Souls of the Goldhawk Road
Πριν από 7 χρόνια
Τρίτη 28 Ιουλίου 2009
untitled
I got about half an hour of sleep. If i slept at all. Maybe I was just daydreaming, closed my eyes and imagined a way outof here, a happy ending, so hard, it felt like peace in my head. It felt like sleep.
And then I wake up and it's the same small room, the shadows on the wall are azure because of the night light, I know it's silly and it's childish but I can't sleep when it's absolute dark, so I have this depressing little light on and I can see the same depressing few furniture, and I can see the stains on the wall and everything is painted like the clear October sky.
The same tick-tock of the old clock in one of my ears and the rats scratching against walls and inside walls+listen hardenough, you'll even hear the roaches party all night long +there's my breath +the electric hum of the small freezer +outside there isdarkness +stillness +inside I miss him.
It's like his absence was what jolted me back to the world of the living in the first place. I touch a pillow, I think it's him, thenI realize it's not him, +I'm alone, +it's dark, cold, lonely etc. etc. +I just jump, or my eyes jump open. Now staring at theceiling, pretending it's the sky. Oh, i don't care. The ceiling is a fucking ceiling anyway you look at it. I'm a fuckingconnoisseur of ceilings, or should be, with the amount of ceilings i've stared at while i'm on my back. But everywhere theceilings are just the same, but you can pretend they're not, yeah? Yes.
Imagine he knocks on my door. He's never knocked on my door at...what time is it? At twenty minutes to two in the morning. Well, I hope,I wish, I pray he does it now. I need him. To fall asleep. Or now, that I don't know where he is and if he's okay, I need*something* to sleep. There's only vodka. I figure if I drink it straight up, it'll get me to sleep. Like a good-night punch.
WHAM, MOTHAHFUCKAH
Behind the walls somebody's fucking. They're doing it pretty hard I guess because I can hear them shout +I can hear their bed,man, I think I know who they are +ewww, that's an ugly mental image, I'll never be able to sleep now, I need pretty pictures inmy head, shut up shut up shut up, and there's screaming like it's fucking murder, man, what if it is, I wouldn't be surprised. The guy in particular is very loud, I wonder if it's revenge or overcmpensating for something, cause I've seen the way he looks atme +Romain when he sees us together outside. His lips say "fucking faggots" but guess what his eyes say: "hey, can I watchhim fuck you and then can I fuck you and maybe we can all fuck?" I know these decent little fucks, I know the greed or that twinklein their otherwise dead fish-eyes, like it's Christams, like my ass is Christmas, wow, they can't believe what Santa brought them.
Anyway. Obviously Romain isn't here now, or else I'd make them pay. Somehow. Or, I'd just stick my good ear to his heart and letits beat overpower any other sound. His heart would be my entire world, my universe, my black hole into nothingness. Sleep islike death is like peace. I freak out again. I can't see him sleep. Cause I don't want him to die. And he's so goddamn beautifulwhen he sleeps, right, it's almost like death. He said so too. "It must be like falling asleep," and I just slapped across theface. "Then I guess I'm gonna have to keep you awake forever, whatever it takes. I'll tape your eyelids open." He laughed. But my mind has already gone places. Better me than him. I can't outlive him. It would fucking kill me, anyway, and it would be toolate by then. Fuck.
I bolt right up, roll on my knees, I pound at the wall with my fists, the bottle barrels down on the floor.
SHUTUP SHUTUP I'm yelling
SHUTTHEFUCKUP
but they won't. The vodka was no good.
And then I wake up and it's the same small room, the shadows on the wall are azure because of the night light, I know it's silly and it's childish but I can't sleep when it's absolute dark, so I have this depressing little light on and I can see the same depressing few furniture, and I can see the stains on the wall and everything is painted like the clear October sky.
The same tick-tock of the old clock in one of my ears and the rats scratching against walls and inside walls+listen hardenough, you'll even hear the roaches party all night long +there's my breath +the electric hum of the small freezer +outside there isdarkness +stillness +inside I miss him.
It's like his absence was what jolted me back to the world of the living in the first place. I touch a pillow, I think it's him, thenI realize it's not him, +I'm alone, +it's dark, cold, lonely etc. etc. +I just jump, or my eyes jump open. Now staring at theceiling, pretending it's the sky. Oh, i don't care. The ceiling is a fucking ceiling anyway you look at it. I'm a fuckingconnoisseur of ceilings, or should be, with the amount of ceilings i've stared at while i'm on my back. But everywhere theceilings are just the same, but you can pretend they're not, yeah? Yes.
Imagine he knocks on my door. He's never knocked on my door at...what time is it? At twenty minutes to two in the morning. Well, I hope,I wish, I pray he does it now. I need him. To fall asleep. Or now, that I don't know where he is and if he's okay, I need*something* to sleep. There's only vodka. I figure if I drink it straight up, it'll get me to sleep. Like a good-night punch.
WHAM, MOTHAHFUCKAH
Behind the walls somebody's fucking. They're doing it pretty hard I guess because I can hear them shout +I can hear their bed,man, I think I know who they are +ewww, that's an ugly mental image, I'll never be able to sleep now, I need pretty pictures inmy head, shut up shut up shut up, and there's screaming like it's fucking murder, man, what if it is, I wouldn't be surprised. The guy in particular is very loud, I wonder if it's revenge or overcmpensating for something, cause I've seen the way he looks atme +Romain when he sees us together outside. His lips say "fucking faggots" but guess what his eyes say: "hey, can I watchhim fuck you and then can I fuck you and maybe we can all fuck?" I know these decent little fucks, I know the greed or that twinklein their otherwise dead fish-eyes, like it's Christams, like my ass is Christmas, wow, they can't believe what Santa brought them.
Anyway. Obviously Romain isn't here now, or else I'd make them pay. Somehow. Or, I'd just stick my good ear to his heart and letits beat overpower any other sound. His heart would be my entire world, my universe, my black hole into nothingness. Sleep islike death is like peace. I freak out again. I can't see him sleep. Cause I don't want him to die. And he's so goddamn beautifulwhen he sleeps, right, it's almost like death. He said so too. "It must be like falling asleep," and I just slapped across theface. "Then I guess I'm gonna have to keep you awake forever, whatever it takes. I'll tape your eyelids open." He laughed. But my mind has already gone places. Better me than him. I can't outlive him. It would fucking kill me, anyway, and it would be toolate by then. Fuck.
I bolt right up, roll on my knees, I pound at the wall with my fists, the bottle barrels down on the floor.
SHUTUP SHUTUP I'm yelling
SHUTTHEFUCKUP
but they won't. The vodka was no good.
Σάββατο 18 Ιουλίου 2009
the beginning is the end is the beginning
Ok, so this is it. I've heard that blogging helps deal with depression. I've heard that blogging can make you depressed. I've been told that I can find kindred spirits here, or get to know new, different, interesting people. I really don't know if this is a good idea. I don't even know if anyone's listening.
Oscar Wilde said: Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
Wise. And it applies so perfectly in today's cyber-world, where you make friends, enemies, love behind a username, a fake id, a fake ego. You can be who you wanna be. Perfect anonymity, the perfect opportunity to reinvent yourself.
Well, yes sir, I use a fake username and an icon, both are not me but express who I am, what I feel. No more masks for me, no more twisting the truth. I will write the truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth. I shall be as savagely true and honest as I can be, hiding behind a made-up name. I shall lay myself as bare as I can handle.
I wish for companions, for understanding. I wish I can feel less "abnormal". Less schizoid. Less...bipolar. I wish that, through this experience, I will finally become one, a whole, and not two different people in one body. Sharing stuff, thoughts, emotions, etc. all helps make sense.
Oscar Wilde said: Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
Wise. And it applies so perfectly in today's cyber-world, where you make friends, enemies, love behind a username, a fake id, a fake ego. You can be who you wanna be. Perfect anonymity, the perfect opportunity to reinvent yourself.
Well, yes sir, I use a fake username and an icon, both are not me but express who I am, what I feel. No more masks for me, no more twisting the truth. I will write the truth, all the truth and nothing but the truth. I shall be as savagely true and honest as I can be, hiding behind a made-up name. I shall lay myself as bare as I can handle.
I wish for companions, for understanding. I wish I can feel less "abnormal". Less schizoid. Less...bipolar. I wish that, through this experience, I will finally become one, a whole, and not two different people in one body. Sharing stuff, thoughts, emotions, etc. all helps make sense.
Εγγραφή σε:
Αναρτήσεις (Atom)
