My former article shows the following in perfect example. If it is hard to understand, I hereby explain.
The condition I am in is one of constant repetition in thoughts. It is not the same thought. It is the same pattern, repeating itself over and over and over again. I don’t grow tired of it. Yesterday someone really got to me. Someone of a kind, now my kind. A blogging person. The way only people can, who thoroughly understand human nature or are alike oneself. Sometimes a combination of both and those are stress-provoking in particular.
My surrounding is sometimes amazed by my blatant incapacity to learn. I do learn, but I do think as well and that process is corrupted by the diseased condition my brain is in and has always been. My process of thought has always taken a long time. I view this as a sickness. Perhaps comparable to diabetes. I will have to life with it my whole. Nobody else has to live in this head, I call treason over and over again.
I have to treat myself accordingly and there is medicine to invigorate me, but they alter my brain so profoundly, that I cannot accept their effects. I quit antidepressants one month after I started taking them. One day I’ll write about drugs. Soon. Don’t get impatient, when or if the day comes I will explain. Today is not that day.
So I quit those happy pills and now I take others with a more short-range controllability. They suit my purpose and are not forcing content upon me, when feeling calm and complacent is not on my agenda.
So yesterday an idiot writer got to me and I lashed out. The most harmless way I could think of, in written words. Nobody was in harms way, but still. The existence of words, written down in honesty, brings fear into peoples hearts and heads. They fear of course the unknown. I do to. They are scared of a thought bruising them. I do to, now. They fear most of all the recognition of truth. They fight against it! With all their might. They fight and fight over and over and over again. I can see clearly now the fog has passed. Dimming my view and letting my anger walk astray.
I see today, that I, when it comes to my personal contact with others, I want to hurt them as I am. I can’t manipulate or lie any more. You have to define, if you are in close contact with me, what my words are worth to you. But one thing is for certain and I can only state this over and over again:
I tell the truth.
You don’t think so? Then you are blind and I have won, even if I am the snubbed one.
People fight against the truth. I am finally on its side and we are almighty allies. Honour-bound and for the win, we fight a war of retreat. The truth and I are tactical geniuses. We know at some point you will make a mistake. Leave your flank open or rush forward, too harassed by the attrition of thought, our tiny spears inflict on your delusion. And we even shout it to you, across and above the no-mans-land arise our voices, when on the run, because we respect and love our enemies. They simply don’t know any better. You are way to ignorant to see. You start to glorify us. Mighty little warriors on their nimble, little feet. Defeated over and over and over again but still standing. We seem to be countless, but in fact we are only very few. Death-defying and reluctant in defeat.
Few in numbers, quick in thinking and unbeatable in evasion, if necessary.
Our generals, brilliant in creativity and divinely through lasting ambition, in mind their subjects finitude and nostalgic plain revision. They feel their pain, they breathe their air, the blood is also theirs, it’s theirs, it’s theirs.
Our serving officers, hellish smart, roughly trained through years and years of steady fighting, brutal battles, constant brawl with countless waves of foes and slaves.
A bastion of calm, even if they come over and over and over again.
Our valiant soldiers in the trenches, with will strong bears alike and perseverance in face of the enemies square off and trial to take. Those bears they bear cold and hunger, wind, airborn, depriving shells, an infernal meteoric rain. In red they dwell, in blue they grief, in brown they fight, in black they cease over and over and over again.
But in the end there’s two to stand.
Me and truth, scarred, in tears, tall. Hand in hand.
I think I like poetry very much. I want to do it without confirmation this time it happened organically. I did not think about it. You see don’t you?
Now I can take critics and I don’t need to fear your possibly wrong correlation. I think I always wanted a woman to be my truth and now I have the truth as my truth. That is way more satisfactory.
I don’t repeat my own words, because I need to reassure myself, my friends. I repeat myself because you obviously flounder in my path and anger. But I have to admit, there was a time I told and thought, I could force others and you, how to think about me. This is my guideline from now on. Decide for yourself.
Stand upright and fight,