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neutralListening to: the stone roses - fools gold
Reading: haunted by chuck palahniuk
Watching: the jacket
august 28th /
..1.36am - What are you suppose to think of yourself when all you hear from people that are suppose to support you most, is avalanche of verbal abuse? When you are being reminded everyday that you're a nobody, going nowhere, even if in other people's eyes you're an ideal friend. Often being compared to people that wasted their life away, the losers who accomplished zero, nill, nada. Working a dead-end job, with no degree, you did this to yourself. You did this, you decided to skip out on the higher education. You have cut yourself off from friends, from family members living less than a football field away, from fresh air alltogether (let's not go as far as saying "fresh" about the air in New York, but you get my drift). Locking yourself away in a paper prison of your own appartment, isolation, seemed logical since you can't afford to have fun without the green. Sleeping pills are a good way to reboot your system, because in reality the difficulty of life can be too hard for some. So cheers my friend, grab some h2o, chase down an army of medicine you just swallowed, kick back and enjoy the show. Enjoy your life's highlights in slow-mo, written, directed and produced by yours truly. All your glory days as a kid, loved by everyone, no pause, no rewind, this is your True Hollywood Story, your Pay-Per-View event, World Premiere. That one time when you split your head open trying to dance in a room full of drunk relatives, the time when your uncle, who you dearly miss, pushed you aside and you landed with the back of your skull molded to a corner of some sharp piece of furniture. The forecast shows clouds of panic with a chance of hysteria showers. Bathtub, a qarter-full of blood, family and siblings all around, trying to tuck your medulla oblongata back in, your dad passing out, oh those were the days. You were the center of attention, smiling at the reflection of you in the maroon tub, happy to know that you're important, cared for by all ('cept your dad, he's on the floor, passed out from seeing half your brain nearly leak out), loved by most. Right now the pills marching through the back of your throat, you can hear them, rattling around like a bunch of garbage being thrown down a disposal. Won't be long before they find you with your shirt off on the floor, next to your laptop computer, finishing up the last sentence you will ever write, cursor still blinking and all. A flashback of a first black eye here, first kiss there, and you start to realise that you're permanent, your life isn't. When your sister was at the age of three or four, you would make her cry by leaving her alone in a dark room, only to come back few minutes later to tears and hugs, fulfilled with a sense of accomplishment, knowing that you're needed, that's how you sucked the love out of people, you evil little shit. Blink, next channel, comedy, the time your ass got stuck in tar on a newly constructed roof, your red sandals are still glued to the top of the building where you used to live, still there as a monument, a statue that you made yourself. Sad that the biggest mark you left for people to remember you by on this waste of a planet are the two, shiny, still glowing traffic-light-red, size 2 baby kicks. Your own hollywood square. The little marching meds are kicking in, this is when - WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP! You're late for work! it's 8.30am, you said you had to leave at 8am! Get the fuck out of bed. Thanks conscience. My life, it's a sick maze with cheese at every corner.
can you hear yourself think?
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-- Agent Smith
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.CP.
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