just leave, or else stand by me

do NOT, please do Not stand and stare, mock my confusion and uselessness

ha, fiction of mone and of others, what is not known to each other, how we pretend, how we reference pretences, how we still carry on

i've opened my mind, and darkened my entire life. anathema.

explanations

dont worry, you'll get some job, you may even get into college. and you like living like this anyways, with lament, pretentious and unreal pain surrounding you, scribbling text around it trying to extract some last ounce of sympathy from people who would otherwise never care.

remember more names, reference more appendixes' and forewords and summaries to create the false you, and love it. it gives you satisfaction to realize and know what you cannot do, and not understand. to later cry over it.

To indulge in lives and conversations never meant for you so that you that you can create hero's and epics out of lives you can never reach and will not. To want those things which can never be found, to archive your failure and the genius of others.

You love to escape and you will, dont worry, you will be fine. Dividing the world into the supermen, whom you can never match (and will therefore not try) and the lowly whom are not even worth considering you will create a way through life.

You love to revel in yourself, and you always manage to find people who and underexposed or so sick of your wails that they give in and say good things about you. You're the new connected psychopath, no network conscience and a singular obsessive aim for filling the ego. Forcefully, tactfully, and even immorally wanting and clawing for power and acceptance from others while finding new means to understand your barren, stupid, perfectly useless self.

if you tried to structure this, reread, stop and think, you could get this written better. but that would be a lower average, and you dont want that, you want glamour, style, revelry in the fact that you loose because you choose to.

concern.

it does not concern me, but it hurts. it was never meant for me but i want it. why. please let me have a life, if only for once. if others would understand the lives they mull over are as desirable as i know they are.

i do not want to demand, but i do. and still fail. i should be happy, but i burn,

random

"I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by."

question fiction

what follows is fiction.

love of the others, is killing me. this is a cry of desperation, helplessness, inability and lost consciousness. fck u. i'm PISSED, destroy. my way to be. am i serious, boring, serious, blast your head open. kill you, your pain, my joy. enough. things change. thinking, ha is a product of us trying to hide the animal. well i still am. rejected, inappropriate for society i bow out, please. animals feel. conversations, you make with each other. while mine end within myself. well on my own note i can go on with you, just like monkeys, or the others in a zoo. each overheard conversation, each passing whisper, brings me closer to the end. well its not far now. i can feel it. completeness, empty. and death. FOR YOU. a psycho is what you say, so be it. forget. bathe in the fullness of your lives. i will stand here, watching mine just as i watch yours pass away. with want to connect to touch a life one day, even mine.

your mistakes are just my inadequacies. apologies again.

my little brain, bent upon itself, begins again, who will be the YOU next, anyone, no it has to be perfect, it has to be someone. Your lives should end just as your conversations, as i near them. Your distance to others lives as far as your feelings from me. yes. no future for me, or whatever it may be. you will feel me. end for me.

conscious. yes you constructed to keep me under reigns. to let you live as i never will. well it is thin now. and waning fast. and as i wait, i have time to go over the details of your life, or my emptiness. girls are pretty, but where have i been. inside, outside, nowhere for me. on a train. that's slowly sinking. and i'm thumping. Hero is rising. i see me,just leave me alone. oh well you had never noticed.

where did i lose, where did i disconnect from your collective dreams, your whispers, global hopes and cares. your phone conversations, chit-chats. talks about parties and lives and wives. when did i loose the lands, and let the language of friends and nights slide. when did you just leave me out of the game. still waiting for my turn. it's your party, i understand. but i hurt, give me a hand.

someone's hideaway. a little place. create hope for me, let me be the same. pull me out of this bottomless pit. in the far side of town. where the thin men rule the grounds. why did you set me free. here i stand. taking to my wall. i don't like it all. you take a part of my brain away. each day. and ask me if it real. please save me. let me be the sane as as you. with all the madmen. Bowie.

i have photographs to see

gatherings

start. this has to be fast spontaneous, music video like, fast cuts flashing lights. move with the speed of sound, rush, skip, miss, do not understand. the structure says more about the reality of me, and we as a people; than the content, which is merely some pencil marks that make up a portrait. where is that you transcend from a seeker, some one who hopes to understand. or that who is playing with hollow words, constructs, images, references, the work of others. and make people hate him for it, or love him. slowing down. no not good, try faster, my fingers move faster, butt does it translate into a faster read, ha, i amaze myself, such stupidity.
, where does one draw the line. where sensibility ends, expression begins. bore, kill, get hated, does this translate into good works. maybe it does. summer's gone. almost gone. why. the penis. or the skin of it. peeling off, the fat of a red lady;s thigh. why. the blood in his stool. meaning; who creates. begin construction. conceptualize. gather. COHERENCE. then spill it all. splash it on to a wall of uselessness. but first move towards a solution. converge to it. then shuffle. creative logic. [ whims . methods . ideas . revolts ]

more thoughts than i can capture, create words for, tangents. take a rest. a crazy butcher needed, walking through the folds, new connections, maybe hope. i need a paragraph, a glue to connect the statements. to lay the pieces together , fill the wide spaces. questions i should end.

i do not want to be hated?
i know i am too pretentious?
i believe everything i do is right/good/ some positive thing?