12/21/12
So today's the day that my entire life has been building towards and all I feel is sick and angry. I flooded my system with cold medicine and slipped into a toasty coma as I let my body recover from the past year, the past decade, the past twenty years.
I went from goofball, comedic sidekick to a gang of role-playing geeks, to perpetual victim of self-centered relationships, to drunken fool running amuck through the streets of the East Village. That all led me to scars and a psych ward visit, whereupon I moved to Brooklyn to build a real life.
Four years later I have all I was hoping for and it's so ill-fitting that I can only fall back on old habits of burning bridges and bouncing as fast as possible. But is that what I want? Or am I just afraid to speak my mind still? The hostility dredged up as friends & lovers took advantage left & right, because god dammit my feelings should be accounted for!
So, I'll stay and fight, say my piece and hope you get it. I hate that you are making me go to war but perhaps that has been the point all along. Good natured generosity will be exploited and resentment will build, so now my selfishness will be your undoing.
The twine I wore bound around my wrist was a daily reminder that it was not time, that the pinnacle had yet to be reached. Over the last 6 weeks I have felt an ever-growing hatred towards those under my care, and so now I empty the nest and wait for you to show me what you can do.
Fenrir the Wolf, one of three children of Loki who shall rise to power in the year of the Trickster, 2012, busts his magical gossamer shackle, tear the hand from Tyr, the God of War, and slays Odin, the all-father.
The Worldserpent, my former roommate Seth, is now loosed upon the earth devouring all in his path, as Ash Baker, mythologically seen as tr Queen of the Underworld, Hela, prepares for the birth of her daughter, the last hope for all mankind as Hell swarms the land.
I hold her belly and feel the child kick, I hear the empty shamanic tongue wagging and feel the serpent's prick. Jazz is reassembled and redesigned for a logic brain math problem interaction, and though a sucker for my weakness, deconstructing puzzles through masochistic domestic scenarios, an amalgamation of feminine wiles that've laid me low.
It's a test for sure. She needs me. I hate that. We could take over the world together if it wasn't for my baggage, which only just now at the end of Mayan Cycle coerces me to enforce a no bullshit emotional clause, and the world be damned for my pride. I refuse to deny myself the ego surprise of satisfactory enjoyment of who the FUCK I AM just to keep a moment from being socially awkward.
No one made exceptions for me, so why do I do it for you? Why can I let the consequences of your interactions be so awful that it'll be a wonder how I survive our next encounter? I am so painfully immobilized that behind my eyes is a rage of stars seeking sage advice.
However, none exists but what I create, for if it is as it was when I was born, and through a childhood of children raised electronic sensation doth make a person of my self, then the collective unconscious of sitcom consensus synopsis is about I got to offer.
It's so hard for me to be viciously direct, just really say what needs saying, though I have so little time for anything else. The minutiae of dialogue with anyone but who actively shows they respect and love me, fuck it. Not worth my time right? That's what people do, scrape 'em off, you want to save someone save yourself.
I really don't care anymore, but perhaps that's the point of this Apocalyptic
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