WELCOME TO THE RED PAGE.
THESE WORDS ARE SOAKED IN THE BLOOD OF GUILT.
I COULD NEVER STOP YOU, I WOULD NEVER STOP YOU. THIS IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY.
I CANNOT SUPPORT YOU ANY MORE, BUT I WILL NOT LEAVE YOUR SIDE.
Just tell me what you want. I could give you anything and
everything. I will push this world to its limits, bend its
rules until they are my own. All for you, my child. The only
thing I cannot give you is struggle or triumph. Stop
calling my gis poison, or I will take them away from you. You
resent trophies undeserved, but you would never destroy them
either. Any more white elephants and your glass floor
shall shatter. Any less and you feel deprived. What is it you
want now? Insatiable child. Indignant brat. Thankless one.
Yes I know the feeling, I know you’re leaving. I have to move
on. I know, you don’t need to remind me every damn time.
Listen, it’s just how I process things, ya know? One day, deep
down, something will shi in my body and suddenly it will
mean nothing. Your incessant prodding certainly doesn’t
allow things to settle. I’m not asking for space, I am not
asking for words, I am asking for time. Is that too hard to do?
If I had to describe it, it’s like a nausea that permeates your
entire body. Although, it’s not constant, more like sudden
bursts of sickness. It’s certainly physiological, it causes me to
recoil and tear up. Do you understand how awful that is?
Sorry, it’s not like you did anything, you only asked.
Always the therapist. I envy your ability to keep a straight
face when people describe their pain. It’s almost sociopathic.
But at the same time, you’re listening, so it can’t be that bad, right? It’s a natural match, I wouldn’t want to infect others with this suffering anyways. It’s perfect.
I’m glad you’re immune, I’m glad you’re indifferent. I’m glad I mean nothing to you.
The pursuit of Home. Many people take that to be the pursuit of what used to be their home. A familiar place, a childhood house, an old partner, an
antiquated way of living. Rarely now do we see an individual's pursuit for a new home, or the effort to build a home where they stand. This is the era of spiritual
vagrants and ghastly travelers. The modern hobo camps under the same bridge, but his mind may as well be on a midnight train.
It’s not that I have nowhere to go, it’s that I have nowhere to return to.
I never liked the sun. It was overbearing, oppressive and too masculine. Come wintertime I emerge from my shell and I make crude furniture out of the snow. I’d
rest on a cold slab during the day, and have lengthy conversations with the moon during the night. I resent the bastard sun when he emerges and destroys it all.
The world is slowing down. Have you noticed? Less is happening every day, less words are said, less stories are told, less food is eaten, less joy is felt. Silence
spreads and you finally understand the exhaustion. Live like a statue and ask why the world moves, why it wears you down. Do you feel sore? Do you feel stiff?
I think I saw an angel sitting on my bed; he was behind me when I was expelling terrible thoughts onto paper. Well, they weren’t terrible thoughts, they were
confessions, of a sort. Writing about where I have failed and how I could heal and improve. A part of me wants such a process to hurt more, I want to feel the
evil leaving my body. I don’t know how to take victory when it is without struggle. Anyways, the angel vanished when I turned around. But for a moment I saw a
beautiful light, and I felt tranquil. I felt like he was supporting me, like I
was doing the right thing. My actions are my own, and, similarly, so is the
process of healing. Every mistake I have made must be a lesson from me, to me, by me. Every act of learning from those mistakes must be made by me with
effort. When I say ‘effort,’ I mean ‘intent,’ not struggle. That is the fundamental misunderstanding I have held for so long. My fight must have purpose through
friction, not friction itself. Sometimes that friction exists in great amounts, other times it does not. But that does not matter, because what I need is intent, I
need purpose, I need to understand the things I am doing and why I am doing them. Thank you angel, your distraction let me
realize this. I am not sure why you visited me. Have you seen this? Have you seen what I made? This does not seem like the
creation of a man deserving of such support, but there you were. I hope to see you again before my eyes begin to rot.
For just a small while I saw a glimpse of normalcy. I saw how most people live. I think normally you either pity or despise those
who go about their day with such simple needs and wants. We call them cattle or claymen or hylics or whatever derogatory term
we deem applicable. But let’s be honest with ourselves for a moment. They live life effortlessly, isn’t that the goal of being?
Ask yourself, have you become an
anchor for those you care about?
Your fear of being a burden is the
only precursor to truly being one.
Relax, it’s not that big of a deal
anyways. I’m serious. Even if you’re
damned, the one facing punishment
is effectively a new organism. You
are not responsible to bear the pain
of somebody you are yet to be. Relax.
In for three, hold for three, out for
three, wait for three. That’s it.
Is it contrived? I’m surprised you
didn’t predict this all sooner.
Everything tastes bitter now; I will
never forgive you for causing that.
I never loathed you. The truth is, all
of this is because I was too afraid to
face you again. Not because I fear
you, but because I fear what you
expect from me. I am not who you
think I am, but how could I ever tell
you that?
The last time we spoke it wasn’t
even a wish expected to be fulfilled,
but a request for the stars behind
you, or perhaps to some patron of
luck.
I tried to defy everything you
believed in. I guess ultimately that
means I still had no control over my
destiny. It wasn’t about growing up.
One more time,
like we used to
as kindred spirits.
I won’t ask again.
Wait
Do you trust me?
It’s okay,
you can say no.
I won’t be mad.
We are your guardians.
We take the form of rabbits and other
strange friends.
You don’t have to stay here.
Come hither.
Tell me, are they looking at me?
Sometimes I make eye contact with a
stranger and I pray it is just an
accident. An arc of electricity as a
switch flips, doesn’t mean anything.