Down in the midst of my rhythm, I felt a deep need. I needed a bullet in the head of every son of a bitch who didn’t bother to recycle his wasted opinions. Within every spoken stroke of faith I needed an equal dose of martyrdom to legitimize the risk that wasn’t there. I needed a solution to a solution. But pigs don’t fly.
Life had winded down to a slow halt; I could see everything for what it was at that very moment. It was a Wednesday night, mid-week party night, and I wanted out. I couldn’t give a fuck for all the sluts, douche bags and phonies out there looking for a good ‘get your rocks off’ time. No, I wanted to escape this scene all together. The scene to be seen had to be done in, entropy had to reign. Strange enough, I realised, what undermines it is what made it survive this long. Drunken fervour’s entropy made it outlast itself far beyond its own grip. It was gone now. Euphoria had lost itself to itself. The spiral had begun long ago, and now I wanted it all gone.
It’s nights like these that remind me why, exactly why, I need to screw over every smile, lie to every honest face and destroy any hope of a future. Things need ends, and I need to show no quarter.
I found my life in a strange turn. I have reason to be happy. Everything seems to be going fine. Things could be better, and things could be worse. Overall, there is a balance. A balance in the balance. Laughing I recall the exact moment when I decided I wanted to live this out. I don’t want to die. There is no point to death, but there isn’t much to living either. So, why choose the one over the other? Simple, really. I have full control over what happens in my life; I am conscious. So, naturally, I might as well, out of interests sake, see this through to the end. See what happens, I mean, what do I have left to lose? What can I lose? Death is at the end, anyway, so go through life, see what’s it’s all about and then, when death comes, allow it its turn. Why not? Everything is an experiment. Relationships, labour, life; none of it is final and set in stone. The past is, yes, but the past doesn’t bend in the future, no matter how much we lie to ourselves.
I have, from time to time, wicked thoughts. Evil, vile...Funny, evil and vile are anagrams. But I am serious. I think of taking selfish routes, leaving behind torn hearts, empty desires and people without dreams. I look at the world around me, and the only thing I find I can belong to is myself. I see no bond with family, friends, buildings...I want to break away, so to say. I want to be gone. I don’t take photos, and I don’t want them to exist of me. I need to possess my identity, because when I choose to disappear I don’t want people to cling onto physical proof of a memory shared. I want the memory to fade, as fragile as it is. I want people to forget me. I need them to forget me. I don’t want to be remembered. Not that I want to chew down some worms. No, never. I just feel that I need that bit of control. It makes me happy to know that I have a grip on that. Fortunately I have left so far few traces. I need to collect up all my traces and be gone.
I see people going through life, struggling, to be happy. Sometimes it’s an uphill battle. Sometimes it’s the easiest thing in the world for them. I don’t want to be happy. Happiness is rather useless, yes, but that’s not why I don’t want to be happy. I want to see the earth curve; I want to feel the moon burn through my heart, I need to look back at the life I’ve led and see it all disappear under the waves. I need to be just another rain drop. Forgotten as soon as possible. My only request is that my actions stand on their own. The principles. I don’t want a name attached to what I have done; I don’t want my name there. If I’ve written a book, I want the book to last and flourish, without my name. If I took a photo the photo should be remembered, not for me taking it, but for its beauty. Give credit where it is due, and no, I don’t deserve any of it. In my life I’ve always been irritated by praise. It makes my stomach curl, turns my soul sick. I want to know what is wrong with what has been done or what was done right. I don’t care for a ‘good job’ or a ‘well done’. Tell me, honestly, whether it’s good or bad, what can be improved or undone.
I realise now that this is the first time in weeks that I’ve been able to write like this, in a trance of sorts. Depression is a type of high, I guess. I don’t need drugs, alcohol or any chemical to get me where I can’t get on my own. If I can’t get there myself, then I don’t want to. I don’t need cheats. All I need is the slow rhythm of a breeze, a ticking clock or a rolling wave. I don’t need people. And they don’t need me. I feel alone, but comfortable. I am not depressed by it in the slightest, but I don’t feel liberated either. It’s a perfect harmony; balance achieved.
I have to look ahead now, I guess. There is a girlfriend, who is fond of me. There is a mother, a father, a perfect set-piece collection, with their hopes resting on my shoulders, and their love pushing me from behind. But for some reason, I still feel, this slow, peaceful melody of melancholy and alienation playing softly in the back of my head. It’s growing stronger. I think I have to figure out what I want, yes. First yes of this text, interesting. And now a second. What I want is that which is most important to me. Red is important. Red is the rhythm, red is the grip on life, on being that I need. It’s sad to note, that red is slipping away from the world; one by one. Not even my girlfriend is red. Not my family, not my friends, red is elusive and rare. Last living thing that was red is gone, now there is only me. Black and neutral; I am above and beyond. I am one and I am all. Zen to ichi, ichi to zen. Not always a bad thing. It’s just sad, that there isn’t a red heartbeat for me to live for or look for. I miss her. Every time I think of her it makes me cry.
