Listen to this once, while reading. You can guess afterwards why.
Today I went through my old laptop and found stuff I wrote, old photos, files, reminder of mistakes I made at the outset. Some good memories and some bad memories. But in the end it doesn’t matter. I am not able to think far back for a reason and every memorabilia that forces me ,has to be consumed in moderation and preparation. Additionally my brother published, by mistake, this blog on Facebook. He simply misunderstood my words and then we had the mess. But to be true I am glad. I obviously wanted to do it sometime, but well not anytime in the near future. I intended to bury the really weird shit at the bottom of my virtual complaint.
I am not angry. I am not disappointed. I cannot be, this is me. But me is someone I am not used to show. I am fatigued. I did nothing to it. Took my happy pills and yesterday my sleepy pills and everything was drugged as normal. I just had to wait until reality sunk in. It is circumstance forcing me to sit down and rest for a few hours, because you can only play “Twinkle, twinkle little star” for so long to make you strong and resistant. A few weeks ago the fog was lifted again and I could take a glance in clarity. I usually doubted myself in these phases stronger then ever. When you think you are mad, the logical and deducible seems even further away, than the daily irrationality. My point being is:
I am doing something right. I don’t know what. I don’t know how, but I am and that for a substantial while now. And I am beaten for it on a regular basis, the same as doing something right. That is confusing as shit.
From this point on I wrote a very long paragraph which took apart my own brother. You will obviously not be able to read it. These things are for his eyes and head only, if and when he is ready for them.
Instead, my hands are shaking. My mind is distracted. I cannot focus on anything else. My hate eats my strength in self-deprecation and big morsel. Now I can’t stand on my feet, can’t hold the bow to practice my violin. My voice falters and it’s usual superiority over my black, beautiful western-guitar ceased to exist. I am useless to myself once again. I can only write. That is what someone does to me, when I have to take him or her apart in my head, despite the fact that they are dear to me. For everyone reading this, that came close to me. I am sorry. But you are weak, weaker than you could ever be able to imagine and that’s the main reason you fear me being close to you. I flourish, live and prosper in the darkness you visit from every now and then. Perhaps you know you would either destroy me or I would help you being a better person. But you do not want to see your own inadequacies. Pusillanimity is all I see and I love you all for it. Because that’s what I am and I am the only one I am truly able to love these days.
Often I asked myself. Is this affection or love I am feeling or just a sense of obligation towards those inferior to me. I know this is wrong, inherently wrong. You taught me all my life. You punished me for it, made me doubt my own sanity. Well it is not gone. Just, waiting in line to charge once more.
I will lay down until someone arrives. Someone will soon understand the concept, importance and possibility of anonymity. My fight is an open one. My war can only be won in a secret one. I would love to give you that anonymous we are legion stuff. But I don’t need to reinforce myself through great words others contrived. My own are pathetic enough to do so. Ask yourself if you get the core concept of ideas and their development and then ask yourself, what a single, well-planted idea can trigger. I don’t have to. I know now.
My reality is not dark, it is lonesome. It is not crazy, it is my ambition that seems to be, but I wrote something in my brothers mental rape, that I need to show to you:
“You cannot change my perspective, you could only ever influence it. […] Accept or tremble in wake of my will. You don’t have to look after me anymore. I will prevail or perish, there is nothing you can do about it. I write this to you so you can prepare for my wrath, so you are enabled to think about it long and hard.”
And fuck yeah I am quoting myself. The only one who is making sense of this idiotic and fucked up head is me. Get it! Your advice is neither helpful nor explaining, but giving shortcuts! I will take none.
Please stand upright for a little while in my place I can’t,