The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.

from @ 3/6/2002 10:37:27 PM

Try not to cry for me, it should be easy, but everyone's different. We've spent time on this rock hoping to turn into a flock of eagles and be able to fly away. A shame we can't blame the person responsible for this craziness cause we don't know who it is. Is it Jesus, Buddha, Ghandi, science? My instincts say...actually my instincts are nonexistent. Distant thoughts of what is supposed to be done are there, but they're so cloudy I don't even recognize their presence. My essence is that of a peasant trying to please his king but never succeeding in his quest. The best he can do is act like a fool and hope his master will approve. Isn't that what we all do? Prove me wrong by the time the gong sounds and maybe then will you have found that you have achieved the impossible in record time. Kind man, don't walk away, please stay. Play with us in our jungle of despair, it's really quite fun in here, we promise. Cares just flush down the toilet along with all the other garbage my body carries. Share my misery. What misery? You know, the misery of contemptment. Ah, that misery. It fizzled out years ago, you're living in the past. My heart had a cast, but I sliced it off in rage, that bastard keeps me alive all the time without asking me. Basking in it's glory of life, well give me the courage and a knife and I'll take you right out of my chest with no regret. Everyone is betting against me, but they don't realize God sent me and I'm his son. But she says she's his daughter and he says he's also his son. We're all the same? What a confusing game. When I came here I hadn't met fear yet, it turned out to be a horrible, yet life saving emotion. When there was great commotion fear slowed everything down into slow motion so that I could savor the painful moments. Thank you fear. If you were an animate object I would dissect you and find out what makes you work. Fear does have it's, actually it doesn't. My cousin is my family, but I see fear more than him, it's not fair. But I really don't care any more, my chores have gotten so much more repetitive and I've lost interest, but still must feign. We're changing all the time, oh sublime higher power can you make me into a flower? So that the rains can shower upon me and make me grow until a little kid picks me in the middle of his little league baseball game and is stricken from playing because he was gazing at my beauty. Moody people never did it for me, they just never seemed to glitter for me. They're faces just kind of popped up in the litter for me. They were always a little too bitter towards me. They made a sinner of me, thanks! Now I can laugh all the way to the bank, or maybe it's to hell, either way someday I'll be off this rotting rock we call 'home.' When I get off I have a bone to pick with the creator, the maker of the madness, the baker of the badness, the forsaker of sadness, the shaker from which the pain sprinkles. Sometimes I think God is taking a tinkle on my head and laughing because I'm too naive to figure out what's happening. The lasting impression of depression is molded into my soul never allowing me to gain control again. As my mind bends and expends energy to rationalize God laughs and I cry. It's sort of a love/hate relationship. It's wonderful actually, he'll challenge me and I'll lose my balance and fall. I'll call his name when bad happens and praise myself when good happens. Somedays the sky blackens and a voice speaks out, 'you suck!' The sky turns blue and I turn green wanting to be that voice or at least have the choice to listen or not. The plot thickens as every second passes gas and makes the room unbearable, but I'm locked in and I injected the key into my brain but I can't find it any more. I knew being responsible would come in handy one day, so why didn't I learn how. Now I have to endure everything unpure. There is no known cure, the affliction is too obscure and everyone is just lured in like lost puppy dogs. They can't understand my language so I'm trapped like a fat rabbit in his smaller brother's door. The more I try to escape the less likely it becomes. Being shun from every direction, not to mention the immense pressure in this spot, and not to complain, but it's kind of hot in here. Do you think you could turn on the air? I'm bare and brittle, and this fiddle does me no good without a little practice, but I'll just smash it anyway. So, within the next few days please lift this haze from here, it's kind of weird, and to tell the truth I'm a little bit scared. I've shared so much of myself that I only have a tiny portion left for me and I'll defend that like it was my only source of nutrition because it is. 'Back off, you can't have it!' I scream as I jam it down someone else's throat and boast in my intelligence which turned out to be arrogance which morphed into ignorance. At second glance, I never even had a chance to prance in a flower field because no one would yield to let me in. I've been waiting for my moment to shine, but it's too late cause now I'm blind from watching others. Covered in welts my nose starts to swell from all the bullcrap that I've smelt since my first interaction with a female. I run to the boat that's docked right next to my mind and start to sail down my spine when I realize it's nowhere to be found. I guess I'll just sit here and drown, it's better than being discovered covered in fear, blood and rejection across the midsection and upper torso. For so long, maybe twenty-five seconds, I could hear birds chirping and my ex- girlfriends slurping on that other guy. Oh my, that was uncalled for Lord. When I said I was bored I didn't mean turn them into whores. The sounds push my foot to the floor and my heartbeat accelerates, I have an old soul so it can only hit about eighty-eight before I crash into fate and debate the meaning of my life until my life is just another exhausted topic. Walking back on the darkened pebble road I noticed a larger rock and mocked it cause it was so out of place. My face was glowing in laughter when suddenly I realized that the point is void once you turn thirteen. That sure was mean of all those people to keep me here that long. I have no choice now but to go on ahead down this pebbled road and feel sympathy for those large rocks because on a bigger road with bigger pebbles I'm the bigger rock and someone is mocking me every seven minutes until the day I'm kicked off the road and into seclusion, which I believe is called 'Heaven.'

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