(no subject)
Completely alone. There is a holiday happening right outside of my window and I am no part of it. Why might we ask.? Fuck questions. Useless as everything else. And may God damn all prose and its words, they have been lost to me. I was told today that my quality is congruent to loss. I care not for the tiresome antics of reflection. I have lost, I have gained. I am the 'Vessel' through which the Logos watches. Now nothing is as clear as ever. A simple convergence of two souls would seem unimportant but I have come to suspice as to whether or not the Logos had something to do with it. I guess lust and creation are means enough to distract but none-the-less. I have done much. To steal from me. So blatently stripped from my hands. So where am I left? To bleed upon the floor. Of course there is the realization that my blood is necessary for survival so I am stopped. So goddam selfish for such an entity. It is a wonder I am allowed to say these things as it is. How do you say it? Oh yes. "Oh well...it is not like I cared anyways." I am prone to rambling and I wish to do so right now. So bear with me...
Such a spectrum of unknown delights. A force not uncommon with a hither to and fro sense of direction.
Lust.
Desire.
Hunger.
Repulsion.
Disgust.
All five horizons revolved around her sun and I, the spore of obsession and lust. Indestructable.
I also just found a piece of paper in my sixth grade folder. It seems I was starting a story and never finished. It is kinda harsh for a sixth grade child to have written. For the few that are curious...here it is:
November 11th, 1989. The day of my birth was a liberation to thousands of Europeans and a specific homeless American. While people were dancing in the streets of East Germany, my mother was screaming in the back alleys of America. In many ways my mother was a microcosm of Germany. Once a great woman, but now the excrement of the system. Lead to a life of prostitution, insanity, addictions and hunger. Over the years I have held myself personally responsible for my mother’s death but I have always had the idea that I was her liberator in the back of my mind. If only I could have died with her. As the old adage goes, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” A newly adapted proverb would go something like, “One man’s liberation is another man’s damnation.” I experienced more agony in the first 4 hours of my life than the average person sees in a whole existence. I was not only a derelict but I was a cocaine addict, a bastard, a “pre-me, and a whole shit load of other things. As many people in my life would point out, I was born a complete fuck up. It wasn’t long until I was found screaming next to my mother‘s dead body.. It seems that my savior was merely a wandering bum who had been more compelled by the booze money that might be involved in my salvation than the human instinct to do good. It is amazing how much a man will do maintain his vice. I was scooped up into the arms of a half-man and carried to the nearest hospital. The poor half wit obviously couldn’t read for he carried me into a place called the Sunnyside Convalescent Home. The officials at the clinic contacted the proper authorities immediately and the poor derelict was left with out even a penny to buy a drink. I was put in an incubator and after two months was put into an orphanage. My career as an orphan was surprisingly as brief as 10 days for I was adopted by a newly married couple by the names of __________ and ___________ ______________.
What I find interesting is I new the exact date of the Wall's demise. Insane. I also found this scrawled upon a napkin. I am not sure when it was written:
I am Don. You are mine.
Just weird. I wish at least one of you understood. Not in a sad way...but more of an "I am curious as to whether you know about me" way. Then the sadness kicks in when I realize
you don't
Such a spectrum of unknown delights. A force not uncommon with a hither to and fro sense of direction.
Lust.
Desire.
Hunger.
Repulsion.
Disgust.
All five horizons revolved around her sun and I, the spore of obsession and lust. Indestructable.
I also just found a piece of paper in my sixth grade folder. It seems I was starting a story and never finished. It is kinda harsh for a sixth grade child to have written. For the few that are curious...here it is:
November 11th, 1989. The day of my birth was a liberation to thousands of Europeans and a specific homeless American. While people were dancing in the streets of East Germany, my mother was screaming in the back alleys of America. In many ways my mother was a microcosm of Germany. Once a great woman, but now the excrement of the system. Lead to a life of prostitution, insanity, addictions and hunger. Over the years I have held myself personally responsible for my mother’s death but I have always had the idea that I was her liberator in the back of my mind. If only I could have died with her. As the old adage goes, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” A newly adapted proverb would go something like, “One man’s liberation is another man’s damnation.” I experienced more agony in the first 4 hours of my life than the average person sees in a whole existence. I was not only a derelict but I was a cocaine addict, a bastard, a “pre-me, and a whole shit load of other things. As many people in my life would point out, I was born a complete fuck up. It wasn’t long until I was found screaming next to my mother‘s dead body.. It seems that my savior was merely a wandering bum who had been more compelled by the booze money that might be involved in my salvation than the human instinct to do good. It is amazing how much a man will do maintain his vice. I was scooped up into the arms of a half-man and carried to the nearest hospital. The poor half wit obviously couldn’t read for he carried me into a place called the Sunnyside Convalescent Home. The officials at the clinic contacted the proper authorities immediately and the poor derelict was left with out even a penny to buy a drink. I was put in an incubator and after two months was put into an orphanage. My career as an orphan was surprisingly as brief as 10 days for I was adopted by a newly married couple by the names of __________ and ___________ ______________.
What I find interesting is I new the exact date of the Wall's demise. Insane. I also found this scrawled upon a napkin. I am not sure when it was written:
I am Don. You are mine.
Just weird. I wish at least one of you understood. Not in a sad way...but more of an "I am curious as to whether you know about me" way. Then the sadness kicks in when I realize
you don't