2002-07-04 14:00:37 ET|
12:51 pm. Iím so mutherfucking full of wrath as shit to hell. So many ideas, so many thoughts, so many reflections, so many consequences, so much pain, so much agony, so full of HATE, so sick of all, so many principles, so many bifurcations, so many paradoxes, such ironies, so many blinds, so few understandings, so little cleverness, so little maturity out there, so little ripeness in thoughts out there, so much suffocating, so much angst, ...so ALONE, so misunderstood, so fucking full of shit everywhere.
Ah, when sometimes, things seems to be nice and gentle, when weíre so blind to the real ripe philosophy of our own, that everything seems so beautifully naive, then it comes this nightmare, this cruel passion for the incoherent desire of absence. To reclaim my sadness for fucking wondering again the most potent, colossal, exhaustive and complicated philosophy ever... WHY? Which so many answers may remain in my mind, living altogether each other for patience and sickness of will. You, fucking shameless cocky bastard out there... hate will be just so little thing Iíd feel for you, hate would be only a member of my cognoscible integrity for my conscious motive. Today, today Iíve felt, again, the HATE as hard as my thoughts have gone only a few times before. Such that itís hard to describe it well understood for any simple person without redacting it with a poet in my hands. I can only say that this happening, that everyone would see as a simple fact of life, by truth determines my roads for ever ending sadness. To say that I canít believe, again, how it is that out there are still mechanic entities of energy with ostensible reasoning proclaiming themselves as human beings, whom obstruct our naively illusion of happiness.
So fucking sick of all these thoughts that I can only ask for myself in my search for empathy, for the kind embrace of theories. All this paranoia that constantly makes me suffer desiring my resolution with death; the only feasible act for the calm to my agony. I canít explain what really happened that made write this. Because when sad, my sober will for thinking goes clever and calm... but when furious, if not so sober yet clean is my will for thinking, goes so quick that so many ideas occurs to me in few laps of time, but each of them as ripe as well as the others, the problem here is as I said, that it goes so rapidly that all of them canít seem to attach to the main awareness of the prudence itself. But all of this that remains calmly in my mind when not a motor for ideas movement, becomes futile to my own will for desire, desire of anything, the apathy: the sluggishness of will to live...
3:07 pm. So, I took a nap now. Every time when I take a nap I feel cleaner of my thoughts, everythingís so calmed and relaxed. ...but Iím still angry about the thing, I canít quit thinking of this ugly bitch, of how this horrible human piece of crap said ďlook, I donít want to discuss this anymore, things are this way because it is this wayĒ. I will always damn that shit to hell. Iím serious. For the few people a truly, truly hate, I wish all my anger to them to death, I really would enjoy their death due my inner desire for eliminate their ugly faces, and I wonít regret of wishing it, not with this really complicated philosophy I have. Not now not never. I also wonít be able to smile properly or honestly for any circumstances, Iíll either have my ugly face with my pathetic angry-eyes glancing to where the fuck I want to, have my dead-apathetic face without any expression of joy at all like any other faceless machine there, or have my stupid sad wanting-to-die eyes that no one cares. So this, my unlived face, will be my only uniform to show up for a while. Maybe Iíd smile a bit disgraces of other people just to indemnify my horror of awareness, yes, to mock, maybe, of those teeny preps with their stupid believes or their disgraces that they think that hurts, yes, I will, with no regret. Because now Iíve felt so much hurt in my mind I cannot give a shit of their unripe morality and childish ethic which makes them have that dumb satisfaction of hope. Laugh at their god or believes is to premature now, is to simple and awkward, I wonít fuck with their shit that way, so donít they fuck with me now, saying ďoh, everything will be alrightĒ...I just canít stand to recognize how poor that phrase is... why do they say everything? How do they know all the facts behind? Howís it possible that they are aware of an all-understood situation? Then, why the fuck do they say it will be alright? Do they know the future? Are their minds so sophisticated to accurate the possible future movements and apply to a happy future fact? How do they know I wonít go insane, or killing someone else, or myself, or become stupid, ill, or whatever? Why are they so sure of the future? And, alright? truly, how do they know whatís alright and whatís wrong? Who in the fuck are they to assure good and evil? Another never ending theme for poor humanity again. These retards will always be wandering whatís wrong and bad. So how do they know it will be alright for me when something that might scare them will be alright for me and bad or wrong for them?
I feel like shit, I know, but this all issue have put me to think,one more time, that all this reflections wonít do any good for me if I donít have any empathy. I will then rot in my own mind even more and more every time I see more disgusting shits around me. When I took a part of this Gothic culture I do it to relieve-or-ironically-grow my pain but at least to try to unwrap the cords of my slavery; not like how I see some kindergoths out on the streets saying their angry and want to kill everyone due to their misfortune too, like if they were really the painting of how parenthood sees any rude kid out there. Meantime I use this darkness theory as a whole philosophy, something that not everyone should be claming of have, a philosophy, the main thinking of dry out one simple idea to its most complicated and endless bifurcation thought, the only subject considered as true science and art at the same time, that has been in humanity thousand years ago, a very complex stream of identifying themes for oneís self, a philosophy, not only an angsty mood for liking dead/dark subjects, a mean a real theorem of life, like all I have thought said above about only my anger and part of my suffering.
Now I wonít be able to smile properly again as I said, nothing but a neat babyís smile..., and I wonít care a shit about others that really I shouldnít care, like the coldest heart ever... yet I will still feel fond of the few ones I have no problem with and I show interest for; in deed, Iíll be even more subjective about this now, because Iíll still feel love and passion (maybe more than ever) but only for the things I choose, not for the things human morality should talk to me. So, yes, if you ask again, I have no interest on keeping my head alive in this fucked up mind. When the sickness and wrath overcomes to me, this is only a part of what I can say.
Better read with Danny Elfman - Descent Into Mystery (from Batman score)