Projekt: disappear.

Like any physical sensation, there is a finite amount of pleasure you can derive from any one source.

Regardless of what that prevailing stimuli may be, sooner or later, the feelings fade, and you're left with a big pointless wad of numb.

It's the price of hedonism, because nature always makes sure there's a nasty flipside, to everything good you come across.

It's a beautiful lake, but if you fall in it you will die.

I used to think it was people that sucked the fun out of everything, but I've changed my mind.

It's nature, all the way.

And the nature within people.

In nature, nothing lasts, and nothing is ideal.

Nothing is even safe.

Nature is an enormous greeny/blue machine, eating itself, and creating new and exciting ways to never exist any more.

And all the pleasure is gone.

I want something new.

I can't sleep any more, in case I miss it.

Like, it'll knock once, but that's it.

I want a new song, or to see a painting that just grabs and grabs at me and won't let go.

I want to see something in someone I haven't seen in someone else a thousand times before.

I want to be shocked by something unpredictable, because lately, it's all predictable.

It's a script even, and every person is an amalgam of past friends/lovers/landlords/undertakers.

Who's real out there?

Who wants to really lay it all on the line, and maybe lose everything in the process?

Who wants to go hungry, possibly for the rest of their lives, to never sleep, to lose their minds, and all control, to create something bigger then themselves, to stop being ''person with name 'X'', and to turn into the most honest and real movement in art/music/writing/conceptual thinking ever?

Who wants to sacrifice all that to even just be real?

Who wants to have nothing, and totally break against the rules of being social, to maybe find something fresh, but maybe even not?

Because I know I'll never find what I want while I have luxury.

I'll never see that one atom of colour and noise while I'm distracted by everything that i own.

I'll never be able to concentrate and meditate on what I'm thinking while I have the safety and security of a locked womb, to shelter and hide me.

And all these toys have to make way for tools.

I don't want to pour so much into knowing new people, when I already know them, from all the "ism's' they've stolen/inherited/soaked up through osmosis.

I'm not even dissapointed in people any more.

When they fuck it all up, it's almost like the final puzzle piece slots into place, right where I knew it would go, right when I knew it would.

Somebody shock me, I dare you.

I'm taking myself out of this picture.

I don't see why i stayed so long in the first place.

I didn't draw it, so why be in it?

Cages, fences, walls, dividers.

I'm not hiding behind any of them, and I'm not being trapped by any either.

I'm not talking about rising above.

I'm going under.

All I want is honesty, and like love, you will never receive it if you're asking or searching.

You have to grab it, and nail it to something fast.

You have to make it, because all the shelves are full of honesty that doesn't fit, that was last seasons, that is a cheap imitation.

Fake can never beget something real.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.