WARNING: contains detailed adult themes and strong opinions.

Sunday, 23 June 2013

5&6 A Brief Glance into the Mind of a Regular Genius

 {Sorry for the long wait, here's a double chapter}

I'm not random. My train of thought is just faster than yours.

I always feared my life would be random; that it wouldn't make sense. However, the more I look at it, mine makes more sense than that of anyone else I know. Everything I did has lead to everything I do.. or everything I didn't do has lead to everything I don't do. My apartment is a mess because I don't clean it up. I'm a scoundrel and a shitdick because I fuck a bitch and don't call her back.

Magdalene left me on a Monday. Who leaves someone on a Monday? It's one of those days that never has any significance for anyone. No one gets married on a Monday, celebrates on a Monday, or cries on a Monday. Anyway, she said even she can't understand me anymore. She said my mind was deteriorating, and soon all that will be left would be a massive ball of dough, until all I could do was lie in my bed and stare at the walls. She said my mind is a crystal glass; beautiful to behold in absolute stillness, yet extremely fragile and will break from the slightest push.
I spent an hour cutting up all her belongings and nailing them to the door.
I called her seven times that night, only to cry into the receiver.

Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you. -Nietzche

When I was young, my idol was Frederic Nietzche. He made sense of everything. He bashed human nature until we are all merely aliens that slobber along, consuming and destroying everything we touch except ourselves.

She compared me to the psychopath in Silence of the Lambs.
That's just silly. That guy was truly insane. INSANE. I guess she just meant I'm unpredictable.

While high, I get a buzz above my eye balls. Like a bee that crawled in through my ear while I was asleep and that started panicking when it realised that it couldn't get out.

I also used to look up to Hugh Laurie. And Stephen Fry. Oh sweet, sweet Stephen. I would watch one episode of the Laurie and Fry show over and over again, studying their mannerisms and expressions, and then I'd play them all out to Magdalene. She would giggle like a little girl.
Then she told me Stephen Fry was gay, and my whole world broke down.
It was Stephen Fry.
And he was gay. I wasn't sure if my love for his mind was just that, or if it extended to something more. Love and sexuality are complex.

Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.
I am the only sane one here.

When I was young I used to read the complete Oxford dictionary daily, and blot out each word I'd learnt.
Now my whole dictionary is black. However, I find it unnecessary to use overly elaborate words all the time.

My parents were originally from Yemen. I'm white though. I'm an undercover Arab.
I'm a Catholic poseur.

I'm the heart and soul of the next generation. Your children will be me. I am their Jesus.
Fuck GG Allin, he is nothing next to me. Though I refuse to shit on you.

I've been told time and time again to get up when I fall down. I don't want to get up anymore. I want to lie there, clinging to the fresh wet grass, and thrashing about like a fish on dry land. I want to see the stars by peripheral vision, and feel the rubbery soles of shoes stepping on my pained, red fingers. I want to feel the moisture seeping through my shirt on to my hot hard chest, and send jolts through my spine. I want to look up and see the blurred silhouettes of people I no longer care for, walking away from me. The view from down here is far better.
More than anything, I want to turn around and find my Magdalene next to me, telling me to calm down, because she'll take care of it.
Because she loves me.

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