Pompous Poppycock

It's like there's two types of people; those who question everything, and those who accept things. I wonder at how one could be content in the present society. The thing is, how could they be any other way, but be me...and I'm not recommending that to the masses. Everyone wears a mask, it's just some people's are glued on tighter. There's a price to pay for questioning. I feel defective, like I'm wired incorrectly, beyond repair.

The thing is with my depression, that there's no light at the end of the tunnel. I can't bear knowing that my depression is perpetual with no end in sight. You think you should be rewarded, like we know you've suffered here's your palace. However, life is an ongoing battle, one that induces weariness when there's no means of winning. Happiness is elusive, and when grasped fleeting. I've been writing myself around in circles for sometime now, and I've found it frustrating but it's impossible to verbalise the way I feel...physically in pain. As if something ugly, and threatening is lurking inside me trying to gnaw it's way out.

And then there's my family. It's like I can't talk to them without fighting, and it's funny because they'll never know how I feel about them. How they're the only thing keeping me alive...but then that's just another thing to blame them for right....my persistent mortality.

However, it's true that I embrace my depression as one of the main aspects of my character. I wouldn't be me without it, I'd just be everyone else but at what price. Is that how I justify myself? I am woman, hear me roar in pain...

Who knows?

Where does it come from...this sudden malaise. I mean obviously it's a product of being me but...to suddenly feel like your world is collapsing and for no tangible reason. I guess it's also a product of being insane...haha,very funny right?! Sure it is


fALLing,
TearING,
BLeedING,
neEDing,
jUMP,
SoaR,
dRIFT,
nO More

There's never anyone to save you....everyone's alone. We live alone never understanding each other, never understanding ourselves, and then we die alone. The memory lives on but only if we remember right? I'll never forgive myself for that. How can you get over something you can't remember....I know it makes no sense but when it comes to crappy emotional stuff little does...well they don't make a patch for it unfortunately

To Dream

Dreams can be dangerous things,
They smoulder like a fire
Carrying hope in it's eternal flame
Or they can threaten to consume us entirely
In the tides of our discontent,
Enveloped in the vastness of the open sea
Forever changing and unchanging
For eternity.
As futile as life is without hope
It's existence can also cause great pain
In an unfulfilled promise,
And when our dreams of night
Spill into our days
They can fill us with overwhelming despair
When reality can't even compare.



"Without dreams there could be no despair."
-Neil Gaiman (Sandman)



Yours Sincerely,

One of the Ss

Cleansing Winds

They don't change often enough


Take me away
From under my feet,
Above the trees,
The mountains, and seas,
The beauty,and pain,
The greed,and gain.
I want it to cease,
to be finally at ease.
So let me retreat
From the light of day

It blinds me,
The intensity,
I can't see.
It pains me.

Shouldn't I not?

Why am I so indecisive? Is it that I if I don't commit to a decision, I can't be blamed for the outcome? Surely there comes a point where one realises that they are no longer a child and are accountable for their own actions( they being me..). Not only that, but I am the sole owner of my life and can choose not to include anyone else, so surely the choice can be made by no one other than me.

Whoan..

I can't do this. I just can't do this anymore. I can't write about how I can't write anymore. I can't feel that I don't feel anymore. I can't go round and round, and yet I loop all the same. I can't... but nonetheless I do, I just don't want to.

I can not help but want, anymore than I can sate the need to question everything around me. I can not ignore it, and expect it to go away. It can not be dissuaded, it will not go unheeded, it will scratch at my eyeballs until it is free and has made a mess of me. How can you disregard something infinitely bigger than oneself?

How much of me is contained in the pages I scribble into the bin? How many ashen ramblings have flown away on the wind, dancing to the crackle and hiss of the fire, far, far away from me. More than I could possibly understand. How could I have someone read my work when, I can't even interpret the words that fly off my pen? What if they saw a glimpse of me that I haven't noticed? I couldn't give people that power to speculate. How am I me, and what do I mean?

Wait..stop, don't go that way! Can't you see the trees looming, the path alive with forbode, you know it's the wrong way to go right? You know....christ, you can hear the slightly flat lower scales trembling in the background, and you know it's wrong..and you go anyway. "I can resist everything except temptation. " that's how the quote goes right. How can our experiences be so similiar that we can quote someone that died years ago and have it be so true that we could have wrote it ourselves. Do we just live the same lives, and drift in and out of others, without ever noticing that they share our problems, or is it that we notice but choose to ignore it. Is it because we could never help them even if they do have the same problems when we can't help ourselves, and why do I write myself around, and around, and never get any fuckin answers. If this was paper I would tear my page with the indent of my pen scribbling circles, and I miss the smell, the release, the feel of the paper, the way the writing gets messier, and messier to reflect my distress...not just perfectly distributed font, normal size, standard,...

How easily I can distract myself from the problem at hand. Who can I blame but myself, when there's a big red danger sign saying don't go down there but you go anyway...yourself, and you deal with the consequences because sometimes the right choice isn't always the right choice.

And again..

Just making a note..fuckered again...and in the postgrad room again, even though ironically enough I'll probably never end up doing one...but not to dwell on such things. Being pulled away from the pc again....better go..hahahahahahahaha. Fun!

Wheeeeeee!!!!

I'm typing on the computer at 5:43 in the morning and I'm on....well moving at a very fast pace. Fucked...I mean fucked! In the postgrad room typing away because I went into the main building to get some mimerals cos I was so fuckin parched. Climbed the phoenix, nearly died, smoked some weed, had fun, what a rush, speed rules...... but I'm wandering and it's the drug; not for concentration, for curiousity, everything around me, what can I do, what can't I do....