But Not Quite

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts | Wednesday, December 31st, 2003

The insanity was fun while it lasted but not quite.  I think I understand why I shouldn’t indulge but I really can’t hold faith in it.  I feel too much.  More shades of wrong assaulting me with every gasp.  I am going to kill myself.  That seems to be the only finite and openly declared eventuality.  I don’t think people will really understand the reason why.  I am not sure I could expect such from them.  Too much to demand of any human being.   I cannot hold a bastion of hope in anything so fragile as to take the form of flesh.  My own life so purposeless.  I think I was here to show you exactly how much you matter.  I am the wretched constant with which you compare yourselves.  Without me how could you see that you are worthwhile?  Even the flea dying of dehydration in a desert without a mammal to bite looks upon me in disgust.  The vast empty calamity that is our heaving sea of organic ritual.  Striking down the knife kills and frees an infant from their umbilical strangulation.  Saturated with false premises.  Like it will ever matter in some stage.  I can’t say beginning or end because isn’t all this?  I know people want to fix me.  More so I believe I am an object of curiosity.  You don’t point at the lion and tell your son to look because you want him to adopt the habits.  Tearing herbivores apart and bearing into their bloody meat with his teeth wouldn’t suit your heir.  You merely jest at that which you find so different from this humanity.  What makes a difference?  Am I the divider?  I can say I am certainly not the healer.  All my attempts have failed.  I bring more anguish in my effort than I do in my indecision.  Solidarity.  Something I am undoubtedly lacking.  To look upon oneself and feel a concrete sense…of anything.  What would that be like?  We only wonder.  Sometimes I don’t know if the personalities I mimic inside care more than my own.  So many shards.  How many others are there that I never had the displeasure of meeting?  And with passing I shall stamp a cycle.  Circular disease of downtrodden shallowness.  Sinking while the impression emerges on those unfortunate ones.  Unlucky enough to have known me.  More so was there love involved.  I really can’t say why anything could value my presence.  Of course…I miss me.  Rare enough that I get to take some time to get to know myself so well.  Too busy hiding and changing while unwilling to admit that which was so painfully clear.  Frosted crystal and oblivious heart.  Do you feel for yourself?  Are you tired of living through someone else’s emotion?  A passage through time as achievement shudders.  Ripped and shredded.  A stock on the floor of ’29.  If only ever worth that much to begin with.  A shadow of the void that always was.  Speech coming on so disjointed.  A leper limping with perseverance.  Steadily progressing but never quite reaching his destination.  Or was there one?  Maybe the true intent was only movement.  Do I need to get somewhere as long as I get?  The where doesn’t care.  Do you?  Having to grind down into perpetuation for your jovial observation.  If I came across a lily pad potentially large enough to support my weight I must say I would not find out.  To chance upsetting the perfect balance of one so content would be another malign mark on my journey.  I cannot hear more about any waste I have done.  I am the waste.  A dagger to the soft skull at childbirth could have easily avoided my misappropriation of resources.  If only horoscopes revealed such things.  I guess that is why we have odd-looking characters to mislead us.  Something to rely on when we fear to own up to the personal forecast.  Cancel your picnic folks.  Cloudy skies with mildly raining hearts.  More at 10!

Grammar disowned me.

Stephen Pimley | Drugs,Random,Thoughts | Wednesday, December 31st, 2003

*feels hearbeat*
That’s my heartbeat.
Yes I know.
What control do you have over my heart?
I own it.
How does a drug own my heart?
That is my secret.
What does a heart matter to you?
You will speak when spoken to.
*feels heartbeat and stands up*
Go then.
Yes, I will.
*writes this*
*feels his heart pumping for salvation*
*gathers water*

Stephen Pimley | Dreams,Memories | Saturday, December 20th, 2003

The combination of wine, turkey, and aged cheese sedates you so much it is amazing.  The dreams are whacked out too.

Get this I’m laying in my bed which I can tell is perpendicular to it’s normal layout.  It’s wider than in reality and my mom is sitting on the other side talking while I smoke a bowl.  My dad is also in the room talking about doing yard work then he gets a call on his cellphone.  It’s my cousin Katie and she is at work too afraid to leave because some creepy guy is following her again.  So my dad tells me he’d love to smoke with me but he has to go pick her up.  I finish my bowl exhaling at my mom and she doesn’t even notice I am smoking anything.  I turn around and see both closet doors are open and hanging horizontally from the coat rack is an unconscious man dressed as Santa Claus.  I then proceed into my parents bedroom where I find two half empty bottles of whiskey hidden in my mom’s closet.  I take a sip from one and it’s foul but intoxicating.  Telling myself I shouldn’t drink whiskey because it makes me crazy I put it back and walk into the bathroom.  A sideways glance into the mirror reveals that my nose is six inches long and deformed…then I wake up.

I should mention that prior to this dream was one where I was flying around my neighborhood on will power alone and freaking out neighbors who saw me as some sort of apparition.

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts | Sunday, December 14th, 2003

The CIA’s radio frequencies are interfering with the ones the alien host uses to communicate their conquest plans with me.

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts | Sunday, December 14th, 2003

What is it? What do you want? Was it on sale? 30% That’s the best I can do. No you don’t need it. What for? Like I care. Find another store if you’re so adamant. So what? I have mouths to feed too. Fine, 50%, I can’t go lower. Good enough for you? Satisfied with the extent of your greed? Ego satiated by the your steal? Sold to the highest bidder. One human heart; half off!

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts | Saturday, December 13th, 2003

I live so others must die.

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Family,Memories | Saturday, December 13th, 2003

I had to go to a family christmas party but fortunately I managed to hide in a side room most of the time. I didn’t get harassed too much or anything. There were so many annoying little kids and teens there that I wanted to punt some of them.

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts | Saturday, December 13th, 2003

I tried to break the cycle but the cycle has broken me.

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Memories | Tuesday, December 2nd, 2003

I got my flu vaccine today. So exciting. It was so disturbing though. There was this really hot girl there that I swear was a year or more younger than me and she had a child that looked about 4-5 years old…
And even weirder one of the nurses didn’t believe I was over 18. She started saying if I’m under 18 I need guardian or parent to sign my form and I told her I’m not and she still asked me again to verify like I’m some kind of retard.

Mute, Sonically Misconstrued

Stephen Pimley | Random,Thoughts | Monday, December 1st, 2003

Maybe I don’t love you. Maybe I wish I loved you. Maybe I wish I could be loved in return. Maybe it doesn’t really matter anymore. Maybe I’ll die in the depths of such utter misery that all the happiest moments of my life will seem like cruel nightmares. Memories implanted into my mind merely to torment my waking with the temptation of something better lurking out there. Why, why should anything count towards the end, when it is already here? Without knowing it you possess all the reasons to feel. . . nothing. The fetal void is sapping at your intestines in protest for its unfair share of the poison you consume. To rebuke their upward beat we head onward. Instead, the pace falters in perfect alignment with the leaders’ flashing miscue. Garments soiled by sacred rains part at seams so deftly sewn by malign hands. Where do we find the middle ground if everything is over but nothing is beginning? Is it, should it, be it, yes; that’s it. A poet’s world is dwarfed by a dead man’s land. The mime smashes against his invisible walls while you stare placidly at those you can see. And here I am, the mad scientist, the depredating terrorist. Long ahead my mind cracks while today I have but to finger the fault lines.

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