Head, pressure, senses, clutched, date, divinity, wouldn’t ■■■■.
Bah… Life goes on mates… and dames.
I can’t express the sorrow I feel for you all. Nor the distaste for the ignorances you all face and faced before your illnesses.
I must have commited to not crying, because I can’t any more. I can’t even feel real pain. When I do it registers as beautiful. I was numb for too long.
I might die… I mean I’m going to die. From this though, this submission, this acceptance, this allowance… It kills me that this world is ■■■■■■. That we are limited. That stupidity and embracing the moment wins because no one really knows what to do.
And if we try we go insane… It ain’t supposed to be. Its as if you’re defying god to slip outside your role and try to be something you weren’t supposed to be.
The pain of it. To see what needs to be done. The individual accepts complacence and passable character. Comfort and indulgence over progress. The last dying whims of my idealism as I submit to the ways of the world I guess.
I fear that… I’m just going to watch it burn. These smiley assed fucktards… Sitting around and mucking about, bits of mud mudding into each other. Then realizing they are just as me only in a different way.
I ■■■■■■ with people’s heads you know. I’ve made people cry just to exert some force of change on the world. Didn’t do ■■■■ in the end but poison my soul.
3 years of psychosis as penance. It’s passing now. It’ll never stop. The commoner is king in the modern world. The giggle into their virtual infinites. As if they are plugged into what’s beyond the veil. Like they already know the solution to all that concerns me. It makes them seem fake and the same. Equally dead, happiness aside. Then they go work and slave and make the world turn… And I watch. Knowing that they wouldn’t have a god damn chance of doing what I’ve done if they were in you or my shoes.
It’s jealousy that leads me to this… Not to say it’s true or not.
Blessed or ignorant ot conformed or just plain ass regular people who focus on entertaining themselves instead of being something or changing things, but they already are something. They have people. They are relevant. They change themselves and shape their futures. They enjoy their breaks.
Psychosis is hell. There is no break. Their happiness only makes it seem its intentional like they’re against you. I can’t really believe yet, but they’re not…
These dumb ass ■■■■■■■ pricks ain’t got a god damned clue of what the world is made of pr how it works… On that note neither do I… But at the same time I do. Quarks to quasars… To the bubbly distribution of galaxy clusters.
I have to co-exist… And it feels like on top of everything else they want me dead. Purdy fuggen gay.(no offense).
Someday I’m going to find a field and settle my voices and just stay there. I mean if I find it peaceful I won’t want to leave.
Meh… The 50 year dying cry of a schizo. I’d ask you to pitty me but you know my pain. Wince for the rest of my life… God damn fucken pricks of normality will drive you insane.
Wish I could show you what I’ve seen, but I’m sure some of you know.
The dream of a thousand cycling critical minds pressed against yours… The inherent invalid some schizos are inside. Torn apart for the rest of time.
Again I’ll say… Fuggen gay.
I’ll find peace anyway. Like I said I’m slipping out of it. They’re discomfort equals mine as I should be dead.