Brave New World V.2

I have, self evidently, single handedly- reached an enlightenment many will fail to reach in their life time, let alone at 20. I’m not counting Berger or any other Visional Psychoanalytic of contemporary times (so fine, I haven’t reached this all by my own, because their words triggered me into anger, sadness and acceptance in a 2 hour interval).

“Maybe it isn’t what i put on my face, but what i put in my body”, i told myself in the mirror.
Still displeased with what I saw- I accepted, if only for a brief moment, the image reflecting back to me.
It is me but it is not, because it is different from me; all the same, I DO have the control over what I see.
This ability to make a distinction i possessed in infancy but has escaped me after puberty; maybe i never had it at all.

Nothing but pretty images of capitalistic control fresh from the oven of the one and only, bad and lonely Big Bad Brother Wolf. To make us fuck, to perfect ourselves, to hate ourselves and be vulnerable- to want to buy more more to achieve some implausible reality that can never ever BE US, ME, YOU. Everything else that is unaccepted in the eyes of the state gradually disappears (oh what ever happened to the Electric Car?), unless a conflict and upheaval resurfaces it and it is only then that something as ‘unpleasant’ as feminism rises to the surface and very gradually assimilates itself into society (but in very small subtexts).

I’ve rest my case, and my enlightenment i will keep for myself to ponder, i hope it will sink in and i will not degenerate to be normal in this insane, obsessed, sickly world!

sincere love and admiration,
Randomique Jester

Save Me

I tell myself daily- today will be the day of my death.
The old me has died, cheers to my burial, celebration of my decomposing meat.
Old habits die hard, or don’t die at all.
If you’re fortunate to have them assassinated by a third party,
they haunt you like Halloween masks.
Same time, different place; expected but unavoidable.

I’m tired of this farce.
Myabe I never had ‘it’, or I never will.
I will always be a lucky 7, never 9 or 10.

Fuck, why am I so concerned?
My life is sad and truly pathetic.
I’m on te edge of suicide but cowardice pulls me in.

A walking paradox, dressed in irony. I hate everyone around me because all I do is want their love,
I know the answers to my own questions but i’d rather wonder around looking for them.
I don’t know what I want, I find the easy way out, because I’m afraid of death but I’m afraid of living even more.

No, I will not stop at the pun.
I want to embrace my loneliness and be able to talk to myself like I used to.
I love my lonely little blog, I wish it had a human form- dark, quiet, understanding, personal- MINE.

I never finish what I’ve started, counting in suicide attempts.
I’m too bored and too lazy and even my blog creaks from my repetitive burdens.
You gave me life, now show me how to live!
But it’s not that easy; God is but a made up answer to a questionin that dawns all humans: why the fuck am I here and what for?

Why am I so drawn to Christian Music?
It’s serene.
It’s fanatic.
It’s insane.
It’s laughable.
It’s me and evrything I hate about me.

I can ramble on and you can’t stop me.
I wish I could put my words into good use.
The pursuit for recognition is painful, seeing people who have what I want is painful. Knowing but feeling inhibited, incapacitated is TORTURE.

I live in my own version of the world, where it revolvs around me.
I can’t face the actual version of this world, nor the people in it.
The people in it will never reach the perfection I am after.
I prefer MY Matrix.

I smother the one I love who
(God knows why) loves me back……… I want to keep him safe in a little box, away from prying hands, I want to take him away where it’s just the two of us. Where he can take care of me and harvest the happiness I’ve failed to grow in myself. I will smother him until he is crazy, until he hates me and the only joy would be to break free of my grasp.
I’m like those old, creepy mothers locked in basements signifying everlasting, wielding treachery; you can’t escape Me, You’re something You need to overcome.

Who is talking to me? And why aren’t I dead anymore? I mean yet!
Who is talking to me? Through me?
It could have happened in a flash! A milk truck passing by, speeding to our imminent collision. I am so careless…….
I’d rather die painlessly, in oblivion -the way I live.
Sleeping.
Sleep-walking.
Sleep-living.
Why am I here for?
I speak of torture but I have not seen what torture is.
I am lucky to have what I have and yet I complain about how shallowness and ignorance that surounds me…
I I I I I I I AM
I AM is but an illusion of what I am.
I am is what I’m not.
I is meaningless, it could never in depth describe me.
But I is omniscient it’s everything and everywhere it’s all of us, it’s all of me- I.

I am a question to be answered.

Somebody Save Me.

R.J

‘right above the entry, stretched out a capitalized sentence that signified all misery and theological humour: WHY IS YOUR STOMACH FAT?’

How to Lose Friends and Alienate People

I should know, I freaking wrote that story.
The story of my life.
The only cure is the tangible to substitute the intangible, the emotion.
I need something to hold, to touch to acquire; to be entertained by for the moment until
it is discarded for a new item. Like I am; the story of my life.
I’m a model citizen in this brave new world.
I consume to suppress, eat to be happy, sink in my misery- the border between me and my idols
is the border of the self made swamp I am drowning in.

Why is it my misfortune to surround myself with people who make me feel like shit?
It’s like I’m teasing self destruction, taunting depression to come and play; let’s play-fight on the floor
where you can overpower me- I will no longer see the image that is me, I will see what you want me to see:
the ugly, the lonely me.

Losing friends is a must: those who judge me, those who are beneath my reverent stature and those
who challenge me to the point I challenge myself.
Alienating those who truly love me, those who try to help me in ways I am not willing to accept as a lifesaver.

I want to break free, from what the mirror and the interpretation that’s attached to it.
Why can’t this motto ring clear in my head: interpretation varies, so does beauty, attraction, perfection.
But what if I’m not in that consensus of beauty that everyone has cast a vote for but me?
Why do I so desperately need to?
Because I’m a model citizen of this brave new world.

A world where you can buy spares and body parts to repair those society deemed to be unacceptable.

I hate I hate and I crave the same
attention, affection, desire.
fuck me.

I was made in America and America hates me for what I am,
I am your shit, you should be ashamed of what you have eaten.

Verbal diarrhea relevant to no one.
I’m killing myself.
This rope i so desperately cling to by theory
try to break free from
it’s wrapped around my neck in a noose.

I’m halfed and will always be because i’m not living for me
what drives me forth i was afraid to take on
i am second best…..
and it’s too late.

R.J