…

slowly but surely the drapery will fall

and we'll all be trapped under it until we suffocate and die

lol .. im probably not in the best mood to be bloggin right now, but here's to

everything I predicted already .. the ending up dying alone? it's going to happen one day

like with van gogh .. kurt cobain .. you know what im talking about.

but it seems like im going insane

because i feel no guilt, or remorse .. its like i have no feelings or emotions .. it's insane ..

it's like being so numb that I can't feel anything .. I think I'm really going crazy ..

as in turning into a lunatic .. the veil of sanity is slipping off faster than you'd think it could ..

lol., it's amazing I can still sound poetic being like this

but it's true .. i need serious help . . maybe this is my cry out to the world

or myself when im back on my feet .. that i need some serious being saved you know?

yeah .. before i go completely insane .. you know?

Build your cages, burn your bridges.

You’ve made me hate everything, and everyone in sight. Made me see what people are really like. On the deep down inside. How we want to just use people and end up doing it too, voluntarily – but mostly involuntarily. How mankind is doomed, and how everything you think is real isn’t. How people don’t really care about you – and how you should step over people before they step over you.

How a lot of things we assume exist or want to believe in, really don’t. Like a neverland, and a heaven or hell. Any of those things …

You’ve made me what I am today. The narcissistic, sadistic, egotistic, sexist – cynically depressed agnostic. You’ve played a very large role in creating me. You’re the person that probably could be held accountable for who and what I am today.

You’re the reason I ever really knew depression. Angst. Hate. Pain. Fear. Agony.

And the reason I still know what it feels like. And can still feel it, even though it was so long ago.

And we can burn down all old bridges, to create new ones.

But can we really?

How does it feel to be talked about so much in The Catcher in the Rye?

How can you be so stupid? How can you have your eyes shut so tight?

Why can’t you wake up and see the world for what it really is? Why do you have to believe that ignorance is bliss?

Why do you think everything is just as it seems? Why can’t your brain comprehend other possibilities?

Why can’t your thoughts wander? Why are you so afraid of question and standing against the current for a change?

Of breaking away, and developing a school of thought that is different, maybe? And unlike the thought process of the rest of the sheeple?

Why must you indulge in drama and emotions created and developed over time due to our lack of intelligence or knowledge?

There are so many other things to worry about. So much more.

The truth you’ve decided to just nod your head in unison with, your truth, has fallen apart. It’s collapsed in a heap of bullshit that it consisted of, and is scattered all over the floor. Everywhere. Like 12 inches of shit that just fell from the skies, it’s covering everything your eyes can see.

And so you believe it, because you either – 
     ~  Are too afraid to think for yourself/any other way.
     ~  Are too stupid to think for yourself/any other way.

But it’s ok, really. Congratulations, in fact, because you’re just like everyone else.

With your literal interpretations of Shakespeare, and your false theories and faux wisdom concerning life, art, and everything else.

Worrying about things that do not matter at all. Because you want to worry. Fighting your wars for nothing at all, because you want to have wars.

Take a minute right now. Think about all the things you’ve worried about or wasted brain cells on in the near past.
Does any of that matter? Does any of that really matter? Is it something you really want, or is it just an illusion that makes you think that you do?

Your sheep like behavior. The waking up, going to work/school, coming back home, getting good grades, keeping people happy. Do you really want to do it, or are you just being forced to?

Would you rather speak your mind and not do the same shit over and over every day, or be what you are right now?

A cog in the fucking system, just churning and keeping it all up and running.

With your constant need to be surrounded with drama and things going wrong. With your constant will to survive, but not knowing how to. With your constant need to be comforted by flesh and bone, and the need to have a finger to hold while you walk around aimlessly. Little did you know, that finger you’re holding on to is just as lost as you are. Or is leading you down a very dark tunnel, and not for your benefit either.

Sleeping awake, like you are right now. Ignorance is bliss, so you’re glad and you’re happy.

Congratulations world. You are a phony. And you don’t even know it.

All I’d do all day is be the Catcher in the Rye.

The world is so full of phonies.

Everyone. Each and every one of these people I’m sitting in class with.

Talking about Art. That’s what this class is about. It’s called Vocal Communications, but the professor just told us it’s about “Talking about and understanding art.”

But isn’t art subjective?

There’s a toilet seat, sitting in the Philadelphia Art Museum.

And it’s pretty much a big fuck You to modern art. The artist who came up with the idea is sheer genius.

Such phonies. Making comments on the damn picture.

The artist who drew this isn’t in the fucking room with us. How the fuck do we know what he was trying to portray?

Martyrdom, says the professor. But isn’t the only difference between suicide and martyrdom the press coverage?

All I want to do right now is walk out of this room and walk away.

From all of these phonies, from all these stupid interpretations.

All of this that doesn’t matter. Such a miniscule detail in this world so fucked.

Aeden doesn’t like it.

Aeden is trying, but Aeden can’t be a fake.

Can’t be phony.

All I want to do is be the Catcher in The Rye.

La seule chose que je veux etre, c’est L’attrape Coeur.

That’s all I’d do all day, be the Catcher in The Rye.

To every Holden Caulfield around the world.

And to never being phony.

(RIP J.D. Salinger. January 1, 1919 – January 27, 2010)

Houdini

I think people have started to wonder where I’ve disappeared off to.

But why wouldn’t I? My tales of melancholy, and depression aren’t entertaining enough anymore. I’ve lost comments and followers faster than I lose other things. And I lose things really fast. Sometimes I think I’m working on losing them. But that’s not the point.

I have nothing else to write about, really. I can’t publish fiction after fiction, just to please the masses. There’s this thin faded line in my life, that separates the fiction from the non-fiction, and sometimes I can’t tell the difference either.

And I can’t just write about being happiness. Not when I see no ultimate point in anything at all. Anything at all. Life, college, socializing, and public relations. Anything…

And it’s not my fault, really. I just don’t care anymore. About anything at all, really. I mean, I’m trying to, I really am … it’s not that I’ve just given up … but I don’t know what else to do.

But here’s how you can help; stop expecting shit. Seriously. From me. I’m as far from perfect as the sky is from the ground. I can’t please and entertain all the time. I know my life could be chronicled as a trilogy of books that would outsell Twilight, but seriously.

Something crazy must always happen. Shit must always hit the fan. Well, I’ve done that for a very long time, and I want to keep on the low for just a little while. It’s not that things have slowed down – it’s just that I’m not writing about it anymore. Because apparently it’s getting too dull. Not for me though, I still have my hands full.

It’s also that I can’t write about everything on the internet. Just won’t be a good idea. For me, of course. All of you would just love all of it. I’m pretty sure. Because it’s nothing short of a soap opera, my life, really.

But as the world turns I learned life is hell
Living in the world no different from a cell

Though I don't know why I chose to smoke sess
I guess that's the time when I'm not depressed
But I'm still depressed, and I ask “what's it worth?”
Ready to give up so I seek the Old Earth
Who explained working hard may help you maintain
to learn to overcome the heartaches and pain…

- C.R.E.A.M. (Cash Rules Everything Around Me)
Inspector Deck, Wu Tang Clan

But it just doesn’t work that way. I wish it did, but as I said earlier – the knowing is driving me insane. and I don’t have the advantage of stupidity.

But I guess you don’t want to read about that anymore, because I’ve already said it so many times – over and over. And over.

So, just wait for a miracle to take place, then. Maybe I’ll witness enlightenment and find joy in life or something. Yeah. Then I can write about rainbows and sunlight and other happy things.

Yeah.

Myself to think about.

What is this obsession I have with loneliness?

It's the only thing I seem to attract the most.

All the fake faces. Acquaintances. Friends. And with nothing to show or feel comfortable next to at the end of the day. Except the cold hard exterior of myself, with an internal void so deep ... a thought process so shallow ...

At the end of the day, with nothing or no one to turn to.

I must do this to myself. There is no other explanation.

And then I get labeled lucky. Do you see why I have a problem with that term? Luck?

The grass is always greener on the other side to you fucking sheeple. Always.

You are forced to label things, it's just how our petty minds work. Right? To make things convenient for ourselves, it's just another step we have to take. Absolutely have to.

Does it ever really occur to you, why things are how they are?

Do you ever try thinking about it? Or thinking at all, for that matter?

About what or how other people feel, maybe. What goes on in their mind?

Maybe, if you weren't so fucking busy crying over your own story.

Well, guess what. Everyone's got a story to tell, and I'm tired of lending my ears and shoulders.

Think of the mistakes of others as your own for a change, and you'll realize how fucking terrible you all really are.

As far as I'm concerned - you can go fuck yourself.

And THEN I'll be lucky. When I really, REALLY, have just myself to worry about.

Aeden Durante’s Inferno

[La Commedia di Aiden]

"My name is Aiden. That’s all the personal information I’m going to share. Even if the rest of my story seems even more personal then my name, you won’t know for certain who I am. Or how my mind works. You can try, though. I know I have, it just never seems to work. Figure myself out, I mean. I can’t do it. Maybe you can.

Let me tell you a bit more about myself. Make things just a little more easier for you.

I realized at a very young age, how stupid everyone can be. And even though I realize stupidity and intelligence are subjective to judge or classify people by, I still hold the deep thought, that everyone could’ve been smarter. Maybe it’s just the fact, that everyone has their eyes so tightly closed. That they can’t see things for what or how they really are.

I’m void of most human emotions. I don’t necessarily feel sorry for people. Don’t most of the time, in fact. I try to, but it never seems to work. I’m narcissistic. I love myself. I have a huge ego. I don’t care much about what other people think, or about other people at all, really. I don’t care about much, in general, in fact.

I don’t think there are innocent people. I don’t think there are guilty people. I just think there are people that do things people like, and then things people don’t like. And if you’re caught with the bad end of the stick, then it probably is your fault somehow. If you really have to blame someone, I believe it should be divided equally at the middle, for everyone.

I don’t think I have it in me to love people. Or fall in love. I don’t generally believe in the whole idea or concept, really. I believe people are stupid for believing the text book definition of love. It’s things like shakespeare plays which make fools out of us.

I truly believe that the only thing that really makes me happy, is a lot of money. And spending a lot of money. Not just on myself, though. Just in general. Spending money on other people makes me happy too. Not as much as spending it on myself does, but you get the idea, right? I’m not very stingy with money. I don’t mind passing it along, if I have enough to keep myself happy.

But sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have enough to keep me happy. See, human beings don’t like being happy it seems. I solely believe that too. I believe we want wars, and to be depressed and sad. It makes much more sense.

I see people’s weaknesses clearly as soon as I meet them. I can read people inside out. Know how they feel about things. Deduce their habits, their way of thinking. Figure out what I can do to offend them. Figure out what I can do to be on their best side. Figure out what I can do, to manipulate them. It’s very easy, really. Minutes after meeting you, I’ll know exactly what it is you’re looking for in the world. And then I can pretend to give it to you … so you can give me what I want.

I believe no matter how much a person has, there is always something missing. And you give someone that, and you’re basically holding them in the palm of your hand. No matter who the person is. Everyone wants something.

But the problem is , I don’t know what I want. I’ve tried figuring it out. But I really can’t tell. Because I don’t think it’s ever possible for anyone to be completely happy or content. So maybe I’ve given up on trying.

All I know is.. I’ve consumed a lot of pain and suffering for things that were both my fault, and weren’t my fault. And now I feel it ok to pass it on. Share the hurt. Inflict the pain so you can see it too.

For what doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.

And I think you should appreciate me trying to make you stronger."