I was the highschool looser. The drop-out. The emo kid. Nobody would hang out with me and nobody laughed with me. But they did laugh at my flaws. Behind my back. When they thought I wasn't awake.But I was awake and I felt everything, sting me like a knife.
Like what it is to have a fucked up home and a disbanded family. The ones that laugh are the ones that had it soft on them. Theyr biggest fear was what to order when raising the menu at the restaurant, my biggest fear was raising more than myself. You never know when your last day hits you.
But I hated them from the moment I understood that I was alone. Being extroverted and being isolated is like throwing somebody in a prison cell with nothing to eat. Nobody will ever want to know anything about starvation, because the well-fed stomach keeps up a happy mind.
But guess what? You can also be happy on an empty stomach, when books are your only friend and going to the supermarket to feed yourself seems like a deadly sin. I'm an outcast, myself, not because I wanted to, but because fate has had it's way tougher on me than on the others. Am I the only one?
No way. There are countless souls just like myself, who wonder poor and alone accross this graveyard that some people call Earth, some people call home, I don't call it anything, I don't care.
But guess what? We burn the fat off our souls.
Hard living also means hard dying, it doesn't kill us so it makes us more powerfull. I never though I was a good person. I always thought I'd go to hell and die in the worst possible way. Being a pessimist is an ugly thing. But being a blind fucking optimistic son-of-a-bitch is even worse.
You bastards are so eager to demonise everything you haven't experienced. So what if we smoke ciggarettes until the break of dawn? What if we smell roses in the gardens of strangers? What if we die of hangovers the next day? We are here because we are meant to be this way and we are not leaving nor will we bow down to some sort of trend introduced by a corporation.
And when we all get to hell, you fuckers will have the most fat on your arms and legs, and the demons will eat you first. They will fight and befriend us, but they will slay and cook you. They will chase us and they won't catch us because earth has made us swift.We will pretend that the darkness is a new home for us parasites. We never had one anyway! What's another eternity of suffering? I'm just getting warmed up!
I never believed in fairytales, although I wanted to. I desperately seeked my refuge in the uttermost incredible things: sunsets, broken shards from a spider's web, the "evil" cemetery, etc. People say I'm crazy, I say I'm completely insane. There's no intensity in what people say! There is only dullness! There is no contrast in what the world percieves. All they see is grey!
So what if I feel the most safe when I'm walking alone in the forest and I feel the wings of a dark presence surrounding me? ? like to think that whatever keeps my soul warm sometimes has some osrt of a higher purpose and won't let me go. I was crazy , demented and starved, humiliated, but I never was lost. I could always find my way home through the darkest of woods without dispairing.
I never embraced defeat, because it was worse than death. There was always a dark star guiding me. And it's not like I'm satanic or anthing like that! All I saw was darkness right in front of me, but I knew, that there was something beneath that, worth fighting for, worth the struggle and if I could just breath in and take the pain I could really break through those walls and see the light. The real light! Can you imagine? Not the sun, not the stars, not any light knows to mankind or this universe, but some sort of light of my own creation. Meeting yourself at the vanishing point of the world, without breath, thought or any other disbanding joy of the body that could intimidate you.
Sometimes I wonder what are the traces of the language we speak? What do words mean to some people and to some other people? I have met men that slaved themselves in factories who made a hell of a lot more sense than your idiotic responses to simple questions. "How are you?" I'd ask you and you'd tell me all about your stupid lives. You could summarise your entire life right there and then!
When I asked the factory worker, how he was, he'd tell me: "I'm fucked." And that made a hell of a lot more sense to me than anything. Plain and simple. Yet mysterious.
I have just met some people that completely understand me. And sometimes they lie. But it's a beautiful sort of lie, they're young, they're just kids and they say things they never did do, they just talk out loud, it's weird because they really believe in what they say and that makes me believe it too even though we both know that they're just fantasies. I can dissapear anytime in a place of my own, or a new place where I've never been, but where I've always wanted to go, unleashing myself on the streets of a new-born town like the wind in the cannopy, like the stars over New Jersey.
(to be continued...)
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