honestus

Apparently honesty doesn’t count for anything these days. I’ve been too fucking preoccupied with god knows what to say what needs to be said, to feel what needs to be felt. I don’t need to get redundant about shit, don’t need to go off on these accusatory diatribes about who the hell gives a damn. I just need to open my little eye balls up and begin observing again, all over again, and scribble it back out like I did when I first learned how to operate a pen and paper.

Yea. I need to be realer. Is that even a word? I need to be more… I hate cliches. More ‘transparent’ with myself. Damnit. Even the sound of that makes me feel like a sap. What I mean is that there’s too much bullshit spinning around inside this head of mine, too much of a delay in what I’m thinking and what ends up coming out. I need to bypass my bullshit mixer and just get out what needs to get out. I’m talking about sensations. Not the passive aggressive regurgitation. Just plain old descriptive verbage, raw and uncensored. I need it to scathe my eyes when I read it, make me cringe and ask myself why the hell I would have ever thought that, or bothered to write that down.

You wouldn’t believe it. It’s 12:10am in the morning and the fire alarm went off. The god damn fire alarm. My ears are bleeding. The pulsating shriek makes my head feel like its inflating with every pulse. It’s gonna pop. The roommates are up, being all inquisitive. I hope they do something about it cause I’m about it rip it off the wall. I hear them mumbling, rearranging furniture, figuring out how they plan on putting an end to the chaos.

There’s nothing refined about myself. Nothing refined about people in general really. It’s just shrouded in layers of bullshit. Years and years of bullshit just wrapped around the person until they’re all blue and bloated. I can’t stand it. We always gotta censor. We’re so censored we don’t even know it. We always talk about how free speech works, how we’re all free to express whatever we want. I call bullshit. I say that we don’t even know how to talk anymore. There are repercussions when you speak your mind, when you really say it how it is. People are so god damn sensitive, so uptight, so anal about self-respect  that they become paralyzed and stiff. I just want to get angry, get emotional every once in a while. Really just yell and rant and really challenge what they believe, what they say, but with emotion. Just for once damnit. But I couldn’t do that. It would have severe repercussions. Holy shit it would be severe. I would probably fail the class– on grounds of disruption and disrespecting the professor no doubt. I may even go to jail, or be evaluated by a shrink.

Self-expression? Really? Where the hell can you express yourself in a social situation where it actually matters? Behind what doors does this work? In front of what audience? Cause where I’m from, we just conform to social expectations. We google our opinions. For how to act. What to think. There’s an unspoken code that everyone appeals to for authority, and its terrible and oppressive. It feels like its backed with power but I don’t know. We’ve obeyed it since we were forced to sit in equilateral lines in fixated seats with a single perspective and if you misbehaved, talked out of line, out loud or to others in any learning situation, you were punished. Its a code that we believe in and give it power. Its apart of our neat, tidy little world where everything has a place, where right and wrong seem so obvious. And we care so much, are so off-put when someone disrupts our expectations of things. God forbid. God forbid we just decided to figure them out. Maybe even reciprocated a little disruption back.

Ugh. That’s how I feel. That’s how I feel now, and that’s how I feel when I sit in class, or I’m at work, or dealing with anyone person that I depend on for anything substantial. Wrap that smile on, conduct yourself in a self-controlled, restrained manner, and say what they want to hear. With words. With silly stupid words that are powerless. That have become powerless. Because there is no voice. No fucking voice. No person behind them with any balls, with any heart to just call bullshit on the whole charade. The totally empty words, the totally empty life, the empty politics. And actually say what they fucking mean. What they really feel, what they really think about any shit that actually matters in their life, and just stop the role playing. All at once. Cause I don’t think anyone is going to be able to understand how and why they decided to stop until everyone just stops. Then they’ll see how this giant production is just a bunch of made up shit that nobody really believes in, but does anyway just to follow along. And that all these sick people with sick minds and sick hearts and sick bodies are really just suffocating cause they don’t fucking breath. They don’t speak. They don’t learn. So they begin withering inside, imploding or exploding like the collapse of a star or spewing supernova. They douse in alcohol and self pity, or maybe those prescription drugs their doctor dopes them with, maybe some of that black market marijuana or coke shit, and their lives fall apart. Or they just suffer quietly their whole life. Eating. Or not. Or working out with all your official Crossfit or Gold’s gym posse. A big loser. A big copy. Never really feeling anything life changing. But they sure can act the part and appear alive.

The god. The war. The drugs. The money. The school. The job. The career. The plants and animals and sky and space. All these things. The crises. The politics. All bullshit.

No one is angry. No one feels. We don’t even live inside ourselves. We just persist, waiting for new signals to program us to give a shit about more shit we shouldn’t give a shit about. The shitty new music. The new gadget. The new scandal. The failed two point conversion in last nights game. The inside gossip on who. The new style. The new news. All shit that is totally irrelevant bullshit that has no impact on our lives whatsoever. We don’t need any of that shit. We don’t need to know any of this shit. Why do we act like we do? Why? It’s fucking insane. It’s just noise. Just little blips of social DNA that tell you to shut up. That its under control because we can write out in these little digital letters and ink texts. That you don’t need to actually do or be anything. Just absorb second hand information. Suck up the viral messages. Nod your head.

I’m tired. I’m gonna read a bit and pass out. I guess what I’m saying, and I’m not even sure if I even communicated it, is that people need to speak up and give a shit about things. Period. And that when someone speaks up to you, you don’t get quiet, you get equally vocal and emotional. Accept that these matches take time and resolution. Continue talking until you are utterly exhausted, but do it with your breath and body. Tell your roommates whats on your mind, whats really on your mind, no matter how inappropriate. Tell your parents. Your teachers. Your boss. Even the police. Tell the judge. Tell them what’s on your mind. Articulate the hell out of it, like you mean it, like you have a stake in something in your life that actually matters, just for once.  And not worry about time. About formality. Just communicate.

AND I DON’T MEAN VIA CONVENTION. Don’t worry about the grammar or syntax or style. Not even the content. Just the process. Let it fly out. Don’t worry about a good thesis, an appropriate topic, or sounding like you have any fucking idea what you’re talking about, because if you actually gave a shit, you wouldn’t worry about how to not say how much you give a shit. We don’t have to recycle words. Stories. Myths. Images. Brands. Labels.

I’m ridiculously tired. I have class early tomorrow. I’m going to become more proactive observing my life for how it is, and saying it how it is instead of hiding it under formality and fear.