THE CONCLUSION
What destines that I appear other than myself, although throughout ones own abject miseries are none but the complete absence of internal knowledgeable fact. Unto my self I am nothing but a stranger, an unwelcome and unknowing tourist blind with egotistical arrogance to what I actually am. Unaware to potentials unfathomable the mind of mere mortal adolescents, with decisions made and paths chosen, who should lead me down this destiny, indeed am I to be shepherded at all? Do I dare ask questions unto one's self, my brooding soul procrastinates. In turmoil, conflicting stratagies verging on juvenile ignorance submerge upon my inebriated sub-conscious, only to be lost, hidden within dense mists of uncertainty, realms of vulgar prejudice completely unconsultable. Less formidable conclusions disperse in showers of pure euphoric ecstasies, to be debated by powers that be at a later time when greater meaning can be read in their comic relief. It brings no joy or sentiment to understand it's working but not how it works, only cold resentment.
To never be as I am to be can be only that, could it be ever simpler, thought to merely complicate the truth nonetheless. I seem to always be uninformed, for comprehensible understanding comes not from those who seem in circumstance to be curiously perplexing. Yet still I fear not, as weaknesses escalating to absolute murderous consequences emerge within horrendous nocturnal darkness previously unexplored. If you would only hold my hand, to offer comfort of one sort or another, all else would matter not in this existence. I would brave all if only for the words of encouragement to be offered in perilous circumstance, the harmonious sweetness of your breath in the sickly breeze of uncertainty.
Awareness of a lust less definable than spectral images confined within the mass of an eternity of exclamations is but agony, a burden of guiltless shame. Of which it is, to be sure I can not be, as there are little, if any, definable boundaries between that which is known and particulars remaining mysterious only causing further frustrations to be observed with casual diplomacy. If the voice in the turbulent slumber of rapid-eye-movement sleep spewed forth from fantasies in times of rest could only be yours, for if I know you not yet does this cease my yearning, my utter devastating necessity for closeness and contact, physical embrace. Peace be that quality unreachable, a shattered depressive to be without most surely, sociopathic tendencies tending towards times of disturbance. Are you not a fixation of a tormented mind, I wonder now, for is there other than that heated attraction of physical parameters, of which I must admit there are. But can pure beauty, for that is what I assume you are, be foretold by what organic eyes do capture. Or are you demonic in origin, breed from memories buried far from prying eyes, even my own, of which I would prefer to forget rather than confront. What is it that I would wont from one such as you, as I confuse even myself sometimes.
Needs I feel accessible only through tender compassionate sympathy could be supplied upon demand most admittably, yet you, seemingly unreachable and distant, beckon forth forbidden lustrous temptations. As I do not think as is thought to be thought, who should judge that observable only through minuscule examinations of maddening representations. Happiness, though fleeting and never in desirable quantities to achieve satisfactory sensations, matters not to the pride of which there consists none. I thrive without emotion, not knowing how it must feel to feel, dislocated from humanity where I can not touch, but can not be touched.
What sense is to be made where none is desired, for would not it only confuse to misinterpret that which is blatantly obvious, or is it, for now I am not so sure of my reasoning. Could you be the justice many occasions and incidents deserve, or am I just using you to fuel my anger and hatred of the oppressed. So many apologies young woman, I have confused you with my own perverse intentions and no longer wish to abuse that which you are. I leave you to contemplate the variable temperament of morality, obsessions forgotten and lost, as I know I have none.
Grossly magnified parasitic mutations of aggravated annoyance keep pushing, as if in effort to strain tremendous tolerance levels usually so exceptionally maintained during aeons of abuse from over celebrated pessimistic fanatics. Why should you choose to irritate the astronomical importance of my realistic thoughts pesky insect, your endless thorough probing of highly restricted recesses fascinates briefly, lessening anger minimally, for what reasons could possibly fuel your seemingly inexhaustible curiosity. Indeed, why hold interest of any sort, for does this matter hold any relevance to you what so ever, or for reasons that I am unaware of, are you, your insolence as a shield and disguise, actually of some importance to my dull, repetitive existence. This I doubt, along with many opinions in your favour, as you have not the right, nor the intelligence imbued within all people from conception, for manipulation on such scale and magnitude, or the basic respect and privilege of privacy. Enough nonsense for the time being, I have ongoing engagements to complete before I again have time to contemplate questions, directed inwards as would ever be expected, all should ask but few could see, poor destitute ignoramus.
I have concluded that the greatest frustration confronted by humankind since the first electrical impulses flashed between synapses in the unevolved brain of Neolithic cave dwellers, the true emergence of controlled intelligence must definitely be that. When blessed with the gift to question our very existence, to wonder why we exist within these dimensional confines, and to what purpose are we to serve, we gain nothing but trouble, acquiring a disturbing disposition. For millenniums uncountable devoted decipals have wasted resources and time in the fool hearty worship of idols and omnipotent deities, in hope that salvation from a non-existent apocalypse, or eternal quietude for a soul of which we can not be sure even exists in some heavenly nirvana, redemption for sins of the flesh. Is the freedom of the religious the right to conduct gruesome affairs in the name of their lords, and what type of god condones the recent actions of civilisation and individual alike, allowing the cruellest personal traits of genocidal megalomania. Is it the creators plan that bishops, cardinals and priests should elicit pleasure in sacrilegious
paedophilia, the very people the vulnerable are to trust and the conveyors of gods will.
Why continue idly, as the essence of our cultures and beings mature, to wonder why, when who should care for are we not here and could anything change this, and could we except these answers while still spiritually unprepared. Now, while the veils of suppression imposed by organise religion fade to translucency, we should ask of ourselves what are we to do now that we are here, with the resources of a universe at our disposal. There is so much achievable that even the most unrestricted imaginations fail to grasp its tyrannical proportions, so how can the inconceivable be received but with fear or indifference. Let us lead ourselves towards the inevitable with pride, free of false pretences and delusions common to those of faith, leaving us to strive for goals greater than pleasing unpleasable gods.
Gone are ages when the unexplainable would be explained as the work of god, for the miracle of scientific exploration proved to unravel many religious mysticisms as just that, pure fantasy conjured by imbeciles with imaginative, though surely delusional theories. Humankind no longer needs to hide in the protective shadows of that which seems grander in comparison to that which we symbolise, it is time to step forth and bask in the glory of comprehension and recognise that I am what I am.
Such angelic pleasure I could only wish to describe in the exhilarating detail observable only in the consummation of what has to be experienced to be believed. Adrenalins surge from glands working optimally, though I would scarcely notice as I am enthralled with such simple-minded joy, listening to the steadily accelerating metronomic beat of my heart as if for the first time. Through my substance dilated pupils the images reaching the retina always seem so much clearer, everything holding an undiminished beauty of its own to be studied with eyes of a newborn child. As if all is unlearnt, absolutely nothing is to be judged with bias now, all things holding tremendous values never seem by contemporary eyes, to behold with cherished wisdom.
In knowing that I conduct myself in this manner to merely escape the mounting pressures placed upon unwilling shoulders, at least the smallest margin of control is sustained, for if I am not in control of my own actions, am I here at all. Many are not, empty and abandoned shells drifting aimlessly without conscious intervention, containing only the agonising and relentless drive of the need. I do not want to become like them, to whom nothing else matters, but I have doubts to contend with in relative haste and will not let go so easily. Leave them to grovel in remorse at there own miserable mistakes, for sometimes it seems that the anxiety and depression caused by contemplating these dire problems only leads me closer to them
Subsiding as I pass the crest, the peak falls away behind me as I once more join my fellow citizen in the ghastly random and mostly restricting temporal plane in which they are so persistent to remain. Dreamy, I watch the walls of solitude, illusional constructs of an over-defensive psyche erected to block out all the possible harm society could instil, building my impenetrable barrier until I again feel safely secluded. In some ways I hope things never change, for although I am never happy unless previously induced, rarely now do I feel hopeless abandonment of utter sadness, coupled with unnatural, and earth shattering realisations of suicidal tendencies, so I am glad. In other views I welcome it, hoping that to start anew may cleanse all that is tarnished, though only a complete fool would expect the impossible, and that I am not.
Deeper investigation into the chaotic shrines to pestilence that seem to encompass large quantities of my mental spectrum of late reveals only a sublime variant of misinformation, depressive symmetry to decaying sociological morals. I feel nothing vaguely comparable to compassion for casual acquaintances, apart from earned respect to those who deserve, yet this could hardly be termed as an important emotional response, indeed of emotional relevance at all. So many megalithic expectations incomplete, what is wasted in my slothful excesses but my most precious commodity, that never retainable once spent currency of time. To merely watch its passing, like the slow deliberate passage of pale sand as it dribbles though metaphorical hourglasses, only hastens the inevitable outcome, and eventually the final leaf must fall, all concludes.
Why should you tremble in fright of you own foreboding expectations, preferring solitude to the lunatic tides of human occupation, fossilising yourself through denial? Accept that which is new with curious suspicion, but do not, under any circumstance, refuse technology unless on basis of necessity. It is truthful to assume that we do not understand the consequences of our actions, for would the uncontrollable godlike forces of atomics exist if the results could have been predicted. I think so, as few moral dilemmas stand in the way of progress, the genius of so many brilliant minds suffocated by obsessions, to know all, to be first.
Interweaved inside the subconscious mind of separate individuals of my generation, like the forever spiralling tangled limbs of the double-helix, is an indescribable resentment of the authority figure, for does it not feel as if we are victims, trapped inside a bitter world we choose not to accept. Dormant, that darkness lies hidden, but like any contagion or disease, father to son, mother to daughter, through genes the hatred propagates, magnified upon each ascension. A bizarre mentality develops within the latest fashionable sub-culture, the seasonal peer-groups forever collapsing through mistrust, were sickness and insanity is encouraged yet rarely admitted, and personal status depends on inflicting perfect physical damage upon the unsuspecting.
Sometimes I think that when I turn around quickly enough I can see myself arriving, yet when I look back I have already left, as if my entire life is played out in sequence, nothing less than a second rate cinema script, lacking adventure, completely predictable.
Though the mysteries of ethanol my consciousness expands beyond graspable comprehension, as I fail the maintain the very basic motor skills, speech slurred, gait interrupted. My mind plays such tricks upon me, and yet again gravity fails, as never it has done before, I find myself helpless, for I have fallen and I cant get up. I would scream ecstatic delight to let you become one with my surrealistic pleasure, the sweet symphonies of post-alcoholic consumption, the purely agonising discomfort the morning after, if only to relieve my unavoidable suffering.
Do not be deceived, as I am learned of these matters, and such a substance as alcohol shall always receive respect, I desire I do not fall victim to addictive charms forbidding. Yet when inebriated I ignore indications of vulgarity in my feeble minded search for happiness, as I should know is not found within empty glassware.
What destines that I appear other than myself, although throughout ones own abject miseries are none but the complete absence of internal knowledgeable fact. Unto my self I am nothing but a stranger, an unwelcome and unknowing tourist blind with egotistical arrogance to what I actually am. Unaware to potentials unfathomable the mind of mere mortal adolescents, with decisions made and paths chosen, who should lead me down this destiny, indeed am I to be shepherded at all? Do I dare ask questions unto one's self, my brooding soul procrastinates. In turmoil, conflicting stratagies verging on juvenile ignorance submerge upon my inebriated sub-conscious, only to be lost, hidden within dense mists of uncertainty, realms of vulgar prejudice completely unconsultable. Less formidable conclusions disperse in showers of pure euphoric ecstasies, to be debated by powers that be at a later time when greater meaning can be read in their comic relief. It brings no joy or sentiment to understand it's working but not how it works, only cold resentment.
To never be as I am to be can be only that, could it be ever simpler, thought to merely complicate the truth nonetheless. I seem to always be uninformed, for comprehensible understanding comes not from those who seem in circumstance to be curiously perplexing. Yet still I fear not, as weaknesses escalating to absolute murderous consequences emerge within horrendous nocturnal darkness previously unexplored. If you would only hold my hand, to offer comfort of one sort or another, all else would matter not in this existence. I would brave all if only for the words of encouragement to be offered in perilous circumstance, the harmonious sweetness of your breath in the sickly breeze of uncertainty.
Awareness of a lust less definable than spectral images confined within the mass of an eternity of exclamations is but agony, a burden of guiltless shame. Of which it is, to be sure I can not be, as there are little, if any, definable boundaries between that which is known and particulars remaining mysterious only causing further frustrations to be observed with casual diplomacy. If the voice in the turbulent slumber of rapid-eye-movement sleep spewed forth from fantasies in times of rest could only be yours, for if I know you not yet does this cease my yearning, my utter devastating necessity for closeness and contact, physical embrace. Peace be that quality unreachable, a shattered depressive to be without most surely, sociopathic tendencies tending towards times of disturbance. Are you not a fixation of a tormented mind, I wonder now, for is there other than that heated attraction of physical parameters, of which I must admit there are. But can pure beauty, for that is what I assume you are, be foretold by what organic eyes do capture. Or are you demonic in origin, breed from memories buried far from prying eyes, even my own, of which I would prefer to forget rather than confront. What is it that I would wont from one such as you, as I confuse even myself sometimes.
Needs I feel accessible only through tender compassionate sympathy could be supplied upon demand most admittably, yet you, seemingly unreachable and distant, beckon forth forbidden lustrous temptations. As I do not think as is thought to be thought, who should judge that observable only through minuscule examinations of maddening representations. Happiness, though fleeting and never in desirable quantities to achieve satisfactory sensations, matters not to the pride of which there consists none. I thrive without emotion, not knowing how it must feel to feel, dislocated from humanity where I can not touch, but can not be touched.
What sense is to be made where none is desired, for would not it only confuse to misinterpret that which is blatantly obvious, or is it, for now I am not so sure of my reasoning. Could you be the justice many occasions and incidents deserve, or am I just using you to fuel my anger and hatred of the oppressed. So many apologies young woman, I have confused you with my own perverse intentions and no longer wish to abuse that which you are. I leave you to contemplate the variable temperament of morality, obsessions forgotten and lost, as I know I have none.
Grossly magnified parasitic mutations of aggravated annoyance keep pushing, as if in effort to strain tremendous tolerance levels usually so exceptionally maintained during aeons of abuse from over celebrated pessimistic fanatics. Why should you choose to irritate the astronomical importance of my realistic thoughts pesky insect, your endless thorough probing of highly restricted recesses fascinates briefly, lessening anger minimally, for what reasons could possibly fuel your seemingly inexhaustible curiosity. Indeed, why hold interest of any sort, for does this matter hold any relevance to you what so ever, or for reasons that I am unaware of, are you, your insolence as a shield and disguise, actually of some importance to my dull, repetitive existence. This I doubt, along with many opinions in your favour, as you have not the right, nor the intelligence imbued within all people from conception, for manipulation on such scale and magnitude, or the basic respect and privilege of privacy. Enough nonsense for the time being, I have ongoing engagements to complete before I again have time to contemplate questions, directed inwards as would ever be expected, all should ask but few could see, poor destitute ignoramus.
I have concluded that the greatest frustration confronted by humankind since the first electrical impulses flashed between synapses in the unevolved brain of Neolithic cave dwellers, the true emergence of controlled intelligence must definitely be that. When blessed with the gift to question our very existence, to wonder why we exist within these dimensional confines, and to what purpose are we to serve, we gain nothing but trouble, acquiring a disturbing disposition. For millenniums uncountable devoted decipals have wasted resources and time in the fool hearty worship of idols and omnipotent deities, in hope that salvation from a non-existent apocalypse, or eternal quietude for a soul of which we can not be sure even exists in some heavenly nirvana, redemption for sins of the flesh. Is the freedom of the religious the right to conduct gruesome affairs in the name of their lords, and what type of god condones the recent actions of civilisation and individual alike, allowing the cruellest personal traits of genocidal megalomania. Is it the creators plan that bishops, cardinals and priests should elicit pleasure in sacrilegious
paedophilia, the very people the vulnerable are to trust and the conveyors of gods will.
Why continue idly, as the essence of our cultures and beings mature, to wonder why, when who should care for are we not here and could anything change this, and could we except these answers while still spiritually unprepared. Now, while the veils of suppression imposed by organise religion fade to translucency, we should ask of ourselves what are we to do now that we are here, with the resources of a universe at our disposal. There is so much achievable that even the most unrestricted imaginations fail to grasp its tyrannical proportions, so how can the inconceivable be received but with fear or indifference. Let us lead ourselves towards the inevitable with pride, free of false pretences and delusions common to those of faith, leaving us to strive for goals greater than pleasing unpleasable gods.
Gone are ages when the unexplainable would be explained as the work of god, for the miracle of scientific exploration proved to unravel many religious mysticisms as just that, pure fantasy conjured by imbeciles with imaginative, though surely delusional theories. Humankind no longer needs to hide in the protective shadows of that which seems grander in comparison to that which we symbolise, it is time to step forth and bask in the glory of comprehension and recognise that I am what I am.
Such angelic pleasure I could only wish to describe in the exhilarating detail observable only in the consummation of what has to be experienced to be believed. Adrenalins surge from glands working optimally, though I would scarcely notice as I am enthralled with such simple-minded joy, listening to the steadily accelerating metronomic beat of my heart as if for the first time. Through my substance dilated pupils the images reaching the retina always seem so much clearer, everything holding an undiminished beauty of its own to be studied with eyes of a newborn child. As if all is unlearnt, absolutely nothing is to be judged with bias now, all things holding tremendous values never seem by contemporary eyes, to behold with cherished wisdom.
In knowing that I conduct myself in this manner to merely escape the mounting pressures placed upon unwilling shoulders, at least the smallest margin of control is sustained, for if I am not in control of my own actions, am I here at all. Many are not, empty and abandoned shells drifting aimlessly without conscious intervention, containing only the agonising and relentless drive of the need. I do not want to become like them, to whom nothing else matters, but I have doubts to contend with in relative haste and will not let go so easily. Leave them to grovel in remorse at there own miserable mistakes, for sometimes it seems that the anxiety and depression caused by contemplating these dire problems only leads me closer to them
Subsiding as I pass the crest, the peak falls away behind me as I once more join my fellow citizen in the ghastly random and mostly restricting temporal plane in which they are so persistent to remain. Dreamy, I watch the walls of solitude, illusional constructs of an over-defensive psyche erected to block out all the possible harm society could instil, building my impenetrable barrier until I again feel safely secluded. In some ways I hope things never change, for although I am never happy unless previously induced, rarely now do I feel hopeless abandonment of utter sadness, coupled with unnatural, and earth shattering realisations of suicidal tendencies, so I am glad. In other views I welcome it, hoping that to start anew may cleanse all that is tarnished, though only a complete fool would expect the impossible, and that I am not.
Deeper investigation into the chaotic shrines to pestilence that seem to encompass large quantities of my mental spectrum of late reveals only a sublime variant of misinformation, depressive symmetry to decaying sociological morals. I feel nothing vaguely comparable to compassion for casual acquaintances, apart from earned respect to those who deserve, yet this could hardly be termed as an important emotional response, indeed of emotional relevance at all. So many megalithic expectations incomplete, what is wasted in my slothful excesses but my most precious commodity, that never retainable once spent currency of time. To merely watch its passing, like the slow deliberate passage of pale sand as it dribbles though metaphorical hourglasses, only hastens the inevitable outcome, and eventually the final leaf must fall, all concludes.
Why should you tremble in fright of you own foreboding expectations, preferring solitude to the lunatic tides of human occupation, fossilising yourself through denial? Accept that which is new with curious suspicion, but do not, under any circumstance, refuse technology unless on basis of necessity. It is truthful to assume that we do not understand the consequences of our actions, for would the uncontrollable godlike forces of atomics exist if the results could have been predicted. I think so, as few moral dilemmas stand in the way of progress, the genius of so many brilliant minds suffocated by obsessions, to know all, to be first.
Interweaved inside the subconscious mind of separate individuals of my generation, like the forever spiralling tangled limbs of the double-helix, is an indescribable resentment of the authority figure, for does it not feel as if we are victims, trapped inside a bitter world we choose not to accept. Dormant, that darkness lies hidden, but like any contagion or disease, father to son, mother to daughter, through genes the hatred propagates, magnified upon each ascension. A bizarre mentality develops within the latest fashionable sub-culture, the seasonal peer-groups forever collapsing through mistrust, were sickness and insanity is encouraged yet rarely admitted, and personal status depends on inflicting perfect physical damage upon the unsuspecting.
Sometimes I think that when I turn around quickly enough I can see myself arriving, yet when I look back I have already left, as if my entire life is played out in sequence, nothing less than a second rate cinema script, lacking adventure, completely predictable.
Though the mysteries of ethanol my consciousness expands beyond graspable comprehension, as I fail the maintain the very basic motor skills, speech slurred, gait interrupted. My mind plays such tricks upon me, and yet again gravity fails, as never it has done before, I find myself helpless, for I have fallen and I cant get up. I would scream ecstatic delight to let you become one with my surrealistic pleasure, the sweet symphonies of post-alcoholic consumption, the purely agonising discomfort the morning after, if only to relieve my unavoidable suffering.
Do not be deceived, as I am learned of these matters, and such a substance as alcohol shall always receive respect, I desire I do not fall victim to addictive charms forbidding. Yet when inebriated I ignore indications of vulgarity in my feeble minded search for happiness, as I should know is not found within empty glassware.