Say you don’t think of me every time it rains, every time the sun shines. Tell me you don’t think about me when the world is empty and cold. When feelings of love and joy run through your heart like they never left. Tell me you don’t think of me when you’re lying down and your mind races to what could have been, what was, and what never will be. Time just passes day by day and the image I had in my head fades with every minute. Fades into this darkness this nothing. Fades into a lie. A lie I told myself time and time again even though I knew deep down that I didn’t believe. I didn’t believe in your smile, the way the wind blew your hair. The sweet kisses that stole the oxygen from my lungs like the fall air. Every season that passes another piece of me dies until I become a withered husk of a person. A person who used to feel so much now just feels so much nothingness. Tell me you don’t think of me when the light first hits the leaves, and everything seems like it might just start over. When someone tells a funny joke, and looks you right in the eye. When your soul longs for a place to call home. It whispers its regrets, complains of aching feet and a tired mind. Tell me you don’t love me like the mother loves its child. Like the brother loves. Like the birds love the sky. Because I don’t believe in you anymore. And you couldn’t tell me any of these things. Because I wouldn’t believe you. Because you left me. And everything that’s left is just a reaction to a lesson I’ve already learned a hundred times before but just do it the old way any way. The way I believed things should have been. So many years before. It’s a scary thing to have loved and lost. It’s a scary thing to have never loved at all. But, the scariest thing is to have loved someone who never existed.

Rest in peace to every love that ever died.

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You can shower but it doesn’t wash off. Bury yourself in activities, dreams, hobbies passions. Hide behind the pursuit of a relationship, or the love of another. Care for a pet, the elderly, children, or volunteer. Pretend it doesn’t exist in the first place. Label people who acknowledge its existence as negative. Vacation in the tropics for weeks on end. Fill the void with drugs, alcohol, and meaningless sex. Scream so loud in hopes someone will hear you and help. Find a mentor and discuss your problems, hoping one day somehow they would understand and agree with you. The emptiness doesn’t care how you deal with it. It just exists. In every day, every minute, every thought that creeps into your mind. Emptiness doesn’t age, or grow weary of existence in time. Slowly it seeps into the truth until the two are perfectly intertwined lovers from a far. Eventually it wraps itself around every little thing you do, your entire existence. Claims family members, friends, loved ones, actors, politicians. There’s nothing one can do to combat this feeling. It must be accepted it for what it is. Let it consume everything it wants in hopes that one day, just maybe, for a moment, the emptiness forgets where you live, forgets to check in to see if you’re alright. I for one hope this day never comes, because when it does I know the feeling will return tenfold, and I will be that much more inept at embracing it.

         When people talk about the “vibes,” people put out I always find it interesting. Although sounding astoundingly hippy like and vaguely misinformed there is some truth, like most things to this comment. Recently I have realized perhaps in a naive way that these vibes or energies come as much from within as they do from the environment, world, and souls around us. If you meet someone new, a stranger, and perhaps you feel negative energy coming off of them it may not entirely come from within. That person could very well indeed be a portal for negative energy that they are receiving from the world around them, and in turn putting off themselves. I have noticed this many times within myself. Although perhaps pre-destined for whatever reason (i.e. upbringing, society, my own short comings, etc. etc.) anxiety, self-loathing, self-doubt, and many other perhaps perceived negative energies. This past week the passing of a child hood friend due to his long fight with leukemia made me very much aware of this fact. Up to the point of his passing and my reflection there after I was feeling perhaps the most positive, put together, and loving I had felt in years past. This environmental change i.e. someone’s passing who was close to me that I had no way of knowing time or circumstance of the event changed my vibe or inward feeling largely with what it felt like without my control, or consent. Through very much experience with my own self deprecating behaviors I noticed this event as distinctly different. This vibe that made me feel down also, made me evaluate my life, my recent actions, and my future. Although some would argue myself turning another’s death into reflection of my own problems as possible inherent nihilism, I would argue the opposite. Billy, my friend’s death is over. Bill will never come back to this realm, dimension, life, etc. that I am currently experiencing. The most important and perhaps the only thing I can do is take his memory respect and appreciate it, but also to use his passing as a lesson. In that moment I realized there’s a real possibility that I may too die after living out a largely unfulfilled life. Although what is fulfilling or makes a life worthwhile is probably one of the greatest existential questions in existence, you can garner some sense of what it means to live well. Procreation, cultivating love for your family and roots, finding and mastering a passion or pursuit are just some of the things I hold important. It was sad to see my friend’s life end short without accomplishing some of these goals. Bill loved his family, and always had a smile, laugh, or something to say. Undeniably smart and informed on the most random of subjects, many loved Bill. As I watched his vessel lie motionless in the casket, and watched the tears of sorrow drain from the hearts of his family all these realizations came to me. I started to think maybe my life will end in a similar fashion without accomplishing the things I hold dear aforementioned. These thoughts didn’t originate from inside of my mind but rather came from the vibes of my environment in that current moment.

I invited him over for tea and put cyanide capsules in it.

I stabbed him with a kitchen knife.

We took acid together and I dosed him out enough for him to lose his mind. 

We took a long drive and I hit a tree on purpose.

We went trap shooting together and I used him as a target.

I set him up with my ex girl friend

because anytime with her would cause any mere mortal to commit suicide.

I killed my negative mind state. 

 

 

A walk in the woods

There’s something about a young women’s beauty that reminds me of where I sit.  The woods.  A pristine, quiet place that is largely untouched.  Manipulated only just enough for a mans liking.  You go a little off the path, but you are still aware the path exists.  Beyond the path lies the ugliness of life, the world.  But you bask in the sunshine, revel in the lack of sound.  Listen to the trees creak against their will.  You know however you must return.  For sacrificing yourself in the name of profit is a decision that was inevitable.  Just make sure the sacrifice has a place to reside, when all is said and done. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been as lonely as I am now.  The only thing about that is I’m too scared to actually go out and find someone to fight this loneliness with.  Every time I’m with a girl I feel like things are so right that I’m dying.  Like it brings the end closer, even though it’s just as near or as far away as it always was.  Where do these feelings come from?  It’s not like I have that bad a relationship with my mother, or any detachment issues.  I always blame that on people who are unable to be in a relationship, or admit they love someone or something.  “Oh they must have attachment issues.”  Maybe I’m just as bad as everyone else.  For that matter I know I am.  But for now I’ll just sit in this basement and do my business paperwork, drinking beers by myself, bitching about how I’m alone but too pussy to do anything about it.  I bought myself a St benedicts cross the other day, started wearing it today.  It feels good to believe in something.  He was a real man after all regardless of which side of the fence you sit on.  Baby steps Sean baby Steps.   

truth on 5/14

I told my friend today that I no longer have to worry about being in hell because I’m sure that I’m there already.  It’s funny how feminists rule the world nowadays but yet they blast themselves with the essence of a man, the very thing they hate every night.  Being a writer is a kind of funny past time or hobby.  You get sick of hearing yourself bitch, and lament over certain things but people praise you for it.  I get so sick of reading my own writing that I forget how far I actually have come in developing it’s style.  The funniest part of this whole realization is that it never truly transcends through my writings.  I’m always chasing after that high like a drug addict on the street chasing their demise.  Your always better at whatever your passion is on a random day then when you actually try to exercise the skill you so desire.  Sometimes I worry about proofreading the shit I actually write, but then I think fuck it it’s better in it’s rawest form.  Where it actually has a heart beat a meaning to someone or something outside of my own strive for perfection.  A coworker one time used to always say be as raw as you can.  I always thought he was crazy but years later I fully understand what he meant by that, even if he didn’t.  Being as raw as you can, fuck all the bullshit and all the people trying to wear you down.  Sometimes I forget that people see you fighting and instead of consciously fighting their own battle they will go out of their way to try and impede yours. This perhaps in the lowest person available but perhaps also the most prevalent in life.  It’s easy to be a naysayer to believe in a Machiavellian dialect.  The things people don’t account for is that by reading those things, and in turn speaking about them you make them real.  You give a pulse to the negativity.  The scariest part about said negativity though is perhaps how often it is just the truth.  the truth isn’t always pretty, the truth isn’t always polarized.  Sometimes it just is.