God Knows

In May 1996 I experienced something new, life, and it was absurd. Not the philosophy, fuck universal presence, the experience has and continues to be absurd. It's as if everone in this world, exists for no other purpose than to run from it. I have this belief that death will be like waking up, almost as if it were all a dream, I’ll be pulled to my feet, and some prick in a brandless jacket will congratulate me, on not buying into the mayhem. We live and die in madness, it’s only by pretence, that we find ourselves trapped. Perhaps one day the world will stop spinning, the sun will stop shining, all the birds will fall to the ground, the rivers will eat the rocks, and we’ll all float into nothing. That’d be bloody splendid, ‘thanks for coming, get the fuck out.’ Fade to black, choking on our own ideas, our minds devouring themselves as all matter condenses, and like tugging out a bath plug, it all just sinks away, back to wherever the hell it came from.

The point is regardless, any rational, any big bad exit, is just absurd. So what about the ride? The things we can get just that much closer to grasping; Because if we can just make sense of the journey, maybe we can figure out where the fuck we’re going, its backwards, irony, sarcastic smiles, and faded, expressionless people, gliding around you, like a mist of ghosts, half here, half not, barely looking as their world fades away.

We’re piled up here in this bloody cesspool of toads, worms and drowning insects, trying desperately get to the edge and hold on as hard as you can, before you watch the water sink into itself, swallowing everything around it.

It’s all a cliffhanger, because we don’t get to see the end here, because it doesn’t end here, we don’t if know if this is where it begins. We’re lost in it, with no notion of direction and no desire to proceed, stagnancy is the worst kind of failure; it breeds disorder and confusion.

I was born here on this page, I live here, and I hope to ‘’god’ I don’t die here, however my prayers are to the men, the kings, the fools, the women, the fearful and the many, because they’re all of it, the rest is just noise, clouds, evaporating towards the sun, to be frozen and burnt to nothing were their journey to come to completion. No I’d rather be a fool, a fool runs from no one but himself, and runs towards nothing but the end and the beginning, a fool is lost, and can never be found, captured or killed, because he fucking lived, and that’s enough.

I was 10 when my father died, I was confused, I didn’t know why I was missing school, or leaving home, I knew he was dying, I didn’t understand that he would be dead. Soon he was though, to both my own and my mothers’ disappointment. At this point my father (to my knowledge) had two children other than me both whom were adults, one with a family of his own. My childhood was much of a disappointment, perhaps to the fault my imagination, which has somehow always managed to thwart my efforts at making some sense of this ridiculous carnival.

The very idea of myself as a child confuses me, that person died, long after my after my father and long before the person writing this will, I died, and then somehow I grew up, the world got more real, and I was lost in it. I can’t lie, it is attractive, when you don’t have it, and you’re watching this story play, the same story you wrote as a young boy, in your head, with your friends in a tree house with a cheesy playboy magazine. Seeing a women is always a confusing thing, for a boy and a man, anyone who says that is playing a trick, and stupid one. The sensation is unique, the first time, the second time, the third time, every damn time, anyone who gets bored of sex or love, is only bored of themselves, either take up drugs as a hobby or find some real passion, the world of the wicked is not for its own kind. We do pretend, as men, we hide ourselves behind gates and walls constructed of every cruel joke ever produced by the realities of life, we overcome ignorance for the sake of idiocy, and they forgive us. I was raised on fairy tales, stories magic, maiden’s, kings, castles, dragons, wizards and fools. And so the plot became my life, as child, I needed be a hero, I needed to fight a battle, I need to win a princess, and I needed to save the world, fuck if only the world were more interesting, it seemed so as a child, but ignorance is bliss, perhaps intelligence is the source of all evil, although that being said, why hate the moaners? We don’t lie, cheat, steal, kill, rape, seduce. We wonder, we obsess and contradict, and we’re mad for it, thank god for that.

After my father died I moved to an all boy’s boarding school and at the time, I was confused, but I was alright, I had been lost before, and I always made more sense of it afterwards, however naivety may still be the death of me and I pray for it. I don’t I want to know the end, die shitting myself with excitement.

I never understood other people, I could be like them, think like them, feel like and perhaps with time, even like them, however they don’t make sense, living with them, however, changed how I perceived people. They weren’t dull, or disinteresting, they weren’t empty or retarded, they were just hiding, so damn sheltered and cloaked in fear that anything spoken was a lie and anything done so thought out that the very process itself had become mechanical. We’re not fucking robots for Christ’s sake, sometimes we don’t need to constantly over assess the truth, sometimes life is the simple thing, and we’re the ones who turn it into such a knot. Sometimes being afraid, being stubborn and wilful, makes you just that much less of moron.

Everything’s everywhere, still as school children we played, and watched the world work its way into us, in the start it was a dream; you remember it when it’s mentioned to you. The way you talked to each other, always on your guard, always learning, how to be, because not to be is wrong, don’t do drugs, don’t fuck around, don’t drink or fight or gamble, save your soul, save your life, “Lung cancer is a fatal condition, don’t smoke cigarettes.’’ The human condition is a fatal condition, by that logic your better suited sticking warning signs onto new born heads, hell! Go all out and make his folks a fucking gift basket. We all die from something, no one seems concerned with what we live for anymore, films are overly passionate and people are overly bleak, fuck, no wonder they cry.

And no one tells you this, you figure it out, or you don’t, anyone late to the party just doesn’t get laid, and that’s how it is right? This ongoing fight to conquer ourselves for ourselves, to detriment of ourselves, at the risk of ourselves. Falling constantly in and out of love and stuck between everything you hate but want and everything you care for, but bores you to fucking death.