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EXPLOSIONS · IN · THE · WHY
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the power lines wave together, intertwined as one. the trees are neutral, slowly dying but content. revived again they will be once this season passes, once this season disappears. the rain, the cold, the wind. wishing the intensity would fade so a house can be made inside this hill, inside these trees. we will be one someday. we will be one. together, revived, and intertwined.
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there is no institution ready for what is inside. i am an explosion waiting to explode. i am every person's contradiction. loathsome. alone. plentiful. one by one the pieces are falling and each time i am less aware. each time i care less where they have fallen. it's all just a haze. a dark, deep haze of nothing. covering everything with nothing. i will self destruct while on your back. wait and watch.
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eyes heavy. blink slowly. breathe slightly. move quickly. wandering grows tiresome. repetition is at home. the difference is it's all the same. the stiffness, the pain. the colors change. red to purple. red to purple. isn't there something more? depending on the others is all that is left for comfort. independence is merely a thought that lingers in the back of the mind to the front. if projected onto realities forefront the success of it could be slim. if its not the hand it will be the spine. only the important pieces fail. the unfortunate truth. we are only something small inside of this giant's heart. i am only something small.
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there's just no use. we've sewn it up too many times that the hole is just too warped. the edges droop. the center drips. it's an awful sight, we're sorry to say. we did everything that we could but if there's something else that you need maybe it can be worked out. we're flattened, depleted, but we're willing to try. it's in our bones to do what they say, to prevent the flies from eating our insides. so, tell us please, how will we be of service? i won't say a word. i will glue my top and bottom lips together and let my eyes do the work. at the end of the day, i'll rot in my sleep while you glow in yours.
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spine against spine has become too familiar. to wake up faceless, to wake up not facing a single face has become wasteful. the question remains: what is the cause to all of this? there is no answer. although the words that are exchanged seem true, there is always a shred of doubt. its always bare when the sun rises. lying on nothing but a piece of a cardboard box, it feels. chaos or bliss? indistinguishable. ghost face and horse face. they're both lit up by the fireflies. indistinguishable. drifting, floating. they have no doors but entryways that sell themselves. leave them. leave them. we all fall down.
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characteristics - 02/23/2009
its all spent wasted; dragging and pulling and crashing. its all so monotonous. on the surface of reality, its just a matter of consumption; consumption against the will. then it all morphs into obligations and powerless strikes against the actual unwilling. but its love, it truly is. an undeniable, unconditional sort of love. when anxiety creeps up, it eats away at all of the insides. merciless, the bones arent even spit out but swallowed into an unfathomable oblivion. so obviously it is proven that all attempts will fail then a point is reached where the ultimate let down is in full force. except the bomb has yet to explode, so waiting is necessary; the only necessity. finally, its turned upsidown and a piece has fallen off and singed. there's no objective anymore. everything is at stake now. down, down it all sinks. publicly exploited - 10/03/2008
hello. the most familiar feeling within this cell, numbness. almost pins and needles. stabbing. suffocating. mostly numbness. float from room to room, digging for something relevant, relevant explanation to the sole existence. never found. never there. authorities distracting, sexist; cruel and judgmental. the holding cell is presented to suck the life out of the living. so much time consumed within these walls. none taken back or appreciated until later on, if at all. obligations pile and pile. wake up when the state is asleep. the animals are resting, recharging. wake up and walk in the dark, shiver, sit down, drive, walk. stare at the same faces. were present yesterday, cold and uncomfortable. inside the same rooms just hours previous. the seats resemble its one thousand brothers and sisters, resemble a theoretical prison chair existing purely for death. stiff and painful. clueless to joy. countdown the minutes until departure. only impatience which grows to disappointment then self destruction from the inside out. write the word, write the problem, read the book. drift. every voice blends together. background noises. noise. strictly noise. no one has a distinguishable shape. the longing sensation to belong, to blend, to succeed. constant comparison. mind lacks key elements. forgot specific elements. forgot everything. body present, barely. mind absent, always. fear is alive, so alive, but ignorance is bliss, is appreciated. each day spent striving and failing. pretending to do the expected. cheating. lying. disappearing. nothing grows. nothing gained. knowledge is mocked, undermined. embarrassment. envy. so present. so real. questions incapable of explanation. finally the clock ticks. stampede outward into the world. finally free. freedom is temporary. restricted. sit. drive. arrive. comfort zone ahead. dodge the mirrors. refuse to make eye contact. disgust. repulsive. take a drag. relax. eyes closed. the dread furiously rushes in, takes over. the search for an excuse, any excuse, to stay in bed and rot, to become one, to melt. no excuse available. try again later. eventually stay anyway, wake every hour, unsure of everything. dream of the end. the end of it all. the constant lack of everything. no worry, no dread. no competition or success. nothing. just nothing. the only comforting thought in days. beg for repetition. beg for realism in thought.
the quality of everything - 11/07/2008so last night i was digging up his corpse. i didnt know what to make of it. there wasnt anything left so i suppose it wasnt much of a corpse but bones, just bones and bugs. the stench had faded. thankfully i was alone so i could ask him everything i needed to. he was only human though so i told myself i couldnt be too hard on him. it wasnt easy seeing as he was nothing but a bag of death. sometimes you gotta pity people like that. i was angry at first but realized there was no point, just irrational behavior taken out on the ones who dont deserve it. he knew how that went so i think my anger was understood. its always the successful ones who fuck it up, i told him, the ones who have it all but never see it. i'm familiar with that, told him we had something in common. he shook his bones in agreement. i asked him a few things and waited for a response but i think it was hard for him to speak. we sat together for quite some time but i suppose everything has an end and you've gotta prepare yourself for that. i told him it always seems to go by the fastest when its the most important. he shook his bones in agreement. its hard to tell if the right emotions came out when they should have. i told him i was sorry for not acknowledging his absence, that my brain hadnt promised me any memories. i asked him if he thought it was unfair given the way it had all played out before his departure. i waited for a response but i think it was hard for him to speak, told him i had my own opinions anyway and figured i'd never get the chance to have them corrected or accepted. as expected our time was cut short but we both appreciated the time we got together. i didnt finish my questions and i felt bad that he didnt have the ability to ask or respond. there isnt really much to say when you can potentially see everything. i'm sure in a way he pitied me as well, sitting there talking to bones, to air, to my finger tips. some things end abruptly, though. there are only so many things you can say about somebody, anyway. sometimes its best to get cut short considering any circumstances possible. its all about preparation and appreciation, i guess. |
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on day one the meal was sloppy. it reeked of wilted, rotting flowers and a pinch of something sour. the doors were locked and closed. the mouth opened and out came the light, the light of a lively firefly.
on day two the water was warm. the water was thick, dirty and stuck to the skin like glue. to peel away the skin, to pull until revealing fresh, shining bone was the ultimate goal.
on day three the sun was audacious. threatening rays poured onto the eyes of the unwilling, burning, and threatened. there was no cure. ice, useless ice and a set of eating utensils.
on day four the mattress fell to the floor. dust filtered everything, everywhere. grey area was the only known area. black and white had shifted elsewhere. the doors were locked and closed.
on day five the jaw dropped aimlessly into abyss. teeth, tongue, tonsils, gums. the scent of deterioration of the senses was beginning to fill the present zone. the purpose of continuing was losing its importance. importance was losing its purpose.
on day six every thought of reconciliation was chewed, spit, and fed before the rest was swallowed whole. a hearty meal that reeked of wilting, rotting flowers and a pinch of something sour; with a slight crunch of hope, a crunch of eupohria and a crunch of the all knowing.
on day seven the body was shoved into the ground; deep, deep into the ground with the rest of the rotting fireflies.
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backwardsbread's journal