we are supermodern we are retroactive we are automatons
we are individuals we are whispers we are all you hear.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Ghosts; Admittance

There are hours in my life where I feel like someone slipped me a hefty novocaine trip. I don't know why. I've had a good day, a great day, but I want to tear the skin off a squirrel and hit someone in the ankle with a shopping cart. Out of boredom. Indifference. Apathy. The sun rises while my eyes are awake and I don't care. Bombs could fall and planes could crash and babies could die, killing their mothers during childbirth in a natal pandemic, but I wouldn't care. Wouldn't blink.

Is apathy really that terrible? Is indifference that mortal a flaw? If I don't care about a thing, nothing bad will ever happen to me, right? If I keep my mouth shut and my eyes on my own, laughing or shrugging everything off, good and bad, it's not that bad?

It's too late, my writing is shit. Don't really care. Who reads this, they'd understand. All three of them. Mind blank.

Ghosts don't stay where you leave them. They haunt you. Town to town, geographic positioning irrelevant. Your ghosts stick to you like semen on the bottoms of your feet in the shower. They don't stop haunting you until you handle them in whatever ghost-busting way works for you.

I'm a user. I have been since I found out it's easy. Every moment in my life is a transaction with at least one unknowing participant. I can't apologize for this. It's in my nature. Like a sociopath with killing or a butcher butching. I'm a manipulator. I say the things people like to hear, want to hear. I adapt myself to be who they want me to be. Slightly. And never permanently. I think I've lost myself and these are no woods. My SELF, not just myself.

Who the fuck am I.

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