I want to know the truth, but the world is not one to tell it. Artificial and superficial, it has become a product of humanities creation. It has always been this way, it was simply better in the past, as all things are with time. The golden light of skewed perspective.
It has been quite some time, since I put my thoughts down on paper. It has been quite some time, since I was able to pull them out. They come tangled together, and in different languages. Thoughts are obnoxious that way. They are not cohesive or cooperative. But, I will try my best to record a little life that affects, and interests no one at all. Not even me. I will write in my journal each and every day. That is a promise. One I do not intend to keep, lest I become predictable. Let no one figure out my patterns before I do. Although, it will do me a great deal of good to make a habit out of this, since I have no one else to share things with. I have turned into one of those tragedies people would rather ignore. My friends have all gone to Hell. Aquarius and my loyalty to him have scared them off and away. They have all become balloons floating up to the power lines, or one can hope.
Insomnia, is that you? Look how lovely your complexion is these days. Whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up, just the way you are keeping me up. Tell me again about how I am not absolutely worthless.
Fuck this miserable town, and its invisible walls closing in on me. The moon and the mysteries it forces down my throat. I don’t need that. Living in a time of excessive junk. Just a pile of garbage leaving its stink behind for me to inhale. Meth rats coming out of their homes, decorating this city ugly. It has never been as apparent as it is now, that success is for those strong enough to wrestle it out of Luck’s hands. My arms are weak and thin. But this will change, I say to thin air. Some listened before they got tired of the same picture, flickering until the nausea kicked in.
No more wars. Admittedly, I started most of them. I found myself hypnotized by the art of the strategy. No more violence. My nature is sanguinary, but I am working on reprogramming the core, the cell. Let there be peace, and the comforts of silence. Instead, the panic rattles me, removing all good sense.
I used to date people who needed me, more than wanted me. I am not sure what they thought I could provide them with, but even if I had it in me to give, I wouldn’t. The men were no more than whores who had slept with every woman that crossed their path, hoping that meant that they cared. If I could clue them in on something, it would be that it is impossible for them to be liked by anyone, including themselves. Insufferable little fucks, with dragging feet, and heavy tongues.
It’s all cookie crumbs and spilled milk, really.