Etched in each soul is a craving for destruction. This much is certain.
And it’s funny how it plays out, as long as one is unaware of it.
I think the secret is to seek out pain because there’s a high afterward: you get through it.
The reason I maintain these ‘posts’ is to deal with this destructive force.
And it gets out of hand. I destroy so much all the time. And each hour that swings this way crumbles.
Flick through however many sites and it’s all the same AI generated nonsense. But you forget that for a moment just to entertain more gateways to tragedy.
It’s not like I don’t understand the highs that comes with reminiscing or constantly dissing yourself. Or the highs of watching the world burn.
Oh trust me, I understand it. And half the time when I read through a diagnosis I just want to choke the words themselves. Delete it from the world. It’s a boring sort of chaos. I want something more.
Let’s dance along the knife’s edge if we’re going to be edgy. Let’s make a demolition out of all the ten commandments if we’re going to live this way. Let’s see how heartless you can get. God, do you know the wickedness in wanting to see some squirming? I don’t want to though. I’m not sure. Just desserts, I suppose. But it’s not our place to be righteous. Please purge this monster out of me.
A lukewarm reality as a base between the dreams, way more real.
Putting your hand to the stove just to see if you bleed. How the heart pulses away holding it all together!
No, I do see the appeal of brass knuckles. I get the urges too. I understand it, I know it. I know the gods are pushing us all along, inhabiting and spectating at the same time. Do you see the climax of Troy too?
Do you think humanity could crave for something different this time?
I’m not sure. But I get it at least. Maybe if you like all the chaos it attracts. Little zappers for the mosquitoes waiting to drain your blood. And yet the mosquitoes are fragments of yourself!
Yes, I know how to cuss. Yes, I know how to point out contradictions. Sure, I know how easy it is to paint myself as a victim. And yes, I know how great it feels. And maybe you’ll protest, say you aren’t and you know, maybe you aren’t just playing around. But it’s not my place to judge anyway. I only judge myself. Should I even judge myself though?
Yes, I can walk with a wide foot and bump into other shoulders, tick if someone bothers me. Easy to dress someone down, but who are you really dressing down? It’s a pathetic show. I think it’s pathetic to think about all of these things. It just shows a state of giving up.
Just see a bunch of scared ones. Nothing cool about it at all. I’m not sure why we all have this darkness in our heart.
I want this parasite out of my head.