Mechanistic
Originally Uploaded here by Lynn Fagerlie
I am too tired, too post-traumatic, too worked to put up with your bullshit. Shit streams from your mouth and I will vitriolically spit it back, reconstituted. And then I realise that you're simply mechanical, an output from my own actions of neglect. Un-self-aware, merely a complex series of switches simplified down by heuristic. I want you to be more responsible, that the weight of happiness means you should carefully hold those of us that struggle with it. But you don't, and I shouldn't be surprised. I am not so arrogant to assume that those I associate with aren't average.
I've given you a timeline, and I think it's fair. I won't tell you, not directly, but let me say this: you're doing marvelously.
I still hurt from the loss of her. Existentialist trauma is not something I possess. My problems are far more baroque, I am haunted by operatic senses of loss, the burdens of an skewed system, and by demons and their shades. I dreamed again, as I often have been. What I would do to have a normal dream, possibly something even as silly as classical characters in a television setting.
I'm going to go play F-Zero some more. Fuck yeah, bitches. Kickin' it old skool.
Written On: Home Computer
Currently Listening: Emilie Simon - Never Fall In Love (song d/l)
Alternative Title: It Isn't That Bad