Posts Tagged ‘stream of consciousness’

I am afraid. I am anxious, and I am insecure. But I am not weak, I will not let this world drag me down. For I am strong, strong enough to
survive where others will not. There is no stopping me, or what I am about to do with my life. You can run, you can be afraid, and you can
hunt me down. I will probably kill you, or you will probably kill me. In the long run, it doesn’t matter. Because it shouldn’t, if there is a
Hell it surely is here. I can feel things, either I am crazy or I somehow belong here and nowhere at the same time. My only ties to this
world are love, honour, and justice. I have a burning desire in my soul to either burn this world down or save every last one of you for my
own selfish desires. I do not feel like a bad man, but I know that I can be a bad man. There isn’t much difference between you and I, really.
You are either a beast, a saint, or some wierd variation between the two. It doesn’t matter because we all die. I would hope that you be
granted a good death, but there is nothing I can do about that.

A good man does not stand tall, for he has no need to be seen or heard. It is the little things that keep the world going, right? Who the
fuck knows. What I do know is that the only thing making sense right now is money and doing the right thing, but somehow I get this feeling
that you can’t mix money and “doing the right thing”. I refuse to become more of an animal than I already am, I made a decision a long time
ago to better myself. Not for my sake, no, but for the sake of the universe. I need to prove that there is good left out there and that this
“good” is winning. If we let evil men rule this world over and over again, then what is the fucking point in being nice? I have been an
asshole before and a fucking saint before, but doing the right thing only satisfied my soul and got me ridiculed by others. It is strange how
this works here, it is “cool” to break the law and be a badass. Whatever happened to the notion that fighting crime was the badass thing to
do? Am I the only man that was truly effected by Batman? My parents aren’t dead but holy fuck do I want to walk the streets at night and bash
in people’s doors. Somebody out there needs to either die or go to jail. Sorry, a lot of people. And I don’t really see our leaders and our
countries spending billions of dollars stopping crime. Most of our leaders are dirty and corrupt, and we vote for them because we are
brainwashed into going along with this society we’ve created all because we are making money and it “works”. Sure it works, when you have
money you feel like a king, but when you don’t have any money you feel like a slave, just waiting for his day to eat. I’m not complaining
because the alternatives aren’t very fair, such as communism. If I work hard I should earn what I deserve.

But I haven’t made a penny on my art, probably because I suck. Which really seems like an insult after all the shit I’ve created this far. I
write music, I play guitar, I write words on computers, and I sing. I think that is about all I can do. Honestly I feel lost, like a jack-
of-all-trades without any useful skills. I can go to school and blah blah, maybe finish my bullshit English degree or go lift shit until my
back gives up, all the while being verbally abused by coworkers. People love me, or they don’t. I wish I could explain it, everything it
seems that I want to do, I find an excuse to get out of it because of some bad experience with some person or people. I pumped out the last
two paragraphs in a few minutes while I was smoking a joint because I was rambling on, but now that I mention myself I get so lost. Seems
like these lines are taking forever, and I fear that they will just end up in “erase heaven” like most of my work. Killing myself seems like
such a bad idea, but wow, sometimes I can almost convince myself that the future is bleak. Not saying I would ever actually kill myself, that
is never a good idea, there’s always hope right? Just need to have a little faith? Right?

Sometimes it’s easier to just write to a computer and erase everything than actually doing anything else. Life is wierd for me, I don’t care
how you are getting through it, you have probably somehow “won” in your own way, happiness found, whatever it is. COngradulations! You’re a
winner! Best of luck and all that, sincerely. I am a good soul as I write this, do not know what may become of me so far, but at this point I
am going to arrogantly say that I am the pinnacle of Justice. If I had super powers right now I would truly use them for ultimate good. When
the world hurts I feel it too. Not that, that even matters anyways since of course, the world is ruled my evil men and everybody is a
scumbag, selfish, inconsiderate, unworthy of a God to weep to.

I suppose all that I want is some damn appreciation as a Canadian artist, I have read a lot of poems and books by Canadians (and the rest of
the world) and heard a shit load of music, I think that I deserve a million dollars because my art is beautiful and meaningful. I put my
heart and soul into my work and can’t even get more than 10 likes on facebook. But people like YOU KNOW WHO are out there fucking rich and
famous off of crap and it is going down in the history books as “greatest” or “best ever”. I will ve damned if any one of my songs isn’t
better than that top 40’s crap. But I don’t have the popularity and money to buy my way to success. Sure I am working on getting a band for
live shows but something always comes up, somebody always quits right before we are ready. Is it my fault?! PROBABLY! Why?! Because I am an
asshole and a loser and blah blah. I am spiriling down a path I have no control over. I can’t find a job, I can’t make money independantly
and I can’t even finish school. I’ve some bad decisions sure, but I think by now I’ve repented for all my sins, if that is even possible.
Which weren’t even bad fucking sins, at all. Yet somehow I went from having a future, to having fuck all. I know that I have a beautiful
woman that loves me, but love is never enough to survive. This world runs off gold.

I’ve tried countless ways of getting “rich quick” (without spending money of course, I’m not stupid, I think) and simply wasted my time. When
I heard about bitcoins I thought “it will die fast” and brushed it off, I had the money to buy some and I oped out. I tried mining, ad
browsing, blah blah, I’ve got about 0.09 btc so far. I stopped that thought, the mining rate is silly and it requires a large investment in
order to mine something that isn’t worth mining. I need DOLLARS like they are going out of style. But how the fuck do I make DOLLARS?! GET
OFF YOUR ASS RIGHT?! HASN’T WORKED YET! FUCK! What I want is my own business, be my own boss, create jobs, buy stuff, sell stuff, cool stuff,
fun stuff, have a place in my hometown that will provide the people with what they need. Cool stuff thought, I’ve got my ideas but they are
hidden away, Muhahahaha!

I keep having this idea of posting something on a donation site and ask for money, in the back of my mind I would want it to work. I dream of
some rich artist stumbling upon my post one day, FEEL something and say “This guy deserves some economical appreciation!” I am about 17,000$
in debt from student loans and can’t go back to school until I pay the government about 600$+ on my loan, it’s a long story as to why I am
not in school. Either way, I have a bad back, I don’t want to slave over a trade, I want to make this world a better place. I have a voice I
want to use it. Unfortunately I have a lot of anxiety when I’m in public, I can’t always communicate verbally as well as I can think or
write, bad grammer aside. Maybe that’s why I can’t keep a job or finish school? I don’t want to feel like a charity case or a lazy pathetic
human being, but wow. I have been finding it very hard to be happy my entire life.

I hardly ever smile, I don’t really know what I look like everyday but in the mirror I look mean and unprochable. I can’t help it really,
inside I feel like I am a very GOOD MAN, I am JUSTICE! I feel like I’m here to protect people, maybe that’s why I don’t like being alone. I
don’t like being around people either. Wierd. Whatver, that’s why I deserve a million dollars! Is it justifiable or is worthy of a slap in
the face? I have no idea, my perception of the world is very different from everybody else’s, I’m probably a wierdo! WhooooOoooo! I’m eating
a can of chili as I write this now, been munching on it since I walked away to cook it after “Muhahaha”. Yum. I feel sorry for anybody who
has to read this, I don’t even want to revise it. Feels like it’s just a bunch of garbage that belongs in “erase heaven”. I am a talentless
slave with no master, somebody please enslave me and give me purpose!


A Note: Stream of Consciousness

I have no reason, no particular need. It’s late, and I… I cannot remember. But know this! I have been born, and in being born, I have a name…But it’s late… The fire inside my room falls short again, and goes out. How will I ever find more kerosene? I won’t. Needless to say however, I don’t need it anymore; it’s morning. I strap my gun to my thigh and keep moving east. The sun burns my eyes, but I don’t mind…

Now, tell me what I want to know, and don’t toy with me. I might have plenty of time to fuck with you, but you don’t. I’m sure in a few moments when time stands still, you’ll be moving again. Now, again, then again… I like these words. In fact, I like all words. Now tell me what I want to know, before mister .45 gets a little angry…

You wake up several hours later in an abandoned car park. However, I am still here and my gun is still pointed at your head. You still haven’t told me what I wanted to know…however, I haven’t told you what I wanted to know. I guess then, we’ll never know. I am writing this on this piece of paper, no other piece of paper will do. And no other bullet will do. In fact, I don’t want to know anything, I just want you to know that I’m going to kill you either way…

But I have no reason. Do you have reason? No? Then why are you here? And why is my gun pointed at your head? There must be a reason, unless… People just walk around waving guns in other people’s faces… but if that was true, then you know I would just shoot you now, right?

I pull the trigger, I don’t care anymore. As the slow chill finishes creeping along my spine, I feel better. Much better, it seems that all I needed was a little taste of death. The sweetest smell known to man, like a fine chocolate that makes your stomach turn…

Oh well, this letter is for you. My dead friend, hope you get it –hope it gets to you.

I turn off the tape recorder, and sit back down not knowing what any of that was about. “Oh well” I think, probably just another junkie leaving me messages. But why did I write that letter and to whom does it concern? Where the hell did I put my gum?

I wipe my gun clean of prints, and pick up the empty casings. Tomorrow I might regret this, but part of me just doesn’t seem to care. I complete the neurological scan and store what’s left of her memory on disk and prepare to leave. I’m about to put my hand on the handle and turn, when suddenly it hits me. Like a sharp knife stabbing at me, shouting “Hey you forgot me” the feeling is cold, quick… ruthless. I fall to the floor, clutching what’s left of my chest.

“Next time aim for my head.” “Yeah” I thought, but why waste that pretty little face of hers? My world goes black and I’m on the ground twitching like a maniac drug addict. All I can see now is a blurry reflection of my surroundings and this now previous event. A woman drops a tazer in front of me and cries. “You could have been something to me, but now… You’re just a mistake that needs to be forgotten and erased. I’ll use a knife for that one.

As I prepare to be carve into shreds by a mysterious woman, I began to think of my previous day dreams… I have no reason, no reason at all. And “Ugh” as the knife enters my abdomen I remember now, why I shouldn’t have taken this job in the first place. Oh well I think, I’ll be forgotten in a week.