Busy Busy Busy

3 01 2012

The words drip from my fingers onto the keyboard. Normally my brain would form a part of this but as ever it’s being a treacherous bastard. The point? Erm… no idea, but I’ve started writing so hell, buckle up for whatever the ride brings *contains probable triggers*

So, what umm… I ummm. Oh fuck it.

I’m sat here doing not a lot as the cortex fills with little sparks of thought, too random to be intelligible in the moment, only achieving meaning through aggregation over time. This isn’t exactly the most joyous of ways to achieve cognitive thought, yet in itself it’s not the harshest way to exist.

Well, shit. Who gives a shit? Vicariously the people reading this promote it or re-read it because what is written is of the harsher situation. Do you really want to read about something that’s alright? Wouldn’t you prefer to read how shit things are and how much I’d really like to kill myself in my own way? It’s ok, you can admit it. No shame in having that dark little part in your head that derives a little something from the curiosity of morbidity. To deny it would to be to deny your own humanity and the fascination we all have with suffering and fatality.

So like the groundstriking lightning bolt, the vivid images of putting a 9mm in my right hand, moving the shouty end to my chest, a bit off centre, nestling between the rails of bone. Looking into the distance and smiling as the muscles and tendons slide in the way they like to. A pointed punch to the heart and no going back. Just pain, just thoughts, till fade to black.

A shotgun under the chin, pointed to catch the base brain. No point in living as a vegetable, although as long as I’m not aware, I don’t give a shit. The short sharp jerk and a fountain of organic projectile mess to decorate the scenery with my thoughts.

Course this isn’t terribly violent, not to me, could just grab a bread knife and aim for the jugular.

The methods may be different but the results would be the same.



Fade to black

Full stop.

Kinda sounds like a metaphor for life doesn’t it. The details change but a life that has been full consists of pretty much those things.

Ahh, the faint sizzle of the superheated air after the metaphorical lightning. Let’s you know you’re alive whether you want to be or not.

With words like this it’s tempting to question the nature of reality. Is it right to question what is? To ponder what could be? To look at the established way of things and wonder if someone with a vested interest hasn’t been shifting the perception of normality for the general populace so that it doesn’t include you or I?

Am I dreaming?

Are you?

And so the sparkles of thought continue. Watch them shine.




2 responses

4 01 2012
Rachael Black

Good to see your posts again. As you wrote…’And so the sparkles of thought continue. Watch them shine.’
You still have the spark of life in you -smile-

5 01 2012

Ok, I’ll admit to smiling at your comment, way to turn a frown upside down đŸ™‚

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