Miseryhead II
I've begun to re-evaluate everything.
I don't know what makes me happy anymore...I only know that such feelings flit through me like wind-born leaves across a grey-sky expanse. I'll admit that I enjoy it.
I don't know if I feel guilt acutely anymore...I only know that when I gave up Christianity, such feelings exited as stale blood through a leech-wound. I'll admit that I enjoy it.
I don't know if being strange is conducive to a socially-healthy existence...I only know that I am comforted in my oddity by others like myself. I'll admit that I enjoy it.
What comes as a shock to others is something that has clung (tenaciously) to the inside of my skull since this paltry measure of consciousness was created by one of my father's vivacious tadpoles and some bad common sense on my mother's part:
Guess what, dear family? I don't believe in God. I don't believe in Heaven, in Hell, in acting charitably so that I won't be punished by some raging inferno. I believe in behaving as I please, in taking responsibility for molding my own joys, sorrows, shortcomings and strengths. I am me, I am me, I am mememememe. I am who I am, and at times I love it. If I am considered 'outcast' or 'lover' by anyone matters little during those periods when I am strong. Such thoughts can break me when I'm weak -- but in these nineteen years of struggle.achieve.fail I've learned that I'll always get back up...I'll always glue myshatteredself together and I will always, always go on living.
What prompted this to-the-point careful re-shaping of ideas tonight? I don't know. I decided against letting disconnection and raw thought-material flow down the silly brain sluice. Notice that I almost let go near the end? I'm sorry. I was going to insert some catchy little phrase about how I've been thinking more and more about that make-me-smile-so-easily devil. Edgar and bush-greens...it made me happy. I was going to tell a certain boy-I-saved how much I'm thankful that he cut loose the anger that could have surged up (sentiment tsunami) after his hospital stay. I was going to grinning-ly hint at dominos with a tempt-me-smart-man. I was going to shout out loud to my behbeh that I missed her silly-sweet-you'nmearecrazy converse-ings...
...But I guess I'm tired. Did you know the moon is full and silvery-white and hung with trailers of night-sky mist? I wish I were in school again so that I could wander Greenwood Cemetary and write more wild, bad poetry. The other students look at me cock-eyed when I drift throught the never-closed wrought-black-iron gates -- but what do I care? I've got HIM, Ours, Switchblade Symphony, London After Midnight, Sigur Ros, Radiohead, and some green tea tonight to stave off depression.
Give me something to think about, now.
I don't know what makes me happy anymore...I only know that such feelings flit through me like wind-born leaves across a grey-sky expanse. I'll admit that I enjoy it.
I don't know if I feel guilt acutely anymore...I only know that when I gave up Christianity, such feelings exited as stale blood through a leech-wound. I'll admit that I enjoy it.
I don't know if being strange is conducive to a socially-healthy existence...I only know that I am comforted in my oddity by others like myself. I'll admit that I enjoy it.
What comes as a shock to others is something that has clung (tenaciously) to the inside of my skull since this paltry measure of consciousness was created by one of my father's vivacious tadpoles and some bad common sense on my mother's part:
Guess what, dear family? I don't believe in God. I don't believe in Heaven, in Hell, in acting charitably so that I won't be punished by some raging inferno. I believe in behaving as I please, in taking responsibility for molding my own joys, sorrows, shortcomings and strengths. I am me, I am me, I am mememememe. I am who I am, and at times I love it. If I am considered 'outcast' or 'lover' by anyone matters little during those periods when I am strong. Such thoughts can break me when I'm weak -- but in these nineteen years of struggle.achieve.fail I've learned that I'll always get back up...I'll always glue myshatteredself together and I will always, always go on living.
What prompted this to-the-point careful re-shaping of ideas tonight? I don't know. I decided against letting disconnection and raw thought-material flow down the silly brain sluice. Notice that I almost let go near the end? I'm sorry. I was going to insert some catchy little phrase about how I've been thinking more and more about that make-me-smile-so-easily devil. Edgar and bush-greens...it made me happy. I was going to tell a certain boy-I-saved how much I'm thankful that he cut loose the anger that could have surged up (sentiment tsunami) after his hospital stay. I was going to grinning-ly hint at dominos with a tempt-me-smart-man. I was going to shout out loud to my behbeh that I missed her silly-sweet-you'nmearecrazy converse-ings...
...But I guess I'm tired. Did you know the moon is full and silvery-white and hung with trailers of night-sky mist? I wish I were in school again so that I could wander Greenwood Cemetary and write more wild, bad poetry. The other students look at me cock-eyed when I drift throught the never-closed wrought-black-iron gates -- but what do I care? I've got HIM, Ours, Switchblade Symphony, London After Midnight, Sigur Ros, Radiohead, and some green tea tonight to stave off depression.
Give me something to think about, now.
posted by Ophelia at 8:19 PM
2 Comments:
That first part of your words, that first part about happieness.. and decisions.. so powerful.
So powerful.
..and inspiring.
- the Nolan
dominos, eh? i'm up for it.
i am (briefly) reconnected to the intraweb (ever the junkie)... thought i'd drop by, since you aren't answering your phone. pick up, you.
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