Sometimes I think how my life could be. Or, how I could be. The people I could be meeting, the connections we could be making, the dreams that we could be living out together.
It sucks being in prison. Everything is in place to remind you of these walls. There is no escaping yourself. None that’s not carefully monitored.
I feel like having your dreams crushed is the closest thing that can be legally forced upon you to castration. That’s what this sometimes feels like, except imagine your testicles or ovaries are self aware. Held down and forced to watch every potential future closed off to you.
Now imagine you’re captured by a tribe that use you as a subject for medical experiments. Who are unable to understand or empathise with your pain. Who couldn’t possibly fathom the grave consequences of their actions. To whom you could never, ever, ever, communicate your suffering.
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Any life. A happy one. One without wasted potential. With a healthy amount of connections. Where love is not a distant fantasy. Without emotional disfigurement. Without these ugly lines that mark my breaking point. With the promise of health while it is attainable.
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A mind. Indoctrinated into a system. Channelled through pathways to a predetermined goal. On the one hand, it’s a fairly efficient tool that achieves synchronization between organisms and strength in communication. On the other, it virtually removes any room for manoeuvre. Topologically smothers possibilities. Shapes any truth that bubbles to the surface.
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Picking and jabbing at and fucking with the head of someone who’s lost their mind. In these moments of clarity I can see it. It becomes another layer of something to escape from before you can be a human being again. To live and love. The most important things to you somehow become a laughable desire in me. I am tired. Trying to prove this to you. I don’t want to fight. If I have to fight, I become something else. Something equally unreachable. All I want is that warm glow back. The one I feel as if you hardly notice in yourself. Someone with an open heart. Willing to see the good in me. Not from behind walls or under floorboards. Not as a passing judgement from a foreign station.
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I’m sorry. For me. Life here is hard, I try my best to not let it effect who I am but sometimes I am not strong enough. The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable because of me. I want to radiate happiness, like I used to.
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In my attempts at perfection I usually end up looking really fucking weird. When you’re not fighting yourself, everything just slips off the tongue you know? To actually think, long and hard, about what you’re saying and doing, there are so many potential stumbling blocks that can stop you in your tracks.
The problem is I seem to have lost myself in the process. I think going back would kill my soul a little anyway, after experiencing all this possibility. But maybe one day I’ll reach wherever it is I’m headed. Until then, this limbo isn’t exactly the friendliest place to be. Most people shrug me off. Talk over me because I swim against the flow, so to speak.. I get the feeling they see that as some kind of disability. But my mind is more or less functioning normally, so I kind of just have to watch from behind bars as they form a representation of me that precludes me from forming a neutral relationship with them.
It’s a sacrifice I made all the while believing in the back of my mind that I could some day choose to make my way back. And now, I don’t feel like I can apply what I learned as an ‘outsider’. I worry that I’m stuck here. I guess that’s my concern. Stuck here with the weight of all this possibility on my shoulders, without any chance of becoming one myself, watching all the lives I could have lived, predicting all the ways that I could die, and not being able to do a fucking thing about it.
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I don't want to be alone forever, but it'd be nice to choose to be when I feel like I need it. I guess the majority of people in the civilized world have this privilege, and it probably keeps them sane considering there are no working toilets in soap operas. Sometimes I think I just need time for what the social network doesn't allow for or takes out of context. Like writing this. Most people have a place they can go. Physically or mentally.
It wouldn't even matter. From a completely neutral standpoint. Or one which evolved in harmony with the parts of ourselves we now have to hide away. But yes. Ok. It's right. At least a choice. At least. To do what I need to do without minds transforming my actions into symbols to be understood in a social context. To not have the reaction to that representation forced upon me. My base motions are not fodder for the worlds judgement. It is not communally ready or willing to understand them from a neutral standpoint. It's a horrendous notion, that I should be forced to mould my core to a higher level understanding that disregards the essence of what we are. That's the very definition of hollowing yourself out.
If you can watch freedom and come to some solid conclusion that fits with your internal representation. "Weirdo", "Freak", etc. That implies that you've already found an answer that accounts for everything. And there's nothing wrong with that, at least as a hut on a mountainside. But I really shouldn't be forced to act in accordance with it. I shouldn't be shunned and barred from the network or closed off as a possibility because you decided to stop thinking at that station. In an ideal world.
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More often than not, it's not what you do. It's that you're doing anything at all.
Having said that, I think synthesising and forcing a negative reaction onto someone's actions in order to stunt their growth ranks pretty high on the 'things that are legal that could kill a man' list.
I would take it one step further.
You wake up in a pitch black room and everywhere you step gives you a strong electric shock. Eventually you gain the strength to run to the walls, feeling for an exit, but there is none. And the pain from the shocks is accumulating. So you run back to the bed, where there's nothing but sleep and your memories.
You're a seed planted in a bed of poison. Someone willingly smothered you so the order that blooms from their actions is left untainted. If you manage to fight your way through the crust and into the sunlight you're cut down the minute you're noticed.
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It can’t conceive of what it’s destroying.
Cancer, disease, virus, animal. That is its enabler.
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The rules are always going to be bent. In the shadows where no-one sees or the heights which no unwitting rung of a ladder can reach. The system could never work on virtuous contribution. There's no concrete definition. The sands will shift and the foundation will erode. And what's left when it's gone? Just you and your survival. However you define yourself. There's strength in numbers but there's also mass. So it's the individual that'll flourish all the while you're leading yourself in circles. Right up until you decide to reach a density that a new path can breach. Why is it that the most uniform collectives seem to channel the most power? And the simplest, the most pure? In the abstract, a dissonant set of molecules with open arms and frozen hearts. At the top end of a potential explosion of consciousness, blunted by a chaotic storm. Every star had to pierce the darkness. The only lasting disagreement placement within the system and their identification with the winds that carry them. I opened my eyes and there I was, and now I'm me.
The noise. Deafening and grating. Like the universe screaming in its sleep. As it pulls itself up and drags itself down. Your eyes but not mine.
Sex tip: knowing how your partner feels brings the most satisfying orgasm.
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I feel as if I'm being led on by people who are only partially there.
As if one day they'll be whole, reachable. Instead of lurking at the threshold of my senses. I catch glimpses of positive responses by hidden eyes, and that possibility - that I'm watched and appreciated, it keeps me in this trap of unrelinquished effort.
My mind is full of light I can never communicate. Meaningless fluff, then, in a social context. As opposed to soul destroying nothingness. Want to know how I feel? I feel as if we stand side by side, but the depths of our souls are left cold and alone. Neglected, as we're caught up in directions for the correct dressing up of ourselves and the world. Feeding blunt order to an algorithm that blossoms into beautiful infinity when itself becomes the input.
She acknowledges my heart.
I want life. What I fear most is being sucked into an empty shell of understanding. Because, ultimately, we're the ones in control of the future. The decisions we make in our lifetimes will resonate for millennia. The paths we take. The vector of memory reconfiguring the diamond structure at the helm of this beautiful ship. The history of the universe.
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The longer it goes on, the more they understand themselves in the context of the order, the earlier they’re indoctrinated. The self and all things replace replaced with synthetic synchronized answers that override all possibility. Beautiful towering giants through which information flows. Dead pathways to rainbows that last for split seconds. Dulled. Blunted. Blurred. De-rezzed. The mind sends it off in all directions and it becomes the arms which pull them through time.
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