The Monotony of Dichotomy in And The Rest.
- June 12, 2015, 1:57 p.m.
- |
- Public
Sometimes the practicalities of self-induced fatality become my only gravity, the last ties of reality, the lure of pure finality; it percolates and circulates like platelets through my hollow veins, to be reduced to just remains; to drift like stardust, overdosed: forever sleeping, comatose.
It’s everpresent, luminescent; iridescent, incandescent, a yearning sensation, a burning temptation; the all-consuming infiltration of self-destructive ideation. Contemplation, rumination, of my own home-grown assassination, because the finite solution is always elusion, inevitable as a foregone conclusion, a daydream mirage in degrees of illusion. It’s simplified, idealised: anaesthetise or euthanise, annihilate or liberate, they’re Siamese-twins in symmetry, a symphony of synonymity, passports to anonymity; just whispers of release to me.
Perhaps it’s all just apathy, collapsing into laxity; I’m a cheap fake, a fraud, underwhelmed and unawed, gazing blank-eyed and bored at the nearest neon-lit exit door. A catatonic hazy drift through every day’s tectonic shifts, a promise of that future gift- of freedom, like a dirty bribe, to close my eyes and unsubscribe.
I try to reassign my mind, to muzzle it and redefine; affirmations sought out by design; still undercurrents shadow-deep make all that flotsam talk seem cheap: an anthem I cannot ignore- too immature or insecure- these undertones and overtures are the clarion call of a carrion song; everpresent, incessant, everlong.
Seeking temporary moorings in the grenadine dawning of sunspangled morning, or cobalt-blue skies of Curacao and cream, crosshatched in aeroplane slipstreams: are they enough to usurp all my runaway dreams, when I’m eternally coming apart at the seams? I’m trying to hold on to transience- perhaps this is reality, built of frivolous trivialities- everything’s ephemeral and happiness is chemical; the slippery transparency of all the moments forming me; re-educate, indoctrinate: suffocate or subjugate the violent strident voice of hate… as though by willpower, simple force, I could undo the pattern of my thoughts.
That pure allure of destiny: resistance is a test to me, existence is unrest, to me, this weighted hatred stealthily, forever stealing up on me; some days it gets the best of me; earthbound yet dispossessed: unfree.
invisible ink ⋅ June 12, 2015
I agree with Pete..... Great stuff.....
Your word play is mesmerizing and above applicable to life. it is real. It breathes.... has sustenance...Alive in your experience and only saddened by it truth. We all stand in line to hold you in our arms to salve you as your words inhabit our souls....
Waiting For Sunrise invisible ink ⋅ June 12, 2015
Thank you.... as always, it means a lot to know the words resonate and are understood...
Park Row Fallout ⋅ June 12, 2015
I agree a LOT with the above. Also... curious about your process... do you sit down and this comes flooding out, do you write your thoughts and feelings and then put these words to it, do you agonize over every word choice.... I'm just fascinated, is all
Waiting For Sunrise Park Row Fallout ⋅ June 15, 2015
Although I'm sorry to know that you understand these feelings so well, it's also a relief to know others feel the same; sometimes I feel I'm chasing my own thoughts in such endless circles I wonder if I am actually insane...
Mostly, when I write it's the result of several days of pursuing the same train of thought, breaking it apart and putting in back together in ways I think may make enough sense for someone else to identify with, so most of the time I know what I'm going to write about, if not exactly how I'd say it... For the most part the words present themselves to me, like schoolchildren holding hands they just arrive together... I actually enjoy editing, though, and rarely post something moment I've written it, I like to go back and smooth the edges... when it says what I wanted it to say I just know, I guess, it's just a gut feeling that I don't want to touch it any more..
Pockets ⋅ June 12, 2015
yeah just...all of this.
Waiting For Sunrise Pockets ⋅ June 15, 2015
Thank you... it's so sad to know you feel the same, but a selfish relief as well... sometimes I feel so trapped in such circular thoughts that I actually wonder if I am not sane..
Pockets Waiting For Sunrise ⋅ June 15, 2015
It's always nice not to feel alone in our thoughts...and the insane never contemplate their sanity...therefore I think it's pretty safe to assume you're quite sane.
LoveSuicide ⋅ June 22, 2015
It’s everpresent, luminescent; iridescent, incandescent, a yearning sensation, a burning temptation; the all-consuming infiltration of self-destructive ideation. Contemplation, rumination, of my own home-grown assassination, because the finite solution is always elusion, inevitable as a foregone conclusion, a daydream mirage in degrees of illusion. It’s simplified, idealised: anaesthetise or euthanise, annihilate or liberate, they’re Siamese-twins in symmetry, a symphony of synonymity, passports to anonymity; just whispers of release to me.
The whole thing is fantastic, but I particularly enjoyed the first line of the above paragraph most, I think, because it could be a poem all unto itself.
It feels like a moth being lured in by the lamplight only awaiting a painful white-hot furious demise.
Seeking temporary moorings in the grenadine dawning of sunspangled morning, or cobalt-blue skies of Curacao and cream, crosshatched in aeroplane slipstreams: are they enough to usurp all my runaway dreams, when I’m eternally coming apart at the seams? I’m trying to hold on to transience- perhaps this is reality, built of frivolous trivialities- everything’s ephemeral and happiness is chemical; the slippery transparency of all the moments forming me; re-educate, indoctrinate: suffocate or subjugate the violent strident voice of hate… as though by willpower, simple force, I could undo the pattern of my thoughts.
That pure allure of destiny: resistance is a test to me, existence is unrest, to me, this weighted hatred stealthily, forever stealing up on me; some days it gets the best of me; earthbound yet dispossessed: unfree.
This just feels like a prisoner looking for anything to dull the aching, throbbing sensation that are omnipresent thoughts whittling away the barrier between safety and everything else.
Waiting For Sunrise LoveSuicide ⋅ June 23, 2015
"This just feels like a prisoner looking for anything to dull the aching, throbbing sensation that are omnipresent thoughts whittling away the barrier between safety and everything else."
Thank you... yes, that is exactly what it feels like... trapped inside my own head and although I'm trying to get out, I don't really know how..
LoveSuicide Waiting For Sunrise ⋅ June 23, 2015
One of these days, we'll have to enact a jail break for you. :)
deadcalm ⋅ October 09, 2015
"gazing blank-eyed and bored at the nearest neon-lit exit door"
This is always the inevitable conclusion for me. Always waiting to exit.