Walking On Pain. Kodachrome.

We suffer not from the events in our lives but from our judgment about them.

Epictetus

Television is not the truth. Television’s a god-damned amusement park. Television is a circus, a carnival, a traveling troupe of acrobats, storytellers, dancers, singers, jugglers, sideshow freaks, lion tamers, and football players. We’re in the boredom-killing business. So if you want the Truth, go to God! Go to your gurus. Go to yourselves! Because that’s the only place you’re ever gonna find any real truth. But, man, you’re never gonna get any truth from us. We’ll tell you anything you wanna hear. We lie like hell... And no matter how much trouble the hero is in, don’t worry. Just look at your watch. At the end of the hour, he’s gonna win. We’ll tell you any shit you want to hear.

We deal in illusions, man. None of it is true! But you people sit there day after day, night after night, all ages, colors, creeds. We’re all you know. You’re beginning to believe the illusions we’re spinning here. You’re beginning to think that the tube is reality and that your own lives are unreal. You do whatever the tube tells you. You dress like the tube, you eat like the tube, you raise your children like the tube. You even think like the tube. This is mass madness. You maniacs. In God’s name, you people are the real thing. We are the illusion. So turn off your television sets. Turn them off now. Turn them off right now. Turn them off and leave them off. Turn them off right in the middle of this sentence I am speaking to you now. Turn them off!

– Network (1976)

I don’t know how long I can continue this pathetic life. My one and only vice is gone and now I’m all alone. Melancholy, No one has come up with an easy solution for it. This in turn fuels my desire to give up. My desire to stop trying to be happy and end it.

I was once again threatened with death by another… a figure that was supposed to love me unconditionally but instead hates me and wants me dead. I hate myself and wish I had the strength to kill myself. This act of living becomes increasingly embarrassing and exhausting. It’s so pathetic.

All I can do to stay alive is saw through my skin and listen to dreadful tunes

Law Takes Precedence Over Might. 1873. School of Henri Lehmann German/French 1814-1882. oil/canvas.   http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

00:54

14 oct

It’s all on me

The Air that cloaks me is so still. I’m out past midnight and im scared. In a run down government funded hospital with floors that remind me of myself- so deeply dented and dirty that there exists nothing to cleanse it.

The low hum that the vending machine sings is accompanied with random outburst of the intercom calling for a doctor. This is a place of pain, a medium in which sickness and dread gather.

She tired to take her life. So soon, is all that I thought. Although she is physically alright, there is this distant pain that stings me- what if I had not answered the phone.

I hate to say it but she has proven them right, she is weak. But I only hate myself for thinking such and dread the fact that such thought occurred about my beloved.

I thought I would be able to catch up on sleep, but here I am seated on a steel cold bench waiting for the patient and her companion to come out. I don’t even know what they are doing to her. But I do hope she is not in pain.

Am I selfish for wanting her to stay? Yes…

But then again I think if she truly wanted to leave she would have by now. Her calling me gathered the fact that she still has hope, without hope she would be past that point.

But oh man, am I tired. Since she has not lived up to the expectations now I must. This is not words that have been directly communicated but rather suggested and installed throughout my youth.

I don’t feel much, I usually don’t when traumatic events happen, and it truly scares me. Why is that I am unable to process my emotions on that moment. It is only much later that they flood my mind and slash my skin.

It starts as a harmless poke to my shoulder. Never a serious matter for when I turn to question you, you respond with a bright smile and remind me that it is all friendly.

Your fingerprint begins to stain my shoulders and I turn to inquire your motivations. Quickly I am shut it down cause it’s nothing serious, just a nudge.

Times pass and the skin that you torment is bruising, the pain pulsates although out my body.

Your hand is tainted crimson with my ooze but still you address me with a smile, after all it’s just a nudge.

You burry your way through my skin and uncover the most fragile parts of my being. The foundation that I am built on is disrupted by your omnipotent presence that chips away at me.

I garner up the courage to question your antics as my bones begin to splinter.

But there is no body to restore me, I am spoilt beyond recovery.

Im just always wrong

Everytime i try to do anything, help someone help myself, love… im wrong. I feel as if i will never get this life thing right. Im careless and i hate that about myself. I make so many mistake i question if i myself am one. Im scared i wont every get this right.

Ive criticised of everything that i do to the point where i even question waking up. What if im not doing it correctly. The dread i feel forcing myself out of bed because i know that during my day i will yelled at for doing something, anything. Criticised for trying again. I hate this all. I completely, whole heartedly hate it all. There is somehow always a problem with me. I cannot take it

If i were to ever take my life it is because i don’t think I’m doing it right. Something about me is terribly off, my death is a mere correction a flaw.

I know I’m being far too critical with myself but i cannot help it, I’ve been judged for everything i have tried. Knowing that i am certainly a failure why should i aspire to be more. Of course, i still have a dream, a desire to heal and love others but i fear that when i try to climb up ill fall at the worst time. A fall so high there would be maroon gore splattered everywhere, i might even knock off the person that climbs underneath me.

Killing us both.

That gets me thinking about my approaching death. Death - the birth of my end. A begining to an end.

I have romantised my death so much so that I fantasise about it at times. It comforts me that one day all of this noise and music will stop. That i will be forgotten and i will not even remember that.

But i am impatient for this destiny to forth, i want it now. If i were to complete my final act and have my beauty froze. To shorten this life i know i have lived enough.

I am certain of this death and often anticipate my end. Surviving everyday has become so tiring.

Lord if u be, grant me this wish.

End me.

Im tired

And scared

(Typos ik)

Sea cave

God I hate her

Please, may she be the end of me.

I don’t want it any other way