Garrett (garote) wrote,

  • Mood:


I have a poisonous block in my head. It was planted there in my last relationship. It is filling in the unknown areas of the world for me. Making everyone I see into a carrier of my ex's faults. I have had my opportunity for indignant yelling. I have been right in the face of total stupidity, bad habits, fearful aggression, and I've given it a good telling off.
Who cares. Noise against noise. I don't want to add to the noise in the world any more.
The world is too big for me to follow. I've been looking for the easy corners, the edges that I can use to grasp this place, and rearrange it, or take it with me. I am overwhelmed by the scope. There are no edges to grasp. It goes over the horizon. I reduce to a single mortal formed in greed and desperation, my sweet moments of clarity no more absolute than those before.
I see the millions of parallel lives all around me, newly forming, some almost ended, and piece by piece they add to my dissatisfaction. Such innate squalor and waste, such fearful distaste, such indulgent greed.
We attempt to shape the world as reflections of ourselves. We merely succeed in bending ourselves around a section of it, staking a yard and arranging the ornaments within it to our self-important tastes, and turning our backs resolutely to events beyond.
And we call this happiness.
I'm sick of this temporal existence. I'm sick of the million and one things that all the people around me do to fill their time. Drinking, gambling, jockeying in their local scene. Doing anything and everything to distract themselves from the basic truths that haunt them, that scream for attention, that decry a hypocrisy so thick that it has formed the substance of our lives, a caustic rust, eating us up from the inside.
Who has the bravery to acknowledge all this? To live with the truth of it? Who has the resources to combat it? Who is willing to take the risk?
I'm having a hard time. I also am making a transition. I am so tired of the crap social scene that my generation has embraced. The pharmaceuticals, the circular pop-culture nostalgia kitsch, the preening, the insular factions heading the wholly irrelevant territorial disputes. Goth vs. Catholic. Hippie vs. Yuppie. Punk vs. Pop. Hollywood vs. Everyone. Fuck it. Fuck it all with a big rubber dick.
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