xtoolfreakx's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- FASTER-MATION� Meltdown, breakdown, shakedown, water babies, space cases, and chronic kids. Teen scream dream machines enraged and engaged into a low gear overdrive post-existence far beyond being detached, disconnected, or destroyed. Sun-starved and saturated with the liquid remains of the great god. The tragic, the beautiful, the abominable, the chemical, the metal twisted into human flesh and crying out with the lightning pitched voice of a supersonic angel hell-bent to crack the earth wide open and pour out its core of souls into the cold, empty blackness of time and space. Cause we're the never children of the great nevermind. We never have, and we never will. We�re nothing because we have nothing else to be. Estranged, jaded, sullen, as fucked up as we wanna be. Because once you�ve learned how to love, you�ve learned how to hate. It all comes down to one word, one name, one number, one thought, one second, one motherfucking piece of everything to call your own. But that�s not enough. There�s always a thirst for more. No matter how much blood you have on your hands. The world makes you this way. The world is a candy store offering greedy kids their flavor of the day. They're loaded up on carbon chocolate, cherry-flavored strychnine, and toxic glycerin shit. Boil it up and over and out and back again. Roll it all up in a cigarette, smoke it, choke it down, and puke it back up. Because we�re zombies and robots. Walking over a cliff just because it�s there. And we think that the ride down is worth whatever�s down there. Each one of us is alone, together, broken, fixed, happy, sad, bleached, blackened, faded, changed, cloned, forgotten and unforgiven--problems, disturbed, abandoned, on selfish destruct, distorted, echoed , fused , and wired. Amplified a million times over, and plugged into a great nothingness. Riding wave after wave of thoughts and dreams. The things we stumble over are the broken dreams and promises we use to have. Always there to remind your naive, anxious, and forgetful soul. Urging the crystallized demons to dance across your brain. Filled with hatred and regret. Battered, beaten, tired, weary, bruised, fallen, and soiled--tear streaked, forgotten, pushed aside, and broken. So you crawled into these dark arms, your messiah. The one that screams I made you into your ears, ringing every thought loose. Saturn and Jupiter still spin around the galaxy, greedy, pushing down on the atmosphere, shoving at the stars for more room. Pushing your dark messiah and you closer into eachother, becoming one. Half-crazed, delusionial, callused, hateful, spiteful, fore-warned, choked, dysfunctional--over-whelmed by this great power that equals into a billion nothingness things. Detached and falling in love with all the worthless things that plaque our greedy and mindless world. Pushing and shoving on things that are non-existent to the ones that are looking. Viruses and maggots float around in these soul-less bodies, feeding on the memories that were once so precious. They cry for no reason, but pain. Screaming away their mental health. Prozac, nicotine, and alcohol put the babies to sleep without worries for the night. Only for them to wear off, and they go back to spiraling down into a void, into a rut, until they decide to take their daily dosage. Twisted, bent, fragile--noone says handle with care. Assembly line of body parts, roughly put together, molded together, to be shaped into what the society and the government want from the common man. One slip up, one mistake of timing, and one machine, out of a million, is created--different, depressed, relentless, and confused--it is what everyone else wishes to be. Not mind-controlled, not church-controlled, a systematic crisis. Chaos, anarchy, blasphemy, manic depressive--with a gun--the ingredients for a mighty, evil brew. Sugar coated lies, hype you up, and bring you back crashing down. The rough walls abraise the skin, pulling on your flesh, bleeding and torn. Staying close the wall in hopes of blending in, wallpaper. Another backdrop to stare at and fall into a comatose slumber. Dreaming of snapping yourself out, bringing yourself back, drooling in anticipation. We talk all day, and never say a word. Cut open the useless, and wire their jaws shut, getting nourishment, from a tube, pumped into their stomachs. Slip sulfuric acid into the tube, and let it burn on the way down, and into their intestines, burning from the inside and out. Detoxification, deranged--screaming. Rotting in an apathetic existance, forgotten at their own eulogy. The army of consumption marches on, drives on, sails on, flies on. Faster, stronger, smarter, unstoppable. There's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop it because you've a part of it. It's just as much a part of you. You can't live without it and no one really wants to try. You belong to it. Every beat of your heavy heart just serves the rhythm of their song. (*Some excerts were taken from another source, unfortunatly I can't remember where they're from. Credit goes out to the person that wrote 1/4 of this. The rest are my own words. And I agree with the parts I took out.) People feel like machines. Hard-driven and wore out. While I, well, I don't know exactly where I fit into the analogy. I guess maybe an observer on life. But what I do know is, that life is always the same. Not one can change it's course, or change how we interperate it. Those who don't see outside the circle, are the ones that just stumble around, hopelessly wondering. Those who do see outside the circle, are the ones that don't take one thing for granted. No religion can teach you that, or show you that. (Do I sound like a snobbish asshole yet?)
Speaking of snobbish assholes.... I encountered several today. Their social status is based upon how much their car is worth, or how much their out-fit for that day costs. Preps. Whatever you want to label them. I wouldn't say that I hate them. Because I don't. It's the ones that KNOW they are snobbish assholes, and will admit to it. The ones that when you walk by them, they pull their arms in, and try to avoid touching you at all costs. I don't have a disease. Last time I checked, being gay wasn't contagious. ::Runs and touches you:: oooo... now YOU'RE gay. You like the same sex now! Perish the thought.... Sometimes I just want to slap a big sticker on my forehead that says gay freak in really big letters... that way they know my label before hand.
Call me anything you want, just not late for dinner. (Note to self: Never ever under any circumstances... say that again.)
Tired.
Girls that flirt way too much: wtf? why did this chick just kiss me on my cheek? and why is she sitting on my lap? That's when you say to yourself - 'Dear Self, Now if I remember correctly... majority of the population in the US are heterosexuals. Soooooo why is this chick flirting with me?' ::ponders the thought:: maybe she's just friendly. We can only hope. Otherwise... I might have a problem on my hands. FASTER-MATION WHILE SMOKING� In a loving wondrous cry to the universe, I light this cigarette with a fiery light And in so doing ignite a flame of creativity within my heart. And as I drag upon its filtered end, So do I filter out all thoughts of bad and angry things. And as the smoke fills my hungry lungs, So does my hungry sould fill with joy and light and love and more joy. (Funny is it not? Faster-mations makes everything that's a bad habit, good. A slight spin. Yes. But I feel better about the possibility of me coughing up blood in a few years. Gee, that's wonderful.) "So you stick this here.... annnnnnd ta da--oh shit, I screwed it up...." 6:07 p.m. - 2001-09-18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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