It isn't just your body, girl, you're one of a kind. The kickin'-est I've seen, it's true.
I'm so tired of dead heroes and washed up sell-outs. I want the true anti-hero; the real movers and shakers. I don't want to perpetuate the sugar-coating that Hollywood puts on the '60's and '70's. I'm ready for some fucking realism. I'm ready to see the weirdness, the grime in the corners. I'm prepared to acknowledge the rampant fascism of those times. The tycoons and sycophantic crooks who lined their pockets through other people's thoughts, feelings, words and tunes. Those sick fucks stole a generations' intellectual property and fleeced the wide-eyed public with their corporate hogwash and bland marketing propaganda.
We like to look back and see the world through rose-tinted glasses. We are sold a picture of a Utopian dream by the same people who stole it in the first fucking place. We are bombarded with fictionalised caricatures of dead stars and creative-elitists that we choke down without thought or question. I'm tired of it. The 2000's are an empty time, but no more so than any time before, or any time to come. We are as we always have been: a total mess.
Right now I am the embodiment of that mess. My mind is gone, my body is shaken and broken and wrecked. There is this weird, brutal and angry atavistic monster inside of me and as soon as his shackles are loosened he breaks free and takes the positivity inside me and kills it. He spills its blood over my heart and I die a slow death inside. I can't stop the cold sweats and the shaking bones and the spasming muscles. I want to stem the flow of positivity... but it has leaked from me and I am empty... I am arid and dry and deserted... I am alive on the outside and dead on the inside...
I have missed the words this weekend and I have missed the pills. I am addicted to them now, it is a fact. They are more me than the flesh and bone and sinew. Without them I am nothing but a shell. I knew this would happen. When I was told to get help I said it would be this way. I knew that I would lose my autonomy to the pill, the capsule, the jab, the therapy. I fucking knew it but I greened out and took the advice of western-medicine disciples and ignorant fools and scared friends and concerned family when I should have listened to myself. I always know best. I always have and now I am a complete wreck. My spirit is almost broken beyond repair again. I am back to square one in three days. But that is not the fault of my sojourn; it is the fault of my inability to stick to my guns.
There is a rage building in me. It has leaped upon me like a lion does its prey. It has taken me down like the last line of defense always should. Quick, agile, swarming, low, hard, wrap around the knees and topple him. I am in the dust, coughing and spluttering; worrying, wondering, withering; ready to give up again but this time for good. Fuck, fuck, fuck! God-fucking-damnit I am so tired. I just want it all to fucking stop. It is like water torture. Drip by drip by agonising drip I lose my sanity. I lose my mind again and everyone thinks it is just a phase but it is becoming more than that. It is becoming my whole fucking life and I think I have had enough. I think I have given up.
How come everyone gives up on you, but you never give up on them?
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