Cocaine.

This is, of course, a shortened entry from my blog.




We are the nobodies.

We are insignificant in our insignificance.

We hate the sound of our own voices.

We are annoyed with our words.

We despise our thoughts.

That's just who we are.

We could be better.

We could try.

That's just who we are.

So Tommy said the other day, "This is a train. Mr. Jones is on the train one day, when he looks out of his window, and notices that the train is about to reel off the rails, off a ridge into a rapid river of seething spit and fury.

"Mr. Jones says, 'Oh dear me.' Mr. Jones stands up to tell someone that he is about to crash and die, but thinks better of it. He sits down and sips his tea as the train curves into a graceful loop through the air. There is a beauty to the result of the introduction of mankind into nature."

Paralyzed by the words you laugh out carelessly.

They are nothing to you.

We scurry on our knees to collect each word flung to the ground with apparent abandonment.

One day, we will put them together on a large canvas and they will tell a nonsensical tale of language.

They will make no sense.

We will understand.

We will not mix up the who we were with the who we are.

It will be a 'lesson'.

We will teach.

We will screen out the excess noise with our adaptive noise reduction that works brilliantly with pointless thoughts.

We will repeat our words many, many times, because we do not have other words to use.

We will repeat our jokes because they are funny.

We will repeat our names so we do not forget.

We will do a lot of things. We will write a to-do list to remember these things.

We will remember to write a to-do list.

We will remember to stop meaning anything.

We will remember to stop caring.

To stop caring about people.

We wonder who we are talking about.

Everyone knows but us. That is perfectly all right.

A perfect score.

World, you have done very well. We applaud you.

We hit our hands together in loud unpleasant cracks of noise that accompany plastered crooked turning-up of lips.

We are not mocking you.

We are not doing this sarcastically.

There are other things we need to do.

What a shame we turned out this way.

It was our own doing.

We should not have cared so much.

We wonder if it matters to write her name here.

Perhaps someone will see it.

Perhaps someone will tell her.

What then?

We have already told her.

She was right.

Our heads are heavy.

No, they are light.

We are feeling a bit unbalanced though we are sitting firmly on a chair.

The keys are wobbling.

Everything is woozy.

Which way to turn now?

Our eyes, our eyes.

Hope, where are you?

Why do you hide behind disguised appearances? Behind:
Ruffled T-shirts with sleeves scrunched up at the shoulders.
A mask of apathetic disdain.
Pretentious (she just came online) words.
Fake apathy.
Uncertainty.
A lack of clarity.

The buzzing has not changed.

It will not go away.

It will be the entrance hymn for our descent from this place.

Someone says, "Save me from my happiness."

It is someone's birthday.

It is someone's last moment of clarity before his loved one's knife jerkily crunches into his stomach. It is not as smooth as she thought, and the motion is unsteady.

It will be something else tomorrow, something else today, something else a year ago.

It will be insignificant.

He will fall, whether earlier or otherwise.

There is nothing to be sad about.

There is happiness.

We are happy.

We are contented.

We are liars.

Why. Why talk. To us.

It is time to sleep.

There is a beautiful view from here.

We would fall happily. Without a worry in the world. Without an over-reliance on hope and happiness and dreams.

Without a fruit punch of unsuitable, unrelated songs.

They will not play behind us.

They will not announce our entry into the sunlight.

We will not hear them anymore.

They will not be a distant memory. They will not exist.

Exist.

We will.

(I did not know there was a matter. Alright. Good night.)

Stroll leisurely. We will have to practice first.

There will be no perfection, there will be-

Dashes.

And inappropriate stops.

We will not know how to explain ourselves.

We will not know what words to use.

We will not stop being annoyed with our inability to do anything.

We will not be any different.

But they always say true love is all you need.

Is that true?

We will not know.

We will not know anything.

We will understand. That knowing is not important.

There is a single thing that we must understand.

Nothing else holds a candle to it.

Nothing else-

You misuse hyperbole.

Are you not sleeping yet?

We will go without you.

We are waiting, waiting.

We wonder what you are doing.

Is it right to do so?

We should not have let this happen.

A little girl from Sweden. A far-away country. We know nothing about her.

She will pirouette. She will want to impress. She will have everything before her.

We will not crush it.

We will let it happen.

In slow grinding halts.

We are scared.

Maybe it would not have turned out this way.

We do not understand the sentiment behind that sentence.

(Nevermind.)

We are obsessed.

Obsession is such an ugly world.

The room is quiet.

They are waiting for us.

They are tapping impatiently.

No one will read anything before this.

No one is interested in the past.

In our past thoughts.

They are unimportant.

We have overused the word. It no longer has any meaning.

She has stopped replying. She has stopped dancing. We have to go.

We have to go.

Why are you so reluctant to leave?

We have said not to think about it.

Just do it.

Someone around the world,

The same time.

Maybe we will meet.

It does not matter.

Now. Now.

One last time then.

There are sadder songs to be played.

There are better places to go to.

There are better people to talk to.

There are nicer books.

Tastier food.

It is a better place.

There are more things to say.

There are more dreams to come true.

There are more true dreams.

Maybe when this song finishes.

We have some time.

Still some time.

Always some time.

Never enough.

We will not say the word misery.

You do not want to know.

You pretend you do, but you don't.

We thought we would rather know. We were wrong.

You will never be wrong here.

There is a burning.

Why?

Hate.

We had to.

The song is over.

One more.

This will drag on for a long time.

We will make it short.

This is the biggest lie, by Elliott Smith.

Away.

Wait.

What is the matter with you?

We are.

That is the root behind every problem.

How badly do you want everything to stop?

There will be nothing after this.

Nothing.

Not even nothing.

There will be an end.

An end!

You cannot imagine.

Because.

There is nothing to imagine afterwards.

Are you not choked up with the terror of that?

Tell me, tell me.

What does it take?

There will be no difference if she had changed her mind.

What difference will there be?

We would fight again.

She would leave again.

There would be no difference.


We would not need her anymore after this.

I just told the biggest lie.


There is no we.
There is nothing.
There are no answers.
There are no questions.

What ever is the matter with you?

You are

weird.

Freak.

Step with me into the light.
Come,

Come,

come.

Better days.

Better things.

Everything will be better.

There will be nothing.

Better.

Nothing.

Forever.

Alone.

You are not brave enough.

Is this how it ends, then?

We are confused.


We are not overly concerned.


It would be a stronger loving world to die in.