MY ENGLISH PAPER THAT KRISTY THINX IS BRILLIANT

Oct 27, 2004 17:22

Words of the outcast
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1
Balcony in El Paso
“The solitary words of a mad man seem to go unnoticed, unheard, and unacknowledged. I spill my heart out on these papers and I don't even hear a "good job." You might think this would get to me. Make me start askin’ questions. Do I know what my post entails? Do I serve a purpose or purposefully serve? All of you make fun of me and call me gay and retarded and I just laugh. When no-one will listen to your views, you tend to not listen to theirs.”

Cigarette butts grace my balcony and the remains of a dead pigeon seem somewhat poetic. The life source that scurries beneath me is a mixture of Tex-Mex and trailer park trash. I see you there among them. I know you because I used to live here to. Guess that makes you just like me. That make you wonder about yourself? Your secret is safe.
I had to leave that stinking hole in El Paso. Get out. Someway. Any way. Or die - soon. The only thing keeping me alive was my writing - pouring out my soul to an audience of one. Not caring that the keyboard was my only companion. But do you think anyone listened? No. Do you think anyone cared? No. My life was just that. Mine. No one elses. I diddn't let other people tell me what was cool. I lived my own life and for that I was an outcast. Now you would think that my parents and siblings would be there to comfort me. Think again. They were as useless as giving a starving vegetarian a steak. They did nothing. They just told me how useless I was. I got out of there as soon as I could and for this they disown me. I don't even remember their names. Or maybe it is just that I dont want to.Who knows. Now i can't even go back to that hell hole. Maybe when I make it big and do something for myself they will forgive me. Money is the greatest apology.
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2
The price of fame
“Life is wasted on the rich. They understand the value, sentimental or whatever, of material things just as much as I do Einstein’s theory of relativity. How can one who has been blessed with money and popularity and the ability to get anything he, she, or they desire, not understand the importance of life and be able to appreciate the things that they have that others don't? Do you really think that since your allowance is bigger than my father's whole paycheck that makes you better that me? Can you really do everything that I can because you have more money than me? If that is so then why do you feel the need to constantly harass me? Is it because you indeed do know value and appreciation but are to good to show it? And why must you always look down on me because I tell people things that you yourself cannot even begin to comprehend? Is it that you think you are better than me? Or is it because you know that I know that you’re not? Does the fact that you know that you can't buy the kind of compassion that I put into defending my friends, my people, my kind, bother you? Well maybe instead of spending all of that money that you know I don't have why, don't you ask yourself these same questions? You might be surprised with what you come up with.”
Money. Why would anyone love pieces of paper so much? When I didn’t have it, I wanted it. Craved it. Would have stolen or killed for it. And then it came. And with it popularity. Friends? Hangers-on. Kristy. Just one of the money-mongers. She was so beautiful. Her body fit mine perfectly; her hair black as my mood; her voice, like the chorus of one thousand angels. I cant believe she would do this. I expected it from the others but not her. I remember the first time we talked. She couldn't understand why I was so angry. And when I was around her neither could I. We walked through the park and fed the ducks. I remember she was wearing a red addidas sweatshirt with tight blue jeans . And under the sweatshirt was an iron maiden shirt I had bought for her on the way from the corner store at the end of the block. I remember her eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue glistening in the street lights as we fed the ducks apple skins and bread crumbs. God why did I let myself feel this way. I guess love really is blind.
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3
The painful truth
“Is there any one out there who can tell me why I feel this way? Any one who feels the same? I scream myself to sleep and you refuse to ever hear me. That's okay because I don't hear you either. Just as my cries for help are stone silence to your ears, so are your insults and complaints. You may think I hate the world and life itself - you couldn't be more wrong. I have no intention of killing myself. If I did you wouldn’t be reading this now because I wouldn't tell you and as for the world - it hates me. I did nothing but I was outcast because I loved and lost and lost and lost. I just write about it so I am weak. I guess thinking doesn't make the man. I don’t hate the government....... I DESPISE IT!!! But you need not try to defeat government it will defeat itself. I haven't defeated government; I have bent it to my liking. Using the first amendment as my strength, I use my words to overpower the system. I found a loophole. The rest of you zombies won't even try. I guess trying makes me weak too.”
What a sham! The ultimate test of popularity? The lie I told: it was plagiarism … the words were not my own … an obliging website wrote the words that I had publishes as my own.
And then the truth. Kristy's real-self exposed within 2 minutes of the press-release,“I hate you! You’ve ruined my life! I never want to see you again!” And the rest? They were unworthy and unsolicited so it hurt less. I preferred being alone to being surrounded by those pretentious rich bastards anyway. And the government? I think McCarthy-ism never died and I must be the only surviving communist in the country. The first amendment was my shield - and I used it. Interrogation my ass! No-one knows how 9/11 happened but for some reason 8 of Osama Bin LAden's relatives where let out of the U.S no questions asked within 48 hours of the attacks. I'm sorry i'm getting off the topic it just hurts to talk about her.My heart bled for Kristy. She was the only one I had hoped was real. I needed her. It ws like she had took a knife and stabbed me in the back repeatedly devouring my soul with every blow.
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4
The beginning of the end
“Misunderstood
I am swimming in my own despair
Twisting
splattering
I wish only for death. Playing this sinister game. Tears of blood stream from my wrists. The sun is my enemy and I must flee it. Hopes forgotten, dreams untouched, the final end bleeding. No solace for the unforgiven. I will show the world one day. Endless tears cannot escape this hurt and anger. Tearing, thundering. No one understands my thoughts. I'm the darkness that rules your life. My mascara cannot hide the tears in my eyes. Nobody raises their eyes to heaven, no, not one. Uncaring my soul is like poison. I will show the world one day. Eternal blackness. Swimming in my own despair. Drowning, weeping. I await my lover's bloody kisses. I saw the eyes of death... I am lost -cast away from society. The rush of the razor is the sweetest pain. The fallen, the outcast, the dark angels. Gushing. No solace for the unforgiven. Life is my blood. I will show the world one day. Endless unhappiness.”
The loneliness is like no other. My life is nothing to anyone including myself. I recieved word of an unknown birth in my family during my delusion of popularity to later find that it was my own brother. Ten years old and not even a hint as to my existence. The family that I had held togethor and provided for at a very young age diddn't even have the decency to mention my name. Not once. I saw him on a side road in the hell hole I used to call home. I recognized him right away. He looked just like my mother. He had light brown hair curly down to his shoulders, the families big nose that only I had been able to escape from. But the thing that stood out to me most was the eyes. I had always wanted eyes like my mother. she said that I was undeserving and that if I ever had eyes like hers a great bird would peck them out for all I had done. He had those eyes that i had longed for. Those eyes that I had looked up to whil lying bleeding on the ground for looking at them funny. I retreated into a dark corner as dork as my soul and sat and sobbed. Hours Later I felt a light tapping on my right shoulder. I slowly turned to see my oldest sister. I went towards her hoping to feel the love and hope we used to share and instead i felt a slap in the face. literally. She left me there never to speak of our encounter to another soul. And it diddn't even bother me. It just reminded me of kristy

And so I write my own epitaph:
“Picture time
I'm gonna draw a picture. I'll draw it with a twist.
I'll draw it with a razor blade. I'll draw it on my wrist.
And as I draw my picture a fountain will appear.
And as that fountains flows and flows my troubles disappear.”
And as he reads the last line aloud he closes the book and turns his forlorn face to see his mother sobbing on their El Paso balcony, holding the last of her lit cigarette to her lips and looking down on the trailer trash below.
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