fighting everything

In the interest of sanity... beyond perplexed with the transition of events, the action of writing is so soothing and by far the only calm that I can endeavor to myself. The normalcy of life is what I despise, the mechanical turning of day to day, schedules, monotony, budgets, anything else that encroaches upon ultimate freedom of movement (yes, I left that wide open) and so often I think that I must in fact be a horrible person, or perhaps even an evil person, lacking any sort of nurturing or emotional self, running most often on adrenaline, fury, resentment, rage. Contented in discontent, as it engages my psyche fully, yet not all encompassing, because I can step away and be free of it entirely by simply changing venues. This attempt to write is entirely narcissistic and lacking any sort of depth of emotion, my vanity entirely apparent. How I fucking hate answering to anyone. One cannot maintain an emotional bond yet demand the amount of solitude that I require to remain sane, without drowning in the noise of my mind and losing it entirely. So I write, drink whiskey, wish I had nicotine of some sort, preferably non Menthol, wish dinner would simply appear rather than require my active involvement in its creation, and stew in the muddled murky swamp that resides in my skull, unearthing whatever the fuck is dwelling there. I fucking hate most. I hate the incessant rush to stand in line and be told what to do, I hate uncertainty - the shaky ground of something impermanent that requires my role-playing to keep the earth from swallowing the world whole, I hate weakness and fear (regardless of whether I myself am immersed in either horrible emotion). I fucking hate the hand-holding soothing comfort the world is so apt to give when on a stage and the second the curtain closes the venomous two-faced monster that every person really is spewing exactly the opposite of what they just preached, and yet worse, the desire for everyone watching the production to know this yet pretend they don’t. The civility of society was once entirely an act, people were defined, they fulfilled their roles and everyone was aware that was all they were doing. Now the edges are blurred and the definitions are given supposed light and character by the acceptance of whatever weaker emotion is dominating the forefront - destruction, grief, victims, sadness, everyone is the product of wrong doing. This is not honest emotion, simply the destruction of what was once the definition of a functioning society into some bastardized idiocy that promotes the victimization of the populace and brands the strong as selfish and uncaring. My throat is scratchy from cigarettes that I’ve recently become reacquainted with, some may call it weakness, but I see it more as a vent in that I’m doing something self destructive because I have the power to do that to myself and no one can tell me otherwise. This, of course, is in addition to the truth that there is no mentality to the release, it is purely chemical, it does not require my participation other than the act of inhaling. And when I cut that short, deprive myself for days, the love of the control over the yearning (no, I am not by nature masochistic, simply wishing to have the reins on all that involves me) that nothing can nor ever will have control over what it is I ultimately do to myself, no one here on Earth, anyhow.

Here’s a thought. Why the fuck do I have to be a wretched cunt to get any sort of positive response? Why do I have to get to the point where I am just barking orders to acquire the simplest of - what I would consider, anyways - normal fucking response and consideration? I resist delving deeper into this thought pattern as ranting about abstract is one thing, defining into events and people is not something I have any desire to do. Despite my hatred of most, my ability to just be outright mean is extremely limited, despite some of my fantasies otherwise. Thinking about people and my impact on their existence can be all consuming, regardless of my lack of regard to their opinion. It is always better to make someone smile, to be a positive force in someone’s life. To never burden or impair. Yet overall I wish to remain indifferent with most. I don’t want to be sucked into the melodramas, I don’t want the minutia to overtake my existence, I just want to exist and explore and not be tethered with ties I have never agreed to nor would ever agree to. A domesticated discontent is not what my life is meant to be. I work to provide the funds to push these adventures, not to maintain some sort of fallacy in the world of make believe. There is too much to see, too much to experience. I will not be felled by the idiotic actions of horrible people, nor will I take responsibility for something simply because it is what is the correct choice by the standards set on day time talk shows. Fuck you, fuck them, fuck any crying welfare case that demands the rewards from my sweat because their cause is more noble than my path. Fuck you if you’re offended by this, and fuck off if you’re apt to explain to me why my thought pattern is wrong. I have never done anything to intentionally hurt, use or demean anyone, I will not feel sorry for the reality of who I am. If that means I am destined to forever be a vacant soul chasing something undefined, then that also means I am being true to my heart at that time and not blindly following parameters set by people who found content in the status quo, without acknowledging those that reside among the fringe.