Depression

Let me tell you what depression feels like
It's a black hole sucking your happiness dry
It is darkness where there shoud be light
It is the feeling of dread and wanting to die

Sadness for not knowing how to live
or how to behave
and who to believe
it's feeling unloved and unwanted whatever they say
it is madness surrounded by pain

It's staring at the void
and let it in your brain
Swirl in a storm of self hatred and shame
believe you are nothing
and nothing is gained

It's disappearing into yourself
and falling deep into the abyss

it's a broken record of 'you are dead anyway
so why stay?'

depression is hell in my brain.

Howl 2016

I’ve seen the best – and worst – of my generation lost in empty rhetorics and endless inner dialogues that lead absolutely NOWHERE. I’ve heard the empty angry shouts of a generation torn apart between isms that even they don’t quite grasp but never mind, this is the time to be drown in information and ideas but not solutions and reasoning. I am part of a generation of good and pointless intentions, of scattered dreams and labyrinth feelings, of inactive madness fueled with plenty of legal and illegal drugs. I’ve heard the silent cry of desperation coming from an empty existence. Angry speeches directed to those who would not listen or would just listen what they wanted to. A seamless dialectic of massive proportions, preaching for those already converted, already convinced of their own version of the truth, and there are lots of truths and lies and in-betweens that are hard to tell apart. 

Zombie souls trying to fit in poorly in a world of exclusion. Spotless places and riches as far as the eyes can see, but they cannot see that far or that deep.

Hearts yearning to be free and yet still trapped in spider webs of solitude and toy love affairs, and matching and swiping and instant liking and disliking and sex – great sex, lousy sex, sex for the sake of it. People wanting to fuck and get fucked but instead are being screwed by capitalism and socialism and ideologies long dead but that we hold on to because we are a generation born dead. 

We are a lonely generation, shouting our resentments and displeasure at the wind so they may be carried somewhere but end up nowhere. 

Couch revolutions, social imprisonments, the horror and ecstasy of being alive while destroying relationships, dreams, cities, nations, races, sexuality, brilliant and not so brilliant minds. 

And we would love to let go or give in or both. Instead we will continue our shallow conversations with a pint of beer pretending we are going somewhere, fighting for something worth fighting for but not really sure what or why we are fighting anymore, paying for overprice health, pretending our resources are immortal. 

We’ll keep on pretending while crying in the dead of night with our faces hidden on our pillows for the mind never rest and the problems never go away. 

But we’ll keep on existing until we are no more. 

PS: I’m sorry, Allan Ginsberg. 

Words

I’ve failed many people and on many fronts. I’m a soldier taken prisoner by my own mind and spoken words. How I wished I could release all the words repressed in my heart, at the tip of my tongue. They won’t come out no matter what. They are locked and afraid. What good are they anyway if they might hurt and maim. No, I cannot let them escape. We shall be together in our golden cage made of hopes and dreams that will never be. Or let the words stay in that dark and damp room in that corner of my mind where thoughts go to die. Let them stay there keeping me company and making me cry. 

Let them suffocate me while screaming to come out. They are full of bile anyway. I suppose someday I shall vomit them all because they’ve decayed. They will come out all ugly and deformed for prickling my stomach as a desperate fight for their freedom. 

Still I won’t let them come out. I’ll keep them all in, everywhere and all around. They will continue to punch me in the stomach, scratch my throat, scream inside my mind until I go mad. And who is to say I am not mad. 

The only words I will allow are the ones that feel the deepest. 

I am sorry for my poor existence. 

Images, a Pure Imagination Project

This is it. The last post before I start building my new world. This is not a descriptive post. This is where I post random images that inspire me, hoping they will also inspire you. It’s not to be read, it’s to be felt. Whatever it is you feel when you see them. It can be positive or negative. It doesn’t matter, as long as you feel. 😉

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I am society

Be happy. Be thin. Be smart. Be successful. Go after your dreams. Be ambitious. Straight hair is in. You’re not blond? Dye your hair. Shave your legs! Shave everything! Study. Be the best. You are too trustful. Don’t trust men. Don’t trust women. Don’t trust people. Get straight As or life will be hard on you. Be a doctor. Be a lawyer. Be a business woman. Do not stay home. Home is for losers. Go out at night. Drink! Don’t drink! Wear something decent. That dress is too short. That dress is too long. Why so much makeup. Why aren’t you wearing makeup. Be thin! Be happy! Find a great job! Earn money! Don’t get married. You aren’t married yet? Oh, poor her, she got married. Oh, look at her, she’s still single at THAT age. Aren’t you the best yet? You went to THAT college? You are a failure. You are a loser. Why are you sad all the time? Why are you depressed? Get out of bed. Go live your life! Stop sleeping all day. You are disgrace. I had so many hopes and dreams for you. You are getting so fat. You are getting so thin. Those clothes look awful. Those clothes look great. You are a slut. Gosh, you are a prude. Be quiet. Fight! Hey, don’t give up. Why are you giving up? Life’s great! Come back here! Listen to me. I always know what’s best for you. You are just a girl. Gosh, you are already a grown woman, pull yourself together. Stop crying. Crying is for losers. Smile. BE FUCKING HAPPY. I’m Society and I always know what is best for you so you’d better listen to me. I am you.