the Tower of Brahma - twentysevenpoint2 - For all my feelings I'm heartless

09/04/04

I sit back and take a long look at the screen in front of me. Digitized and dazzling, I have become embedded into a carved language sculpture. Suddenly chapters had appeared in place of my pain. Months had passed and life continued without me. I immediately spun around to share my newfound fiction with those in my life to find they were gone, evaporated by time's passage.

I stepped outside and ghost town blues whispered through the lonely suburban streets. I walked on towards my future and the world dissolved into a nostalgic mist. Lines of homes all cut from the same cloth, row after row of variations on a theme. Similarly different in living out the same story. Every house a different fragment of psyche. A fractal reproduction of the replicating viral lifestyle. It is among these plastic castles that I see that awareness is selling out, taking comfort for safety and the joy of being part of the machine.

Disillusionment.

Apocalyptic details strewn about the land. Laughing fools celebrate the sad sickness of their souls. Accept the pain, love the disease, praise the decay. Fantastic ignorant fantasies. Fucking lies in a shot glass, swallowed down hard like a bitter bitch. Wallowing winters succumb my sweltering humid summers, and I am again devoured by my own silly daydreams.

Enough of these dry, single revelations tossed back, bellied up at the bar. Frightening fictions breed like fractals fornicating on the hot, sweaty streets. I am alone and dignified in my manhood. Responsible and empowered, alone and terrified.

Women swarm to cover and protect in self serving manners, but I will not submit to charms and spells of a duplicitous nature. I hate the vulnerable beast I show to you, shamed and born of gallant grotesque.

How do you know how to be a man in the land of selfish adult children? How can I walk among the inferior that I put upon a pedestal, afraid to be exposed as the wannabe I know myself as.

Alone in my loneliest hours, separated by thought and deed, I feel remorse and hate and anger and love and a sadness that sickens me to my core.

I love the pain. Inflicted, inflection, virus mutation. This nightmare of persona must have an end.