Speed.

You want some facts? You want less creative imaginary bullshit?
Fine, here are the facts:

The fact that I'm standing here in a dirty room with my hair on end and my body on pause.
The fact that nothing's ever worth a good trip, that nothing ever matters more than getting fucked up and pretending you're happy with all the fucked up chemicals making you somebody else. Somebody better.
It's the fact that I can't discern whatever is going wrong within a seemingly untouched, perfect universe in which I seem to be evolving. Nothing feels right lately. I want more, but it seems there's nothing more to desire. Lust for nothing, some might say. Having lust for nothing turns you into the faceless robots you see working in offices and buying starbucks coffee during rush hour, wearing fucking Lacoste t-shirts and shiny Ferragamo shoes. You think they're rich? They're fucking poor. I'm rich. I'm king of my world. That is all that matters now. So I'm standing in this kerosene-drenched room thinking one last frenetic thought about the meaning of creation. But I find no meaning.
Because meaning doesn't matter.

The fact that I'm sitting here in this warm room, listening to the second solo of Live Forever and wondering whether my life is still worth living since I will never be able to equal the musical genius I desire.
It's the fact that I'm really nothing at all compared to what matters.
It's the fact that I will never, in any way, make some sort of change.
It's the fact that the entertainment I have is fruitless, my friends, family and girlfiend have all been distributed to the masses for some sort of internal survival within this vast, infected sanctuary. No wait, not sanctuary. Sanitarium is more of an appropriate word to describe the face of the world.
It's the fact that the screaming coming from the room next door doesn't seem to affect my ill senses. It just doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter but the firing neurons in my rotting spirit. Matter is nothing.
Matter has no meaning.

The fact that I'm lying here under the bitter skies of wrath that wrap around our huge cage like a whirlwind.
It's the fact that I won't live forever, like the words etched into this virtual page. This virtual page, protected by the smokescreen that is the internet, that will shed me of any possible guilt. It's the fact that my brain does not feel like a limp biscuit at this very moment. I'm aware of all the pain.
It's the fact that optimism doesn't exist. Optimism is but a diversion, driving all of us away from a fate too dark for anyone to take into serious consideration. But fate doesn't matter. It's this moment that matters. Thus consideration does not matter. There is no sense in some people's reasoning.
But reason doesn't matter. Sense doesn't matter.

The fact that the huge majority of people see the world like it is and how it could be. They just don't see the giant, gaping chasm inbetween.
It's the fact that change is irrelevant, because some fucking moron will always make it as worse as it was, or even worse than that. It's called regression, you fucks. Nothing beats regression. Even faith doesn't beat regression. It's that chilly sensation in your spine that drags you back to the filth you were drowning in before you reached a semblance of balance.
It's the fact that I miss the blend of colours she left in my black and white field. Someone uttered me that phrase once. Or maybe said it, or shouted it, or sung it.
The fact is, that black and white does not exist and does not matter.
All that exists are the uncountable shades of grey. It is the only thing that doesn't matter to us, but it fucking does.
It's about the only thing that does.

Nothing else matters. Nothing. Everything else is an illusion. Everything. Napkins, mugs, metronomes, scrap paper, encyclopedias, bubble gum packets, tissues, guitars, DVDs, bongs, books, the Bible, hammers, cushions, trees, motorways, huge televisions, breaking news radio transmissions, friday night entertainment, intoxicating saturday entertainment, sunday bloody sunday rituals, cults, omens, paintings, churches, synagogues, obelisques, canals, rivers, bridges, sugar kane, green grass, cigarettes, sand, high tides, low tides, lighthouses, metro stations, strip clubs, pet dogs, overgrown factories, abandoned mental asylums, teddy bears, nuclear warfare, ball-point pens, tanks, perfume, flamethrowers, video games, mass murders, home-made posters, pantomimes, energy drinks, batteries, vintage Gibson SG replicas, Tipp-Ex, coupons for a free bike tire, spare buttons for a suit, empty filers, pianos, fireplaces, city lights, water pumps, kid's spontaneous laughter, adult's courtesy laughter, formal meetings, elephants, chocolate, binoculars, hair straighteners, tinned chili con carne, limited edition copies of Pink Floyd's "The Wall", dystopia, potery, southern gas stations, goats, cement-mixers, work contracts, school diplomas, family, friends, lovers, hobbies, and even the finest and most precise of pleasures.
It is evident that once the knowledge in question is acquired. It is hard to find a sense of purpose. But purpose is meaningless. Purpose does not matter.
Purposelessness is purpose.

There comes a time when need takes over reason. You want to be on the borderline, safe but not so safe, until the need for risk takes over and swallows you whole. You don't need facts.

Fuck the facts, meaning and whatever seems to matter to all of you.
The fact is that facts are meaningless.
The gaping chasm is everywhere.

Teenager screamager.

Your beauty makes me feel alone.
I look inside but no one's home.

Today was such a good day.
Now all I can see is grey.

I want to move to higher ground.
With redemption spinning all around.

My skin is chappy.
My mind is mad.

You make me happy.
I make myself sad.

I've heard the calling.
I've sung my song.

Something's always been missing.
Something's always been wrong.

View from the morning after.

Woaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah...I was just reading through some old shit I wrote a few months ago, and I found something pretty interesting. Yes, I think that's the first time I've ever used that word on this blog.

I don't believe in interest. There are no "interesting" things, just things. And then you decide, out of your lurid human heart, whether you give two halves of a fuck or not.

Anyway, back to the subject.
I read this old text and realised how ridiculously out of date it was and how childish I was.
Here it is:

--

My life is about to hit a wall.
A very tall wall some might say.
But it's very thin. And only a few people can see that.

I don't know how it's gonna pan out. I sometimes get the impression that the youth of the nation is processed and conditioned to the extent where identity is erased. They get us going through different phases and strike us with different emotions.

Then you've got your parents behind you saying they're designed to prepare you for life. Bullshit. I've never met anyone who found what they were expecting on the other side of a wall.

But then life wouldn't be fun wouldn't it?

It's just that idea of adrenaline sprinting through our life-abiding veins.
Knowing that complete security is a long way down the line.
Knowing that other people's lives are much better than mine.

Not knowing what is on the other side of the wall.

I know my friends won't react to this upcoming wall in the same way. They'll all use their different techniques and tricks. Just like all humans do in any sort of challenging situation.

No matter how much some of us will try to avoid it, we'll all end up on the other side. Whether there of our own accord, lured or forced, we'll all be moving along. Because the wheels of the bus go round and round. They will never stop.
The bus will drag you along no matter what you try. The only way off the bus is suicide.

--

I don't think it's over. But this is all that was left, I don't think I had time to finish it, because I then hit that "wall".

Now, in all my current perplexity, I cannot believe I judged the situation that way. I was so fucking wrong.
Well, right now, with the wisdom I've acquired since that day, I can honestly say that it was no big deal. The other side was the same. The grass was not greener. It was as yellow as all the grass I've ever lied in.

The "wall" was in fact just a fucking pavement.

Grim.

I was hit by a sadness unbeknownst to me today. It's one thing to be sad. It's another to not know why, and to be driven into melancholy by a tepid form of procrastination.

Maybe it's the brown leaves finally falling off and opening into a cold and bitter winter. But it can't be, I've been looking forward to this since July.
Maybe it's my friends. But it can't be, I'm far from alone.

I don't know what it is that I can't admit to myself, but I'd rather not consider it. It looks a lot darker that the sadness I bathe in now.

Right now things are good.
But it was just better before.

I really don't think I can take all this bullshit until december.
Perhaps I should be happy with many things I can't remember.
As the embers fade, I realise going back is the only thing I wish to do.
This utopian ideology of a perfect destiny is starting to rot.
All I really know is that the past was not so dim.
The future is unimportant and alterable.
Memories are not.
Nostalgia is grim.

Erasing the sunlit streets we grew up in.

The adult world when you're a kid limits itself to chairs, desks, stacks of paper, frightening cities, a standard ringtone, boring clothes, coffee, and a frustrating desire to leave your parent's office and go back home to your confined world of care-free entertainment. But when you enter the phase of change, you start to realise that it does not limit itself to that. There is no fucking limit.

The adult world as we know it, is in fact just a giant sandbox, working with many administrations, warfronts, economical riots, political stunts and an invisible hint of artistic finesse.

It goes from the crowded cities where the buzzing is frantic and the illusion of progress is ominously present. To where the suburbs begin. Where the children play, unaware of the grinding machine that awaits them. To the countryside, where the machine's noises are silenced and the air is pure. But the people are too old and tired to make a change.

The sandbox is too heavy for an upheaval. I'll make no attempt...

I can see the wheels of the bus turning now.

We all know the emperor wears no clothes, but we'll bow down to him anyway. It's better than to be alone.

Far from the iridescent pictureframe.

Our generation was born with the aching horrors of the recent past. We were born at the end of the greatest and most horrific century of the entire human race. We narrowly missed out on grandiosity, pain, prejudice, fortune, Woodstock, war, and many revolutions.
With this burden of a heritage we wander aimlessly in this battered world left for us, with these permanent reminders that we will without doubt batter it a fair bit more for the unlucky fate of the next generation.

Countless times we omit to look back on these tragedies. To compensate for this void behind us, we get history lessons. But in no way do these pay hommage, or even come close to the importance of these terrible acts.

Some people say today's the dawn of a new age. I say it's the terrible end to a great age.

And here I sit. Here we all sit, thinking our actions actually matter.
We are nothing.

If only you look at the recent past, and all revolutions and changes, you feel worse than small.
Looking back at all this, and being the stupid fuck I am, I cannot help but feel like everything I'm doing is routine. Even the moments of excitement I get at lunch, inbetween classes, or on the weekend, feel like a routine.

Everything in each life of this miserable generation is but a straight line that refuses to diverge into insane curves and swirls. I want a sine wave.
With the knowledge we have and the lessons we've learnt from the 20th century comes excessive wisdom and cautiousness, leaving our predicaments overly predictable.

I know it sounds strange. But I just want the glimmer of excitement from the 60s or the new sound of the 90s. It's just that with the world of today I really can't see a comparable revolution on the horizon.

Life is fantastic. But we know too well what it is made of. Maybe that soon, everything will become so under control and in peace, that there will be no need for changes or new ideas because everything will be just too perfect.

Times were bitter before. And the horrors from the many wars paint our core with hate, suffering and waste. Times were bitter, but they lead to beauty eventually. Martin Luther King illuminated the world with his speeches, The Beatles revived the world of music.
Now all we have is Obama claiming in vain to be the catalyst of a new era, and Kesha "entertaining" the close-minded majority.
Yes, times were bitter before. But they were sweet. The sweet is never as sweet without the sour.

I feel my attempts to light up this darkness are too faint. I fall into despair quite often. And so everything I do, every pleasure I get is turned into monochrome fields of dead crops.

I don't know how I came to hate these times. I wish I was stupid.
I really can't see myself turning into a sensible adult that is too afraid to assault the system in fear of losing a warm home.
There is no way of avoiding that.
Yes, predictability once again.
I'm also a fucking conformist.
I'm not different.
Fuck this.

--

"I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight, because my conscience leaves me no other choice.

These are revolutionary times. All over the globe men are revolting against old systems of exploitation and oppression and out of the wombs of a frail world new systems of justice and equality are being born.

A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question the fairness and justice of many of our past and present policies. On the one hand we are called to play the good Samaritan on life's roadside; but that will be only an initial act.

A true revolution of values will lay hands on the world order and say of war: 'This way of settling differences is not just.'
This business of burning human beings with napalm, of filling our nation's homes with orphans and widows, of injecting poisonous drugs of hate into veins of people normally humane, of sending men home from dark and bloody battlefields physically handicapped and psychologically deranged, cannot be reconciled with wisdom, justice and love."

- Martin Luther King, 1967.

--

The sweet is never as sweet, without the sour.