Drunken disparity? Paint a pretty picture.

I think the funniest fact of life we have ever been taught is that most of your feelings will go unnoticed. Another funny fact of life is that generally you can assume that the more attention you get, the more you are going to want. If there was truly a caring person in the world that could heed every silent cry for help, they wouldn't have a life. They would be completely overwhelmed, especially by the drunks. And then even more by the trippers.

Nothing can express the utter fear and disparity of a drug addled sadness. One can cry like they have been emotionally shot by a bullet, draining their being of all that is left. I feel a good hefty empty pain, like hunger, only worse. It fills my head, making my life feel the same. A hollow ornament on the tree of life. It makes me laugh how much the world truly doesn't give a fuck. It is the path of least resistance. If people had to care for everyone there would be no room for self therapy. I laugh at how, no matter what, it is impossible to really throw yourself down for someone without seeming like a fool. A god would be so horribly comforting right now, but I have found that trying to hug him is like trying to hug a pillow, only even more hollow. It is like hugging yourself, if that were possible.

I am a bonafide, genuine freak. I am not a man, not in the least. My desires border on insanity. I am one of those insecure, pansy men. All I want is to hold someone. I mean really hold someone, squeeze them and cry. That to me would be more fulfilling than sex. this of course is not attractive, not in the least. Women don't want another woman, I'm sure they have plenty. Just like I wouldn't want to have another man, to tell me that crying is a shame. Crying is like ejaculation of the eyeballs, and it is less frequent than the other kind. hahaha, you men know this to be 100% fact. It is the ultimate release; the ultimate ode to an ancient, sad, forgotten melody. When I cry, I cry for it all.

I cry for the ultimate disparity for life, the ever approaching death and uncertainty. I cry for every unknown, bypassed suffering of history. I cry for the criers that cried out to nobody. HELP ME! I WANT TO BE WORTH SOMETHING, I WANT TO BE HELD AND TO HOLD ALL THAT IS COMPASSION! I FEEL ALONE! Cries can turn into screams if left unchecked. Screams that thrash and burn in a fiery rage to lick the walls of our prisons and beat our heads upon the bars.

"despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage." The Smashing Pumpkins

There is no true justice in the universe just like there is no truth. We cannot prescribe some sort of ultimate theory as to why were are here in these bodies. It will be different answers for every generation, but the same question. As we have seen life is a bit of a thing that grows, like a tree in a unfathomably large forest. duplicating, building upon itself, making connections. It all flows into this climax, that is, if the story were to be formatted correctly. The book of life is a book I never want to finish, it is too interesting to put down. Only in reality I have someone with a gun to my head telling me I have to. I hope my reading level is below average.

Art is the perfect expression of emotions, and the ultimate person to kill. Art is infinite in endurance, I can pour all of my rage, sadness, fear, and cynicism into it. Attack and brutalise everything about it. Expression within the confines of paper, my greatest emotional attachments blow up like an atomic bomb within the confines of reality. It is a funny fact of life that the more you smother and encase your emotions, the more you feel they have been expressed. I am the most supreme piston in an automobile, firing off all I am worth in the right direction, to guide this horrible celestial fucking motorcycle forward! Now we are getting somewhere, much better than going nowhere wouldn't you say? Potential action means nothing compared to action correct? People can make threats all they want, but the one who strikes first has the last say. The winners make the rules, the winners survive. How can we deny this obvious fact of life? Considering everything will die eventually, what does it matter that your offspring survives? ultimately the losers get the last laugh because they never had to try as hard, the losers actually got to enjoy their lives. Joy is rare, cheap, and above all ephemeral.

Enjoy it like the drug that kills you. I wish I could, but I am on this egotistical quest for glory. Maybe this outlet isn't as attractive as pretty colors, I should move on.