A little riddle.

I hide in plain sight and shift between what’s black and what’s white.

I give you a reason to fight, yet  I will make you question why.

I close at the open and open at the close what am I?

Advertisements

The Slit.

Night after night. My head is haunted by visions. They are gruesome and sometimes, terrifying. Maybe it has to do with the kind of phase I’m going through in life. It is ugly. Humanity as we know it is turning into a rotting carcass and we are surviving off cannibalisation, not just in the sense of eating up each other for our own progress. But also, in the sense of the culture of death. The culture of stringent values being imposed on free souls. Indoctrination of the masses. It’s paralysing and soul-shattering at the same time to see a species so high in potential, grasp and level of intelligence has literally stooped to the level of anarchy and the literal standstill in terms of foresight the older generation has.

The escalation. It frightens me. I shake as I write. Again. I wish things would be better. But things never do. It’s like a giant spiral dragging you down and the faster you go, the more chaotic it gets. Until nothing is left except trying to hold onto what you once held dear and near to you. Only, everything changes. Friends become foes. Family become strangers. Strangers become acquaintances. Maybe it is my misfortune that I have been born in such an age, such a place. Things never really worked out that great for me. I was always.

The Underachiever. I don’t see things linearly. Maybe it’s my curse. My personal eternal hell. Is it so wrong to do what one feels right? Has humanity reached such a tipping point that right ceases to be wrong. wrong ceases to be right. All that’s left is the desperation. The moving along, the finding a fucking job. The finding a fucking cheap imitation. Killing yourself plastic coarse hypocritical mass murders inside your head. They don’t stop screaming. The visions. Brother killing brother. The infinite slaughter. Of all that was, all that remains.

A rotting carcass. Rivers of blood and spine-curdling screams. Where is your god? Where is your mercy? Is it background score for the little child that sits and cries day after day looking at the blank stare of her own mother, once animated full of life, a beautiful soul. What has your god done for her. Where is the humanity. Instant Slit.

They all slit. My knees turn into purple blue jellyfish and all I could see were chairs moving, chairs smashing down. upon heads. Upon feet. Upon all that’s left. It smashes down like a slivered nightmare. It’s a purple mist that descends after all is lost. It’s a severed limb, this joke of a humanity, that we call it.

Mockery for everyone. We have fruit punch and potatoes in today’s special of massacre served with a cold side-dish of despair and hysteria. Run for your lives, while we drink your blood through and through. One lives while millions die. Is this equality. Is this where I rest my head on. Contamination amok. All creation runs foul. one way or the other. One day or the other.

It’s all a circle seesaw merry go round before they kill you in your sleep. They blind you. It was just manic laughter till the blood spews out. And the day it did, it was ugly poison. They drink and rejoice while I kill myself a little slowly one day after the next.

Before.

The Slit.

Chaotic Visions I

Seconds are passing me by, and it’s futile.

But I’m looking for maps yet unknown and wondering if they’ll lead me to new places.

But what is new, and old when your life is a straight line.

There are no jagged curves and violent heaves.

Without an extreme, it feels synthetic.

Like a machine all alone trying to find its purpose in the universe.

The bull without a master is the most dangerous of them all.

Do you prod it with an iron stick? Or do you make it one of your own?

How do you tell the illusion from the mistake?

Do you pull the curtain back before a flabbergasted audience?

Do you let them drown in self-ignorance and let them discover the method to the madness?

Isn’t it all just a rumbling criss-cross of jumbled-up motion and intertwining fates on top of a speck of a dust?

There are no higher purposes, what if it’s all made to just be.

A giant test.

An experiment.

Starts with self-medication.

You slowly incapacitate.

When it’s just not visible anymore, you become your own test-tube.

You toss one chemical and then the other, hoping for an even bigger illusion.

Something so synthetically cheap and poisonous to yourself, that it helps you to see, to feel.

But you’re not there yet.

More chemicals. It’s a kitchen party and we’re all inviting ourselves to this giant experiment.

Still not there yet.

The fix eludes you.

This doesn’t feel real. Nothing does.

Not until there’s pain and love and sorrow and ecstasy. Nothing feels real without it.

Was this the giant plan? Are we so fucking numb? Are we so fucking dumb?

Where’s the colour. Did it all bleed out the day we twisted and churned our world into hues of gray

Black, white and pistol-shit

Death and desire, Sin and Sex.

If the world was inherently good, we’d have to be evil to feel, to know it was real.

To see the truth behind the lies, the dumbing down, the constant conformity. Feeding the chaos.

Killing the inner eye. Working for the man. Not sticking it up to him. Slowly decapitate ourselves.

To see what matters. For patterns start to emerge everywhere. Everything connects.

Once you’re ¬†disconnected enough. from everything.

From prying eyes, from the chip in your brain, from all the unnecessary sound, from that painful ring in your ears that screams.

Screams and screams and screams. It cries hoarse. You have to fucking hear me. Why don’t you fucking listen?!

From the big man in the sky, that kills all that lives and all that dies.

Do you see the giant TV show, it’s playing out on a chessboard.

Three. C. Pawn to King. Decapitate.

E Seven to Be Four. Replace.

A warp machine is being created. Distorting the signals in our head. Its creating a giant fucking abyss.

Tearing apart all that thrives. Making mothers shriek. Lifting children up and then throwing them back into the war, like they did before.

The endless cycle continues.

It’s Just An Idea.

first they laugh at you, then they ridicule you. when none of that works, they wave their fists at you hoping you’ll give up. when none of that works, they sit and watch in silent denial.

as time passes by and they connect the dots, they finally wake up to the idea. it’s not so bad after all.

and then it works, to the point of almost flawless near-perfection.

Wait, they knew it all along it would work of course! Who could be ridiculous enough to not get it at all? Flattery ensues and appreciation along with it. A few claps, the odd eureka followed by a few pats on the back. You did good, but its just not that good enough.

And then the slow slump into obscurity begins, More time passes away and suddenly, nobody remembers anymore.

The circle isn’t complete yet. Not before a stupid douchebag comes along, pulls off a cheap imitation, adds a few magic tricks, some snap and a little spice. The world applauds. Calls him a genius.

What a brilliant idea!

Void Disconnected. Repeat.

I couldn’t sleep. just for a couple of hours maybe.

Kneel and Disconnect.

waste another year.

fill the application.

No, I can’t start a new career. Unfortunately.

Sometimes you get so tired of going through the motions, trying to get out of the vicious circle of failure that pinches you every second you exist. You wish things were different. that they would get better some day. But somehow they never seem to fucking do. So you come this close to giving up. I’m seriously tired of constantly trying to reassure myself that it’s all part of a bigger plan. there is no bigger plan. there is no grandeur. there’s no mighty delusion of greatness. It’s all a fucking lie.

I looked up at the void and I couldn’t find a mirror. and it spoke back to me. I don’t remember what it said. But it sure talked for quite a while, because it couldn’t let me sleep. There are things that make us and then there are things that destroy us. you want to make some fucking noise but all you hear is static talking in an unknown language. you try to understand. you really fucking try. but sometimes stuff just doesn’t add up.

You could eat up a stone, you could destroy the mighty brick walls. you could drink up sand mixed with blood and sweat like water in a flowing river. you could try staring at the window and try taking a piss out of it. but there will never be escaping the status quo. ‘the stereotype’. there will always be acceptability and rejection. We as humans, love classification. this is good. this is bad. this is wrong. that’s right. But above it all, we want an interesting fucking judgement of everything. We want a show. So what if somebody gets killed, fuck that shit. bring a tiger and bring in a slave, we will drink wine through a gold cup and see his blood spill all over the place just so that we can feel fucking good about ourselves.

Humanity is beautiful but sometimes you can’t help thinking how shitty it is at the same time as well. you get the good with the bad. Much like sulphuric acid mixed with coke. you might get a good fucking kick in the nuts and have a happy trip for a while but you’ll ultimately kill yourself.

Could you see through the void? there was no mirror today and it spoke nothing. why are things so disconnected? where was the missing variable all along. did humanity lose out to carnal animal instincts that turn mighty wise and noble men into beasts who look for the next thrill. we’re all junkies. and we like to kill ourselves over small things. Period. don’t know about you but that’s what I feel like today. You always want to forget the shitty stuff but it’s always coming back and pinching you right there. Ultimately the sadness resides and you get used to the pinch. You stop feeling it untill someday it all comes back. Someday you get out alive. But you rarely ever do.

Disconnect and Repeat.

Disconnect and Repeat.

Destroy Yourself.

Let’s have a good fucking show.