A being.
8:46 PM Edit This 0 Comments »
Suspended in space.
No objects in direct line of vision.
No push. No pull.
Has hands. Has feet. Has legs.
No breath. No food. No shit. No puke.
Survives for a short but subjectively infinite moment.
Just being.
Being whole.
Being happy.
No I.
I-less.
This lump of flesh wants brain death in space. And that single moment of experiencing nothing external. True being, the being of everything and nothing at once.
This lump of flesh is defective, and unfit for this world, but must stay here to look after the two things that it allows itself a permanent attachment to, to save those two things from all the hurt in the world.
I do not hate me. I hate the amount of pain in this world. I want to take less from it, and take up a much lesser space in it.
This lump of greedy, ignorant flesh could easily have been born into a life of child sweatshop labor, genocide, or famine. This lump of ungrateful flesh debated getting a takeout order of sticky rice today.
Things are all mixed up right now, but I have to remind myself, it's a transitional period, a turning point. I dropped my old life (once again) very quickly, perhaps disregarding the fact that building a new life takes time.
I can't be around my parents right now. Spending too much time working and sorting through the way I was parented, dealing with the after-effects of bribery, guilt, and complete and utter emotional inconsistency on my mother's part. And now my parents can't tell me enough how proud they are of me, how strong I am, how intelligent I am, and how promising my future is. I really could have used that when I was younger, fuckers.
People-even strangers-have been telling me they see something inside me.
But I guess if I saw any of that in myself, it would kind of defeat the purpose of whatever this is.
No objects in direct line of vision.
No push. No pull.
Has hands. Has feet. Has legs.
No breath. No food. No shit. No puke.
Survives for a short but subjectively infinite moment.
Just being.
Being whole.
Being happy.
No I.
I-less.
This lump of flesh wants brain death in space. And that single moment of experiencing nothing external. True being, the being of everything and nothing at once.
This lump of flesh is defective, and unfit for this world, but must stay here to look after the two things that it allows itself a permanent attachment to, to save those two things from all the hurt in the world.
I do not hate me. I hate the amount of pain in this world. I want to take less from it, and take up a much lesser space in it.
This lump of greedy, ignorant flesh could easily have been born into a life of child sweatshop labor, genocide, or famine. This lump of ungrateful flesh debated getting a takeout order of sticky rice today.
Things are all mixed up right now, but I have to remind myself, it's a transitional period, a turning point. I dropped my old life (once again) very quickly, perhaps disregarding the fact that building a new life takes time.
I can't be around my parents right now. Spending too much time working and sorting through the way I was parented, dealing with the after-effects of bribery, guilt, and complete and utter emotional inconsistency on my mother's part. And now my parents can't tell me enough how proud they are of me, how strong I am, how intelligent I am, and how promising my future is. I really could have used that when I was younger, fuckers.
People-even strangers-have been telling me they see something inside me.
But I guess if I saw any of that in myself, it would kind of defeat the purpose of whatever this is.
0 comments:
Post a Comment