Nobody loves you.

They either love the idea of you or the you who became their idea. As soon as you’re a human being outside of the concept, they’ll tear you down. And that’s just your fans.

Your enemies will follow like banshees biting on bone. There, at your weakest, you’ll realise that you’ve always been alone. That’s when you’ve got a choice to make.

You can say whatever they want you to say so as to survive in the fakeness that is almost everything… to be forgiven, to rejoin as a puppet who thinks he’s happy so long as he doesn’t think too much.

Or you can find out who you are, diving deep into that dirty toilet of your soul, re-emerging comfortable enough to give a middle finger without hate, just indifference to what doesn’t matter, because being who you truly are, something less ideal, counts more happiness in the long term.

Purpose is a different kind of happiness. It’s an inexplicable drive to make things better, to give others happiness. It may be foolish but to deny one’s nature would only make one a fool.

Thoughts from long ago…

COLD (A FUCK-IT)
So smile like snake
The light so dark,
a dessurection dream,
infinite by its parts

Lipstick so swift on this shadow god
Do you squirm for heart?
Desire in parts?

Painted tits on a battered mall,
your dream to rise to

F
A
L
L

The mind a lick of all to come,
the wormy fear is bidden,
the unwritten diary undone
Hiccup like neon
or a rock ‘n roll sun
Every view is a taint
of a woman loved, never won
Friendship is a bend
of laughs and glass;
a backward world with a backward glance

Tomorrow is an experience
never touched by today,
a dream on dream
but always too much

Now is forever
and forever is now,
an extinguished ‘fuck-it’
of cold.

[this is a scheduled post]