We stick to the deals they made for us. We stick to the life and the lies they already birthed us into. They say we’re headed off on the wrong track, they say we’re headed for the wrong mount doom, where all heroes will be dead and gone, the smouldering remains of us is all that’ll be left and a little burnt up crisp of a lump saying “fuck you” every third minute.
I know who you are. You’re one of them fellers that took “nothing is true, everything is permissable” to your chest at too young an age, you grew up too fast, you grew up too cleanly. You knew your hindi texts at 17, you knew everyones political agenda by the age of 18, having stopped by every ideology and or religion on your way, studying them, not knowing what to look for on an intellectual level but there was this gut that told you what you were looking for, you wanted answers, simple and clean on the equations of both life and anti-life so you could get it out of your way, so you could stop lying sleepless watching the ceiling, thinking about nothing when asked as you couldn’t really be arsed to explain it all.
You were there. You thought about the end of the world. The meaning of life. You thought about dangleberries and whether the soul was inside the body or the body inside the soul.
Now you sit, homecozy on that stool, sipping pernod and smoking french cigarettes. They’ll call you smart behind your back, they’ll give you all the respect anyone could ever ask for, they’ll OOH and AAH when you say that “it’s gonna end like any good story. in tears”. You sat down and didn’t get up. Garth fell on his keys but he got up.
This isn’t really you, is it? This is just your ego, how you’d want it to be, seen through the tint of film noirs and your glass of pastis. Yet you still sit there, now musing that you’ll die alone, Mr.Dyer from Reality Bites, check the fuck in. You’d love, wouldn’t you? You’d be fucking jumping through hoops of happiness if you’d been rammed by a car, rammed by love, rammed by hate but mostly rammed by understanding.
Occasionally, you open up. Occasionally, when drunk you’ll confess your love, still lost and will always be so. Drowned in these dreams but you don’t get off, you don’t get up but put more and more of the drugs that has made you into you, creating a superstructure of your own mind, devouring all that can be seen in these eyes for you’ve been blind for so long and one day you will unfortunately wake up and remember.
Remember that nothing matters because there is no truth.
Remember that everything matters because there is no truth.
Remember that none of this shit will ever matter because you’ll always be a boring cunt.
“Remember remember the fifth of..”
Remember it was all a game, play pretend.
Remember to take the last pill, remember to cut the right way.
I’ve heard you scream so many times, a whimpering wail. Limpdicked staring into the existential abyss and instead of diving in you sit on the edge, pouting your lips and posting on myspace.
Remember that every person has a story to tell, remember that not all stories are interesting.
Remember you used to have eyes alight with fire and soul.
Remember yourself so I don’t have to push your ego up when you destroy it yourself, remember your face before you were born so I don’t have to remember it for you as you sit in your couch and drool on ten tabs of acid, remember that I’ll always leave you when you need me the most in a hope captioned in hopelessness for you to learn.