Whatever… at this point I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

Ok so let’s get the elephant out of the room. I don’t expect to get help from anybody on this whatever it is. I am only crying for attention like I do whenever I feel overwhelmed. I feel overwhelmed right now and I have begun my suicidal thoughts again. I don’t want to preach or pretend like I have any insight to offer. All I want to do it express my feelings in this rant I’ve made;

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Words on a page what for and have we to. This drunken stupor of man’s design. To keep the life and the divine. To keep the soul intact and all that we interact, with to enjoy and feel the life that we are for bound. Bound and wound about the finger of existence that pokes the soul. That pokes that soul and points out the feelings of doubt and fear. Doubt and fear of the things unknown far and near. And the nearest of all, the soul of the misunderstanding and all, the misunderstanding of things to come. The fear of things to come. The fear of things to be of who am I and who am I supposed to be? Why? And wherefore art I? For the things that I hold dear disappear in a specious moment that has only to be. To be and last not but for the tiniest fraction of measurable time that is. That tiniest of moments that we can only feel in our most intimate memories. Those memories that are only remembered in our dreams, Our dreams and fantasies that we know are not to be. And again I ask why. For who knows the boundaries of the specious present and the specious now. The now we feel and the present that we describe. Why o’ why do we describe that present that is in the past; that is only portrayed in our minds eye so that we perceive it, the present, as being in the present? And so forth the questions roll as to unravel the darkness at the boundaries of our visage. That darkness that we flail upon during the light and that we waltz with during the dark. That darkness that fuels our fears and inflames our fantasies. It is the bane of our wisdom. The wisdom that we learn when we do not want to. The wisdom that is there to remind us of our reality. That wisdom that makes us cry but tells us when the days pass by. We are strong because of our wisdom. Oh how facetious that is. How facetious to gain strength from the weaknesses we exude.

What is that that mirrors our soul beyond what we knew to be our soul. And beyond what we dared to dream. Why oh why do we dare to dream. That which had come without the dream. So to seek what is to become is the bane of the existence that I lead. The lead that ties the feet that lead me forth. Forth among the passage of time. And that time which I curse so oft. So oft that time can be measured by the profanities that I sling. That is what I have to offer. A Loud mouth and opinions that do not matter. Opinions that question why, The time that has passed me by. Passed and passed again in my memories. I fantasize about those times passed. About those times that I looked forward to the now. The future of my fantasizes I reminisce. How ridiculous is this? The nostalgia of the past memories of fantasies of the future is an unending ouroboros.

And how I sit now. I sit with face forth towards the abyss. With such lethargy. I do not know what to write. I do not know what to say. For do I tread water that has been found? Or water that has since been stale?

Anyway if this doesn’t make sense just ignore it. If it does make sense then just post something like ‘I agree, yada yada’…