Author Topic: Confessions  (Read 971 times)

Sepia

  • Deserved It
  • ****
  • Posts: 1564
  • None
    • View Profile
Confessions
« on: January 20, 2019, 12:17:06 am »
To live and sing the praise of life and love becomes harder as you grow older, fiery eyes closed behind guylined curtains the sound and fury diminished in the eyes of the young and you think your eyes are young because they've changed so little, they see worse than they used to but you are that you are still twenty something, frozen in time like a mans handwriting, ugly scribbles we learned when we were in 6th grade, managing only to pass but nothing more, interest already waning then as we understand and begin to lay the bricks for our fortress of solitude

Looking backwards gives you nothing, regret is never worth it regret would have been worth it if we learned something from it but I never do and as I grow older I understand why we are where we are, I was so fucking filled with hope for a future I knew nothing about and I felt alive in a sea of dead whereas now I feel like dead in a sea of alive, a bitter man thinking he has come full circle because the few dreams I had when I was a child have been made manifest but never of my own doing, lazily waiting for opportunities good enough instead of going out into the jungle, pith helmet and colonial makeup, I used to not believe in a master race but what is there for a nerd after the console wars have played out the way they have

like any other war, useless and empty, hollow and leaving the consumers with less than what they had when they begun with the illusion of having more, quality of life improvements in something that isnt real, quality of life patches us through this beginning and to increase your backpack in the mmo youve played for close to fifteen years you give your number(tattooed on the inside of your arm) sacrificing it in the name of security, give me convenience or give me death

give me da'at

I feel old, I feel like my grandfather barely awake in a strange dream, unable to eat, remembering only one segment of his life, ninety years, the memories of an entire life and the only thing to be remembered is with panic, someone has to make sure the boats are shored up nicely because there might be a storm, there might be a night where Thor will hammer his anvil

I used to be not believe in any gods, human made or actual ones but now I do, those made in our minds atleast, not one but all of them, every prophet, martyr or messiah, every old god and all the creations of Lovecraft, Derleth and everyone else who dreamt up something, each and every one of them is there, is here and we are strengthened by them for we are still infants and I love it for gods represent something animalistic, being belief rather than logic, cold or warm, all holy texts mean something for everyone

like a dream


I used to want to be a writer because I thought I wanted to be an intellectual like the writers that shaped and moulded me when my brain hadn't gotten old, when it was ready for an adventure, ready to play with Hobbes and tyrannosaurs in f-15s, ready to believe that one of these world would one day manifest like any post Gaiman fantasy but it wasnt true, I wanted to be a writer to be famous and I think that is why I stopped for so many years and its taken me so many to realize that was the reason because I remember the day I wanted to end writing, sitting in the back of one of the swedish trams, just as we drove out of grand central, the moment we entered the glare of oslo city, twixt a man with a cast on one of his legs, crutches held tightly under the left arm, a woman and her daughter each talking loudly in the phone and then, a thought entered and I stopped.

occasional stories would need to get out of my mind but it is now as I sit and type here that I understand, wallowing in despair, regret, melodrama and self-pity I had forgotten the words of Horselover Fat, I had not gotten the needed distance, I wanted to do something with my writing and I thought myself destined to be a writer for the catharsis writing provides and now I understand that was what it was or I might have gone beyond an obscure forum, no offense intended, this is therapy, this is me connecting with me by making sentences creating words avoiding grammar, this is me connecting with my gods, this is the true magickque

the suspension of ego for a brief while, thinking wonderful thoughts, going into the zone, becoming something more inside this zone, this holy playground of gods and everything else immaterial, this world where dead people live again and everyone is like the best of us ever were in everything, the big picture never visible but just felt amidst every genre in every discipline

Scribbling things down on paper or by keys, the act itself is enough not every story is good and some stories have no meaning and it feels like ive found myself like doctor Franklin back in babylon 5 on his walkabout and I know I will forget myself again, probably in not too long and I dont think I have a Delenn to deconstruct my falling stars


yet now I feel a little bubble of hope somewhere inside me, a blood vessel opening, a pupil dilating, a cock hardening
Everyone will always be too late