them. You keep telling yourself that but is it really, about them? You're bruised and bloody, mummified in bandages, and all you can think about is how everyone else feels, if everyone else is ok, wishing this never happened because of what they're going through. Is it ever about you? Is it? Of course, you can't answer that, but is it partly because you're afraid the answer is no? So in the constant struggle through the cycle that is your life, the effort put forth by you to get to where you started, you keep searching...as if you didn't know this.