help

I’m Allowed To Be

IF
And I repeat, IF
I’ve been to the depths, I can
judge for myself the highs
and the lowest
darkest
hidden realities and turnaround cul-de-sacs of endless light for myself.
I am not a blind bat in the darkness, I have two eyes that work less-than-perfectly,
And
even if I’m not the most
well
if I’ll look behind and see someone –
And I saw them once before –
recognition of them is minimal by my eye. So
I’ll probably overlook some more vital infor
mation, maybe the importance. Of it all.
But-

Either way.
I am not a blind bat in the darkness, I have two eyes that work less-than-perfectly,
And
even if I’m not the most
watchful – perhaps? – I can still
notice enough to make up my mind.
I can still see enough down here in the depth to cover myself completely.
I will learn all even if I want to know none of it.
I will watch and listen and try to smile despite the writhing I feel inside myself.

Imagine a projector screen with
me in front of it
ebbing black pixels. Ebbing. Pushing, throbbing, pulsating. Any of the words that might de
scribe the action of the screen behind me – and my shadow,
Not obstructing anything,
Yet, but
then from the corners
fuchsia spikes. Because I know
genuinely
that pain and pleasure are one and the same.
Despite the opposite realities of each one.
Fuchsia spikes closing in
and I merely stand
and watch
and listen
and learn.
While the screen attacks me from behind and I close my eyes as the screen shines
pink into them, all into them, behind them and through them.
But they don’t kill me.

My shadow, down here, blocks them. My back is defended. And, if I
turn to face the screen,
My front will be defended also.

Do you see yet?
I don’t
I don’t
I don’t

need

anything. Not your eyes, not your skin not your
words in my ears, not your arteries, not
your praises, not anything. I just need myself.
To be,
To learn,
To grow.

I am deeper than you think. Every silence is wrought with
pain and all I want is someone to shine a torch in
to the dark and look after me.
But I am turning my back on that. Rely on no one, no one
will shine as well as I do.
I know where I hurt.
I know where to put the bandages.
I know where the edges are.
How they fall.
How they blunt every issue I have.
And how,
With a single moment,
I can ignore them all and heal myself.
I am deeper

so much deeper

than you think.

And wiser, I am wiser than you think. Find my number and remove all the numbers and replace them with letters, I will
Tell you the colours of them,
One
by
one. Because
I know more. I know so much more. I know myself and
I know everyone else. There is a reason for what I’ve
been called. And what people see me as,
And that I can be taken,
So easily,
As a fool. Because I am a fool.

Despite my wisdom.

I am a
fool. And even
if I think I am
strong, even
if
I think I can
lift something
either
Physical
or
Mental
I am most times wrong.

So.

IF. You think I’m happy,
I’m most not.
IF. You think I’m easy,
I’m most not.

BUT. I am deeper than
you might care to think about.
BUT. I am wiser than
you might care to think about.

That’s the issue.
Read me.
Ignore me.
Face me.
Block me.
Stab me.
Say things you know will hurt me.
I am more than that if I can turn my back,
Shine my own light onto the places that hurt,
Because I know that even if…
Even IF
I’m sad, I’m allowed to be.
I’m happy, I’m allowed to be.
I’m furious, I’m allowed to be.
I’m ill, I’m allowed to be.
I’m scarring, I’m allowed to be.
I’m different, I’m allowed to be.
I’m naked, I’m allowed to be.
I’m cast, I’m allowed to be.
I’m…

I’m allowed to be.

Always.

Always allowed to be.

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The Lies We Tell Ourselves

I am a worthwhile human being.

No you’re not. You ignore your own problems and other people’s. What you think you do to help people is no more than a meaningless and empty statement. There is always something else on your mind than what you should be doing, or what you are doing. You cannot set yourself on anything. Any ideal is never good enough. More is always yearned for. You berate people and you don’t realise it. You’re not worthwhile.

• People want to help me if I’m in trouble.

No they don’t. The people you think care about you don’t care nearly as much as you think they do. Your problems are yours and yours alone. Sure, you can talk about it all you want. But, in the end, no one will come to your aid if you tell anyone you’re going to end yourself. They might offer a kind word or a plea, but that’s what people do. They want to feel good about themselves, they don’t want to help. People stroke their egos trying to help people, giving them false hope and advice where it is not wanted and won’t help. And anyone who’s genuine will have given up long ago by now, because they realise the same things. No one will really help you.

• I have friends who love me.

No you don’t. Friends vanish at a moment’s notice. A best friend can turn their back on you for someone else. And if you turn your back, you’ll get stabbed in it instantly. You can feel more for someone than they feel for you, and that’s always the case. You could run a mile for someone and they’d move an inch for you. But it goes both ways – someone would run a mile for you and you’d barely move for them. You have no friends.

• Tomorrow will be a better day.

No it won’t be. Tomorrow will be worse. The pain you’ve felt today will be doubled by tomorrow. You can fool yourself into thinking you’re having a nice time – you can go out to a restaurant, you can play an online game, you can write, draw, compose or produce, but it’s all in vain. Tomorrow is just as bad as today, if not worse. What you tell yourself is only a layer, a thin layer that you don’t want to think past. You don’t want to ruin your own day. But as painful as today is, tomorrow will bring something worse. It won’t be a better day.

• I’ve learned from my mistake.

No you haven’t. You will continue to make that mistake over and over again, subjecting yourself to the definition of insanity, when in reality you should have learned to avoid this mistake before you made it. You don’t think enough, you assume too much and you trust too much. Mistakes are constant, as long as life exists on this earth. And you never learn from them. You just keep doing what hurt you before. You never learn.

• I am attractive.

No you’re not. In the fleeting moments you might have where your ego expands, and you catch yourself in the mirror, you apparently fail to notice your chewed lip, your uneven eyebrows, your tired eyes, your fat neck, your terrible hair, your awful posture, your depreciating eyelashes and your exposed wounds. You believe your clothes fit and work, though, from behind, you look a complete wreck. Your shoes are scuffed and broken, and your makeup is lopsided. You think you will turn heads with your beauty, maybe meet a stranger who will change your life. But you won’t. It’s a stupid wish. You are not attractive.

• People listen to me.

No they don’t. You are invisible and ignored. You can write a speech full of promises in flowery language but no one will listen. You can take pictures you’ve spent hours preparing for. But no one will look at them. You are unappreciated, and you deserve no appreciation. No one listens to you.

• I am talented.

No you’re not. Any talent or skill you have is vastly inflated by your own deluded mind. You can design websites over months only to have it ignored. No one cares about your talent. No one wants to waste their life praising you for doing something anyone could do. Talent does not exist. Whether art-, music-, writing-, business-, politics-, food- or science-related, it doesn’t matter. People have seen everything before and they expect nothing from you. You are not talented.

• The things I do make a difference.

No, they do not. You can donate a vast amount of money to a charity but that won’t matter. Any needy man, child or animal will get less than 0.01% of what you donated put forward to help them. Your existence does not improve anyone’s life, nor does it matter. You will die and be forgotten, and no one will mourn you. The world will keep spinning without your input. You make no difference.

I am a good person.

No you’re not. You are selfish, dreadfully so. You are greed-oriented. You are an addict. Your help means nothing. Your help is meek at best. You smile at everyone though detest them inside. Nobody knows what you look like when you truly care. Any tears you cry for someone else are tears of selfishness, you want to prove to yourself you care about them, so you cry with them. This makes you feel good for feeling emotion. You are selfish and greed-driven, intent on making yourself content. You are not a good person.

How do you feel, you fucking liar?

XI: Scrawl

X: Scrawl

SCREAM ALL YOU WANT NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU.

SCREAM ALL YOU WANT.

NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU.

OR

SCREAM ALL YOU WANT NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOU.

WHICH ONE IS TRUE? I MEAN SCREAMS, EVEN SILENT ONES, ARE OBVIOUS.

THE PAINED BLUE EYES FROM SLEEPLESS NIGHTS AND THE RED RIMS FROM THE SALT, THAT’S A SCREAM.

THE CRACKED KNUCKLES AND SCARS FROM A CONSTANT AND HABITUAL BODILY-RAPE HOBBY, THAT’S A SCREAM.

THE IMPORTANT SUDDENLY GETTING TOSSED ASIDE AND RELOCATED ELSEWHERE, TO ROT AND FEEL EMPTY WITHOUT ANYONE’S INPUT, THAT’S A SCREAM.

AND PEOPLE SEE THEM.

THEY JUST DON’T WANT TO HEAR THEM.

X: Scrawl

IX: Scrawl

 

IT’S NO USE. NO USE CALLING. THOSE WHO I PRETEND LOVE ME ARE USELESS.

PLEASE, KILL ME IF YOU CAN, I WON’T STRUGGLE.

I WILL BE HAPPILY SHOT DOWN – IF I COULD STOP BREATHING FOR A MINUTE, AND ALLOW MY UNWELCOME SOUL TO PASS THROUGH MY HATING LIPS, I WOULD AND I WOULD NOT MISS IT.

GOD DAMN, SOMETIMES THE PAIN TAKES ME OVER COMPLETELY UNTIL WORTHLESSNESS SETS IN TO THE POINT WHERE ASKING FOR HELP IS POINTLESS. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME. WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO.

TEARS RUST MY CHEEKS UNTIL I AM AS RED AND BROKEN AS DAYLIGHT.

WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

I CANNOT SCREAM FOR FEAR OF BRINGING MORE UPON MYSELF.

I CANNOT LET IT OUT FOR FEAR OF BEING ALONE FOR FAR TOO LONG AGAIN.

I CANNOT TELL THOSE I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE THEY HAVEN’T THE TIME NOR THE ENERGY.

WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

I AM SAFER LIKE THIS.
LONELIER
BUT SAFER LIKE THIS.

I WILL HAPPILY DIE, ROT AND FEAST WITHIN THE EARTH.

JUST KILL ME.

JUST BURY ME.

IT’S WORTH IT TO BE FREE OF THIS.

JUST LET ME DIE.

WHO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HO WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

O WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

WOULD HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HELP A STREAK OF SHIT LIKE ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

HELP ME.

IX: Scrawl

VIII: Scrawl

 

Found scrawlings from inside my grey and dying mind.

 

NOTHING IS ISOLATED.
EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED.
WHETHER BY A SINGLE MUSICAL NOTE, ECHOED CEASELESSLY AROUND THE SEALED CHAMBER WHICH IS THE VOID ALL THINGS EXIST IN.

 

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

A NAME. PERHAPS.
A NUMBER, OR A NAME, OR AN IDENTITY, OR A FACE.
DO NOT FORGET ANY SINGLE SHRED OF ANYTHING.
WALK BEHIND THE OLD MAN WITH THE STICK.
AND NOTICE. NOTICE THE FRAYED, DULL PLAID SCARF AROUND HIS NECK.
NOTICE THE TREAD OF HIS SHOES.
MENTALLY TRACE THE SHAPE OF HIS EYEBROWS IF HE TURNS TO LOOK AT YOU.
DON’T DISREGARD ANYTHING.
PARANOIA IS NO CURSE.

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

ESCAPING INTO A NOVEL IS NO LONGER A SEEMINGLY PEACEFUL BUSINESS.
DO NOT TREAT FICTION AS NEVER-HAPPENED OR NEVER-WILL-HAPPEN.
EVERYTHING IN THIS VOID IS CONNECTED AND NOTHING IS SEPARATE.
SOMEWHERE, STORIES LINK TO LIFE, LINK TO STORIES, LINK TO FURTHER STORIES, LINK TO FURTHER LIFE.
NOTE ANYTHING. RELATIONSHIPS THAT CHANGE. TREAT THEM ALL AS PEOPLE, EVERY CHARACTER, ANIMAL, OBJECT. REMEMBER THEY EXIST.
EVEN IF THEY’RE CHARACTERLESS CHARACTERS.
EVERYTHING LINKS.

WHETHER IN HARMONY

OR OUT OF BALANCE

WHETHER SEEMINGLY ALONE

OR WITH KNOWN ALLEGIANCES

ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED.

 

WHETHER IT BE A CIRCUS PERFORMER WHO SCREAMS EVERY FIFTH WORD.
OR AN IMPOSSIBLE BEING THAT CONTORTS AND VANISHES.
OR A PERSON SOLELY ALIVE TO AID HIS SISTER BY DESTROYING EVERYTHING.
OR A DOOR THAT LEADS INTO A ROOM YOU WON’T LEAVE ALIVE.
EVERYTHING IS TRUE. ALL THINGS ARE CONNECTED. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS

FICTION.

Which to Continue?

Now – while I haven’t got a lot of attention, there are somewhat regular visitors who read my work. And, once again, I need your help.

In order to try and pull myself out of this depression borne of Writer’s block, which, in turn was triggered by my completion of “Hello”, I’ve written two short deviations.

You might recognise who’s talking. Or you might not. If you do recognise who they are, thank you.

 

This is the first one – “Guilt”

YM 1 Guilt

 

This second one is “Mistake”.

YM 1 Mistake

 

They’re quite short, for two reasons:
1) People don’t have a lot of time to read things, really, do they?
2) I really can’t do anymore. I have no direction. I have nothing. I have some ideas, but they’re centring around something I’m very, very reluctant to do.

So here’s what I want from you –
Please pick which one you prefer, “Guilt” or “Mistake”, and comment it.
Or, if you like or dislike aspects from them, please tell me.
I feel so dull and numb to writing at the moment that I don’t notice these things.

If people prefer one more than the other, I’ll make it my goal to create something out of that one.

Thank you.