I sit on my bed hunched over, legs crossed Indian-style, hands clasped in front of my ankles. I rock back and forth in time to the thoughts racing through my head. My eyes turn backwards to see, but the messages and words and images move too fast. There is no grasp but that which is before me - that which holds no significance to that which remains internal. No grasp and no expression, there is no interpretation, no transliteration for the language of my mind.
Ideas and concepts without tangible roots spring forth rhythmically.
I am not high. I am not stoned. I am free from chemical influence.
Only the music permeates the vessels of my body - soothing sounds penetrating the walls that prevent words from escaping. The division between the in and the out dominates the worry searing my brain. An icy barricade that freezes the eyes and hardens the facial expression, it prevents me from functioning in a more socially acceptable manner. My modes of expression run one-way - the wrong way - inward.
I seek and find and absorb and remember. I do not relate nor express nor communicate nor recall.
I see, hear, and feel, but I do not care, desire, and sympathise.
The world hurts, and I don't like it. If I could feel, I would hate it; but I can't, so I won't.
Vitriol.
People frighten me, not for what they are or what they do, but for how they make me feel. I do not hate them or myself, but I do not like what I see when I look into the world, as well as into myself.
I read somewhere, or maybe I saw it in a movie, that we are all concurrently three people: who we think we are, who others think we are, and who we really are. It's difficult to distinguish except when our description doesn't match the description of another, and no one's descriptions ever match anyone else's descriptions, and nowhere is it written as gospel that somewhere in the middle lies the truth. We are not who we think we are, nor are we who others think we are. We are all someone else entirely, and that's what scares me about people - that I know this, and they don't.
I'm not who anyone thinks I am, since I am something different to myself depending on the circumstances. I am rarely the same person twice, and I do not believe that I am the sum of all the different "me"s I pretend to be. I am something else entirely. I may know what I am, but I can't be sure. I can't express in terms understandable to you or me or anyone else what my mind thinks I am.
I am me, but what is me? When I turn my eyes inward, I can see what I am, and when I turn my eyes outward, I can see what I am not. I don't like that I'm expected to be that which I am not, nor do I think it's fair that I should accept that expectation, therefore I refuse. I will be me, whatever me is or I am, and I will be rejected or accepted as that and nothing else, and I accept this fate which I grant myself.
So I sit and rock, and I think without talking, and I deny the hope that I will find understanding in others. That's not what I want - to please any person other than myself. Honestly, I don't care. Fuck you and your intolerant kind.
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3 comments:
Sounds like shitty poetry writing class 101 has a new member. Congrats!
The fact that you consider it poetry at all is flattering. Thank you.
Hey Jey, this comment is not relevant to your most current post but more so to all of them, and is kinda long, sorry in advance.
Basically, I just wanted to say that your second post resonated with me--for I too generally stay away from people and have trouble relating to them. I sometimes wonder if maybe I have some sort of autism spectrum disorder because I hate dealing with people and their bullshit, but reading your post made me feel much more sane. I also consider myself highly cynical and a 'big picture guy,'and wanted to share some of my thoughts on your feelings.
I feel that the dominant culture, i.e. western culture, is responsible for such feelings of cynicism and resentment since it tries to hide its true intentions, so naturally curious people like us try to see past them.
That this culture makes people want to do 'insane' things like go on shooting rampages because this culture is really what is insane--insanity meaning out of touch with reality, which this culture definitely is.
That this culture, which revolves around abuse--which if I'm not mistaken--you said you encountered in your adolescence? I think that the combination of being abused and being cynical is a potent combination for being able to see this cultures destructiveness clearly, since they promt one to look past the facade of shiny objects to see how destructive this culture of abuse is.
Lastly, I wanted to suggest that you watch some YouTube videos about an activist named Derrick Jensen. He cuts through the bs and speaks about how this culture is based on abuse and is killing the planet. He focuses on environmental issues and the non-human, and the absence of both in any of your posts leads me to believe you may not particularly value either, I would nonetheless suggest you give him a chance, since he has helped me tremendously. Being so cynical can make you feel kind of nihilistic (at least it does for me), but his perspective made me rethink how value-less life is (or may not be) so I'm just passing the message along. You may find it too 'optimistic' for your tastes, though that would be thoroughly ironic because I find his ideas to be the most thoroughly pessimistic ideas out there, so who knows. Anyways, I'm rambling and your probably not still reading this but I'll end by saying I like your style--though the random stories sometimes throw me for a loop.
-Kyle
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